Mid-chapter from my book 'Lila'

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This story takes place in the mid-sixties. It’s about a spoiled, anti-social
teenage girl with poor grades in school and an eating disorder. She lives
in a fantasy world of paper-back novels and comfort food and as days go
by, she gets into more and more trouble.
Her parents are Type-A social climbers more interested in their own
financial status than the development of their children, so the young
girl starts to form a strange bond with their housekeeper who, as
you’ll see, has her own issues.

"Gaylee! les' go!" Lilas' voice ricocheted up the stairway. If
any of my friends find out, I'll be sooo embarrassed.
Gayle looked into her best friend and worst enemy, the hallway mirror.
I really am cute if you don't get too close. The diet is working, gotta do
something about those zits.
Yeah, Bradley Dunne's gonna blab all over Cotillion that I've been
seen at church with a Negro. Not only does he heckle me at school about
my weight, he brings his friends to join in the name-calling. All year
during gym he and Casey Connelly yelling "Big Bertha" and "White Whale"
while I do my jumping jacks. I'm sick of it, the little
jerk and his buddies never miss a chance to cut me down. I can only
imagine what he'll say when I walk up the aisle with Lila modeling the
Liberty City Look in what I know will be her brightest, tackiest dress.
We’ll sneak in through the side.

Maybe he'll go sailing and not show up. His parents belonged to our
church also. The parents rarely attended, but they'd try to make him go
because as his own Mom put it, Brad was jail-bound. It was only last
week that, at a country club party someone saw Brad in the parking lot
breaking into Betty Hahns' white Lincoln. My mother told me all about it
one five o'clock afternoon. No need for a newspaper when you had
Shelby Schroeder holding forth on the chaise-lounge, sipping her
afternoon pick-me-up.

No charges were pressed, but his folks thought Mr. Brad might benefit
from a visit or two to St. Bedes', if only to sit and think about what it
would be like to stay in Juvenile Hall. He might realize Juvie doesn't have
sailing class as part of their curriculum.

Really, I told myself, Brad wasn't that 'large' of a problem, these days.
Remembering one Cotillion class about a month ago, I'd noticed that
he'd gained weight, put on a good twenty pounds or so. I couldn't resist
nailing him right then and there. "Hi, Jail Meat. Looks like you've crossed
over into Big Brad-Land. Or should I say, Big Bertha?" He tried to come
back with a super-original "Piss Off". I felt a little sad. Weak and wounded,
he was no longer a worthy enemy. His only friend these days was Casey
who ironically had a Cola-Twinkie tummy, himself.

Lilas' sharp voice changed to a boom as she roused me out of my
vengefully sweet reverie. "C'mon, an' quit lookin' at yo'sef in the mirror!"
My only day of wearing a cute outfit, you bet I'm gonna look in the mirror,
so stuff it, Lila. I proceeded to fix my hair.

I could tell that Shelbys' last phone call from Jamaica hadn't set well.
Lila went outside to start up Shelbys' green Oldsmobile Delta 88. I
heard loud car door-slamming and whumming of the gas pedal.
I remembered the events from a week ago leading up to
last night. My parents had gone to Jamaica for 2 weeks so Dad could
sleep on the beach and Shelby could simultaneously watch him sleep
and get sh-t-faced in the sun. At least she'd be outdoors, for a change.

We all jumped for joy when we found out about their trip. Freedom.
We were gonna stay up late, watch Alfred Hitchcock and eat candy all
night long. Lila and her daughter Marvelette were staying over. Cool.
Marv and I could play Dianna Ross and the Supremes while we watched
American Bandstand. Well, she’d be Dianna and I’d be Leslie Gore. I
wouldn't bring Marvelette Marble to any of the little clique-y parties I
was rarely allowed to go to - I got grounded alot due to poor grades -
but she was fun to play with at the house.

Meanwhile, Shelbys' tipsy voice managed to reach across the Caribbean
with the help of a universal drinkers' friend, Ma Bell. What can I say, she
was at her chattiest during the hours of 5-6pm or midnight-til-whenever
the bottle got empty, as many of her long-suffering friends discovered.
Only this time, in the midst of elbow-lifting down in Ocho Rios she suddenly
decided to drag her tanned butt to the nearest phone and rouse poor Lila
out of a deep sleep. I’d discovered from previous sleepovers that Lila was
usually dead to the world by 9 o'clock, giving us plenty of hours to make
mischief in any way I saw fit.

So, smack-dab in the middle of my Hitchcockian candy orgy the phone rang.
I knew it was She before I even picked up. Mothers' slurring voice was loud,
having to overcome the bar band at Trip Daddys‘, a watering hole I'd seen myself
on the last trip. Down the road from our hotel, it was an open-air shack with
a patio and a limbo pole. Every hour or so, a bar employee would postion a
flaming torch between his teeth and climb up a palm tree. I wasn't allowed
a cocktail but I had fun, anyway.

After giving a grumpy Lila the phone I hopped on the extension to listen in.

This particular Saturday night, after what I guaged to be four Scotch
on the rocks and possibly a Mai-Tai, Shelby was having a rare 'Jesus' moment.
I'd seen 'the moment' before; last time she actually slid off her chaise lounge
into a kneeling position and ordered me to join her in prayer after she found
out I tried smoking Pot.

Accompanied by the boisterous strains of 'Matilda', I heard Shelby
pronounce in tones as serious as any priest leading his flock in the
Lords' Prayer, that it was of the Grrreatest Imphhortance that I go to
Sunday Service at St. Bedes'. Friday Mass at the Blessed Souls School
(for Sinners like me) was not enough, apparently Mother thought I was
evil enough to warrant an extra dose of kneeling and incense-sniffing on
Sunday. Prone to fainting in church, I made a mental note to bring
smelling salts.

I pushed back the recollection of Shelbys’ odd Saturday night
epiphany with one last bobby-pin. I tromped downstairs . Noticing
Lilas’ Sunday ‘chapeau’ as I got into the front seat of the car, I wondered
what garbage can she’d gotten it out of. We waved to Marv and my
baby sisters as we pulled out of the driveway.

I lit up a Salem, stolen from Mothers favorite clutch just before she left.
If I could flick a little ash on to Lilas’ freaky-looking hat one of those
yellow satin flowers might go up in flames.

A split second before I could get cigarette to lips Lilas' right hand shot
out to smack me square across my mouth. I yelled out a 'What the sh-t!'
as I tried to put out a still flaming match and rescue my ciggie. She
pulled the Oldsmobile over on to the sidewalk in front of the Snyder
house, braking so hard the back of the car bounced up and down. The
heck with the cigarette, I was ready to grab that hat and ram it down
her throat. My arm flailed over in the general direction of the drivers’
seat but before I could get to her hat I began to feel pain as Lila grabbed
my wrist and started to bend my pinkie finger way back.

"Watchoo gonna do, girl!?" Her face was contorted, sunglasses askew.
One of her eyes rolled out of focus. The flowered hat was lying on the
back seat. In the first few minutes I had been furious. Now in shock, I
felt like I'd landed on some strange, hateful planet. She might really break
my pinkie and then do what? Break my arm and try to say I did it in a
bicycle accident?

I was slapped into a new weird reality, a place where I was not the only
one who told lies or did bad things. "Whatchoo gonna do white girl, tell
yo Mommieee?" The word 'Mommie' was stretched out like that half-dead
garden snake my brother nailed up on his bulletin board.

She was whispering in a witch-y old lady voice. "Sure, les' tell
Miz Schroeder how you been actin' while she been gone. Les' tell her how
you slappd' Danielle, how you went out on the roof and smoked 'dose
cigarettes. When she find out about alla dat you won't be be goin' nowhere
for a year!". Lila let go of my hand. I rubbed it crying like a 3-year old,
sobbing all over my pretty dress. I tried to wipe away a burn spot.

Lila grabbed the hideous hat from the back seat and jammed it on her
head. While straightening her sunglasses, she got the car out of park
and sped up Alhambra Circle, bent on getting us to Sunday services. I
wanted to bolt from the car and run back to the house but Lila was driving
like a bat outta hell. No way to escape. If I’d had my way I'd lock myself up
in my pink bedroom to wait for my parents until the following Friday, their
arrival day. I was pretty sure I could bribe Danni into bringing me ham
sandwiches and cookies.

We were both quiet as we rode towards church. Surprisingly, Lila
drove forward on Alhambra instead of making a right turn. We were going
away from our usual route to St. Bedes'. Now we were riding up Coral Way
towards downtown Miami. Were we going to my Dads’ office? Nope, minutes
later we were on Biscayne Boulevard headed North. Looking out the car
window I was still able to enjoy the tall palm trees lining the boulevard along
with a clear view of Biscayne Bay.

We passed the Freedom Tower, a center for Cuban exiles newly arrived
in Miami after having escaped Fidel Castros‘ takeover of their beloved Island.
At my school I'd heard many of the Cuban girls talk about what it was like to leave
their homeland, how they had to sneak on to planes in the middle of the night
carrying only their jewelry and a will to survive.
Leaving the downtown area, I began to notice grand Spanish-style homes with
beautiful front lawns and big backyards facing the bay. Then, further on, the
several miles of lovely real-estate gave way to blocks of smaller office
buildings and restaurants. Fewer palm trees. I was becoming scared again.
This was a part of Miami I’d never seen. Even so, I could tell we were
now approaching Lilas’ neighborhood, Liberty City.

There were apartment buildings, originally painted with bright Florida
colors like aqua and pink, now looking faded and desolate under a broiling
sun. Everything was rundown and not a tree in sight, just a lot of trashcans
and street lamps. More ugly 2-story structures; I was amazed that people
actually lived in them. I noticed some young boys standing in the
buildings’ meager shade. They stared at us as we drove on.

Is she gonna take me into one of those buildings and kill me? What had I
done to make her act this way? I thought she was my friend. Afraid to
say anything, I just looked out the car window. Finally we pulled into a
big lot overgrown with weeds and trash. I could see a few wilted
areca palms.

This where she's gonna do it, she'll kill me here and bury me in this
nasty lot. Confused and afraid, I didn't stop to wonder how she'd get
away with a murder and a burial in broad daylight.

She turned towards me with a sad smile. This was nuts, more and
more she was reminding me of Charlotte on a weird drunk. Unconsciously
I drew back, waiting for God knew what.

"I been watchin' you fer along time, Gaylee. I see yo Momma drink liquor
ev'ry day, I see yo Daddy gone ev'ry day. You don' have no freins' to speak
of, an you don' love nobody". Terry O'Neill is sorta my friend, I thought.
She hates most of the girls at school. That makes her my friend.

"You sit up in dat bedroom all day, but you don't do no schoolwork.
What do you do all day, chile?" Emboldened by her sudden niceness I
answered snottily, “I diet and read paperbacks, what's it to ya “?

Lila didn’t strike me like she’d done earlier but I felt she wanted to.

I didn‘t care. Lashing out, I said "Who do you think you are, Lila?
What's wrong with you? I can't believe you hit me. You try to act like
you care but an hour ago you almost broke my finger!". Lila sighed and
looked back at me through her dark and pointy shades. "If you get tru
dis life wid only a broke fanger, you is blessed, girl. Now, C'mon".

A blue hot sun was beaming down on the car making it necessary to
find a cooler spot quickly. I got out of the car. We walked toward a
large wooden structure set back in the corner of the lot. Partially
obscured by mango and sapodilla trees, I hadn't seen it at first.

(Church)

The best way to describe the building would be to call it
Fuchsia. A fuchsia church. It was the kind of shade my sister Danni
would use to color flowers in a Disney book. I saw that the building had
a small steeple like the one at my friend Evies' Baptist church. In my
fifteen-year-old mind the sight of a steeple was reassuring. Not so
reassuring was the crowd of colored folk standing all around in front.
I felt a series of small electric shocks in my stomach. Trying to keep my
voice light I ventured a "Charlotte didn't say anything about us coming
here." As if I was pointing out an interesting new plant. Not getting that
I was trying to behave, Lila trained those sunglasses on me in that new
scary way. She was sending out the same vibes I got from her in the
car, earlier.

Without another word, I grudgingly walked along letting Lila grip my
hand. No doubt in my mind, I had become her prisoner. Church members
stared at me, the only white girl in the whole area. A very old woman
leaning on her cane looked at me and kept muttering a word that
sounded like 'inyo'-something. I looked at Lila to see if she knew what
the old lady was saying but her attention was focused towards an huge
black man in a black robe. "Good Mornin', Docta Lobito!" Lila was at her
friendly best, flashing large pearly whites. Undoubtedly, my parents had the
rare privilege of seeing those pearlies the day they hired her.

I guessed the man was in charge, a head priest, or whatever they call 'em.
“Docta” Lobito came over and knelt down in front of me with
the grace of a much smaller man, like a dancer. Nice after-shave,
reminded me of crispy grass. He looked into my face searchingly, trying
to find something. "This girl will be fine, Sister Marble".

Whaddaya mean, will be fine? I'm not sick.

Was this guy really a doctor? I felt even more uneasy; the man seemed
kind, but his brown eyes were nervously darting around, looking past me.
He was surveying the lot. What was he looking for?

We opened a wrought iron door and walked into a large room. No AC.
Lila and I trudged up a stained cement floor to the first row of an
oddly assorted group of chairs.

Some were of the folding wooden variety, others metal; a few looked
like they had been brought over from peoples' dining rooms. The rows
of chairs were arranged in a split semi-circle facing a large empty area.
No pulpit, no cross, only a crudely done but colorful mural on the wall
depicting some native African men and women kneeling and standing in
a jungle clearing. I looked around to see even more crudely painted
scenes of African men and women dancing. I was actually enjoying all
the artwork until I saw a different type of pictorial scene at the other
end of the room.

The now-familiar electric shocks came back as I looked at that wall. It
was covered in drawings upon drawings of screaming children with what
looked to be fire coming out of their mouths, flames burning their hair,
burning all around their heads. There was a crazy wildness in the making
of those images, much scarier to me than the kneelers or dancers.

This wasn't like anything I'd seen in my grand-fathers' National
Geographic magazines or Alfred Hitchcock. I sure didn't see any pictures
of the Baby Jesus.

Overhead, a cranky ceiling fan sputtered out a few puffs of hot air.
More people were shuffling in; some of the ladies had the most amazing
feather hats and the men wore shirts with bright, funny patterns on
them. Overcome with heat I looked for a window, a source of air. Two
small windows towards the back, near the door.

Off to the side I saw a regular LP turn table with small speakers. A metal
shelf held a stack of LPs and a bunch of old books. I'd seen a shelf like
that in my Dads' office supply room. My troubled mind was wanting to
focus on anything familiar, anything friendly. Did they have the 'Hallelujah'
record? Shelby had that record at home, If these people listened to Handel
I knew they‘d be okay. Could I ask Lila to get me a Coke? It was getting hotter
and hotter.

Suddenly Doctor Lobito appeared in front of the kneeling-standing mural.
He raised his arms wide, the sleeves of his dark robe billowing out despite
a lack of any breeze whatsoever. I didn't see anyone start the turntable
but I heard music in an instant; Conga drums and a bird-like flute.

Just when I thought things couldn’t get any stranger, a gaggle of
skinny, filthy children walked up from the back of the room, their
footsteps almost keeping time with the music. An attractive, stern-
looking young woman carrying a small whip, brought up the rear. Did
she need to use it on those kids? They looked pretty tame to me.

She herded the children up to where the priest was. Her dress was
unique because it was so different from the usual North Miami colored
womans' 'go to church' dress. It was some sort of boldly embroidered
wrap. I was surprised to see a colored woman wearing such a beautiful
outfit and walking with such authority. During the week, if she was lucky,
she probably had a maids’ job or cleaned office buildings but here today
she was a queen. A mean queen with none of the chin-tucking,
submissive demeanor needed to work for the White Man.

What was she doing with those children? They were wearing dirty
clothes, almost rags. They looked sick and hungry. A couple of the older
ones tried to leave to go outside but the woman snapped her whip in
their direction. They robotically turned around and went back to the group.

My ears began to pulsate with the loudness of the drums. Where was
Lila? In all my astonishment at the goings-on I didn't see her leave. I
felt hard leather poking my arm; it was the Mean Queen. Gesturing with
her whip, she was trying to push me up to join those children.

The room turned a humming white all around me as I tried to get away
from her. Through thick, hot humming I heard a guttural, foreign-
sounding whisper coil into my ear like foul smoke.

"Fergit the Baby Jesus, girl, an' don' be afred. Massa Docta gonna
make it OK"

Right before I passed out I saw Lila winking at me, her face covered in
red powder. Her plump lips were painted bright gold.