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| Stories Bingo’s Home Bingo’s Lair |
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Wren |
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Chapter One When she was fifteen she imagined herself borrowing her dad's drill and hole saw and sneaking into the boy's locker room after school. She was sure the toilets' stall dividers were plywood just like in the girl's locker room. Her fantasies always included her getting caught and by whom depended on her whim of the moment and desire for humiliation. Older men were a mystery -- large, hairy and strange. Younger boys, fifteen-year-olds for example, were smart asses with pricks who always got her in trouble. When she was sixteen she decided to be a nun, even though she wasn't Catholic, and abhorred most forms of sin. Okay, she didn't honor her parents, and okay, she did covet. But secretly. When she was nineteen she'd dropped out of, or was kicked out of (depending on to whom she was talking), college. Her parents kind of knew. Maybe. Until she had to tell them she wanted to travel and do things. Good luck doing this in 1954. Wren was about 5'4", taller if she stood on her toes which she liked to do, brown haired, had regular features, wasn't pretty because she wasn't cute like that, what some men saw as beauty. She hardly ever smiled but when she did it was noticed. Wren wore dark clothes, carried a rucksack and had adventures. Leaving town, like tonight, was usually a necessity. Cops, for some reason, had her pegged for trouble right from the get-go. Sometimes she was asked to leave a town before she'd even had a chance to get to know the place. She stood by the two-lane road and stuck out her thumb. She was in Georgia somewhere and hoped she was heading north. Eventually a car stopped, just beyond her. As she ran to it, rucksack held to her chest, the door popped open. "Get in," a voice said. "Thanks," she said. The car took off, swinging the door toward her. She slammed it closed as the car got back on the road with a splash of gravel. "Pick a station," he said. "Anything you like?" He was quiet for a moment as he drove, not looking at her. "Good question," he said. "Hot chocolate, sunsets over water and not getting shot at." "Me too." Wren turned on the radio and a Mexican station came on. "This is good." "Rock and roll. Fast girls like rock and roll." He grinned at the road. "Fast girls like stuff they shouldn't like." "Like what?" "Turpentine. Say it." "Tur-pen-tine." She let the syllables drop one at a time. "Medium fast. Kiss on the first date, do you?" "Sometimes." She paused. "Sometimes I drink my hot chocolate and wish something better'd come along. You know. A guy who likes sunsets." "Over water." "And other stuff." "Not getting shot at. You forgot that." "I forgot that." "Where are you going?" "New York City." "Going to become an actress?" "Doubt it. I like this song. I know someone there." "I'm not going to New York." "That's okay." "What's a nice girl like you?" "Run out of town." "No visible means?" "Or invisible either. If you were hoping a five spot would buy a good time, forget it." "How about a Franklin?" She thought about it. "You're okay and everything. But no." "I don't have a Franklin." "So you're not missing anything, are you?" "It's after sunset. What do you do after sunset?" "It depends." "Shock me." "Sometimes I like to take my clothes off and let people take my picture." "More than medium fast. Maybe not quite well done." "You want to take my picture?" "I would if I had a camera." "You don't even know what I look like." "Who cares?" "Sometimes I let people do stuff to me while they're taking pictures." "Let me see. Do stuff." "Whatever pops in your mind." "I don't have a camera." "I know. It's too bad." "What kind of stuff?" "What are you thinking of?" "I don't think you'd do it. You seem like a nice girl." He grinned at the road. "Besides, I don't have a camera." "Be theoretical." "If I had a camera, then you'd." "Precisely. Pretend." "I don't like to pretend." "Maybe if you pretend hard enough it'll come true." "I'll get a camera. The good fairy will give me a camera and we won't have to pretend." "Probably not." "You'd take off your clothes." "Sure. That's what I do when you have a camera." "And I could tell you something." "And I'd probably do it. I'm a fool for shutterbugs." "I'm not a shutterbug." "Pretend." "I could tell you to go upstairs." "You'd bring your camera with you." "I want to watch you finger yourself." "That's easy. Try something harder." "I want to take off my belt and whip you." "Sure you're not a shutterbug?" "Maybe I need to tie you up first. What's your name, by the way?" "Wren. Stupid name. My mom's a bird watcher. What's yours by the way?" "Ward." "Ward, I think you could do that too." "Because why?" "Hot chocolate and sunsets." "I'm a romantic, I know. It's too late to buy a camera." "How far are you going?" "Good question." "Maybe we could get a camera in the morning." "What about New York City?" "Ward, I'm not in a big rush or anything." "Because I live about a mile from here and I'm not going any further tonight. Let you out soon?" "Spend the night?" "You don't know me, sweetheart. Wren. And I don't have a camera." "I could sleep in the car." "You could. But I'm married and I don't think June'd like that." "Won't know till you ask her." "I don't need to ask her to know." He pulled off the road. "You can get a ride from here." "Turn the light on so I can see you, Ward." The light came on. Ward was in his forties, beginning to run down. He needed a shave and a haircut and to lose a little weight. He faced straight ahead. "Ward, look at me." He turned to her, eyes moving as he studied her. "Want to drop me off somewhere and pick me up in the morning? Take me somewhere? Maybe you have a friend with a camera." "No cameras anywhere, sweetheart. Nowhere at all." She pointed. "The belt you wanted to use?" "It was an idea, that's all. A whim." "Take me home and I can sleep in the car and your wife'll never know. Promise. Then you can take me somewhere. Bring your belt. Some rope. A camera." "I don't have a camera, girl." "Sure?" "Nice meeting you, Wren." He turned from her. She opened the door. "Nice meeting you too, Ward. Thanks." She got out of the car, closed the door. The interior light went out and the car pulled away, slowly. There were no streetlights here. She went off into the weeds and peed, came back and waited by the side of the road, rucksack by her feet. There weren't many cars on the road. Being Georgia it was a warmer fall than up north. Her army jacket was enough to keep her warm. She'd wait an hour and then begin walking. The stars twinkled in the clear night sky. The hour was almost up when a car pulled over, stopping just past her. The door flew open. "Get in," said a voice. She held the rucksack on her lap as she closed the door. "Sure the car's okay tonight?" "Ward?" "Yeah, I'm back. I think I know where to get a camera tomorrow." "Good for you." "You'll behave yourself." "Until you get that goddamn camera and then watch out, Ward. I'm a bad girl." Ward gripped the steering wheel hard as he drove. "You just be good until I tell you." "And then watch out, Ward. Tell me what you want to do." "Honey, I want to go to New York City with you and take lots of pictures, but it'll be just tomorrow. We'll see what happens tomorrow." "Tomorrow will be exciting." He parked by a small house in a neighborhood filled with small houses, some still with their lights on. "You have to do your duty, don't slam the doors, Wren. You'll be quiet," he said. "I'm okay here, Ward. Thanks." "Sure. I'll see you tomorrow." "With your camera." "Sleep tight, kid." When he came to the car in the morning she was gone. It wasn't until he was pulled over for speeding a couple of months later that he found the photograph in the glove compartment. He nervously pushed it away and found the registration for the motorcycle cop. Afterwards he looked at the picture, said, "Oh," and put it in his billfold, folded in half. Go
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