Paullina Simons: Tully

‘Yes, you do. And when you look cheap, boys will think you are cheap, they will come on to you and treat you with no respect. And boys your age, they can be very…’ here Hedda paused, ‘persistent. You may not be able to fight them off.’

Fight them off ? Tully thought. ‘Yes, Mom, you know, I think you’re right. Maybe I am wearing a little too much makeup.’ And taking a cotton puff, Tully began to vigorously rub her face.

Hedda stared at her. ‘Are you humoring me, Tully?’

‘No, of course not, Mom, I just don’t want to upset you.’

Hedda said nothing, turning to go. Tully got up out of her chair, then immediately sat back down when she saw Hedda looking at her leathers.

‘Tully, what’s that you’re wearing?’

‘Nothing, Mom, nothing. Just some pants I bought.’

‘Bought? Bought with what?’

With Jennifer’s money. ‘I did some work for Mrs Mandolini, and she gave me a little money for it.’

‘And this is what you bought with her money?’ Hedda’s voice was extremely quiet. She turned on the overhead light in the room to see better.

With my money, thought Tully, saying, ‘Mom, they are just leather, that’s all.’

‘Just leather? Just leather? Do you realize how you look in them? Look!’ And she yanked Tully by the upper arm out of the chair and stood her in front of the mirror. ‘Look! How do you look to boys and to girls? How do you look to Jennifer’s parents? Do you know what they’ll think of me for letting you wear something like this to their home?’

Jen and her mom helped me pick these out, Tully thought. ‘Mom –’

Hedda wasn’t listening. ‘I know what they’ll see. Here’s a girl, a young girl, with bleached permed hair, roots showing. Bright red blush, bright red lipstick, eyes covered with black and blue gop, and those pants. And that shirt.’ Hedda’s voice was stone cold and dead slow. ‘That slinky red shirt, with the first button right between your tits!’

‘Mom! Please!’

‘Are you gonna be…bending over a lot, Tully?’ asked Hedda menacingly. ‘Are you…wearing a bra, Tully?’

Tully threw her hand to the top of her blouse, but too late – Hedda got there first, pulling Tully’s shirt away from her body to reveal two pale, moist-with-sweat breasts.

Hedda’s eyes narrowed and Tully’s widened.

‘Mom, I only have two bras and they were both dirty. I couldn’t wear them.’

‘Shut up, Tully Makker, shut up.’ Hedda’s voice was as slow as before but an octave higher.

‘Who else besides you would know that your two bras were dirty, who?’ Hedda paused, panted, then sprung again. ‘Are you wearing any panties, Tully?’

‘Yes, of course I am, Momma,’ Tully replied, remembering just what she was wearing – a black G-string.

‘Open your pants.’

‘Mom, no.’

‘Tully, you are lying to me? I wanna know how far you stooped, what a dirty trash you become. Now open them.’

Tully uttered a small sound. And unbuttoned her trousers; unzipped them just enough to show her mother the top of her black underwear.

Hedda looked at the panties, then at her daughter’s face. She let go of Tully’s arm, finally, and Tully sank into the chair.

‘Get undressed. You aren’t going nowhere.’

Tully made an inarticulate, throaty cry.

‘Mom, please. I’m sorry. I’ll change. Please don’t do this.’

‘Tully, you’ve done this to yourself. You’re a tramp. My daughter’s a tramp. Where have I gone wrong?’

Tully heard her mother cracking her knuckles. ‘Didn’t I try to raise you properly?’ Hedda said. ‘Didn’t I try to put some values into you?’

Tully’s eyes were on her mother’s hands. ‘You have, and I am, I mean, I have good values, I am moral. Please, Mom.’

‘What you think your father would say if he was here?’

I do not know, mother, Tully thought desperately. I really don’t know. ‘Mom, I’m sure he’d accept my apology.’

‘Oh, you don’t know your father, Tully, you don’t understand how he thinks.’

Hedda’s face was purple-red, and her big German body was heaving.

‘Truth is,’ she continued, ‘what does it matter if you do what I want and wear proper clothes? Truth is, you want to go braless, you want to show off your tits and have boys pull off those leather pants of yours and see that piss-poor excuse for panties you got on. That’s what you want, so what does it matter if to make me feel better you do what I want?’ Hedda’s face got a bit redder. The little blue veins in her hands stood out as she clenched and unclenched her fists. Tully saw another question dawn in her mother’s eyes. Hedda sat on the corner of the wooden table and brought her face so close to Tully that Tully could smell the sausage and sauerkraut of Hedda’s dinner. Well, that’s about as close as we get, Mom, thought Tully, intensely wanting to move back.

‘Tully,’ Hedda’s voice was quiet again. ‘Tell me, are you a virgin?’

Tully moved her head away from her mother and looked down at her hands while the little droplets of sweat collecting on her forehead dripped into her eyes.

Hedda persisted. ‘I mean, all these years I kept you home and sent Lena with you wherever you went and forbade any calls from boys to this house, tell me, Natalie Anne, was I…too late?’

Tully finally gazed at her mother in cold disbelief. ‘Mom, what are you talking about? Have you for –’ and then broke off, looked down, and said. ‘No, Momma, you weren’t.’ Hedda placed her finger, thick as the sausage she had just had for dinner, under Tully’s chin and lifted up her daughter’s face. And must have seen the fear.

They looked at each other for a few moments, until Tully tried to drop her gaze again.

Hedda’s voice was calm, almost reasonable.

‘Is that what you wanna do tonight? You want some boy? Any boy in particular, Tully, or are you…mmm…not particular?’

‘Momma, really, honestly, I just wanted to look attractive. But I’ll wear something else, I swear.’

Tully noticed her mother had stopped clenching her fists and was cracking her knuckles again. Kneading each finger tensely, twisting and turning them until the sound came, the sound of logs popping open in the fireplace. Crack.

Nowadays, Hedda did not lose her temper often; Tully would attest to that. Most of the time it was difficult to get Hedda to notice Tully was in the same room. But when Hedda did blow, it was always prefaced by this knuckle cracking. Last time Hedda lost her temper was the night of the condoms. The time before that was when Tully was thirteen and got caught kissing some boy outside the front door. When Tully was younger, Hedda’s loss of temper was like Tully’s hunger: sometime during each day, Tully would feel hunger. And sometime, during the day, Hedda would lose her temper. Mother was probably trying to get used to living life on her own with an uncommunicative and unattractive child (‘Come here, you dumb dog! Come here, you unloving cow, and tell me about your day!’), and loss of temper was as random as clouds. Didn’t sweep the floor in the corners, left the frying pan on, broke a table (left too often on her own, Tully once decided to turn the coffee table into a slide), didn’t feed the cat (it died eventually; nobody fed it), pulled up Aunt Lena’s dress just for fun, didn’t take a shower for three days, and so on and so on.

Sweat trickled from Tully’s forehead steadily now, like syrup. When she was younger Tully had become inured to Hedda’s fury the way she had finally become inured to persistent lack of sleep. But in the last few years, she hadn’t seen much of Hedda and had forgotten a little. Now, too frightened to wipe off her sweat, Tully sat immobile in the chair and watched her mother.