By The Sea, Book Three: Laura by Antoinette Stockenberg

beat it," she cried, unsure
how hard she could push this particular element of society.
    Surprisingly, Nellie backed down, too
befuddled to really put up a fight. "Yahr, who gives a shit? Sorry,
Harry," she said with a tired sigh, fumbling with the buttons of
her dress. "Let's go back to our usual spot."
    But Harry, hot and unsatisfied, was a little
more impatient than that. He turned on Laura. "And who made you the chief of police, you little …?"
    In the dark his bulk loomed over her, his
voice shot through her, terrifying her. Unlike Nellie, Harry was
just drunk enough to be vicious. Suddenly the immense stupidity of
Laura's behavior so far hit her, like a blow to the face. She was
totally vulnerable, a babe wandered into a forest of wolves.
    Nellie's disgruntled customer grabbed Laura
roughly by her arm. She froze. Partly she was panicking; partly she
was too mortified to cry out for help she knew would not be coming;
partly she feared to have Neil come anywhere near the bow.
Billy—too slight and young to be any help—was leading a sing-along
with his concertina, drowning out any hope that she'd be heard in
any case. The bawdy lyrics of "Fat, Fat Annie" mixed with the
reeking fumes of the spilled whiskey; Laura's sense of corruption
was profound.
    And yet she was not part of this scene—she
was not, any more than she was part of the Bellevue Avenue scene,
or the lower Thames Street scene. She would not be drawn into it,
not even by force. Her spirit pulled out of its swoon; she yanked
her arm angrily away from the drunken guest. "Get away from me,"
she hissed.
    Surprised, he hesitated a moment, then
laughed a low, dangerous laugh. "Sez who? A little schoolmarm like
you?" In two steps he had her again, this time firmly by both her
shoulders.
    Nellie lolled stupidly in her chair,
cackling drunkenly at the scene before her. "That's it, Harry. Give
it to her. She needs a good pokin' … that's what," she said,
hiccuping. "Husband's … away, says she. Jes' look at her ... she
misses it ... waiting for it, says I. You show her."
    Reeling from the man's stench of sweat and
whiskey, Laura struggled in his arms, terrified, defiant, but not
nearly strong enough to resist him. Her crazy Midwestern morality
took the occasion to scream at her: This is what you get! If you
hadn't tried to flaunt the law, this never would've
happened.
    "All right, friend. Let her go. You're
getting on everyone's nerves."
    There was a scuffle and suddenly Harry was
being hoisted over the bulwarks and dropped into the harbor. A
splash, a howl, and the sound of panicky swim-strokes: that's how
fast it all happened. Laura peered through the darkness at the
rescuer who'd come from nowhere, then spied Marie coming up behind
him.
    "Well, mister—you don't make a girl work too
hard for her money," Marie said, sidling up to him and nudging him
with her hips.
    "We're not finished," he murmured. Then he
took a roll of bills from his pocket, peeled off the top one, and
passed it over to her.
    They disappeared in the shadows of the bow,
from whence they'd come.
    Laura, her adrenaline overflowing, turned on
Nellie—still seated, though a little more sober—and in a shrill
voice said, "Get your friends off this boat before I kill you. I
promise I'll kill you!"
    Nellie's laugh was a weary grunt. "Sure,
missy. With your feather duster." She began to gather herself
together.
    "Damn you!" Laura grabbed Nellie by
her wrist and dragged the woman, one breast hanging out, across the
decks of the Virginia. She catapulted Nellie toward the
boarding steps, then turned on her heel, marched up to her
astonished brother-in-law, and slammed his concertina shut.
    "The party," she said with a heaving chest,
"is over."
    A dozen startled revelers mumbled and swore,
then fell in behind Nellie and began to make their way grudgingly
off the boat. Laura did not wait to see them off but hurried up to
Neil, spun him on his heel, and aimed him down the companionway
    "I want you to go