American White Trash: A Love Story

By M. L. Becker

Teenager, Marilyn Patterson is a stunning beauty, and she knows it. Born in New Hampshire to a family of impoverished women, she quickly figures out what she needs to do to survive. Marilyn is nothing but bored as she and her sister smoke their Marlboros, and watch the hicks walk by at the towns Fourth of July celebration. Just as she sits on the steps of the railroad station a handsome boy approaches and changes her life forever.

Tyrone Sullivan is a self- confident college student from a large middle-class family. Marilyn lives in a small cabin full of empty bottles and overflowing ashtrays along with her sisters and her alcoholic mother. Even though their lives could not be more different, Ty and Marilyn can only see each other and immerse themselves in a passionate relationship. But when reality closes in, Ty reluctantly lets Marilyn go, sending her back into a world of fast drug deals and even faster men.

Marilyns life comes full circle when she arrives back to the same small town several years later. Now she must decide if she wants to take back the man she has spent years trying to forget.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Nov 21, 2011
• ISBN: 9781462052356

M. L. Becker

M. L. Becker lives in the Catskill Mountains with her husband and children. This is her second novel, which has won both the silver award for Romance and the gold award for Historical Fiction from the IBPA Ben Franklin Awards. She shares these awards with her publisher, iUniverse.

Book preview

Chapter 1

"Here you have plenty of space for towels and sheets, the woman with the clipboard pointed out in her best realtor voice. While brushing aside a mousetrap from the shelf, her hand became entangled in a cobweb. She quickly brought her other hand up to free herself from its sticky grip and turned with confidence. She was face-to-face with her new client, who seemed unimpressed by the rustic closet space. Still, she pushed on in steamroller fashion. Shall we have a look at the bedrooms?"

Mrs. Davis.

Call me Tammy, she insisted with every tooth in her mouth.

Tammy … the young woman asked, are there any houses on the lake—I mean, right on the water?

Yes, but not in your price range, Miss Patterson, Tammy assured her with just the tiniest hint of condescension.

Her client walked away from her with a sigh and pretended to look at the closets. Who was this woman? The accent was definitely downstate, and although she didn’t have the money for a place right on the lake, she was coming up with a lot of cash. She was also very pretty.

Tammy had to admit that; and she had a nice figure, which she flaunted with a short denim skirt and tight top. Women like that always knew where to get their hands on money. Tammy shrugged. She knew a few more tricks to make sure this one wasn’t getting away. This dump would get rented or her name wasn’t Realtor of the Year for 1965, and that was for all of northern New Hampshire. With her aging-but-impressive, award-winning vest snugly in place, she got back to work.

You have children, Miss Patterson? she asked, lingering on the Miss.

Yes, my sisters live with me.

There is an excellent summer recreational program at the main beach. What are the ages of the girls?

Twelve and six.

Miss Patterson was staring out the window, but Tammy plodded on with a giggle of enthusiasm. Those are the perfect ages. The program starts at six and ends at twelve. She received no reaction.

Now it was her turn to sigh as she adjusted her salt-and-pepper hair. Her fingers found her herringbone clip to make sure it was secure. She could barely see herself in the blurry mirror that hung over the musty sofa. Someone should air this place out for a week, she thought, before turning to give her next pitch.

Did you know all this antique furniture comes with the place?

Miss Patterson ignored her.

You said it has a private beach.

Oh, yes, it’s just a very short distance away. The house isn’t much, I know, but the beach and views are spectacular.

Miss Patterson’s level of excitement was low. When someone didn’t get a rise out of Tammy’s superlatives, she had to surmise that the client had already been worked over pretty well.

Have you seen any other houses? she queried.

The last few days I’ve done nothing but look at houses with New Day Realty.

That Chick Anderson, Tammy thought, has the technique of a wolverine. Miss Patterson would get a gentler touch from the representative from Country Realty. Tammy held the door and smiled sweetly at Miss Patterson.

Down these steps and through the field. Be careful, dear.

Tammy was clutching her purse and trying to navigate the path as her high heels sank into the sand with every step. She walked awkwardly and chattered. Was Miss Patterson even listening? Off came her sandals, and she was swinging them in a childlike manner. Abruptly, the young woman stopped without looking at the beach. The view was spectacular, but that wasn’t what she was looking at, either. There was an old boathouse across the lake.

Tammy was about to speak, but Miss Patterson put up her hand to stop her.

I’ll take it, she said and turned to walk back to her car.

Chapter 2

Tammy had a hard time getting the key into the ignition. Not too many things rattled the battle-hardened real-estate agent, but Chick Anderson’s story of the Patterson family eviction had made her blood run cold. She thought she had been the smart one to unload that dirty little cabin by the lake for the summer. As she sped down Route 17, she hoped she could save that same little cabin from massive damage and save her job.

Her quick breakfast of toast and jam had not settled well in her stomach—not after she’d seen Chick. Bright and early he had shown up at the office to enthrall her and her coworkers with the tales of stained, ripped carpets, holes in the walls, piles and piles of garbage, maggots, and if that wasn’t enough, evidence of guns and drug use. He seemed to be gloating over the fact that she had been stupid enough to rent a property to one of the daughters in the infamous family.

Why had she trusted a perfectly good cabin to someone with no obvious means of support? It was not like her not to ask for references, but the woman had come up with the cash needed. Where did she get it from? Tammy took a deep breath, and the answer came to her: a drug deal, of course. She hoped she would be in time. They’ve only been there about a month; the damage shouldn’t be that bad. She hoped she could get them out without too much trouble.

Ew, she said and shuddered at the thought. Maggots.

Hi, good morning, Pattersons, she called and stumbled up the steps onto the porch.

It took a while, but a puzzled young woman emerged, opening the door. Two equally surprised children stood behind her. The little one rubbed the sleep out of her eyes with a balled-up fist.

Oh, I’m sorry. It’s early, isn’t it? Tammy said before she gently pushed her way into the living room.

Would you like some coffee? Miss Patterson offered with a raspy voice, coughing to clear her throat.

Coffee, that would be great, Tammy answered with enthusiasm.

Marilyn shuffled off in her moccasin-type slippers to do the job, while the girls still hovered, staring at the woman who had burst into their house. Tammy smiled down on them and took in the room. Aside from a pillow and a baby blanket on the couch, the room was very neat. The wood floor was swept, and an old braided rug had been added. It was homey and inviting.

The girls gravitated to the rug to watch television. Miss Patterson walked carefully into the room with a mug of coffee that was too full. She was wearing a gray floor-length robe that fell open to expose her long legs while she transferred the cup of liquid to her guest.

Tammy took a sip and did her best to thank her for a delicious cup of hot coffee, which was actually tepid instant coffee with a powdery creamer and no sugar.

Yum, Tammy added before she got down to business. I was driving by the other day, and I noticed a broken shutter.

Marilyn’s expression again reflected her puzzlement.

Would you mind if I looked around to see if anything else needs to be fixed? We like to keep our properties in good repair.

Marilyn shrugged but said nothing and looked down at the floor.

Tammy put down her mug. She was on a mission. First she went down the dark hall to the girls’ room. She stopped in the doorway, surprised that their full bed was made at such an early hour. Its satin bed spread was trimmed with lace. The lace was worn but sweet. The decor was definitely feminine—a checkered pink and white.

The white furniture was freshly painted. The new coat had been applied over thick layers of old paint scarred by chip marks. A picture frame sat on a doily. The photograph was of the three sisters plus another girl. She resembled the other girls in facial features and coloring. Tammy placed the frame back on the doily and moved on to the bathroom.

The bathroom also looked neat and clean, with new curtains. Her fingertips went to them. She inspected the stitches, large and homemade. The mirrored door to the medicine cabinet opened without a squeak. With a quick look into the hallway, she examined its contents: children’s aspirin, witch hazel, and Midol. She turned and leaned on a yellow hamper with a wicker bottom and a Formica top. There were no outward signs of a drug maniac, but she went to Miss Patterson’s room, just in case.

As she stood in the middle of another spotless room, she thought it odd that she had spent an extraordinary amount of time inspecting the house without the tenant coming in to check on her. Whatever the reason, she would take full advantage of the situation.

The bed in this room was also made, and a single, knee-high tower of books stood next to it. Tammy bent down to read the authors’ names: Dickens, Shakespeare, Ibsen. That last name she didn’t recognize. Her eyes scanned the room again. She was not quite sure what she was looking for, but she was certain she would find it. Her gaze was drawn upward, and there it was, above the bed, high on the wall.

When Tammy returned to her tenant, the children were having breakfast. Looking over at the young woman busily pouring her sisters’ juice, she felt foolish for rushing over on the wings of Chick’s story. Whatever the mother had been, the daughter was not. She is a loving caregiver to her sisters and an obvious homebody.

Thank you for your time, Miss Patterson. Sorry if I woke you.

The older girl stopped swinging her foot and looked up from her cereal. Milk trickled from the side of her mouth as she said, Maybe you should give us some warning before you search our house.

Tammy was still stunned when Miss Patterson corrected her sister with a touch on the girl’s shoulder. A grimace came to her face before she went back to her cereal and swinging her foot.

Please call me Marilyn, the older sister said and hurried to a canister on the countertop.

I know it’s early, but I have July’s rent money. You might as well take it.

Oh no, Tammy muttered. She looked at the cereal slurper one more time and then down at the hand extended to her. That’s all right. Drop it in the slot at my office on the first.

She was almost at the door when Marilyn asked about the shutter, and Tammy laughed.

Don’t worry about the shutter. I’ll have my friend Chick Anderson find someone to fix it. Good-bye, Marilyn, she said, taking her hand. You have a lovely home. I especially like the mother-of-pearl crucifix above your bed. Tammy adjusted her wraparound shawl for the cool spring morning before she called, Bye, girls, over her shoulder and left.

After Marilyn quietly closed the cabin door, she turned to look at her talkative sister.

I like Tammy, Angel said and nodded.

Her little sister, Crystal, matched her nod for nod.

Angel, don’t even start.

What?

You know what. You keep your mouth shut when grown-ups are around. You don’t know what to say.

Me? I’m not the one who gave her our last name. I told you to lie.

I’m not lying anymore.

Oh, yeah, all that holy-roller crap.

That’s enough. Put your dishes away, and Crystal’s too, Marilyn said, her hands beginning to shake. Angel, do you realize this woman can throw us out of here? Then what would we do?

Okay, but she doesn’t have the right to strip-search us. Besides, an eviction takes months and months.

Marilyn sat down, crossed her arms, and looked at her pug-nosed sister. Her beautiful curls encircled her innocent-looking face. How had she become so jaded? How does one so young learn to manipulate the system? Only the best trash does. The regular, honest person can’t get a cent, but her family could get all that’s coming to them and more. She didn’t understand why they had it coming to them, but they said they did.

Marilyn just didn’t understand how they could stomach it. Why they didn’t have the slightest self-respect. Why they didn’t try to live life. It couldn’t be harder than looking for drugs all day, every day.

Angel must have taken notice of Marilyn’s disheartened expression because she got up and did what she had been told.

Was Angel right? Should she have lied about their last name? Since she was a little girl in school, Marilyn had known that the Patterson name was poison. People would like her, talk to her, treat her like a person until they found out her last name. Then she couldn’t get a play date or a wave hello. The worst was the stare right through her. They saw her but wouldn’t acknowledge her.

Marilyn stood up and called in the general direction of her sisters’ room, Get dressed. It’s Saturday. Yard-sale day.

Marilyn stood still and waited for Angel’s usual response: Why don’t we ever shop in a real store? But it never came. There was no answer, although Marilyn knew that they had heard her. The cabin wasn’t very big. It was all she could afford, and mostly she was paying for the beach.

The canister for discretionary spending sat on the counter next to the rent money. Marilyn shuffled over and opened it. Not much, but she could hit a couple of yard sales and buy some clothes for the girls and a few necessities for the house.

Maybe she could learn to cook if she had more pots and pans. And she needed one of those things you wash vegetables and pasta with. You had to kind of rinse them off or drain them in it. She didn’t know the name of it, but she knew what it looked like. It couldn’t be too much money.

What time was it? The sun was in the room and spreading itself on the braided rug. Suddenly the small stove across the room drew her attention. It was nine thirty. The plastic on the face was cracked, but the clock still worked. She bolted across the rug. In yard-sale time it was late; you had to be out there before ten o’clock to get the good stuff.

Marilyn grabbed some shorts and a top but didn’t change the moccasins. She knew her legs would look good no matter what she wore on her feet.

Come on, kids, let’s go. Daylight’s burning.

She didn’t have to wait long before Angel emerged from the bathroom in a T-shirt and jeans, and Crystal clomped out from the bedroom in a bathing suit and rain boots.

Chapter 3

Despite her resolve to be a perfect parent, Marilyn was either extremely restrictive or extremely permissive. She knew as much about parenting as she did about cooking, and there was no colander that she could run her sisters through. There was no way she could wash away Angel’s foul mouth or Crystal’s bad dreams.

Should a young woman be plagued with thoughts like these at a fair? She should be eating cotton candy or smiling back at the men.

Marilyn, is that you?

Michael? She hesitantly turned around. How are you?

Fine, he said in a voice that was marred by a severe nasal condition.

Studying him, she remarked, You look the same. Same frizzy hair, she thought, and same can of beer in his hand.

This is my wife, Shelley, and my kids, Timmy and Patty.

Marilyn smiled and extended her hand.

Nice to meet you.

The woman was not interested in her hand and whined at her husband, Michael, give us some money. We wanna play Beano.

Yeah, sure, he answered and dug his hand into the pocket of his stained jeans.

Left alone, Marilyn and Michael stood, looked at the ground, and struggled to think of conversation. Something suddenly came to him.

It’s been a long time, Mare. You look great … He leaned forward and she swerved out of the away as he added, sexy as ever.

She shot a glance toward his departing wife and children. Marilyn worried that they had heard his last comment, although he seemed unconcerned.

I’ve got to go, she snapped at him and took a few steps to leave.

I still want to know, Mare. Why him?

What?

His hands went to his hips as if he deserved an answer.

Why Tyrone?

I’m not getting into this again.

He pulled her close as she tried to leave. His hot alcohol breath was on her neck as he whispered in her ear, I never would have left you, no matter what my parents said.

An old disgust came over her. She looked into his blurry green eyes and pushed him away.

You told your parents that Tyrone and I were living together. Even at this late stage, she was stunned by the realization. Marilyn shook her head and mumbled, It doesn’t matter.

Drawn to a softball game being played in the hazy evening mist of the floodlights, she left him.

Watching for a while, she was about to leave when she heard a woman rooting loudly, Go, Ty baby.

He was coming out of the dugout as if in a dream. Marilyn wanted to run but couldn’t move. His body was as lean and hard as ever. He smiled up at the woman who had called out to him. Marilyn followed his eyes to see his mother and turned away from her to find him again.

As he swung his bat at the plate, his expression turned to deep concentration. An expression she knew well. When he singled, he ran toward her. Marilyn panicked and backed into the applauding baseball fans.

She made her way through the crowd to the main tent and found her sisters.

Are you ready to leave?

Angel, who was sporting a new Boston Red Sox cap answered, Yeah, I’m ready.

Where’d you get that hat?

I won it.

Marilyn doubted her honesty and grabbed the hat, despite her sister’s protests. Scrawled on the inside brim was the name Mickey Stevenson.

"I’m taking it to the lost and found. No, you’re taking it to the lost and found."

Hey, Crystal’s dead tired.

Marilyn stashed the stolen goods in her pocketbook and knelt on the damp grass to inspect the small child.

Look at my doggy, Crystal said, her eyelids drooping.

Very nice, her older sister lied, after turning the cheap stuffed animal over in her hands. What are you going to name it?

Peanut, she answered as her little mouth yawned deeply.

Marilyn lifted the sleepy child into her arms and kissed her.

You’re not going to carry her all the way to the car, are you? the preteen asked in her preteen way, which made Marilyn feel like a fool.

Of course I’m going to carry her. She’s not heavy.

After the tiny girl fell asleep, and Marilyn had walked three blocks, she changed her mind about the weight assessment. Softly dropping the limp form into the backseat, she searched for her keys to start the car. There was a lot of traffic. They would have to wait for a break in the flow.

We’ll never get out of here, her sister complained.

I know a shortcut. Don’t worry.

Driving past the neon lights of the Ferris wheel and carousel, Marilyn studied the Victorian railroad station. It was freshly painted and was the centerpiece of the small town of Hamilton. Her mind wandered as she drove, and the children slept. Her thoughts drifted back to the night she had met him.

Chapter 4

The two teenage girls eyed the hicks at the Fourth of July celebration. They walked, smoked their Marlboros, and tried to look as bored as they felt. Why couldn’t they have stayed in the city for the summer? As they sat on the steps of the Victorian railroad station, two boys approached them.

One had raven hair and a crazed look in his eyes. He came right up to them. The other had soft, brown hair and a sweeter, more handsome face; he hung back a little and reclined against the building. His eyes, and especially his mouth, had Marilyn’s interest. Where had she seen him before?

Hey, want to get high? the bolder one asked.

Without hesitating, the girls answered, Sure.

I’m Marilyn, and this is my sister, Lindsey, Marilyn said, letting her full height be seen as she popped up from the steps. A slight pause and a stretch showed off her casual nature and her long, willowy body. In an instant, the weird one came to her side.

I’m Rory Sullivan, and this is my brother Tyrone Sullivan.

The girls shrugged at the way he mentioned their last name twice.

Is that like Irish? Marilyn asked.

She could tell everyone was deciding who to pair off with, so she made sure her choice was known by going to the sweeter one and smiling.

Yes, that’s like Irish, her choice answered. Marilyn, is that like Marilyn Monroe?

Yeah, Lindsey called back over her shoulder with a toss of her light-brown hair. It’s exactly like Marilyn Monroe. Monroe is her middle name.

Tyrone looked at Marilyn skeptically, and she explained, My mom has a weird thing for her.

They walked with the boys awhile, heading out of town before they climbed over a guardrail and went down a hill and into a field. The grass and the night air felt cool on Marilyn’s legs. She could just about make out the silhouette of the mountains. There was a golden strip outlining them against the dark night sky, a thin reminder of the day that had slipped down behind them. Tyrone extended his hand as he guided her through the tall grass. They settled on the side of a dirt road carved from a meadow.

There are sure a lot of stars up here, Lindsey observed as she sat on the grass.

Here, this will make them more intense, her new friend assured her, passing over a joint. After she took a long toke, Rory asked, You ever hyperventilate?

You mean on purpose? Marilyn asked.

Yeah, I have, Lindsey said, before proceeding to demonstrate the process. She took one deep breath after another. On about the twelfth inhalation, she gently lost consciousness.

Amazing, Rory said with admiration and took the heap into his arms.

Amazing that someone would want to do that to themselves, Tyrone said and looked away from Lindsey and toward Marilyn. He smiled and then drew her to his chest and kissed her. Marilyn liked the feel of his self-assurance.

You’ve got a nice body, Marilyn whispered to him as he began to release her. Not too big, like a bodybuilder, but you’ve got some nice muscles.

No, you’re the one with the nice body, he whispered back.

No, really, do you lift weights, or something?

Rory answered for his brother, The or something. Our father works our butts off at his construction company.

Oh, Marilyn said, Sullivan Construction. I’ve seen your trucks in town.

Yeah, that’s us. We’ve spread enough blacktop this summer to cover …

This is good pot, Lindsey said.

They all looked up at the sound of a boom. The fireworks were starting.

Wow, Lindsey said as she fell onto her back in the field as gold and blue light cascaded around them.

Tyrone took off his jacket and spread it in the grass for Marilyn, but she didn’t see much of the fireworks. They spent the time making out. During the last intense explosions of the fireworks, she sprang up.

Shit, mom told us to meet her after the fireworks. Come on, Linny, let’s go.

Marilyn and Tyrone began to walk swiftly up the hill, but Lindsey was slow to respond. She and Rory followed behind them, laughing and stumbling. By the time they got back to the fair, the girls’ mother had circled the park a few times. When she pulled up to them, the brakes of her car squealed as her vehicle came to a halt. Her hair was bleached so blonde that it looked crispy, and her voice matched her hair.

Come on, come on, get in, she yelled to them."

See you, Marilyn called to her new friend, but Lindsey was too wasted for pleasantries. She climbed past the front seat into the back and slumped down and out of view.

The next day the girls were bored again. They sat lounging on the deck that overlooked the lake and complained about the summer heat. A soft breeze gently blew their long hair and the pages of their Seventeen magazines. Marilyn threw hers down onto the wooden floor with disgust but then looked around. She could hear branches breaking in the forest next to the cabin. As the girls stood up at the sound of laughter, the trees parted, and two boys on horseback emerged.

Hi, Rory, Lindsey called and jumped from the deck to meet him.

The bold one was back, his jet-black hair flowing and his blue eyes wildly focusing on Lindsey. But instead of his brother, he had a blond boy with him. They dismounted and walked over to the girls, lightly holding the reins.

Hey, this is Wesley. He’s an heir to the Philmont fortune, Rory informed them. The girls looked at each other and smirked as Wesley asked, You want to ride?

Sure, Lindsey answered, leading her reluctant sister toward the large animals.

First, the horses need some water, Wesley pointed out.

I’ll get some, Marilyn offered.

She was happy to run off and find an old bucket to fill with water. Marilyn turned on the hose, and from the side of the house she watched in safety as Lindsey pet the horses. One of them snorted and showed its enormous teeth. After turning the spigot off, Marilyn came back to them. She couldn’t help but envy her sister’s ease with the beasts. Marilyn put the bucket down in the dirt and backed away.

Wesley undid his sandals and dipped his dusty feet in the bucket.

That’s for the horses, Marilyn told him.

They don’t care, he said and laughed.

Rory, who had been busy with Lindsey, made a scoop with his hands and took a drink from the bucket. Marilyn watched with amazement.

He doesn’t care, either, Wesley remarked and laughed again.

They paired off and rode on a trail through the woods. The forest was cool, despite the heat of the day, and the smell of the pine trees engulfed Marilyn as she clung to Wesley’s back.

Hey, loosen your grip. You’re strangling me.

Oh, sorry, Marilyn said and backed off a bit. After a while she relaxed even more because of the gentle rocking motion of the horse.

When they came into a clearing, the horses trotted up to the biggest house the girls had ever seen. It was three stories high with black shutters and a tennis court to the immediate right. Marilyn slid down from the back of the horse and stared up at a window on the third floor. A little girl had moved the curtain aside to watch them.

They had just opened their beers on the screened-in porch when the girl with black curls and Rory’s crystal-blue eyes came in.

Kathleen, where’s Mom and Dad? Rory asked.

They went to four o’clock Mass.

We don’t have much time then. Let’s have one more beer and cut out.

They’re going to the dog races afterward, the girl informed her brother and sat down to gawk at them.

All right, then we’ve got plenty of time, Rory said and assessed Lindsey’s breasts in her tight, ribbed tank top. She sat up straight to give him a better look and encouraged him further with a kiss.

Wesley moved closer to Marilyn, but she pushed him away.

I thought you liked me, Wesley complained, the way you were holding me so tight on the way over.

Where’s your brother, Tyrone? she asked Rory.

You stay away from Tyrone. He has a girlfriend in Boston, the sister warned Marilyn.

Lindsey rose, stood in front of Kathleen, and laughed.

Little girl, if Marilyn wants your brother, that girlfriend is history.

She emphasized her point by swinging her beer can back and forth.

Marilyn and the boys joined in Lindsey’s laughter, and Kathleen stomped out, which set off another fit of laughter. Rory stopped suddenly to listen to the crunch of gravel in the drive.

That’s Mom’s station wagon, Rory yelped as he hid his beer. They started to follow his lead until he called out with relief, It’s just Ty. The folks must have taken the Caddie.

Marilyn got up to watch his beautiful body walk across the semicircular driveway. She smiled. His T-shirt was slightly strained over his muscular form. He looked up momentarily at the sound