The Secret Sister by M. DeLuca (leveled readers txt) 📗

in that small sitting room but the sound of moaning and heavy breathing was like a weird chorus. Glancing up the spiral staircase with its heavy oak bannister and cream and black carpet, I weighed my options. Either thread my way through the bodies in that dark sitting room and hope Guy was slumped somewhere in a corner or venture upstairs into the party proper.

I decided to go upstairs – more chance of blending in with the crowd. As I climbed upwards, the din of laughter, voices and muddled music grew louder until it became so deafening the bannister vibrated.

It was pitch-black at the top of the stairs, the massive room lit with flashing lights that bounced off walls and bodies and faces. The place reeked of cigars, booze and male sweat. I figured if I kept to the periphery of the room, I could go almost unnoticed because it was packed with men of all ages eating, swigging beer, playing cards in the far corner. A young girl lay stark naked on a nearby table surrounded by pastries. Men crowded around gawking and cheering as one after the other placed cannoli pastries in strategic positions on her body and attempted to eat them without using hands.

Young girls with makeup-slathered faces sidled up to them and bared their bum for a slap, a feel. Some girls wore cowbells draped round their necks. I watched as drunken men took their hands and led them upstairs or down to the lower sitting room. These were the freelancers. The ones who offered special services to make extra money on the side. Money that came in handy for kids’ clothing or college tuition or just more swag.

Guy was nowhere to be seen, so I continued around the edge of the room, dodging the hands that slid my way. Someone started chanting up ahead where a knot of guys had gathered around another spectacle. As I came closer I made out the back view of a familiar young girl. I edged round for a front view and my heart slammed in my ears when I saw her face. It was Carla, her eyes squeezed shut, her half-naked body thin and pale as a child’s. A drunk old guy who could’ve been an accountant or bank manager groped and kissed her while the others egged him on. Without another thought I lunged forward and yanked his stiff gray hair. He yelped and let go of her. Seizing the opportunity I grabbed her arm, jerking her away from the crowd of wide-eyed men who stumbled backwards in shock. I shoved her behind me, noticing how her head lolled onto her chest and saliva dribbled down her chin. She was high.

“Goddamn animals,” I hissed. “She’s only fifteen.”

“Who let this crazy bitch in?” yelled Bank Manager. His buddies edged forward, their eyes hungry, eager to teach me a lesson. “Where’s security?”

I squared off with them and held up my cell phone. I hadn’t totally forgotten life on the streets. “I’m recording all this. Come any closer and I’ll scream bloody murder and phone the cops.”

They paused, weighing up my threat. Considering their options.

“Maybe there’ll be a nice spread in the paper so your wives and bosses can see what fine family guys you all are. Just let me out with the girl and everything’s cool.”

Palms held upwards, Bank Manager held the other guys back. “Okay, cool. No worries. Take the girl and get the hell out of here.”

A loud wave of music drowned my voice out. Bodies swam in front of me lit blue, green and red by the dancing lights. A tall girl with pneumatic breasts waltzed by and Bank Manager and his cronies turned tail to follow her.

A bald guy wearing a black silk shirt, turned back to me and whispered, “I’d get the hell out of here if I were you. Earl doesn’t take kindly to anyone that messes with his girls.”

I realized I’d have to leave Guy here, since he was nowhere in sight, but across the room, surrounded by a sea of faces I spied Karrass slugging beer from a bottle, standing behind Gord who was bent over the cannoli girl, head bobbing as he struggled to lick the cannoli cream from her thighs. Things began to blur and for a moment I forgot Carla was still hanging onto my arm. Bald Guy tapped my arm and I sprang backwards like an electric volt had charged through my veins.

“You okay?” he said. “Only you look like you’re gonna keel over.”

I shook my head and backed away. Carla whimpered behind me, coming down from whatever drug she was on. I grabbed a cloth from one of the food tables and draped it around her shoulders. Across the room the door to the spiral staircase glowed like a magic portal and I slithered around the edge of the room letting the lights and music swallow us into blessed oblivion.

After five minutes of driving, Carla moaned that she wanted to throw up so I pulled up onto the grassy roadside and helped her out. A stream of booze gushed out of her skinny body until she was dry heaving. I stopped at a gas station and bought her a bottle of cold ginger ale and made her drink it. By this time she was giving me furtive sideways glances.

“Why were you there, Anna?” she murmured, clinging onto the neck of the old sweater I’d found in my backseat.

“My husband was at the stag. He asked me to pick him up.”

She leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes. Tears leaked from beneath her lashes. I laid a hand on her bony wrist. “It’s okay. You don’t have to go back. I’ll take you home.”

When she shook her head, her whole body moved. “He’ll come and find me. It’s too late.”

She lifted the tablecloth and turned sideways. Tattooed in stylish, looped script across her buttock was a signature. Earl J. Rafferty. The car swerved to the