The Perils of Pauline by Collette Yvonne Read Free Book Online

curtains, I see Serenity leaping from the passenger seat of a rusty pickup truck. The front door bangs open and in bounds my prodigal teenage daughter accompanied by a friend, two filthy backpacks, and one enormous shaggy dog that appears to be a cross between a Mastiff and a Cave Bear. The dog heads straight to the cat food, devouring the contents of both bowls in seconds. Both cats crabwalk from the room, and scurry upstairs to pee in my shoes as punishment for this outrage.
    Serenity has a pack of cigarettes rolled up in her t-shirt sleeve. Before I can say anything, she waves her arm in the direction of her friend: “This is Shae.”
    Shae sets down a case of beer and grins. Serenity’s friend is clearly in favor of piercings. She has a tattoo of what looks like a necklace of power tools looping across her collarbones. In fact, her style might best be described as chainsaw-positive.
    I fold my arms at Serenity. “You weren’t supposed to be running around all of New York. I …”
    “It was okay, she was safe with me,” Shae says, tucking her hands flat under her belt. Her biceps and triceps are populated with gangs of sinewy muscles.
    Serenity opens the fridge door, grabs four cans of soda and says, over her shoulder, “Shae has nowhere to live. Her Dad kicked her out when she came out as a lesbian. She can stay with us for now, right?”
    Two pairs of bright imploring eyes blink at me.
    “Um. All right. I guess.”
    Serenity hugs me and yells, “Thanks Mom.” They sprint for the stairs.
    “Wait, what about the dog?”
    “His name is George Bush,” Shae calls back from the landing as George Bush lifts his leg to pee on the kitchen chair.
    I shriek, “No, no, no—bad dog,” at which George runs away across the kitchen, flops down beside the fridge and shoves his massive bony head between his huge paws with a look of sorry, gee whiz, you forget one lousy rule and look what happens.
    “Don’t look at me like that. You are so going to be living outside, Mister.”
    As Serenity’s bedroom door thumps shut, I shout after them uselessly. “No smoking or drinking in the house, okay?”
    A few minutes later Donald and Olympia arrive home hauling bags stuffed with party bling. Donald had so much fun at the mall, his neck muscles are twitching.
    “Did you know there’s a huge dog in the backyard digging a hole beside the fence? Does it belong to the rusty truck in the driveway?”
    “Yes, that’s George, Shae’s dog. Shae is Serenity’s girlfriend. Serenity asked if Shae could stay here for a while because she isn’t getting along with her Dad.”
    “And you said?”
    “What could I say? I felt bad for the kid. And if Shae goes, I’m pretty sure Serenity’ll take off with her. Then she’ll be back out on the streets again. I want her to stay home.”
    Donald snorts. “It’s whatever Serenity wants then?”
    “Please don’t start on that again.” I peek in the bags. “There’s a lot of stuff here. How many kids are you letting Olympia invite?”
    “I don’t know. She made a list.”
    I hold up a couple of packages of party noisemakers, the blowout kind with the annoying whistles. “It’s whatever Olympia wants then?”
     
    I wish Serenity and Shae would go back on the road again. Every morning this week I’ve come down to dirty dishes piled in the sink—presumably an offering to the cleanup fairy. Today, abandoned beside the sink awaiting my magic cleanup wand is a jug of orange juice and an open peanut butter jar, a spatula jammed deep into the contents.A swath of breadcrumbs garnishes the counter in front of the toaster. And George has raided the garbage can again. Hairy warts pop out on my nose and my teeth snaggle into sharp points. The fairy is running for her life: the witch is in the hovel. I grab George by the collar and shove him out into the back yard. Then I fly on my broomstick up the stairs to Serenity’s room and rap on her door, three times, hard.
    I hear the sound of