by Matthew Crow
“Eve,” I said, popping the cork of a second bottle. “You’re straying, sweetheart.”
“Sorry, so anyway I get to this town a broken woman, cold and hungry, and then I met Mr Parker and it hit me all over again.”
“Not another millionaire? Eve, darling no-one’s that lucky.”
“No, he wasn’t a millionaire. Far from it. He lived by his wits though. Minor investments. Worked in delivery and distribution, with a sideline in the hospitality industry. So we started going together, dates and the like. He was real gentlemanly. Set me up working in one bar of his. I good as lived with him from that very first night. Only it didn’t last so long.”
“How come?”
“Well, Mr Parker and I, we had our love, and that was that. But food don’t come for free, so after some negotiations I agreed to expand my facilities within the outfit. I became more active in my role as hostess.”
“He had you turning tricks?”
“I was no whore. I was an escort. Most of the time it was my company they wanted, that’s what Mr Parker said. Of course at first I didn’t know how it’d work, what with us being so madly in love, but he said that it wasn’t personal, just business. So long as I knew where the line was in my head then there weren’t no issue. We were exclusive in our hearts V, that’s what you have to understand.”
She spoke with such certainty, as though privy to some higher truth that I wanted to take her in my arms and never let go. Life could never be as sweet a place as Eve’s own mind. It seemed so tragic that she ever had to step so much as a foot in the real world.
“Only I was under the impression that my... dalliances... were strictly for profit. We were going to buy ourselves a hotel one day. Somewhere real nice, with a pool. That was until I walked in on Mr Parker riding Cindy like a bronco.”
“Who’s Cindy?”
“She was our treasurer.”
“Then what happened?”
“Not all that much. Cindy spat the billiard ball he’d jammed in her mouth so far it broke the bottle on the bar. Poor thing.”
I lit a cigarette and passed it to Eve in the hope that it might calm her into a more coherent train of thought. “So how did you get to the money?”
“By accident of course. I don’t need money, long as I got a roof over my head and enough for the occasional bottle of wine I’m the happiest girl there ever was. But I stormed out of that place madder than hell and twice as sad.”
“Then what?”
“I got in his car and left him in the dirt screaming for me to come back. See I’d grown stronger since Mr Gooberman. Learnt the hard way. I was nobody’s fool by then, so I took his car and went to the house, grabbed a suitcase for my necessities and fled. I sold the car. Kept the bracelet he gave me though, look.” She held out her arm for examination and a gold chain of charms and talismans that she had, without me realising, been wearing the whole time I knew her, shuffled around her bony wrist.
“It’s pretty.”
“Damn right. Only by the time I got myself sorted and unpacked the suitcase was still heavy. Turns out it was one of his work-cases. He had them made special, you look inside and it’s like there’s nothing there. But if you really look there’s a whole other world behind that cloth – you just got to know where to pull. And if you find that then all the secrets fall out like glitter.”
“His money?”
“And the rest.”
“What?”
“Oh Verity let’s not play dumb,” she said, drying her eyes once and for all. “Mr Parker was not what you’d call by the book. I found me a gun for insurance and met some nice boys who promised to turn my little bundle into cold hard cash, and boy did they make good!”
The next morning we rose slowly and without words. Eventually, having splashed my face and slurped a gallon of water along with a fistful of white pills, which I took to be medicinal, took hold of Eve like I was readying a Heimlich manoeuvre.
“So, we gonna talk about what we’re going to do about our little dilemma?”
She groaned and turned over to face me. “Yeah, I guess. Just let me sort myself out first,” she stood up unsurely, before gambolling her way to the bathroom.
I sat and smoked three cigarettes to the nauseating sound of her retching. That vomit slapped the bowl like the tide crushing the bow of a ship over and over again. At first it made my own stomach churn, as well it might. But before long I got used to it. And then she came back, red eyed and revived, like a woman reborn.
She got back into bed and curled next to me. Astringent peppermint blanketed the sour bile of her breath.
“So, what now?”
“Those boys will come after me, and I don’t want to be anywhere near you when they do. You’re the only person I’ve ever known won’t break my heart.”
“It’d break my heart for you to go,” I said, channelling maternal authority as best I could. “Whatever will be will be, that’s my motto. And for a long time it was yours. I mean you’ve been living with this since the day I met you, seems silly to start getting nervy now.”
“I didn’t know you when I met you. Now I’d die if I knew anything I did were to hurt you in some way.”
“You got nothing to be scared of,” I stood up and pulled her by the arms until she was facing me. “I never had a sister, but I sure would like one. What do you say?”
At this Eve smiled and gripped my hands tighter and tighter.
“So, from now on it’s us, you got that? Wherever you’ve been, I’ve been. Deal?”
Eve nodded furiously, wiping her eyes with the cuff of her gown.
“Now,” I said, edging my way towards the kitchen. “How about you clear up that tub and run me a bath. Nothing like a hot soak to clear a girl’s head.”
“And then what?”
“Then? Well then we start enjoying ourselves.”
So that was us for the foreseeable future. Eve loosened up the moment she realised just how much fun two girls like us could have in a town like this. Of course the couture was not exactly abundant, so we became more and more elaborate with our spending. That’s the beauty of going from no money to big money in an instant I’ve found; you’d sooner see it disappear within the day than spend one second worrying about it. We waved goodbye to those dollars like they were the worst houseguests you could ever meet.
First we were cunning, though. Eve was still fussing about those boys coming back to claim what was theirs, so we split the bundles in case of emergency. Handfuls of notes were stuffed into every hiding place we could think of. Each fissure in the couch was cemented with a tightly wrapped stack of twenties. The oven - used solely for storage anyway - was scattered with discarded fifties. Into the backs of drawers we pressed hundreds and hundreds of dollars, and slept giddy and restless atop the crunching mattress now engorged with Eve’s nest egg. Of course she was careful to keep a small amount aside, which she kept in the suitcase.
“That’s the exact amount I found in there. The rest is just profit. If they ever come back they’ll be none the wiser.”
I shrugged and continued jamming notes into the urn that once held my mother; a tragic loss twice over, thanks to one overzealous vacuuming route and a less than stable plinth.
Before long we began to tire of the boutiques and salons. Eve and I were never the pastel types. Didn’t have the figure for one thing. Those two-piece and pearls never quite sat comfortably on our hourglass bodies, no more than the tastefully neutral make-up the lady at the brightest cosmetic counter hawked. Eve and I were built for vivid hues; a green swathe here, a touch of blue there, two beautiful scarlet smudges to X-mark our lips. It was as if we weren’t painted every colour of the rainbow we were scared we’d disappear forever.
Our favourite trick was the hotel. We’d march right up there, sometimes still dressed in work’s clothes, (or lack thereof as was more often the case) and book the biggest suite they had available. We’d always choose pseudonyms. This was Eve’s idea though it thrilled m
e too. We had no reason to lie. It was all just part of the game. We’d decide as we approached what roles we were playing that day and behave accordingly. First we were the rock-star spouses seeking refuge from the tour bus. Then we were landscape artists exploring new vistas. There were the happily married couple on the look out for a surrogate, ruined somewhat by an impromptu demonstration by the bellboy as to his capacity for the job. There were more, of course – the merry widows, the gay divorcees, the Sapphic supermodel and her controlling partner, the lottery winners, the undercover officers...
The funny thing was we’d only ever spend a few hours in our rented suites. We’d order enough food to feed a small army. Unravel in the bathtub as bubbles popped and tickled our ears. And then return, rested and replenished, before the dusk had so much as a chance to settle.
“We hope you enjoyed your stay ladies, and look forward to seeing you again.”
In those strange, halcyon days with Eve I got to know her as well as I’ve ever known anyone. For a girl who went to such lengths to appear open she was surprisingly full of her own troubles, which she doled out in manageable chunks. Her lovers’ names were relayed like a nursery rhyme. Give her a drink and she could work her way through the alphabet twice over without ever having to pause for thought. But her life before that was as cloudy as a poem and not nearly as lyrical. From what I gather her parents had been as neglectful as two people can be without input from various authorities.
‘It was no hardship, though,’ she’d tell me, combing her hair in the giant orb of the mirror in the presidential suite. ‘They had their lives and I had mine. It worked just fine for all involved. I guess you could say it did me good. One thing’s for sure, I’m all my own invention. Never had no-one tell me what to do from day one. If anything I’m more myself than those kids whose backgrounds were peeled straight off a Christmas card.’
I found glamour in the poverty of her upbringing; the scavenging for food; the endless days and nights when her whereabouts was not once called into question. I myself experienced no such hardship. I neither went without nor grew to expect life handed to me on a plate. Jealous, too, that she seemed to know her own mind so well. Eve was her own creation, right down to the bone. Whereas I suppose I always felt like somewhere along the way my character became consumed by the rest of the world, like I was translucent, taking on any hue that shone my way. I was a mousy child. Round faced and long limbed, with a shyness that bordered on chronic when faced with strangers. Pretty, I suppose, if I ever thought to make anything of myself, though I seldom did. It was like I’d been made just that little bit too diluted, in my mind at least. As a result I began to take on scraps of others as if to make myself whole, to calcify what I had into something resembling a personality. Not in a sinister way of course. I’d affect an accent I picked up from the more exotic girls at school, or declare undying love for the preferred foodstuff my favourite cartoon characters. Only on occasion would it grow to extremes. One summer I was hospitalised and observed by the finest psychiatrists my mother could find when I limited my intake solely to chocolate chip cookies and root beer. And there was a minor furore when I took not just the hairstyle, but the boyfriend of my high school best friend.
On the whole it was harmless, though. In truth I still feel myself doing it. With Eve, with J, even with you. Somewhere between introduction and maintenance of any relationship I feel myself altering to the rhythms of my chosen other. My speech shifts in its pattern. My manner morphed so slightly it would be unnoticeable to anyone but me. Stripped to the essentials I suppose I’m little more than a collage of each and every person I’ve ever come across in my life; I paste on their attributes, good or bad, until I begin to fit the mould. Of course the problem comes when alone and not always so sure as to how I ought to act. What would X do... I find myself thinking, in supermarket lines when I realise my wallet’s back at the trailer, or when answering the door to bible salesmen. Eve had no such issues. She was herself and could be nothing else. All I can hope is that a little part of her lives on in me, whether she knows it or not. The world was a better place with her in it. Or my world was, at very least.
As we continued spending like sailors on shore leave Eve’s presence at The Iguana Den became less and less.
“You sure you don’t want to come? Even just to watch?” I said halfway to the car, thirty minutes late and appropriately harangued.
“Maybe tomorrow,” she said, unfolding the sheets of paper with ink stained hands. “What do you think of these lonely hearts ads? You think they ever lead to real love?”
“I think you’ve had dumber ideas, in the grand scheme. Why won’t you come?”
“I’m just nervous is all,” she said, reaching for the bottle.
“Eve, those boys were going to come after you they’d have done it by now.”
“You don’t know them. These boys are real rattlesnakes. They’ll sit and wait until you’re in licking distance. That’s when they strike.”
“I think you’re thinking too much about this. The hard part’s over. Now it’s just up to us to enjoy the aftermath.”
“Well I’m taking no chances. I want you to pack that pistol. And come straight back home afterwards.”
“I promise. See you in the morning.”
Eve nodded though did not respond.
That night J was in the audience. This I did not realise until I was up on stage, half blind by the lighting and suddenly aware of the owl’s eyes that twinkled in the darkness.
He sat on a table with Kingpin, I noticed. Kingpin was not what you’d call the most welcoming of hosts. Nor was he the type to encourage spontaneous guests. This seemed to pose little issue to J. The pair sat quietly, as both were inclined to do, occasionally whispering to one another. Kingpin’s eyes remained glued to the stage. J was edgier than I’d seen him before. His eyes scanned the room like he was searching for a needle in a haystack. It was as the sound of the crowd dipped and the music rose that each and every piece of the puzzle began to fit into place, and I felt my two lives collide into one another with such a violent jolt that both were irrevocably damaged. Those long nights, the gilded ache of courtship, that sweet, handsome face and the future that existed only in my head... it had all been a lie. He was here for Eve. Proof was redundant. You’ve said it yourself Jonah – some things you simply know.
I felt my heart break on that stage and it is yet to be fully fixed. Lust does terrible things to you Jonah, and love? Love eats you alive and tells you it’s what you wanted.
I snake my way to the centre of the stage. All I know is that I have to move and I have to make it believable. The rest will fall into place, of that I am sure. But for now I have to perform and I have to do so for my life.
The music rises and I know it’s now or never.
He watches me as I wind down the silver pole; my knees scraping into ugly marks that no-one can see through the blue haze. J sits back in his chair and pulls his hat over his eyes as I pour wax down my body. It stings, but only for a second.
What feels like only seconds later, I make my way from the stage to the sound of their applause. The noise heartens me, but deep down I remain forlorn that I was unable to clock J’s exact reaction.
In the dressing room Miss Jemima flounces over to me and I allow her to kiss me on the cheek. “Darling, you did it again!”
I grab my belongings as quickly as possible. “I have to go.”
“What in the world is wrong? Here, sit down,” she says, pulling a cushioned chair from beneath the laced derriere of one of the new girls.
“No,” I say, wrapping my coat around me. My eyes beginning to water, my voice breaking. “I got to go. I’m so sorry Jemima, I don’t know what’s come over me.”
“Girls like you know exactly what’s wrong. You just think it’s impolite to say as much. I’m right, aren’t I?” By this point she has taken my arm gently and led me into an abandoned corridor through which the noise of the crowd plays out like a scream underw
ater. “You’re ever in trouble you know I can help.”
“I know,” I say, wiping all traces of emotion from my eyes. “I know and thank you, but I really think I just need to go home. Eve’s still sick and, well... ”
“Darling there’s nothing in this life worth ruining your make-up for,” Miss Jemima coos, touching the edge of my eye with her embossed handkerchief. “And you know where I am, ever you need me. We take good care of our girls here. Good care.”
I nod and kiss her once on the cheek. “Thank you.”
And with that I am gone.
Outside a breeze picks up and the dancing sands stick to the oil on my legs. A hand touches my shoulder as I reach the car. “Come back to my place,” he says, sheepishly, as though he had never been with a woman before.
I contemplate killing him. I swear to God, Jonah, the thought crossed my mind and lasted longer than it should in any sane woman. The gun’s cold weight presses heavily against my thigh and I feel my hand stroking its outline. That would have solved our problems, though I suppose it would have been as useful as covering house mess with a filthy sheet.
I also want him to fuck me. To tell me he loves me too, that for all the wrong he’s done, for all the lies he’s told, he’s found himself drawn to me like no other girl he ever met. I feel frightened and for the first time in my life I know how it feels to truly hate myself.
“J,” I say as casually as ever, opening the car door. “What in the world is a nice boy like you doing in a place like this?”
“Just following a hot lead. Good friend of mine recommended the establishment. I think it’s exactly what I’m looking for.”
“Well now you’ve found it I’d hate to distract you. You take care now.”
“What’s this?” he grabs my arm, gently, but with a strength that suggests I may need backup if I decide to elaborate on any notions of murder I might have had. “You spend weeks and weeks teasing me, now I get the cold shoulder. God damn it, Verity, I don’t know you at all, do I?”
“It’s late, is all,” I say, trying my hardest to ease my arm from his grip without him noticing. “And I’m sure you’ll attest to my claims of a strenuous evening. These legs don’t dance themselves.”
