Film Noir

"Alice, c'mon. Just this once Al, just this one time."
Hand searching, breath in one ear, on a neck. Whispers, always whispers with him. The silver necklace is sharp, it hurts when he unknowingly presses it into my chest. The admonition is lost somewhere and turns into a sigh of ghastly pleasure. Hands are pushing the skirt up, up, up...and then a crash from the stair.
"You're brothers are horrible awful people!"
He grins, scotch rolling off his breath. Crash again as two oversized boys tumble into the landing.
"Good going C-man!"
"Awooo awo!"

Guilty laughter, falling over each other; pin curls have fallen out ages ago and are now limply slipping into my eyes. I am pressed into the contours of the hearth; massive dinosaur that heats the second story. Finally senses return enough to utter
"Have to go, dorm mother, friday then?"
"Gee, if I could get my hands on that woman just for a second..." violent gestures. Kiss and run, run all the way down the long long brick walk, drunk penny loafers slipping and sliding.

**
The next day he is across the cafe, my sisters don't notice. Neither do the brothers, except the two that wink and blow kisses before a blow ends their display. Smile to myself, then go back to comparing Betty D. and the new Vivian L. Neither of them are good enough for Clark G, it's decided.

**
At night, we light candles and sing songs of eternal friendship and bonds that cannot be broken. My guilty little secrete is locked at my thigh, in the garter where I have slipped his pin. Too soon, he says, to tell anyone. They won't approve, it must be a slow type of thing. So we continue in black secrecy.
"The years are binding us girls together now, restless sorrows shall try to tear us apart, but never shall we be..."
Not me. Sorrow is not my enemy...sorrow is loneliness and never shall I be alone.

**
I am draped in chiffon, cobalt blue. Matches my eyes, he says. The scotch is gone from his breath now, and he is holding me close close close as we waltz, foxtrot, sway the night away. We are on the landing again, the rest downstairs enjoying the Formal Dance, including our dates. But these stolen perfect moments...
"Won't the girls be pea green when they find out?"
"Green, sure...just dance with me now doll."

Hand on my bare shoulders, back, fingertips leaving a trail of shivers down my spine. Then a zipper being slowly pulled apart, down down down-fabric sliding off my shoulder. I'm scared, do my eyes show it? Whispered reassurances, kisses on my neck, shoulder, firm hand drawing me though the door into a room. For a second I think about stopping it, running downstairs to my safely boring date-the rich son of an executive who talks nothing but sales figures and deficits. No.
This is Life, giving in is delicious.

**
He is sitting in the little gorge under the bridge. This is our place; here he told me he wanted forever. She sits next to him, simpering, sweet, bouncy curls swept perfectly out of her eyes. Whispers in her ear, a hand casually on her knee, leaning in just a breath too close and they are staring into each other's eyes. And I am here, common peeping tom, watching my sister and my love.

**
His pin on my breast, I am proud now. Walk head held high into the house. Brothers open-mouthed, staring.
"Alice, hey sweet stuff where are you off to in such a hurry?"
Don't answer, just push through them and their clutching hands. Up the stairs, so familiar from dark rendezvous, open the door without knocking. He is there, white undershirt holding a tumbler, more scotch. How pathetic, drinking alone in his underwear. Slam the door shut, they won't bother us now. Brotherhood philosophy on perturbed females is to let them have their fun before then soothing with lies. How many times have I seen this?

"Al, what's wrong sugar?"
"Not sugar. Not to me at least." Silence, and then with a sigh, "Your pin, Charles."
For the first time, he sees my chest. Ironic enough, that's normally the first place his eyes wander.
"You're wearing it, Baby I thought we talked-"
Fingers fumble, take it off, palm outstretched, then fingers closing over it again."
"Just wondering, will you give it to her now?"
"Wh-"
"No, I just want to know is all. I mean, how many others have slipped it into their garters before me."

Don't cry, won't cry, I swore that to myself at least. Offer the pin, calmly slowly let him take it. He stands there, confused perhaps. A hand at my elbow, shake it off. Peel the white gloves off, finger by finger. The hearth is three short steps. Place the gloves on the mantle, carefully avoiding dust. Turn and raise the poker.
"Whoa, Alice...you need to cal-"

Smash and he's on the floor, skull cracked. But why stop now? Dead is not humiliated. Raise and lower it, over and over with thuds as I connect with bone and cartiliage. Blood and grey matter are strewn across the floor now; the perfect face is mangled and unrecognizable.

Ten minutes-stop. Carefully replace the poker. The gloves are pristine, put them on one finger at a time, casually lingering.

**
Outside a girl is passing by, hurrying to return before Dorm Mother admonishes her for being out without a Permission. She is passing the stone steps when a figure plummets from a second story window, landing headfirst on the bricks below in a graceful dive.