Mirror Marlene

From the Notebook of Ulyssa Kincaid

Who would have thought that one of life's little ironic pleasures would hinge on a memorably ugly bowling bag? It happened on my last birthday, I'd just turned forty-one. My family had made a big deal about my fortieth birthday the prior year. I'd been surprised at the house Jeremy built with a huge party, gag gifts, male stripper, the whole works. But now that I'd reached the ripe old age of forty-one, my birthday was obviously just another workday. My husband toiled a thousand miles away at a two week long business seminar; both of our daughters were away at two different colleges; even the cat had disappeared for two or three days.

So I began celebrating my birthday on my own by watching the sunrise at the bottom of a tequila glass. Then I watched another sunrise and another.

As I walked through this labyrinthian house that my husband, Jeremy, had built, I knew that basically it was just the world's most beautiful cattle barn designed to keep me and the rest of his possessions penned inside.

My best friend, Gina, had always told me that what I needed was to have an affair with a real man who'd not only take my body out of Jeremy's stockade, but steal my heart as well. Of course, Jeremy informed me that Gina was white trash, and he didn't want me to associate with her.

I continued to pace the walls inside my expensive cage. Soon I passed the large wall length mirror. Naturally, I waved to Mirror Marlene.

"Happy birthday, Marlene," I called out. Mirror Marlene lifted her half empty cocktail glass toward me, and we saluted our birthday by draining the last drops of our fourth tequila sunrise together.

"I believe we're out of tequila, Marlene," The lady in the mirror told me. "Have you got some more stashed over there in mirror-land?" I asked. Marlene laughed at me, since we both knew that I needed to go out to buy another bottle. "Have you seen my jacket?"

Of course she had. It was still on a hanger in the closet that Jeremy designed. In the fleeting moments before nine: forty-five AM, I was out of the house and off to the liquor store.

That was where the trouble started. First when I parked my car, I nearly hit a street lamp post where a tall thin young black man in a hooded gray sweatshirt stood next to an ugly purple and green bowling bag. He quickly turned his face away from me, but not before I noticed some disfiguring scars around his mouth. But the tequila was the big thing on my mind.

"Lady, it looks like you've already started celebrating," the cashier said. "You know I can't sell booze to you when you've been drinking."

"But it's my birthday!" I said quietly getting a signal from Mirror Marlene who was loitering on the surface of a glass counter to try a few tears to induce the clerk. By then a few more people had begun to form a line behind me.

None of us noticed the dark figure who came up softly behind us, and neither Mirror Marlene nor I reacted until it was too late.

"All right, people, everyone lay down on the floor," a hoarse falsetto voice sneered. "Empty your wallets and the cash register and nobody will get hurt."

The liquor store I frequented was being robbed by a young black man with a black ski mask, his desert storm style field jacket covered most of what appeared to be a generic gray hooded sweatshirt, he carried a .9 mm automatic, and lugged a brown grocery bag into the store.

Quickly, thoroughly, the young man took the money from the two cash registers, my money, and close to a thousand dollars from three businessmen in the store. Strangely enough, though the young black man had taken all of our money, he left us our credit cards. As I noted the strange scars on his lip which could be perceived at the mouth hole of his ski mask, I was sure I saw just a glimpse of an ugly purple and green bowling bag hidden just outside the front door. My curiosity peaked, I watched which way the young man went, and something in Mirror Marlene's smirk told me that if we felt like playing detective, we might be able to track him down.

However, the manager of the liquor store convinced me to stay and talk to the police when they arrived. He offered to fill my tequila order at no charge if I promised to hide the bottle in my handbag and tell the police what I knew. The owner surreptitiously gave all four of us good citizens our various orders on the house. Of course, my description of the suspect was immediately dismissed as inaccurate. After all, I was female, and like Mirror Marlene, I had bottle blonde hair. It didn't help that I was partly under the influence, but the worst part of it was that I was over forty years of age.

The clerk and the three male customers identified the man as a shotgun toting African American/Hispanic, or a Samoan/Hawaiian carrying a .350 magnum pea shooter. He was occasionally over six foot-five, just barely five foot-eight, but mostly average in height. He was thin and just 25 years of age, but looked over 30 and weighed nearly two hundred and eighty pounds. The same man apparently wore Nike shoes over his Cochran jump boots and black denim jeans which were a faded blue and/or khaki in color. Stuffing the stolen cash into a combination bank sack and briefcase, he then skateboarded alone off to his getaway minivan where half a dozen companions waited.

Anyway you get the point.

Eventually one of the officers told me he'd have his partner drive me home in my own car. I smiled graciously and thanked him, and I suppose that should have been that. But on the way back just minutes from my place, I noticed the tall thin young black man in a gray sweatshirt carrying an ugly purple and green bowling bag into Northside Bowling Lanes. I started to say something to the officer, but he was in contact by hand held two-way radio with his partner in the squad car and didn't want to be bothered.

Afterwards, I thanked the police for getting me home safely, and promised not to drive any more today. Naturally as soon as they drove out of sight, I jumped in my car and headed straight for the bowling alley.

Early afternoon traffic slowed to a crawl as I made a turn onto the main road. Barely focusing on the snarl of traffic ahead, my eyes darted around the boulevard watching whatever there was to see on the road besides stalled traffic.

I caught sight of something disconcerting: a young mousy blond teenager treading a bit too deliberately with a huge bag of groceries and a package of Huggies diapers balanced in one arm and a small toddler balanced on her hip. Poured into the confines of preshrunk denim shorts and bursting braless through a fading orange tank top, the girl was fatigued and quite overwhelmed by her struggling child.

Quite obviously a handful, it was the toddler which attracted my attention. He was soft toned brown in color with a full mop of brown black curly hair. The child was much too dark complected for his mother, and yet, the baby's feature reflected the mother's startlingly. For some reason the image of those two stuck in my head even after I turned the corner and drove out of sight.

I drove on until I had pulled into the parking lot of the bowling alley. Before I left the car, I asked Mirror Marlene why we were doing this again. But she just smiled at me, shrugged, and winked. We must've had some sort of plan worked out, so I followed her lead.

I was in luck. The bowling bag and its scar-faced owner were still there waiting quietly by the snack bar. But now what do I do? Try to apprehend him and turn him in? Yeah, that sounded just as stupid to me then, as it does now that I repeat it. So I merely walked up to the counter, took a seat, and ordered some coffee.

The man behind the counter was joking with my suspect about some woman fingering him on a paternity suit. "Of course, that's something you probably won't have to worry about, player."

"I'm the faithful kind, Richard. A one woman man."

"Shit, you ain't even found that one woman yet, Rucker."

The scarring along the right side of his mouth was more severe than I'd realized. It looked as if he bore some ugly scars from some sort of surgery to his cheek and upper lip. Still, there was something admirable about the way he maintained his dignity. So when he noticed me staring at him, I blurted out the first thing to come to mind: "So, what are you going to do with the money?"

Shocked, the young man looked at me, and then he let his face go as placid as it would allow. "Do I know you, lady?"

"I'm pretty sure you remember where we met," I answered. "The thing is if I figured out that it was you, how long do you think it will take the police?" I figured that would be sufficient enough bluff to influence him.

He stood up and strolled two bar stools closer to me. "What is this lady?" he murmured. "Some kind of shakedown?"

"No, actually it's some kind of birthday," I replied. "Grab your bowling bag and let's go for a drive."

"Wait a minute lady!"

"Wait too long and all you'll get is a free ride in the back of a police car." I hopped down from the counter stool. "C'mon. You've got nothing to loose." I offered him my keys. "You can even drive if you want."

Shrugging, the young scar-faced man declined my keys, picked up his bag and gestured towards the door.

"Are we headed out of the city?" he asked. I told him no. I knew that his instincts for staying close were correct, and we'd be much better off hiding in plain sight.

"Would you mind telling me what this is all about?"

"Impetuous birthday surprises," I replied, as I went over to a pay phone just outside the bowling alley. There was a national chain motor lodge a mere block and a half from the police station. I checked us in there using my credit card and the hotel's national 800 booking number to secure the room for a double occupancy. "I told you it was my birthday, didn't I?"

"You mentioned it."

"You know what I'd like the most for my birthday?"

My young black thief sighed. "No, what?"

"I'd like to get laid." Just like that I said it.

Thoughts of anybody other than my husband had occurred to me, of course. I had a little cadre of TV soap stars or an occasional sports hero that I might have fantasized about. Once I'd passed thirty the thoughts of an actual affair became more frequent, but the expenditure of time and money and effort had always seemed to be too much of a bother.

Still my new acquaintance, who told me his street name was Rucker, was hardly the person I'd have chosen to cheat on my husband with. Under those disfiguring scars, I could sense that he was barely my youngest daughter's age. Besides he was tall, slim, mustached, and decidedly African American where I was definitely none of those. But my answer didn't change at all: "Yeah," I finally replied. "I'm serious."

We used some of his stolen cash to pay for our first night's room charges.

Admittedly I was thrilled to be the center of attention again, but to have an affair with the thief who'd robbed me? Whoa, girl! Slow it down. I went to the bathroom to talk it over with Mirror Marlene.

Though Mirror Marlene was acting intolerably smug in the motel bathroom, I was rather glad that she'd accompanied me. Quickly undressing in anticipation of our birthday celebration, I noticed that Mirror Marlene was still a good looking broad for hitting her early forties. Her shoulders were still supple--always the best part of a good figure--she had well shaped legs and thighs, and her full breasts draped evenly, still hanging firmly in spite of the fact that there wasn't as much flatness in her abdomen as there once had been. Both Marlene of the mirror and I agreed that we should do quite well in the upcoming event.

The floor of our motel room was strewn with clothing tossed about in haphazard piles. Waiting between the wall and the side of the bed, my new companion stood totally naked. But while I should have been admiring over ten inches of erect masculine arrogance, my eyes focused on the the short barrel of the nine millimeter handgun which he pointed straight at me.

"Don't move, lady."

I stopped. "What's this all about?"

"Walk over to the curtains," he muttered. "Slowly."

I followed his orders.

"Go to the center, and peak out through the curtains."

Once again I obeyed.

"Is there anybody out there?"

There were a couple of business men unloading the trunk of a rental car down in the parking space a little below us. I told him that.

"Stand perfectly still," he said, suddenly jerking on the valance cord, his actions pulled the room curtains wide open leaving me exposed naked to the outside. "Rest your hands on the window sill. Tell me if anyone sees you."

Gulping audibly, I watched to see if the two white men in the parking lot had noticed me yet.

"Now we can talk," my companion said.

"Wha...what exactly did you want to talk about?"

"I want you to tell me what's going on here?"

"I would've thought that standing naked on one side of the bed with you standing naked on the other would provide a good clue," I replied.

"Look lady...," He stared straight at me, keeping the muzzle of his handgun pointed right toward my heart.

"Marlene."

"Marlene, I want to know what this little game of yours is really about?"

I shrugged my bare shoulders. "It's really about getting laid."

"Seriously?"

"Yep."

"In that case, give the boys in the parking lot a big smile, and then knock on the window."

I rapped lightly on the glass.

"Louder, Marlene."

When I rapped this time, the two men looked up to my second floor window to see me leaning in the motel window totally nude.

"Wave to them," my young, equally naked black companion said as he grasped one side of the curtains with his free hand and pulled it slowly toward the center. Then crossing over to the other side, so that he too could be seen from the parking lot, Rucker pulled the other side of the curtains shut as well. He gestured awkwardly with his pistol. "Now, climb into the bed."

Pulling back the blanket and sheets, I slipped my bare legs in and slithered down into the confines of the sheets until my head and shoulders rested comfortably on the pillow. He came down very close to my face and let the cold gun barrel wander down my neck and sternum. Then slowly, almost gingerly, he placed the weapon right on the crevice between both my breasts.

"Isn't that dangerous?" I asked.

"We'll see, won't we," he answered. "For now I suggest you lay very still."

As I nuzzled slowly up against his slim, dark body, I could sense a powerful tension surfacing between us. Our explorations began as I brought my lips up to his. We were both jumpy, although his unexpected gentleness, his near timidity caught me off guard. In allowing Rucker to put his strong enticing arms around me, I detected a frightening new potential from this young black man, and suddenly I was extremely excited.

I spoke no words to the young man. As it turned out, we didn't need to say much of anything. Rucker caught me by surprise as his hands explored the ticklishly excited nerves of my skin. His fingers walked softly over my naked body examining me slowly as he watched my flesh blush under his touch. Suddenly, as he fingered the inviting mound between my legs, I felt a gushing wetness churn deep within me.

I moaned something about Jesus, and I shivered.

"Tell me something, Marlene," he muttered. "Have you ever had anyone like me before?"

"Uh-uhh." I shook my head. "How about you? You ever fucked some old white lady before?"

Rucker laughed. "I don't think you're old."

"You didn't answer my question."

Rucker's fingers slipped deep inside my loins to explore the wetness that I'd been seeping. "You might not be my first. But then again...," he let his voice trail off even as his fingers continued to probe. "I am rather curious about you. By the way, since you're the one who started this, you shouldn't be too surprised when I tell you we don't have a condom handy. It's bareback or nothing."

I gushed wet once again. I know Rucker must have noticed that I'd drenched his fingers.

In a surprisingly forceful move, Rucker clambered over me with his whole body. At first the novelty of being trapped under his full weight left me fighting the mood, but soon after Rucker pinned me under his straddling torso and legs, I stopped my subconscious struggle and allowed my thighs and body to open up under his ministrations. Despite some initial resistance to his intrusion, I found myself moist and ready to accept the blunt thickening length he proffered. Soon, with his dark, thickly-matted pubes nestling close to my own lighter colored pubic hair, we were established in an age old position of ritual anticipation.

"I want you," he whispered. "I want all your naked white flesh to submit to my need and my pleasure. Can you do that Marlene?"

When I murmured that I could, Rucker eagerly pushed his black erection forward and inside as I instinctively guided him deeply into my loins.

"I'll want you to write down exactly what happened today to you--to me--what happened between us both."

"Sure," I answered. "But why?"

"Someday you're going to have to tell them all what you've done: your husband, your children, your parents, family, friends and neighbors. They'll all have to be told that you're a traitor to the white race."

"What?"

"You have to realize you'll be a traitor to all of them," Rucker growled.

"Why do you say I'm a traitor?"

"You should have seen yourself standing at that window like a beacon of pink flesh in front of those two men," he answered. "What do you think they said when they saw me? What will the people in your world say when you tell them that you let some nigger trespass inside Ôwhites only' territory?"

Drunk, naked, and laying on my back underneath a twenty-something year old black thief, I shrugged. Was he right? Was I really a traitor to my own race?

"You should have seen yourself. You stood there shivering, but anyone could see you weren't cold. You glistened with sweat, but not from the heat of the day. From that moment I saw your body poised naked in the sunlight, I recognized that you were destined to be mine."

I realized suddenly that I'd made a drastic change in the complexion of my love life.

"Tell me something. How many babies have you had, Marlene?"

"I've got two girls--college age girls."

"I see," he said while keeping his motion perfectly smooth within me. "Still, I'll bet these big nipples of yours could nurse a lot more babies."

"Not if that gun goes off and blows a hole through one of them."

Rucker laughed. "It isn't the gun you have to fear. It's this other loaded barrel that I'm liable to shoot off inside you that you should worry about."

"Is that so?"

"Um-hmm--Danger! Live ammunition."

"Should I be frightened?"

"Aren't you?"

"Let me think about it." My body was becoming more and more enraptured surrounded by the sinewy grip of his mahogany arms, the smooth, muscular feel of his chest contrasted by the tiny prickles of his chest hair, and the surprisingly gentle probing as he bathed his fleshy thickness in my warmth, repeatedly driving for the perfect slide of his penis within the happily wet clasp of my body. "Frighten me some more."

He ran his fingers along the scar. "Aren't you curious about how this happened?"

As his movements inside me became more intense, I murmured a soft affirmative grunt, and he answered: "I was attacked by a Doberman pincer when I was little."

"Oh, Rucker, I'm so sorry. Was it painful?"

"Yes, it was at the time," he said. "But the real pain came later--after puberty. While the rest of the world began to romantically interact, I had my scars to remind me and everyone else that I'd always be the ugly outsider."