Out of the Frying Pan - Part 1
"Where you headed?" the woman asked." "Anywhere south," answered Marla, as she hopped in. - Five-minute Flash Fiction
PART 1
“Don’t you move, Marla,” he snarled. “You sit right there, and not one word outta you,” he slapped her hard, and jabbed at her shoulder with a mean finger. “Don’t you even try to talk your way out of this, ‘cause I ain’t listening to no more a your lying excuses.” He slammed the car door.
Fuming, Marla sat in the old Plymouth in the dark, tapping her foot on the floorboard, chewing at her thumbnail, spitting out the bits. Wishing he was dead.
She watched as he staggered and stumbled across the grass toward the house, saw him trip on a rake left lying across the walkway. He fell hard. Without a thought or a moment’s hesitation, Marla slid over into the driver’s seat, turned the key, slammed that car into gear, and sped off like a bat out of hell. Three blocks, five blocks, one mile to the I-75 south. She checked the gas gauge. She had no thought to what she’d do next, but whatever it was, you can bet your ass it wouldn’t be there in Sweetwater, Tennessee.
An hour later that Plymouth flew straight through the heart of Chattanooga like a rabbit chased by hounds, and just kept on moving south. She stopped at a gas station just before Marietta, Georgia, heart thumping like a bass drum.
“Two Red Bulls, a bag a Cheetos and ten gallons of regular.” she told the attendant.
“That it?”
“Yep.” She had only $45 and an expired credit card in her purse.
Marla drove on for six more hours to get out of Georgia before dawn. She slept in the car a bit in a noisy all-night truck stop parking lot in Tallahassee. In the morning, she abandoned the Plymouth, leaving the keys in it. The highway patrol would find it soon enough, no doubt, and she damn sure was not going to be in it when they did.
Marla stood at the I-75 on-ramp with her thumb out. After a half- hour of being ignored, eating road dust and breathing exhaust, a woman in a classic yellow Camaro skidded to a stop in the gravel ahead and beckoned to her. Marla ran over, stuck her head in the passenger side window.
“Where you headed?” the woman asked. She looked to be about forty going on eighteen. She was built like a sofa and had what looked like a large ruby on one finger. Her electrified hair was the color of curdled cream.
“Anywhere south,” Marla said
“Me, too. Hop in.”
She climbed in, saying, “Nice car.”
“Yeah, I know! Belonged to my husband, the crazy son-of-a-bitch!
“Cool,” said Marla, settling back into the leather seat. As they sped off, she heard her momma’s voice in her head clear as day: Out of the frying pan, Marla, and into the fire.
I’ll risk it, Ma, thought Marla.
“So, sweet cheeks, what’re ya running from?” the woman asked, lighting up a cigarette.
“Who says I’m running?”
“I know the look. I wore that same face myself a couple a years back.”
“Yeah?”
“Yep,” she coughed. “Ran out on a bad marriage and had no place to go. Then old Freddo had a heart attack and died, the sorry bastard, an’ I got everything.” She punctuated that last statement with a flash of venom-red polished fingernails as she roared down the freeway. “So I ain’t scared anymore,” she laughed. “I just started enjoying my freedom. I got this big house way down in Vero Beach,” she said, “but I don’t hang out there much. I go wherever I want, whenever I want.”
“Uh huh.”
“So, what’re you scared of, kid?
“Who says I am scared?”
“Fair enough. Hey! It is a gorgeous morning in Florida. Let’s us just sit back and enjoy the ride.” She drove a little erratically, maintaining a speed about fifteen miles an hour over the limit. “Name’s Haylene, ” she said, offering Marla her hand. What’s yours?
“Marla... Marla McGuire. I never heard of the name Haylene.”
“Yeah, well, my daddy, he was Hayden and my momma was Arlene, so they put the names together. Thought they were pretty smart, I guess. How old are ya, honey.”
“Twenty-one.”
“Twenty-one! A magnificent age! So many possibilities! I notice you’re not carrying a bag, so I’m guessing your departure was rather … abrupt?”
“Yeah, you might say that.”
“Look at that shoreline, will you! Ain’t that a beautiful sight! Let’s pull off here and go down on the beach.” She suddenly swerved to the right, bumped over two sets of railroad tracks and aimed that Camaro straight down a sand-swept one-lane path toward the shore.
“Jeez Louise!” said Marla, hanging on to the door handle.
“I bet we could find us some lobster and a couple of beers for lunch,” Haylene said, platinum hair whipping about in the wind.
“Well, I gotta tell you, Haylene, just so you know,” said Marla. “I got twenty-eight bucks and a credit card that’s good only for scraping bubble gum off the bottom of my shoe. I don’t even have a damned toothbrush or a change of underwear with me – nothing but these sweaty, wrinkled clothes I am wearing.”
“No worries, kiddo, I got a shitload of money – so much money I don’t know what to do with it all. And you know what they say about money, don’t ya? That old money ain’t gonna spend itself! Maybe we can come up with some new ideas, you and me. Ha ha ha!”
They took off their shoes and danced back and forth in the foamy tide a while, giggling like seven-year-olds and then they found Chico’s Beach Shack – palm fronds on the roof, smears of grease and bottles of Tabasco on every table. They found no lobster on the menu, but ordered some Jalapeño-laced fish tacos and enough beer to cool off the flaming effect on their tongues.
“So, where you from, Marla?”
“Tennessee. Been living with my old man, and if God is good, I will never have to go back to that rat hole again.”
“Your old man?”
“Yeah, my poppa. Roscoe McGuire. That man has been mean as a snake since the day my momma left and he is a drunk on top of that. I finally had all I could stand and took off in his car the first chance I got. Guess you could say I stole it, but I ditched it back there in Tallahassee. That’ll sure dill his pickle!
“Well, you stick with me, cutie pie. We’ll get you what you need, don’t you worry about that.” Haylene punched up the radio to WDVH out of Gainesville, and began singing along with Aretha, loud as a bullhorn, “What you want, baby I got it! What you need, don’t you know I got it!”
Marla suddenly felt happy as a mule in a corn field. Something told her they were going to have one hell of a ride.
TRIPLE click to play
Read part 2 HERE
I can almost predict part two, but I'm still eager to read it.
I did find it, and my predictions were way off the mark! I thought she was going to get Marla ensared in a brothel! Love the characters!