by Nicole Fox
He looks at me with that fuckin’ stare he has, that stare which tells me that he’s not taking my bullshit. Luckily the train is going past, deafening us, so he can’t talk right away. I take the few moments of peace gratefully, closing my eyes, but once the train has passed and I open them, he’s still staring at me.
“A man doesn’t abandon his children,” he says. “That’s just not what a man does. I don’t know what happened to you when you were a kid, Fury, but I know it’s somethin’ bad. We’ve been friends long enough for me to know that. It sounds to me like your parents abandoned you without leavin’, which is just as bad as pushing your kid away, if you ask me. And now you’re fixing on doing the same—”
“Careful,” I say.
He nods shortly. “Fair enough. But there it is. That’s the truth. You can drink and spit and fight and fuckin’ rage all you want, but it’s the truth. This lad needs you. He’s, what, nearly two? Soon he’s gonna be asking questions, like why most of his friends’ve got daddies and he ain’t. It’s gonna mess him up, especially if he learns that he had a dad but his dad didn’t want nothing to do with him.”
“Fuck!” I kick the dirt and pace up and down, shaking my head. “Fuck! Fuck!”
He watches me calmly. “Are you angry ’cause you see the truth of what I’m saying or because you think I’m lying?”
“You sure do talk a lot,” I grumble.
“I’m trying to make you see sense.”
“Maybe I don’t wanna see sense!” I break out. “Maybe seeing sense leads me down a road I don’t wanna go down.”
He leans back and lays his hands over his wide belly. “Might be that’s so,” he says. “But this ain’t about you. It’s about the kid. And it’s about that lady. A lady needs a man, especially when she’s got a kid. And maybe folks’ll call me old-fashioned, maybe even sexist or whatever the fuck word it is they use these days, but that’s the fuckin’ truth right there. A lady needs a man.”
“You’re really starting to piss me off, Butch.”
“Why, ’cause I’m making too much sense?”
“I don’t see that I’ve gotta become a different man ’cause she showed up on my doorstep with a kid. That doesn’t seem fair to me.”
“Fair.” He tilts his head, regarding me coolly. “Since when was this life fair, Fury? I don’t reckon you’re that naïve. I don’t reckon you’ve ever been that naïve. Kids ain’t about fairness. They’re about duty.”
“Duty. I do my duty. For the club. I’ve never once wavered in that. I do my fuckin’ duty.”
He checked his watch. “I’ve gotta get going. Kaylee’s waiting on me. But let me just say this. If you abandon that kid, you’ll spend the rest of your life regretting it. You’ll hate yourself for it. And one day, might be a lad shows up on your door, a lad who’s as full as fury as you were at his age, and he’ll hook you across the jaw and call you a piece of shit. And you won’t be able to do nothing other than lie there and think that maybe he’s right.”
He leaves me with that, placing the whisky bottle on the ground and rising alongside the tracks before disappearing from view. I take two long slugs of whisky and then get on my bike, riding into New Oak toward the nearest bar. Butcher’s wrong, I tell myself, damn wrong. I don’t need to throw myself into this family shit. I need a woman, a random woman. I’ll forget about the kid and I’ll forget about Gloria. I’ll go to a bar and fuck some random woman and that’ll be the end of this—this whatever-this-is—this feeling I don’t know how to explain, that wasn’t here before Gloria showed up.
I stop outside a place with flashing neon lights and girls outside with short skirts and guys with that new modern haircut, shaved at the sides and slicked back. They all look at me like I’m something different, something apart, but some of the girls start looking more interested when the bouncer just waves me through. His brother’s a Devil’s Kin. I go to the bar and get myself two shots of whisky and then look up and down, searching for a hot piece of ass. I feel sick as my eyes settle on her: a punky-looking woman with a skirt so short, I can almost see her ass.
She sees me looking, smiles, glances down shyly, and then wanders over. She does that classic girl thing, leaning on the bar close to me but not saying anything ’cause she doesn’t want to be forward.
Finally, since I don’t talk to her, she turns to me. “Excuse me,” she says. “Do you have the time?”
It’s as easy as that. A few minutes later we’re sitting at a table and she’s doing everything in her power to let me know she wants to fuck, without coming right out and saying it. She lays her hand on my arm, flutters her eyelashes at me, laughs at things I say that aren’t even jokes.
“Are you a biker, then?” she asks, that supposed-to-be-shy smile on her face.
“Yeah,” I mutter, sipping my whisky and wondering why I’m not feeling this. Except that’s a lie, ’cause I know why I ain’t feeling it. What I don’t understand is why I can’t get over it and lose myself in this willing lady.
“Where are you going?” she asks, stunned.
I’m on my feet, walking toward the exit. I feel sick in the back of my throat and it ain’t the whisky. I climb on my bike, the world tilting sideways, way drunker than I thought. So I climb off and jump in one of the many cabs that line the street, waiting to pick the partiers up.
“This is booked, pal,” the driver says.
“I’ll pay you triple,” I say, words slurring. I take out my roll of bills.
“Fair enough.”
Back in my apartment, I see that Gloria has moved that portable crib contraption into my bedroom, next to my bed, where she sleeps. I lie on the couch a while, a pit in my belly. My chest is heavy, too, like there’s a spear through it, pinning me to the couch.
And then I stand up, stumble into the bedroom, and lie down next to her. When I wrap my arm around her, she smiles.
Chapter Seven
Gloria
“How did it go?” Alexis asks over the phone.
I’m sitting on Fury’s toilet with the phone propped to my ear, Jimmy in my arms while I feed him. He coos up at me, sucking on his bottle and gobbling his baby food. He grins up at me with mushy green all around his mouth. “Mama,” he coos. “Mama.”
Tickling Jimmy under the chin, I say, “Not great.” I fill her in on last night. “He was next to me when I woke up, but he reeked of whisky. I think he was drunk. I don’t know about this. I really don’t. I guess I hoped that it’d all go smoothly, that he’d—I don’t know—that he’d sort of see the light straightaway and want to be Jimmy’s dad. But I can tell he doesn’t want us here. He doesn’t want to deal with us. We’re just a pain in the neck to him, and I’m only saying neck because Jimmy’s here.”
“Am I on loudspeaker?”
“No.”
“You’re saying he sees you as a pain in the fucking ass.”
“Yes,” I agree. “Exactly.”
“So what? Are you just going to give up? That’s it? I thought you had some fight in you, Gloria.”
“Don’t get all preachy,” I say. “I’m too tired and I haven’t eaten since lunchtime yesterday.”
“Go and get some food then, you weirdo!”
“This isn’t exactly a five-star restaurant. I don’t know how he survives. He has cereal without milk, five cans of beans, and some bread that is as hard as cardboard. I’ll have to run down to the store. Maybe I’ll run down on my way home; I don’t think he’s going to want us to stay here much longer.”
“You sound like a defeatist,” she says sourly. “That isn’t the attitude you had yesterday. You were going to be fierce, remember? You were going to do whatever it took.”
“I don’t know what to do,” I admit, packing away the food and cleaning Jimmy’s mouth. “He won’t even look at Jimmy. It’s killing me, Alexis. I don’t want to be dramatic but—why won’t he look at his own child?”
“Maybe you ought to make him look,” she says, voice rising in excitement. “Th
at’s it! Make him look! He’s asleep, you said? Go into the bedroom and wake him up with Jimmy in his face, hold him close to him so that he has no choice but to look. You said yourself that Jimmy looks exactly like him. When he’s staring into those eyes that are just as blue as his—it was blue, right? Okay—then that will be the real test. Do it, Gloria. Don’t even think about it. Just do it.”
“You sound like a motivational video,” I mutter.
“Do it,” she repeats, not taking the bait.
“What if it doesn’t work?” I ask.
“Then you’re in the exact same position you were before. Nothing’s changed, except that now you know for sure. Isn’t that worth it? Don’t you want to know?”
“I guess I do. But—” I hesitate, take a deep breath.
“Don’t hold out on me now, chick.”
“Well, I want to know, but also, knowing terrifies me. Because what if he just carries on being angry at me? What if he shouts at Jimmy? I don’t know him, remember. He could be anybody. What if he really does hate us?”
“You’ll have to decide if that’s a risk you’re willing to take,” she says.
“Yeah. I guess I will. Thanks, Alexis.”
“Be brave!” she cries. “Be a lioness. Charge the beaches! Tear off the Band-Aid! Jump out of the plane! Race the bull! Climb the mountain! Get some fucking balls, woman!”
“I’m hanging up now.”
I go into the living room and sit on the couch, place Jimmy in his crib, get myself a cereal bar (buried at the back of a drawer) and a glass of water from the cupboard, and then return to the couch, munching on it, thinking about Alexis’ advice. There must be something in Jack that made him come back last night, or maybe he was just drunk, and all that propelled him was a warm bed. He might even have thought that we’d be gone when he returned.
“But Auntie Alexis is right, isn’t she, little man?” I whisper. “At least we’ll know for sure then.”
Without giving myself anymore time to think about it, I scoop Jimmy up and carry him into the bedroom, where Jack is snoring heavily, face plastered against the pillow like only a very drunk, or a very tired, or a very drunk and tired, person’s will be. I sit on the side of the bed he’s facing and place Jimmy on the bed, propping his back with my palm.
Then I poke Jack in the cheek.
His eyes open slowly. He flinches and leans back. “What are you doing?” he demands, almost shouting. “What sort of game is this?” He looks from Jimmy to me. He’s about to say something else when Jimmy starts to cry, long wails that shake the room. He’s a high-pitched crier. Alexis jokes that he’s going to be an opera singer one day. Jack’s face softens a little. The lines around his mouth relax. “Why’s he crying?”
“Because you shouted.” I rock him up and down, kissing him on the cheek.
“I—I didn’t want to make the kid cry, goddamn.”
“Well …” I trail off, going into the living room. “You did.”
I go to the couch and sit Jimmy on my knees, bobbing him and whispering soothing words. Jack comes to the door and stands there, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Does he always cry like that?” he asks. “He sounds—I don’t know, Gloria, he sounds like he’s hurt or something.”
I repress a laugh. If he could’ve heard him over this past year and a half! “He’s okay,” I assure him. “Just a little spooked.”
He goes into the bedroom, paces—I hear his heavy footsteps—and then comes back out and sits on the couch. He takes a long breath and looks at Jimmy, trying a smile. “All right, kid. I didn’t mean to make you cry, all right? A man like me gets startled awake, he’s liable to be angry.”
This is something. This is progress. “Do you want to hold him?” I ask.
His face goes white. His lips are cracked. Dehydrated. He looks terrified. “I’ll hurt him,” he says. “I ain’t used to holding things that break so easily.”
“You won’t hurt him,” I say. “Just be careful.”
“He’s so small though.”
“He used to be smaller. Much smaller.”
“I—” He holds his tattooed hands up, his palms covered in callouses. “These ain’t exactly soft hands.”
“Don’t be silly.” I lift Jimmy up and hold him out to Jack. “You’ll be fine.”
“How do I do it?” he asks uncertainly.
“Like this.” I show him, hugging Jimmy to my chest.
“All right. I think I see how.” He watches me carefully, as though studying a complex maneuver. “All right.” He closes his eyes and then opens them. “Give the lad here, then.”
My heart lifts as I hand Jimmy to Jack. He takes him and holds him like I showed him, although he does so tentatively, like he’s afraid he could explode at any second. Jimmy stares at me for a few seconds and then rests his head against Jack’s chest.
“All right,” Jack says, handing him back. “Wow, all right. Okay.”
I take him, carry him through to the crib, and set him down. I leave the door open, just in case he needs me.
“I think I should tell you what prompted me to find you now,” I say.
He nods silently.
I tell him, getting the words out quickly. I need money for rent and other expenses—student loans included—and my freelance work has fallen short this month. “I know it’s presumptuous of me …” I trail off; he’s gone into the bedroom.
He returns with a small rucksack and drops it at my feet with a smile. “That’s somethin’ I can do easily.”
I unzip the rucksack, glance inside. “Jack … There must be ten thousand dollars in here!”
“It’s yours,” he says.
“But, I can’t … I can’t take this!”
“It’s yours,” he repeats. “If you try’n give it back to me, I’ll take it down to the beach and toss it in the sea. So either keep it or give it away.”
I’m not crazy. I zip the bag back up and turn to him with a smile. “Thank you so much,” I say.
He grins and leans back. He rests his head on the couch and stares up at the ceiling.
“What are you thinking about?” I ask after a pause.
“Just how crazy all this is. I keep expecting it not to be real. And the craziest part about it all is that I tried to get over it; tried to lose myself in somebody else. Last night.”
“What do you mean?”
He explains.
“Did you do anything?” I care far more than I should. He’s a free man, after all. “Well, did you?”
“No,” he assures me. “I didn’t. I couldn’t. That’s the crazy part. I was there and I just kept thinkin’ about you and the kid back here and it seemed, I don’t know, it seemed damn wrong of me to go to some motel room with that girl when you two were at my place.”
“That’s not what it seemed like yesterday,” I mutter.
“Because we don’t know each other!” he exclaims, standing up and pacing up and down. He goes into the kitchen and returns with a jug of water. He drains half of it in one gulp. “Don’t that seem crazy to you?” He drops onto the chair and stretches his legs out. “We met in a hotel—we fucked—and now here we are.”
“Here we are,” I agree. “Fine, we don’t know each other well at all. That’s true. So why don’t we get to know each other?”
“Are you asking me on a date?” He raises his eyebrow with a wicked grin.
“No.” I straighten up, smile back at him. “I’m skillfully dropping a hint that you should ask me on a date.”
“Oh, right.” He leans forward, staring at me. My pussy still aches from last night, and it aches even more as he stares at me: in anticipation. “Gloria Griffiths, will you let me take you out on a date?”
“I’ll think about it.” I turn my head away, chin held high.
He moves from the chair to the couch, moves along so that he’s sitting right next to me. “What do you mean you’ll think about it?”
“I mean I’ll think about it. That’s what.”
> He places his hand on my knees. Electricity travels up my thigh. I close my legs tightly together, trapping his hand. “Don’t be such a brute,” I tell him, unable to repress my giggling. “I am a lady, I’ll have you know, and a lady doesn’t just agree to go on a date. She has to be wooed.”
“Wooed. I ain’t gonna pretend that I’ve ever wooed a lady. But here it goes …” He clears his throat. When he speaks, his voice is pitched high and he’s going a bad English accent. “You are as pretty as a rose,” he says. “As lovely as basket of kittens.”
