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                                          Chapter Six

                                            Uncle Stu

Milwaukee, Wisconsin

11: 10 PM

Straightening his body as adjusting enough to lie alongside Margery, whom had remained in the sitting position with back against the wall, with legs outstretched. “Stuart, what just happened, and don’t give me any bullshit about me, ‘just being here’.”

Asking, not telling, “Lie down.”

Straightening her body, lying onto her side facing him, as he moves an inch or two away, so they’re not touching making their only physical contact since meeting their chaste kiss and the moments he’d held her hand.

“I do something wrong?”

“No. Of course not, it’s me.”

Lifting an arm, sniffing. “I smell bad or something.”

“No! You do ‘not smell bad’, and you ‘didn’t do anything wrong’!”

“what’s it, then?”

“I might be a lot of things, but I am ‘not’ a paedophile.”

“ ‘Paedophile’?”

Angrily,“I do ‘not’ fuck around with children!”

“I told you, I’m not…”

About to take her face between his hands. Hesitating. “You stop with the bullshit!” Demanding an answer. “How fucking old are you!?”

Motioning about the room.“Don’t want to lose what I’ve got here!”

Crooking an elbow, resting his head onto his palm. “What the hell you think you’ve got here?”

“A place to live, and those other women I’ve met seem friendly enough, and no one telling me what to do, and no fucking nuns slapping me around with their fucking rulers… Oh, yeah, and being able to make money.”

“ Telling you what to do?” Laughing, “Wait’ll you’ve got guys with shit stinking ass-holes telling you to lick their balls; then tell me ‘nobody telling you what to do’!”

Childishly spoken. “Well, I won’t lick their balls, then!”

“Maybe they’re paying you to lick their balls! That’s what you're here for, aren’t you! To fuck ‘em! To suck ‘em, and to lick their balls, if they want.”

“I’ll call Rosie if they tell me to do something I don’t want to!”

Sitting up now. One leg bent at the knee on the bed, the other leg over the beds edge. “That’s how you think it works in a whore house? You don’t want to do something and you don’t have to.?

And look at you! You’re young and beautiful and not a burnt out fucking whore…” angrily “...but it’ll happen faster than you think.”

Stuart, sitting as he is, the fly to his shorts gaping open exposing his penis drawing the girls attention. Following Margery’s eyes, pulling the sides of the fly together. “No bullshit now! ‘How old are you’?”

Giving in. “You won’t tell?”

“Told you I wouldn’t!”

Sighing, “Fifteen… Uh, in two months.”

“ ‘ Fourteen’!” Disbelieving. “You’re ‘only’ fourteen!” Moralistically thinking, Thank God I didn’t touch her!

“Told you…” said angrily “...I’ll be fifteen in two months.”

“Big deal! Your parents? Stuart asked “where are your parents?”

The lie coming too fast to stop. “They’re dead.”

“ ‘Dead’? Both your mother and father are dead?”

“Yeah, My father, uh, dad died…” flashing thought of a war movie she’d seen “...in ‘Salerno’, and my mom, when she was told, she, uh, killed herself.”

“ ‘Killed herself’! How terrible!” Staring at the girl. An orphan! Believing her because what kind of a person could make up such a story. “Don’t you have anyone else? Anyone you can stay with? No relatives?”

“No…” wondering how all these lies are coming so easily “...no one. No place to stay, that’s why it’s so important I stay here. And seeing as I, uh, kind of like, uh, fucking, thought, ‘what the hell’, and told the lady I’m eighteen and, seeing as I look like I do, she said okay.” Forcing a sad face, at least as sad a face as the man sitting on the bed next to her. “So you’ won’t tell? You promised you wouldn’t!”

“Not going to have to tell, ‘cause you’re not staying here!”

Her heart thumping. “What do you mean?”

“Look; you’re young, you’re beautiful…” motioning to her breasts “...and from here up you certainly look like a woman any guy would love to get his hands on, and in a couple’a years, ‘believe me’, you’d look like an old woman from …” motioning again “… here up, too.”

Very far from a stupid person; “So what’s on your mind, then?”

“I’ve no one at home anymore…”

“Anymore?”

“My family… My family are gone. Look, I’ll get into that later, but for now I’d like you to come and live with me.”

“That way you’ll have me to fuck any time you get around to wanting to fuck, or to do that creepy knee thing with me.”

“You’re a child…” he said angrily “… and like I said, I do ‘not’ fuck around with children, no matter how old you said you are, or whatever you look like!”

“You are not of legal age until you’re eighteen— ‘really’ eighteen and I simply will not touch you, at least in ‘any’ sexual way until then— and by then, knowing myself, I probably won’t even want to by then.”

Pulling herself up, her back against the wall once again, closing her eyes, thinking. “Okay, how’'ll you get me out of here, and how’ll you get me into wherever you live?”

“Okay.” Nodding his approval. “Good.” Pulling his slacks on, buttoning the shirt and slipping into his shoes, then pushing the red button on the phone board. “Yeah, Rosie. Could you please ask Miss Cammy to come in here…

No! No problem, just want to talk to Cammy.

“While we’re waiting…” Stuart asked “...what’s your name?”

“Told you, didn’t I! ‘Margery’.”

“You’re last name!”

Disliking the actress because she always seemed so haughty: “ ‘Crawford’.” Margery Binkowski said. “My name’s Margery Crawford.”

Loveland, Ohio

11: 40 PM

Unaware. On this cool August night; summer weight shorty panamas worn by both the ten year old boy and his lifelong family friendly adopted eight year old sister.

Cuddled beneath a light weight summer blanket the adopted sister snuggling her backside even closer— for the warmth. For the comfort.

Unaware.

The comfort, the soft warmth, cradling his forward angled pelvis, for the soft comfort, for the warmth, the girl arching her backside further, deeper into the boy’s comfort zone.

Unaware… There was a humanly physical condition occurring as…

The boy’s body jerking with powerfully wrenching spasms— disturbing Sharon who moved from their close contact— as moaning aloud from his deep place Clyde sensed the warmth that began in the area of his rectum, his testicles, and then spread throughout his entire body that, even in his sleep, caused him to shudder at the convulsing heavenly erotic sensations of a child’s first nocturnal orgasm that, it’s immediate end sensing as though having relieved himself of a very full bladder after holding off for an extremely long time.

His eyes opening.

Becoming aware, he stared into the darkness for a number of seconds…

Oh, no. Appalled, No! He thought, it can’t be!

Throwing the blanket off— once again disturbing Sharon— he rushed into their adjoining bathroom.

Standing before the urinal, expecting his pajamas to be wet, but they weren’t wet, his pajamas were dry.

Was I dreaming? Yeah, it had to be a dream! Or maybe I was hanging out and only got the bed wet and, shuddering, Sharon.

Rushing back to the room, he felt the sheet and blanket.

Awakening. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing! Why don’t you just go back to your own bed if I’m bothering you so much!”

Without answering Sharon turned to her other side.

Dry! The bed was dry!

Was I dreaming?

Trying to remember, he crawled back into bed… But did not snuggle onto his adopted sister.

On the other side of the International Date Line

August 6,1945

By the afternoon of August 6, the Japanese government had received reports that Hiroshima had been devastated in a manner quite different from the damage caused by previous air raids. In the early hours of the next morning, by intercepting a statement from U.S. President Truman, the government learned that the bomb dropped on Hiroshima was an atomic bomb.

To confirm this, the government sent scientists to Hiroshima. The army and navy also organized and dispatched a survey team of scientists and experts to investigate.

At the same time, to continue the war, the Japanese government, fearing that the Japanese people would lose their will to fight, called the A-bomb a “new type of bomb” and refused to inform the Japanese people of the seriousness of the damage that the atomic bombings caused.

While the Japanese government was dealing with this situation, a second atomic bomb— Fat Man — was readied to be dropped on Nagasaki.

11: 50PM

“Rosie said you wanted to talk to me.”

“Yeah, Cammy, I do.”

Looking at the girl, and back. “You’ve a problem with Pansy?”

Still sitting upright, back against the wall. Still fully dressed.

“Yes. Actually I do, and so do you.”

The ‘’madam’ for years in whore houses from San Fransco to Milwaukee.

Knowing that sooner or later; more than likely ‘sooner’, this girl was going to be a problem. “How’s that, Elmer?”

“Oh, ‘come on’, Cammy, you have to know how old this kid is!”

knowing her argument would be weak. “Said she was eighteen.”

Margery’s eyes shifting from conversation to conversation, from face to face.

“ ‘Eighteen’, huh! No shit, Cammy! And you believed her?”

“Said she could prove it!” Although, really, the girl hadn’t.

“Said she ‘could prove it’ huh? ‘Really’!What if some ‘trick’ blows his top because she’s to frightened to let him shove his cock up her ass and she tells her real age? Huh! How long you think it’ll be before ‘The House of Flowers’ becomes that ‘Paedophile Place’?”

Sighing. “So how old is she?”

Pointing. “You tell her!”

“Fourteen…” Margery admitted “...for two more months only.”

“Fourteen”? You’re ‘only’ fourteen? Shit!” Knowing she had no argument. Actually glad to get the girl off her hands, and out of her ‘house’. “So...” looking from the man to the girl and back “...what do you want to do?”

“Take her home with me.”

“ ‘Really’!” Sarcastically stated.

Knowing what the old lady was thinking; angrily: “I’m no fucking paedophile, and just want to keep her off the streets until both her…” nodding towards the girl “...and I can figure out what to do.”

‘Elmer Fudd’ had been a ‘House of Flowers’ patron for two years with never so much as a minor complaint from any of the ‘flowers’. “This okay with you, ‘girl’?”

Liking Stuart, a ‘lot’. Nodding her head, “Yeah,” Margery Crawford said.

Lifting the phone, pushing the red button… “Rosie, Pansy is going to be leaving with Elmer. No. No charge.”

“He want me to get his car?”

“Rose wants to know if you’d like him to get your car?”

“How much you got to pack?” Stuart asked the girl.

“A couple of things, never really unpacked.”

“Okay get your stuff…. Cammy, tell Rosie we’ll be right down, will you.”

“Get the car, Rose.”

Pulling the large suitcase from the closet, and throwing whatever toiletrys she’d used into the top zipper apartment. Then quickly stripping out of her whore costume into her street clothes 

“Pansy…” Cammy said “...when you’re ‘of age’, if you’d want, come on back.”

Dragging the suitcase through the doorway. “Hope to do whatever I can to keep her from doing that.”

“Okay. Just saying.” Cammy said, turning away.

Into the reception area to the front entrance.

Handing Stuart the Car keys. “Good knowing you, Pansy.”

“Thank’s Rosie; for your help and protection.”

Taking the girl’s shoulders, turning her in his direction. “You be a good girl now! You ‘know’ what I mean!”

Not knowing if she actually could be what the big black man considered to be a ‘good girl’. “Yeah, Rosie, I know what you mean… I’ll try.”

The suitcase dropped into the trunk of a white, pre0war Cadillac Coupe deVille.

The door opened by Stuart.

The plush, red leather passenger side seat occupied by Margery Crawford.

Monday, August 7, 1945,

12:o4 AM

Behind the wheel now, the key inserted, the engine turned on, the Cadillac pulled from the curb before ‘The House of Flowers’.

Driving northbound on ‘US 43’.

“Where we going?”

A clear, star filled night.

Glancing to his right. “White Fish Bay.”

“ ‘White Fish Bay’? Pretty fucking fancy !”

Eyes forward. “Margery…”

“ ‘Margy’!”

“Okay, then, ‘Margy’. We’re going to set some rules and bounds right now!”

“Really? You think you’re my fucking father, or something! I go to the cops and tell them I’m only fourteen and been kidnapped by this old man… How old are you Stuart?”

Driving silently for two or three minutes, then pulling off road to the soft shoulder.

The only illumination, the blue dashboard controls and the flashing lights of passing cars.

Turning on the bench seat, facing the girl. “Right! I am ‘not’ your father and I suppose if you wanted to, you could go too the policetelling them all ab out this ‘dirty old man’. Then what, Margy? You can’t go back to that whore house I just took you from. What then, Margy? You ready to become a street whore fucking anyone for two bucks, maybe get the shit kicked out of you, just for the hell of it. That what you want, ‘Margy’?”

Looking straight forward, not speaking.

“Look at me, damn it!”

Turning on the seat. “Yeah.”

“Stay with me and you’re going to be enrolled in our closest public school ‘tomorrow’! And there will be ‘no’ blow jobs for a pack of ‘Twinkies’, or ‘anything’ else!”

Attempting to look tough, attempting to look like a girl that no one could tell ‘anything to’! However— actually a rather intelligent girl— the thought of ‘public school’ appealing.

“What grade are you in?”

“In School?”

“Stop acting dumb! Of course ‘in school’.”

Relenting. “Catholic grades, I think are different from public school, but I’d guess I’d be in eighth grade.”

“Okay, then. Tomorrow… Not sure how we’re going to do it— lie through our teeth, I guess, but we’ll get you into school tomorrow.”

Remembering. “It’s August now. Public school doesn’t start again until September: day after ‘Labor Day’.”

“Oh, yeah.” Noting the change in the girl’s tone of voice.“Okay then, the first day school starts.”

Her attitude softening. The defiant attitude crumbling. “Where’ll I live?”

“With me, of course.”

“No sex?”

“Margy, listen. I had a… Don’t want to talk about it now, but like I said: ‘No’! There won’t be any sex between us!”

“Not even that creepy knee thing?”

Blinking as though a bit of grit had blown into both eyes. “No, not even that.”

“How’ll you get away with bringing me in, and living with a fourteen year old girl?”

“Early on, shortly after the war started, we lived in London…

“You ‘lived’ in London and what happened to the ‘we’?”

Sighing, shifting the gear into ‘first’, the Cadillac worked its way into the line of northbound traffic.

“Told you, I don’t want to talk about any of that now.”

The girl quiet. Thoughts— primarily positive thoughts peppering her mind and within a minute or two, feeling the need to say something, even something as inconsequential as, “Pretty nifty car you got here. Never been in one before.”

A Cadillac?”

The feel and sense of conversation becoming more as though between ‘possibly’ a father and daughter. ”Yeah.” Margy said.

“You like this car?” Stuart asked.

“Sure! Of course, who wouldn’t?”

“It’s you’s, then.”

“ ‘What’?” Twisting on the seat, staring at the man. “What do you mean this car is ‘mine’?”

“Okay…” glancing at her “...here’s the deal. No more swearing. No more ‘fuck’ words. You go to school like a normal fifteen year old girl. ‘No’ fucking around because I’ll be introducing you as my niece from … Where were your parents from?”

“What do you mean?”

“Their nationality. What country did they or your grand parents come from?”

“Poland.”

“You speak any Polish?”

Laughing. “A few swear words.”

“Okay, if anyone should ask, say you were only allowed to speak English at home, and that your mother was English and your father Polish so that’s why you speak English so well; and they were both killed in an air raid, along with your records when the school you went to was blown up.”

“You know, Stuart, you’re a really good liar. Make all that stuff up just now?”

“Yeah.” Laughing. “Pretty good story, ain’t it?”

“Well, other than my parents getting blown up.”

“Yeah. But you know we have to come up with some reason for a fourteen year old girl living with me…” Thinking “”...her uncle.”

“So you’re going to be my uncle from now on.”

“So long as you live by our rules, and want to be my niece.”

“Think I’m okay with that, but you were going to tell me, then we got off the subject; what do I have to do to get his…” patting the leather seat between them “...car?”

“You finish grade school, go on to high school and if you do well, and do not get into trouble, at the start of your ‘third’ year,— your ‘junior’ year, you’ll have this car to drive to school, or wherever.”

“I got to be a good girl for three years to get this car?”

“And get good grades, ‘yeah’!”

Thinking a moment. “Okay..” lightly punching him on the shoulder “...you got a deal. Only…? No more Twinkies.”.

Pulling off the highway, onto a side street. “Nah. Kid’s got to have their Twinkies, so I’ll give you a couple bucks a week allowance so you can buy your own Twinkies.”

Sounding better all the time. “What should I call you?”

“Don’t know. Haven’t thought about it. How’s about ‘Uncle Stuart’, or just plain old ‘Stu’, If you’d rather.”

“I’ll think about it, then. But I do kind of like ‘plain old, Stu’.”

Three minutes later, pulling into the driveway of a brown brick, one story structure. “Here we are!”

_______________________________________________________

                                                  63

                                          Chapter Seven

                                       Two Days To Fat Man