by Rob Hart
But it’s not.
Weeks now he’s been looking at it, he knows every shade of wood, the shape of the spigot and its distance from the front door.
He knows he stuck to a straight line as best he could. And yet there it is.
From the inside he hears an electric hum.
He touches his hand to the cross and steps forward, plants his boot on the first step as daylight lifts a tentative eyebrow over the horizon. His body screaming at him to run in the other direction, even though he knows it won’t change anything.
Brad is sitting at the table in his dark green shirt and pants. No blood. Just those big wet eyes staring at him, petting the cat, curled up and purring under his hand.
A smooth-stern voice buzzes from the radio. “… the men were found in a cabin, apparently starved to death…”
“There is no lake,” Brad says. “Now do you understand?”
Ginny Tonic holds out her left hand and finds a splotch of blood on the green gemstone of her peridot ring. She pulls it off her finger, intent on buffing it clean on the hem of her dress, but instead discovers a jagged edge on the tip of her crimson fingernail.
She shakes her head. “More’s the pity.”
Then she turns to the man bound in duct tape, a black bandana crammed halfway down his throat. She holds up the broken nail into the harsh light of the bare bulb buzzing in the ceiling. “You are going to pay dearly for that.”
The man fights against the tape, the muscles in his neck taught and bulging. He squints away the blood trickling from his hairline. The creaking wood of the chair bounces off the basement’s stone walls. The room reeks of sweat and stale water.
Ginny turns to Jacqueline Coke. The glitter in Jacqueline’s blonde wig scatters the light. The young queen’s contact-lens green eyes look at the floor, the wall, the light. At everything but Ginny, who’s shaking her head.
“This is getting out of hand. Now I’m breaking nails.” Ginny pauses, rubs two fingers on the bridge of her nose. “Tell me again what happened.”
Jacqueline lingers in the shadows, speaking so soft Ginny can’t hear over the scraping and struggling of their captive.
Ginny shakes her head. “Darling, please. Chin out, adult voice. Speak like you have something to say.”
Jacqueline clears her throat and starts again. “I was making the buy like you told me to, Ginny. Johnny only had half because he said there was a new guy in town.”
“Spreading the wealth,” Ginny says. “So generous. Do continue.”
Jacqueline’s words stumble out in stops and starts. She fights to maintain the feminine lilt of her voice, but bass-driven syllables slip out. “I was walking to the car and Samson saw this guy following me. He works for the guy who took our half. So we-- I-- thought it was best to bring him to you.”
Ginny nods, walks over to the man in the chair. She puts her hand on his shoulder and squeezes. “And you brought him straight to me, correct?”
“Of course, Ginny. I thought that’s what you would want.”
“It’s what I would have wanted.”
Jacqueline cringes. “Ginny.”
“Straight to me.” Ginny flips open her cell phone. “And here, I have a text from Samson saying you got here four hours ago. Which means this man has been sitting here for four hours.” She snaps the phone closed. “What kind of host makes a guest wait four hours?”
“When we came back, you were busy. I thought you don’t like to be disturbed when you’re busy.”
“Except for something like this. You should have told me right away.”
“Please don’t be mad, Ginny. I just...you were in a meeting with the district leader from Harlem and I thought you didn’t want to be disturbed during your meetings and I just...I’m sorry.”
Ginny places a hand on Jacqueline’s elbow and smiles. “You’re still learning, darling. In the future, you need to tell me about these things much sooner. But you did the right thing.”
Jacqueline brings her hand to her mouth. “Oh, Ginny, you scared me. I was so scared just now that you were unhappy.”
“Don’t misunderstand me. I am unhappy. But you’re still learning.” She moves up Jacqueline’s arm, pressing a nail into the exposed flesh of her shoulder. “Don’t let it happen again.”
Then Ginny leans down to the man bound to the chair. He’s handsome in a Wall Street way, his Brooks Brothers suit cut clean to his stocky frame. Ginny runs her hand along the wet lapel. “Pity the blood.”
She turns her attention back to Jacqueline, who’s shaking so hard she’s vibrating. The new queens take so long to break in, but this one had seemed so much more promising. Still, no reason to give up on her yet.
Ginny says, “Darling, this gentleman and I need to have a talk. I think you should stay, so you can learn.” Ginny smiles for effect, pats the shoulder of the bound man. He moves away like her hand burns. “Jacqui dear, would you like to stay?”
Jacqueline freezes. Not the response Ginny was looking for. Hesitation won’t do, not for this job. Ginny is drafting the want-ad in her head when Jacqueline nods.
“Good girl,” Ginny says. Then she turns to the man in the chair. “I’m going to take this gag out of your mouth. You are going to play nice.”
The man shakes his head in what looks like a nod, then juts his chin forward. Ginny pulls out the cloth and the man coughs like he’s trying to clear a milkshake from his lungs.
Ginny snaps her fingers. “Water.”
Jacqueline appears with a half-empty bottle and tips it to the man’s mouth. He drinks the little bit that doesn’t splash down his face, takes three deep breaths.
Then he hits Ginny on the cheek with a wad of spit.
The guy takes a few more wheezing breaths and says, “Fucking faggot.”
Ginny can feel the blood rushing to her face but she ignores it. She pulls a handkerchief from her sequined evening bag and delicately places it against her face, blotting away as much spit as she can without smearing her foundation.
Jacqueline’s voice is barely above a whisper. “I’m so sorry, Ginny. He shouldn’t have. I should have stopped him.”
Ginny shakes her head and drops the handkerchief to the floor. She places a thin cigarette between her ruby lips. Jacqueline’s hand appears under the flame of a chrome Zippo.
The man and Jacqueline hold their breath.
Finally, Ginny says, “I did not appreciate that.”
The man says, “I don’t give a fuck. If someone didn’t already take your balls, I’d slice them off myself.”
Ginny rubs the bridge of her nose. “Christfuckingdammit. I will never, ever understand why I need to explain this as often as I do.” She grabs a folding chair from the corner and drags it, screeching, across the floor. She sits on the edge and stretches the hem of her cream-colored Zac Posen dress over her knees. “Honey, I am not a transsexual. I am a drag queen. There is a difference.”
“Still a fag.”
“You are not the brightest pole in the marble bush, are you?”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“Nothing. I’m testing your comprehension level. I want to make sure you understand what I’m about to say.” Ginny drops her cigarette on the floor and grinds it out under the point of a strapped Kelsi Dagger heel.
“I have a bona fide, fully-functioning penis,” she says. “Lucky for you I don’t feel inclined to prove it. But despite my penis, I like to look pretty. That doesn’t make me any less dangerous. And in fact, you should concern yourself with what a lifetime of abuse and ridicule has turned me in to. Do you understand?”
The man shakes his head. “Whatever. You’re fucking dead when I get out of here.”
“I’m terrified, completely.” Ginny leans forward and drops her voice. “Now, I need the name of your employer.”
“Who the fuck do you think you are?”
“I am Ginny Mother Fucking Tonic, and everything in this town between the Bowery Ballroom and Union Square belongs
to me. If your boss is going to work this neighborhood, then he needs to make me an offer.”
“Fuck you.”
Ginny leans back in her chair and smiles. She changes her tone, bringing the tension down a few clicks. “I know this guy you work for is new in town. No one who does business here would cross me. And your accent tells me you’re a native. Queens, I think. Logic dictates you’re a recent hire. The question you should ask right now is, have you known your boss long enough that he cares what happens to you?”
The man’s lips part, then he purses them together until they go white. He sniffs. “Don’t try to fuck with my head, faggot.”
Ginny nods, puts another cigarette in her mouth. Jacqueline lights it. Ginny takes a deep drag. “I hate that word. Not for the history or the intent. Because it lacks creativity. I’m going to get you a thesaurus for Christmas. As for right now, all I can give you is this.”
She lunges forward and places the glowing tip of her cigarette underneath the man’s left eye.
The crackle of singing flesh is quickly overtaken by a white hot scream. The man jerks back and twists his arms against the tape, trying to reach the mottled skin flecked with black ash under his eye.
Ginny puts the cigarette back in her mouth and lets it hang. “How did that feel?”
“Fuck. You.”
“You must be a wonderful conversationalist. Now, you’ve got two options before you.”
Ginny unfurls her right hand, palm up. “You can choose to play ball and I’ll let you leave here with all your parts intact.” Ginny holds up her other hand. “Or you can pursue this tough-guy routine and end up on the bottom of the East River. To be perfectly honest, it makes no difference to me.”
The man opens his mouth to say something but Ginny puts up her index finger. “I want you to think very carefully about the next thing you say. You did break one of my nails with your skull. I’m not feeling especially merciful.”
The man’s eyes dart hard to the left, at an empty space on the other side of the room. “You don’t scare me.”
“Yes, I do. Now, decide. What’s it going to be?”
The man doesn’t even think about it. He smiles like he’s proud. “I ain’t no rat.”
“More’s the pity.” Ginny turns to Jacqueline. “Darling, go upstairs. Next to my makeup kit is a toolbox. It’s blue. Inside, there’s a rotary tool. You know what that is, don’t you?”
“Yes, Ginny.”
“There’s also a little case of attachments.” She sneaks a quick smile at the man in the chair. “You know what? Just bring down the whole damn box. I’m not actually sure what I’m in the mood for.”
Jacqueline nods and bounds up the metal stairs. Ginny yells after her. “And grab a bottle of red. Cab sav, if we have any left.”
Ginny gets up, smooths the wrinkles in her dress, and walks to the stereo in the corner. She pulls the iPod from the top and runs her finger around the scroll wheel. “What are you in the mood for? I’m feeling a little jazzy, but the next hour or so is going to be very unpleasant for you, so I guess it’s only fair to let you pick the music.”
The man says nothing, just stares at the water stains on the stone wall across from him.
“Fine,” Ginny says. “I hope you like Thelonius Monk.”
The music fills the small room. Ginny snaps her fingers in time with the high notes of Bemsha Swing.
Jacqueline comes down the stairs balancing the items she was sent to fetch. As she sets the rotary tool and its attachments on the workbench, Ginny puts her mouth next to her captive’s ear. “You can consider this a valuable learning experience. For you and for my friend.”
The facade cracks. The man looks past Ginny, at Jacquelyn, with pleading eyes.
Ginny purrs in his ear. “She can’t help you.”
She sways to the workbench in time with the music, regards the attachments as though they’re a display case of diamond rings, hovering over them, afraid to commit to just one.
Then her hand darts out. She picks it up and holds it to the light.
“This one is my favorite,” she says. “The pumpkin carving attachment.”
ANOTHER DRESS, RUINED.
Ginny never had the good sense to wear black for these things. Instead, she went in wearing a light-colored cap-sleeve mermaid gown, now completely awash in splotches of brown.
“Occupational hazard,” she says to her empty bedroom as she strips off the dress and tosses it in the corner. She shuffles to the corner and plugs her iPod into the stereo. Thelonius Monk starts back up, but it sparks sour memories. She changes it to Nina Simone and lets out a long, exaggerated breath.
That could have gone better. An hour in, it became fairly evident this guy was, indeed, not a rat. Or maybe he didn’t actually know his boss’ name. Either way, he endured a hell of a lot before that conclusion was reached.
Ginny pulls off her auburn wig and places it on a disembodied mannequin head next to the vanity mirror. She leans in close to her reflection and finds a dried splash of blood across her chin.
Her body sags as she reaches for the container of baby wipes to take off her makeup. It’s been a long day and she has little interest in doing anything else tonight. As she wipes away her midnight eyeshadow, she considers Jacqueline, who did a decent job tonight, but requires further molding.
Ginny would have given up on her already if it hadn’t been for occasional bouts of severe cleverness, and the glint in her eye as they started in on their captive. At least the girl wasn’t squeamish.
Just a few months ago she was some skinny kid named Mark, fresh off the bus from Alabama. Now, Jacqueline Coke was on her way to becoming a lieutenant in Ginny’s army of queens. She just needed a bit more nerve.
After removing her makeup and stockings, Ginny stumbles to the bathroom and swallows the white OxyContin pill waiting on a silver tray by the sink. It gets caught in her throat and the water she drinks from her cupped hands strips away the outside coating. It takes a moment to get it down, not before leaving a bitter taste of aspirin in her mouth.
She spits a few times, then pulls out her straight razor and shaving cream. She looks in the mirror and frowns, pulls her cheek taught, and brushes her finger across the stubble. Long ago, she had accepted the fact that her five o’clock shadow was an around-the-clock fixture, peeking through even the thickest foundation, but that was no reason to give in.
She sits on the toilet with a hot towel draped over her face, and just as her head is bobbing back from the Oxy, there’s a knock at the door.
Ginny considers ignoring it, then tosses the towel in the sink and trudges through the living room, kicking aside mismatched heels. Before she reaches the door, she dashes back to the bedroom to yank her wig back into place.
She puts her face against the inside of the door. The wood is cool on her cheek. The drugs are whisking her away and she’s not interested in company. “Darling, if we are not in the midst of the apocalypse, I hope you have a good reason for disturbing me.”
“It’s Ash.”
Ginny rolls her eyes so far back it hurts. If Ash is here, it’s for good reason.
She opens the door and he towers over her like a slab of granite. Most people would be nervous around him, and they would be wise to do so. He’s grown a beard, and it looks pretty good, not that Ginny would admit that. She steps aside from the door and stretches her hand toward the Victorian walnut easy chairs in the corner. “Sit. Can I offer you a drink?”
“I’ll take a glass of Jay if you’ve got it.”
“I only have vodka.”
“That’ll work.” Ash strides to the far chair, sits, and stretches his legs out, his heavy boots thudding on the floor. Ginny offers him the half-empty bottle. He takes a long swig and holds it out to her. She shakes her head and sits, adjusting her nightgown and robe.
“So, Ash. The beard is an interesting addition. Very Joycian.”
“I am Irish.”
“Still, I admire your bravery.�
�� Ginny fights through the drugs that are clawing her eyes closed, and reaches for the pack of cigarettes on the edge of her vanity. “Darling, I am not long for this evening. Is this a social call? Because if it is, I’m afraid I’m not going to be good company.”
Ash takes another gulp of vodka, puts the bottle on the floor next to him. “Not tonight. I come on business. I have something you may want.”
With an air of exhausted exasperation, Ginny asks, “Rob Lowe in a leotard?”
“Nope. The name of the guy Johnny is fucking you over for.”
Ginny cocks her head, suddenly awake, and claps her hands together. “Ash, my love, you don’t understand how badly I wanted to know that.” Then she narrows her eyes. “How did you know I was looking for that?”
“I ran into Samson at the bar downstairs. And before you say it, no, he wasn’t just offering up intel. He said something about Johnny and I said something about Johnny and it just went from there. He suggested I come talk to you.”
“Well, gold star to him, then. What do you have for me?”
“Two names. One is the name of the guy. The other is the name of the bar he’s at tonight.”
“How did you learn this?”
“Doesn’t matter, does it? Important thing is I’m giving it to you.”
Ginny opens her mouth to say something. Ash shakes his head. “Christ, Ginny, I’ve known you since your name was Paul. Do you really think I’m going to fuck you on this?”
Ginny exhales. She slides down in the chair and looks past Ash. “I’m sorry. Please don’t think me insensitive. You are one of very few people I’d actually allow in here.” She waves her hand across her face. “To see me like this.”
“Fine. Just, you know, don’t forget who your friends are.”
“You give me these names, and what do you want in return?”
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
“You’re lying.”
“Am not.”
“Everyone wants something.”
“The things I want I can get on my own. I came here because you’re my friend and someone is cutting into your business. Can’t that be enough?”
