the Third Twin (1996)

“I just felt like talking to you.” He smoothed his eyebrows with the tip of his index finger. Something about the action bothered her—Who else have I seen do that?—but she pushed it to the back of her mind.

“You go in for big surprises.”

Suddenly he seemed edgy. “I do?”

“You like to show up unexpectedly, don’t you?”

“I guess so.”

She smiled at him. “You’re a little strange today. What’s on your mind?”

“Listen, you got me all hot and bothered,” he said. “Can we get out of here?”

“Sure.” She put a five-dollar bill on the table and stood up.

“Where’s your car?” she said as they stepped outside.

“Let’s take yours.”

They got into the red Mercedes. She fastened her seat belt, but he did not. As soon as she pulled away he edged close to her on the bench seat, lifted her hair, and started kissing her neck. She liked it, but she felt embarrassed, and she said: “I think we may be a little too old to do this in a car.”

“Okay,” he said. He stopped and turned to face forward, but he left his arm draped around her shoulders. She was heading east on Chestnut. As they came to the bridge he said: “Take the expressway—there’s something I want to show you.” Following the signs, she turned right onto Schuylkill Avenue and pulled up at a stoplight.

The hand over her shoulder dropped lower and he started fondling her breast. She felt her nipple stiffen in response to his touch, but all the same she felt uncomfortable. It was strangely like being felt up on a subway train. She said: “Steve, I like you, but you’re going a little too fast for me.”

He made no reply, but his fingers found her nipple and pinched it hard.

“Ow!” she said. “That hurt! For Pete’s sake, what’s got into you?” She shoved him away with her right hand. The light turned green and she drove down the on-ramp for the Schuylkill Expressway.

“I don’t know where I am with you,” he complained. “First you kiss me like a nymphomaniac, then you freeze.”

And I imagined this boy was mature! “Listen, a girl kisses you because she wants to kiss you. It’s not a license for you to do anything the hell you want to her. And you should never hurt.” She eased onto the southbound two-lane of the expressway.

“Some girls like to be hurt,” he said, putting a hand on her knee.

She moved his hand. “What do you want to show me, anyway?” she said, trying to distract him.

“This,” he said, taking her right hand. A moment later she felt his naked penis, stiff and hot.

“Jesus Christ!” She snatched her hand away. Boy, had she misjudged this one! “Put it away, Steve, and stop acting like a goddamned adolescent!”

The next thing she knew, something struck her a mighty blow on the side of the face.

She screamed and jerked sideways. An air horn blared as her car swung across the next lane of the expressway in front of a Mack truck. The bones of her face burned with agony and she tasted blood. Fighting to ignore the pain, she regained control of the car.

She realized with astonishment that he had punched her.

No one had ever done that.

“You son of a bitch!” she screamed.

“Now give me a hand job,” he said. “Otherwise I’ll beat the shit out of you.”

“Fuck you!” she yelled.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw him draw back his fist for another blow.

Without thinking, she stepped on the brake.

He was thrown forward and his punch missed her. His head banged the windshield. Tires screeched in protest as a white stretch limousine swerved to avoid the Mercedes.

As he recovered his balance, she released the brake. The car coasted forward. If she stopped in the fast lane of the expressway for a few seconds, she thought, he would be so terrified he would plead with her to drive on. She stepped on the brake once more, throwing him forward again.

This time he recovered more quickly. The car came to a halt. Cars and trucks swerved around it, horns blaring. Jeannie was terrified; at any moment another vehicle could slam into the back of the Mercedes. But her plan did not work: he seemed to have no fear. He put his hand up her skirt, grasped the waist of her panty hose, and pulled. There was a tearing sound as her tights ripped open.

She tried to push him away, but he was all over her. Surely he would not try to rape her right there on the expressway? In despair she opened her door, but she could not get out because she had her seat belt fastened. She tried to undo it, but she could not get at the buckle because of Steve.

To her left, traffic was joining the expressway from another ramp, coming directly into the fast lane at sixty miles an hour and flashing by. Was there not a single driver who would stop and help a woman who was being attacked?

As she struggled to push him away, her foot came off the brake and the car crept forward. Maybe she could keep him off balance, she thought. She had control of the car; it was her only advantage. In desperation she put her foot on the accelerator pedal and floored it.