Red

by Kim Jones

  “You don’t think so?” Luke asks, genuine concern on his face. Shit. What in the hell were they talking about? I play it safe and shovel another spoonful of cereal into my mouth. “Red,” Luke’s voice is demanding and I look up. “I value your opinion. Do you think it’s a bad idea?” How in the hell do I manage to always get myself into shit like this?

  “Maybe I just don’t understand everything. Tell me again. Start from the top.” My ability to bullshit my way through anything is one of my best qualities, but Regg’s smirk tells me he knows my game.

  “She don’t even know what we’re talking about.” Observant little shit. He really needs to mind his own business.

  “Do you think the club would benefit from a new bar in Hattiesburg?” Luke asks, not bothered by Regg’s assumption. Well, hell yeah. Of course. There isn’t but a couple now and Hattiesburg is steadily growing.

  “I think something like a bar would only be beneficial if you catered to the right environment and had the right location. Something across from the University that had dancing and karaoke would no doubt be a success. But, just a beer bar, not so much. Hell, the club would drink up all your profits.” I look back down at my cereal, but can still feel Regg’s eyes on me. I glance up to find him smirking. He shoots me a wink before turning back to an oblivious Luke. I sigh and I’m not sure if it’s from the cereal, Seagal winning the fight or the skilled hands of Devil’s Renegades Regg.

  Chapter Three

  Old Violins and Pork Chops-The Way to Regg’s Heart

  Eight Months Ago

  I’m back at Luke’s and it’s the best sleep I’ve had in two months. I stretch, looking over at the clock to see that I’ve been out for over twelve hours. I feel something on my forehead and reach up to find a small sticky note covered in Luke’s handwriting.

  Red,

  How much do you love me? Is it enough for pork chops?

  -Luke

  Now that I’m standing in line at the grocery store behind a woman with three screaming kids, I’m beginning to think I don’t love him that much. Maybe he should have sent his best friend to get it. Maybe he could cook it too. Oh, and maybe he could console all the hearts Luke breaks. Lord knows I’m tired of dealing with all of them crazy bitches. Since we were teenagers, my job has been to become best friends with Luke’s latest crush. When he is finished with them, my job is to let them down easy and give them a shoulder to cry on. It is hard to be a player and a good guy. Or at least that’s what he tells me. What an ass. And still, all the girls love him.

  It’s after six and Luke is already home when I pull back up at his house. Good. The little shit can help me with the fifty-six dollars’ worth of groceries I bought for his ass. I stumble through the kitchen door bags in hand, after deciding I better tote it in myself since I got no response from the six car horn honks. I call out to Luke again, and still no response. If he was ignoring me, I’ll kill him. I look out the back window and see the bikes lined against the wall of the clubhouse. Well, that makes sense.

  I cut up the potatoes before putting them on to boil and going in search of Mr. Luke Carmical. If I didn’t tell him when dinner would be ready, chances are he’d stay out here all night. And I wasn’t fixing to slave in the kitchen for him to eat cold food.

  I pull open the door of the clubhouse and immediately become depressed at what I hear.

  “What the fuck are you listening to?” I say to no one in particular. I scan the room and my eyes find Luke sitting at the bar, looking over some papers. He gives me the finger without looking up. It’s our best form of communication. “Shit, it makes me want to kill myself. Excuse me, sir?” I say to the young guy behind the bar. He looks up at me confused. “Do you have a rope? I suddenly want to hang myself.”

  “Blasphemy!” I turn to the voice across the room and find Regg pointing an accusing finger at me. He throws his pool stick back on the table and walks over, shaking his head. “Shame on you. This is Johnny Paycheck. Good thing you are on your feet or we would force you to stand in his honor.” Oh, fuck me. I roll my eyes and start towards Luke, but Regg grabs my arm before I can get to him. “Dance with me, beautiful.” I can’t help but smile at him as one strong arm circles my waist. He holds me close, taking my left hand in his right. He moves me across the floor in true cowboy fashion. Damn, he can really dance.

  “This song is depressing,” I tell him, my grin widening as he dramatically closes his eyes and mouths the words.

  “This song is like every other classic country song-a story. See, I know you are all citified, so I’ll break it down for you in a language you can understand.” I shake my head, wondering why in the hell I’m letting him lead me around the floor. But, I can’t argue with the fact that being in his arms feels pretty damn good. “You have to visualize the story. Imagine it’s a music video. Not one of them hip hop ones you’re used to, but one that’s full of emotion. Like a scene from a chick flick. Let the song build, then when it reaches its climax, picture something romantic happening.”

  “I’m not pickin’ up what you’re puttin’ down.” I’m already bored with his meaningless talk, but I believe I can stomach the song a little longer as long as his grip on my waist stays in place.

  “I’m gonna show you. Reckon you can act?” I laugh at his question and earn myself a huge smile.

  “I’m a stripper. Of course I can act.” My hand involuntarily squeezes his shoulder, and shit, the muscles. I swear he is hard as a rock. On his arms, of course.

  “Right. Well, you ready to make a music video?” I laugh again, my cheeks hurting from the permanent smile on my face. Regg is a funny guy.

  “Sure.” I’m still only half-ass letting his words register in my brain. He seems like someone who could ramble on about shit for days. I watch his face turn serious as we come to a sudden stop in the middle of the room. I almost lose my balance, but his grip tightens, holding me in place.

  “So, I ask myself, I said ‘John, where do we go from here?’” The rest of his words are lost in my laughter, but he keeps on. Then, the music starts and suddenly I can’t laugh anymore. And I don’t want to. But, even if I did, I can’t because his mouth is on mine. The opening of my lips allows his warm satin tongue to slip inside my mouth. Holy fucking shit. The hair of his goatee tickles my chin as he kisses me with the passion of two lovers. One hand is on my neck and one around my waist, and somehow, mine has ended up in his hair. Too soon, he pulls away, his intense brown eyes staring into mine as his thumb grazes my jaw.

  “Listen, Red. Listen to the music, feel the climax of the song.” I nod, wishing he would just shut up and kiss me again, but I don’t want to look any more of a fool than I already do, so I listen. He starts speaking again, telling me that he was looking in the mirror, talking to himself. I don’t know the whole song. Maybe it’s just the moment, but the words he speaks are poetic, and when the music starts and he kisses me again, I feel it. I feel the climax of the song and intenseness of the moment. And it’s beautiful. I kiss Regg back, with just as much passion as he first kissed me and I don’t give a shit what I look like. I’m an actress for all he knows.

  Fireworks are exploding inside of me. Electricity is pulsing through my veins. He makes me feel so wanted. He kisses me like I’m his long lost lover that he’s just been reunited with. Son of a bitch, it’s good. He’s good. The moment is good. I want him to kiss me forever. I want to feel his lips on every part of my body. Just the thought of how his mouth would feel on my neck, my shoulder, the inside of my thighs, has me moaning into his mouth. I feel his hand tighten in my hair at the nape of my neck. He likes the sounds I make-the audible pleasure he pulls from me.

  He ends the song with the sweetest feather like kisses against the corners of my mouth. My heart is racing, my breathing is harsh and there is a downpour of arousal happening in my panties. “Either you’re a good actress, or you’re already falling in love.” My eyes go from half mast to wide open at his words. He is smirking, obviously pleased with hi
mself and I wonder how many girls he’s used that line on.

  “I was gonna say the same about you.” Really, Red? That’s the best comeback line you got? That’s almost as bad as ‘I carried a watermelon.’ I seriously need to work on my game. I pull out of his grip, forcing my own smirk that looks more like the result of a stroke than anything else. My lips are still numb from his kiss. This guy is good. Too good.

  “So, you cookin’?” he beams and I want to slap him.

  “For Luke? Yes,” I answer, praying like hell that my legs will cooperate and move me away from him. I wander over to Luke, fighting so hard to ignore Regg’s effect on me that it’s beyond obvious and the look on Luke’s face says he knows.

  “Is it cool if Regg stays for supper?” Luke’s smile is evil and it makes me want to slap him too. I shrug noncommittally.

  “Sure. It’ll be ready in twenty.” I leave the clubhouse with two thoughts in my head. I hope Regg kisses me again and where can I buy Johnny Paycheck’s entire fucking album.

  ***

  “Holy shit, Red.” Well, I think that’s what he said. The mouthful of food is affecting his speech. I look at him, waiting to hear what else he has to say. After he swallows, takes another bite, wipes his mouth, take three gulps of tea and burps, he continues. “This is the best food I’ve had in years. Damn, babe. It’s good.” I curl my lip at him, still bothered by the fact that I cooked seven pork chops and he has consumed three, Luke had three, which leaves me with only one. Jerks. I was a two pork chop kinda girl.

  “You’re a pig,” I say, wishing I had even just half of a pork chop to finish off my potatoes and butter beans.

  “I could be your pig. And you could feed me this slop anytime.” He wiggles his eyebrows, and even though I don’t want to, I smile.

  “When you leaving?” Luke asks, still hovered over his plate as if me or Regg might steal a bite. It’s possible.

  “Tomorrow. I have to be at work by six, so I’ll probably be leaving here around noon.”

  “When will I see you again?” His question reminds me of something I’ve yet to tell him.

  “I have a really good opportunity in New Orleans. It’s only for a few weeks as a fill in, but I’m thinking about taking the job.” Liar. Actually, I’ve already accepted their offer and leave as soon as I finish my shift tomorrow. Luke looks concerned as he pushes his plate away and I know where the conversation is going.

  “Corey going with you?” I nod, ignoring his intimidating stare and hoping that this is the only question I’m gonna get from him. “Red?” His demanding tone reminds me that Luke likes verbal answers, not head nods.

  “Yes, Luke, Corey is going with me. Yes, Luke, I’ll be careful. Yes, Luke, I know New Orleans is dangerous.” I feel my temper rising and I feel like a bitch for acting like this, but sometimes I just need Luke to be a friend. Not a daddy. I watch Regg as he leaves us and I wish he would have stayed. He would likely have been able to say something funny and lighten the mood. As of now, the tension is way too thick for my liking.

  “I worry about you, Red. Are you back on the drugs?” And there’s the snap. I jump up from the table, grabbing the dishes and throwing them in the sink before unleashing the red-headed beast on his ass. And only because what he is assuming is true.

  “What kind of fuckin’ question is that, Luke? You’re an asshole. Don’t start judging me.” I’m seething, and even though I’m only angry with myself, I’m taking my wrath out on him-the only guy who gives a shit about me in this world.

  “It was just a question, Red. But now, I know the answer. Keep that powder out of your fuckin’ nose.” He is still sitting at the table, and I’m sure it’s to keep him from throwing shit if he stands.

  “And keep your nose out of my fucking business.” I stomp from the kitchen and to my room, gathering all my shit in my pathetic, little bag so I can continue on with my pathetic, little life. See, it’s here that I realize I pity myself. It’s here that I know that what I’m doing is wrong. And it’s here that even though I’m aware of my actions, I still don’t give a shit.

  So, I do the two things I’m so good at when it comes to hurting my best friend. I run. I run far away. And when I’m out of sight, I stick the straw to my nose and inhale. I inhale line after line until Luke is a memory and the feeling of loneliness doesn’t matter anymore.

  Chapter Four

  The Big Easy

  Five Months Ago

  They call cocaine the rich man’s drug. They say this because the high you get is only for a short amount of time. About twenty to thirty minutes. People who need it more often than that are said to have a ‘big nose.’ So, when you’re snorting the rich man’s drug with a big nose, shit gets expensive. Since I’ve been in New Orleans, I’ve made plenty of money, but it’s all gone to coke. That all changed when I met Prissy and Chip.

  Prissy strips with me at Lover’s Cabaret. Her friend Chip, is a notorious drug dealer in the Fifth Ward. And he looks nothing like one. Where Prissy can be identified as a stripper on any given day, in any attire, Chip looks like a high school football coach. He is a well built, attractive middle aged man who gives you the impression that he lives in a nice home with a wife, two kids and a dog. But the truth is that he lives in an apartment, with his grandmother, in Slidell, Louisiana. Prissy hooks him up with clients and Chip hooks them up with dope. It is a flawless system and a turning point for me and my addiction.

  “You’re gonna overdose on that shit, ya know?” I roll my eyes at Prissy, before snorting my sixth line of the night. “Look, why don’t you let me get you some H. The high is better, it lasts longer and it will save you a shitload of money.” Even before I answer her, I see Prissy start punching buttons on her phone.

  “Heroin? Um, no. I don’t do that shit,” I tell her, determination ringing loud in my voice.

  “Oh, because doing coke is so much better? Don’t be stupid, Red. Look, when your high wears off in, what? Ten minutes? Try a little of this. If you like it, I’ll hook you up. If not, then keep spending your hard earned cash on that shit.” I’ve heard horror stories about Heroin and how easy it is to overdose. The last thing I want is to die at twenty-three, in a strip club, with powder on my nose.

  “I think I’ll pass. Thanks though.” I hear the song end just as Claire, the last performer, comes running into the dressing room. She looks happy. Ecstatic. Which tells everyone here that someone important is sitting at the stage.

  “Cleveland Browns’ running back Brandon McDonald and three of his teammates are at the stage. Red, you’re up, you lucky bitch. I’m sure they’re waiting on you.” And I am sure they are too.

  After I rocked the stage, the rest of my evening was immediately booked with privates. The football players requested me, personally. Because I’m a good friend, I encouraged them to allow Prissy to accompany me too. I knew she could use the cash and it is always more fun when there were two of us.

  I pull the jersey they asked me to wear over my head, and exchange my clear shoes for a pair of black, knee high boots. The heel is just as tall, but there is something about the boots that makes me feel sexy. And these boys are paying for sexy.

  “Red,” I watch Prissy approach, bringing with her what she already knows I don’t want. I start shaking my head, but she cuts me off. “Seriously, just try it. Half a line and you’re good for six hours. I promise. I snort a whole line and I’m good.” For good measure, she tilts her head and snorts the longest of the two lines on the mirror until there is nothing left. “We are gonna be back there for hours. Trust me. You need this.” She wipes her eyes, rubs her nose and stares at me, waving the small glass mirror around in my face. I wish I could tell you I said no, but you already know that I didn’t. With one last sigh, and one prayer to the Heroin gods, I snort the small line. And it might have been my worst mistake, but it was the best feeling I’d ever had.

  I spend two more months in New Orleans, and on my last night, I get a surprise visitor. Part of my arrangement for ta
king the job was that they provide me with a studio apartment that I share with two other girls. It is small, but located in the heart of the French Quarter and only a short walk to Bourbon Street where Lover’s Cabaret is located.

  Chip and I had become close friends…with benefits. Meaning that I got a discount and he got me. We don’t talk about our pasts, our families or go on dates. We get high, fuck and occasionally, I make us pancakes. It is a good relationship. Or it was until Chip became possessive. He didn’t want me giving privates anymore and has been asked several times to leave the club. Every time I try to break up with him, he shoves more powder in my face. It is the solution to all of my problems. It doesn’t matter how crazy he gets, one line and I don’t care what he does.

  I am up to snorting a full line of H, at least twice a day when I am working, and totally crashing on my days off. And still, I am aware of what I am doing. But, I don’t see myself as an addict. I am just enjoying life. Or at least that’s what I tell myself. There is nothing fun about my life. I can’t sleep, I can barely eat and the strain of my job and the long hours I work are taking their toll on me. Not to mention Chip and the endless supply of dope that comes with him.

  Chip and I have just finished a line when my doorbell rings. Being the gentleman he is, Chip told me to answer it. Being the idiot I am, I do. And low and behold, I open the door to find Luke Carmical staring back at me. The look of shock doesn’t go unnoticed by me as I cinch my robe tighter and try like hell to make myself fat.

  “Hey, Luke!” My smile is fake and as much as I want to be high, I try to force normalcy into my stance, eyes and voice. It isn’t working.