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Chapter 1
Expelled!
Carlotta fingered the crudely rolled joint and marveled at its texture.
The lanky boy by her side watched with dead fish eyes, his greasy long hair limp and damp against the sides of his face, giving him the look of a homeless shaggy dog.
“Are you sure about this?” Carlotta asked.
The boy’s eyes shifted. He leaned toward her, his voice dropping to a knowing whisper. “It’s the best herb in town. Cost me a lot of dough, too.”
Carlotta hesitated. The boy sounded like he was half-asleep or stoned out of his mind.
“Cigarettes are one thing, but I don’t know about weed.” She considered what she was about to do and her heart pounded.
Am I gonna get busted? She really didn’t care, but since the shifty-eyed boy had smoked so much more dope, she wanted his opinion on how to handle unexpected occurrences.
She licked her lips. “What happens if we get busted? I mean, my parents don’t even, like, know I totally smoke cigarettes—” she pinned the boy with a quizzical expression.
He was the notorious Sam Makiovich, nicknamed Slinky Sam.
He grunted. “Yeah, right... We only toke during recess and whenever we can cut classes—there’s no harm in that.” Slinky Sam fixed Carlotta with an amused stare for a second. His eyes went blank again as he lifted one lazy shoulder. “Cigarettes are for sissies—who needs that stuff? Wanna go on a good ride? This joint here is all ya need.”
Carlotta grinned.
Slinky Sam was a perpetual sixth grader with a moth-nibbled beard, who had enough of a bad reputation to buy a lifetime’s worth of notoriety. At the same time, his nefarious actions never seemed to land him in any serious trouble with the school authorities. He was reputed to have the best connection for drugs in the school, and he had a knack for choosing the right students to whom he marketed his illegal wares.
He must so have a bumming-radar or something. How did he know I needed something more tripping’ than just cigs today? To Carlotta, Slinky was the best answer to an unspoken need for escape from her miserable life. She hated school and wanted out, but her parents wouldn’t dream of letting her drop out of seventh grade.
It will totally serve them right if I, like, get busted.
They were behind the school dumpster, sandwiched between the wrought iron spikes of the school fence and the huge bin. Several boys sat a few feet away with their backs against the black metal surface of the bin. They were either in the seventh or eighth grade, Carlotta wasn’t sure. One of them inhaled deeply on his joint, threw his head back, and let out a series of perfect smoke rings. The others giggled.
Watching the floating white circles distort and dissipate into thin air a few inches above her head, Carlotta smiled in wonder. She had never managed to blow a perfect smoke ring. Shrugging, she reached into her jeans pocket, pulled out a ten-dollar bill, and handed it to the shifty-eyed boy at her side.
Slinky tore it from her fingers and made it disappear at once. He immediately produced a cigarette lighter from nowhere and snapped on a flame.
Carlotta placed the joint between her lips and leaned close to the flame, moving her wavy brown stresses away from her face with her left hand. Her eyes perked. She raised her brows in expectation. Her heart pounded with excitement.
How totally wasted will marijuana make me? She sucked in a deep breath, her lips taut around the rough end of the joint. She could hear her heart beating wildly, thump-thump!
I so need to get wasted; my life sucks and my parents are total jerks. She watched the reefer glow red at one end then closed her eyes for a second and inhaled. The warm smoke sailed down her windpipe and into her lungs. She waited for the promised buzz.
It feels like—
“Hold it right there, all of you!” The voice was masculine. Harsh. Deep. Angry.
Carlotta flipped her eyes open in consternation, the spent smoke curling its way out through her nose and mouth.
Slinky Sam was gone.
Approaching was the gym teacher, a beefy mountain of a man with a pudgy face that was now rigid with disapproval.
Quickly, Carlotta threw down the smoking joint and clamped her hands over her face in a desperate attempt to hide the obvious. At the same time, she stamped her foot repeatedly over the joint on the ground, crushing it beneath her heel.
Busted! She braced herself for what was to come.
The four seventh-graders also stamped-out their joints; their eyes glazed with the confused sounds of their giggles. It wouldn’t take more than a dumb teacher to tell they were already high and sailing.
But Carlotta wasn’t high, and she certainly wasn’t amused. The gym teacher was a drag; he always poked his nose where it wasn’t wanted. He had cost her ten bucks and she would make him pay—one way or another.
Carlotta looked around again for Slinky Sam. The boy had an uncanny way of getting himself out of sticky situations, leaving his not so clever customers to extricate themselves as well as they could. As usual, he’d melted away from the scene before he could be identified. How he always managed his escape, nobody knew. One minute he was right there with them, the next, he wasn’t.
In four long strides, the gym teacher closed the distance between himself and the wayward students. He landed a heavy hand on Carlotta’s shoulder. “What were you doing? Were you smoking—”?
“Let go of me,” Carlotta screeched, and struggled. The next thing she knew, she was being dragged to the principal’s office. The four boys apprehended with her came on their own accord, not minding that they’d been busted for dope smoking in school. They staggered along with deadpan expressions and let out an occasional giggle or sigh for the benefit of no one in particular.
Carlotta knew their type—they were the lucky ones. They’ll be so glad to totally get suspended. Finally, they can quit school without anyone making a fuss.
“How on earth did you come about this?” Mrs. McWatters, the principal of the middle school, demanded in her office, the loose flesh on her neck wiggling as she spoke.
Carlotta glanced around and stalled for time. She knew it wouldn’t be cool to rat out Slinky Sam, so she struggled to come up with some other kind of explanation. Quick! Say something.
The gym teacher moved off to one side and started describing what he had discovered in a high-minded voice.
“I had it at home last night,” Carlotta cut-in, her eyes narrowing in defiance. She flashed a scathing look at the gym teacher who immediately fell silent and backed away.
“I want to know who supplied you with— With this stuff,” the principal demanded. “Don’t you dare turn your back on me, young lady!” she added, yanking on Carlotta’s arm to prevent her from walking away.
“It’s called marijuana and I brought it to school with me, all right?” Carlotta snapped. “Jeez! Leave me alone.” She struggled to pry Mrs. McWatters’ clamp-like fingers off her arm. “Let go of me,” she screamed. “I hate you and your stupid school!”
But when the principal’s fingers wouldn’t budge, Carlotta planted her teeth around the woman’s wrist and clamped her jaw shut with all her might.
Startled, Mrs. McWatters yelped like a puppy and released her prey immediately. Cradling her injured arm to her chest, she stepped back to her desk and picked up the phone.
“Get Dr. Ikedi on the line for me at once!” She slammed down the receiver.
* * *
Dr. Shelley Ikedi was at her office, in the middle of a conversation with two of her graduate students when the phone rang with a shrill insistent sound.
She reached for it. “English Language Department, Dr. Ikedi speaking.”
Shelley raised a forefinger to her students, silently requesting their indulgence for a minute. She listened for a moment then abruptly sat up straight, her face draining of color.
“Oh God, not again,” she groaned, and crumpled. She pinched the bridge of her nose with her fingers, took a deep breath, and listened some more to the voice on the other end of the line.
“Yes, yes, thank you,” she said in a shaky voice. “I, I will be right there.” She hung up and got to her feet.
“I am so sorry, students, but there is an emergency I need to deal with right away. Shall we continue with our discussion later?” Shelley reached for her handbag and picked up her keys, upsetting a few paper files in the process.
The files hit the floor with a muffled thump, spewing their contents at her feet.
She stepped over the scattered papers, bustled the students out of her office, and slammed the door. She rushed at once to the exit at the end of the hall, the two graduate students striving to keep up with her.
“Maybe we can drop by this afternoon?” one of the students asked.
“It is likely I will be away for the rest of the day,” Shelley replied. “Tomorrow morning might be a more convenient arrangement.” She rounded the hallway and bounded down the stairs.
Once outside the building, she headed toward the faculty parking lot, her thoughts flying in every direction. She had just been informed that her daughter, Carlotta, was in discord with the school again. Mrs. McWatters’ restrained voice over the phone had made her uneasy.
“Your daughter has landed herself in a lot of trouble…”
There was no telling what kind of mess Carlotta was in this time.
Shelley approached her car and felt for the remote button attached to her key chain. Her hands shook so badly she dropped the keys twice before managing to get the door open. She dumped herself behind the wheel of the blue Honda, and flung her handbag down on the front passenger seat.
“Goddamn it,” she blurted, mentally kicking herself for being so wrangled with nerves.
Just one swallow—heaven knows I need it.
Shelley glanced suspiciously around. Certain no one was watching, she reached down and removed a small, liquor bottle wrapped in a creased, brown paper bag from underneath the front passenger seat. She uncapped the bottle, ducked, and took a long pull of the clear, fiery liquid, then replaced the bottle, making sure it was well-hidden from curious eyes.
She waited a few seconds for the shaking in her hands to subside then turned on the car ignition and backed out of the parking spot.
Twenty minutes later, when Shelley arrived at Carlotta’s school, a straight-faced and swollen-handed Mrs. McWatters informed her that Carlotta was expelled indefinitely from school because of the use and possession of marijuana.
“You are in so much trouble, young lady,” Shelley raged as she drove Carlotta home. “What on earth were you thinking?”
“Just leave me alone, all right?” Carlotta snapped.
“You will not speak to me like that—”
“Screw you!”
“You do not dare swear at me!” Shelley’s temper rose like steam from a boiling kettle. In her anger, she lost control of the car and it skidded.
Shelley panicked.
Oh God! She swerved. Then swerved again, managing to keep from wrapping the car around a lamppost. She struggled to regain control of the vehicle by turning the steering wheel—first one way, then the next—within the space of a few seconds. Drivers around them quickly switched lanes in a bid to avoid a disastrous collision. A silver sports car let out a series of sharp beeps and zipped by.
In a desperate attempt to regain control of both her car and composure, Shelley gripped the wheel so hard her hands lost all color and appeared to be made of wax. Adrenaline raced through her veins. Her eyes darted from the road to the rear view mirror.
Carlotta pretended not to react. She remained stubbornly tightlipped, and watched with indifference as her livid mother fought to control the car and her temper. She rolled her eyes and faked a yawn.
Finally, Shelley pulled over to the side of the road. “Your cell phone,” she demanded, drawing in a ragged breath. “Hand over your cell phone right now.”
“What?” Carlotta exclaimed in disbelief.
“You heard me!”
“Oh no, you can’t—”
Shelley yanked the phone out of Carlotta’s hand and threw it behind her on the back seat. She took a few steadying breaths then re-started the engine. “It is high time someone taught you a big lesson, you strong-willed little fool,” she fumed, nosing the Honda back on the road. “Just wait until your father learns what you have done.” You just wait.
As soon as the car pulled into the garage, Carlotta jumped out without waiting for her mother to kill the engine. She stuck her head back in. “I don’t care what you tell Dad. I hate you both, and I wish I was never born.” She turned and ran into the house, slamming the door.
Shelley rushed inside and was only in time to hear the bedroom door slam. She winced and watched the stairs for a minute.
God help me with this kid.
Like a broken rag doll, Shelley walked to the laundry room and pulled out a well-hidden bottle of vodka.
* * *
Thirty minutes from the local university where his wife worked as an English professor, Dr. Richard Ikedi was in the medical examination room consulting with an obese patient.
“My feet hurt when I walk, Doc,” the patient whined.
Richard scrawled something on a clipboard. “Lay off the cheeseburgers and fried chicken, Bruno. Then maybe we can work on getting your feet to be like that of a ballerina.” He looked at Bruno and hid his irritation behind a mask of professionalism. You look like an elephant, for Christ’s sake.
Richard wasn’t happy that Bruno had weighed-in at three hundred and fifty-six pounds and carried the bulk of that weight around his middle. Diabetes is certainly in your future.
“Doc, how long do ya figure I should lay off them cheeseburgers?”
“For as long as possible, Bruno,” Richard replied without looking up from the clipboard. That is, if heart disease doesn’t kill you first.
Bruno’s heart was a ticking bomb. Judging from how much weight he had put on since his last visit, he was lucky to still be able to move.
The doctor warned again, “For as long as you wish to live.” The major arteries to and from your freaking heart are probably going to explode. Soon, chronic atherosclerosis will be battling with advanced metabolic syndrome for immediate attention.
Bruno’s beaded eyes narrowed and he asked in a deathly quiet voice, “Burgers I can handle, but how about some help with the old Family, Doc?”
Richard stiffened. His mouth tightened. His heart skipped a beat then began to thud insistently in his chest.
Help with The Family? Oh, hell no!
His connection with the Palorizzi Family in Las Vegas was a subject that wasn’t open for discussion, and as far as Richard was concerned, Bruno was overstepping his boundaries by bringing it up.
Richard ran his fingers through his hair. He was saved from having to provide an immediate answer, for Maria Ryczek, his new personal assistant, poked her head through the door.
“Doctor, your wife is on line two. She says it’s an emergency.”
“Thank you, Maria,” Richard replied. “We’re almost finished here.” He put down the clipboard and peeled the surgical gloves off his hands.
Maria smiled and left.
“She’s very pretty, ain’t she?”
“Excuse me?” Richard turned defensive eyes on his patient.
Bruno grinned, his fat face resembling a lump of pizza dough punched with a baby’s fist to create his eyes. The ruddy lips of his leering mouth contrasted sharply with the wide monstrosity of his sunken nose. “You dig her, Doc?”
Richard ignored the jibe. “Take care of that old heart of yours,” he said, and dropped the rubber gloves in the hazardous waste bin. “Remember to stick to your diet routine—eat plenty of fruits and vegetables.” He stood and washed his hands at the sink, then dried them with paper towels.
“Stuff the heart talk,” Bruno grunted, “why don’tcha? I don’t need no doctor tellin’ me howta look after myself.”
Richard shrugged. “Honestly, Bruno, a few minutes of physical exercise every now and then would do you a lot more good than harm.” He paused and regarded the patient coolly for a while. “And about your earlier question, the answer is no. I have no intention of resurrecting my connections with The Family, and I want nothing to do with your lot. See you around, old pal.”
“Big mistake, Doc.”
Richard walked out of the examination room. There was no way he would consider Bruno’s proposal to get involved with the Palorizzi Family again. He was rid of organized crime and wished to remain that way.
Back in his office, he snatched up the phone and punched the blinking red light before raising the receiver to his ear. He raked a hand through his short curly hair and sighed. Shelley never called him at work with good news.
“Shelley? You there?” Richard asked. He listened to his wife’s babbles with growing irritation. She sounded like a breathless eight-year-old bent on reciting a particularly bad poem. “Honey, I can’t make out what you’re saying.” He mussed his hair again.
Many guys, when bothered, slam their fists into their palms or tap their feet. Some crack their knuckles or strum out a rhythm with their fingers. Richard raked his hair. And gritted his teeth.
“Itsh Carr— Carlotta,” Shelley’s voice sailed over the phone.
“What?” Richard demanded. It seemed Shelley had hit the bottle.
“She got exshperrled from shchool this morning.”
Richard’s face slowly turned into a dark formidable mask. “I’ll kill that little punk,” he swore. “I will bash her stupid head right in!”
“But—” Shelley hiccupped. “But you have not hearrd what she did.”
“I don’t care,” Richard thundered. “Where is she?” His blood boiled. His daughter Carlotta was a damned force to be reckoned with. She excelled at nothing but getting herself into grave trouble. Her last freaking expulsion was because she—
“I got her from sshchool and brought her shtraight home.”
“You stay right there,” Richard instructed through gritted teeth. “I’m on my way.”
Shelley hung-up. Richard continued to hold the receiver against his ear, his hands tightening around it with so much force his knuckles turned white. “I swear, I’ll kill that little punk this time!”
Maria sauntered in. “Doctor,” she drawled, “you have a patient that wants to come in for an annual physical this afternoon. Would you like to take the appointment?” Her large eyes smiled at him.
Richard groaned. “No, not this afternoon.” He put down the phone and brushed the back of his hand across his forehead. “I have a family emergency. Please reassign my other appointments for today, or reschedule.” He tugged the stethoscope from around his neck, tossed it on his desk, and picked up his car keys.
“Sure, Doctor.” Maria winked. “Have a great afternoon.” She retrieved the stethoscope and hung it up then sashayed out.
Yeah, right. Some great day it’s turning out to be. Richard sighed and shrugged off his lab coat. He flung the white garment across his chair and strode out, letting the office door bang shut behind him.
* * *
“What on earth are we going to do with Carlotta?” Shelley wailed. She longed for a drink but wouldn’t dare take one with her husband standing just a few feet away. Even though she suspected that he already knew she was drinking again, she didn’t want him to catch her in the act.
“You are asking me what we are to do? I’m going to do away with the silly kid, that’s what,” Richard replied. “What the hell kind of a child smokes marijuana in middle school?” He grabbed a bottle of water and slammed the refrigerator shut.
“We need to figure this out,” Shelley told him. She managed to keep the shaking out of her voice. “And you need to clean up your language, Richard. It would not do well for a physician to speak the way you do.”
Richard slammed the bottle down on the kitchen counter. The force of the impact caused a generous portion of water to slosh out the bottle’s open top. He turned to face his wife.
“Who the hell cares about the way I talk?” His breath hissed through clenched teeth as he stared his wife down. Then his jaw slackened and he took a deep breath. “No need to make this more complicated than necessary. The little pothead upstairs is the problem—let’s deal with that.” And you need to lay off the vodka. Shelley couldn’t fool him, or anyone else for that matter. It would be very devastating if the faculty at the local college threw her out because of her drinking problem. She had obtained the faculty position a few days before they left San Francisco, and had only been with the English Department for a little less than a year.
Shelley was an alcoholic, but had managed to stay on the water wagon for seventeen years. Now she had slipped again. Nobody would want a drunken professor to teach his or her kids, no matter how pretty the professor turned out to be.
“This is the second time Carlotta has been expelled from school,” Shelley said, and without warning, slapped her hands to her face and began to sob. “Oh God, where did we go wrong with her?”
“It’s okay, it will be okay,” Richard consoled roughly. He hated it when she got emotional, crying and blaming herself for their daughter’s lack of good judgment. More like an abundance of bad judgment. “It’s not your fault, Shelley.” He figured his wife was probably just beating herself up for picking up the bottle again. Maybe she thought of herself as a bad mother for depending on alcohol to get her through tough situations. I wish you would just admit the real problem and talk to me about it so I can get you some professional help.
“What do you mean by it is not my fault?” Shelley turned to face her husband. She curled her shaking hands tight into balls. “Are you somehow implying that it is indeed my fault?”
Richard put his hands up in exasperation. “What the hell are you talking about?” He watched her with narrowed eyes, a look of irritation clouding his face.
Shelley advanced a few steps, her blue eyes narrowing in anger. “Oh, so you are trying to blame me for this, too, like you did the first time Carlotta was expelled from school?”
Richard quickly put the kitchen counter between them. He ran a hand through his hair. “I am not blaming anyone for what Carlotta has done.” He decided it would be a good idea to add a few more feet to the already existing distance. Shelley looked furious and could start hurling dangerous objects at any time. He wouldn’t put it past her to throw a kitchen knife straight at his heart. Alcohol can do that to people, especially to her.
“You know the reason Carlotta became a bully in the middle school back in San Francisco,” Shelley accused. “You read the report from the doctors and teachers explaining what prompted that incident?” She folded her arms under her breasts and lifted her chin.
“Christ, woman, give me a break!” Richard gauged the distance between them and deemed himself safe. What doctors? They all are a bunch of stupid charlatans posing as psychiatrists!
Shelley did not back down. “You did read the report, Richard, did you not?” It had been his fault. She had suspected he was seeing someone else, but he had denied it and refused to talk about it. They had grown apart. Carlotta had acted out because of her frustration with her parents’ failing marriage. They had then sold their home in San Francisco, California and moved to Owasso, Oklahoma more as a means to salvage their pride than to teach Carlotta a lesson. Better to blame the consequences of your lecherous habits on your defenseless daughter, right? How typical!
Richard now worked as a general family practitioner with a major hospital in Tulsa, while Shelley had accepted a faculty position to teach English at a local college about twenty miles from where they lived. As for Carlotta and her bad educational record, they had called in every favor they were owed and even donated handsomely toward the school library before Mrs. McWatters had agreed to admit her to the school.
Richard moved back to the counter and picked-up his bottle of water. “I can’t justify why anyone should blame me for my daughter’s decision to beat up two kids almost half her age and land them in the emergency room with several fractured ribs.” He drank from the bottle.
“You cannot now, can you?” Piercing blue eyes challenged him.
“Of course not.” He wiped the moisture off his lips. “I had nothing to do with Carlotta’s outburst in school.”
“Yeah, right. The rumors were unfounded.”
“What are you getting at, Shelley?” Richard tipped his head back to take another gulp but changed his mind and set the bottle on the counter with more force than necessary. “Just what’s the freaking problem?”
Shelley’s voice shook. “You very well know to what I am referring.” She placed one hand over her mouth as if to hide the sobs that were threatening to erupt. Her husband was a very handsome and passionate man, equipped with the kind of angular features that made middle-aged men seem distinguished.
At an age when many men go bald, Richard’s head was chock-full of dark, curly hairs that outlined his prominent forehead in the most sensual way then began again after the vivid outline of his clavicle—enrobing his broad, masculine chest in a velvet cushion. He had muscles of steel, the type that makes men over six feet appear lithe and powerful.
He was an arrogant python of a man. The only problem with husbands like Richard is young women always fall without invitation at their feet. And they never learned to say no.
Richard regarded his wife with narrowed eyes. She still possessed much of the milky, blonde-fairy-princess beauty that had attracted him to her almost twenty years ago. Then, she had been a dropout graduate student and a raving drunk. When they met, he had helped her get on the wagon and encouraged her to return to college and fulfill her degree requirements. Four years later, after she graduated with a Ph.D. in English, he had proposed and married her. Three years after that, baby Carlotta had come along. And his blonde princess had slowly turned into a shrew.
“That is fine. I do not quite expect you to own up to your actions,” Shelley sneered. She straightened her back, blinked, and squeezed her lips together to keep them from quivering. If only you would come clean and discuss what made you seek solace in the arms of a younger woman, maybe our marriage will get back on track. He hadn’t admitted her suspicion were right. He didn’t deny them either. He just would not discuss it. It was driving her crazy, and that was why she had started drinking again. She had to stop. She knew she had to.
“Carlotta needs to be seriously disciplined,” Richard volunteered, deliberately changing the subject and getting them back to the problem at hand. He knew better than to allow himself be goaded into a verbal fight with his wife. “I don’t think grounding her, taking away her cell phone privileges, or moving to a more remote area than where we are right now will cut it this time.” He picked up his water, swallowed several mouthfuls and capped the bottle, placing it back in the refrigerator.
“So, what do you suggest?” Shelley asked. She noticed her husband ignored the spilled water on the counter. Sometimes, she swore he purposely did things like that to drive her crazy. She reached for a dishtowel and began to mop up the spill.
“Boarding school,” Richard said.
Shelley stopped. “Boarding school? Are you poking fun at me?” She sounded incredulous. “You want to send Carlotta to a boarding school? Where we will not be able to keep an eye on her?” She shook her head. “No. Carlotta would only get worse.”
“No, she won’t. Not if we send her to a school where discipline is valued as much as education. She will not only learn moral values, but gain a decent education in the process.” Richard nodded in satisfaction. He had an ulterior motive for wanting to send Carlotta away to boarding school but wasn’t about to admit it to his wife—or himself. It was just easier to maintain Carlotta’s insubordination as the ultimate reason. This way, Bruno can’t get to her.
Shelley stared at her husband for a moment and recognized the smug look on his face. “So, what is the idea? Where is this altruistic school you speak of?” She spread her arms wide; her demeanor indicating schools like that couldn’t possibly exist outside military grounds. And military school was out of the question.
Richard smiled. His voice took on a faraway quality. “There is only one environment I know that can instill discipline into our darling daughter. Nigeria!”
Shelley’s jaw dropped. “Nigeria? Do not be ridiculous.”
“On the contrary, I’m dead serious. It’s our only hope right now,” Richard said with conviction. Then he added, “Hey, it worked for me, remember? How do you figure I came to be the person I am today?”
Shelley stopped short. She opened her mouth to say something, but closed it again. She shook her head and leaned back against the sink.
Richard watched his wife. He saw her eyes slowly widen and knew she was considering the possibility. He also knew it was now safe to approach her. He closed the distance between them and began to explain exactly what he had in mind.
FEDDIE GIRL by Nona David. Copyright July 2009.
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