Southern California
The Late 20th Century
The women’s room at the El Rancho was a temple of sympathetic sisterhood, and on the night of Halloween a coterie of princesses, witches, nuns, belly dancers, and cowgirls were all circled around Catwoman, whose mascara was streaking down her cheeks like the makeup of a tragic clown.
“You need to leave his ass, honey,” said Little Bo Peep, her bonnet quivering with finality. She stroked Catwoman’s sleek brown hair as it streamed out behind the dark purple half mask, pushed up to the top of her head so she could better wipe her tears.
“Last call is less than an hour. If he’s kept you waiting this long, he isn’t worth it,” agreed a Dorothy Gale who was slurring her speech and had lost one ruby slipper already.
Catwoman—real name Sherry, not Selina Kyle—stared at herself in the mirror. They were right. Phil always did this to her. Promised her an amazing night, then showed up hours late, if he showed up at all. At the beginning of their relationship she tried to give him a pass. He worked a lot, down at Big Jake’s Garage fixing everything from Fords to Fiats, and when he came home he smelled like motor oil and sweat. But he’d wash up nice and go wherever she wanted, paid for everything out of his own pocket, and never asked her for anything in return (except for a few “favors” she was more than happy to give). Phil was the most handsome guy Sherry had ever known, with blue eyes so dark they were almost black, and long black hair that her daddy said made him look like a hoodlum. But his teeth were white and straight, and his smile made her forgive every sin he ever committed.
After high school though, things started to change. Sometimes after work he’d be too tired to even go anywhere, preferring to just stay home listening to music, reading comic books and smoking weed, or maybe just driving around town talking about all the things they wanted for themselves. Sherry was going to be a fashion designer, had enrolled in college for it right after high school. Phil wanted to run his own garage someday, or maybe a car dealership. In her heart, Sherry knew the love between them had a rapidly approaching expiration date, but every book and movie she’d ever read told her to wait for her happy ending. There weren’t nearly enough stories telling a girl how to walk out on her first love.
Then a few weeks ago, whatever choice she might have wanted to make didn’t matter. The little blue plus on the plastic stick made the decision for her. To Phil’s credit, he swore he would marry her, he just needed to get the money together first. He let her move into his cramped little studio apartment when her parents called her a slut and threw her out of the house, and even though he’d wanted her to stay in school, with doctor’s appointments and baby clothes to buy, Sherry decided to drop out and get a job at the local fabric store instead.
None of this was what either of them really wanted at twenty years old, but they made the best of it. All Sherry had asked from Phil was that she still get to have one more fun Halloween for herself, before she got buried in bottles and dirty diapers. It had always been her favorite holiday, a chance to sew wild creations that would be condemned to the attic on November first, an excuse to paint her face into a vision of beauty or a mask of horror, depending on how she was feeling that year.
This year she was lucky enough that her stomach was still relatively flat (though Phil could confirm her breasts definitely seemed bigger) and her purple catsuit clung smoothly to a curvaceous body from head to toe. Phil had agreed to go to the party at the El Rancho as long as he didn’t have to “dress up as anything stupid,” and the idea of being Batman and Catwoman had been a good compromise for the pair. Sherry had made his costume for him too, had made him try it on yesterday afternoon when she went to drop it off. She had to admit, Phil had the jawline to pull off the cowl, and neither costume had stayed on long. No use shutting the barn door after the horse was already gone, after all.
The plan for the night was to have dinner at home together first, then go over to the El Rancho. But Phil had called around noon saying he was going to be late, and he would meet Sherry at the bar. Alarm bells rang in the pit of her stomach, but she’d worked so hard on the costume, and looked so good in it, she went along with the plan anyways. So she’d arrived at nine, and spent the next several hours drinking Shirley Temples and dancing with some of her female acquaintances who didn’t know about her little passenger yet. The band played song after song, and Phil never showed.
Well, if she was going to end it after all, after he’d disappointed her yet again, Catwoman might as well have a little fun first. So she wiped her tears, and borrowed Cinderella’s mascara, and went back out to the dance floor with a determined smile on her face. Winners of the costume contest would be announced at one a.m., and without Batman, Sherry had been forced to sign up as a solo. If she won, five hundred dollars would at least be enough to get her started on her own.
The band was loud, just how Sherry liked. So loud that at first she didn’t even notice that someone dressed in all black, with a rubber Richard Nixon mask covering their face, was pushing their way through the crowd trying to get her attention. Sherry rolled her eyes and turned her attention to the Bride of Frankenstein dancing next to her, but Nixon caught her wrist and began to pull her out of the crowd.
“Hands off creep, I have a boyfriend!” Sherry snapped, trying to pull free.
Nixon stopped, then reached a gloved hand down down to pull up the edge of his mask. “Yeah, I know,” the young man underneath answered grimly, dropping the mask again as soon as he’d confirmed his identity to her.
“Phil? What the fuck?” Sherry gasped. He caught her wrist again and pulled her off to a quieter nook near the bar. Everyone nearby was watching football highlights on a small TV up in the corner and paid no intention to the pair.
“Baby, I can explain…” he began, his voice muffled by the mask, but Catwoman wasn’t having it. She stamped her foot and pulled her hand free.
“I can’t believe you did this to me again. After everything we talked about!” She snapped. Tears were threatening to spill forth again, but this time anger helped strengthen Sherry’s resolve. “You know how much tonight meant to me, and you ditched me anyways.”
“I didn’t ditch you, Sher,” Phil said. Now that they were closer, she could smell his sweat mixed with the rubber of his Nixon mask, and Sherry felt ready to rip it right off his stupid head. “A last minute job came up. Baby…” He took both hands in hers and gave them a squeeze. “We’re gonna be okay, all three of us.” Through the tiny cut out holes in Nixon’s eyes, Sherry could see Phil glancing at her stomach.
“So you got an extra fifty bucks and you couldn’t call me to tell me you weren’t coming? I looked like an idiot out there, waiting for you all night! And people kept asking me why I was drinking Shirley Temples…” Her cheeks flared pink and her hands curled into fists.
Phil pulled her a little closer. “It was more than fifty bucks, Sher. A lot more. But we gotta go, babe. Now, tonight.” He turned and looked towards the nearest door, then curiously up at the TV. “Remember how we talked about maybe going to Mexico?”
“Mexico? Phil, are you high?” She sniffed a little. Over the rest of the stink of him, she couldn’t tell if he’d been hitting his bong tonight. “I’m not going to Mexico, I’m not going anywhere. I entered the costume contest by myself since you didn’t bother to show, and I’m staying to hear if I win.” She paused, and looked him up and down again. What the hell was he supposed to be, anyway? To her knowledge, Nixon never wore black jeans or a turtleneck. “You couldn’t even bother wearing the costume I made for you, could you?” Somehow, that stung even more, that she’d gone through all the work..for what? So he could wear old clothes and a five-and-dime mask?
Phil’s voice was getting more desperate. “Sherry, please. I promise you, I’ve taken care of everything. You and me are gonna be fine now. The baby’s gonna be fine. But we need to leave, now. My car’s outside, I already packed our stuff. We can be in Tijuana by sunrise,” Phil’s voice was pleading by now, and he was trying to pull her towards the emergency exit.
Catwoman took a few stumbling steps back. “No, Phil. I’m done with this. Baby or no baby, I’m not gonna stay with someone who does this shit to me over and over. Saying you’re gonna be someplace, then sneaking off and leaving me alone, only to come back and make decisions for me—”
“Sher…” Phil’s voice was like a wounded animal, although Richard Nixon’s face was slack and emotionless as always. “Things are gonna be different, baby, I promise you that. I got my hands on some money, sweetheart. A lot of money. More than you’re gonna win in any costume contest.” He paused a little bit, and the mask bobbed as he looked her up and down. “Even though you probably are gonna win. But that’s chump change, baby. I got us some life-changing money. I buried it, out by the reservoir, you know, where we…”
“I don’t want to hear it, Phil!” The band was beginning to play a slower song. All around her, monsters and mermaids were coupling up. Superheroes held witches to their hearts. A devil kissed an angel in the corner. The tears Sherry had been holding back finally slipped free. It wasn’t fair. She had wanted to be one of those happy couples, with Phil pulling her close against his chest, telling her he loved her and that next Halloween things would be different. They’d dress their baby as a pumpkin, take them Trick-or-Treating, stay home and watch Charlie Brown…
The Nixon mask stared at her blankly, at a loss for what to do. Catwoman took a deep breath. “The least you could do is dance with me once, Phil. Just one more…”
Without a word, he put his arms around her waist and guided her head to his shoulder. God, she wanted to stay like this. She wanted to pretend everything was going to be okay.
“I love you, Sher. You know that, right?” Phil murmured in her ear. “Everything I did, I did for you and the baby.” He squeezed her a little tighter. “You’re gonna be an amazing mom, sweetheart. I wish…”
But Nixon never got to say his wish aloud. At that moment, a big man dressed in a very realistic policeman’s uniform tapped him on the shoulder. Three more in the same costumes—not costumes, not at all—emerged from the crowd, surrounding the couple.
“Philip Evans?” the first officer remarked, holding up a badge. “You’re under arrest for armed robbery. Please come quietly, sir, we don’t want to cause a panic…”
He dropped his arms and stepped away from Sherry. The cops didn’t cuff him there on the dance floor, but they did take him firmly in hand, leading him towards the door. On the little TV above the bar, the football highlights cut away to a newscast, where security camera footage showed a man in a very familiar Richard Nixon mask holding a gun up to a security guard’s head.
“Ma’am, I have some questions for you,” one of the other police officers said, gently laying a hand on Sherry’s shoulder.
At that moment, the song came to an end, and the emcee for the night, a thin man in a Willy Wonka costume, took the mike.
“And here we are ladies and gentlemen, it’s time to announce the winners of our costume contest! For our solo ladies…”
Sherry looked back up at the cop and wiped the fresh streak of mascara off her cheek. “Just one moment, officer. I want to hear this.” She took a deep breath and smoothed her hair, ready to ascend the steps to the stage.
Alone.
The Late 20th Century
The women’s room at the El Rancho was a temple of sympathetic sisterhood, and on the night of Halloween a coterie of princesses, witches, nuns, belly dancers, and cowgirls were all circled around Catwoman, whose mascara was streaking down her cheeks like the makeup of a tragic clown.
“You need to leave his ass, honey,” said Little Bo Peep, her bonnet quivering with finality. She stroked Catwoman’s sleek brown hair as it streamed out behind the dark purple half mask, pushed up to the top of her head so she could better wipe her tears.
“Last call is less than an hour. If he’s kept you waiting this long, he isn’t worth it,” agreed a Dorothy Gale who was slurring her speech and had lost one ruby slipper already.
Catwoman—real name Sherry, not Selina Kyle—stared at herself in the mirror. They were right. Phil always did this to her. Promised her an amazing night, then showed up hours late, if he showed up at all. At the beginning of their relationship she tried to give him a pass. He worked a lot, down at Big Jake’s Garage fixing everything from Fords to Fiats, and when he came home he smelled like motor oil and sweat. But he’d wash up nice and go wherever she wanted, paid for everything out of his own pocket, and never asked her for anything in return (except for a few “favors” she was more than happy to give). Phil was the most handsome guy Sherry had ever known, with blue eyes so dark they were almost black, and long black hair that her daddy said made him look like a hoodlum. But his teeth were white and straight, and his smile made her forgive every sin he ever committed.
After high school though, things started to change. Sometimes after work he’d be too tired to even go anywhere, preferring to just stay home listening to music, reading comic books and smoking weed, or maybe just driving around town talking about all the things they wanted for themselves. Sherry was going to be a fashion designer, had enrolled in college for it right after high school. Phil wanted to run his own garage someday, or maybe a car dealership. In her heart, Sherry knew the love between them had a rapidly approaching expiration date, but every book and movie she’d ever read told her to wait for her happy ending. There weren’t nearly enough stories telling a girl how to walk out on her first love.
Then a few weeks ago, whatever choice she might have wanted to make didn’t matter. The little blue plus on the plastic stick made the decision for her. To Phil’s credit, he swore he would marry her, he just needed to get the money together first. He let her move into his cramped little studio apartment when her parents called her a slut and threw her out of the house, and even though he’d wanted her to stay in school, with doctor’s appointments and baby clothes to buy, Sherry decided to drop out and get a job at the local fabric store instead.
None of this was what either of them really wanted at twenty years old, but they made the best of it. All Sherry had asked from Phil was that she still get to have one more fun Halloween for herself, before she got buried in bottles and dirty diapers. It had always been her favorite holiday, a chance to sew wild creations that would be condemned to the attic on November first, an excuse to paint her face into a vision of beauty or a mask of horror, depending on how she was feeling that year.
This year she was lucky enough that her stomach was still relatively flat (though Phil could confirm her breasts definitely seemed bigger) and her purple catsuit clung smoothly to a curvaceous body from head to toe. Phil had agreed to go to the party at the El Rancho as long as he didn’t have to “dress up as anything stupid,” and the idea of being Batman and Catwoman had been a good compromise for the pair. Sherry had made his costume for him too, had made him try it on yesterday afternoon when she went to drop it off. She had to admit, Phil had the jawline to pull off the cowl, and neither costume had stayed on long. No use shutting the barn door after the horse was already gone, after all.
The plan for the night was to have dinner at home together first, then go over to the El Rancho. But Phil had called around noon saying he was going to be late, and he would meet Sherry at the bar. Alarm bells rang in the pit of her stomach, but she’d worked so hard on the costume, and looked so good in it, she went along with the plan anyways. So she’d arrived at nine, and spent the next several hours drinking Shirley Temples and dancing with some of her female acquaintances who didn’t know about her little passenger yet. The band played song after song, and Phil never showed.
Well, if she was going to end it after all, after he’d disappointed her yet again, Catwoman might as well have a little fun first. So she wiped her tears, and borrowed Cinderella’s mascara, and went back out to the dance floor with a determined smile on her face. Winners of the costume contest would be announced at one a.m., and without Batman, Sherry had been forced to sign up as a solo. If she won, five hundred dollars would at least be enough to get her started on her own.
The band was loud, just how Sherry liked. So loud that at first she didn’t even notice that someone dressed in all black, with a rubber Richard Nixon mask covering their face, was pushing their way through the crowd trying to get her attention. Sherry rolled her eyes and turned her attention to the Bride of Frankenstein dancing next to her, but Nixon caught her wrist and began to pull her out of the crowd.
“Hands off creep, I have a boyfriend!” Sherry snapped, trying to pull free.
Nixon stopped, then reached a gloved hand down down to pull up the edge of his mask. “Yeah, I know,” the young man underneath answered grimly, dropping the mask again as soon as he’d confirmed his identity to her.
“Phil? What the fuck?” Sherry gasped. He caught her wrist again and pulled her off to a quieter nook near the bar. Everyone nearby was watching football highlights on a small TV up in the corner and paid no intention to the pair.
“Baby, I can explain…” he began, his voice muffled by the mask, but Catwoman wasn’t having it. She stamped her foot and pulled her hand free.
“I can’t believe you did this to me again. After everything we talked about!” She snapped. Tears were threatening to spill forth again, but this time anger helped strengthen Sherry’s resolve. “You know how much tonight meant to me, and you ditched me anyways.”
“I didn’t ditch you, Sher,” Phil said. Now that they were closer, she could smell his sweat mixed with the rubber of his Nixon mask, and Sherry felt ready to rip it right off his stupid head. “A last minute job came up. Baby…” He took both hands in hers and gave them a squeeze. “We’re gonna be okay, all three of us.” Through the tiny cut out holes in Nixon’s eyes, Sherry could see Phil glancing at her stomach.
“So you got an extra fifty bucks and you couldn’t call me to tell me you weren’t coming? I looked like an idiot out there, waiting for you all night! And people kept asking me why I was drinking Shirley Temples…” Her cheeks flared pink and her hands curled into fists.
Phil pulled her a little closer. “It was more than fifty bucks, Sher. A lot more. But we gotta go, babe. Now, tonight.” He turned and looked towards the nearest door, then curiously up at the TV. “Remember how we talked about maybe going to Mexico?”
“Mexico? Phil, are you high?” She sniffed a little. Over the rest of the stink of him, she couldn’t tell if he’d been hitting his bong tonight. “I’m not going to Mexico, I’m not going anywhere. I entered the costume contest by myself since you didn’t bother to show, and I’m staying to hear if I win.” She paused, and looked him up and down again. What the hell was he supposed to be, anyway? To her knowledge, Nixon never wore black jeans or a turtleneck. “You couldn’t even bother wearing the costume I made for you, could you?” Somehow, that stung even more, that she’d gone through all the work..for what? So he could wear old clothes and a five-and-dime mask?
Phil’s voice was getting more desperate. “Sherry, please. I promise you, I’ve taken care of everything. You and me are gonna be fine now. The baby’s gonna be fine. But we need to leave, now. My car’s outside, I already packed our stuff. We can be in Tijuana by sunrise,” Phil’s voice was pleading by now, and he was trying to pull her towards the emergency exit.
Catwoman took a few stumbling steps back. “No, Phil. I’m done with this. Baby or no baby, I’m not gonna stay with someone who does this shit to me over and over. Saying you’re gonna be someplace, then sneaking off and leaving me alone, only to come back and make decisions for me—”
“Sher…” Phil’s voice was like a wounded animal, although Richard Nixon’s face was slack and emotionless as always. “Things are gonna be different, baby, I promise you that. I got my hands on some money, sweetheart. A lot of money. More than you’re gonna win in any costume contest.” He paused a little bit, and the mask bobbed as he looked her up and down. “Even though you probably are gonna win. But that’s chump change, baby. I got us some life-changing money. I buried it, out by the reservoir, you know, where we…”
“I don’t want to hear it, Phil!” The band was beginning to play a slower song. All around her, monsters and mermaids were coupling up. Superheroes held witches to their hearts. A devil kissed an angel in the corner. The tears Sherry had been holding back finally slipped free. It wasn’t fair. She had wanted to be one of those happy couples, with Phil pulling her close against his chest, telling her he loved her and that next Halloween things would be different. They’d dress their baby as a pumpkin, take them Trick-or-Treating, stay home and watch Charlie Brown…
The Nixon mask stared at her blankly, at a loss for what to do. Catwoman took a deep breath. “The least you could do is dance with me once, Phil. Just one more…”
Without a word, he put his arms around her waist and guided her head to his shoulder. God, she wanted to stay like this. She wanted to pretend everything was going to be okay.
“I love you, Sher. You know that, right?” Phil murmured in her ear. “Everything I did, I did for you and the baby.” He squeezed her a little tighter. “You’re gonna be an amazing mom, sweetheart. I wish…”
But Nixon never got to say his wish aloud. At that moment, a big man dressed in a very realistic policeman’s uniform tapped him on the shoulder. Three more in the same costumes—not costumes, not at all—emerged from the crowd, surrounding the couple.
“Philip Evans?” the first officer remarked, holding up a badge. “You’re under arrest for armed robbery. Please come quietly, sir, we don’t want to cause a panic…”
He dropped his arms and stepped away from Sherry. The cops didn’t cuff him there on the dance floor, but they did take him firmly in hand, leading him towards the door. On the little TV above the bar, the football highlights cut away to a newscast, where security camera footage showed a man in a very familiar Richard Nixon mask holding a gun up to a security guard’s head.
“Ma’am, I have some questions for you,” one of the other police officers said, gently laying a hand on Sherry’s shoulder.
At that moment, the song came to an end, and the emcee for the night, a thin man in a Willy Wonka costume, took the mike.
“And here we are ladies and gentlemen, it’s time to announce the winners of our costume contest! For our solo ladies…”
Sherry looked back up at the cop and wiped the fresh streak of mascara off her cheek. “Just one moment, officer. I want to hear this.” She took a deep breath and smoothed her hair, ready to ascend the steps to the stage.
Alone.