Cooked Goose

let them do it.”
    “No, you don’t have to. But I do want to talk to you about it.”
    “There’s nothing to talk about!” She shrugged Savannah’s hand off her shoulder. “I told them, the guy didn’t rape me. What’s the matter with that stupid doctor? He acts like he thinks I’m lying!”
    Savannah paused, choosing her words carefully. “Don’t take it personally, Margie. The doctor doesn’t even know you, so he doesn’t know if you would lie or not. A lot of women do lie about rape, because they’re embarrassed, or they feel guilty, like it’s their fault they were attacked. That’s completely false, but it’s a common feeling.”
    Savannah watched Margie’s face for any telltale signs of those commonly held emotions of guilt or embarrassment. All she saw was plain old anger. The kid wasn’t ashamed; she was just extremely pissed.
    “That young doctor strikes me as a bit arrogant, too,” Savannah continued, “and if you say he’s an asshole, I’ll take your word for it. But I really think he has your best interests at heart about the rape exam.”
    “I’m not going to let them do it. I didn’t get raped, but I’ve been through enough already tonight. I saw that kit thing they had there on the tray. I’m not going to let somebody comb through my pubic hair and stick giant cotton swabs up ray... you know.”
    “Yes. I know.” Savannah stood and faced Margie straight on. “If you swear to me that he absolutely, positively, didn’t sexually assault you, I’ll tell Dr. Wise Guy to take a hike.“
    “The creep absolutely, positively didn’t do me. I promise.” Savannah nodded. “Okay, Margie. I believe you. I’ll go talk to the doc.”
    “Make sure he knows where the city pier is,” Margie said as Savannah walked away, “and don’t mention that the end of it fell off during the last big storm.”
    The kid’ll be all right, Savannah thought as she went to find her young friend’s least favorite physician. Minus the green and orange hair and the disrespect for her elders, Margie Bloss reminded Savannah of another girl who had been the same age and temperament about thirty years ago down in peach and pecan country.
    The kid had spunk. And kids with spunk almost always landed on their feet.
    Unless, of course, they landed on their heads.

    * * *

    9:41 P.M.

    As Savannah watched Margie sitting at her kitchen table, stuffing her face with ice cream, hot fudge sauce and whipped cream, Savannah decided she and the kid had even more in common than she had originally thought.
    Savannah had heard of people who simply couldn’t eat when they were upset. But she filed them away in the same category as “morning people” and those who claimed that running five miles a day gave them energy—Certifiably Bonkers.
    At least she and Margie Bloss weren’t afflicted with such silliness, she concluded as they ooo-ed and ahhh-ed over their frozen confections.
    “I guess I should try to call my dad and tell him what happened,” Margie said between spoonfuls. “I feel kinda bad for not calling him earlier. I just didn’t want him to make a big deal about it.”
    After having taken a long, hot shower with rose-scented gel in Savannah’s romantic bathroom and slipping into Savannah’s thickest, softest terry robe, Margie looked like a normal teenager, almost. With the harsh makeup washed away and her hair brushed straight to her shoulders and the multi-piercings removed—except for three in each ear—she could have passed for any other kid with orange and green hair.
    “Don’t feel too bad,” Savannah told her. “I’ve been calling your house, the station, and his cell phone since we first arrived at the hospital. The staff there was calling him too, trying to get permission to treat you, but he was nowhere to be found. Which reminds me... as far as Community General is concerned, I’m your loving aunt.”
    Margie’s mouth popped open, revealing an unattractive mixture of ice cream and hot fudge. She jumped up from her chair. “You called my dad?” she shouted, her pale face flushing red with fury. “I don’t believe you did that when I distinctly told you not to!”
    “Well, Missy, I don’t always do what I’m told,” Savannah replied calmly, studying a spoonful of her dessert, “especially when the one giving the orders is young enough to be my daughter.” She took the bite, savored it with closed eyes, then pointed her spoon at Margie’s bowl. “Sit down and eat