Unsightly Bulges

by Kim Hunt Harris

  “Is Dale working today?” Viv asked. “Or did Matt Macon and his gang of lawless thugs knock him off?” She cackled.

  I frowned and watched Dale through the doorway into the grooming room, telling Flo and Tammy the story of singlehandedly protecting me and Viv from a group of murderous thugs.

  “He’s here,” I said, because one couldn’t say he was working, exactly. Then Pita decided to lunge at my throat and I had to hang up.

  I turned on the water, letting it run against my hand as it warmed.

  Pita growled, his lip curling to show a wicked white tooth. I let him growl.

  When I finally turned the water on Pita, he exploded in a frenzy of furious barking, flailing and snapping that made the rest of the dogs come to the front of their crates and look around in concern. “It’s okay,” I crooned. It did nothing to soothe him or the rest of the dogs, but I felt it my groomerly duty to try. “It’s just water, Pita. It’s the same thing I’ve done every six weeks for the past two years, and you’ve survived every time.”

  We finished the bath with just one near miss and I carried Pita at arm’s length, flopping furiously with his head covered in a thick towel, to the drying table. Dale came through and grabbed his baseball cap from the shelf by the back door. “Catch ya later,” he said cheerfully. “Viv and I are going to the press conference. I’m going to help her take notes.”

  I froze, brush in hand. “What?”

  “Viv is picking me up so I can go to the press conference with her at 2:00.” He tugged his cap down to his ears and cocked his head knowingly. “You know how useless she can be with the notes. But don’t worry, we’ll brief you tonight when I get home.”

  And he was off, whistling happily. The bell over the front door chimed as he went out.

  I stuck my head around the corner. Sure enough, Viv’s Caddy was pulled to the curb. Dale climbed in and away they went.

  I stood before Pita with a brush and the hair dryer, frozen in disbelief. I couldn’t go so she took Dale? Pain in the neck Dale?

  “He’ll brief me? When he gets home?” I asked Pita. “What the hell?”

  To my dismay I felt a lump build in my throat. I felt like I was back in high school and Trisha Thompson (now Patrice Watson) had decided she preferred hanging out with girls who didn’t get drunk during school lunch and take off their tops at keg parties. I was rejected, not good enough.

  If Pita was one of those dogs that can sense people’s moods, he clearly didn’t give a crap about mine. He snapped and snarled through the entire drying and brushing process. By the time I was through with him, I had tears in my eyes and my insides matched Pita’s outsides. If I could have gotten away with biting someone, I would have.

  “He giving you a hard time?” Flo asked, her lower lip stuck out in sympathy as I carried him back to my table.

  I set him down and took a deep breath. “Just the usual.” If Flo could see I was upset, I needed to suck it up.

  But it bothered me. I kept telling myself that it shouldn’t, that Viv could have all the friends she wanted, that I didn’t have some kind of exclusive contract with her. She had asked me to go to the press conference first, after all. Someone should be there, and if I was unavailable, it only made sense that she go, and take someone else – someone who happened to be the most annoying person on earth.

  It bothered me.

  “Okay, God,” I thought. “What is this? I’m a grownup woman and my feelings are hurt because Viv has another friend. What am I supposed to do about this?”

  I couldn’t help but feel it was kind of God’s fault. I had read that stupid scripture and thought I needed to help Dale. Now he was frigging everywhere – at work, at home, horning in on my friendships. If this was helping my fellow man, I wasn’t impressed.

  I lugged Stump to my hip and walked out to my car. I froze when I saw Marky sitting on the curb.

  He rose and gave me a tentative wave. “Hi,” he said.

  “Hi?” I hadn’t meant it to be a question, but I was a little surprised to see him. More than a little.

  “I hope it’s okay that I came here,” he said. “You put your work number on the back of that card. I just...I needed someone to talk to.”

  He reached out and scratched Stump’s ears. Stump turned her head and licked his hand, giving him the look that said, “I’ve been waiting my entire life for someone to scratch me in that very spot.”

  He looked terrible. His eyes were bloodshot and his thin body hunched in on itself, as if he’d taken a beating.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked without thinking. “I mean, besides...”

  He shook his head. “Just that. Just...” He stepped back and ran a hand through his hair.

  A thought occurred to me. Maybe God has sent Marky to me for friendship, support. I’d been whining all day about Viv and Dale becoming so chummy. Maybe Marky was God’s way of saying that there were other fish in my sea. Clearly, he needed a friend, and so did I.

  “Do you like tamales?” I asked.

  He looked a little unsure. “I think so.”

  “You’ll like these,” I said. “Follow me. I know a place where we can talk.”

  He climbed into his car and followed me and Stump out to G-Ma’s place.

  A few months before, G-Ma had leased the kitchen attached to her run-down motel to Lubbock’s best-in-the-entire-world tamale maker, Mario. Mario used the kitchen to make tamales and burritos. He had an army of family members and college kids who went all over town selling his stuff out of insulated carriers. They came by Flo’s regularly, and I figured I had probably funded the tuition of at least one of those guys. I wasn’t sure how many Fat Fighter credits were in a Mario tamale, but I was past the point of caring.

  Mario didn’t keep the restaurant open to the public, mostly because not many people with any money hung out on the Clovis Highway, and what money they did have was spent on booze, drugs or prostitutes. That was okay because he did a booming business just using the kitchen and selling straight from the carriers. But he liked me (my best customer! he always beamed at me in his awkward English) and I figured he would let me and Marky hang out in the old dining room for a while.

  Mario had the back door open and Tejano music blaring when we walked up. We entered the kitchen and I stood for a moment to let my eyes adjust. Stump sniffed dramatically and clawed her little legs into my side for me to let her down. I knew what she was thinking, because I was thinking the same thing: Here was a bit of unspoiled paradise. Broccoli had never entered here.

  If G-Ma saw Stump running around sniffing for crumbs, though, she’d have a stroke, so I tightened my grip and found Mario cleaning a big stock pot in the sink. I asked if we could buy some tamales and hang out in the old dining room, and he agreed happily. Mario basically agreed happily with everything. He looked behind us, then turned a questioning look on me. “The abuela?” he asked.

  Viv wouldn’t like that, I thought smugly. The grandmother. I hadn’t realized the two of us had become quite so attached at the hip, but when I thought about it, I hadn’t seen Mario once in the past six months that Viv hadn’t been with me.

  I shook my head. “She had some errands to run,” I said shortly.

  He shrugged, then handed me three foil-wrapped packages of tamales and nodded toward the fridge full of canned soft drinks. I grabbed a Diet Coke, because of course I did.

  Marky and I sat at a vinyl booth and shared the tamales.

  “Did you go to the press conference?” he asked. His eyes were redder, I realized, than when I’d seen him at Flo’s. He must have been crying again on the way here. I wanted to reach across the table and take his hand or something, but I didn’t.

  “No,” I said. “I couldn’t get away from work. Did you?”

  He shook his head. “They don’t want me there. They want to forget I exist.” He took a drink from his Dr. Pepper. “I’m just a reminder of their son’s imperfection.”

  I thought about what Desiree had said, that CJ�
�s family loved and supported him. “I don’t know about that,” I said. “Did they ask you to stay away?”

  He shook his head again. “No, I didn’t even ask if I could be there. I didn’t need to. It’s easy enough to pick up on vibes, you know.”

  “That’s true, but...” I wasn’t sure what to say, but I felt like I needed to say something. “I heard that his family was actually very understanding when he came out. Supportive. It’s possible they would like to meet with you, as someone who clearly meant a lot to CJ.”

  He gave a small snort. “Who told you that?”

  I searched my mind frantically, but couldn’t think of a legitimate-sounding lie, so I told the truth. “Desiree. I mean she didn’t say the Hardins would like to meet you, she just said they were very supportive of CJ.” I hoped fervently he wouldn’t ask what else she said.

  “What else did she say? Did she say anything about me?”

  I frowned like I was trying to remember.

  Stump, bless her heart, chose that moment to flop her wide nose up onto the table and try to inhale one of the tamales. I made a big production of keeping her away.

  Marky reached across the table and scratched her under the chin, letting her sniff wetly at his hand. “I’m sorry, pretty girl,” he said. “But I doubt this spicy food would agree with you.”

  “No doubt,” I said. “I shudder to think of the intestinal explosion that would result from that.” I laughed too loud, thinking that surely, if I needed to change the subject, I could find something else to change it to besides Stump’s digestive escapades. But if I couldn’t, oh well. Stump ate anything she could find, including aluminum foil and bugs. I had stories. “One time, she – ”

  “Listen, I really don’t want to put you in the middle of things. I don’t. I know this isn’t a comfortable place for anyone to be. But...” He made a sound that was almost a sob, shook his head once, and looked at his hands folded on the table. “I have to know. I can’t sleep at night, I can’t stop thinking about it, and I just...I need to know. You talked to Desiree. Did she say anything about me? About CJ and me? Did she talk to him, that last day? Did he say anything about me?”

  “Did CJ say anything about you?”

  Marky put his hands over his face and rubbed hard. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. “We had a fight. That last day. I didn’t tell the cops that, and I probably should have.”

  “Why didn’t you tell them?” popped out of my mouth before I could stop it.

  He shook his head miserably. “I don’t know, I should have. I should have. I just – I was so freaked out, and they were asking me all these questions, and I felt...I don’t know. Scared. CJ was dead, and I’m in a town where I don’t really know anybody. Where I come from, you can’t trust the cops. If you’re gay, they’re not going to lift a finger to protect you. For all I know it could be the same here, you know? They could actually be the ones who killed CJ, and look, here’s a fag from out of town, we can pin it on him.” He started to tear up again, and he sniffed hard and cleared his throat. “I was scared and I didn’t say anything, and then later it seemed like, if I did say something, I’d look guilty for not bringing it up before. So I just kept my mouth shut.”

  I thought about the message boards I’d read the night before. No matter what I do, I feel guilty. Even for things that couldn’t possibly be my fault, that I know logically aren’t mine to deal with – I feel guilty. I feel responsible.

  “What did you fight about?”

  “Oh, it was – it was just everything. He was keyed up all week, with the fundraisers and then with the backlash against Friends of Joshua. On edge. So he was snapping at everything. I tried to, you know, keep everything calm and upbeat, but it started getting to me, too, and I snapped back. Anyway, he got worried after the race. He kept talking about all the people here in Lubbock who had been helped because of Hope for Home, and how that was going to be over now. He actually thought about taking Friends off the local recipient list. And I – I bugged out. I didn’t want to let the bullies win. We had this huge blowup and he stormed out. That’s the last time I saw him.”

  He closed his eyes and swallowed. When he opened them again, they looked haunted. “Did he go over to Desiree’s?”

  “I don’t think so. I mean, no, he didn’t. When Viv and I talked to her, she was very upfront about everything; and she would have said if he’d been there. In fact, if I remember correctly, she said she talked to him earlier in the week and that was all.”

  “Yeah, she called him Tuesday, after he’d had the big coming out ordeal with his parents. You know his mom actually called her? Apparently, they’re all just great buddies, practically family already.” He rolled his eyes.

  I was uncomfortably reminded of the bitterness in Desiree’s voice when she talked about Marky. Jealousy was an ugly thing.

  ABSOLUTELY, this voice in my head said. My mind flashed on a picture of Viv and Dale riding along in her Cadillac, the radio turned up loud, laughing and having a grand ol’ time. A dark ball of jealousy lodged in the pit of my own stomach and I felt sympathy for both Marky and Desiree. People really sucked sometimes.

  God had put me where I was so I could help Marky, I was convinced of that now. He was jealous and heartbroken, I was jealous and could offer him some sympathy and comfort. It wasn’t the way I would handle things. If I had my say, Dale would back in the hole he had crawled out of and Viv and I would go back to being best buddies. But since when had God ever resolved anything based on my recommendations?

  Of course, I had little to comfort Marky with except my company and some tamales, but I encouraged myself by thinking that was enough sometimes.

  “I know it must be hard,” I said. “Losing him so suddenly. Coming to grips with the fact that you’ll never be able to reconcile after that last fight.” Oops. That had come out significantly less comforting than I had intended.

  Marky nodded glumly. “It is. My mind is just spinning and spinning. The what-ifs are driving me crazy. What if we hadn’t fought? What if I’d just – just swallowed my frustration and kept everything calm? He might have stuck around and we might have talked things out. Then he wouldn’t have been wherever he was to be killed like that.” He swallowed hard. “How did he really feel about me? What if he did go over to Desiree’s. What if he did seek her out when he needed someone to talk to?”

  “Look,” I said. “You don’t have to be jealous of Desiree. CJ chose you. And from what I understand, that was really, really hard for him. He was he kind of person who wanted to make everyone happy, to get everyone’s approval, and he knew coming out would not. Yet he did it anyway. He could not help himself. You should comfort yourself with that.”

  The set of his jaw changed for just a moment, setting into an attitude of defiant triumph that I was glad Desiree could not see. Then he swallowed again and stood. “Can I hold your dog for a minute?” he asked.

  I was caught off guard and said, “Sure.” I forgot to warn him that Stump was a lot heavier than she looked, but he didn’t seem to mind. He lifted her (she grunted and allowed the intrusion with some ill humor) and sat again with her in his lap.

  “You’re a sweetie,” he said. “Look at those big brown eyes.”

  Stump has always been a kind of people-barometer for me. She’s a much better judge of character than I am. For a moment I even considered the possibility that God had sent Marky to us so Stump could comfort him, and with a surge of parental pride I felt my own eyes get teary. My baby, used to serve humanity! It was possible that was worth losing Viv’s friendship over.

  We sat in silence for a while, Marky rubbing Stump’s belly, Stump giving the occasional hurts-so-good groan and shifting on her fat behind to give him better access, me wondering how Marky could just leave those two extra tamales on his plate and move on like there wasn’t more food right there. Stump was like therapy, though. I could see him visibly relax, little by little, as Stump gave him doe eyes.

  “You know,” he
said. “This guy I used to know at the shelter back home – he used to tell me that when you’re struggling with a bunch of unknowns, the best thing to do is go back to what you do know. List it all. Everything you’re absolutely sure of. Then measure the unknowns against that list, and use a bit of skepticism. Like, if you know the world is round, it really doesn’t matter how flat it looks, right? You know that’s just the way things look from this angle. But the truth is still there, and the truth doesn’t change no matter what things look like from this angle.”

  “That sounds like something Les would say.” I took another bite of tamale.

  “Les?” Marky’s eyes narrowed. “That bald guy that was on TV?”

  Uh-oh. I didn’t even have a chance to make up a story – I could tell from his face that everything was written all over my face.

  “He’s actually a very nice guy,” I said lamely.

  Marky looked stunned. “I’m sure he is. For a hater.”

  “A hater? Les is not – ”

  “He’s the one who lumped homosexuality in with incest and bestiality, right?”

  “Well, no, actually, that was the Bible that said that, Les just – ”

  “This guy is your friend?” He looked absolutely betrayed. And Stump, the traitor, sat in his lap giving me the same how-could-you?! look. She might have been mad about the tamales, though.

  “Look, all you know about him is this one thing. One two-second thing he said, one time. You can’t judge a person based on one thing. Just yesterday he was – ”

  “You talked to him yesterday?”

  “I was with him at the awards. He was getting an award for all his contributions to – ”

  Marky stood abruptly and deposited Stump onto the booth. “I see.”

  I moved to stand, too, but he waved me back down. “Don’t. Don’t get up. I see how things are.”

  I sat there making generally clueless noises while he stormed through the kitchen and out the back door.

  Stump watched him go, then turned a disappointed look on me.