Red Hot Blues

by Rachel Dunning

  But daddy was a stubborn prick so he would never consider rewarding his best worker with a better room and better quarters.

  Then again, he did pay that massive tuition for Aaron’s daughters—

  Wait a minute.

  I very cold thought hits me. A very ugly, cold, black, and dark thought...suddenly...hits me.

  Janice.

  That hand.

  On her leg.

  He paid for Janice’s tuition as well.

  No questions.

  No haughty remarks about her “running away” from him as he’d done all those years before. When the time came, he paid up.

  As if he knew he was guilty and just wanted to keep things quiet...

  Goddamnit!

  I have to sit it’s so clear as day to me now.

  I collapse on my dad’s leather chair. Aaron’s swirling a Bourbon I just poured him, standing. “Evathin OK there, Ace?”

  I look up at him, the room spinning. Does he know?

  “Aaron—Aaron...the tuition...for your daughters...”

  Something flashes across his eyes, something angry, something painful. But he hides it. “Yes?”

  I swallow. “Why did he pay it for them, Aaron? Honestly.”

  He hesitates. Swirls the Bourbon. Looks up. “He had a troubled heart, yo fahtha. Or maybe it was a troubled mind. He’d do...some crehzy things sumtimes.”

  I see his hand shaking.

  “He touched them, didn’t he?” I say, not beating around the bush.

  Aaron’s glass shakes more violently. He sits. “They needed an ejjucation, Ace. If they got that, they’d have a future.”

  “You knew about it?”

  “I ain’t a ejjucated man, Ace. But one day I caught im hangin around mah house, down there on the otha side o’ the field. Then mah daughter came out, mah oldest. Doin up her dress. I don’t think he forced imself or nuthin. But Sheerah wouldn’t look me in the eye. Not that night. Not the night after. Not fuh many nights.

  “I spoke to yo father. I told him I thought summin funny was goin on. He said I been good to im. Said I deserved the best. Maybe a reward. I tole im I needed no reward, but mah girls needed good schoolin.

  “He asked me if I could turn a blind eye.

  “I said I couldn’t.

  “He said he’d pay for their entire ejjucation, at the best the country had to offer, when the time came.

  “I said thank you. Simple as that. There wadn’t no better justice in mah eyes, Ace.

  “We didn’t bring it up no more. But I had my eyes open after that. One night, much later, I caught him again, walkin down to the shed I’d seen him at a few weeks before. I’d seen Sheerah goin in there earlier. So there was some arrangement there. But I didn’t care none for it. Sheerah was sixteen then. Man had no bidniss makin arrangements with a sixteen year old girl.

  “I cocked my shotgun. Yo daddy saw me, shook in his pants. I done learned a long time ago to always have a shotgun in the house.

  “‘Aaron?’ yo father said. ‘Out late tonight,’ he said.

  “I tole him, ‘You too, Misser Travers.’

  “‘Well, why don’t you go on in and get some sleep, Aaron. Long day tomorrow.’

  “‘Misser Travers,’ I said. ‘I think Sheerah might wanna go ta school out of state. Startin tamorrow. You can arrange that, can’t you?’

  “I lowered my rifle so that it was aimin just a little away from im. He looked at the barn where she was at, then at me, smiled nervously.

  “‘You sure about that, Aaron?’

  “‘Yessir. The best.’ There was some silence, then I said, ‘Misser Travers, can I get yo advice on a lil problem I got?’

  “‘Sure thing, Aaron. What kind of problem?’

  “‘It’s a girl problem, sir.’

  “Yo daddy smiled a lil there. I wadn’t smilin.

  “‘I got me a girl I’m interested in. A younger girl. But I’m an old man. And she got a daddy, sir. Crazy daddy. Daddy who’d put a bullet in me if I step outta line. But she some sexy booty, sir. But if I step outta line, I know that daddy gohne put one in me, slowly, painfully. Maybe cut mah fingers off one by one, sir. Slowly. Very slowly. What should I do, sir?’

  “Yo daddy swallowed, Ace. Swallowed hard. He said, ‘How old is this girl, Aaron?’

  “I said, ‘Sixteen, sir.’

  “‘Well, I’m sure that is some mighty fine booty. But a sixteen year old girl might be a bit too young if there’s a daddy involved.’

  “‘Any age is too young when there’s a daddy involved, Misser Travers. Especially when that daddy has a shotgun, or when that daddy ain’t ejjucated in the laws o’ the land and would kill without remorse or fear of goin ta jail.’

  “Yo daddy swallowed again. He looked at the barn again, then at mah shotgun. ‘You have a good night, Aaron,’ he said. He tipped his hat, walked away.

  “Next day, Sheerah was on a bus to a private school. Her sister followed the day after that. When the time came, they started up at Columbia, right where yo sista is. Justice, Ace. Justice.”

  I know my father’s dead. But I’m gonna exhume his body and kill him again.

  Aaron downs his whiskey. “Can I have another, sir. Talkin this old stuff always makes me a little angry.”

  I get up and grab the decanter, pour Aaron another glass. And one for myself. “I’m not ‘sir,’ Aaron. And I’m not my father.”

  He laughs. “Oh, that you ain’t! Cheers.”

  “Cheers.”

  We down the drink. “Another?”

  “Not until this hole in mah shoulder is cleared up! Two fuh tonight has already been too much!”

  “Aaron, did they get counseling or anything...for what happened?”

  “A good preacher’s better ’n any ‘counselor’ the world can offer, son. And mah daughters is godfearin girls. And they can also always talk to me directly, Ace. What happened with yo father was ugly, but gainin ‘justice,’ as our country likes to put it, would have left me with nuthin—if I’d gone the courts route. No job, and poor. I got mah justice. I got the best possible justice I could. I got mah daughters what they needed. A parent worth his salt only has that to answer foh in the end o’ his days. Yo daddy touched mah oldest, at least once. There ain’t no changin the past. But I changed the future. He never touched her again aftah I found out. And I was prepared to get another kind-a justice if he did. Me and mah shotgun. After that, I started carryin me a knife right here, strapped to mah forearm, and little Betty, my revolver, strapped to mah ankle. I talkin to ya about yo daddy like this because I know you’s a man, Ace. He kept this place goin, and kept these people workin here paid. But if I ever seen him touch anothah young girl, I was goan kill im.”

  “Is that why you worked for him for so long? To put your daughters through school and college?”

  “The best school. And the best college, Ace. Finally an end ta the Johnson family tradition o’ workin on a damn farm! They goan be the first who ever done that.

  “I was ready tah leave this place after what I saw that first night. But I got me a good deal out of it. I turned a bad sitchee-ation into a goodun.”

  “You’re a smart man, Aaron.”

  “I said I wadn’t ejjucated. Not that I wadn’t smart. That I am. I’m smarter’n a poodle’s bee-hind.”

  “It’s gonna be a pleasure working with you, Aaron.”

  “Pleasure’s all mine, sir. Good things come to those who wait.”

  “Aaron, don’t call me sir.”

  “Yessir.”

  ~ GIN ~

  -60-

  Another month rolls by and the ache is too much to bear. I’m on the phone with him almost every day. But he’s a working man now, taking over his daddy’s farm.

  I’ve flown over twice, and he’s flown this way twice as well. A few days apart at a time, that’s all we can manage.

  So much for a quick fling and calling it quits. Neither of us wants that.

  And I don’t want to live in Vir
ginia.

  The more time Ace spends there, the more I feel he’s mired into problems and responsibilities that were not his, but which he must now deal with because it’s the right thing to do. Because the people he loves and cares for will suffer if he doesn’t deal with them. His mother’s not up to the job. What’s that quote about greatness being thrust upon you? Well, it’s like that with life’s duties as well. And Ace has the duty of keeping the hundred-plus employees there, working, paid, alive. Not to mention his mother’s livelihood. His sister’s.

  I understand that all.

  And I also understand that I don’t want to live there. It’s not the life I want. Rural, quiet, away from my friends.

  Being away from him is becoming more and more difficult.

  It turns out his father did cut on taxes. Ace found out about it and came clean with the IRS. So, in addition to the debt, there’s now the threat of the IRS.

  Ace worked out a payment plan with them. He also got his mom out of her funk by getting her to help with the things Aaron couldn’t do. Namely, stuff that required reading.

  Aaron has a sixth sense about the farm, about the production. About which chemicals work and which don’t. But he can’t read. And he doesn’t want to learn. Old men and their ways...

  Ace is knee-deep in it all. And it doesn’t look like he’ll be able to let go of the reins.

  He’s not gonna leave the farm; not permanently. I know it.

  He used to be the guy that always ran, now he’s the guy that can’t run at all. I’m proud of him. I am. Because he busted through a personal barrier. He’s the bigger man now, for staying.

  I don’t push him, because I know he can’t leave, but I’m getting tired now.

  Maybe Ace wasn’t the one.

  We had our time together.

  He’d needed me.

  I’d needed him.

  We filled a gap in each other’s soul. And we helped each other through a terrible time.

  He’s making it through.

  I’m making it through.

  I’m more confident now, more self-assured. I know what I have to offer and I’m not ashamed of it. And if a guy can’t accept it, I know it’s his problem, not mine.

  I know this now.

  We were the catalyst to each other’s improvement. But maybe that’s all we were. Maybe that was fate’s reasoning for putting us together: Me—to give him the strength to stay and deal. Him—for giving me the confidence to put myself out there, to not accept second-best, to flaunt my stuff and never expect anything mediocre in a man.

  Maybe.

  Maybe our paths were meant to cross, and then we were meant to move along on our separate ways.

  Maybe.

  I miss him.

  I fucking miss him.

  But this isn’t working. This is making me miserable. And I think love shouldn’t make you miserable.

  -61-

  I lie awake all night, thinking of him, wanting to talk to him. Aching. Deep inside. It feels like something’s eating me inside out. Missing him. Missing how he filled me. Missing how he held me. Missing how we stuck our feet in that rock pool on the way to Virginia and then how he slid his hand up my thigh, under my dress, and pressed into me, out in the open. And made me soar.

  An eternity ago.

  I miss my whimpers around him. How hot he makes me. How he touches me, how he grabs my breasts in his hands and devours me.

  I miss the spark, the flash, the heat of the moment.

  I’ve travelled all my life, never settled down. Nashville is my town now. I like the people here. I like the blues here. I like Layna here. I’m even starting to like the country music here. I simply like here!

  And there, in Virginia, another state, far away, eight hours, is my Ace of Spades.

  I need to make a choice.

  I need to.

  But not tonight. Not in this bed. Not while I’m thinking about him, getting hot under the covers, missing his briny flavor, his chest on my breasts. That tattoo of Lady Justice on his arm.

  And the text above it, the text which embodies the man that he is, and what he’s doing now:

  In fear or shadow

  I will be your Justice

  when no one else can

  -62-

  The next day, my mind is whirling. Layna asks to hang out with me but I can’t. I need to be alone. I need to think.

  I need to come to a decision.

  I go to the library, chill out on that brown leather couch hidden between two non-fiction shelves in the research area, with my definitely-fiction book. And I look outside at the park, a small fountain in the middle of it. Some homeless people lying on a bench, one guy seeming to get a tattoo done right there on the street with a rigged-up tattoo machine.

  Ouch.

  I can’t read, can’t think. So I sit here. All morning, all afternoon.

  It’s Monday, tomorrow’s Open Jam night again. I’ve been writing a lot of lyrics lately. But none of them are bad-ass like the Red Hot Blues was. Not anymore. They’re all real blues now: “Oh my baby left me” kind of stuff.

  Nothing else comes out.

  Love sucks.

  -63-

  No matter what I say in my own head, I can’t let him go. It looks like we won’t make it, eventually, but not now. Now there’s still hope. Just a little hope.

  So long as neither of us says “that’s it,” there’s still hope.

  How long will it last? How long can we keep the façade alive?

  As long as possible, damnit!

  I need to see him. I must. Outside the library, six-thirty p.m., I text him: I can’t spend another night without u. Make space in ur bed for me. Gonna book a flight.

  His answer: No need, babe. I’ll be there 2mrw. Wanna sing sum blues?

  What?

  Things are looking better. I’ll drive down 2mrw. And I’ll b there 4 more than just a night or 2!

  Me: Fuck the blues. I want u in my bed.

  I was hoping you’d say that. :)

  ~ ACE ~

  -64-

  Aaron’s gotten production rolling while I’ve gotten the banks to stop clamoring.

  I feel eighty years old I’m so tired. But things are picking up.

  I got some investors called in—new investors, none of this Old School Tie bullshit—and they’re backing me up. I think it would be good if some of the shareholders we currently have just sold their shares so they could be picked up by newer, brighter kids on the block. I’ve had enough of Old School Tie crap. I’ve had enough of that Good Ole Virginia Doctor attitude.

  Hell, if it wasn’t for my mom and Janice’s education and Aaron’s family I’d let this ship sink. Not to mention all the people who depend on this farm for their livelihood! Producing tobacco ain’t never been my dream. I smoke it, but that’s my personal mistake.

  But momma was, by default, saddled with the debt. It fell on her shoulders squarely. It was no time to be moralistic. It was time to make money.

  I like making money, I have to confess. I won’t get to spend any of it when it finally starts coming in because it’ll sink down into a debt-hole so large the entire house could fall into it in a wink. But I’ve grown, picking this ship up and steering it away from the rocks. It’s been exhausting. It’s thrown every doubt I’ve ever had, directly in my face. It’s tested my desire to just get out and run.

  But I stayed.

  And I faced.

  And I have Gin to thank for that.

  Gin. Oh, Gin. I’ve missed you. I’ve missed your warmth, missed your flavor, missed feeling your hips arch and cringe and your body burst with howling passion. I’ve missed holding you around your waist, maneuvering myself into you. I’ve missed being surrounded by you, warm and tight.

  My father is the apotheosis of what a man should not be. Even in his death he took things from me—he took you from me. Because I had to clean up his mess to protect the people I love. And in doing that, I’ve had to be away from you.

 
; I want you back. I want you back so much that I’ll ride to you right now, through the night, your face in the night sky as my beacon. The memory of your lavish breasts guiding me.

  I get up from dad’s leather chair. I hate sitting in it. If I ever bring this business afloat again, I’m gonna buy a new chair, and burn the old one. Fuckit, I’ll burn it now and sit on the floor!

  Aaron’s done for the day. A hard worker. A good man. He insists on staying at his old place even though I’ve basically given him the keys to the mansion. “Doesn’t feel like home, sir,” he said.

  He just won’t stop calling me sir...

  What would have happened if he hadn’t walked in on my father and mother? Would the gun have fired on her instead of him?

  I owe him my life. But I’ve always owed him my life, ever since he started teaching me to play guitar at nine years old.

  I walk out into the hallway, then the parlor. I think I hear a door creak, but I’m still half dreaming of Gin, looking down at my whiskey glass.

  I’m smiling, imagining myself above her. It’s been too long...

  I feel a breeze on my arm...

  A breeze?

  I step out of the parlor, back into the hallway by the entrance. The front door is ajar. This makes no sense.

  A small alarm signals inside me.

  Then I hear the screams.

  Far in the distance.

  And the whoosh of flames.

  And Aaron’s voice, bellowing: “Ace, sir—!“ Silence.

  I run outside. In the distance—Aaron’s home! Flames, climbing up into the sky like a hungry dragon!

  “Aaron!”

  I start run—

  Thunk!

  Stars. Dazzling, delirious stars clouding my vision. And liquid, warm, on my neck, pouring. Blood?

  And a dull, forming ache, on the back of my head, my shoulders.