The Visitor: Alien Hunger Special Edition (2 page)

She should’ve left the
bastard sooner, before he’d had time to convince her son that she
was as worthless as
he
thought she was!

That train of thought brought her
close to tears as it usually did, part grief and part anger.
Sniffing, she struggled to grasp another thought to divert herself
to keep from breaking down again, and focused on her reflection.
Who was this woman, she wondered abruptly? She hardly recognized
herself—maybe because, bit by bit, she’d allowed Lawrence to erase
the person she was?

Or maybe simply because she’d stopped
really looking at the person she was, or had been, and begun only
to look at herself as a canvas where Lawrence sought perfection? He
didn’t particularly like her nose. It was a bit too long for his
tastes and what was up with that little hump on the bridge? Had she
broken it sometime? He actually preferred something a little more
pert, more elegant.

Of course he didn’t want to shell out
his hard earned money to fix the damned thing! Just because he’d
made her self-conscious about it didn’t mean she should ‘mess’ with
nature. He preferred natural beauty. Her lips were too thin,
too—looked like somebody had slashed her face when she wore
lipstick. She should avoid the red lipstick he’d told her he
liked.

It was a shame she didn’t have bigger
boobs when he liked big boobs on a woman but they wouldn’t be real
if she got a boob job, so what was the point?

Her hair didn’t look nearly as blond
as it had when she was younger. It had started to look like dirty
dishwater. Did she used to bleach it? Or was she putting something
on it now to make herself look like white trash?

Squeezing her eyes closed as if she
could crush the thoughts by doing so, she focused on the image in
the mirror when she opened them again rather than the image
Lawrence had built in her mind. What she saw jolted her—hollow eyes
and hollow cheeks. It was a damned shame, she thought wryly, that
the ‘waif’ look wasn’t ‘in’ for women her age! She’d struggled for
years to attain the weight Lawrence had thought ideal and never
managed it … until the divorce. Now she was starting to look like
an escapee from some starving third world country!

It wasn’t just the fine
lines that made her look every year of her age! It was the dullness
in her eyes and her skin and hair! She looked beaten down!
Even
she
thought
so. She probably looked worse to everyone that looked at her. Her
hair wasn’t just unfashionably long—because Lawrence had turned
wrong side out any time she mentioned cutting it—she looked like a
throw back from centuries earlier with hair down her waist! Or
maybe like somebody trying to pretend they were still a kid? Or
trying to fool people into thinking she was?

The thought brought the
first surge of rebellion she’d felt in years. She wasn’t
old
just because her
ex-bastard had hooked up with a girl barely old enough to be
considered an adult!

Well—ten years younger than her, which
made Lawrence fifteen years older!

She probably just wanted his money—not
that Lawrence didn’t look good for his age! He kept fit, but he
still looked enough older than his girlfriend people thought she
was his daughter! It would serve the bastard right if she took him
to the cleaners!

She resented the fact that the woman
would get what she’d put into the marriage, but, hateful or not,
she thought she would almost rather that than knowing Lawrence was
enjoying it!

Pushing the thoughts aside when she
flicked a look at her watch and saw she was running late, she
rifled through the beauty products Marla had been piling on her in
an effort to build an interest in ‘fixing herself up’ when she
didn’t have one. She thought it would make her feel better to at
least put some effort into her appearance and it was bound to make
Marla happy.

And she might cut her a little
slack.

She didn’t really want to arrive late,
though. She was so uncomfortable in big gatherings! She hated doing
anything that might attract attention!

Shrugging it off with the reflection
that she wouldn’t be very late if she hurried, she grabbed the
shampoo and rinse that was supposed to ‘brighten and repair tired
or damaged hair’ and leapt into the shower before the temperature
had even adjusted. It occurred to her as she was scrubbing
frantically with her loufa that she hadn’t bothered to shave. She
debated and finally grabbed the razor. It wasn’t like she had to
worry about a man discovering she had hairy legs, she thought
wryly, but she needed to feel like she was preparing for something
special, she decided. She needed to work on trying to feel
attractive—starting from the skin up!

Neither the attitude adjustment nor
the hot shower had served to banish the bruised look around her
eyes. Fortunately, there were cosmetics for that! She used them
sparingly anyway. Lawrence had never liked for her to use a lot—not
that she gave a damn what Lawrence liked or didn’t like
anymore!—but she wasn’t use to wearing much. It wasn’t as if
anything was going to hide the fine lines anyway! Makeup only
seemed to emphasize them.

Her hair was still wet when she’d
finished making up her face. She debated whether to try the blow
dryer and dismissed it. The heat would just make it frizz. She
could just leave it loose until it dried and capture it in a hair
tie once it had.

Marla had said it was a hen party and
she should just dress comfortably. She debated over those
instructions for a few moments and finally decided to grab a newish
pair of jeans anyway. Comfortable to her might mean the well warn
and roomy, but it meant designer casual to Marla.

Not that she had designer anything!
She had several pairs of jeans she hadn’t worn before because they
were a little tight, though, and an outrageously skimpy top Marla
had given her for Christmas that she hadn’t had the nerve to
wear—because there was no way to wear a bra with it!

She felt the next thing to naked when
she’d put it on but, really, her hair was long enough she could’ve
made like Lady Godiva and nobody would’ve known if she was
completely naked! If she felt uncomfortable, she reasoned, she
could just leave her hair down and hide behind it. The jeans
weren’t tight anymore—at least not too tight to breathe or sit
down. They created a slight ‘muffin’ top around the waist, but she
decided the shirt hid that well enough.

It was just ‘hens’ at this party
anyway, she reminded herself, promising herself she’d choke her
sister to death if she discovered she’d slipped in another eligible
bachelor. Grabbing something to tie her hair back if she decided to
once it dried, she stuffed it in her purse, slipped her feet into a
pair of thong sandals and dashed out of her apartment.

The damned car wouldn’t
start!

After banging her forehead
on the steering wheel a couple of times, Chelsey debated whether
she even wanted to
try
to make the damned party! Finally, deciding Marla was going
to be pissed off if she didn’t, she pressed the catch release on
the hood and the trunk and got out. Grabbing a screw driver from
the trunk, she went around and lifted the hood to stare blankly at
the engine.

If it was the engine, she was just
screwed! Focusing on the battery, she hammered at the connections
with the handle end of the screw driver and went back to try the
starter. The starter groaned, sending a flash of excitement through
her, but the engine didn’t catch. Deciding, maybe, it was just the
corrosion, she went back inside her apartment and mixed up a pot
full of water and soda.

A spark flew off the battery when she
hit it with the screw driver again, scaring the shit out of her.
Shaken, she went back and tried to start the car again. Thankfully,
it started.

She was still jittery over the near
mishap and the problem starting the car when she arrived, but it at
least distracted her from her anxiety about the party
itself!

Marla looked her over and frowned when
she arrived and Chelsey’s self-confidence took a nosedive. “What in
the world have you been doing?”

Chelsey shrugged. “The car wouldn’t
start.”

Shaking her head, Marla grabbed her
and marched her through the living room and into her spare bedroom.
“Clean up and change. It’s a damned good thing I told you to get
here by 6:30! I knew you’d be late!”

Chapter Two

Wondering what she was supposed to
change in to, Chelsey headed into the adjoining bath to see what
the problem was.

“
Shit!” she exclaimed the
moment she saw her reflection. How the hell had she managed to get
black grease on herself?

Her hands told the story! The damned
screwdriver must have had grease all over it! Releasing an
irritated huff, she scrubbed her hands and then cleaned the smears
off of her nose and forehead. She’d also spattered her clothes when
she’d poured the soda over the battery, she discovered. Using a
damp cloth, she brushed at the spots in the hope of removing them
and finally gave up.

Fortunately, she discovered she’d left
a few things when she moved out of her sister’s house and into her
apartment—probably in the laundry.

Actually, she hadn’t ‘forgotten’ them
or overlooked them, she recalled when she’d picked them up to
examine them. It was some of the things Marla had bought to ‘cheer’
her up—way too risqué to her mind and too young for a woman her age
if it came to that. She was a teacher, for god’s sake! She couldn’t
be seen in public in this sort of thing!

Marla brought her a mixed drink. “I
was thinking about that one,” she said, pointing at it as Chelsey
took the drink.

It was a halter top similar to the one
she was wearing … except it had a looped cutout in the front that
exposed most of her boobs. “I didn’t put on a bra.”

“
You shouldn’t wear a bra
with sort of thing anyway,” Marla said dryly.

“
My boobs will fall
out!”

Marla shrugged. “So? Shove them back
in. There isn’t anybody coming except a few of the
girls.”

“
Don?” Chelsey said
pointedly, reminding Marla she had a husband, and two boys that
were way too old to see auntie’s boobies if it came to
that!

“
Hell! I didn’t want him
in the way! I convinced him to take the boys camping for the
weekend.”

Chelsey took a gulp of the drink and
made a face. “My god, Marla! Did you put any mixer in
this?”

Marla rolled her eyes. “You’re
supposed to sip it!” She turned away. “Hurry up! The girls should
be arriving any time and I don’t want the snacks to get cold and
soggy!”

The ‘snacks’ were
fancy
hors d’oeuvres
Marla had had catered for the party that were as delicious,
and fattening Chelsey didn’t doubt, as they were beautiful to look
at.

The ‘girls’ ranged in age
from thirty to fifty. Roughly half of them were single like
Chelsey—meaning divorced. Arriving by ones and twos, Marla’s
friends were as giddy as school girls. “Ooooh! Marla always throws
the best parties! I can’t believe … uh ….” Beverly Saxs broke off
when Marla threw an
hors d’oeuvre
at her.

“
Catch!” Marla exclaimed
gaily, and then narrowed her eyes at Beverly when she gaped at her
instead of trying to catch the
hors
d’oeuvre
that hit her on the chest and
then landed on the floor. She blinked a couple of times and then
her eyes rounded. “Ohhh! We weren’t …. God I’m starving! Let’s
eat!”

Instantly suspicious, Chelsey would’ve
pursued it if she hadn’t noticed the women were arriving with
‘birthday’ presents. Since her birthday was almost a month away,
and they were Marla’s friends, not hers, she was uncomfortable
enough to be completely distracted.

“
Marla!” she hissed when
her sister had directed everyone into the great room to help
themselves while she broke out the wine. “You told them it was
my
birthday
?”

Marla stared at her. “Early birthday.
I didn’t tell them to bring presents! They did it because they
wanted to. Relax, will you? It’s probably just little fun things,
you know? Gag gifts?”

Feeling a little relieved, she didn’t
argue when Marla sent her into the great room to entertain their
guests while she got the wine. She didn’t see that they actually
needed entertaining. Most of them were down on their knees around
the huge coffee table, a plate in one hand and their gazes fixed on
the dishes. Cynthia Dixon was going through the videos in the
cabinet beside the enormous wall mounted TV and Barb Smith was
looking through the music collection.

“
Where did you put the
pornos?” Cynthia yelled at the ceiling after a moment.

Chelsey shot her a surprised
look.

“
They’re in that box by
your foot,” Marla responded as she joined them. “We don’t keep them
in here!”

“
Eew! We aren’t going to
be watching porns while we try to eat?” Milly Overton
complained.

Cynthia had knelt by the box. Without
looking up, she shot a bird at Milly. “You don’t have to
watch.”