by Paul Heatley
He has been with Carlson for more than a week, almost two. The wounds to his face have mostly healed. The swelling has gone down, the cuts are closing, but the days are long and boring and Carlson is rarely there and his only company is the television and he stares at it absently and pulls the scabs from his lips and tastes blood in his mouth and a sting when the peeling dead flesh meets fresh.
“Where’ve you been?” Glenn asks.
Jake shrugs. He has not prepared an excuse. “Ill,” he says.
“What was wrong?”
“Flu.” Jake thinks of the headache Rick’s beating gave him, the aches that ran through his body. “It felt like flu.”
Glenn pulls up his collar to cover his mouth. “Well don’t be spreadin it to me.”
“Are you better now?” Ray says. He takes a step back.
“I’m fine,” Jake says. “I’m fine.”
It is dark and the marks on his face have faded enough so as to be unnoticeable. When he left Carlson’s trailer he crept out like he was breaking curfew, went round the back and made his escape into town through the woods as if fearing that anyone who might see him would report back. Most importantly, he did not want Luann to see him. He was confident that she did not.
He found Ray and Glenn at the back of the empty warehouse. It was too dark to skate so they threw stones at the windows, saw who could smash the most, and the highest, and who could make the better shots. Ray won. Glenn blamed it on his height. “B-baller’s arms,” he said. “Unfair advantage.”
They walk through town, carrying their skateboards. For Jake it feels good to be out of the trailer, off the trailer park. It feels good to be with his friends, and for them not to know what has happened to him. They go into a takeaway and Ray buys a box of mixed meat and Glenn gets fries but Jake has no money and he gets nothing. They sit on their skateboards outside and Jake sits on the kerb and Glenn shares his fries and Ray shovels the meat into his mouth with his right hand and chews with his mouth open. Grease runs down his chin. On his fingers it catches the light of the flickering streetlamp nearby, it glistens. Something crunches in his mouth and he spits out a bone but he doesn’t seem to care.
When he finishes eating, Ray says, “Glenn and Kelly broke up.”
Glenn hits him on the arm.
“What happened?” Jake says.
Glenn shrugs. “Just didn’t work out is all.”
“She’s getting her braces off in a couple of weeks,” Ray says. “Glenn told her he couldn’t wait, because then she’d be able to suck his dick.”
Glenn hits him again, harder this time, and in the ribs. Ray doubles over, winded and laughing. “Shut up, man!”
“Did you think she’d like that?” Jake says.
“Actually, yeah, yeah I did. I thought it was, like, dirty talk, y’know. I thought it would, kinda, turn her on.”
“But it didn’t.”
“No it did not.”
“She broke up with you.”
Ray laughs.
“Fuck you, too. I thought at least one a you two fuckers might’ve been a little sympathetic.”
“Sorry,” Ray says, but he does not sound sorry.
“I guess it’s hard for either of you to be understanding when neither of you have popped that cherry yet, huh?” Glenn says. He grins wickedly.
Ray shrugs. “Workin on it,” he says. He’s still smirking.
“You could always go to the motel, see the hooker.”
Jake goes stiff. He looks the other way but his friends don’t notice. They are too busy bickering between themselves.
“Shit, maybe I will,” Ray says. “Nothin stopping me.”
“You do that. Anyway, Kelly’s gonna come round, I know she will. She likes me too much.”
“You’re sure of that, huh?”
“Hell, I know it.”
Ray gets to his feet. “Whatever, man.” He grins. “But hey, don’t be one a those losers that spends their life pining after the girl that got away, all right? Shit, you’re already boring enough as it is.”
Glenn stands too, shoves him, threatens to hit him with his skateboard. “Fuck you.” But they’re both smiling.
Jake stands, joins them. They start walking. “Where are we going?” he says.
“Don’t know,” Ray says.
They walk. They end up at the park, go through it. They pass a trembling, panting bush. Glenn hits them both on the arm to slow down, then presses a finger to his lips for them to be quiet. He creeps over closer to the bush then pounces on it and shakes its branches and roars like a Grizzly.
The couple in the bush start cursing loudly. “The fuck’re you doin, man? Get outta here!” The voice is male, young.
“Fuckin kids!” says another voice, male, older.
Glenn and Ray laugh and they leave the bush and continue through the park. A homeless man in tattered clothes stumbles past them, he supports himself on a bending golf club turned upside down, its head clutched in his hand. He drags his left foot and his mouth hangs open, spit dangles from the corner, and his eyes are nearly closed. He looks strung out on something and he stinks of weeks-old sweat. As he passes he tilts a hat he is not wearing and says “Evenin, fellas.”
A man sleeps on one of the benches encircling the water feature. He wears a long overcoat, its tattered tail touching the ground, and he has a beard thick enough it looks like birds nest in it. Ray and Glenn whisper conspiratorially then lean their skateboards against the water feature and go over to him, start piling rubbish on top of him. They laugh behind their hands. They put newspapers on him, then bottles and cans, burger tissues and a black banana skin. Ray finds an old condom amidst all the dead leaves and he puts it on the man’s shoulder and Glenn walks away biting on the inside of his elbow so as not to wake the man with his laughter. Tears stream from his eyes down his red face. Ray bites his lip, his shoulders shaking, gathers up an armful of leaves and drops them onto the man.
He wakes with a start, calls out incoherently, flaps his arms so all the rubbish falls off him and now Ray and Glenn laugh openly. He wheels on the three and launches himself at them and Ray and Glenn scatter but Jake stays where he is, feeling like a detached observer, as if this whole thing has been something watched on a television screen, but then the bearded man has him by the shoulders and he’s garbling inarticulately and his eyes are narrowed like he means to do something bad but then Ray hits him in the back of the head with his skateboard and he lets go of Jake and falls to his knees then Glenn swings his own skateboard and strikes him in the right side with the hard edge, down his shoulder and ribs and he falls and Ray hits him on the back then Glenn hits him in the back and side of the head and Jake can see blood at his ear, either coming from inside the ear or the outside it is hard to tell, but then Ray kicks the man and they leave him.
“The fuck was his problem?” Glenn says, breathless, as they walk away.
14
Carlson drives them in his truck to the motel. It is not far from the trailer park. He pulls into one of the bays of the mostly empty car park, tells Jake to stay where he is. “I’ll be right back,” he says.
He gets out of the truck, makes his way across the forecourt and up a flight of steps. At the top he continues, passes a couple of doors then knocks on the one at the end. He goes inside. The door closes.
Jake looks round. It has been a long time since he was last at the motel, but he’s never been here at night. It is late and it is dark and most of the building is in shadow. It feels like a dozen pairs of eyes are watching him from the darkened windows. His skin crawls. He shifts in his seat. He looks round like he expects people are going to crawl out of the black and start climbing over the cab of the truck, try to get inside, to get at him.
There is light at the reception, the only room that seems to be lit. A man sits behind the desk. Tall, pale, long black hair. It is hard to tell from the distance, but Jake thinks he is watching the truck. He barely moves, like a statue. Jake feels uncomfortable. He does
n’t like being here at night. There is something horror movie creepy about the place. Something just below the surface that unnerves him.
Carlson leaves the room, comes down the stairs, crosses to the truck. He opens Jake’s door. “Come on,” he says.
Jake has butterflies in his stomach. His mouth is dry. He realises how nervous he is. He knows why they have come to this place, that he is going to – about to – lose his virginity. The whole thing has been planned for days now. “Where?” he says. He doesn’t know why he asks. He knows where they are going – the same room Carlson just left.
“Where do you think we’re goin? Come on.” Carlson takes a step back, holds the door a little wider. Still, Jake does not move. “Are you nervous?”
Jake looks into the darkness that surrounds the motel.
“It’s all right to be nervous, Jake. But you ain’t gotta be worried. Come on. I’ll walk you in. You’ll be fine.”
Jake takes a deep breath.
“But I ain’t gonna hold your hand,” Carlson says. “Afraid I’m gonna have to draw the line at that.”
Jake manages a weak laugh, gets out the truck. Carlson slams the door, then leads him up the steps. They go to room number sixteen. Next to the door is a cowboy spray-painted onto the wall. Lee Van Cleef in ‘Death Rides a Horse’. Carlson sees him looking at it.
“Last time I was here,” he says, “that paintin wasn’t there.”
“When was the last time?”
“Other week.”
Jake thinks about the dragon on the side of Good Eats. “Who did it?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think it was commissioned.” Carlson knocks on the door to room sixteen then pushes on the handle, doesn’t wait for a response. Jake follows him in.
The room smells stale, like Harry’s room, but a different kind of stink. This isn’t alcohol sweat. Jake doesn’t know what it is, but he thinks it might be sex.
“This is him?” She is on the bed, sitting. Jake didn’t realise she was there until she spoke.
“Yeah,” Carlson says.
“How old did you say he was?”
“He’s eighteen.”
She doesn’t look like she believes him. “Sure,” she says.
“Is it gonna be a problem?”
“If he’s eighteen? No. No problem.”
“You’re gettin paid, ain’t you?”
“There’s no problem.”
Carlson turns to Jake. “This is Joanie,” he says.
Jake can’t meet her eyes, but he manages to nod in her direction.
“What happened to your face?” Joanie says.
“Nothin wrong with his face,” Carlson says.
“Not anymore. But there’re cuts, I can see them.”
“You got good eyes, Joanie. He fell,” Carlson says. “At work. He tripped.”
“That right? Where’s he work?”
“At the diner. He’s a waiter.”
“I’ve never seen him.”
“He’s new.”
“He can’t tell me that himself?”
“He don’t talk much.”
“You shy, sweetie?” Joanie says.
Jake shifts his feet.
“He’s all right,” Carlson says.
“You can leave now,” Joanie says.
“Sure,” Carlson says. “I’ll be right outside.”
Jake stares at the ground. Carlson gives him a slap on the back, then leaves the room. Joanie stays on the bed.
“This your first time?” she says.
Jake clears his throat but that doesn’t make it any easier to speak.
“You wanna come over here and sit with me?”
His feet won’t move.
“You don’t need to be shy with me, sweetie. I’ll take care of you. There’s no rush. We can take our time.”
Jake’s jaw is clenched tight. It begins to cramp.
Joanie gets off the bed, goes to him. Jake looks at her out the corner of his eye. She is of about his height, but she is very thin, painfully so. She wears loose clothes – a white vest and blue shorts – that she probably sleeps in. The room is dark save for a lamp in the corner, the bulb weak. The sheets on the bed are creased, look like they haven’t been cleaned or changed in a while, though probably they look that way because so many bodies have lain upon them.
She takes his hands in hers, leads him over to the bed, sits him down. Her hands are soft, but bony. She sits beside him with one leg crossed under herself. “Carlson told me your name’s Jake,” she says.
He nods.
“You ever talk?”
He shrugs again.
She laughs. “You don’t need to be scared, sweetie. You wanna take your clothes off?”
He goes stiff. She notices.
“You want maybe I should take mine off first?”
Jake sits very still, like he hopes she can only register movement in the dark and she’ll forget he is there and he’ll be able to creep away. Except Carlson is still outside, and Carlson will expect the deed to have been done.
Joanie stands, takes off her clothes, lets them drop to her feet. “There,” she says. “I told you. It’s nothin to be afraid of.”
Jake snatches glances. Without the clothes it’s like he can see every bone in her body. The only parts of her that look fleshy are her breasts, but they sag like balloons that have been deflated. The hair at her crotch is thick and dark, it hides her genitalia from view, and when she raised her arms to pull the vest over her head he’d noticed dark patches at her armpits too.
She reaches out. “Let me help you,” she says.
Jake goes limp. He doesn’t fight it. Lets her take off his jacket, then roll his t-shirt up over his head. She goes down to her knees to undo the buckle of his jeans, and he becomes very aware of how hard he is breathing, and the angry drumbeat of his heart, the dryness in his mouth.
Between his legs, she takes off his pants. He sits in his underwear, nothing else. His skin pricks with a coldness that isn’t there. When her fingers touch him he feels electricity pulse from the point of contact, course through him. While her face is turned down, away from his, he looks at her. She is plain, devoid of make-up, her features framed by the lank hair that falls either side of her head. There is a tiredness to her. Despite her soft talk and her assurances, despite the way she calls him ‘sweetie’ and makes out like they are going to be the best of friends, this is just a job to her. She is going through the motions. This isn’t her first-time with a virgin. She’s been through this all before, so many times.
She presses her hand against his crotch, through his boxer shorts. There is a burst of pleasure and Jake closes his eyes. He is hard and hot against her. Through the thin fabric she grips him firmly. Jake bites his lip. She raises her face, puts her mouth to his ear.
“You just lie back, sweetie,” she says. “Joanie’s gonna do all the work.”
He does as she says, twisting his body so his head is at the top of the bed. Joanie peels off his underwear, drops it to one side. Jake stares at the stained ceiling. He sees a bug crawl across it, scuttling slowly. Joanie opens a drawer by the side of the bed. Jake turns his head to look. From the drawer she has taken lubricant, she squeezes it onto the tips of her fingers then sits on the edge of the bed, rubs it into herself. She reaches into the drawer again, puts the tube back, searches for something else. Jake can hear a packet rustle. When she takes her hand out she holds a condom. She removes it from the foil then puts it on him. Jake’s back arches at her touch, his head goes deeper into the sweat-stained pillows.
The condom on, she holds him by the base and climbs on top, eases him into her artificial moisture. Jake groans, grits his teeth and clenches his fists. His whole body is stiff. Waves of ecstasy run through him, up and down his limbs and in his stomach, make his breath catch. Joanie presses her body against him, her small breasts flat against his chest. She holds him tight and bounces her hips, and Jake can feel, though he fights against it, that this is not going to la
st very long.
He finishes with a choked cry, his tight body goes limp on the bed, feels like he is pumping so much fluid into the condom it is sure to burst. The act complete, business done, Joanie gets off him, off the bed, steps to one side, grabs her clothes from the floor and puts them back on.
Aware of his nudity, and despite everything still embarrassed by it, Jake rolls onto his side, his back to her, struggles to pull off the condom. He swings his legs over the edge of the mattress, sits up to better get at it. It isn’t as full as he’d expected it to be. Off, pinched between his fingers, he doesn’t know what to do with it. There is a wastebasket nearby.
“Put a knot in it,” Joanie says.
He flinches, does as she says, drops it into the basket. There are tissues there, but no condoms. Joanie throws his clothes onto the bed beside him. He flinches again, won’t turn, won’t look at her, picks his items of clothing up one at a time and pulls them on, starts with his underwear.
“Told you I’d be gentle,” Joanie says. “You gonna talk to me now?”
Jake gets dressed, self-conscious. He knows she is watching him. When he doesn’t respond she doesn’t talk to him again. Fully clothed, he sits there, his back still to her, not sure what to do next, wondering if he should just leave. He wants to turn, to talk to her, to say something.
Looking back, she isn’t there. The bulb is on in the bathroom, its light shining out through the open door. He didn’t hear her go in there, but his concentration while redressing had been deafening.
He stands, looks to the door. It would be easy to go, to just leave. He doesn’t need to say anything to her, and she has afforded him this opportunity to make his escape. No doubt she senses his trepidation, his nerves and shyness. Making for the door, he gets as far as the foot of the bed, stops, turns back and goes into the bathroom’s light and sees her at the open window, her back to him, blowing cigarette smoke out into the darkness. In the light he can see that her underwear is marked with stains he doesn’t want to think about. Her bare pale legs are dotted with bruises and a couple of small scratches. On her right ass cheek, barely covered by her underwear, there is a red bruise that has the shape of a handprint. Her right leg is bent slightly at the knee, and as he watches her she shifts her weight, straightens out her right leg and bends the left. If she feels his eyes on her she does not turn.
