Too much of a good thing can be wonderful. -- Mae West
Mike was walking down the mall, the afternoon sun warming him in the brisk autumn air. It was a perfect day to be on the mall admiring the pretty women.
He didn’t see her coming. He was looking over his shoulder at a very attractive butt in tight blue pants that had just walked past him, her high heels rolling her butt from side to side. When the girl’s body hit him, his arms instinctively went around her wrapping her in a bear hug. He hadn’t quite figured out what was happening, but soon realized he had a struggling girl in his arms fighting to get loose. “Quit it!” he commanded. “C’mon, quit fighting.” Her struggles subsided. Still holding her arms, Mike said, “What the heck is going on?” She tried to pull her arms free but was no where near strong enough. She had a look of stubborn determination on her face. “Should I call the police to figure out what you’re doing?” Like a switch thrown the determination drained from her face and fear replaced it.
“No. Please don’t,” she said.
Mike had no idea what was going on, but now he knew he had some leverage. “Okay. Here’s the deal. We are going to go sit down and you are going to tell me what the hell is happening. If you don’t, I call the police and you can explain it to them.”
“Please don’t call the cops,” she pleaded.
“You agree?” he asked. She nodded. “If you take off, I run you down and drag you to the police. Got it?” She nodded again. Mike led her over to a couple of benches set in the middle of the mall. They were surrounded by a low hedge, not enough to block the view but enough to form a barrier to the girl’s flight. If she wanted to run, she’d have to run past Mike. He released her. She looked at the break in the hedges. “You can’t make it. Sit down and tell me why you ran into me.” The girl judged the distances, realized Mike was right, and slumped onto the bench.
Mike took a moment to size her up. Typical teenager: jeans, a sweater, clunky black shoes, a blue backpack, and a brown paper bag clutched in her hand. She was quite attractive. But there was something amiss. Her clothes were nice but dirty. Several days dirty. She looked dirty as well. While he was struggling with her, he had noticed that she was a little rank. Not horrible, just an unwashed girl. There was something about the picture that didn’t fit. He looked her in the eye. Her defenses started to crumble under his scrutiny. He didn’t say anything, just held her eye. Soon tears started to flow. Mike sat next to her and put his arm around her shoulders. “Okay,” he said. “It’s going to be all right.” He comforted her for a minute or so until the tears slowed. “What’s your name?”
“Amy.”
“I'm Mike,” he said. “Okay, tell me what’s going on so I can help.” Amy shook her head. “Amy, I can’t do anything to help if you don’t come clean with me. Speaking of which, I can tell something is wrong. You have nice clothes but I can tell they haven’t been washed and I don’t think you have either. You could use a shower. If you won’t talk to me I’ll have to call someone like the police. I can’t just let you go, knowing something is wrong. Help me.”
“If I tell you you’ll call the police,” she said despondently.
“I’ll make you a deal. You tell me the truth, the whole truth and I won’t call the cops. But it’s gotta be the whole truth. One little fib and the deal’s off. Agreed?”
“But how do I know you won’t call?” she asked.
“I keep my promises. If I promise you, I’ll keep the promise,” he said looking her in the eye. “And you’re no better off not telling me than telling me. You might as well take the chance and tell me.”
She nodded, so he asked her, “Why were you running?”
Mike could see the thoughts flashing through her mind. It was the moment of truth. Finally she started, “I grabbed some bread from a store,” she said holding up the bag.
“Does that mean you stole some bread?” he asked. She nodded. “Were you that hungry?” she nodded again. “I take it you ran away.” A third nod. He thought for a minute. “Here’s the best deal you could be offered. I’ll take you home and let you take a shower and wash those clothes and I’ll fix my world renowned spaghetti for dinner and you can tell me the story over dinner.”
She perked up at that, “World renown?”
“Okay, it’s edible,” he said smiling.
“Do I really smell?” she asked. He nodded. “Shit,” she said.
“Want that shower?” he asked. She nodded, smiling ruefully. “Let’s go. The sooner we get there, the sooner we eat.” Her eyes gleamed eagerly at the mention of food. “Where’d you get the bread?”
“Pennicis,” she answered.
“Italian. Should go well with dinner. I guess I’ll have to pay them next time I go in, huh?” he said smiling.
Amy looked down and mumbled, “I know I shouldn’t have took it but I was real hungry.”
“Let’s do something about that. C’mon, let’s get some dinner,” he said. Amy walked with him down the mall. He watched her noting that she was surreptitiously looking around, probably thinking about running. But the hunger in her belly overcame her flight instinct. He smiled inwardly, then his emotions sobered as he considered what he should do with this stray cat.
“It’s a yukata. It’s a Japanese robe,” he said. She inspected the dark blue fabric with it’s decoration of silver cranes. “Cranes mean good luck in Japan. They are traditionally worn by women.”
“Cool,” she said.
“Toss your clothes out the door and I’ll start the laundry,” he said. When you’re done come on down to the kitchen. This is a quick dinner so don’t take too long or you’ll get what the little piggy got.” Amy smiled and closed the door. A few seconds later her clothes emerged from a crack in the door. As Mike picked them up he heard the shower come on. He stuffed her clothes in the washer and remembered the few times he had washed his wife’s clothes, he had always seemed to shrink, color, or ruin something. He carefully turned it to cold/gentle, added a little soap, and started the washer.
The kitchen was redolent of the aroma of garlic and he was about to drop the spaghetti in the boiling water when Amy came in. The yukata was dragging on the floor. He looked up and caught his breath. Seeing a beautiful woman, even though she was younger and smaller, made him realize that the last person to wear the yukata was his wife. The pain returned. “It looks a little long on you,” he said.
She looked at the hem on the floor. “Yeah. Who’s is it?”
“It was my wife’s.”
“Huh?” she said.
“I lost my wife last year,” he said turning away and quickly stirring the pasta. “Drunk driver.” He kept the tears at bay. 'Would it never stop?' he asked himself.
“Do you want me to not wear it?” she asked.
“What? No, it’s fine. It looks good on you. The dark blue highlights your hair,” he said.
“Really,” Amy said trying to fluff her wet hair and looking at her reflection in the glass of the window.
“Really,” he said smiling again at her. Oh to be young again, he thought. He stirred the boiling water as he watched Amy turn and twist to admire her reflection. “Looks good on you.”
“Thanks. I never worn anything like this before,” she said.
“I’ve never worn,” he corrected.
“You an English teacher?” she asked.
“No. I write sometimes. I like to hear the language used properly,” he paused, “even if I sometimes abuse it myself,” laughing.
“What’s the big deal about talking right?” she asked with a bit of huff in her voice.
“Because it is just as easy to say, I don’t know, as it is to say, I dunno. You might as well speak properly,” he said.
“I dunno about that,” she teased.
Mike laughed. “Fine.” He inspected dinner and decided it was as good as it was going to get. “How hungry are you?” he asked.
“I could eat a large four-legged herbivore, normally called a horse,” she said. He wagged his finger at her and she took a bite at it. “I’m that hungry.”
“I get the idea,” he laughed. “I better let you serve yourself. I don’t want to get between you and the food.” Mike drained the pasta and poured it into a large bowl. The sauce went over the pasta and he grated fresh Parmesan over. He carried it to the table, already laid out with Amy’s acquired bread, two small salads and a bottle of Chianti. Mike motioned for Amy to help herself. He watched her take a respectable portion, feel her stomach wanting more and then stop and offer the bowl to him. He smiled inwardly. She waited as he filled his plate. He reached over and poured wine in her glass and then his.
“A toast,” lifting his glass. Amy held up her glass. “To a beautiful young woman.” She looked startled and then smiled. He sipped his wine and watched as she tentatively sipped hers. “How is it?” he asked.
“Never had it before. Mom isn’t a wine drinker,” she explained. Amy looked pensive. “How come you gave me wine?”
“Dinner without wine isn’t dinner at all. In Europe, everyone drinks wine with dinner. In Italy they put it in the baby bottles.” Amy looked unconvinced. Mike winked and continued, “In fact, they consider the wine to be food just as much as the pasta or salad. It just isn’t a big deal. So, what do you think of it?” he asked.
“To be honest, I’m not sure I like it,” she answered.
“That’s fair. But give it a chance. Once you learn to appreciate wine, it will open up a whole world to you.” Plus he knew a glass of wine would help the story come out. “So how do you know herbivore?”
She giggled, “I like to read. I know lots of words from reading but I don’t always know how to say them. Is that right, herbivore.”
“Yep, that’s how it’s pronounced. What do you read?” he asked.
“I like all kinds of stuff. I’ve been reading Danielle Steele and Ben Bova and Travis McGee.”
“That’s an assortment. Romance, SciFi, and murder mystery.”
“I just finished a Travis McGee book. He was fishing and this girl gets dumped off a bridge that he’s under in his boat. He dives in and barely gets her loose from these concrete blocks. Turns out she’s in this prostitution ring that is killing old guys for their money. Anyway, they find out she’s alive and kill her so he goes after the ring and gets them busted. But that’s not the way prostitution works,” she finished decisively.
“And how do you know how prostitution works?” he asked. Amy looked stricken. “Remember our agreement. You tell me the whole story and I help. You fib just a little bit and I call the cops.”
“You promised not to call them,” she whined.
“I promised if you came clean with me I wouldn’t call them. Amy I already guessed just by the look on your face.” Mike figured Amy wasn’t walking the streets herself since she had no money. Mike took a guess, “I take it your mom is a prostitute.” She nodded. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” he asked.
“No, I guess not.”
“Amy, it’s your mom, not you,” he said.
“I know. Mom is really hard on me not to be like her. Her mom was a street worker and got my mom into the life when she was thirteen. She ran away when she was sixteen. I don’t want to be like her. But I’m scared I’m gonna wind up just like her.”
“Is that why you ran away?” he asked.
Amy shook her head and then played with the pasta, pushing it around her plate. She looked up, started to speak, then dropped her head to look at the plate.
“Is it that bad?” he asked.
“What?”
“The pasta? Is it so bad you can’t even eat it?” he asked.
“No. It’s okay. I mean, it’s good.”
“Oh, you having trouble saying what’s the matter aren’t you?” speaking gently.
“Yeah.”
“Well, Amy, I’m keeping my bargain. Don’t you think you should keep your end?”
“Thanks for the shower and the dinner. I just don’t know what to say,” she said.
“Start with the beginning. How come you had to run away?”
“Like I said, it’s not like you might think, her being a… prostitute. I don’t like that word. Mom’s not a streetwalker. She’s an escort. She’s really pretty even though she’s over thirty.”
Mike could believe that looking at Amy. She was already a looker and he could see that in a few years she would really turn heads. A thought flew into his head. After his wife passed away he had seen a few escorts for the companionship as well as the sex. Had he seen Amy’s mom?
“She works for a couple agencies and they arrange dates for her. Most of the time she goes out to see guys. But a couple years ago, she worked independent and so she had to bring guys to our place. I’d hide in my room but I’d sneak out once they were busy. You know, doing it. I have seen some things.” Amy eyes turned misty and she looked up at the ceiling.
“Is that why you ran away?” Mike asked.
She shook her head again before continuing, “A couple months ago she started hanging with this guy. He’s a real jerk, always staring at me. Once he moved in, he ‘lost his job.’ He’s living off mom and she doesn’t even get it. We been having arguments and she tells me to mind my own damn business. It’s like she’s taking his side. Like I said he’s been eyeing me a lot and he started asking me things like, ‘Those tits real girl?’ and stuff like that. Real sleazy stuff. He tried to kiss me once too. I try to ignore him. Then he came into my room and tells me he’s tired of me teasing him. He grabs me and throws me on my bed. I screamed and Mom came running in. She started telling me I better shut up the neighbors could hear and they’d get her kicked out. I told her what happened and she said just shut up and she turned and left the room. He got this smile on his face and unbuckled his pants and pushed them down. I knew I was gonna get raped. His thing was so big I was scared. I knew Mom meant it about not yelling. I didn’t know what to do. He came over to the bed and I panicked. I kicked him as hard as I could in the balls.”
Mike winced and then nodded to continue.
Amy noticed the grimace, “Yeah, it really hurt him. He yelled and kinda crumpled to the floor. I ran around him and into the living room. Mom heard him yell and came running. She saw him on the floor and then asked me what I did. I screamed he was gonna rape me. She started screaming at me about hurting her man and how I was teasing him and trying to take him away. She grabbed a knife off the table. She was never like this before to me. She started coming at me. I saw my backpack on the couch so I grabbed it and ran out the door. She was screaming at me as I ran. I was so scared.”
“Jesus Christ, Amy. You say she never did anything like that before?” Mike asked.
“Not to me. Sometimes, when Mom has been drinking or tweaking, she gets this way. She don’t drink all the time but when she does… When she’s been drinking or tweaking and then gets mad she just loses it. I saw her once really mess up a guy.”
“What did you do?” he asked.
“I went to the mall. I didn’t know what else to do. I tried calling a couple hours later. She started yelling at me, saying it was all my fault for teasing him. And she said he beat her up ’cuz of what I did to him. And she said how’d she’d be better off if I was dead and she could have her man now that I was gone and he wouldn’t be tempted anymore and stuff like that.” Small tears were working their way down her cheeks.
“I’m sorry, Amy.” Mike said.
“That’s why you can’t make me go to the police. They’ll take me back. I know what’ll happen. That jerk face will force me to do it. And Mom won’t stop him,” she pleaded
“Amy, I don’t think the police will make you go back if your mom is a hooker,” Mike said reasonably.
“How will they know?”
“They know,” Mike said.
“She’s never been arrested. How would they prove it? And if they can’t prove it I’d go back. I can’t do that,” she looked glum.
Mike paused searching for the right words, “Look Amy. I know this has been horrible but I really don’t think your mom hates you. People say things when they’re angry or have been drinking that they later regret. I would bet that your mom is worried sick right now and very sorry about what happened,” Mike said. Amy was shaking her head. “Let me call her. I’m sure I’m right.”
“No way. I don’t want her to know where I am,” Amy said.
“I’m smarter than that Amy. I won’t tell her my name or address or where I found you or anything. If I’m right I’ll hang up and let you call back if you want. I know I’m right,” he said.
Amy fidgeted, pushing the remains of her dinner around her plate. “No way she can trace the call?”
“I have call blocking.”
“Maybe you’re right,” she said.
Mike grabbed his phone. He dialed as Amy told him the number. “What’s your mom’s name?”
“Charlene, but she goes by Candy professionally,” Amy said.
Mike felt relief. He’d never seen an escort named Candy. He dialed and then a pause, “Hello Charlene. The reason I am calling is that I met your daughter today…” A long pause as Mike held the phone away from his ear. Amy looked surprised and then her face gradually fell as she heard the intensity of her Mother’s tirade even though she couldn’t understand the words. “Charlene, she is your daughter…” Another pause as more vitriol spilled from the phone. “Well, fuck you too!” as Mike punched the off button. He settled in his chair his face bright red. “I guess I may have been wrong,” he said, then let out a long breath. “Jesus H. Christ but that woman can swear.”
Amy smiled and then her face turned serious again. “I seen her get like this before. I told you about the knife. I seen her cut a guy once. It was a john that tried to stiff her. I heard a bunch of screaming and peeked out my door. She grabbed a knife and cut his arm. He looked so scared. She was saying she was going cut his… you know, off. He was begging her not to cut him again and gave her all of his money. She said if he went to the police she’d tell his wife that he paid her to arrange for him to get fucked in the ass by other men and then she threw him out. When she gets like this she just loses it.” Amy finished, “Like I said, I seen some things.”
Mike took a few deep breaths to get his equilibrium back. “Well we got us a situation don’t we?” Amy nodded. “Maybe she’ll come to her senses in a few days. But I sure can’t send you back until she does. I won’t call the police, that’s no good. And I sure as hell won’t let you live on the streets. You’ll wind up dead or like your mom.”
“I’d rather be dead,” Amy said.
Mike shook his head, “We have both had some wine and aren’t thinking all that well. Let’s both get a night’s sleep and see how things look in the morning. How does that sound?”
“You want me to sleep with you?” Amy asked apprehensively.
“No. I have a guest room. You will be my honored guest,” he answered smiling. That brought a smile to Amy’s face. “It’s a lot better than the street. C’mon, let’s go to bed.”
“My clothes?” she asked.
‘Shit,’ Mike thought. ‘Did I dry them?’ He opened the dryer and the clothes were there. ‘Whew.’ He took them out and took them down the hall. Amy was in the door of the guest room in the yukata. He handed over the clothes.
“Thanks,” she said. He turned and headed down the hall. Behind him, he heard feet pad down the hall to the bathroom. He heard the shower turn on right after. Smiling, he finished beating the mixture and then dunked last night’s bread into it.
Over breakfast Mike asked, “Amy?”
“Yes,” she answered a worried look on her face.
“What’s the look for?”
“I’m scared you’re gonna take me to the cops,” she said. “Last night you said you needed to think.”
“I did. But this morning I had a weird dream. I dreamed that you were my daughter. And my wife came to me in the dream and told me I had to take care of my daughter. That’s weird isn’t it?” Mike said looking at Amy closely.
“Yeah, I guess. But it’s not too weird is it?” she asked.
“I guess not. Anyway, I don’t intend to turn you over to the cops or anybody else. We’ll just have to think of something. First thing I’ve been thinking is you are going to need some clothes. I don’t think showing up at your Mom’s place is a good idea.”
“I don’t have any money,” she said forlornly.
“I figured. I’ll take you shopping.” He said.
“You don’t need to…”
“I want to,” he interrupted. Looking at his watch he said, “The mall opens at nine. Let’s be there.” He smiled and Amy’s face reflected the smile.
They had been shopping for the entire morning when they happened by the bench. Mike turned to Amy and said, “Looks different today doesn’t it?”
“Yes,” she said. She looked at the bags heavy with clothes they were both carrying. Then she looked up at Mike. A tear formed in the corner of her eye but refused to come any further. Amy dropped her bags and threw her arms around Mike. “Thank you.” Mike now had to work on controlling his own water flow. She released him and told him, “I have never had anybody be this nice to me, ever.”
“Amy, really, anybody would have done what I did,” he said.
“Do you really think so? Remember our agreement.”
He considered, “No, I suppose most people wouldn’t have gotten involved, or at best would have called the police and turned the problem over to them.” He looked her in the eye, “I won’t do that to you.”
“I know,” she picked up her packages and they started toward his car.
They dumped the packages in his trunk and he asked, “How about lunch?"
“Rocket Café?” she asked.
Groaning inwardly from the thought of the grease burgers they served, he smiled, “Sure.” He was right about the grease burger followed by the lard fries and the soy shake. Could they have massacred the food any more than they did? Amy chowed down on hers. Well, he could have salad for the next three days to undo the cholesterol damage of this meal, he thought.
After lunch, he took her to a movie, some chick flick boy toy thing that he daydreamed through. Amy loved it. After the movie they headed home. Amy spent the rest of the afternoon trying on all of her clothes and parading around for his approval. He managed to sound sincere in his compliments while thinking, 'Hey, it’s just clothes.' They keep the rain off. Who cares? He fixed dinner, tacos, one of his other favorites, and poured wine again. Amy tried it and liked it a little better this time.
After dinner Amy came up to Mike and hugged him as the tears started. “Thank you again, Mike. This is the best day of my whole life,” she said. She released him and fled before her tears became torrents.
Mike retired to bed after a shower. Thoughts tumbled through his mind. He started to cry and a sob followed. Soon he was racked with deep sobs. He turned and cried into his pillow. The memories came back - the call in the afternoon, the hospital, waiting while they tried to save his wife, and the surgeon coming out to tell him they hadn’t. He felt the pain again. He had buried it, but now it came back. Mike lay in bed sobbing. He didn’t realize it, but he was leaving the fields of the dead and rejoining the living. Only the living feel pain. Amy had brought him back. Tonight he was saying goodbye to the dead. As the sobs slowed and finally stopped, he fell into a deep and untroubled sleep.
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