Read Running From Mercy Online
Authors: Terra Little
Running From Mercy (6 page)
“So what if I do?”
“So . . . nothing, I'm just saying I didn't know, that's all.” She pushed him away from her again and he came back even closer. “How old are you?”
“Thirteen, why?”
“I'm almost fifteen.”
“So?”
“You're too young for me.”
“So why are you in my face, then?”
“That's what I'm trying to figure out. What's up with you and Nate?”
“Nothing. Did he say something was up?” she asked suspiciously, ready to take Nate's head off for lying.
“He didn't say nothing. I'm asking you.” He reached up and pressed the pad of his finger into the flesh of her bottom lip, watched it sink and then rise again. She swatted his hand away irritably and he grinned.
“Stop it.” She came away from the wall and pushed at his chest with both hands. “Get off me.”
Instead of heeding her words, Chad dipped his head and stole a kiss. He drew back and looked into her shocked face and then stole another one. And another one after that. When her lips went slack, he slipped his tongue in her mouth. Pam had never kissed a boy before, and the experience shook her.
“Stop,” she pleaded against his lips.
“You ever kiss before?”
She shook her head. “Not like this, not with tongue. I don't know how to do what you're doing.”
“Open your mouth wider and put your tongue in my mouth,” Chad told her. “Move your head this way.”
She did as he said and let him slip his arms around her waist as they kissed. “Your tongue is in the way,” she said after they pulled apart for air.
“That's part of the fun, Pam. You have to make room in my mouth for your tongue.”
“Oh.”
Chad grinned at the silly memory and stepped back from the window in Paris's bedroom. He had been standing there long enough to see Pam get out of a car with a strange man and then he'd heard her and Nikki talking downstairs. They spoke in low tones for several minutes and then the sound of the door closing floated up the stairs to him. Nikki hadn't told him Pam was coming to the house, nor had she told him she was leaving with Pam. He figured it out when he saw the two of them climb into a shiny new rental car, with yet another strange man, and drive off.
Worrying about Nikki's safety was the last thing on his mind. What he did worry about was Nikki becoming too attached to Pam and being let down when Pam disappeared again. No one knew better than he did the pain Pam could cause when she pulled one of her famous disappearing acts.
May 21st
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Dear Diary,
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Nikki went back to school today. She told me that Chad was going back to work, and since he was, he was making her go back, too. How would it look if the principal suspended other kids for skipping school and let his own daughter get away with it? she said he'd asked. I made sure to make a lot of sympathetic noises when she told me about it, but secretly I agree with him. Sunday will be two weeks since Paris died, and I know she wouldn't want Nikki to start slipping in school. Paris was all about education, and Nikki knows it.
I have spent time with her every day since the funeral, and I've decided that she is the most amazing young woman I've ever known. Talking with her feels different in person than when I called from California to see what she was up to. She tells me her secrets and her dreams and I soak them in like a sponge, thinking that I never thought I'd know these things about her. Paris was the one she confided in, and I was the one who went looking for the latest Prada bag and sent it to her right away. When she and Paris came to visit, I thought I was being the best aunt I could be by introducing her to famous people, bringing her to the studio with me to watch me record tracks, and letting her shop endlessly. But there's more growing between us now, and I don't know if I should be afraid of what's happening or not. We both know I'm not the most emotionally available person on the planet. Even scarier is the thought that I don't know how to be.
Oh, and she looks so much like Chad it kills me to look at her sometimes. She laughs and I catch myself staring at her mouth, at the way her dimples sink into her cheeks like wells, just like Chad's used to do. She has his forehead, smooth and high, with eyebrows that spread out like wings. I look at her and think that Mannie, my makeup artist, would have a field day with her eyes. They are wide, the clearest green, and deep like an ocean. They talk even when her mouth is still and the things they tell me are frightening.
I've seen videos of Nikki running track and I knew she was fast, but in person she is stunning. Whew, can she go! I tagged along with her and Kelli when they went running yesterday, and I was reminded of every minute of my thirty-five years. She is tall and slim like Chad, and I can't believe I have to look up at her when she is standing next to me. Seems like she's grown three feet since the last time I saw her. They say pictures don't really do their subjects justice, and they are absolutely right.
I'm convinced that Nikki has a future in modeling, with her smooth, brown skin and long face. Did I say she is the spitting image of Chad already? Well, she is. Except for her eyes and hair. She has the Mayes's green eyes and black hair, but everything else is purely Chad. Even the way she chews gum and blows bubbles. He has stamped everything she does.
I can't help feeling disloyal to Paris for being happy about this time I have with Nikki, because I know I never would've had it if she hadn't gone away.
I would never have come back to this godforsaken place if she were still alive.
I have to go now. I told David Dixon I would meet him for lunch at Hayden's Diner today. I'm still trying to figure out what the hell he wants with me, but I guess I have to eat, don't I?
Pam
Miles arrived at Hayden's Diner before Pam and chose a booth near the back of the room. The place had been designed to resemble a railroad car, with a Formica counter and cracked plastic stools running the length of one wall and plastic covered booths back-to-back along the opposite wall. Windows along the front of the diner afforded a view of Main Street. As he kept an eye out for Pam he wondered if every small town in America had a Main Street. Mercy's was the town's hubbub of activity, with various shops and professional offices situated in two long rows across the street from each other, like a frontier western town. The diner sat at the end of one of the rows, between a small dry cleaner and a free-standing building that housed the DMV office and a state family services center.
Pam drove up a few minutes later, spotted him through the window, and came inside. From behind her dark glasses she took in the smattering of old men seated at the counter, then angled her head so she could peruse the filled booths. Amused, Miles lifted a hand and beckoned her over to the table.
“Were you looking for the paparazzi?” he joked as she slid into the booth across from him. A wry smile touched Pam's lips. She plucked the glasses off her nose and dropped them inside the Cavalli tote she carried. “I don't care about the press. I'm used to them. I was checking to make sure the coast was clear of certain townsfolk, who I don't really want to see and who shall remain nameless.”
“How can you get onstage and entertain a hundred thousand people without breaking a sweat and be afraid of a few harmless old folks?”
“Afraid is a strong word, and I know plenty of old folks who aren't all that harmless. Hello, Peaches,” she looked up as a waitress approached their table.
“Hey, Pam.” Peaches was a short, pleasingly plump woman with a wide smile and mischievous eyes. She and Pam had hung around together for a few months during their sophomore years in high school, before Peaches had gotten pregnant and been forced to slow down. She had six kids now. “How you doing?”
“I'm good. Today anyway. How's them babies?”
At the mention of her children Peaches brightened considerably. “Shoot, the oldest is damn near grown now and the baby is eleven, so they ain't babies no more, thank goodness. They're good, though. You know I hated to hear about Paris.”
“Thanks.” She remembered Miles and motioned across the table in his direction.
“You remember Miss Moira, Peach? This is her stepson, David. He says he's in here all the time.”
“He sure is. You want the sourdough melt with homefries, right?” Her pen was poised to scribble.
“Right,” Miles said, smiling. She scribbled his order down and turned to Pam expectantly.
“Does Willie still do that patty melt on marble rye with the Irish potatoes?”
“Sure does, but I thought I read somewhere that you was a vegetarian?”
“That story was in the same rag that reported finding Martians living in the White House, Peach. You know better than that. There probably are a few little green men hiding in the bowels of our nation's capitol, but you know I need my burger fix.”
“So you really didn't marry that African man so he could stay in the country?”
Pam cringed good-naturedly. Miles thought she did an admirable job of covering her irritation. “The African guy was a musician. He did the track for one of my songs, and his wife and I were pleased with the results. A lot of that shit they print is lies.”
“Oh,” Peaches looked stumped for a moment. Then she grinned. “I don't suppose I could get an autograph for my daughter, could I? She loves your new CD.”
“I'd love to Peach, but I may not be able to keep my hand steady long enough to write. I'm starting to shake from lack of sustenance. Help a sista out and bring me some food, huh? I'll sign whatever you want me to sign, just please feed me.”
Miles watched Peaches move away, then folded his hands on the table. “So what was the real deal with the music producer?” He was referring to another one of the rampant rumors in which Pam had been featured. This one, he knew, had a little more truth to it than most, but he wanted to gauge her reaction.
“Not you too, David? I'm supposed to be hiding out here.”
“From the mean old folks?”
“Them and the press. Between the two extremes, I don't know which is worse.”
“Which reminds me. Melva Howard still thinks you were the ruination of her son. Junebug, I believe she said his name was.”
A while later, Pam picked up the water glass Peaches set in front of her and took a sip. Done mulling over the accusation, she said, “Gregory Howard was gay long before I got hold to him. All I did was encourage him to be who he really was. It's not my fault he's a male stripper now, is it? Hell, he looks better in full makeup than I do, and he was the one who taught me how to use liquid eyeliner.” Melva Howard was full of shit.
His eyes skimmed her freshly scrubbed face lightly. “I just thought you should know what they were saying in the beauty salon before you went to get a haircut or something and got blindsided.”
“Melva Howard can be the first in line to kiss my ass. What were you doing in the beauty salon anyway?”
“Picking Moira up. I borrowed one of your CDs from her and listened to it last night,” he told her. Peaches brought their food and he dumped a mound of ketchup on a corner of his plate, soaked a fry. “I was pleasantly surprised.”
“Moira has one of my CDs?” Moira was every bit of seventy-five, if she was a day.
“All six of them, and I think a poster or two.”
“Hmm. And you turned off your classical music long enough to listen to my stuff?” She picked up half of her sandwich, took a big bite, and chewed slowly. Nobody did a burger like Willie. Here was another thing she had truly missed in all her years away.
“Yes, I did. Why does that surprise you? Almost half of your fan base is non-black and your music consistently crosses over. Did you notice that trend starting before or after your torrid love affair with Jose Marillo?”
“After,” Pam blurted out. She immediately realized what she'd said and closed her eyes for the space of three seconds. Jose was the music producer he'd asked about earlier, the one who was also married with four children. Just as he had been ten years ago, when he and Pam began working together.
Pam concentrated on eating her food, taking reasonably sized bites and chewing thoroughly before swallowing. “I didn't mean for that to come out,” she said after a while.
“It's not like the press didn't have an inkling,” Miles said, wanting to put her at ease. Besides the fact that he needed to keep her talking, the haunted look in her eyes made him uneasy. “You haven't scandalized me.”
“If you know anything about me, you know I neither confirm nor deny any of the silly rumors that circulate from time to time about me.”
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