by Evelyn Glass
It was true he had always received attention from members of the opposite sex. He couldn’t remember a time when it wasn’t easy to get a girl. In fact, it was more annoying to him than anything else. He learned a long time ago that he could afford to be choosy, and as a result, he chose to ignore them. There were only so many mindless conversations he could be a part of without swallowing a bullet. Unlike Rick, with his seemingly permanent hard on, Scott could take it or leave it. He was too confident, too self-possessed, to give a shit either way.
Still, remembering back to that big glossy black and white billboard, he felt more than a little self-conscious. That was what he looked like? Like some cross between rugged outdoorsman and a matinee idol? It was fucking embarrassing. Of course, he didn’t let on their kidding annoyed him and he would let them have their fun until they got tired of it. He was the master of stonewalling.
“Neither, so relax. It’s north of the city, out in the country somewhere. A place called Ray. It doesn’t matter. Wherever it is, we’ll settle in just fine. All we need is a hot bath, a few drinks, and a lady or two as a light refresher.” Jason spoke like he was addressing an army, his voice full of false authority.
Scott and Rick exchanged glances. Hopefully he’d settle into this whole authority thing before the two of them had to beat the shit out of him.
The mention of ladies seemed to perk Rick up though. He rubbed his hands together in a comic gesture of greed. “I could handle one or two. Three or four. Basically whatever Prada here can rustle up for me.”
“You want me to get your girls for you now, Rick?” Scott glared at him from across the bike.
In the lights of the station, Rick’s shaven head glowed a bit like the moon. His manic eyes were shining even brighter now at the mention of women and the thought of fresh pussy.
Under one eye was a series of lines, like the ones prisoners used to scratch into the walls for every day they were locked up. For Rick, those were for every man he had killed. There were six. No one asked him about the circumstances, but Scott had been present for three of them. Nothing bonds friends like getting away with murder. Rick’s problem with women, however, stemmed from the fact that if he got drunk enough, he’d end up blabbing about what those lines stood for. Unfortunately, whenever that happened, Rick was generally trying to get laid at the same time, and that was not a good combination.
“I ain’t above sloppy seconds. I’m more than willing to take whatever I can get. I’m trading in my food stamps. It’s been a while.”
“Yeah, I’ll see what I can do,” Scott mumbled as he swung his leg over his bike and retrieved his helmet from the mirror and began to fasten it, intending to do no such thing.
“Big tits, Scott. Remember that, I want one with huge tits. Massive. I got big hands.” Rick stretched his fingers wide to make his point. “Those babies got to fit right in there.”
“Right. Got it,” Scott replied as he stood his bike upright, silently urging the other two men to shut up, hurry up, and get back on the road so he didn’t have to listen to their shit anymore.
“Don’t forget to get one for yourself while you’re at it. What kind you want?” Rick spoke like they were talking about ice cream flavors, and it made Scott cringe for what seemed like the millionth time since they started the trip. Rick never, ever, shut up, and once he latched onto a subject, he would worry it to death, like a dog gnawing at a bone.
Scott had grown up with sisters, a powerhouse of a mother, and no dad to speak of. If he learned anything about living in a house packed with women, it was that it just wasn’t that simple. They weren’t ice cream. They weren’t anything to collect or sample. They were just as fucked up and just as powerful as men were. If not more so. It was the ones who tapped around in high heels while trying to drink away what brain cells they had left that disappointed him.
What kind of girl did he want? One who thought for herself. One who didn’t look to him for her happiness. One who couldn’t be bought off with a present or two. One who was working on a book collection of her own. That’s the kind of woman he wanted.
“You know what kind of woman I want tonight?” Scott asked, pausing just before thumbing his bike into life.
Scott never talked about girls and the two men fell silent, suddenly feeling like they were about to be privy to some grand realization.
Scott smiled crookedly as the men paused in their activity, waiting on his response. He had them hooked, and now he was going to reel them in. “One who can cook a mean burger.” He pressed the starter button, the bass rumble of his Harley coming to life ending the conversation and leaving Jason and Rick with a look of annoyed disappointment.
Chapter Five
The note that had accompanied the package lying on the bottom step was written in Angela’s typical, bubbly handwriting. It hadn’t changed since middle school when she had spent more time perfecting how she was going to sign her married name than concentrating on her schoolwork. Now that they were both in their mid-twenties, Angela’s writing was still as unmistakably girly and bouncy as her personality. Taped to the side of a wrinkled plastic shopping bag, the note was more of a command than anything else. Don’t dress like a grandma. Wear this or I’ll kick your ass.
Exhausted from another long day in front of a grill, but too curious to wait, Jess ripped open the bag before she even started up the stairs to the apartment. Standing in the short hallway just off the café, her clothes blotched with gravy and grease, she picked through the contents of the bag with unmistakable distaste. There was a short black thing that might have been a top or a skirt, along with a pair of ridiculous patent black stilettos, and a t-shirt that had been artfully torn in all the right places. A perfect outfit should she be looking to swing around on a pole somewhere.
“Never,” she said into the silence as she shook her head, but then she smiled. She had to pick at least one piece to wear tonight or Angela really would make her life hell. It was sweet of her, too. Dropping off a party care package was going above and beyond for most friendships, particularly for one that had been on hold for as long as theirs had been. Knowing she’d have to parade around in one of the skimpy pieces didn’t do much for Jess’s nerves, however, and she mounted the stairs with a dull heavy feeling deep in her stomach.
Her mother was still downstairs, finishing out the shift while cleaning the place. It was their arrangement: Jess would open and Kat would close. It was just as well. Her mother had always been protective, but never more so than since that night. Now that she had overheard her conversation with Val, Jess was certain her mother would fly into a panic if she knew what her plans were for this evening. Those two didn’t want her involved in the lifestyle and here she was, about to put on a colossal pair of hooker shoes and throw herself right into the middle of it again. It wouldn’t be pretty.
Jess turned the key in the lock and opened the door to the apartment. The lights were all out, the windows open, and the window fan working hard to pull the trapped heat out, though the apartment was still stifling. It was almost enough to make her want to retreat to the air-conditioned comfort of the café.
Jess wiped at her face and eased the door closed behind her. Why can’t we get an air conditioner? Just a little one, she asked herself again as she moved through the apartment to her room. If she were lucky, she would be showered, presentable, and out of the apartment before her mom finished downstairs.
***
Jess took one last look at herself before leaving. Out of all the embarrassing articles of clothing she had been commanded to wear, she decided on the tiny black skirt. It was far tighter than anything she was used to, and without her constant adjustment, it seemed to want to ride up her ass. In order to balance the appalling shortness of it, she had chosen one of the many oversized black tops she wore on a regular basis. It had a Sabrina neckline and brought out the Audrey Hepburn in her. In fact, with her large dark eyes, long neck and delicate features, she might be mistaken for her in dim light, espec
ially with the way she had pulled her hair into a swingy ponytail, so long it brushed between her shoulder blades as she moved.
No heels, though. She opted instead for a pair of simple black flats. Angela might appreciate the pointed toes and tall heel, and while they were stylish and oh-so perfect for a swift kick in the balls if the evening’s events necessitated that kind of activity, they would be impossible on the uneven ground at the bonfire. A trip to the emergency room with a broken ankle would put a real damper on her evening, so the flats were it.
Jess sighed. She pulled the skirt down one last time and made her way out to the living room where she scrawled a note, telling Kat she had gone out and would be back in a couple of hours, before moving on toward the door. All she had to do was grab her mother’s car keys and she would be on her way.
“Shit,” Jess hissed. The keys weren’t in the bowl beside the door where they were kept, and that meant one thing: they were somewhere on her mother. She fumed a moment, trying to decide what to do, when she spotted her mother’s big leather bag sitting in a chair. Trying to hurry, she went through the contents, digging like a dog looking for a buried bone. She found cigarette packs, lighter, lipstick, an entire bottle of hairspray, receipts, and empty gum wrappers. She held up a box of condoms, staring at them briefly in disbelief, before dropping them back into the purse and digging through the rest of the minutiae, but she found no keys. This was going to make things difficult. She closed the purse and stood, looking around the apartment, trying to spot the wad of puff toys and keys that comprised Kat’s key ring.
She was beginning to sweat again, but not entirely from the heat of the apartment. She had the perfect excuse to not go now, should she want to back out. She could spend another evening in the safety of her bedroom, reading or watching Netflix, and remembering.
“Fuck it,” she mumbled as she clenched her fists determinately. Not another night plagued by ghosts. Angela was right. She had to climb her way out of the tower, if just for one night. She was still debating with herself when she heard the sound of a familiar car from the open window. She’d recognize that engine anywhere, the wheezy rattle of a dying Toyota. It was her step-dad, come to pay a very well timed visit. As the car stopped with the squeal of worn out brakes, Jess made her decision. She rushed from the apartment and pounded down the steps.
Chapter Six
“Wow, honey! Look at you!” Ronald Nebbles looked positively amazed as she burst out into the street. He was just climbing out of his car and seemed to be frozen by the sight of her—one hand on the car door and one foot on the street. Jess was immediately embarrassed. She tugged at her skirt.
“What?” she asked, feeling like a defensive twelve year old.
“You never do yourself up like this! What’s the occasion?” Ron closed the rusted door of his car, the metallic scream echoing in the empty street. That car was one of the surest ways to tell that he was about as far away from her mother and the Grim Angels’ world as possible. Ron bought a series of rusted out heaps, paying a few hundred dollars for each one, and then driving it until it died. He would then toss it away and buy another to replace it. He could afford better, and did have a nicer car that he kept at home, but he still liked the wrecks that cost him almost nothing to own and drive, and he didn’t have to worry about. No biker would be seen in a vehicle like that, economic sense and deserted street or not.
Ron was just not interested in those kinds of things, as he called them. He never had been. When other boys were talking cars and guns, poor Ron had nothing but computer knowledge to share. Her mother had plucked him from a bar in a moment of weakness and basically torn the sweet soul apart for a few years until she got bored with him. Growing up with those two had been like watching a cat play with a wounded bird until it finally bothered to break its neck.
That was definitely the most accurate way to describe their ten years of wedded bliss. He was a good father, though, and had tried his best. Unlike her mother, Ron had most definitely made a valiant effort. In fact, he still did. He visited Jess on a regular basis even though the marriage had ended nearly eight years ago, bringing her books to read and taking her to whatever cult movie he was obsessed with at the time. He was still interested in her education, and had taken time to pile college applications on her when she graduated high school with honors. She still had that promising pile of papers in the drawer beside her bed and she suspected she had only to ask and he would gladly pay for her tuition, but that dream had collapsed, like so many other dreams she had been steadily building.
Looking at her now, he was obviously shocked and even a little impressed at her beauty. “You look like a movie star,” he said awkwardly, pushing his glasses up and adjusting them as if they were somehow responsible for his stepdaughter’s appearance.
Jess made a face. “Oh god, I should change.”
“No, no! A classic movie star. Very elegant. Like, like…” he snapped his fingers as his face crinkled, trying to remember. “I can’t think of it right now. Never mind. Can I have a hug?”
He stepped away from the dying hatchback and took Jess in his arms briefly. It was an awkward hug, but most things about Ron were a little awkward. Unlike her Uncle Val and the countless other “uncles” she had hugged in the last couple of days, Ron was soft. He smelled like clean laundry and as he embraced her, he was cuddlier and warmer than most women. He even patted her back, his lower body at a respectful distance from hers.
Ron gasped melodramatically. “Don’t tell me you have a date?” He held her away from him to examine her and shook her slightly, “You’re only twenty-five! You’re far too young to start dating boys!” But then he smiled to show he was teasing.
Jess flushed. In typical fashion, Kat and the Angels had completely buried that night and had told Ron that Luke had moved on when the relationship hadn’t worked out. Jess knew he would never say anything, but she could tell he was relieved that Luke was out of the picture.
“You’ve still got those college applications to think about,” Ron reminded her, continuing his gentle teasing. “You can’t be wasting your time on men!” He was smiling broadly and it was infectious. Those rabbit teeth of his, and that smile, had been the reason Kat had swallowed him up all those years ago. Jess decided to go along with it. Since she didn’t have Kat’s keys, she was going to need a ride in that rust bucket of his.
“I do. Shocking, I know. I’m actually off to a party, if you can believe it.”
Ron clucked his tongue and shook his head. “Corruptible. Infinitely corruptible. You’ll have a hard time including beer bong specialist on your Oxford application.”
“Are you kidding? I heard they look for that kind of thing. I’m writing my admissions letter entirely with emoticons.”
Ron laughed and hugged her again. It felt good. He was someone who didn’t know. At least he was one person who wasn’t holding a key to her tower.
“I was just coming by to see if you wanted to go catch a triple bill of Woody Allen movies down at the Rialto tonight. They’re closing it down in a few weeks so I thought we could make a night of it. I remember how much you liked that old place. However, if you’re off to actually go live your life, I’ll be flying solo, I suppose. Just me and Annie Hall.” There was a bit of disappointment in Ron’s tone, but not much. Rather, he looked excited for her.
It was something Jess wasn’t used to and, for a second, she almost changed her plans. An evening of movies and intelligent conversation was certainly tempting. However, a tug on that too short skirt reminded her of Angela and the pain in the ass she would be if she backed out of their plans. “I’d love to, but you know… ” Jess tossed her artfully created ponytail. “My public awaits… ” Ron looked up and down the street.
“Where’s the car?”
“It’s in back. Kat’s still cleaning up and I was just on my way to get the keys,” she lied.
Now, finally, Ron’s eyes darkened. “Not upstairs passed out?”
“No. Not ye
t.”
Ron sighed and leaned against the car, crossing his arms over his chest. He had always hated her mother’s drinking. Unlike everyone else in the Angels, who accepted alcoholism as easily as any other character trait, Ron had been the only person in her mother’s life who had seen it as the problem it was. When he finally packed his computers and stormed out of the house, it was her constant drinking and unwillingness to confront the problem that pushed him out.
Although she was sad to see him drive off that night, when he finally had enough, a part of her had felt relieved. God knows the brilliant little rabbit might have put up with Kat’s abuse for the rest of his life. Her mother’s love of cheap wine might have saved the man from a life of misery. She did miss the air-conditioned house they used to live in, though, and wondered how her life might have been different if she chosen to live with Ron instead of her mother.
Ron kicked at the cracked pavement like a little kid. “How often?”
Jess hesitated. If she answered honestly, it would open a whole new can of worms. She should be doing something about it. She should be stopping her mother from drinking herself to sleep every night, but she didn’t. Maybe she was just as bad as the other Angels. Maybe she belonged in that life where substance abuse, drug running and murder were the norm. “Just a few nights a week now. Honestly, she’s doing much better.” The lie came easily, and she felt guilty as Ron seemed to eagerly lap that lie up.
