Prom Night

by Phyllis Loafman

Sixteenth story in the Angel Girl series.

Thanks to Purple-Lacey for allowing me to play in her world.

The doorbell rang a second time as Wilmington gathered his strength. 'I can do this' he thought to himself.

'Ding Dong'

"Damn," he mumbled as he moved down the hall. "Coming!"

He opened the door and stood, glaring at the young man. "Yeah?"

"Mr. Wilmington? Pleased to meet you, sir."

Buck looked down at extended hand. He finally took it, pumping once, before releasing the sweaty palm.

"I'm Gregory Archer Lawrence, III. I'm here to take Angie to the junior prom."


The young man's brow creased in confusion. "Excuse me?"

"Her name is An-ge-la. Not Angie, not Ang."

Gregory's eyebrows shot up. "But that's what we…"

"You want to get out of the doorway?" Buck growled.

The boy glanced around, not sure he wanted to enter the structure. The sound of his date's father clearing his throat had him moving over the threshold. He flinched as the door slammed behind him.

"Come on in."

The young man followed the girl's father into the front room of the large house. He took a seat on the couch, placing the corsage box on his lap. Gregory watched as the man moved to the window and glanced out.

"See that you're driving a Ford Mustang. Nice little car." Buck turned and walked across the floor to a big recliner facing away from the window and street.

"Thanks. My old man bought it for me, for keeping my grades up."

"You have a job?"

"No, sir. I have football and basketball during school so I don't have time."

"Where'd you get the money for the corsage?"


"Aren't you a little old for an allowance?"

The boy looked around nervously. "Well, I just…ah…I do things around the house. To earn the money, you know."

"How many cylinders?"

"Excuse me?"

"The Mustang. How many cylinders? Four?"

"Oh. No, six. I like the pick up it gets. Beat a Camaro off the line. V8. Pissed the guy off bad."

The boy was laughing, his head down as he relived the event. When he raised his head, the smile died on his lips.

"You race that heap?"

"Ah, not really race…I just…" He looked around the room as he struggled to amend his story. "It wasn't a race so much as a…ah, fast ride to the next light."

The man 'humph'ed' in response, his face growing darker. The young man was having second thoughts about this particular date.

"You drink?"


"I don't mean milk, boy."

"Ah…no," he answered hesitantly.

The man scowled.


"No. I'm a athlete."

"But you drink?"

"Well, it's just…well, you know… I only do it once in a while."

"But not tonight?"

"No, sir. I wouldn't do that."

"No racing?"

"Absolutely not."

"You have a condom?" Buck asked softly.

The boy smiled and patted his breast pocket. "I always come prepared. You have to practice safe sex these days."

"Wrong answer, boy." Buck pulled his automatic out and fired one shot.

The boy fell back against the back cushion, the smile still on his face and a trickle of blood sliding down his face.

The sound of heels clicking on the wood flooring drew the man's attention to the door. Angela stood with her hands propped on her hips and a frown on her face.

The girl slowly walked over to the chair where her father sat. "Oh, Daddy, not again."

"Sorry about the prom, darlin'. He just wasn't right for ya, Angel."

She cuffed the back of his head with her hand. "You say that about all of them."

Buck sat straight up in the bed, breathing hard. Throwing off the covers, he silently padded into the room next to his. Approaching the bed quietly, he gazed down at the sleeping child. Little Angela Wilmington smiled in her sleep as her father pulled the covers up and then bent down to place a kiss on her forehead.

"Tomorrow, we look into getting you enrolled into a private, all-girls school."

The End

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