Through A Glass, Darkly (The Assassins of Youth MC #1)(18)
“Yeah.” I snorted. “And she’s not even coming over here.”
She was wearing the rebellious red dress, but there was something different about her. It was almost as if she’d primped up in some secret way to impress someone. She started heading for the fake bikers who endlessly played pool, but she stopped short and took a small round table for herself. I was hugely offended she didn’t even glance my way. How could she not see the back of my cut with colorful rockers advertising we were THE ASSASSINS OF YOUTH MC? Did we not share a few glances while she served us in Chiles’ office? Was I imagining things that she might have secretly had the hots for me, too? I was a bad boy, for f*ck’s sake! Was she really that brainwashed by Chiles that she couldn’t even sit at the same bar with me?
“I’ll go get her drink order,” said Skippy.
“She’s very beautiful,” said Dingo. “Even more than I remember. Her hair used to be a frizzy ball but now it’s all smooth. She must have discovered the wonders of olive oil.”
I looked at him. Sometimes it seemed his maturity had been retarded at a certain age, or been unduly influenced by advertisements for women’s products. He was a tough nut to crack. He wasn’t gay, so I ruled that out. He just randomly seemed to like things that traditionally were thought of as female interests. “Oh yeah? And which skin products does she use?”
“I like to think she opts for a paraben-free—”
“I’ll be right back. Read about your stars on the computer.”
Dingo nodded happily and I butted into Mahalia’s conversation with Skippy. It seemed they hadn’t seen each other in awhile, because she was telling him how well her daughter was. But something seemed off. There was a tense tremor to her voice, and his nostrils were flaring. Something was wrong.
Skippy said, “A 7 Up coming up. So they’ll want to marry Vonda off soon, no? She’s getting to be that age.”
Skippy had inadvertently hit the nail on the head. The tears that had been held back in her eyes suddenly sprung forth, and she wiped an eye with the back of her hand. “I suppose,” she said in a tight, strangled voice. “Not that I’m all for it.”
Skippy shifted uncomfortably. Maybe the emotional impact of the conversation would get rid of him.
“Get her drink,” I said, and he seemed relieved to be off the hook. Taking the empty chair, I had the nerve to put my hand over Mahalia’s, reassuringly. “What’s wrong?” I asked softly.
I could tell she could not withhold her feelings even if she’d tried. A sob escaped from the bottom of her lungs when she tried to talk. Her hand couldn’t hold back her tears, so I lamely gave her a paper napkin. “My daughter. Allred wants to marry her off to Orson Ream. She’s far too young to be married. I was married at sixteen, but I loved my husband.”
“I know you did,” I said, withdrawing my hand. Suddenly it seemed inappropriate. And she was wiping her nose.
She turned fiery. “Vonda doesn’t love Orson, much less know much about him at all! I see this happen time and time again—Lord knows Allred has sealed to a few new, younger wives since me, and we’re talking girls who barely know him! I know it’s all the Lord’s will, but sometimes that just seems like such goddamned scrud!”
I could tell she was violently upset to use a word like “scrud.” “I can’t see the point in it, myself. He has to get rid of people, drive all the Lost Boys into the desert and abandon them, get rid of perfectly good men like Reed Smoot just to make way for more women? I don’t imagine he lets you help build the buildings. Seems construction workers would be at a premium.”
“I know, right? Instead of offing them all—” Choking on her words, Mahalia glanced around to make sure no one had overheard. She looked submissively down at the table. “I don’t know you very well. I shouldn’t be saying things like this to you.”
“You’ll know me much better if I have any say in it. And just because I’m working for Chiles doesn’t mean I agree with his ways, his methods. I think his methods are pretty f*cking unsound, to be honest. But I’m doing my Prez a solid by accommodating Chiles. That includes business, not abuse toward women.”
She sniffed. She looked lovelier than ever with her eyes all misted over, although of course I loathed what Chiles was doing to her. It was sick. It was twisted. It was pimpery of the worst sort. “Do you? Think it’s abuse, I mean?”
Skippy brought her drink. He also brought my warm glass of Bud and Mahalia sort of sneered at it, so I didn’t touch it.
“Well of course it is. It’s emotional abuse, and physical abuse by proxy. You can’t just order someone to marry someone. It’s not natural.”
“But it’s the Lord’s will, not Allred’s. That’s how he makes it make sense. It’s our calling, such as teaching youth, or running the Relief Society is. We have to take a leap in the dark, to take action with very little hard evidence to urge us on. That’s what faith is, belief in things you can’t see.”
“But do you ever come to terms with it? Accept the guy in your bed, even when you find him repellant?”
She cocked her head, and really seemed to be thinking. “Yes,” she said uncertainly. “I mean, I still haven’t fully accepted Allred. I hate it when it’s my—my turn. But I think most, if not all, of his other wives have accepted him. If nothing else, they’re proud to be sealed to The Prophet. How we act when we’re summoned to faith reveals a lot about who we are, our character. I know Vonda is of the highest order of character, yet when I told her what had to happen, she almost ran away from home.”