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Desperately Seeking Jude: Confessions of a Sex-Mad Beauty Queen
Author:
Alison Andrews
Published:
5/12/2009 6:24:14 PM
Pages:
316
Keywords:
abuse,addiction,alcoholism,alison andrews,beauty queen,drug abuse,modelling,music,promiscuity,sex ad...
Audience Level:
Mature
Genres:
Biography & Autobiography / General
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When Alison was a little girl she thought every family had a drunk violent father and a stressed out mother with no money in her purse. Bewildered by the chaos of her surroundings she drew pictures in the air and tried to memorise lines from "The A Team" or "Knight Rider", only her stutter prevented her from ever getting them right. As a teenager she just wanted to escape. Along came the boys, the booze and the drugs.
A story of love, hope and forgiveness on the wrong side of the tracks of a small town in South Africa.
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Alison Andrews is the creator of websites www.alison-andrews.com and www.loving-it-raw.com. She is a full time author, blogger, vlogger and singer. She currently lives in Dubai with her husband.
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“Jailhouse Rock”
I am four years old and fast asleep. I am having a nightmare; something horrible is chasing me. I am running in slow motion. Unable to move forward, the creature is closing in. There is a crash and I wake up. My bedroom light is on. My father is lying on the floor, large thick globs of blood smeared across his chest and the handle of a knife protruding. I open my mouth and scream.
My mother comes running into the room. My father sits up and laughs.
‘It’s just tomato sauce,’ he says.
‘Are you crazy?’ my mother screams. ‘How can you do that to your child!’
‘It was just a joke, Emma.’ My father totters unsteadily out of the room, falling over on his way to the door but catching himself before hitting the ground.
‘Just a fuckin’ joke.’
'Did you hear your child screaming, Daniel? That's not funny.'
'Listen, you CUNT, these are my fucking children and I can joke if I want.'
I hear a crash as glass breaks against the kitchen floor.
'You want some real blood? How'd you like that? Is that what the WHORE wants?'
I hear a cupboard door open and close, the sound of a broom being pushed across the kitchen floor. I hear my father stumble into the living room. A few moments of silence follow. Then the house erupts …
You aint nothin' but a hound dog
Crying all the time
You aint nothin' but a hound dog
Crying all the time
Well you aint never caught a rabbit
And you aint no friend of mine
'Come dance, Darl.'
'GO TO HELL!' my mother screams.
There is another crash as he falls into furniture. I can hear his footsteps echoing down the passage in the seconds before my door swings open.
'Come on, kids! Out of bed - time to dance with the king!
I can see blood seeping from a cut on his hand. He pulls open April's door.
'Come, Fatty, get some exercise, the king is on!’
Number forty-seven said to number three:
You’re the cutest jailbird I ever did see.
I sure would be delighted with your company,
Come on and do the jailhouse rock with me.
Let’s rock, everybody, let’s rock
'April, pull my finger!' he says, proffering his version of the olive branch. She obligingly pulls his finger. Over the music we hear a tiny fart.
'Ah, didn't have much to offer there … sorry, girls.'
His mood quickly changes.
'Okay, fuck off, go back to bed.' He sits down on the couch, his black eyes staring moodily at the blank TV screen. His dark hair needs a cut; it's falling down over his collar. He has thick sideburns curving down to his chin, just like Elvis.
A blue cloud of smoke hangs over the room. He lights a cigarette. We are unsure what to do. He is unpredictable. Tense and insecure, uncertain what is expected of us, we stand and wait. The three ashtrays dotted around the living room are overflowing. There is a dank, stale smell emanating from him, the smell of liquor and cigarettes and sweat.
'I said FUCK off! Go to bed, NOW!'
As I climb back into bed I hear him opening the kitchen door and stepping outside.
'Yoko, you stupid mutt.'
Yoko is our Alsatian, named in honour of Yoko Ono.
I hear her yelp in pain. Once, twice, three times. He is kicking her again.
'Daniel! Leave Yoko!!!' my mother shouts.
I lie awake in bed; holding my body stiff and concentrating with all my might; maybe if I stay awake and focus really hard, everything will be okay. I can still hear Elvis blaring over the speakers in the living room. Thankfully, that is all there is to hear. Against my will I drift off to sleep.
My nightmares increase.
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