Frank went behind the bar to help Tracy. He didn’t speak to her and she seemed to sense that something was wrong. She patted him on the shoulder as she moved past him. When he didn’t look up, she moved away.
I took the bottle of Blanton’s into the office and closed the door. Dad always said it was bad luck to put a full bottle in the drawer, so I unscrewed the top and took a long swig from the bottle. The bourbon pulled on something as it went down, some lever in me that made me weak. I slumped into the chair and put my head down.
After a few minutes, I blinked myself sober. I looked around the room. The beer cases were the same, the trashcan was the same. That was something. Worm was dead because of what was hidden in my office. I needed to leave, to run to France. I needed to talk to Ruby.
When I walked back into the bar room, Ruby was standing in the doorway. She wore a gray dress that ended just above her knees and a long silver necklace that disappeared into the swell of the lace of a white slip. She clutched her wallet under her arm, clasped her hands together. She saw me and smiled.
“Little John,” she said.
We sat down at a booth, our drinks in a row between us. She folded her hands in front of her and looked down at them. She tapped her foot against the table base and chewed at her thumbnail. I remembered this mood. Occasionally, Ruby couldn’t sit still. Her energy overwhelmed her, like a caffeine overdose. It was a skittish, sharp mood that sped up her gestures and flicked at the edge of her eyes.
A fall evening when Ruby and I were dating. We drove to Galveston with the windows down, the cool air swirling around us. Ruby was tight and nervous. All day, her fingers tapped on her knees. She smoked quickly, one after another.
“Is everything all right?” I asked a dozen times.
“Of course,” she said. “Of course.”
I stopped at a liquor store and bought a fifth of brandy, hoping to calm her. As the sun set, we sat on he strip of sand between the rocks and the seawall, passing the bottle back and forth. The sun set, the sky was orange, then purple, then black. I reached for her hand. At the same moment that I touched her, a stray dog came out from behind a rock not five feet away from us.
Ruby screamed, a horror movie scream, and leapt to her feet. I laughed at first, thinking she was acting, but a full panic had set in.
“Ruby,” I said and reached for her again. I touched her leg and she screamed again. She turned to run but slipped in the sand. She fell, her hand pushing off one of the boulders and rolling her onto the sand. The dog ran down the beach. I stood up and moved to help Ruby up. She lay on the sand, panting and clutching her wrist.
“Ruby,” I said again. She looked up at me without recognition. “It’s okay,” I said. “It’s okay.” Her chest heaved with her breath, her eyes were wide. “It’s okay,” I kept saying until, at last, the panic subsided. She blinked up at me.
“God,” she said, almost asked. Embarrassment crept across her face. She put her weight on her hurt wrist, winced with pain. “Did you see that fucking beast?”
“Ruby,” I said, laughing a little.
“It’s not funny,” she cried, her voice strained. She pushed herself off the sand, started brushing herself off with short, quick flicks of her hands. “I had an experience,” she said. “You wouldn’t understand.” That was it again, the mystery, the inner Ruby was only allowed a glimpse of.
“Okay,” I said. “What is it you have to tell me?”
Ruby looked down the bar, toward the back door. Her face was powder pale, her blue eyes dark and darting. She flicked her fingernails together and sighed.
“Little John,” she said. She brushed her hair behind her ear and rolled her eyes to the ceiling.
“Okay,” I said.
“I’m so worried,” she said. A heaviness hit me, like the weight of your body when you’re trying to pull yourself out of water.
“Okay,” I said.
She bit at her thumbnail. Her eyes looked off somewhere. She breathed in and pursed her lips.
“I don’t have any cash,” she said finally. Before I could answer, she continued. “I left my debit card in California and the bank won’t be open in the morning.” She wiped her eyes. “And I have a prescription I need to get filled, but I have to call my pharmacy back home first.” She went on, her long hands dancing across the table and up to her eyes, her lips.
I watched her and, suddenly, I felt a lightening. This was it, I realized. The smoke, the mystery. What Ruby had kept hidden from me, intentionally or not, all those years. The great secret that had kept me away, had driven me mad with lust, had broken my heart.
Ruby was ordinary.
Whiskey-warmth spread across my back. I reached across the table, took one of her dancing, ivory hands in mine.
“Hey,” I said. “It’s okay.”
She went on for a minute, about packing, about calling relatives and letting them know where she was going, a list of errands that needed to happen before she got on a plane. She went on and I let her.
I let her because it made me happy.
If Ruby could be ordinary, then maybe I was ordinary. And then maybe it meant we could love each other, could have a shot at it. Because a woman made of smoke couldn’t be held. But an ordinary woman had ordinary problems, problems that could be solved, or at the very least, addressed. And maybe the most basic part of love is accepting the responsibility of helping someone else address her ordinary problems.
I squeezed Ruby’s hand. She paused and looked at me, her mouth open, her rock-green eyes full and wet. A tear rolled down her cheek, past a wrinkle, a little crease that ran from the corner of her eye along the arc of her cheekbone.
“Hey,” I said. “It’s okay. We’re gonna stop in Austin. We can stay there for a day or two while we take care of all of this.” She blinked and breathed into her shoulders. “It’s okay,” I said again.
She looked at me, her brilliant emerald eyes under her savage bangs, eyes that Sarah didn’t have, that Tracy didn’t have, that no woman but Ruby would ever have. I looked at her and, just like that, the weight was gone. I thought of Jacob. I thought of my father, sitting on the back porch, pouring Jameson in his morning coffee. I smiled, an open smile because I was happy. And then she smiled, too.
“Okay?” I said again
The green eyes went wider. She nodded, just a tiny movement of her head. Her cheeks were mottled and red and her mascara had begun to pool.
“Okay,” she said. “Thanks.”
I stood up.
“Listen,” I said. “Dad and I had kind of a tradition.” She stopped at the mention of my father. “When things got to be too much, we’d stay after hours and drink bourbon in the office. Good stuff, not the shit we serve the customers.” A small laugh. “Stay. I’ve got a bottle of Dad’s favorite. We’ll drink the bottle, we’ll make a list, and in the morning we’ll just start taking care of it.”
She breathed in and out. She was still shaky and skittish. Her hands flickered at her sides. Finally, she nodded.
“Okay,” she said.
I moved her to the bar, a few stools down from Tim Cole. Tim was drunk, laughing to himself, a harsh, bitter laugh.
“Oh, yeah, yeah,” Tim said. “Oh, yeah.”
Frank was standing at the end of the bar, wiping his hands on a bar towel and I remembered one more thing I had to take care of.
“Sit here for a minute,” I said to Ruby. “I have to take care of something outside. I’ll be right back.” She was still shaking, so I asked Tracy to make Ruby a Manhattan.
“Could you help me outside?” I asked Frank. “I want to take care of that back door.”
We went around the side of the building and down the alley where Frank had slept. The gate into the patio was at the end of the fence, under the blue shadow of the brick warehouse next door. The alley was lit by one motion-sensitive security light, mounted high on the brick wall, that never seemed to turn off. Its bulb was in a metal cage, to keep vandals and the homeless from sm
ashing it. I unlocked the gate.
The patio was empty. Frank and Mitchell had leaned the two-by-four against the wall next to the back door. Mitchell had screwed wood screws partway in to make my job easier. Frank picked up the first two-by-four while I took the cordless drill out of its case. I screwed the first screw in. It whined as it twisted into the frame. Then Frank and I switched sides and I drilled in a second screw. The board was held in place, now, and Frank stepped back out of the way. I paused.
“How long has it been since you’ve been back to Little Rock?” I asked.
Frank seemed completely unsurprised by this change of topic.
“I don’t know,” he said. “About four years, I guess.” Somewhere on the other side of the building, a car door shut. Thin strains of music filtered through the back wall, some funk album Tracy was always playing. “It’s hard because I don’t have a car,” Frank said. “I can take a Greyhound, but my Mom doesn’t have a car, either. So when I get there, I have to find a ride from the bus station.”
I screwed in the last two screws on the first board. Frank picked up the second and held it in place. When I’d finished screwing that in place, I put the drill down and pulled out my cigarettes. Frank leaned against the back wall of the bar. I sat on top of the picnic table and smoked. Hurricanes pull northern air down on their west sides, so the night was cool and dry. I looked up and the sky was clear and I felt loose and calm. Frank was the last piece, the solution to the last problem I had to take care of before I could go.
“You’re welcome to stay at my place during the hurricane,” I said to Frank.
He nodded and shifted his weight.
“Thanks,” he said, looking down at his shoes.
“It’s no big deal,” I said. “I’m not gonna be there anyway.” He kept his head down and didn’t answer. “You’d actually be doing me a favor. I’ll be a lot more comfortable knowing somebody’s there,” I said, throwing in the truth. This seemed to lighten him up. He looked up. “I understand if you don’t want to,” I said.
“I’ll watch the house,” he said, nodding. “I’d like to.”
I ground my cigarette out on the concrete and packed up the drill. That was it. Everything was covered. I was taking the money and taking Ruby and I was getting the fuck out. Jacob would be safely in Austin and now Frank would be watching my house in case Oscar showed up. I almost whistled.
We went out the gate and I pulled it closed and locked it. At the front of the building, we both paused. There wasn’t a car on the road, as far as you could see, in either direction. The yellow pools of the street lights fell on empty black asphalt. The store across the street was boarded up, yellow plywood covered the ground-floor windows. A distant train whistle cut through the air. The train track was two miles away. I looked at Frank and he was smiling, a lopsided grin under his lopsided nose.
“Weird,” he said. “It’s so dead out here.”
“Yeah,” I said. “It’s weird.”
I pulled open the front door and let Frank in in front of me. He walked behind the bar and Tracy swatted at him with a towel.
Ruby, my Ruby, was sitting at my bar, half a Manhattan sweating onto a square bev nap in front of her. I swiveled onto the stool next to her and took her hand. It was cool and thin in mine. I looked at her and she slowly she raised her eyes. And she smiled first.
I turned away and gestured to Tracy for a Lone Star. She brought it, set it in front of me, held it a moment too long. I looked up and her eyes were tired and I remembered.
I took a long drink, the cool beer slipped down my throat. Tracy brought me a shot of Beam before I asked for it. I took half of it in one drink, then took Ruby’s hand again.
“Ruby,” I said finally. “I need to ask you something. Why did you come back? To Houston, I mean.”
Ruby held the smile on her face a second longer than she felt it. Her gaze drifted off, like the question was about a different life.
“Oh, that,” she said. Her fingers wrapped around the stem of her glass and spun it slowly. “That was nothing. Just stupid, really.” She sighed and slumped forward, just slightly. “I had been talking to my aunt. Just remembering things. About Houston. About you.” Her eyes came up to mine. “I happened to mention the name of the bar. I guess I’d never said it before. Or she had never paid attention. Whatever.” She looked over at the bar and her hand came to her chin. “When I said the name of the bar, my aunt almost jumped. She said she thought my mother might have worked here, back then,” she said. “It’s been so long and I still don’t know anything, so I guess was a bit rash. I booked a flight right then, not thinking about the hurricane or anything.” She flicked her hand. ”I was hoping to talk to Big John,” she said. “I didn’t really think about what I was flying into. I just thought maybe Big John could tell me something about her,” she said.
At first I tried not to think it. Then I tried not to look at Ruby, to look at her face. I tried to, but I couldn’t look away. The rock-emerald eyes. The hair like lava. The beer tasted like metal in my mouth. Water dripped in the sink. I shut my eyes tight.
“What was your mother’s name?” I asked.
Ruby’s voice brightened.
“Katherine,” she said.
Everything was heavy. Everything spun. I lifted my hand to my mouth. My eyes were still shut tight.
“Oh, God,” I said. “Oh, Ruby.”
I forced my eyes open. But before I saw her face, her eyes, before I could say anything to her, I saw Oscar. He was standing in the open doorway. He was holding a gun.
SEVENTEEN
Oscar was wearing stiff blue jeans and a white t-shirt. The hand holding the gun hung by his side.
Ruby turned to see why I was staring, but she didn’t know who Oscar was. She turned back to me with a half-smile across her dark lips.
Tracy saw Oscar and she looked ready to run. Her hands gripped the edge of the bar by the gate. Frank was staring, open-mouthed. Tim Cole might have recognized Oscar but he was far too drunk. Other than the six of us, the bar was empty.
“Hey, John,” Oscar said, raising the gun in greeting. “I guess you and me got some shit to talk about.”
“Oscar,” I said. The air conditioning was cold on my back and neck. Frank was standing next to me now, clenching and unclenching his fists. “Let’s talk in my office,” I said to Oscar.
Ruby and Tracy both looked confused at this.
Oscar stepped inside. The door groaned shut behind him.
“I got two things I wanna show you first,” he said. He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a small blue cell phone. “See this?” he said, waving it at me. “I got this from your friend Worm. It’s got your number. It’s got your wife’s number. It’s got a lot of information about you.” He stuck the phone back in his pocket. Tracy was slowly trying to make her way to the end of the bar. “You left some messages for your buddy Worm,” Oscar said. “I think you have something that belongs to me.”
Oscar held the gun up.
“And you see this?” He waved it like he had waved the cell phone. “I had to borrow this because your friend Worm took mine. And he used it to fucking shoot my friend,” Oscar said.
Tracy froze. Ruby seemed to be panting. Even Tim Cole was alert now.
“Oscar,” I said again. I held my hands out in front of me. “Let’s talk in my office.”
The old wood of the front door groaned as it pulled over the metal threshold. I knew what the sound was the instant I heard it. I turned my head just in time to see Mitchell closing the door. He had opened the door, seen the gun, and closed it again.
“Who the fuck was that?” Oscar yelled. He pointed the gun at me.
“I don’t know,” I said. I thrust my hands out in front of me, waving at him to stop. He glared at me over the gun, then turned and took two steps towards Ruby.
“Oscar, please.” I said.
He cocked his head, considering me.
“Who the fuck was it?” he said. Then h
e reached out and grabbed Ruby’s arm and pulled her to her feet.
And Ruby panicked.
She screamed, her awful horror movie scream, and pulled her arm free. I yelled, just a guttural howl.
But it was Tracy who ran.
Tracy shoved herself off the bar and ran down the hallway, ran full speed to the back door and pushed on the emergency exit bar. There was a metal clunk as she pushed the bar, but the door didn’t move. I had screwed it shut from the outside. Tracy pushed the bar, again and again, but the door didn’t move. She gave it one last punch, then she turned around and shook her head.
“Fuck” she said.
Oscar chuckled.
“Uh oh,” he said. Then he shot her.
The gunshot was an explosion, so loud in the small room of the bar that I can’t really remember hearing it. Tracy fell back against the door, her eyes still on me. She looked puzzled, her brows were furrowed. She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Then she fell to the floor.
Oscar turned to me, a smile on his face. He, too, opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything, Frank let out a strangled yell and charged. Frank threw himself on top of Oscar, wrapped him in a sloppy football tackle. They fell to the ground, crashed into the row of bar stools. The gun bounced on the floor and slid under a stool. Oscar got his arms to Frank’s chest and pushed hard, but Frank held on and they rolled away from the bar. Oscar pushed again and Frank fell back off him.
Oscar shoved himself to his feet and turned towards the gun. When he bent to pick it up, Frank jumped on his back and they fell almost to the front door. I ran to Tracy. Her eyes were darting around the room. She was gasping, trying over and over again to pull air into her lungs. Blood poured out of her chest, over her jeans and onto the concrete. Her hands were pushed against the floor. I put my hand on her shoulder. She turned, her eyes fixed on me. Her face was contorted with pain and confusion.
Last Call Lounge Page 15
