by B. K. Rivers
“Nice to meet you, Randy. I’ve got an itch I need to scratch in the worst kind of way, you know?”
Randy smiles and peels out of the parking lot, taking me to God knows where. The streetlights are a blur as we drive through the windy roads, down a hill, across a bridge, and then I’m way beyond lost. My sense of direction flew out the window along with my first chance at normal I’ve had in years.
We pull up to a white wooden clapboard house with darkened windows and muddy brown grass that looks like it hasn’t been mowed in months. The sidewalk leading to the front steps is broken and crumbling in patches where the brown grass has snaked its way through, like splintered fingers reaching from an earthly grave. Randy’s bouncing on the balls of his feet as he leaps up the four steps and then impatiently knocks on the broken screen door. The interior door opens a crack and hazy blue eyes stare at us through the slice of an opening. If it’s at all possible for eyes to smile, these do.
“Randy!” The eyes became the face of a blonde-haired woman in her twenties. The makeup around her eyes looks like she smudged it on with a sponge, heavy and thick and pooling around the corners of her lids. Some of the black liner has dripped along the sides of her nose, no doubt where tears fell from inhaling too sharply. My fingers begin to twitch and I have the strongest urge to push past Randy just to get inside and take a hit from whatever she’s got. The blonde opens the door fully and ushers us both inside the dilapidated house.
“Hey, Elise,” Randy says as the woman pulls him in for an overly friendly hug.
“God, it’s been what, almost a year?” she asks as she pushes away, leaving her hands on his shoulders. She looks him over with a wry smile and pulls him close and plays tonsil hockey. To say I am uncomfortable is an understatement. I don’t know either of these people and usually it’s me doing the saliva swapping. I guess I know how my bandmates must feel.
Randy and Elise finish making out after the third time I clear my throat. I’m ready to get my twitching hands on…something.
“Check this out,” Randy says as he claps me on the back. “Jordan Goddamn Capshaw got in my cab.” A smile spreads across his face, and Elise gapes at me.
“Nice to meet you,” I say, which breaks the awkward tension in the room.
“So sorry,” Elise says as she pulls me in for a hug. “I’m just so…I don’t even know.”
“I get that a lot.”
Randy and Elise lead me through the decrepit house, which is probably a compliment. The rooms are dull and gray, cracks in the wooden floors, plaster peeling off in the corners of the rooms, and the furniture looks like it’s been through several owners and possibly picked up off a street corner. The kitchen is the hub of the house, it seems. There are five others, three guys and two girls, sitting around a table, smoking hash and playing poker. You can always tell who has been using longer by the dullness around their eyes and the sag of their cheeks. Most of the people in this house have been using for a number of years, at least as long as I have, if not longer.
Elise introduces me to everyone—Nick, Jack, Evan, Rachel, and Jo, short for Joanna. Apparently Nick and Jack are brothers from Portland, Oregon who moved to Warner a couple years ago to work at some paper factory. Evan and Rachel have been dating, semi-exclusively, for the past four years and he works at an ad agency, she at a bakery. Jo rents a room in this house and is going to beauty school. Elise’s parents own the house but live in Montana. They bought the house when Elise was six and then moved to Montana when Elise started college. She has yet to graduate but has plans to finish her major in pharmacology in a year or so.
During introductions there was a lot of swearing and dudes floating around, along with several offers of hash.
“Sorry, I don’t smoke,” I say, gesturing to my neck. “Hurts the vocals.”
Jo stands, offers me her seat, and moves around me. “I’ll go get the candy. Be right back.” Jo is slender and exotic with her naturally sun-kissed skin and sleek chestnut hair that hangs halfway down her back. She’s wearing tight, dark jeans that hug her round ass and a low cut v-neck sweater that accentuates her more than ample breasts.
“You play poker, Jordan?” Jack asks as he begins to deal a new hand with the worn blue deck. The shuffling of the cards distracts me from watching Jo walk away. When she comes back, in her hand is a plastic bag with the candy—cocaine. My heart speeds up and my mouth goes dry. This night is beginning to turn out better than I had hoped.
“The game’s simple. Fifty bucks buys you five lines of coke, ante is half a line. Bet as you will.” Jacks places the remaining deck at his left and the cutting begins. There are eight of us playing, and adding up the lines being cut, they have a shitload of coke. Jo’s lines are straight and precise and the five lines she gives me look like the finest white gold, a treasure I’ve been missing. Everyone antes up and the game begins.
Chapter 22
It’s been thirteen days since I decided to get clean and stay sober, and the hell if I know if it was the right choice. Something like this should be obvious, I would think, but to me it’s a gray haze that just keeps growing thicker. As the game progresses, I find my lines growing smaller, but the poker pot growing larger. There are two other players besides me still in the game, and by God I’m going to win the pot even if it kills me.
Jo left her seat next to me, abandoning it for my lap about ten minutes ago. I can’t tell if she’s just as anxious for a line as I am or if she’s hoping I’ll throw her over my shoulder and take her to a dark corner. One of her hands keeps grazing over my Johnson, not that I particularly mind, but my thoughts wander to Jemma and then guilt builds in my chest each time I let my body respond to Jo’s not so subtle advances.
Nick goes all in, which means Rachel will either follow suit or fold, and with my full house, I’m pretty confident I’ve won the hand. Both Nick and I look to Rachel, who contemplates her cards, shrugs, and uses her cards to push the remaining line of coke into the pot. Shit, I was hoping she’d fold.
“All right, guys, let’s see them,” I say as I push in my line and a half and lay down my full house. Rachel has two pairs, Jacks and fives, and she pouts a little at her loss. Nick grinds his teeth and lays down his hand. He has a full house as well, but low cards.
“I’ve got shit for luck,” he says as he gathers the cards. Elise brings a plastic bag to the table and then pushes the fine white powder into it, careful not to move too fast, causing the coke to create a cloud.
“Winner gets first line,” Elise says with a toothy smile. She hands me a twenty dollar bill, which I promptly roll into a short straw.
“It’s been a while,” I say as I pour enough coke on the table to form my line, funny how the rolled twenty is about the same size as the line. The group laughs, easing my hesitancy. Jo squirms in my lap, rocking her ass against my hips, making her intentions clear. I’m beginning to feel a little awkward here, so I hurry my line and Jo moves aside as I lean over, hold my left nostril, and inhale sharply through the twenty.
The powder burns the lining of my nostril and then I sniff the remaining line through the left and sit back, arms behind my head, and watch as the others prep their lines. It doesn’t take long to start feeling the effects and oh God does it feel good. My entire body relaxes with an intense calm, almost like I’m floating in warm water. I know no fear or pain, and as Jo sits back against me, easing her hand over my jeans, I’m through denying myself the pleasure of her.
My hands glide down her thighs and then slide back up as she rocks her hips against me. “Come on,” Jo whispers as she stands and pulls me to my feet. She guides me down the narrow hallway to a bedroom decorated with floral wallpaper that’s peeling in places. Her bed is just a mattress and box spring lying on the floor, blankets sprawling across the plaid sheets. She closes the door behind us and pulls me against her. Her hands are quick to find the button of my jeans and then her fingers slide down and I moan into her hungry mouth.
“I’ve got the good st
uff in here,” she says against my lips, and my interest is definitely piqued.
“Oh yeah?”
Her hand grips me firmly and my stomach tenses.
“But first…” she says as she removes her hand and tugs down my jeans. I kick them off and follow her across the room. She opens a drawer next to her bed and pulls out a small clear bag with more white powder. “Bombita,” she says as she shakes the bag.
“Holy shit, how did you get that?” Coke and heroin mixed is not something you come by every day.
“I know a guy who knows a guy.” She shrugs. I sit with her on the edge of her bed and watch as she slides out of her jeans and removes her shirt. “It’s best if we do body lines. You go first.” She places the bag in my hand and lies down on the bed, raising her hands above her head. Her skin is nicely tanned all over, possibly natural, I can’t tell. And at this point, I couldn’t care less. Her stomach is flat and the perfect place to do a line. I shake out half the bag, form it into a short, narrow line, and lean down, cover my left nostril, and slowly inhale, savoring the upcoming high. I follow up my line by licking the remaining bits of powder from her stomach and delight in the goose bumps that form on her skin.
“My turn,” she says, pushing me down onto the bed. She peels off my shirt, raises my hands above my head, and then straddles my hips. She’s sitting over me in nothing but her black thong and hot pink bra and all comprehensible thoughts have flown out the window. My body is tingling from the coke and my senses are on full alert. While she does her line, her hand is working me and it’s a lot to handle.
“God, this shit is good.”
“Mmhmm,” she says as she runs her tongue down my stomach and then takes me into her mouth.
Chapter 23
Jemma
It’s been two weeks since I left Jordan in the parking lot of the apothecary, ten days since I received my cell in the mail, and six minutes since my stomach rolled up to my chest when I remember how his lips felt on mine. The short note that accompanied my cell phone sits on the top of my dresser in my bedroom and I have it memorized.
Sorry I’m such an asshole. Thanks for letting me borrow your phone. I’ve included my new number in your address book. If you ever forgive me, shoot me a text or something.
–Jordan
Heat rises to my cheeks in anger each time I think about shooting him a text or something. Why would I ever invite his mess and drama back into my life? I’ve never met someone who has the ability to make you feel so good about yourself one minute and then tear you down the next. Gran and I don’t need him around to make our lives miserable.
At least that’s what I keep telling myself.
It’s not that I really want Jordan’s drama around, but I miss the idea of him. The idea of spending time with someone I care about, being intimate with that person. Someone to shed my fears with.
The parking lot of the apothecary is fairly empty, no sight of Jordan anywhere. Not that I really expected him to be sitting on the curb, waiting for me to show up and take him back home. Though I admit I am slightly disappointed. Shrugging off my bit of sadness, I walk into the apothecary and Angie greets me with a wide grin. Her hair is pulled up into a messy topknot, accentuating her narrow face and angled cheekbones. Her white pharmacy coat makes her skin look pale.
“Hey, Jemma!” Angie says eagerly. “I was wondering if I’d see you today.”
“Yeah, same as every other Friday,” I say begrudgingly. The shop is empty save for her and me, most likely due to the time of my arrival. I usually show up around lunchtime, but today I wanted to get there as they opened so I could go get my hair done.
“So…” Angie fidgets with her lapel and then words spill from her lips like a waterfall. “Holy shit you were totally making out with Jordan Capshaw in the parking lot two weeks ago.” Her eyes are as wide as saucers as she looks at me like we’re the best of friends. “What’s the deal with that?”
A snort-like laugh escapes my mouth as I lean my elbows on the high counter. “God, I wish I knew.” Sighing and then remembering the taste of his kiss, again, makes my cheeks flush.
“That good, huh?” Angie sighs dreamily and then leans up against the counter. “You’ve got to spill, girl. And by spill, I mean you and I are going out tonight.”
Tonight? What do I have to lose? She’s been bugging me to hang out, and I have nothing else to do tonight. Why am I having to talk myself into going out with her?
“Sure. What time do you get off work?” I can’t take it back now.
“I’m done at five and I know this great place where we can drink heavily and dance carelessly. I’m sure that will help you clear away any thoughts about Jordan Crapshaw.”
“Capshaw,” I say, correcting her.
“Yeah, that’s what I said.”
We make plans to meet up after she gets off work, and since I’m wearing yoga pants and a sweater I decide to buy something more going out appropriate after my haircut. The place she’s taking us is an all-ages nightclub somewhere in Warner where my age and drinking won’t be a problem apparently.
I hate shopping for new clothes, I really do, and I wish Trish were here with me. Only one more week and then I’ll have her for five days. She could always find something to make me look amazing. It takes me forever and dozens of clothing stores before I settle on something that will work for tonight. When I pull up to Angie’s house on the South Hill I’m in awe of her place. It’s a single-level red brick home with white trimmed windows. Black shutters adorn each of the windows, making the house look like it has defining eyelashes. The lawn is beautifully manicured and the curved sidewalk is crisp and lined with matching red bricks.
I study the planters beside the door while I raise an ornate brass knocker up and down. A few seconds go by and then a wet-haired, towel-wearing Angie greets me at the door. She grabs my wrist and pulls me through the doorway and I’m whirled inside.
“Sorry, Caleb insisted I shower before we go out.”
“Caleb?” I ask as I look around. The floors are a dark, shiny hardwood with hardly a scratch, and the furniture is homey yet elegant.
“My boyfriend. This is his house. Well, our house, I guess. I live here too.” She smiles and drags me through the house and into a large bedroom. The sheets on the bed are a mess, and I assume the guy sitting cross-legged on the bed wearing only flannel pajama pants and a crooked smile is Caleb. He briskly waves his hand and then pulls out a laptop and starts typing away on the keys.
“Caleb, this is Jemma. Jemma, Caleb. Now help me finish getting ready.” Angie sorts through a number of outfits and settles on a short black skirt and emerald green halter top that makes her eyes and hair pop. Her makeup is subtle and she fixes her hair into loose curls. Thank goodness Megan, my hairstylist, made my hair look good, otherwise I would have turned around and walked out of Angie’s house.
“I love what you did with your hair,” Angie says as she runs her fingers over my shortened locks. “Your hair was always pretty, but this makes you look so much more elegant.”
“Thanks,” I say, feeling more confident. In her guest bathroom, I change into the outfit I bought—a sapphire blue strapless dress that hugs my figure. With my now shoulder-length wavy hair I feel really pretty and ready for this night. I don’t even remember the last time I did something like this and I make a promise to myself to let loose and have fun. A couple drinks and some dancing and no more. I strap on the pair of nude wedges I bought to go with my dress and then put on the dangly drop pearl earrings I bought, and for the first time in years I feel like a complete package. Staring at myself in the mirror I feel the need to give myself a little pep talk. My reflection talks back, telling me to stop worrying so much and that it’s time to let loose a little. I haven’t had real fun in ages.
Angie and Caleb, who is now dressed in Wrangler jeans and a black t-shirt, wait for me by the front door. Angie smiles brightly when I walk up to them and she gives me two thumbs up.
“Girl, yo
u clean up good! Doesn’t she look amazing, Caleb?”
“Yeah, she looks great.” Caleb avoids looking at me and instead guides Angie out the door, and I trail behind like an adoring puppy. If I would have known Caleb was going to go with us, I might have said I was busy tonight. But, I’m here now, he’s here, and so is the cab they called. All three of us pile into the backseat, Angie in the middle, and we head off.
“Here,” Angie says, pulling out a small silver flask from her tiny purse. “It looks like you could use a head start.” She unscrews the lid and hands the flask to me.
“What is it?” I put it to my lips and take a small swig.
“Oh come on, what was that?” Angie scoffs. “It’s just Jack Daniels. Take a big girl sip.”
The whiskey burns my throat as it slides down and settles in my stomach, leaving lingering warmth. I giggle a little and hand back the flask. “Thanks,” I say with a grin I can hardly control.
We pull up to the club and exit the cab. According to Angie, I only needed my ID and a twenty-dollar bill, which will cover my share of the cab fare and a couple drinks. Both of those are safely tucked away in my bra. The windows of the club are blacked out and the vibrations of the music thumping can be felt from across the street. Angie’s hand is wrapped around Caleb’s and I feel like the third wheel. I shake it off as the three of us walk across the busy street and enter the club. There is a bouncer outside sitting on a three-legged stool with arms the size of Texas folded across his chest. He doesn’t ask for ID, just nods as we enter the door. A thrill of excitement and nervousness jolts through me and I have a strong desire to take another shot of the whiskey in Angie’s flask.
“Let’s go grab that table over there,” Angie shouts into my ear. We walk across the floor and sit down at a large corner booth. The lights are dim and the music is pumping but there aren’t many people here. Of course, it is just after seven, and the night is still young.
