Loser's Town

by Unknown

  Rose was working the bar when Allison went over to her and showed her a receipt.

  ‘You see this?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘How many shots do you get out of a bottle of scotch?’

  ‘Twenty maybe,’ said Rose.

  ‘According to this, we only get sixteen. We’re losing a quarter of every bottle.’

  ‘Look,’ said Rose, ‘I’m not the only bartender in this place.’

  ‘I’m just saying I want it stopped, now. Pass the word along. I see anybody handing out comps to their friends or pocketing money and I treat it like it’s theft, which it is.’

  Allison went downstairs to talk to the other employees, leaving Rose to steam. Martin had been watching all this and went over to her. Rose Villano was small and hot and Martin wanted her bad. A sympathetic shoulder would not go amiss.

  ‘Did you see that shit?’ Rose said to him. ‘Where does she get off calling me a fucking thief? Miserable bitch. If she wasn’t blowing Richie she’d be out on the street where she belongs. You want a drink?’

  ‘Yeah. The usual.’

  She poured him a large scotch.

  ‘It’s on the house. The bitch,’ said Rose.

  ‘She’s not putting out for Richie,’ Martin said.

  ‘Oh yeah? I bet that makes him happy. Well, that shit won’t last long. Fucking dyke, maybe. That would explain a lot.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Martin. ‘Anyway, it’s not right her taking it out on you.’

  ‘Fucking-A it’s not,’ said Rose. ‘You’re lucky you don’t have to work with her. Fucking ball-buster, that’s what she is. Not giving it up for him?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Somebody ought to talk to Richie about her,’ Rose said, looking him in the eyes.

  ‘Yeah, maybe I should. It’s not, you know, good for the work environment.’

  ‘You’re fucking right it’s not. So you think maybe you’ll talk to him?’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Martin, smiling at her.

  ‘Oh, you’re a sly one, ain’t you? Maybe there’s more to you than I thought.’

  ‘There is,’ said Martin. ‘I got all kinds of ideas. She won’t be here forever. You and me ought to talk.’

  ‘We could talk,’ said Rose. ‘I’m real good at talking.’

  They were both leaning on the bar and smiling and looking into each other’s eyes. Rose reached down behind the bar and picked up a cocktail cherry and put it in her mouth. She moved the cherry around behind her teeth and when she pulled it back out there was a knot in the stem. She put it in his hand.

  ‘Jesus,’ said Martin, unaware he’d said it aloud, in equal admiration for the dexterity of her tongue and the way she sucked at the cherry as she pulled it from her mouth. Martin was blissfully lost for a moment in a reverie about that tongue and those lips when he remembered what he was actually there for. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘I want you do me a favor.’ He pulled out the video still of Terry and showed it to her. ‘You ever see this guy?’

  She looked at it carefully.

  ‘Yeah, I seen him. He’s been in the bar. And I seen him the other day with miss tight-ass bitch. They were together in Denny’s. Why?’

  All thoughts of love suddenly dropped through Martin’s ass.

  ‘Mind your own beeswax,’ said Martin.

  Rose brightened. ‘The bitch been cheating on Richie? Oh my God, this is going to be sweet!’

  ‘You keep your goddamn mouth shut,’ Martin said quickly. ‘I mean it, or you’ll have Richie down on you, you got that? You know who this guy is, where I can find him?’

  ‘Ask the bitch,’ said Rose.

  ‘Not a word, right?’

  ‘Not me, baby. I’m just going to watch and enjoy.’

  Martin found Richie in the office. Allison had just come back in and Richie was trying to talk to her. Allison was doing what she usually did, which was trying to simultaneously work and fend off Richie’s roaming hands.

  ‘Richie?’

  ‘What?’ snapped Richie. ‘Can’t you see we’re doing the books here?’

  ‘I need to talk to you.’

  ‘What the fuck about?’

  ‘It’s important.’

  ‘Jesus.’

  He led Richie into the empty VIP Room. ‘What the hell is all this about? That bitch is killing me, I don’t even know why I bother sometimes.’

  ‘You know that guy we’re looking for, the guy in the trailer? He’s a friend of Allison’s.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘She knows the guy.’

  ‘What the fuck do you mean, she knows the guy?’

  ‘Rose said she saw them together. And you were right, she’s seen the guy in here.’

  ‘Rose fucking hates her, she’s fucking jealous of her. She’s a lying goddamn little spic.’

  ‘I don’t think so, Richie. She said she saw them together. I didn’t even mention Allison’s name, I just showed her the picture.’

  ‘Jesus,’ Richie said weakly.

  ‘You want me to talk to her?’

  ‘No, you stay the fuck away from her, you hear me? Anybody going to talk to her, it’ll be me. You don’t say a fucking word.’ He sat down on the sofa. ‘Jesus,’ he said again.

  ‘What do you want to do?’

  ‘Just keep an eye on her. If Rose is telling the truth, she’ll lead us to the bastard sooner or later. If Rose is lying, I want her fucking greaseball thumbs cut off or something.’

  ‘What if she’s telling the truth?’

  ‘I’ll fucking let you know, okay? Now get the fuck out of my sight. I want to think.’

  Richie Stella sat alone in the VIP Room with a broken heart. No, that’s a lie. Richie Stella had never had a broken heart in his life. Richie Stella had whatever it’s called when you want something really bad but it fucks you over and makes you feel like an asshole and now you want to kill it. Maybe that’s not a broken heart, but it’s as close as Richie Stella was ever going to come.

  It was after 2 a.m. the following night when Allison’s phone rang. Allison got out of bed and went into the living room to answer it.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I want to see you,’ said Terry. His Irish brogue was thick and slow and Allison could tell he’d been drinking heavily.

  ‘Leave me alone,’ whispered Allison. ‘You got what you wanted. Now just stay out of my life.’

  ‘I need to see you. I can come there.’

  ‘No, for God’s sake, don’t come here. I told you.’

  ‘Then meet me somewhere. We need to talk. It’s important.’

  ‘I’ll call you tomorrow. I have to go.’

  ‘Is he with you?’

  She didn’t answer.

  ‘He’s with you, isn’t he?’

  ‘No,’ said Allison. ‘He’s not. I have to go,’ and hung up.

  ‘Who was that?’ Richie called from the bedroom.

  ‘It’s Mom. Cody’s got a temperature.’

  ‘You want me to get a doctor?’ said Richie, coming into the living room naked. ‘I’ll have a doctor right over there.’

  ‘It’s just a cold or something. It’s not bad. Better just to let him sleep.’

  ‘You need a doctor, anything, you just tell me. I’d do anything for that kid. You know that.’

  ‘Yeah, I know.’

  Richie put his hands on her shoulders, massaged them, massaged her neck. ‘Come to bed. You got nothing to worry about as long as I’m here. You know that, right? You’re my girl, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘I’m your girl.’

  They were sitting in the galley of Terry’s boat. It shifted slowly back and forth against the dock, like an animal lazily trying to scratch its side. It was stuffy inside and Allison wished the windows were open, that some fresh air was moving around. No, what she wanted was off this goddamn boat. Her stomach was upset from the tension and the rocking.

  ‘Can we go outside?’ she said.

  ‘I want you to talk to me,’ Terry
said, leaning across to her.

  ‘What do you want me to say?’

  ‘I want you to tell me you didn’t fuck him.’

  ‘Okay, fine, I didn’t fuck him.’

  Terry looked at her then sat back and covered his face with his hands, took them away, let out a deep sigh.

  ‘It’s not my job to make you feel better,’ Allison said.

  ‘I thought . . . I mean, I wanted . . .’

  ‘Grow up, will you.’

  She needed to get out of there. She got up to leave.

  ‘You don’t feel anything?’ Terry asked her.

  ‘Jesus, what if I did? What possible difference could it make?’

  ‘He’ll be out of your life soon, one way or another. I swear to God. I can fix everything. It will all be fine.’

  ‘I can’t tell you how sick I am of hearing this shit from guys,’ Allison said. ‘All my life I’ve been hearing this, and all they ever do is make it worse. What are you going to do? Kill him?’

  ‘You think he deserves to live? I wouldn’t lose a minute’s sleep. The world would be better.’

  ‘I don’t want to listen to this. You’re crazy.’

  ‘Trust me,’ Terry said to her. ‘Just trust me. It will all be over. I can take care of you. Then we can be together. If that’s what you want. You want to give it a try, just you and me? Is that maybe something you’d want?’

  ‘Yeah. It would be nice. I think you’re crazy, but you make me laugh.’

  ‘I love you,’ Terry said.

  ‘I sort of figured.’

  ‘We need each other. We’re alike, you and me. It’ll work. It’ll all be fine. You’ll see.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘I know it will.’

  Terry kissed her, and to her own irritation she found herself responding. He had this affect on her, pheromones or something. He wasn’t tall or handsome or rich, and there was some of him that was a disaster in its own right. He didn’t even live in a goddamn house or apartment, like normal people. Just floated in this goddamn little hobbitthemed watery cocoon, him and his fairy stories and his picture of Gandalf and his map of Middle Earth. Except when he was out strangling ex-husbands and talking people into shit they had no business getting into. The sort of guy who will complicate your life beyond all common sense but you can’t help wanting to let it happen because it’s like nothing that ever happened before. Suddenly a panel slides back and there is a new world presented for good or ill and you already know what you’ve got in this one. All the little bastard had to do was touch her and she wanted to hold onto him and not let go. She forgot about her stomach and the stale sea air and the resolution to never see him again and wanted to be in bed with him and fuck and laugh and forget the rest of it existed.

  ‘Can you stay with me?’

  ‘It’s a bad idea,’ said Allison, knowing that she’d think of some way to do it.

  ‘Call your mom. Ask her to keep Cody overnight. We’ll anchor out a ways, it’ll be nice and quiet. The water’s calm, it’ll be like being rocked in somebody’s arms. I’ll make you dinner, we’ll watch the sunset. That’s all I’ve been thinking about. Holding you in my arms and watching the sunset.’

  ‘I shouldn’t . . .’

  They kissed again. He pulled her around the table to him and she straddled his lap. He buried his face in her breast and his hands were on her hips. She kissed his dark curly hair, put her arms around his neck. She was tired, tired of it all, tired of trying to push and pull at the same time. She wanted to be swept away. He led her to the bed.

  ‘They’re on his boat,’ Martin said to Richie. ‘He’s got a boat out in Ventura.’

  Richie was in the dining room eating a steak. He carefully trimmed some fat away then set it aside. Then he cut a small square of meat and dipped it in a mixture of horseradish and ketchup and brought this to his mouth and chewed carefully. Then he did this again. He didn’t look at Martin, who was hovering over the table, waiting for the explosion to happen.

  ‘What are they doing?’ Richie said finally, still cutting and eating, mechanical-like, not looking up from his plate.

  ‘Jesus, Richie, what do you want me to say? They’re playing house.’

  Richie over-masticated the last piece of meat then set down his knife and fork, took a sip of his wine, wiped his lips with the cloth napkin, and put his hands on the table on either side of the plate. Richie said, ‘Two-faced fucking bitch. I’d have given her everything. She finally fucked me, too, you know that? Lying cunt.’

  Martin would have felt more comfortable if Richie had set about screaming, smashing and throwing things, making vile threats, which is what he usually did. This way it felt like sitting on a bomb that might or might not go off under your ass any second.

  ‘What do you want to do?’ Martin asked him.

  Richie let his hands remain still at the sides of the plate but twitched his thumbs. He sat that way for a while. Then he said:

  ‘Call Squiers and Potts. Tell them I got another job for them. Tell them they’ll get a bonus if they do it right. And ask that little weasel Potts if he knows anything about boats.’

  Nineteen

  Potts unlocked the door of his house. He reached in, flipped on the light, and stood aside to let Ingrid enter first.

  ‘It ain’t much,’ Potts said to her.

  Ingrid went in. She walked around the living room, looking at things, smiling to herself.

  ‘It’s lovely.’

  Potts pulled back the patio curtains. ‘Out here’s the patio. I got a grill. And there’s a horseshoe pitch, if you like that sort of thing.’

  Ingrid came to the picture of Potts’ daughter, the one taken two years before. Potts had only managed to get it from her last year. He’d practically had to beg and wound up promising her fifty dollars before she’d sent it.

  ‘Is this your daughter?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s Brittany. Her grandparents, my wife’s family, they got custody of her right now. Back in El Paso. I’m fighting to get her back. I’m going to bring her out here, give her a real home. That’s what I got this place for. She’d like you. You two would get along. You’d be a good influence on her.’

  ‘She’s very pretty,’ Ingrid said. ‘She has a lot of character, like you. I think we would get along fine.’

  ‘You think so? You think you would?’

  ‘I know so. I can tell by her face. We’d get on like a house afire.’

  Potts could feel happiness come over him like a cool mist.

  ‘I got some money coming in soon, from this job I got to do. Not a whole lot. But enough to get my business started, I think. Enough to rent a garage and get some tools, hire me somebody to help. It won’t take much. All I got to do is get through the first month and it’ll be fine. And I can pay this lawyer, he’ll get Brittany for me. And you two can meet each other.’

  ‘I have some money,’ said Ingrid. ‘I could help you a little. And Mother won’t be around much longer, there’s that house, I don’t want to be all alone in that house.’

  ‘It’s going to be good, ain’t it? Everything is going to be so good.’

  She laughed. ‘You say that like there’s something wrong with it.’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t want to jinx it. Sometimes you shouldn’t say a thing out loud, you know. No matter how happy you are.’

  Ingrid came over and put her arms around him. ‘I think you should say it aloud especially when you’re happy. I think you should celebrate it.’

  ‘We ought to get some champagne,’ Potts said, his arms around her. ‘You think you could pick us out a good bottle of champagne? And we could celebrate for real. We ought to celebrate me and you. We’ll get some champagne, and I’ll grill us some steaks in the backyard.’

  ‘It’s been so long since I was happy. You make me happy. Do I make you happy?’

  ‘Hell, yeah. I’ve never been this happy. I reckon I could get used to it.’

&
nbsp; Ingrid kissed him, then went over to the patio door and looked out.

  ‘Amos,’ said Potts.

  Ingrid turned around. ‘What?’

  ‘Amos,’ repeated Potts. ‘My first name is Amos.’

  ‘I love you, Amos Potts,’ she said. ‘Do you love me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then everything is going to be just fine.’

  Twenty

  Something about sex makes it better in desperation. Maybe so much of what sex is about involves forgetting. Maybe so much of why we fuck is about, for as long as we can wind it out, for as long as we can push our bodies and our senses to their extremes, not remembering who and where we are. People wonder why the poor have so many children, but fucking is free, at least in the beginning, at least until the kids come along. Fucking is like a drug, you forget where you are, who you are, don’t care, as long as you’re cranking up to an orgasm and then the blessed event itself – everything else goes away. Marx was wrong. Fuck religion. As everyone in advertising knows, a good shag is the Opiate of the People.

  Terry had nodded off for a bit and Allison had a chance to think about this. Terry excited and pleased her in a way no one else had done before, though she was unable to say why this was true. He was a good lover but it wasn’t a matter of technique. She thought maybe it was because, even though she felt safe with him, he still confused her. He was unpredictable – in making love, in everything he did, up and down the scales between tenderness and violence. The possibilities were endless, which is why it was so easy to accept his blarney. With any other guy you could write it off as just hot air, but you never knew with Terry, and that is what got to her. With Terry, the lines between reality and fantasy sort of got blurred. It made him a great lover but it also made him dangerous, she knew.