by Diane Munier
She was clawing at him, and her legs, when she remembered she had legs, he was between them. She groaned, and this awakened, crazy wanting part of her came to crazy life, and he pulled away, stood and reworked those pants until he was stepping out from them, his eyes all over her, his chest moving with his breaths, his face undone like she’d never seen it, just undone and wild as the hair she had pulled and twisted—and she saw herself, her blouse unbuttoned, the clover pin stark against the white slip, her skirt bunched around her hips, her legs thrown like Raggedy Ann’s.
“Isbe,” he whispered.
He was balking, faltering, and her shame hit her at once, and her legs moved, and she was on her feet. Two steps to him and she had her hands on his chest, and she went to her knees, her skirt still bunched, a stupid kneeling fool, and his hands were on her arms. He was already trying to pull her onto her feet, but she wouldn’t comply; she sat back and he bent more. “Isbe.”
“I love you. I love you,” she said again. “You can’t pull away from me…”
“I didn’t…I haven’t,” he said.
“You can’t shut me out like this.”
“No, Isbe.”
“I love you. I can’t not love you.”
He was still trying to talk.
“You could have been killed!” she shouted.
He was shaking his head, looking at her with such concern, but she didn’t care. He had to understand how it was…for her.
Then, pounding on the door and Jerry calling her name, trying the knob, hitting hard against the door.
Jules pulled Isbe onto her feet, motioned she should get on the other side of the bed. She knew it was Jerry.
“Go!” Jules yelled, righting his pants while she resisted and pulled at her skirt, gathered her blouse.
“Go!” he yelled again, ready to unlock the door when it was hit again.
“Who the hell is it?” Jules yelled, turning the lock.
“It’s Jerry!” Isbe yelled, as Jerry yelled, “Isbe!”
And Jules pulled the door open, and Jerry came in with force and Jules threw him off, and Jerry got up and charged Jules again, and Jules pushed him down to the floor and spread over him, and Jerry resisted, and Jules punched him a couple of times and yelled, “Lie still!”
Isbe was screaming for them to stop, and she jumped on the bed to get out of their way because Jerry wouldn’t be still, and they were all-out fighting now, and she jumped around on the bed yelling at them to stop.
And she yelped then. “Oh my God, oh my God.”
And Jules looked up and stood up slowly, and Jerry stayed down, trying to catch his breath, but when he saw what was revealed all around Isbe’s feet as the cover had moved on the bed, the bed she stood on, Jerry stood slowly too.
It was money. Lots and lots of money.
Isbe pulled her attention from Jerry to this nest of cash that had been hidden under Jules’s blanket and then looked at this man she loved, this…bank robber?
“Jules…”
He moved to her, and he took her hand and helped her off the bed. She didn’t know where her shoes had gone. They were on the bed, with the rumpled blanket, with the money. She carefully picked them out from the mess.
“Jules,” she said again.
“You live in this toilet and you—stick up a bank?” Jerry said. “Isbe—come here.”
But she didn’t move; she stared at Jules. She held her shoes and waited.
Chapter 26
“Who is this guy?” Jules asked Isbe as he stood in his room with her and the muscly baby-face who’d attacked him.
“Jerry. Blake.” Isbe gestured with her shoe. Then she seemed to remember she held them and put them on her feet.
That simple gesture, so feminine the way she reached behind to shoe one raised foot, then the other, helped calm him down. He stepped around Jerry and closed the door. Putting Blake’s number in the trash hadn’t helped get rid of this moog. Hadn’t he known this porky was trouble? His gut never lied.
“Where—” Jerry began.
“No—asshole.” Jules held up a finger near Jerry’s face. “You don’t ask questions in my house.”
Jerry looked from Isbe to Jules.
“Jules, he’s my friend,” Isbe said softly.
“She was yelling,” Jerry said.
“So you barge in here…” Jules said. But he was actually a little pleased. If this moog thought Isbe was in trouble, he should step in.
“I was trying to break in the door, and you opened it…” Jerry defended himself.
“You trying to break in my door? I’ll follow you home and level your house,” Jules said, wanting to push this asshole some.
“Enough!” Isbe yelled, then said more softly, “Please. Where did you get this money, Jules?”
“It’s all hundreds…” Porky with the mouth said.
Jules strode over to the bed and covered the cash. “My business. You got that?”
He looked back at Jerry. It was thousands, actually. Fathead had no imagination.
“Jerry, go wait in the truck—please,” Isbe said.
“I’m not leaving you with this—”
Jules’s hands were balled. “This what? Go on and say it. Maybe you can go out the window instead of the door.”
Isbe hurried to Jerry and took him by the arm. She pushed him toward the door, but he seemed eager to prove to her he wasn’t afraid. He pushed her hand off of him and stepped closer to Jules.
“I’ve known Isbe a lot of years, and I ain’t leaving this room until she does.” His chin was out, and Jules tried not to laugh.
Isbe was going to put herself in the middle of it, but Jules didn’t spare her a glance. “You talk real tough for a moog I just had on the floor like a rug.” He didn’t say it with heat. Just making a point.
“You want another go?” Jerry said, raising his fists.
Isbe was pulling on Jerry’s arms. Jules didn’t like the way she touched this punk all over. “I’d love another go,” Porky said.
But Jules couldn’t watch Isbe in between them anymore. This kid was so eager to prove he had more than a pickle between his legs he might hurt her, and then they’d have a big problem because he only thought he was protecting Isbe. He only thought that.
“Isbe,” Jules said, pulling her toward him. She resisted some, but she was far from stupid. Placating him would be more effective than wrestling with the cub. She was smart that way.
Jules had his arm around her waist. The kid hated this, and Jules tightened his hold. “You want to touch my money?” That money had stuck its finger in this kid’s eye, but it’s Isbe that Porky wanted more. That was the truth.
He kissed Isbe’s cheek. She was just tolerating him. He released her, annoyed that she worried over him bullying the little shit.
“Tell you what,” he went for his shirt balled on the floor and pulled it swiftly over his head, “let’s take Isbe home, and I might let you count my money.”
“Where’d you get all this, Jules?” Isbe asked again. The moog’s eyes were on Isbe as she straightened her clothes. Little Porky knew they’d been going at it when he barreled in here, no mistake on that.
“Sold some stuff I brought home from the war,” he told her, tucking his wallet in his back pocket. “Where you think?”
He had no idea where that lie came from. Other than that Luger, he’d brought home shit. Guys had taken loot all across Europe, but the truck got so full they cleaned it all out, threw it on the side of the road, and made a one-thing-apiece limit. He’d taken the Luger.
But now, it made sense, this lie, and her dark eyes were looking into his, and maybe this was judgment day, right here, and he breathed slow cause he had an outstanding poker face, even in this blinding light of hers—it made him hope he could withstand God—if she bought this. Nothing could crack him then. No one.
“Jerry,” she said, “please wait downstairs.”
“Isbe…”
“Wait downstairs!” she yel
led. Then added, “Please.”
Jerry went out and slammed the door.
She followed him to the door, held the knob, and seemed to be listening. After a few seconds, she opened the door and looked into the hall. Apparently satisfied Porky wasn’t sticking his ear where his nose had been, she shut the door. Leaning against it, she said, “I’d like you to trust me with the truth.”
Jules was sitting on the bed now, tying his shoes. “What are you talking about?” he said.
“The same day you kill three men in a holdup…you have thousands of dollars hiding under a blanket on your bed.”
Jules got on his knees and pulled his empty duffel, the only remnant of his old uniform, from under his bed, and started to put the money in there. He was angry. If this is what a dame expected…heck with dat. She didn’t have to call him out on every move he made. He was a man, and he knew what he needed to do. “I don’t like to repeat.”
“Jules…I asked you…begged you not to do this.”
“Do what?” he looked briefly over his shoulder. “You bring that kid up here—in my business—I don’t know him. I try to get along with you—but you want—what else? Be content, Isbe. You gonna call your old man and turn me in now?”
“Oh,” she said, making a clapping sound, like one fist in another. “Francis was right. She told me not to come.”
He didn’t lift that off. Maybe Isbe should listen sometimes. This was reckless, and it had caused trouble. But—it might be all right. If she’d back off an inch.
“I’m sorry about Jerry, Jules. But right now—this is you and me—and it doesn’t make a difference?”
He shoved the last stack of bills in the bag and bounced it a little to settle the cash. He knew she drew closer. But he wasn’t going to try and come up with an answer for every little thing she threw at him. He didn’t owe all that, and she was trying to rope him that way.
“I asked you not to shut me outside,” she said.
“You’re in here, Isbe. I got the closet—you ain’t been in there, and the shitter is down the hall.” He smirked like a smartass and threw the bag over his shoulder. “You ready?”
She wasn’t. She glared at him. “You make me so angry,” she said, her arms folded.
He laughed. It was a little funny. It was. But he wasn’t up for games.
“You don’t need to go with us, Jules. Jerry knows the way to my house.”
They stared for a while. She broke away first.
“I’ll be going,” she said.
She’d just gotten to the door when he reached it, still toting the bag, his hand on the door he’d just pushed closed. “Listen,” he said, smirk in place. She was mad, and he was sorry to see hurt feelings too. He knew she was telling herself he didn’t notice, but he noticed everything about this girl. “I ain’t ready to say goodbye.”
“Well, maybe you don’t always get what you want,” she said, with the littlest quiver in her lip.
“You don’t think so? I got you, didn’t I?” He said this gentle.
She swallowed. He was waiting for the big disagreement. For her to lie and tell him he didn’t have her. But he couldn’t hold it, the asshole bit; he couldn’t hold it. Damn her. He’d killed today. Not his first time to be here; it didn’t bother him like she’d expect. He didn’t want to bring that to her, this side. He didn’t want it; didn’t think it would show up here—the need to go all John Wayne. He was flying. See, that’s what it was. He was happy. Too happy. Him too happy was touchy. He could do things…say things.
But even this couldn’t hold its own with her. It was melting away as he looked at her. He lifted a finger, first to the pin, there like she knew he wanted…then to her face, her lips.
Oh, didn’t she know, he did nothing, said nothing, thought nothing that she wasn’t a part of…the point of. Didn’t she know? She knew.
This girl…she was him. Not his. Him. A part of him he hadn’t known before. He didn’t own her. He was her. He knew her. She knew him. It was all recognition now. They had things to do together, things to make, things to be, things to feel, things to…win…and hold…and know…and so…
And so it was settled, at the door. When they left, hand in hand, she was quiet, and he was quiet, and they walked down, and out—and no one said a word, not a word, as they passed—the king, and his queen.
Chapter 27
“He ain’t getting in here,” Jerry said to Isbe when Jules opened the truck’s door for them both.
“You don’t want me in here, kid? I’m cut,” Jules said, the duffel’s strap still on his shoulder, a hand splayed on his chest.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Isbe said quietly.
“This ain’t goodbye yet,” Jules said to her, then over her head to Porky, “I’m hitching a ride to Isbe’s.”
“Good luck,” Jerry said.
Jules helped Isbe get in. “Scoot over,” he said to her.
Isbe looked at Jerry. “Just to my house?”
Jerry sighed and looked out his window. He turned back, his mouth a straight line, glaring with that baby-face. Man, it was hard not to crack up, but Jules pushed a little on Isbe and got in beside her, the bag between his feet. He slammed the door and put his arm around Isbe and smiled at Jerry. “Real righteous of you, brother.”
“Don’t talk in my truck,” Jerry said, stealing Jules’s line.
Jules laughed out loud then. Yeah, this little orangutan had some spunk. Real cutie pie.
He tightened his arm around Isbe’s shoulders and kissed her hair. She tried to wiggle away a little so he’d loosen his grip. He didn’t.
“Jerry’s father Redver owns a gas station, and Jerry helps him run it,” Isbe said, proud of her baby boy.
“That’s swell,” Jules said, and he meant it, but Isbe shot him a look like he was being a wise guy, and he held his hand up like—what?
So the attempt to make nice died in the same breeze whipping Isbe’s long hair against his shoulder and face.
After that it was silence. She softened pretty quick, leaning into him. He took advantage and pulled her closer. Damn, he’d go in through her window tonight for sure if he wasn’t in the middle of the biggest opportunity of his life. He craved her company. After he won that fight, look out. He was going for her. Going to her. The image of her earlier in his room, he’d never forget it, never. He squeezed her tighter still, and she moved her shoulder like he’d stung her or something.
He mumbled, “Sorry,” tugged on a long lock of her hair and tried to tease her a little, but she was holding fast to protecting the cub, the jealous little bitch cub who kept eying everywhere Jules put his hands on his girl.
When they reached Isbe’s house, Jules stepped down to let her out. Jerry cranked his door and ran around the bumper so he could stand near them like a cabbie worried about his fare. Damn third wheel.
“I want to say goodbye to Isbe. Keep an eye on my money?” Jules said, pointing to the bag that sat on the floorboards while he stood beside the vehicle hoping to walk his girl to her door.
Jerry stared at him, jaw all bunched. “You brought the bank? What—a wallet ain’t good enough for you? Got to carry a bag like Santa Claus?”
Jerry looked at Isbe, then away. He couldn’t help laughing. He should be in the movies, this goofy.
Isbe thanked Jerry like he’d healed her broken leg or something, and Jules walked Isbe closer to her front door.
“He honest?” he asked her.
“Jerry?” she said. “As the day is long.”
“What about his old man?”
“He’s in a wheelchair now. Legs are no good. Redver’s all right. Salt of the earth.”
“He get around—Redver?”
“Yeah—some. Jerry takes him around. Redver still works the register at the station. He’s a good fella.”
They were at her door.
“You’re not going to fight…” she said.
“No. I promise,” he said, sign of the cross over his heart, meeting
her look, but keeping it straight cause she’d used that word, “fight,” and he was going to fight—like a son of bitch off the boat—that’s what.
But he pulled her into his arms and kissed her sweet.
“You can come in—come up?” she fumbled.
He threw his head back and groaned. “You ask me now?”
“You could bring your money inside…put it under my bed this time. Maybe start to tell me the truth?” She raised her brow. She was going gentle. He knew if he hung around she’d keep screwing it in until she was demanding he come clean. He added this to the list of reasons why he had to go.
He kissed her again. It was the answer to everything. She threw her arms around him and hung on for a minute. When she let go, she didn’t look at him. “I don’t know what you’re up to…but you don’t fool me, Jules. I love you because I’m honest. Not because you are.”
She got him good that time, a jab straight to the heart—the hustle bustle traffic jam of words, and him caught in it.
“I would never two-time you, baby.”
“I didn’t think that,” she said in a high-pitched voice. “Geez, Jules. Why’d you have to say a thing like that?”
“It’s usually that with br—girls, right?”
“I wouldn’t know. Would you?”
“What you getting all mad about? Saying I’m not honest, shit like that.”
“I only meant—are we in trouble, Jules?”
“You and me? Hell no,” he said. He stayed close to her; she let him, almost kissing but just sharing breath.
“You’d tell me, Jules?” She had her hand on his cheek, and he put his hand over hers.
“Yeah,” he said, his arm tightening around her.
“You…wouldn’t just go away?”
“I…” he turned his head and cleared his throat a little, “ain’t goin’ nowhere…without you, baby. What are you thinkin’?”
