Super Born: Seduction of Being Page 16

  “Now you’re scaring me.”

  “Just find them, all of them!…before there’s no one left to find.”

  “All right. You’re the boss…But the B.I.B. won’t be easy…And Logan, if he knows, he’s protecting her like gold.”

  ***)

  Chapter 17

  Proud to Be Appreciated, but Not to Be Hunted

  When I got home from work, I called for Paige, without results. She wasn’t at the computer chatting with friends, so I went down the hall to her bedroom, but she wasn’t there either. On the bed I noticed an opened box and a large envelope. I found a poster in the box and unrolled it.

  To my amazement, it was a six-foot poster of myself taken from the Skelly’s picture. I was on a poster and my daughter had purchased one—it seemed bizarre. I went through the other items and found various B.I.B. trinkets: a coffee cup, a beer mug, and another T-shirt, all with some sort of B.I.B. picture or silhouette on them. I looked around the room at Paige’s clothes on the floor and saw three or four B.I.B. shirts next to black jeans—a complete B.I.B. outfit. How had I missed my daughter becoming a B.I.B. groupie? And how did I feel about it—proud or concerned?

  From behind me Paige appeared. “Mom!” she yelled, as she grabbed the coffee mug out of my hand, “That was supposed to be a surprise gift for you. Now you’ve ruined it.”

  “What is all this stuff, honey?”

  “Nothing, it’s just my stuff,” she said, re-boxing the items I had disturbed. Then she came back to her speechless mother by the bed. “And Mom, I thought we agreed that’s you’d stay out of my room.”

  “Sorry, I just couldn’t find you…When did you get into the whole B.I.B. thing?”

  “She’s not a ‘thing,’ Mom, she’s a person. She’s a strong woman who does things that matter to the world…something I doubt you would know anything about.”

  “Oh really!” I said both angered and impressed that it was me she was talking about.

  “Yeah, really! When was the last time you did anything that mattered to anybody… All you do is work, and go out drinking with your friends ”

  “That’s just about enough of that! I’m your mother! I keep a roof over our heads!”

  ‘Big deal. The B.I.B. saves peoples’ lives. Do you even know the slightest thing about her?”

  I wiped my face and looked down at my feet debating how much I should tell her, then looked her in the eye, ”I know more than you think.”

  “She’s only the most important thing that’s ever happened in Scranton…maybe even the world.”

  “You believe that, huh?”

  “I know that. Did you hear about all the things she did before they knew her by name? There were dozens of articles on the Internet about a mysterious woman pulling all these amazing life saving stunts before anyone tied it all together.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “See? You don’t know the slightest thing about her.”

  “And you know all this because…”

  “I’m doing my English paper about her. There is a website dedicated to her. It’s all about her history and has a whole file of news links telling her story as it happened.” As she spoke Paige began putting away the B.I.B. items, occasionally hold a new tee shirt up to her chest and checking out the look in the mirror of her dresser. “And they have the coolest games ever. On one, the B.I.B. saves you and this other one is a drinking game you’d probably like. Then there are people who report sightings, all the latest news, and the webmaster writes a column about how he interprets what’s happening. Like he says, the B.I.B. is getting set up for dropping the beer trucks”

  “How would he know?” I asked, amazed at her steadfast belief.

  “You have to read it for yourself. All I know is that my English paper is gonna write itself, thanks to that site. I know some other girls that are writing about her too.”

  I felt an uncontrollable pride building within me. I wanted to confess right then and there and admit that I was the B.I.B. But there was a reason I couldn’t, and a reason I didn’t: if anyone ever discovered who I really was, my whole family, but most of all Paige, would not be safe. So instead I said, “I’m not sure I like this idea, copying your paper from a website. Is that really what I send you to school for?”

  “No, you send me to school so I won’t end my sentences with prepositions like ‘for.’”

  “Touché.”

  “I get it. French, right? See, that’s another reason you send me to school.”

  “Smart ass.”

  “I learned from the best.”

  She made me crack a smile but I had to stay ‘her mom’, “I don’t know. Shouldn’t you be writing about something serious, something that matters…global warming, or wind energy or something?”

  “Boring! You know how many people are writing about that stuff? Besides what could matter more than a woman who’s a real-life superhero who can kick everyone’s ass? ”

  “Paige!”

  “It’s true! Who could be a better role model for a hot young teenager like me than a hot old superwoman?”

  “You really think the B.I.B. is old? And hot?” I said, frowning, then letting a little smile escape.

  “Try to stay on topic, Mom. Let’s just agree to disagree. After all, it’s my grade, not yours.”

  “Okay, but no more of this,” I said gesturing to the packages in the room, “stuff…for a while.”

  Paige stared at the floor and finally agreed. “Whatever. I’m out of money anyway…by the way, did Mrs. Brown call about babysitting the twins Friday?”

  “Keeping track of that is your job.”

  “I know. I know…you know the weirdest thing?” Paige asked, holding up her latest T-shirt purchase against her chest and checking it out in the mirror. “The guy who runs that website says he actually met the B.I.B.”

  “Really? Has he met Santa and the Easter Bunny too?” I said jokingly, but inside was curious.

  “Mom, I’m not gonna talk unless you are going to take me seriously.”

  “Sorry, just a little joke…How did he say he met the B.I.B.?”

  “In one article he says he saw her once in a bar downtown and was standing right next to her. Man, I’d love to meet her. She is so awesome. You know, I understand now why you were laughing at the Batman movie. He’s a movie, but she’s real. You like how this looks?”

  “It looks great,” I said, relieved and happy. “I’ll go start dinner,” I added, turning to leave.

  “Ohhh, I thought we were going to Lori’s. I wanna see if she got her mask and stuff.”

  “Lori has this…stuff too?”

  “Lori’s into the B.I.B. big time. You didn’t know?...Don’t you chat on Facebook? Lori’s my friend and she talks about it all the time.”

  I just shook my head in surprised but pleased amazement and left.

  In the kitchen I pulled a bottle of Miner’s Lite out of the fridge. With all of Paige’s purchases to go through, I knew she’d be tied up for a while. As I knew where they were impounding the Miner’s Lite, I had a little impounding myself, and now had an almost endless supply at my disposal. I turned to page 53 in my book 100 ways to make Chicken and began preparing some dinner. While it was cooking, I drifted over to the computer.

  I hadn’t told Paige about it, but I had been looking at the BIB.org site ever since Lori had mentioned it at dinner. I had not spent much time on the news page but I did like playing the games. I typed in the web address and then sat back, made curious by the content Paige had mentioned was available on the site. The parts written by someone who had actually met me were of particular interest. . In one night, I had discovered that my daughter “got it” and now there was a whole group of people that “got it” too. The whole site honored me as a hero—I was so much more here than a woman who spent all her time working and drinking beer with her friends.It was surprisingly easy to ignore the occasional garbage comments of some idiot or another for all the positive ones. I got a go
od laugh out of pictures that people had submitted, allegedly of the B.I.B. in action somewhere. None were real, except the Skelly’s photo. With so many people so anxious to prove that I existed, I felt like Big Foot.

  I did manage to get through four bars in Pub Crawler, got up to twelve hundred points in the Antler Game, and saved myself twice in B.I.B. Rescue before the oven was ready and the water was boiling. The video games rocked.

  I smiled and put the cursor over the “Add A Comment” button. I clicked it and a window appeared for me to enter my comments. My fingers hovered over the keys as I debated entering this B.I.B. Internet world, and then I closed the window. I had started one more game of Pub Crawler when Paige came in—she caught a glimpse of the computer screen before I could close it.

  “Aren’t those games awesome? I thought you’d like that one.” Then she saw the Miner’s Lite on the desk. “You know those are illegal, don’t you?”

  “Just be quiet,” I said, standing up and heading for the kitchen.

  Paige opened the fridge and pulled out a soda, but then stopped and stared at all the Miner’s Lites on the shelf. “No, Mom, seriously. Where did you get those? There weren’t any in here this morning and now there are eight. You can’t buy ’em, right?”

  “Someone at the office knows I like them, and she had some her husband didn’t want,” I lied while I stared at the counter, anywhere but at her eyes, preparing some chicken.

  “Who? What man doesn’t like Miner’s Beer?”

  “Bobbie Jo. Her husband Frank doesn’t drink ’em.”

  “Frank the Tank? He and Bobbie Jo were at the Christmas party you gave in Grandpa’s basement a few weeks ago. He drank Miner’s all night. You were worried that we’d have enough. He spilled one on my red dress, you remember?”

  “No! I don’t. And I don’t like you questioning everything I do—I get enough of that crap at work.”

  Can’t I just have a stinking beer in the privacy of my own home without triggering the Spanish Inquisition?”

  “Sorrr-yyy. I didn’t know I bugged you that much.” Then she left the kitchen, grabbed her coat, and stormed to the front door.

  “Paige? Where you going?”

  “Out. Maybe to Kelly’s house.”

  “What about dinner?”

  The slamming door was her only response.

  I covered my face with my hands for a long time before I wiped them down over my eyes and cheeks. Add Mother of the Year Award to my list of accomplishments—only I could take my pride in a daughter that thought the true me was ‘awesome’ and turn it into a nasty fight. My whole body turned frustrated and sour. I slapped the chicken back into the fridge, pulled out the Miner’s Lites, tossed them in the trash bag, then carried the bag out to the Dumpster. I stopped for moment, went back, and liberated one bottle out of the trash. I left the opened bottle on the desk too. I was guilty and frustrated, not crazy.

  I dropped onto the sofa in the living room with a loud plop, as if I was a beer truck being dropped on a schoolyard. “Damn beer embargo,” I mumbled to myself.

  In the last few days the rate of beer trucks dropping on the city had slowed. I figured they were slowly giving up. But if I ever wanted another Miner’s without my daughter giving me the third degree,I’d have to end it now.

  * * *

  Unlike Gambrelli, that fat fuck, who ran his business out of a restaurant, I ran my mob business out of the offices of a unionized and legitimate waste-removal company, Camino Waste Management. The building looked run down, pretty much the way you would imagine a company that handled the slime of trash would look. But on the second floor, my office was more like a palace.

  The differences didn’t stop there. Unlike Gambrelli, I’m fit, a vibrant thirty-eight, and mentally, sharp as a knife. I sat behind my glossy black desk just staring off into space, thinking; which I like to do from time to time. On my mind was the rebuilding and expanding of my business. I would not let myself fall into the same trap as Gambrelli. After that bitch in black had cleaned out all my guys, I knew my organization was fragile, vulnerable, like a baby. I knew that Gambrelli’s plan to eliminate the B.I.B. with the power of force had caused his downfall. I had to keep her at arm’s length while my organization gained strength, or my time as boss would be over before it started.

  The mayor’s feeble beer embargo was having no effect and was now just pissing people off. His Searchlight Event had been a disaster. It was obvious to me that the B.I.B. did not want to join hands with the city or make herself known to the public.

  I had settled on the idea of trying to turn the public against her, to disgrace her in some way, so that she would be occupied defending herself or hiding, instead of standing in my way. I knew Gambrelli had started working along those lines by shooting the first witness to have actually seen her, Ed, and trying to blame the murder on the B.I.B., but that story had never taken off. The police had been content to deal with the death as a unfortuate barroom accident.

  My first attempt to make her public enemy number one had been dropping the beer trucks all over town—the plan was to make people assume that she was a powerful, unpredictable flake who had to be stopped. I had trucks moved by helicopter at high altitudes to different areas of town at times of day when there would be no witnesses—other than my own—and then dropped the trucks. I had thought the drop on the day care center would really get the sentiment going against the B.I.B., but it only moved the needle a little.

  I needed to turn up the heat. Tonight we had three beer truck drops planned. By morning there would be a beer truck on a church, on a school, and on an abandoned house. Six sets of witnesses would swear they saw a black figure drop the trucks. If that didn’t motivate some negative press, what would?

  But there had to be other ways to make everyone hate her. God, that woman was an itch I couldn’t scratch! Maybe I would find my answer by checking out that B.I.B. website. The thought gelled; I smiled like the cat that ate the cannoli, and entered thebib.org on my browser, totally committed to finding a way to hurt that flying black pain in my ass. I was going to turn this site into a battleground.

  I scanned the site and made a few anonymous, nasty posts about the B.I.B. But then I noticed the flashing button that invited you to play Pub Crawler. I clicked on it, and before long, was drawn into a two-hour search for the B.I.B.

  I was certain I had her cornered in The Banshee but, instead, ran into the Nelson Twins. “Crap!” I said, pounding my fist on the desk as my blood alcohol level in the video game spiked over the legal limit and my avatar crumbled to the floor with a big smile on its face. “Man, those two bitches can drink.”

  I started another game, looked at the clock, and tried to remember what made me come to the site in the first place. I shrugged and decided to start looking for her at Skelly’s, and maybe a new avatar might help. (This time, if I saw the Nelson twins, I’d run!)

  Chapter 18

  Frustration and Hell Night for Scranton

  With Paige gone I was alone with my fantasies. I could feel the warm surge of blood in my abdomen, my muscles starting to convulse. My breaths became short, interrupted by short moans. I was almost there. I closed my eyes to concentrate on the feeling. I felt a tidal wave forming between my legs and a scream forming in my throat. My ass began to roll and my legs widened apart and lifted off the bed. I was right there, and I could feel the surging waves coming at long last. I had waited so many months, and was now finally ready to explode.

  Then the buzzing between my legs began to hesitate, stutter, then stalled and went suddenly silent.

  “No! No! Not now!” I shouted, “Not now! Crap!” Without the buzzing of my toy, all the feelings and sensations began to drop off. When the frustration kicked in and the fantasies turned to realities, the feelings dropped off the charts.

  I rocketed up to sit on the edge of the bed and threw my powerless toy on the floor—where it landed, crashing into a large pile of equally powerless batteries that I had gone th
rough that evening. I slammed my fist into the mattress with frustration, over and over. “Son of a fucking goddamn bitch,” I said bitterly through gritted teeth. Then I took some deep breaths and pushed my hair back off my forehead. I sighed and stared blindly for a moment, then lifted my eyes to look at myself in the large dressing room mirror nearby.

  To anyone else, the naked woman in the mirror would have seemed quite attractive, a well-formed woman near her prime. There may have been something rounded here or there that should have been angled, but all in all, I had the hourglass look going on. With my new metabolism dropping me in dress sizes, the truth was, I looked good; I just didn’t feel that way. For years, I had battled the stigma of being a teenage mother, and then began viewing myself as a single mother who’d lost her dreams.

  Here I was going nowhere in a town going nowhere that was filled with childish, stupid men. Eventually, I had taken on the labels and restrictions and stopped trying to be anything more. The woman in the mirror was no longer me, but a leaf fluttering in the wind. I had accepted that for years.

  Now, as my powers had manifested themselves, I didn’t know what was true anymore. The powers were intriguing and enticing, yet still somewhat foreign to me. The new, powerful me couldn’t see the woman in the mirror either. All I could see were the limits and restrictions that these powers had brought: the need for secrecy, the fear of being found out, and the frustration of using up forty batteries and still not being able to get off. Which “her” was I?

  I brushed back my hair again, took a long look in the mirror, uncertain what I saw, looked down at the pile of batteries, and then sighed. The mom in me bent down, put the toy in the nightstand, and piled the batteries in a bag for the trash. But the B.I.B. in me was frustrated and angry—instead of taking the bag of dead batteries out to the trash, I threw it down on the bed and marched to my closet, opening a hidden panel behind a box behind a box and pulling out my B.I.B. clothes and mask.

  My frustration needed to be satisfied one way or another, and someone would pay. Tonight, I would go hunting.