Execution of Innocence (4 page)

School was back in session for only a few hours after Christmas vacation when Richard Spelling crossed her path. She had dated him twice the previous year, and the second time he had tried hard to get in her pants, but she hadn’t seen much of him since then. He had supposedly spent the summer in Malibu polishing his tan, and now that he was school president he acted as if he was too busy for the likes of her. Not that she missed his advances this year or last. Yet she held nothing against him, Dick could be charming when he wanted to be. Today looked like one of those days. He stood smiling his rich boy smile as she collected a few books from her locker. Third period was in two minutes. Neither of them had much time to talk, but she supposed a big shot like Dick could be late, as often as he wished.

“Looking good, Mary,” he said.

“Great opening line, Dick,” she replied.

He took a step closer and propped himself up against the lockers with a strong arm. Dick worked out, played basketball. He wasn't great at sports but he liked to look great playing them.

“Will it get me anywhere?” he asked.

“No.”

He smiled. “I heard you're seeing Charlie Gallagher?”

She had spilled some juice on the bottom of her locker. She tried wiping it up with last week's homework. “You heard right,” she said.

“Why?”

“For the sex.”

“Is that true?” he asked.

She was still glowing from December 23. Dick must have noticed when she turned toward him for he suddenly took a step back, as if dazzled. She enjoyed his surprise.

“He's a great guy,” she said. “Everything I always dreamed of.”

Dick collected his thoughts. “I heard he flunked American history. Does he have a brain?”

“He is a very warm and caring person.”

“I'm sure those qualities will get him far in this world.”

She smiled mischievously. “He has other
wonderful
attributes as well.”

“Get off it, you can’t be sleeping with that moron.”

She grabbed her books and slammed her locker shut.

“Shut up, Dick,” she said in a hard voice. “And stop dreaming about what you can’t have.” She started to step past him as he blocked her way. “What?” she snapped.

“I want to help you,” he said.

“I don't want your help,” she said.

“Yeah, you do.”

“Get out of my way or I'll scream.”

He spread his arms. “I heard you applied to Stanford.”

She stopped. “So?”

“So what do you think your chances of getting in are?”

“Pretty good.”

“Liar. You have a three point seven five GPA and an eleven hundred combined SAT score.”

“I see you've been doing your homework.”

“The privileges of power,” he said. “You're not going to get in.”

She paused. “I'm taking the SAT over.”

“You’ll improve a hundred points, nothing more. You have to face reality, Mary. You won’t get in.”

She would have snapped at him except that what he was saying rang true. In her mind, she always blurred the scores of the people who did get accepted. She just went about her business, studied as much as she could, and hoped by good luck and God's grace she’d squeak by. Dick was not simply trying to psyche her out, she sensed.

“All right,” she said. “Let's have a reality check. What can you do to help me get in?”

“My father knows several important alumni at Stanford.”

Mary frowned. “I didn’t know he went there.”

“He didn’t, he went to USC, but he spent a lot of time in Palo Alto and big business types travel in the same circles. He even knows Stanford’s chancellor.”

“You’re kidding?”

Dick held up a hand. “I swear. When you're standing on the fringe, a well-placed word with the right people can make all the difference.” He leaned closer. “I've already talked to my dad about you. He wants to meet you.”

Mary eyed him suspiciously. “And then?”

“What do you mean? Then you get accepted.”

“And what do I have to do in return for this extraordinary help?”

“Nothing.” Dick shrugged. “You can ask me to the Sadie Hawkins dance.”

“I’m going out with Charlie Gallagher. I can’t go anywhere with you.”

He turned away. “Suit yourself.”

“Wait,” she said quickly. He paused, and she stepped up to him. “Why is it so important I go to Sadie Hawkins with you?”

“It’s not so important. But I think it would be the least you’d want to do for me after I helped you with the rest of your life.”

Mary scratched her head. “We could go to the dance.”

“Don’t look so excited.”

“You know what I’m thinking.”

“What?”

“What else you might want,” she said.

He was annoyed. “I don’t want anything. Didn't you have fun last time we went out?”

“Yeah. Until you tried to rape me.”

“I didn’t try to rape you. I tried to seduce you. There's a difference.”

“And you should learn the difference.”

He turned away. “Have a nice day, Mary.”

“Wait!” She grabbed his arm. “I accept your offer. I’d like to meet your dad. I’d like to go to the dance with you. But on one condition. I don’t want Charlie to know.”

“He'll hear about it.”

“No. You don't know Charlie. He hardly talks to anyone on campus. He has absolutely no interest in the social scene. If I don't tell him about the dance, he won’t know.”

He grinned. “I always knew you were a tramp at heart.”

“I'm not going to sleep with you. That's not part of the deal.”

Dick continued to smile. “When you sign a contract with the devil, you never know how many clauses there are to it.”

Dick was a jerk, but she still thought he was joking.

Later that same day Mary ran into Hannah Spelling, Dick’s twin. She and Hannah were friends but not especially close. They had hung out a few times, at the movies or stores, but had never developed any continuity to their relationship. Mary liked Hannah and wondered if it would be wiser going through her to get to Mr. Spelling. Hannah immediately crushed that possibility after Mary told her what Dick offered to do.

“My dad will see you if Dick asks,” Hannah said as they stood together in the parking lot, ready to leave school in their respective vehicles. Naturally Hannah’s car was a tad nicer and more expensive—a brand-new Lexus sports coupe, with leather interior and Naka-michi sound. Hannah added, “But if I ask him he’ll pretend I'm not even in the room.”

“Why is Dick so much closer to your father?” Mary asked.

“I think because I remind my father of my mother.”

“Where is she again?” Mary knew Mrs. Spelling wasn’t around, but couldn’t remember why.

“She's dead.”

Mary made a face. “Oh. I’m sorry. I didn't know.”

“Then you don’t have to be sorry.” Hannah took a final drag on one of the many Marlboro cigarettes she smoked before crushing the butt under the heel of her black boot. She added, “My father had her killed.”

“You're joking.”

“Maybe.” Hannah coughed and wiped aside her blond hair. “I was never sure what happened to Mom.”

“When did she die? How?”

“Ten years ago in a car accident.”

“Anyone can have a car accident,” Mary said.

“Yeah. But her brakes gave out, and she was driving a brand-new car.”

This was a topic they had never covered before.

“How do you feel about your dad now?” Mary asked cautiously.

Hannah shrugged. “You mean, do I trust him? I don't know if that’s really an issue. I’m his daughter, he buys me what I want and we get along OK.”

“Sounds sick.”

“Reality is sick.” Hannah paused. “When are you seeing my dad?”

“Dick said tomorrow was good. Can he really help get me into Stanford?”

“If he wants to. He really does know the chancellor.” Hannah tapped out another cigarette, lit it. “You just have to ask yourself what the price is going to be.”

“Dick says he just wants to go to the dance with me.”

“Dick wants whatever he can get.” Hannah let go a bitter sigh. “He’ll get it all.”

“I can handle him,” Mary said.

“I was talking about the family fortune. Daddy is grooming him to be his heir.”

“What about you?”

Hannah blew smoke. “I'm a girl.”

“You sound like you have a pretty screwed-up family.”

“Yeah. We're a work of art.” Hannah coughed. “Do you want to get loaded?”

“I’m not smoking pot these days. I can't think straight the day after.”

“What do you have to think about?” Hannah asked.

“You know, getting into Stanford and then going on to become a brain surgeon.”

“But you still drink alcohol?” Hannah asked.

Mary had to laugh. “If someone else legal is buying.”

They ended up drinking Seagram’s 7 and Sprite down by the Crossroads, which was a boring place unworthy of its mysterious name, or any name for that matter. It was just a spot out in the woods, five miles from town, where two nondescript roads crossed. Yet because it had a cool name, people congregated there to get loaded, or lustful, or loose. When Mary and Hannah had finished half the bottle of whiskey they were feeling about as loose as two oiled belly dancers. The only problem was there was no one to perform for.

At least Mary didn't think so.

It had snowed the night before. They were surrounded by virgin white. The forest was quiet, the trees stood silent watch. They sat on the hood of Hannah's Lexus and let their asses freeze.

“Have you done it with Charlie yet?” Hannah asked suddenly. A moment ago they had been talking about the origin of the universe, and how God had probably gone and gotten drunk on the eighth day of creation. They were laughing their heads off. But now Hannah asked her question seriously. She stared at Mary with her bloodshot hazel eyes and waited for Mary to answer.

“Yeah,” Mary said and burped. “I had sexual intercourse with Charles Gallagher on four occasions two days before Christmas.”

“Where?”

Mary mumbled. “My bed.”

“How was it?”

Mary hit the bottle straight. “Oh God! It was better than sex!”

Hannah laughed for a moment. “Was it everything you dreamed it would be?”

“Yeah, I think so. I dreamed about it an awful lot, and had some pretty good dreams. But he was great. I love him.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I love him. I’m going to marry him.”

“Really?”

Mary giggled. “Not! I can’t marry him! I'm only eighteen and I have to go to four years of college and become important and make lots of money so my parents won't resent having given birth to me.” She attacked the whiskey bottle again and missed her mouth. Boy, this was what stinking drunk meant. She worried she would still be smelling when she woke up the next day, never mind what day that was. It was getting kind of dark all of a sudden. Hannah continued to stare at her.

“Is Charlie the first one you ever did it with?” she asked.

“Yeah, I think so. If I don’t include myself.”

Hannah lit what seemed like her fiftieth cigarette. She blew smoke into the cold air and the smoke turned to fog and drifted away. Just like that, Mary thought. Wow.

“I’ve been with ten guys,” Hannah said. “But I haven't found one that I like yet.”

Mary was amazed. “Which ten?”

“Mark Stradler. Luke Carney. Peter Fraizer. Jerry Rodrigues. Peter Fletch. The others you don't know.”

“Unbelievable. How was Luke?”

“Like the others.”

“Ten male bodies in a row. Jesus. How were the others?”

Hannah tapped ash off her boot. “They were not what I wanted.”

The whiskey bottle fell out of Mary's hand and leaked brown liquid on the snow. She made no effort to jump off the car to pick it up. Hannah was trying to tell her something important and she wanted to listen closely, to be a good friend. But she needed to speak her mind as well.

“It's because you weren't in love,” Mary said. “When you're in love it's beautiful. When you’re not it's just dirty filthy sex. Loveless sex has no true spiritual meaning deep inside your soul. But love makes everything totally cool. Love is God's special gift to horny teenage girls and boys. It makes them feel less guilty.”

Hannah continued to smoke as if she needed a nicotine transfusion.

“Did you feel guilty about screwing Charlie?” she asked.

Mary tried to remember. “Nah. Just a little. When my parents came home from their Christmas party, I couldn't stop giggling. Then I felt like I should feel guilty. But I was so happy I didn’t really give a damn. Did you feel guilty after screwing half the town?”

Hannah smiled briefly. “It wasn't half the town. Only a quarter.” She gestured to the snow-covered trees with the glowing tip of her cigarette, and Mary thought she saw something bothering Hannah in her eyes. Her friend's next question was not normal. “Do you ever feel like running naked through the snow?” she asked.

Mary didn't have to think about that one. “No.”

Hannah pushed herself off the hood of the car and stood. “I feel like it.”

“Not! You'll catch cold.”

Hannah began to unbutton her coat. “My blood is on fire. I won’t get cold.”

Mary just sat and watched her undress. “You must be drunk,” she said finally.

Hannah stepped out of her underwear and modeled for Mary.

“Do you think I’m sexy?” she asked as if she were Rod Stewart or maybe his latest wife. Mary couldn’t help noticing that the answer to the question was a definite yes. Hannah had an awesome body, bouncy tits out to the trees and an ass as smooth and white as Frosty the Snowman's illegitimate mistress. Amazing, Mary thought, but why was she being asked to look at a naked girl when she
was
a girl and really liked looking at naked boys? Charlie, in particular, lying in her bed half asleep. Nothing Hannah was doing made sense, especially when Hannah bolted into the trees and began to kick up snow with her bare feet and legs. Mary slid off the hood and struggled with the recent earth changes as she called out to Hannah.

“Hey, Hannah!” she said. “You can’t do that! You’ll freeze!”

Hannah didn’t answer, but continued to run wild through the forest, circling the Crossroads, leaving tracks in the snow. Deer tracks, Mary thought in a moment of clarity. A hunted deer. Hannah didn’t stop for a good twenty minutes. When she finally plopped down on her back in a nearby snowdrift, Mary feared she was dead. By the time Mary was able to drag Hannah back into her car and get the heat cranked up all the way, Hannah was practically dead. A frozen corpse. A casualty of the times.