Good Girls Finish Last

By Sophia Powell

Wendy Carter is a twenty-something self-creation of tenacity and determination. Driven and unstoppable, Wendy fights to overcome an abusive childhood. As an adult she learns to trust by shedding the demons of her past— but when the demons reappear she must embrace her former mantra, "Good Girls Finish Last."

This contemporary novel centers upon a fierce female protagonist. Complete with hilarious shenanigans, readers will aspire to triumph over their past like Wendy Carter does. Embark on this sincere, sardonic journey today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Oct 12, 2020
• ISBN: 9781098332501

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©2020 Sophia Powell All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

ISBN 978-1-09833-249-5 eBook 978-1-09833-250-1

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty–Five

Chapter Twenty- Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Prologue

The rain that fell was cold and grey. A raindrop slowly rolled down the red awning of the newsstand hitting the top paper of the uneven stack. A wet circle formed, its borders growing larger and larger feeding the dry paper and the letters: June 3. Girl, you gonna buy that paper? The red face poking out of the newsstand said. As Wendy backed away from the newsstand cold rain covered her. Wendy could see Allerton Avenue now. The long avenue lined with shops and moving people. She passed the fish shop and its towers of white crushed ice covered by rows of fish. The fish so colorful: red snappers lying in rows of twelve, next to bluefish, lobsters, salmon steaks, and red shrimp. She was hungry. Lieberman’s shoe store was next door. The glass window shined like a new record. Wendy watched as the women inside shopped for shoes. In the window, the pair of black patent leather shoes with a gold button, still there. Wendy watched a lady wearing a dark green coat, her hair black like shoe polish, her skin pale. She wore red lipstick like the blood that ran down Mama’s face.

Just past the shoe store was the butcher shop, its windows filled with stiff violet pigs, cow legs, and yellow chickens hung by their necks. Wood chips normally covered the floors, but with today’s rain, clumps of wood covered everyone’s shoes. Three large flickering fluorescent lights hung from the ceiling illuminating refrigerated display cases. These displays were the pride and joy of Mr. O’Neal, the neighborhood butcher. Mr. O’Neal had a presidential look about him. He was fat with fat short arms, always a look of concern etched on his face. Ladies! Today’s specials are pork chops and chicken livers! As he made his announcement, wet women pushed their way to the front display case. Ladies! Ladies! Please keep your hands off the glass! Mr. O’Neal shouted, pushing his fat waist from behind the counter.

Rag in hand he angrily wiped off the fingerprints. Women loudly ordered one pound of this, one pound of that, pointing to pieces thought better than others. Mr. O’Neal’s son quickly filled each order under his father’s watchful eye. Wendy, he called out, Does your mother want the special? Wendy nodded yes. Aunt Mary who isn’t Wendy’s aunt but made her call her that was here. Mary watched as Mr. O’Neal handed the brown package to Wendy. Wendy dear child, give your aunt a hug. Mary, skinny and nervous, was always looking for gossip to report. Mary’s face was flat as a board, her lips swollen from always pouting, her hair thin and frail, and her breath could wake the dead. Wendy, darling how old are you now? And tell your Auntie Mary, what is in that bag? She smiled, exposing her brown, chipped teeth.

I am going to be six years old next month . . . it’s meat in the bag. Wendy said. Yes, dear, but what kind of meat? Wendy thought, what was the kind of meat Mr. O’Neal said was the best he had ever tasted? It’s a secret, Wendy replied. Mary’s eyes widened. You can tell your Aunt Mary. Mary leaned in like a cat watching a string of yarn dangle. Now demanding she said, Well what is it? It’s filet mignon, Wendy said with pride. Mary’s mouth flung open, her brow frowning, What? How does your mother get the money for such extravagance, when she can barely clothe and feed you? Stop with your lies girl, give me the package and let me see! No, Wendy countered, I told you what it is. Hey, Rose! Wendy says Emma sent her to get filet mignon, how do you like that? The women roared with laughter.

Wendy ran out of the store all three blocks to the five-story walkup she called home. Into the lobby, covered in brown tile, it smelled like stale mothballs and pasta sauce. She walked upstairs passing each dark landing each window dimmed by dust. Wendy lived on the fifth floor down the hall from Mrs. Romano, their neighbor. Mrs. Romano had a round husband who walked like his legs were glued together; he was always smiling and sweating. As she made it to her door, she heard Mama washing dishes. As she entered Mama yelled out, Take off those wet clothes, don’t you dare track dirt in this house, your father will be home soon. Carefully taking off her shoes and coat Wendy placed them neatly on the newspaper that lay by the front door. She went into the kitchen and handed her mother the package, which she immediately began ripping at the brown paper. Damn him there are more fat scraps than beef in here Wendy, what did Mr. O’Neal say? Nothing Mama. He’s a crook how can I use any of this? Wendy’s mother began drying the tears now rolling down her face with the torn sleeve of her faded blue housecoat, she angrily cut up half an onion and celery, carefully mixing the bits of meat she could find with stale bread and placing everything in a cast iron pot. She called this her meat pie.

As she placed the pot in the oven, her thin arm shook with its weight. She hadn’t eaten today; she was thin, pale, and worn. Her smile broken and cracked and her eyes distant, she rarely left the apartment, always wearing a housecoat and slippers. The only time Wendy saw her mother in a dress was when she went food shopping, but now that Wendy was old enough to go, she never dressed up anymore. Wendy slept on the couch in the living room, and her mother and father stayed in the bedroom. The only things that made her mother smile were the cigarettes and beer she hid from Wendy’s father. Sometimes their downstairs neighbor, Mrs. Simon would give Mama a pack of cigarettes and a piece of fruit for Wendy.

Wendy’s father worked odd jobs picking up scrap metal to sell at the junkyard. On good days her mother would tell Wendy how good-looking her father was when she first met him, how he used to bring her flowers and chocolate. Emma’s father never liked Brian, and at fourteen Wendy’s mother ran away with him to the Bronx. Her parents never forgave her and disowned her, never speaking to her again. On the days she drake too much she told Wendy of the letters sent to her father, all returned, unopened. Wendy’s mother would stare out the window at nothing for hours. When her husband left in the morning, she would go to the window and drink from her special bottle, hidden in a flowerpot on the fire escape.

While her mother was in the kitchen, Wendy sat on the sofa in the living room and looked at the magazines she found in the garbage outside. Wendy would cut out her favorite pictures making stories for each photo. She pretended she had new shoes that did not hurt her feet and a Daddy who wore a suit and brought money home and did not touch her like that. As night approached, the smell of Mama’s meat pie filled the apartment. Wendy, eat up and go to bed before your father comes home. Wendy sat at the table inching her chair closer to the warmth of the oven. Mama, it’s good, better than filet mignon. Wash up and go to bed before your father gets here. I don’t want any trouble tonight. Leaving the kitchen, Wendy took off her dress, folded it, and placed it on the wooden milk crate her father told her was her dresser. In the bathroom, Wendy turned the rusty faucets, the hot water was off, but cold rusty water sputtered out. She washed up and put on her nightshirt, quietly lying down on the sofa, covering herself with her blanket. She lay under her blanket, knowing all too well soon he would come. As Wendy drifted to sleep, she heard his angry footsteps, stomping down the hallway, pushing the front door open, and banging it hard against the wall. Through a small tear in her blanket, she saw him throw his sack of scrap metal on the floor. Emma, turn off that stove, stop wasting gas. His heavy footsteps rumbled throughout.

Wendy watched as Mama fixed his plate, placing it on the table. She could hear the rattle of the pipes and the angry splash of water. He came out of the bathroom in dirty overalls; sitting down he began to eat, never looking at Mama. Brian, how did it go today? Two dollars and eighteen cents for ninety-seven pounds of metal. Oh, that’s good, we can really use it. We owe Mr. O’Neal for last week’s meat—he’s been good giving us credit. He’s going to have to wait. Mama was silent; Brian got up and walked over to his jacket pulling a small bottle out of a pocket and sat back down. Pushing his plate away, he raised the bottle to his lips and drank. Then put the bottle on the table holding it between both hands as if gold. A distant look in his eyes, he raised the bottle to his lips, until empty. Emma, I’m going out to get some cigarettes. Brian, we need salt, potatoes, and milk . . . we don’t have much food left. No! he said firmly. Grabbing his jacket, he slammed the door and left. Mama leaned on the windowsill as long tears streamed down her thin face. Wendy threw back her blanket and ran over to her. Mama, I’ll get the food. She looked at Wendy with a faint smile. Go back to bed, before he comes back . . . please, go to bed. Later that night Wendy woke to Mama’s screams. She could hear a thump over and over as Brian pushed her head against the wall until Wendy did not hear her mother anymore. She lay under her blanket engulfed in silence, afraid he would come out of the room.

As morning neared, the living room became lighter. Wendy heard running water then the loud pounding of his boots moving closer as he passed and then slammed the door. Wendy slowly walked into the bedroom. Her mother was lying on the floor with her knees close to her stomach, her hair wet with blood. Her face covered with red bruises. Her housecoat soaked wet as the smell of the bathroom surrounded them. Mama, he’s gone. She didn’t answer.

Wendy could hear her struggling as if she was trying to talk. Mama get up. She did not move, her eyes open, lifeless and distant. Wendy ran into the hallway and pounded on Mrs. Romano’s door. Bang! Bang! Bang! Mrs. Romano, Mama’s sick! Please help! Wendy’s fist hurt as it pounded the hard-wooden door. Mrs. Romano please, Mama’s sick! The door opened, and Mr. Romano appeared, What’s all this racket about? Please, Mama’s sick. Hearing Wendy, Mrs. Romano pushed past her husband and came into the hallway following Wendy, pausing at the open doorway she whispered, Is your Daddy here? No, he is gone. Quickly, she moved inside, then to the bedroom, raising her hand to her mouth, she screamed, Frank, go for the doctor, that animal, Frank hurry, please get the doctor! Grabbing the blanket off the bed, Mrs. Romano carefully covered Mama. As she looked around the room her hand covering her nose she said, Wendy, baby go to my apartment and wait for me until I come to get you. Wendy would not move—she didn’t want to leave her mother. Please go before the doctor comes. If the doctor sees you, he will tell the police, and they will take you away from your Mama. Wendy walked to her apartment, thinking she wanted the police to take her away and give her a new family, like the ones she saw in her magazines.

Wendy waited falling into a deep sleep on Mrs. Romano sofa. The smell of coffee brewing awoke her. Mrs. Romano was holding Wendy’s dress and telling her husband, Look at this . . . I wash and pass the iron on it. Mr. Romano noticed Wendy was awake and motioned to his wife. Hello, baby, did you sleep well? You were tired, come to the table and have something to eat. Everything in their apartment was white and shiny like in Wendy’s pictures. Sitting at the table, Mrs. Romano placed a thick slice of toasted bread covered with lots of melted butter and strawberry jam oozing over the edges in front of her. Wendy was in heaven. The outside of the toast crunchy, the inside soft likes cake. The sweet taste of butter and jam rolled on her tongue and made her stomach talk. After two thick slices and a big glass of milk, Mrs. Romano smiled, You were hungry. Wendy didn’t answer. Looking around the apartment, amazed by the pictures on the walls and the soft, warm carpet on her bare feet, Wendy asked, Mrs. Romano? Yes, dear? Are you and Mr. Romano rich? They both laughed. No, baby why don’t you lie down in my bed and take a nap? I’m not tired. Would you like to listen to the radio with me? Yes, do you have any magazines I could look at? Yes I do, but please be careful with them, they come from my country, Italy. Mrs. Romano sat Wendy in a large comfortable chair opposite the sofa and handed her a stack of shiny magazines she had never seen before.

The pictures were beautiful, some of the ladies in fancy dresses and big houses with lots of rooms. Wendy wanted to memorize the way they looked because she knew she would not see them again. Wendy, while Mr. Romano is out at work I take you to get a new dress. A new dress? Wendy could not believe it! "But first, let’s get you cleaned up.

I found these shoes in your apartment, but they look too small to be yours—are they yours? Wendy nodded, yes. Slowly Mrs. Romano looked at her feet then carefully inspected the shoes. Come here baby, let’s see. Wendy tried on the left shoe squeezing her foot in by mashing it down on the floor for help. Oh mamma mia, these shoes are too small! We find you a new pair. Let me push down the backs, and we will go to the shoe store first. But now, I make you a bath; give me your undies, I wash."

Wendy sat deep in the bathtub filled with sweet floral smells and pretended she was in the ocean. Mrs. Romano came in and gently began washing her hair. Wendy thought she might hurt her like Daddy, but she didn’t. Wendy asked when her Mama was coming back. The doctors are fixing your Mama real good, and soon she will be home.

Looking deep into Mrs. Romano’s grey-blue eyes Wendy asked, Can you be my new Mama? Mrs. Romano’s eyes brimmed with tears, but she did not answer her. As they made their way down the street to the shoe store, Wendy walked close to Mrs. Romano. She was tall and thick with lots of thick grey hair; her eyes sparkled as she looked down at Wendy, holding onto her hand. Mrs. Romano wore a light blue dress with a pleated skirt and a navy-blue coat that had huge blue buttons running down its length.

Her face was round and serious but when she smiled, the warmth from her eyes sparkled. As they entered the shoe store, Mrs. Romano stopped and inspected all the shoes in the window.

Wendy saw the pair of patent leather shoes she had always wanted. They had a black strap fastened by a gold button. Mrs. Romano, can I have those shoes? Mrs. Romano pushed her nose close to the glass. Wendy watched her, holding her breath waiting for her answer. Nice shoes, but too fancy for every day. With conviction, she pointed to a pair of black Buster Browns. Those are nice too. Wendy agreed. You a very sensible girl like me. Maybe if I were like her, she would be my Mama, Wendy thought. They entered and Mrs. Romano pointed to the shoes and directed the store clerk to measure Wendy’s feet. And those black stockings, she instructed. The clerk obliged and they left with the shoes and stockings on Wendy’s feet. Wendy carefully walked down the street not wanting to get anything on her beautiful new shoes.

Next, the dress shop on the corner of Burke Avenue and White Plains Road, the salesgirl approached. I need a new dress for the girl please. What a pretty girl, does she need a winter dress or year-round? Year-round. I’ll see what I have. The salesgirl looked Wendy over from head-to-toe, went into the back, and came out holding dresses.

Each dress the same but in a different color: navy blue, light blue, forest green, red, gray, and brown all with black stitching. Each had capped sleeves and three matching colored buttons climbing up the collar. Wendy tried on the navy-blue dress first. Mrs. Romano smiled. Wendy, you look like an angel. Wendy walked over to the mirror to see her reflection. Mrs. Romano, can I have this one? Try on the brown dress. she smiled. She put it on, and the salesgirl and Mrs. Romano both smiled broadly. OK, don’t try anymore on; you look so pretty in the brown one too. We’ll take the blue one and the brown one. Wendy was so happy—two new dresses and a pair of shoes and stockings. Wait till Mama sees me, she thought.

Running over to Mrs. Romano, Wendy grabbed her waist. Mrs. Romano bent down, as Wendy reached up hugging her neck tightly. Mrs. Romano lifted her in her arms. Wendy could feel the warmth of her cheeks and whispered, Thank you, Mama. Mrs. Romano held her tightly and said, Your Mama loves you very much, and she would be very sad without you, you’re all she got. You can come to visit me as often as you like whenever you like. Wendy would not let go of her, and Mrs. Romano hugged her for a long time. How about some ice cream? We can go to the Five and Dime for lunch. Yes! Wendy screamed as they laughed with joy.

As they approached the store, Wendy saw bright colored flags blowing in the wind. Each colorful flag announcing a sale: Ten bars of soap for ten cents! The great five cents super sale! Turkey luncheon extravaganza! Inside the store a fantasyland, row after row of colorful soaps, toys, yarn, and rows of thread of every color; books, pots, pans, cleaning supplies, and hardware stacked from floor-to-ceiling. Left of the cashier a counter, which ran the length of the store and in front of the counter, a line of stainless-steel stools each covered in dark red leather. Mrs. Romano carefully placed their bags under the counter, and Wendy hopped on a stool and began to spin. Baby, be careful! Mrs. Romano cautioned.

A woman dressed in a mint green uniform with a white apron approached. Her hair tied in a bun and covered with a fishnet. Today’s lunch special is meatloaf, mashed potatoes, gravy, coffee, tea or soda, and your choice of Jell-O or blueberry pie. Here are your menus. I’ll be back to take your order. Mrs. Romano carefully peered over the glossy menu and said, Wendy, they have hot dog, hamburger, chicken soup, French fries, and grilled cheese. Can I have a hot dog, French fries, and a large Coca-Cola, please? You think you can eat all that? Wendy smiled. Mrs. Romano ordered chicken soup and black coffee for herself. While they waited for the food, Wendy watched with excitement as the cook prepared their food. Juicy hot dogs rolled under an orange light, and two huge glass tanks filled with lemonade and pink punch swirled from top to bottom. Hanging over their heads rows of colorful balloons.

For a penny, you could buy one, and when the lady in green popped it, you won the prize that was named inside the balloon. Wendy watched as the lady in green ran up and down the counter pouring coffee, picking up plates, putting down dishes, and taking orders. Soon their food arrived. Mrs. Romano joked that Wendy must have been saving a special space in her stomach for all those French fries.

When they arrived back at Mrs. Romano’s apartment, she told Wendy she was going to make dinner and Wendy asked her if she could watch. What do you mean watch? I show you how to be a great cook. Carefully she placed one of Mr. Romano’s white cotton tee shirts over Wendy’s head, as they both laughed at how big it was. I’m going to show you how to make string beans. Sitting Wendy down at the kitchen table Mrs. Romano placed two large bowls in front of her: one overflowing with bright green string beans, the other empty. Now you snap each one like this, capisce? Wendy nodded yes. Let me see you do it. Wendy took a string bean and carefully snapped it, just as she had shown her. Good girl, you gonna be a great cook. The kitchen filled with the smells of garlic and onions. As Mrs. Romano cooked, she sang to Wendy smiling happily. They set the table and it looked like one of the pictures Wendy cut out of her magazines. We rest now until Mr. Romano comes home.

Wendy sat close to her quietly turning the pages of a magazine as Mrs. Romano nodded off to sleep. Knock! Knock! Who that? she murmured waking up. Mr. Romano? Wendy whispered, No, baby it’s too early, he uses the key, he doesn’t knock on the door. Wait here and be quiet. Mrs. Romano walked to the door and opened it halfway. WHERE IS WENDY? That voice. That voice—it’s him! She is asleep, how is your wife? She’s in the hospital. I’ve come to take Wendy home. Why don’t you leave her with me until your wife comes home? I like to take care of her. I don’t got no money to give you. Mr. Carter, I don’t want money, I’ll take care of her for you. All right, keep her as long as you want, if she gives you any trouble, beat her or call me and I will straighten her out. We won’t beat the baby, she’s a good girl. Wendy heard his angry footsteps walking away and the door close.

Mrs. Romano entered the living room smiling, suddenly her expression turning to fear. She ran over to Wendy and put her hand on Wendy’s forehead. Baby what’s wrong? You so pale you’re sweating! Is he coming back to get me? No, you no worry, you gonna stay with me as long as you like. Wendy held onto her words falling asleep in her arms.

Life at the Romano’s was a dream, as the days turned into weeks. Each time Wendy called Mrs. Romano Mama, she corrected her, until one day she stopped correcting her and began answering to Mama Romano. When Wendy asked her if she had children, she looked so sad and said, All my babies went to heaven, but now God has sent me a new one to take care of. Wendy didn’t understand what she meant.

Today was a special day—they were going to visit Mama Romano’s mother. After a long train ride, they walked four blocks to her house. Grandma Romano had a big house with vines and bushes growing everywhere. The house had plenty of land surrounded by thick, dense patches of flowers and lush grape vines. Mrs. Romano’s father was skinny and had no teeth. He wore suspenders and a fedora and walked with a cane. Grandma Romano was a large woman like Mama Romano but had big marshmallow ankles and knees and walked with the backs of her thick leather shoes smashed down flat, like slippers. When she walked she rocked from side to side, Grandma Romano was always smiling, and even though several of her teeth were missing, she had a pretty round face. Mama Romano pushed open the massive wooden front door exposing a sheer white curtain separating them from the entry. As they passed the curtain,