Margarette (Violet) (9 page)

“It would be silly of me to make you wait longer,”
she says softly, enjoying his reaction.

Tommy shrugs casually. “I was just getting
comfortable.”

“I’ll tell you the truth. I’m using you.”

“How?”

“I’m not going to have sex with you again,” she
announces, and Tommy’s head drops effectively refusing eye contact. “But I am
hungry.”

He looks up at her and his smile returns. “I can
fix that.”

“And I don’t have a car.”

She opens the door to his car and starts to climb
in. Most mistakes happen in an instant, but this feels like a mistake in slow
motion. The feeling permeates through her every action, every word, that
nothing could be more wrong than to go with him.

“Where are we going?” she asks as he guides her
into the car. Somewhere special, he had said.

He answers just as he shuts the door. “My parents’
house.”

“What!” she shouts at the glass and by the time he
gets in she has to start over. “What?”

“Don’t worry,” Tommy replies. “They’re okay.”

All the blood in her face fades as the car
screeches as it jets forward. She would never have agreed to this if she had
known his intended destination.

His sports car sits low to the ground and she
feels like every car in Coyote Falls is looking down on her. She knows everyone
is expecting someone else on the passenger seat at every stop sign, light and
straightaway where people look over and pretend to not stare. The whole drive
she tries to change his mind, threatening to jump out of the moving car, but it
only makes him drive faster in order to retain her as they head toward the
other side of town.

On the edge of town she sees the first corner of
the Gallager manor next to a stable. Tommy wants her to see the grounds before
going into the house. She indulges him wanting only to delay meeting the
parents. She wonders if they know about her. Probably. Everyone close to him must
know by now. Not even old people are exempt from this quality of gossip.

He opens the side door to the house. A simple
hallway and stairs lead to the kitchen. Tommy claims to be a decent cook, and
asks her to sit at the counter as he preps. He walks into the pantry and then
pulls some utensils from the drawer. She sits at a stool, quietly internalizing
her hatred for chairs without a real back. Only a faint light glows under the
kitchen stove hood, filling the kitchen with shadows, and the dishwasher
running surrounds them in a quiet hum. She relaxes for a moment, not minding so
much being in his house, because at least they’re alone.

She should have seen it coming—as if she ever got
anything she wanted.

A solid wood door clicks behind her and her nails
dig into her leg. She turns and curses inwardly as she sees May walk in out of
nowhere with a full paper bag.

“Oh hey… I made groceries,” May starts, when she
sees her brother. Then she notices Margarette. “Tommy?  Who’s your friend?”

Oh come on. Margarette saw the look of recognition
in May’s eyes, and she knows that May knows her name.
That bitch
, she
thinks.

“This is Margarette,” Tommy says, clueless as to
what is going down between the two girls.

May nods unconvincingly.

“It’s a service entrance,” Tommy explains when he
mistakes Margarette’s expression for confusion. “It’s an old house.”

Plucky, Margarette asks, “Who services it?”

Immediately after saying it she feels stupid,
knowing someone must really be a servant in this house. He turns and pulls a
frosted vessel out of the fridge. May gives Tommy a strange sisterly look with a
veiled meaning.

“No one right now,” Tommy answers. “There was a
cook, but we lost him.”

Margarette smirks. “The house was too big?”

Tommy smiles, but continues in an oddly sober
tone. “Louis died six weeks ago. We really liked him.” He adds to lighten the
morbid pause.

May shakes her head, but doesn’t say anything.

Margarette immediately becomes contrite. “I’m
sorry. How did he die?”

“He got a virus. He took some time off to see some
doctors, but it was really quick. He was really kind.” He gushes in a guilty
way as if his prior comment didn’t convey loss.

“That’s terrible,” Margarette says.

May cuts in. “He was an excellent chef. Mother
picked him out because he spent a lot of time in Italia.”

“Yeah,” Tommy adds. He smiles a little. “Although
she didn’t know about his Italia boyfriend.”

May scoffs. “Don’t say things like that.”

“Why?” he quips.

“Did you grow up in this house?” Margarette asks,
looking around for another subject.

Tommy smiles and switches topics. “Only the last
ten years or so. But in that time they renovated the house a few times. Well,
Mom still does it about twice a year; it keeps her busy.”

Margarette wants to tell him she’s terrified to
meet his parents, but not in front of May. She doesn’t even know why he brought
her there. She doesn’t know how to explain how uncomfortable she is.

May displaces Tommy from the counter so he slides
back empty-handed to the kitchen island, and she starts arranging things and
chopping them.

“So you’re cooking tonight?” Margarette asks May.

“I am,” the older sister replies. “We don’t want
to burn dinner.”

“What, like the toast?” Margarette chirps without thinking.
Then she grits her teeth in regret as she can almost hear May’s thoughts shout,
No, dinner is not just toast, you poor, brainless girl
.

May gives her a superior look. “I’m glad when
Tommy brings over his little friends for supper. It makes things so much more
fun.”

Margarette’s embarrassment vanishes at May’s
choice of words and she smiles. “That’s a funny word. You should just say
dinner.”

“It’s more appropriate to say breakfast, dinner
and supper,” May corrects her.

“Oh… sure,” Margarette says, rolling her eyes when
May isn’t looking. Then she asks, a little cruelly, “So where’s your husband?”

May pauses to unmask the intent. “He’s working
late.”

“That must be difficult for you.”

Margarette can tell her false empathy is
irritating May, but continues to pick at the open wound.

May doesn’t flinch. “It gives me a great deal of
free time.”

“A lot of time to think, I’m sure.”

May abruptly changes the topic. “So what does your
mother do?”

“She doesn’t do that much anymore,” Margarette
answers vaguely. “She got let go.”

“Oh,” May says, with fake concern. “These are
really trying times.”

“For some.”

Margarette turns to Tommy and asks him unimportant
questions about the house, just to keep him talking and not have to talk to May.
She hears people talking somewhere else inside of the house, and feels awkward
hiding in the kitchen talking to Tommy without introducing herself to the
owners of the house. But at no point does it occur to Tommy to introduce her to
his parents.

After a short time dinner is ready, and May places
the pasta, sauce, meat, and some vegetables, all into different serving bowls. Margarette
expected something more grandiose or harder to pronounce than spaghetti. But
she helps Tommy bring the trays and serving utensils to the dining room table
and arrange them in the center. Margarette is surprised to see the table is set
for eight people as though a formal dinner was happening. She comes to the
conclusion that the table is set every day, and rolls her eyes thinking it’s a big
waste of time. She thinks of her dinners at home, which consist of heating up
something frozen and eating on the couch in front of the TV. The rare times she
cooks, she eats right out of the saucer. No point in dirtying yet another dish
for herself to clean.

Tommy pulls out two chairs as they place the last bowl
on the table. He sits and tugs Margarette’s skirt gesturing for her to sit at
his side. Fortunately May doesn’t see that. Why would he do that? Then it hits
her, where else would she sit? She’s not a guest by choice, and this is a super
creepy date. May sits across from Margarette and doesn’t say a word. Nobody
touches the food, and Margarette doesn’t question why; she just waits for
someone else to make the first move.

After an awkward minute, Mrs. Gallager enters the
room and takes her place at the end of the table. She wears thick pearls on her
neck and cracks on her face, but not on her lips where people smile. Her face
wrinkles under her eyes and chin as her old hawk eyes glare at the newcomer.
But she manages to say a few choice words.

“Thank you, May, for cooking dinner. Tommy, who is
your friend?”

Margarette has to fight the urge to shake her
head. It’s like an ancient version of May; they even say the same things.

“Mother, this is Margarette. Margarette, this is
my mother, Cynthia.”

Mrs. Gallager lifts her chin an inch and surveys
Margarette, but doesn’t say anything. Margarette feels like she ought to say
something even though it’s clear that the woman is not happy with her presence.

“Good to meet you, Mrs. Gallager,” Margarette
says, choosing to avoid getting kicked out by not calling the woman by her
first name.

Mrs. Gallager lowers her chin and says curtly,
“Likewise. May, pass the vegetables.”

Dinner apparently begins without Mr. Gallager, but
Margarette is not one to question the strange ways of the strange family. The
layers of awkwardness in the conversation are further complemented by Tommy not
warning anyone that he was bringing Margarette. She looks back for an exit and
the sky rumbles as if to bind her to the chair. She pivots back to the table
and catches Mrs. Gallager’s eyes on her.

The woman doesn’t even flinch being caught
staring. She merely asks, “What is your mother’s name?”

“Laura,” Margarette replies emotionlessly. The woman
asked for a name, and that’s what she got. Margarette recalls her mother used to
be part of a bridge club; that she played cards when she worked at the Chamber
of Commerce. That was a long time ago, but she wonders if Mrs. Gallager would
recognize her mother’s full name.

Mrs. Gallager raises an eyebrow as if taken aback at
Margarette’s impropriety. But after a second she seems to regain her composure.
She turns and addresses her son. “Tommy, I was glad to hear you ended your
connection with Sharon. That girl wasn’t right for you. I knew it from the
beginning.”

“Mother, now is not the time—”

Margarette doesn’t even hear what Tommy says. It
doesn’t surprise her that Mrs. Gallager isn’t a big fan of Sharon, but to bring
up an ex-girlfriend in front of a new date is not right, no matter what is said
about the ex. She tries to tune out the rest of the conversation but catches bits
like “nice distraction” and “fleeting” with which she seems to insinuate that
Margarette’s role in Tommy’s life is likely a short term fling. Mrs. Gallager continues
until Margarette sees red and continues to stare at a point in front of her, trying
not to react. However, that seems to satisfy the older woman because at that
point she then moves on to her target her daughter.

May twists anything her mother says into a
demeaning or degrading comment and spends some time dissecting the personal
questions her mother inflicts. Tommy however is only teased by the mother for
the situation at hand as if he was a child ignorant of sin.

Margarette’s ears feel like they are bleeding by
the end of the evening. During the middle of dessert Mrs. Gallager asks Tommy if
he is open to dating other people and Margarette almost wants to scream. She
has had enough, and at that moment wonders why the frick has she sat there this
long taking this abuse in silence. But she’s not one to make a big scene in
someone else’s house, so she simply excuses herself without any further
explanation and walks to the kitchen, the only other room she knows in the house.

After a minute her anger keeps increasing, not waning.
So she steps outside in the heavy rain and walks down the driveway to the
street.

An old saying creeps into her head, reminding her
that she was a fool for accepting his invitation.

Never get too attached to anyone unless they
feel the same, because one-sided expectations can mentally destroy you
.

Margarette reaches the property’s gate completely
soaked and is trying to figure out how to jump it when Tommy finds her.

“Margarette! Wait up!”

“Leave me alone, Tommy.”

“Margarette, I’m so sorry.”

She turns around to face him in the rain. He
sounds panicky and looks like an idiot with his collar raised. She redirects the
anger she feels and focuses on him, and at that moment she almost hates him. “Why
the hell did you bring me here when I asked you not to?”

“I… I thought you’d want me to.”

“What? What part of me telling you
I don’t want
to go
did you think meant
Just kidding, I do want to
?”

“No, I meant… before you told me that. After I
first did it with Sharon she insisted on meeting the parents… to make it
official, I suppose. I thought you wanted—”

“Are you fricking kidding me? Did you just compare
me to fricking Sharon? That I’d be in any way similar to
her
?” she
almost shrieks.

“No, I didn’t mean to!” Tommy rushes forward and
tries to grab her but she swats off his hands. He looks crushed at her rejection.
“I am
so
sorry. I promise never to take you back there again, unless you
ask me to.”

Like she would ever ask that. But his voice sounds
truly remorseful, ashamed even, so she loses control of her anger and she
doesn’t want to keep yelling at him. He truly is just an idiot who hasn’t
figured out girls. “Whatever, Tommy. I have to go.” She turns to the door by
the gate. “Open the gate.”

“Okay. I’ll take you home,” Tommy offers, not
understanding her as usual. He presses a button on his keychain and the gate
opens.

“Just stay. I can find my own way home,”
Margarette snaps.

“Margarette… I had no idea it was going to be like
that.”

“Look, I just need some time alone. I need to think.
Everything in my life is so screwed up. A walk would do me some good.”

“No. I screwed up. I just want to start over.”

“Maybe you should go talk to Sharon. Fix things
with her. Stop trying to force something with me. It’s not going to happen.”

“I can’t do that.”

“It could haunt you forever not trying. Even if
you think you can’t, you should try to go back to her,” she says, as if she was
doing him a favor.

“No, I meant
you
. I’d regret losing you,
Margarette.”

Margarette narrows her eyes through the pouring
rain.
Tough. You don’t have me to begin with
. “You don’t even know me,”
she says. “I don’t think you’ve ever experienced real regret….” She trails off
figuratively and then literally as she leaves the property.

“Wait!” Tommy runs back to his car and catches up with
her at the end of the block as she struggles to walk on the soft ground. He
rolls his window down and calls across the street to her, not caring that his
car is getting wet.

“Margarette, please let me take you home. You’ll
catch a cold. And I do know you. I feel like I’ve known you… forever.”

She continues to walk without looking at him. “That’s
cute, Tommy, but it’s not going to work.”

“How do you know? I always get what I want.”

She snaps her head towards him. “What do you think
I am, a piece of meat? Do you think you can just have me because you want me?”

He stops the car, confused. “No…? I didn’t mean it
like that. I meant, I want this to work so I think it can work.”

“You know that you shouldn’t want anything to do
with me.”

“That’s probably why it feels good.”

Smart, but unfeeling. Margarette just responds,
“Thanks for dinner.”

“Stop, Margarette. I can’t let you do this.”

“I already did.”

“No. I’m not allowing you to walk across town in
this rain. Just get in. I’ll just take you home. I promise I won’t say another
thing the whole way.”

She stops. She
was
starting to get cold,
and it would be a long walk. She sighs and walks to his car. He immediately
gets out and escorts her to her side, opening the door for her. Then he returns
to the driver’s seat, reaches in the back seat for his dry jacket and offers it
to her. She refuses it, even as she shivers, but he places it over her knees without
touching her and she doesn’t remove it. He doesn’t say a word until the moment they
reach her house.

“It was miserable for you, wasn’t it?”

“You said you wouldn’t say anything.” Her voice is
dry and raspy. She had waited for him to say something just so that she could
call him out on breaking his promise, but had waited for some time.

“Sorry.” He doesn’t justify that they technically
made it to her house without a word, and that was the scope of his promise.

She looks up at her house and not a light is on.
She exhales her frustration. “I know you didn’t mean for it to be like that.”

“I swear I didn’t.”

“Thanks for the ride. And the jacket.” She hands
it back to him.

“Keep it,” he says, trying to give it back, but
she doesn’t take it. Instead she exits the car without waiting for him to open
the door.

“Good night, Tommy,” she says as she walks away.

“Good night, Margarette,” he calls after her.

Instead of going inside she walks around the house
and waits for him to drive away. She is careful to let his car go ahead and then
walks in the red of his taillights. Margarette feels like closing more doors
and she has an ex-friend to level out.

Alice lives at the end of a row of oak trees a few
blocks away. Margarette sneaks up quietly to the tree in front of Alice’s
bedroom. At least the heavy rain has stopped for now, even though it still
drizzles.

Margarette is still soaked as she climbs up the
tree. She knows it is a tree worth climbing and scales it to the second story
deck with ease, but doesn’t climb over to the deck like she had done in the
past. From afar she watches for Alice to come to the window hoping she is home
and alone. But then Julie walks past the window and Margarette considers
leaving; she doesn’t want to hear one word from Julie and end her only a chance
to reconcile with Alice. She wonders if Julie is about to leave, though. She
decides to stick around but she climbs higher and hides behind the large trunk
in case Julie happens to look out.

In the back of her mind she holds on to some hope that
Alice can explain herself; that Julie was behind it all. She knows it’s a long
shot and an even longer wait. But the hope makes her patient. And besides, she
has nowhere else to go. She puts her legs up and tucks herself into the middle
of a nice thick branch until the dampness seeps into her last layer of skin. A
warm tear rolls down from her eye and she begins to weep uncontrollably. There’s
nowhere for her to go now. Nowhere for her to be where people care about her
without expectations. Her chest feels so empty as if her cold heart has been
torn from her with an ice cream scoop. She glides a hand under her eyes and
dabs a tear onto her index finger. She presses it to her tongue and tastes the
saltiness of her own personal brand of sad.

A door creaks open and she fights to stay quiet.

Julie looks up from the deck, confused by the
sounds of a crying tree. She shrugs it off as some mysterious animal in the
yard and lights up a smoke. Margarette leans back into the bark as the screen door
opens and closes again. She looks down to see Alice join Julie for a smoke.

Julie talks and talks to Alice, but says very little.
To Margarette, Julie sounds like a kid in a playground arguing about who owns
the swing. She closes her eyes and tunes out the spiteful girl.

Margarette’s attention wanders and she thinks of
big cities she would fly off to. Cities nicknamed
Knowledge
or
Cold
Town
have to be truly wonderful places to live. On TV it always seems like
the people who live in big cities lead grand lives in which anything is
possible. So far she had only visited Cold Town in the winter. The chill was ridiculous
but the lights, the people, the beautiful skyline, and even the stores where
she couldn’t afford anything, they all made the cold bearable. The city of
Knowledge was forbidden; her parents lived there when she was little but
eventually moved back to Coyote Falls, and then her father prohibited her to
ever go there again. He used to say that city taught you things you weren’t
supposed to know; that from there sprung its nickname. He said that just a year
before he left her and her mother, and then went back there to live. She was fourteen
or so at the time, and it took a glass full of tears for her to accept that he had
forbidden her to go where he went—as if he was telling her never to follow him,
without directly saying it.

Deep in thought, she isn’t paying attention to
what Alice and Julie are discussing until Julie starts shouting in a southern
accent. Then she realizes that the girls are arguing.

Julie moves very close to the tree and Margarette hides
her small frame behind the large trunk. Julie ashes her smoke against the top
board of the deck rail with a hiss, then pulls on the cigarette, flicks it and
looks back at Alice. “Whatever. I gotta pee,” she says, and leaves the deck,
slamming the screen door behind her.

Margarette hates that word,
pee
. It’s not that
she really hates the term, but more like she was brought up to think it was
wrong to say it. In that her grandmother had trained her well. That or she just
hates Julie enough to trigger the judgment. Either way she hates thinking about
Julie for an extended period of time or for any reason, but in her absence
Margarette finally gains access to sort things out with her friend.

Margarette’s soft voice trickles down from above
Alice with a few drops of rain. “Alice,” she faintly whispers.

There is a soft startled breath, then after a
pause a puff from below.

“She always sounds like an idiot,” Margarette
says.

Alice looks up, shocked. “Margarette? What are you
doing in my tree?”

“Why do you hang out with bitches like that?”

“Why don’t you go back to your little nerdy
friends?” Alice counters. “I’m sure they’ll take you back now that you’re an
outcast again.”

“Oh my Joy, you sound just like her,” Margarette
says, rolling her eyes.

“I sound exactly like I should; pissed off at
you.”

“What the hell did I do to you to piss you off?”

“You slept with him!”

“I didn’t sleep with anyone.”
Which is totally
true
, she adds to herself. “And even if I did, you don’t even have the
right to be upset with me after what you did.”

“I didn’t do anything. It was Julie. Julie’s idea.”

That is what Margarette wanted to hear, but it
doesn’t make her feel any better at the moment. “So? You let her! And you left me
there, alone and defenseless.”

“I didn’t know until after the fact. I left you
alone because you were acting like such a slut.”

“I was drugged, you jerk!”

“But what about afterwards? I told you to stay
away from Tommy, and what do you do? You go and sleep with him.”

“I told you I didn’t.”

“Are you saying that wasn’t you the coach saw
under the bleachers with Tommy?”

“So what if that was me? I can do whatever I want
with whomever I want. Nobody knows what really happened.”

“So what
did
happen?” There’s a flicker of
hope in Alice’s voice, as if holding on to the small chance that Margarette did
not really have sex with Tommy.

Margarette is torn. On the one hand she doesn’t
want to further spread the rumors by confirming it, but on the other… she
wants
to let Alice know that Tommy could, in fact, like a girl like her. She wants to
tell Alice how Tommy told her she’s beautiful, and how he wanted her to meet
his parents. How he thinks she’s good enough. More than just good enough. He
wants
her.

But Margarette can’t trust Alice. Knowledge is
power, and the less people that know the truth, the better.

So she just shrugs, not quite meeting Alice’s
eyes. “We fooled around.”

Alice snorts. “You’re making a slutty little name
for yourself.”

“Frick anyone who thinks that. I’m going to do
what I’m going to do, and I’m not going to feel bad about it after. Doesn’t
every girl deserve to do whatever the frick she wants?”

“What, boning every guy? That’s not right….”

“Sure it is. As long as they’re pretty.” Margarette
smiles, acknowledging her superficial side.

Alice looks uncomfortable. She looks behind her at
the room, still empty, then back at Margarette. “
You’re
pretty. You
shouldn’t lower yourself like that.”

The words hang in the air while Margarette wonders
if she heard correctly. It sounded like a compliment… at least the first part.
But the part about lowering herself—that sounds just like Alice this past week.

“What’s lowered? My standards? Ethics? You were
the one who said he was above me. Too good for me?”

“Apparently not,” Alice mutters sarcastically.

“Now you’re judging me for not being afraid. Who
do you want me to be? Is there even a chance that anything I do can ever be
right?”

Alice’s voice is sly and cold. “I was wrong about
you.”

“Hell yeah you were. You invited me to a party so
that I could screw up and get wasted and then have everyone turn on me. Be that
girl that everyone destroys with their filthy tongues. But I didn’t. You may
have all had your share of fun gossiping about me, but in the end I’m the same
Margarette. And
Tommy
likes me this way.”

Alice looks away. After a second she says, “You’re
wrong. I invited you to the party because I wanted you to be yourself. Be who
you were when you were alone with me. Let everyone experience what I had
sometimes seen; what you were hiding.”