Chapter 3
When her mother ran away to the East Coast six years ago, Cindy was only twelve years old; a scrawny, homely child. Everyone in the town of Hurley, Texas felt sorry for Fred Drucker being stuck with raising a child that wasn't even his own.
For a while, her stepfather forgot his troubles by drinking and by visiting the girls at the Prairie Flower. When he came home sometimes he beat the girl in a rage, as though taking out the evils of the mother upon the daughter.
And then, quite suddenly it seemed, she started to change. Her chest which had always been flat took on new dimensions, as breasts started to bud and blossom. Her waist and hips began to develop curves, and her legs grew lithe and slim and shapely.
Also, quite suddenly, Fred Drucker began looking at her in a different way. He began to stay home more often, and he took a renewed interest in helping her on and off with her clothes. He especially liked to give her a bath. Sometimes he even took a bath with her himself.
Cindy was surprised at first that he was different from her-physically. But she came to accept this fact as he explained to her that men and women were built differently from each other. They made a sort of game out of it. First he would take a rag and soap and scrub her all over until her body glistened, and then it would be her turn. She thought it was funny what happened to him when she washed him, but she didn't laugh for fear he would get angry with her and think she was making fun of him.
She thought it was strange the way he reacted to taking a bath with her. After a while his breath would come sharp and ragged, and he seemed to be controlling himself. Cindy thought it was an odd way for a person to act who was taking a bath. It wasn't until much later when her girl friend Rosalie West explained that it wasn't the bath that inspired Fred Drucker so.
She remembered then the other things that had happened when her stepfather had hugged her close to him in a fit of passion and held his breath, while his naked maleness rumbled against her. He'd always seemed embarrassed whenever that happened, and he was gruff with her afterwards.
"Remember," he cautioned her, "don't ever take a bath with anyone else, understand. It's all right with me because I'm your father, and I want to protect you so you won't grow up like your mother!"
Cindy didn't understand what he meant by that. She always remembered her mother as a friendly, fun-loving woman who had held her when she needed comforting, sang her to sleep when she was tired, and kissed her hurts when she fell and injured herself. Fred Drucker kept no pictures of her in the house, but Cindy remembered the woman as slim and curvy, with dark hair and a pretty face that was full of expression.
She had run off, according to her stepfather, with a truck driver and gone to Florida to live. He spoke of it bitterly, as though it were a cruel joke played purposely on him. Whenever he talked about her it was with hatred. He would clench his fists and scowl, and Cindy would be afraid. But he didn't hurt her, not at first. He became more and more attentive, and even overpossessive. He wouldn't let her leave the house at night to play with the other kids; and he was suspicious of anyone who talked to her.
Once a man in a car stopped to ask her directions, and as the man was leaving, her stepfather came running up, his face livid with rage.
"Who was that? What did he want?"
"You're-you're hurting me."
"I asked you a question, and I want an answer, and it better be the truth."
She told him the truth.
"Did he ask you to take a ride with him?"
"No."
"Or to meet him later someplace?"
"No."
"I told you never to talk to strangers. Don't let me ever see you doing that again. Understand?"
She understood, and she marveled at how different Rosalie West's parents were. They didn't seem to mind if Rosalie talked with strangers. In fact Rosalie, two years older than Cindy, bragged about it.
"They're fun to talk to," Rosalie said. "And they buy me things."
Cindy's eyes widened with interest. "They buy you things? Oh, like what?"
"Like anything Sodas. Candy. Costume jewelry."
"Jewelry!" Cindy said, amazed. "Just for talking with them?"
Rosalie laughed. "Don't be a ninny. Of course not for just talking."
"For what, then?" Cindy pursued.
"Oh, they give me a ride in their car, or maybe I stop off at their hotel room and let them fool around a little-you know, put their hands Under my blouse and under my skirt. One fellow even gave me ten dollars to take some pictures of me without my panties on."
Cindy hesitated. "You don't...."
"Go all the way?" Rosalie said. "Of course not. I'm not a whore."
Cindy blushed with embarrassment. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean...."
"That's okay. Do you know where your stepfather is tonight?"
"At the hotel, I suppose, working."
Rosalie smirked with a secret knowledge. "That's what you think." She leaned forward and whispered in a confidential tone, "Let's you and me sneak up behind the Prairie Flower and peek in the windows."
"I don't know." The invitation had been offered at other times but then, just as now, Cindy was afraid of being caught. If her stepfather knew...."
"Come on, don't be chicken!" Rosalie persisted.
"All right," Cindy said decisively.
It had always bothered her that she wasn't as worldly as Rosalie. This was her chance to make it up. But they'd have to make it fast. Sometimes her stepfather would walk swiftly home during his break from the hotel desk. He'd purposely make it late, "to make sure she got into bed at a reasonable hour," he said, but Cindy knew that it was an excuse to watch her undress from his vantage point in the bathroom where he sat with the door not completely closed.
"You won't regret it," Rosalie said. "You can learn more about life by peeking in a window than parents can tell you in a million years."
The Texas night was warm and clear, with the heavens sprinkled with stars. The only streetlights in the town were on the half dozen blocks of Main Street that was part of the highway leading elsewhere.
The Prairie Flower Saloon was at the edge of town, with an illuminated sign that went on and off. As they approached the building, Cindy heard the sound of a juke box blaring and the sounds of laughter. On the second floor windows were lighted and shades drawn.
"There's a fire escape around in back," Rosalie said. "C'mon."
Cindy held back. "Suppose we're caught."
"We won't be," Rosalie said. She disappeared into the darkness beside the building.
Cindy followed her. She knew if she chickened out now, she'd hate herself, and Rosalie would think she was a child, scared of the dark and of trying anything adventurous. Rosalie went knowingly through the darkened alley, with Cindy close behind her, and led the way to a fire escape that clung to the rear of the building.
"Be careful," Rosalie warned. "The metal is rusted."
She started up the fire escape, moving quickly, quietly. Cindy gripped the metal rungs and followed her upward into the darkness. Rosalie reached the second floor ledge and crouched before a lighted, shadedrawn window, and helped Cindy beside her.
"Good," Rosalie said. "The shade isn't drawn all the way."
Cindy saw this was true. There was a full inch of space between the bottom of the shade and the window sill. Both girls looked through the opening.
From the main piece of furniture in the room, a bed, it was obvious this was one of the rooms upstairs that a man would rent if he wanted to be alone for a while with one of the girls. There was a night stand beside the bed, on which stood a pitcher, a basin, a bar of soap, a washcloth and towels.
Cindy felt a thrill of excitement course through her. It was exciting peeking into someone's bedroom, when no one knew you were there. She heard the door open and renewed her attention to the room. A thin woman in a cheap cotton dress and too much makeup on her lean face came into the room. A man followed her and closed the door behind them.
Cindy gasped at the sight. It was Fred Drucker!
Rosalie, eyes still glued to the opening, motioned her to be quiet.
Cindy felt guilt flood her. "We can't watch like this," she whispered.
"The hell we can't," Rosalie said. "He watches you, doesn't he? Now it's your turn. Now be quiet or they'll hear us."
Cindy fell silent. She had no desire to be caught eavesdropping. Her father would really beat her up if he knew. She applied her. eyes once more to the opening under the curtain.
Her father and the woman were embracing and fondling each other. Then the woman stepped back and held out her hand. Fred Drucker took out his wallet and gave her a five dollar bill, which she placed on the nearby dresser.
"Okay, Fred," she said in a high-pitched voice, "ready?"
"What do you think?" he told her grinning.
She laughed mechanically. "You're a real lecher, honey, but I like you."
Her hands slipped inside his shirt and began massaging his chest. Fingers toyed with the buttons, undoing them.
Cindy looked self-consciously away and tugged at Rosalie's sleeve. "I ... I think we'd batter go," she whispered.
Rosalie pulled her arm away and glared. "You leave if you want to chicken out. I'm staying to watch this." She returned her attention to the window and managed to suppress a giggle.
Cindy hesitated; she stared down the dark fire escape. Well, as long as she was already up here....
She peered once again under the shade, and a blush crept into her cheeks. Fred Drucker had stripped naked and was standing beside the bed.
"Well, I see you're ready, all right," the woman said, admiringly.
She unzipped her dress in back, and the garment fell into a puddle of cloth at her feet. She stepped out of it and draped it across a chair beside the bed. She was wearing no underwear. Her breasts were small, like lemons, her waist narrow, the hips a little too large for the thin legs and thighs. An appendicitis scar stood out whitely on her bulging stomach.
She led him to the washbasin, poured water from the enameled pitcher into the basin and put soap on the washcloth.
Cindy frowned in annoyance at Rosalie's suppressed giggle at what was happening next, but she didn't take her eyes from the scene before her.
The woman then guided Fred Drucker onto the bed. Then she lay down beside him and began kissing him on the chest and moaning softly. An intense smile on his face, he grasped and fondled her. The woman ground her hips up tight against him and clamped her legs around his back. They rolled and heaved on the ancient bed. The two girls on the ledge could hear the creaking of the protesting springs.
Cindy watched in horrified fascination what was happening.
The woman kept kissing him and moaning, her eyes closed, and her stepfather kept running his hands across her breasts and thighs. Suddenly, he closed his eyes and straightened, shuddering as a spasm of intense pleasure shook him, and Cindy could hear the ecstatic moan of fulfillment echo in the room.
"Well," the woman said, after a while, "that was quick."
"I was kind of worked up before I got here, "Fred Drucker said.
Cindy felt someone tugging at her sleeve.
"We'd better get home," Rosalie whispered.
Cindy nodded wordlessly and silently followed the other girl down the fire escape.
"Well," Rosalie said, pleased, "wasn't that something?"
"Yes," said Cindy thoughtfully, "it was something, all right."
She understood what had happened, but not fully. She felt more than a little confused by it.