Chapter 19 could be subtitled to "Frankie Takes Control!" Now Frankie has motivation to take control of Bea. Cindy would go along just to be included. Bea is attempting insurrection. Patricia seems to go along with whatever Frank decrees--it would be interesting to find out the limits of "whatever." Bea is in line to pay up for malicious gossip and for her long-term "dump on men" attitude. Frank, Senior, has already expressed displeasure with women never being satisfied with everything.
Waiting in anticipation of Chapter 20 is difficult because family dynamics are escalating. Wouldn't it be funny for Bea to take Frankie's camera, sneak into the bathroom while Frankie is showering, and snap his photo while shrieking with laughter--until Frank Senior intervenes? "What's good for the gander is good for the goose, Bea! Intrude on your brother's privacy, will you?"
I've actually not frequented this site all that much recently as I've been on your site reading the Thornwood series whenever I have time. What a great story, and Rachel is an excellent character! But I'm nearly done with it now, so I'll come back to this story sometime next week. I've got multiple chapters to catch up on, so looking forward to it!
Just caught up and wow, the latest few chapters are excellent! Really upping the ante I see. I'd love to see Mary start to get aroused by her exhibitionism, but hey.
Keeping my distance from the pool, I went for a long walk to clear my head. When I returned, Mary was hiding out in her bed. I couldn't see if she had followed my shaving instructions or not because she was huddled under the covers. I hoped she would come around and accept the consequence I had given her as fair and even learn a lesson from it. But that thinking might be a little ambitious.
Even though that brown tuft between her legs was the last thing hiding her bare sex from what would certainly be an adoring public, she had little choice but to go ahead and shave it off. She needed my cooperation too much and was unlikely at this point to risk making an enemy of me. Coming to that conclusion, I was obviously eager to see what she looked like with no hair down there. But I was also willing to bide my time. Confirmation could wait until tomorrow.
When Frank got back with the car, he brought bad tidings with him. While the mechanic had been able to patch our tire, his prognosis of a suspicious and worrisome knock the engine had been making lately was not good.
Already in a sour mood, Frank took us to a nearby, local restaurant for supper. Mary had declined to join us for obvious reasons. With his wayward daughter temporarily out of the picture, my father should have been happy. He had been waiting for a chance to show off his respectable, well-behaved, American family doing a typical vacation activity like sitting down for a meal together. And he got his wish...well, everything except the well-behaved part.
I will admit to letting Bea get under my skin during the meal. I should have exercised better discipline. But in my defense, she was in rare form and being especially antagonistic that evening.
As soon as the food arrived, she turned to me and said, "could you please pass the salt, Crankie?"
My eyes bulged for just a flash when I heard what she had called me. I quickly recovered my composure, but it was not fast enough to escape her notice. I was afraid that nickname would stick.
"Why?" I tried to calmly reply, waving to her left, "you have a shaker right there."
"That one is clogged or something," she complained, "nothing's coming out."
Grinding my teeth, I leaned over the table to pass her the shaker I had been using.
"Thank you, Crankie," she said sweetly.
"Shut up, Bea!" I shot back a little too loudly.
"Francis! Watch your language," said Patricia. In her book, telling another person to "shut up" might as well have been a curse word.
Bea preened as I was forced to begrudgingly apologize. I could feel my father silently judging the whole exchange. This was not his idea of a nice, family supper. I would have been more than happy to change the subject, but I didn't have a choice when Cindy tilted her head to one side and softly asked Bea an innocent question.
"Why did you call him 'Cranky' just now? He's usually not very cranky to me."
I stared daggers at Bea, silently willing her to drop the matter and change the subject. But when her lips turned upward, I knew that chance was hopeless. Having found a way to get under my skin was making her enormously happy. And she wasn't about to give that up.
Cindy was all ears as her big sister turned to explained herself. "It's not 'Cranky' with a 'y', it's 'Crankie' with an 'ie'."
Cindy started to nod but stopped in the middle when she realized it still didn't make any sense to her.
"...but...why?"
My ire burned as Bea's smile grew into a wicked grin. It was bad enough that she had been spreading rumors to random girls at the pool about me. But now, she was corrupting the only remaining Conyor girl who looked up to me.
Leaning close to her sister and speaking just loud enough for me to overhear, Bea said, "You see, Cynthia, that's because Francis just looooves to crank things. In fact, I saw him behind motel earlier cranking his little-"
"I SAID 'SHUT IT', BEATRICE!" I roared, slamming my utensils against the table.
"YOU FIRST, CRANKIE!" she shot back defiantly.
"THAT'S ENOUGH FROM BOTH OF YOU," Frank ordered. "No more bickering. Is that understood?"
Genuinely regretting my outburst, I immediately replied with a sharp, "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."
Bea also answered him, but her "yes, sir" was less genuine and obviously forced. She rolled her eyes and checked her fingernails while she said it. I swear, it's like she was channeling her big sister - the old Mary from before we started our vacation.
Bea was too busy gloating over me to notice Frank's eyes narrow during her sarcastic response. And though she did stop verbally bickering, I'm sure he noticed when she rudely stuck out her tongue at me. They were just little things, but she should have kept better control over her disrespectful attitude - especially after Frank had already warned her to behave. Had she forgotten that quickly where Mary's similar, flippant attitude had landed her? Was Bea really too senseless to notice that she was treading on thin ice with him? Maybe he was right. Maybe girls like her and Mary really were too pretty for their own good.
I was steaming mad by the time we got back to the motel and had no reservations about setting my revenge plot into motion. We entered our room just after dark where Mary was already curled up in her bed fast asleep. The rest of us took turns in the bathroom going through our bedtime routines - ladies first, of course. Having practically ruined my pajamas by wearing them in the rain, I had to improvise my sleeping attire - making do with plain, white underwear again.
The last one out of the bathroom, I turned out its light before stumbling blindly to my sleeping bag. But by the time I got there, my eyes were already starting to adjust to other, lesser light sources in the room.
"Goodnight, sis," I heard Bea whisper in the direction of Cindy's sleeping bag.
"Goodnight, Bea," was her sister's cheerful reply.
Even though I knew what was coming next, I still bristled when Bea called out, "Goodnight, Crankie!"
Maintaining my composure, I calmly whispered back, "and goodnight to you, Beatrice, dear. May you have a restful slumber."
I could practically feel her sneering back at me across the dark expanse. But instead of offering some snide retort, she just rolled over and ignored me. She had all day tomorrow to antagonize me - or so she thought.
I waited long after I was sure everyone else was fast asleep before I got up again. Tiptoeing to the middle of the room, I had no trouble locating the right pipe that ran above the girls' bed. Reaching up, I silently loosened the trough of insulation I had cut earlier and angled it directly over where Bea was enjoying her restful slumber. Holding my hand up to the dangling end, I held my breath and prayed that my scheme had worked.
After several seconds, I felt a cold droplet of water fall into my palm followed a few seconds later by another one. It was better than I could hope for! The drops were consistent but infrequent. I didn't want a deluge. I only wanted it to be annoying.
I waited until I had snuck safely back to my bag before allowing myself to breathe easy and celebrate. I had just pulled off what was, in my mind, the perfect prank. Bea's peaceful slumber would be disrupted all night by slow, cold drips on her back. And there was no way to trace it back to me. Everyone would see the trough of insulation in the morning and assume it had fallen down on its own. It was just bad luck that it happened to occur directly over her side of the bed.
Content that justice had been metered out, I drifted off, to sleep soundly and dream of naked fillies. Thinking it was little more than some silly prank, I was completely oblivious to the magnitude of what I had just unintentionally set in motion.
Crankie got a bit cranky. Hell has no cranky like a woman drenched by a slow leak. Want to bet that Bea plays alarm clock? Will she get physical in the morning and slap the snot out of her brother? Bea will immediately "know" who got her all wet--"mad as a wet hen!" I don't doubt that Bea will be less than judicious, and the melt-down is going to be epic!
I had to think about it for a few minutes and decided that I couldn't resist. What happens to sleeping people when their hand is dipped in warm water? In a motel room bed, no less!
"What's good for the gander is good for the goose, Bea! Intrude on your brother's privacy, will you?"
