Glass - 02
Page 13
Finally, he pulls away. I’ll take
you back to your car now. And
I’ll wait for our second date.
As long as it’s tomorrow.
Not a Wink
Of sleep tonight.
I know that without
trying. Even if I wasn’t
totally wired out of my tree,
thinking about Trey would
keep my mental wheels
turning. Churning.
I managed to
choke down dinner,
a major accomplishment,
Meth usually makes me yak.
But not tonight. Tonight, all
I could think about was
Trey. Trey. Trey.
After dinner I
played with Hunter,
watched TV with Mom,
Scott, and Jake, like nothing
was new, nothing different.
But everything’s different.
And I’m scared.
I mean, yes, I’m
happy. Excited, even.
But nothing seems to go
right between me and a guy.
[Stop overthinking it,
would you please?]
I’m trying to!
I really like Trey
a lot. He’s incredible.
So what does he want with
me? Besides the obvious, that
is, and he could get that
with pretty much any
girl. Why me?
One more thing
bothers me, but just a
little, because I’d probably
be doing it anyway. The meth.
Is it a requisite, a necessary part
of a relationship with Trey?
Which would come first?
The meth? Or me?
I’m Glad
I have a little of my own stash
left this morning. I’d never make
it through work otherwise. It’s
damn little, but enough to help me
shake off the no-sleep goofiness.
And hey, later today I’ll have more
than enough to make up for it.
At least Hunter didn’t need
attention before I got up, got
dressed, and left for work, three
whiffs of ice my only breakfast.
I know I should eat something.
Just don’t know how to manage
that, with my stomach turning
cartwheels. The meth is only half
to blame. The other half is my
brain, which won’t leave Trey at
the back of it. He’s front row, center.
I’m in a pheromone fog
as I make coffee, stock rows
of cigarettes, mop up a customer’s
mistake. Mindless work, and there’s
always more when I’m finished
with what I’m doing. Except when
it gets busy, I leave the cash
register math to Midge, who’s
unusually friendly today.
Not a great thing on a day
like today. She chatters
about her grandkids, only half
the time the apples of her eye.
Today, to listen to her, they’re
angels with straight A’s.
Then she moves on to diss her
retired husband, Al, who watches
television all day, every day.
He loves those damn soaps,
she says. Idiot TV. He won’t
even consider really good
shows, like Oprah or Montel.
Just before lunch, Kevin comes
in, payroll in hand. He gives
Midge her envelope, calls me
into the back room to offer mine.
Okay, that’s a little weird,
but what am I going to do,
say no? As always, his eyes creep
up and down my body.
Here it is, in all its glory,
he says of my pitiful paycheck—
$329 and change.
He pauses, assessing me in some
way I can’t put my arms around.
Finally he says, You’re worth
a lot more than minimum wage,
but I can’t offer a raise until
you’ve been here six months.
Another, closer gawk. Uh, some
of my other girls work a side job,
which pays extremely well.
Would you be interested in
something on the side?
Interesting choice of words.
Now it’s my turn to study Kevin,
all wolf, on certain prowl. The way
he’s looking at me makes me
very uncomfortable. But I can
handle him, can’t I? [Probably not,
but I sure can!] Bolstered by Bree’s
cheerful assurance, I answer, “Well,
maybe. Like, what kind of work?”
Customer service, of a sort.
He reaches out, runs a hand
softly down my arm. The crystal
in my system responds, lifting
a good crop of goose bumps,
which Kevin is all too happy to
misinterpret. He smiles a lupine smile.
Ah, you just might be a good
candidate after all. I thought
you might. The job is easy work,
really. Let’s just say I’ve got
a list of clients interested in
videos starring young women
of your caliber.
He’s a porn dealer! I knew it!
Okay, I didn’t know that, specifically,
but it doesn’t surprise me. Part of me
is revolted, part fascinated. What kind
of videos, exactly? Do I know any
of the girls? Would I ever stoop that
low? [How much does it pay, anyway?]
I formulate a careful answer.
“Uh, I don’t really think so. Not now,
anyway. I’m still getting my figure
back, and I don’t have a lot of spare
time, with the baby and all.
But I’ll think about it, okay?”
We Leave It at That
And it isn’t until I run to
the bank on my lunch break
that it comes to me Kevin
thinks I’m some sort of whore.
I don’t see myself that way at all.
Open-minded, yes. A druggie, sometimes.
An unwed teen mother, for sure. But
a sleep-around? No way. Never.
So why am I so hot for Trey?
Sex with him is definitely not
out of the question. Maybe even
tonight. So am I a whore?
[I am!] But I’m not. I want more
than just sex. I want a relationship—
someone to love and to love me.
Will Trey be that? I don’t know.
The attraction between us is sexual,
yes. But I think there’s something
more. I thought so the first time
we met, and yesterday confirmed it.
He could have played games. Didn’t.
He could have played rough. Didn’t.
He could have insisted all tweakers
are whores, one way or another.
The glass makes me brave, sends
waves of sensuality throughout my
body. I know being with Trey will
be incredible. But will it be only once?
Because once will not be enough.
Or maybe it will be way too much.
Either way, thinking about it makes
me believe I’m not a whore.
The Rest of the Day
Goes fast. Goes incredibly slow.
Midafternoon, Trey calls.
Hey, you. We still on for ton
ight?
Great. We’re all set up, good to go.
Where and when can we meet?
His voice sends chills through
my body. Good chills. “Give
me some time to run home
and clean up. How about five
thirty at the Starbucks on Mount Rose?”
Five thirty it is. But I doubt
you’ll need coffee. He hesitates,
as if deciding what to say.
Finally, pay dirt. Kristina? I can’t
quit thinking about you.
“The feeling is mutual. See you
tonight.” I can’t quit thinking
about him, don’t for half a minute
as the workday dissolves. At
last the clock says four P.M.
I race to the house, rush through
the door. Hunter is in his infant
seat on the living room floor,
and from the corner of my eye
I see him smile at his mommy.
I should stop, pick him up, shower
him with love. But I can’t slow down
or I’ll be late. I run up to my room,
choose form-fitting jeans and cropped
crocheted sweater, decide to go braless.
Then I take a long steamy shower,
plenty of soap in all the necessary
places; shampoo with ginger spice;
shave my legs with a new razor blade;
dry off, apply plenty of lotion.
Finally, I put on more makeup than
I’ve used in a year—blush, shadow,
liner, mascara, even a smidge
of lip gloss. The person looking
back at me in the mirror isn’t me.
[No, it’s me. Thanks for letting
me out to play. And BTW, the no
bra decision? Good one!] Bree
and I are ready to go. We just
have to make our escape.
Mom is in the kitchen, working
on dinner. Jake is watching TV
in the living room. “Hey,” I call
to him, “I’ve got something to do.
Will you watch Hunter for a few?”
He turns, assesses, understands
the gist of what he sees.
Maybe. What’s in it for me?
He loves Hunter, often
babysits when Mom can’t
play nanny. But it’s only fair
I pay him something. “Ten
dollars?” I offer.
Okay. But don’t stay
out too late. And what should
I tell Mom?
Mom. Oh, yeah. He’ll have
to tell her something. Not
like the subject won’t come
up before too very long.
“Tell her…”
What should he tell her?
Oh, what the hell. Why lie
about it? Not like I’m grounded,
and I did set up the babysitting.
“Tell her I’ve got a date.”
She’ll Want to Know
Why I didn’t tell her myself.
Want to know who I’ve got
a date with. Want to know
what we’re doing on our
date. Where we’re going.
Exactly when I’ll be home.
Sorry, Mom. Not in the mood
for the third degree. Not
now, anyway. So we’ll
talk about it later. Hey,
maybe there won’t be
anything to lie about.
The Wedge Parkway
Starbucks is a fifteen-
minute drive, with no
traffic. This evening, lots
of traffic, it takes forever.
Trey is already there.
I can see him through
the frosted window,
sipping something
and watching for me.
He stands when I go
inside. A gentleman?
Unusual, but I like it.
He pulls me to him,
kisses me easily on
the mouth, eliciting
jealous stares from
customers and salesgirls.
I inhale his masculine
scent: Brut, tainted
slightly by a tinge
of ice. But hey, I’ll
be tainted soon too.
[More ways than one!]
You thirsty? Hungry?
he politely asks, and
it makes me feel
special that he bothers.
He is a gentleman!
[He’s a player.]
I Don’t Care
If he’s a player. He plays well,
and I’m ready for a challenge.
Besides, I know the rules of the game.
We talk for a few minutes,
about jobs and families and, yes,
about Robyn, who’s only a friend.
Finally, Trey suggests, Let’s go.
Why don’t you leave your car
here? We can take mine.
He has washed his Mustang.
“Oh, I do love your car,” I
say, “although I’d pick red.”
Well, you know, the cops tend
to home in on red cars. Red
and yellow. Of course, I mostly
drive the limit, especially
on trips like this one. You
ready for a party?
I smile. “It’s Friday. I don’t
have to work tomorrow.
I’d say I’m ready to party.”
My kind of woman. He starts
the car, puts it in reverse, but
before he takes his foot off
the brake, he turns, looks
me right in the eye. Did I tell
you how great you look?
“No, damnit, you didn’t,
and I expect a sincere apology.”
I love Bree’s improv.
Especially when Trey says,
Will this do? And he kisses me—
another long, delicious kiss.
I pull away, breathless. “Yeah
that will do,” I whisper, hoarse
with heat. “For now, anyway.”
He grins and kisses me again.
Even better than the first. About
the time my heart feels ready
to explode, he slams on the brakes.
Holy shit. We’ve been rolling
backward. He stops a split
second before taking out an SUV
at the drive-through window.
We both laugh, disturbing a very
tense moment. And we both know
we’ll be back in each other’s arms
very soon, expecting more than a kiss.
We Merge onto the Freeway
Head north of town, and finally
I feel the need to ask, “Where
are we going, anyway?”
I let my fingers creep up
his thigh, feel an immediate
reaction. [Mmm. Long time.]
To my cousin’s house, Trey
answers. He’s got a new
shipment of top-quality ice.
I had a taste earlier. Primo.
“And I was going to give up
all my bad habits for Lent. Oh,
it’s not Lent yet, is it? In fact,
I’ve got months! Right on.”
Trey’s right hand falls upon my
left, moves it higher up his leg.
Actually, we’re moving toward
Samhain, he says. Bonfires.
Sacrifices. Feasts. Those Celts
knew how to throw a party!
Oh, yeah, he’s smart. [Fine, too.]
And I am back in the game.
We drive north for twenty minutes,
turn east toward Red Rock.
The rural community is home to
comm
uters, dealers, and off-gridders.
As if reading my mind, Trey
says, Brad doesn’t live off-grid.
Good thing, since his wife walked
and left him with the kids.
Raising kids with only solar power
could be tough. “How many does
he have?” Like I care. The voyeur in
me wants to know why his wife left
him. His dealing? Another man? Simple
boredom, locked up with kids all day?
Two little girls, one of them
named after me—LaTreya.
Cute, huh? She’s cute too.
Looks just like her mom.
We turn off the main road, into
a relatively new neighborhood.
It’s getting dark, but even so,
I can see that one house pretty
much resembles the next. “Glad
you know where you’re going.”
Yeah, the houses are cookie-
cutter, okay. Main difference
is the colors. Incognito, that’s
how Brad lives, and that’s good.
As we pull into the driveway,
I notice movement behind
a curtain. We climb out of the car,
into sweet high desert air and it
strikes me how normal we must
look to the neighbors. Family.
Trey slides his arm around
my shoulders and I love how
that makes me feel. Here, now.
You’re my new girlfriend, okay?
I don’t know if he means for real,
or for the benefit of the kids,
but either way, I’m fine with it.
I’m someone’s new girlfriend, at least
for the moment. “Okay.” I wrap
my arm around his waist. Seamless.