“If you’ve been promised anything, you did it to yourself.”
“That’s not true. And I’m not talking about just me. I’m talking about every man. You make promises with your body language and the way you carry on. You don’t just flirt. You put on your stripper personality and act sexually bold. Are you saying I’ve misinterpreted all that?”
“Freddy, what do you expect me to do? You haven’t had one single non-sexual thought in your head since I got in this car. Now how is that supposed to make me feel? Treat me like an object and I’ll react like an object.”
“You’re the one who made yourself up like an object to get this ride. You’re the one who conveniently told me you dance around naked for a living. You’re the one who put those sexual thoughts in my head. And if I hadn’t reacted, you’d move, or twist, or touch your legs or something until I got the message. You tease so much you don’t even realize you’re doing it. You’ve the power to turn a perfectly normal man into a delusional idiot. You love it and you use it. Now you’re saying I’m wrong for misinterpreting all your sexual manipulations.”
“Okay, you’re right. I used sex to get the ride. I do fall back on that when I need to. I’m sorry.”
“You believe the best way to hurt every man is to make then lust after you, excite them, and leave them frustrated to the point of abject agony. Which is what you’d do to George if you could do it over. Remember what you told me about stripping? The idea was to make every man in the room think you’re dumb enough to actually have sex with him. Maybe, subconsciously, you’re still trying to hurt George. Your goal is to make men suffer.”
“That’s ridiculous. I like men. I don’t want to hurt them.”
“Why did you tell me you were a stripper?”
“What? You asked me what I did.”
“When you’re out in the real world, what happens when you tell a man you’re a stripper? We both know. The man looks at you in a different way. He immediately starts to judge your character even your morals. And his judgment isn’t likely to be charitable.”
“Strippers being immoral is a cliche.”
“Yes, and so commonplace why on earth would you tell a stranger that you strip unless you were seeking such a predictable reaction?”
“I’m not ashamed of being a stripper.”
“That’s not the point. You purposely told me you stripped knowing exactly how I’d react. From then on, it was easy and you got me going knowing I’d crave you and subsequently be disappointed and hurt. You hurt me on purpose because I’m a man.”
I was thinking it all through as I spoke. I thought the rape made more of a mess of her psyche than she realized. Suffer Freddy. Suffer all you men out there who’d like to have her. Suffer because of George. That’s why it was now a part of her being. She couldn’t turn it off if any man was watching.
“It’s no mystery to me why you were attracted to stripping. You’ve been doing a sex dance in front of men ever since that rape. Just so you could get them excited and then let them stew in their own lust. All the while thinking ‘Go to hell, George. Go to hell all of you.’”
“Wow, Freddy where’d all that come from?” She sat still for a minute then shrugged. “Anyway, it’s all a bunch of silly shit and not what’s going on with me.”
“I’m sorry, maybe I went too far. But if you women put all your sexual power together you could rule the world.”
She said, “Frankly I don’t see what all the fuss is about. You see one naked body, you’ve seen them all.”
I looked over sharply. Her expression was extremely stern for a moment and then she burst out laughing. I thought she was laughing at me, and for an instant I was angry. That’s when I saw this warm almost motherly smile on her face for a moment before she started laughing again. Then I caught the joke. And I started laughing as well. She hadn’t said it to pity me. She wasn’t laughing at me. She was laughing at the ubiquitous power of sex. Whether it’s a naked woman or a naked man, we’re all in this ridiculous sexual attraction game together. The outrageous effect of sex enslaves us all. Its chaotic passion lies within us and we’re subject to its rule. We live at its mercy.
We sat there riding side by side for a beautiful moment. Two helpless humans laughing together at the absurdity of sex, and how it makes us act.
I realized I’d been acting foolish and ungentlemanly. I don’t know what she realized at that point, but she appeared softer, even slightly vulnerable. Perhaps she’d experienced some insight into her own behavior. We’d made a small connection. At least we had laughed together honestly for the first time.
At that moment, what I wanted was to clear the air of sex and for us to act like adults friends who happened to be traveling companions. “Look, Betty Jo, This is entirely my fault. But things don’t have to stay this way. We got off on the wrong foot. Let’s start over.”
“Let’s keep it on the wrong foot.”
At that moment I gave up. She was unattainable. She was smarter and more complicated than I ever expected. She had my number. She had me. She’d make the rules from then on and I’d let her. I’m not proud to say it, but I’d have done anything for her. I’d grovel at those zebra-striped shoes. Now I didn’t want to get to Florida because then she’d be gone.
For the next hour, I was afraid to look over at her. I didn’t want her scolding me. I noticed she seemed to be interested in how the scenery conspicuously changed as we proceeded farther south. So I took a chance. Her shoes were off and I could look down cautiously and see her bare feet and toes. I kept my eyes mostly on the highway. I don’t think Candy was aware I could look down and see her bare feet.
Chapter Twenty-four
We crossed into Florida late that afternoon. This was the home stretch. Betty Jo started watching for a suitable place to get gas and coffee. She was excited. “Freddy, I hope this is the last damn stop before Fort Lauderdale.” Apparently, no question remained about how far I would take her. Although we had never discussed the subject, I was to drive hours out of my way and deliver her precisely to her mother’s doorstep. That was all right with me; I’d be near her that much longer.
She spotted a crowded truck stop near Jacksonville and told me to exit and pull in there. You notice she’s calling the shots. “You gas up. I’ll be back in a minute.”
She got out and did that walk of hers across to the main building with her head up in the air, those hips in motion, and those long legs going up as far as the eye could see. All accentuated by the tall heels she wore. How nice for everyone. Two cars honked. Without moving her head, she raised a hand to acknowledge their approval, but kept walking straight ahead.
Watching her, in that moment, I recognized something about her that I had missed. Now I understood her walk, the way she carried herself. Now I understood her demeanor whether walking across a motel parking lot or into a store. She didn’t stand up tall to show off her figure; she stood tall with pride. She had a true sense of self that had nothing to do with being a stripper. What had she said?
She walked to the building entrance and stopped. Something had her attention. Instead of going in, she turned around and walked on down between the line of parked cars. She walked up to a green Ford Taurus parked there. She looked at the license plate. She tried the car doors. Then she looked back at me, waved excitedly, and pointed to the car.
Just then, a middle-aged blond woman wearing white jeans and a leather jacket rushed up to Betty Jo. She shook her fist in the woman’s face. The woman pushed Betty Jo hard back against the car. Instead of just pushing back, Betty Jo wound up like a discus thrower and swung her shoulder handbag hard without holding back. She caught the woman up alongside her head. The woman’s feet literally left the ground. She screamed. Her knees crumpled and she fell backwards. I thought, oh god, if there’s a heavy gun in that handbag the woman will lose all her teeth if not her head. I rushed over and got there in time to partially support the woman and keep her head from hitting the curb. I lowered her to the sidewalk. She was dazed. She sat holding her head and crying, and then started vomiting at the same time.
I shouted, “What in hell are you doing, Betty Jo? You nearly killed this poor woman!”
“Freddy, go inside find a cop and tell him who you are.”
