Stories From a Bar With No Doorknobs

by Joaquin Emiliano

  We rode past pallid streetlights, shuttered surf shops and desolate bars.

  Stuck to the glove box, a two-by-two pic of a twenty-some blond flashed a tired, optimistic smile. Edges curling along with the humidity.

  “Who’s that?” I asked him.

  He smiled. “She’s beautiful, ain’t she?”

  “You bet.”

  “That’s my sister.”

  We stopped at a traffic light. I glanced back at the picture. Yes, there was a resemblance. I stared, trying to make the picture come alive. Wasn’t long before I realized the kid had joined me in a quiet bout of appreciation. The light turned green and he didn’t notice.

  I didn’t want to be the one to tell him, but I did: “Go, man.”

  He blinked, and we were on the move again. I reminded him I was going to need more cigarettes. The kid smiled apologetically. Pulled up to a gas station, sand crunching beneath worn tires.

  A pair of military boys were walking out of the store. Crew cuts aligned with equally cut bodies, muscles bulging, toting several cases of Milwaukee Beast .White shirts tucked into blue jeans. Assembly line marvels, programmed to kill.

  Marines, most likely.

  The kid slowed down, watched them closely.

  The marines strolled over to a Jeep Cherokee. A trio of women stepped out to help with the beer. Neon colored bikini tops hugged their tits with elastic loyalty, and cutoffs gave their thighs true meaning. Carolina accents drifted from their mouths, out across the pumps, mixed with the stench of gasoline.

  The kid kept his engine running, watching them load up.

  I couldn’t figure it out. “What are you up to?”

  “I don’t know,” he replied. “Just trying to understand.”

  “Not saying I don’t appreciate the sentiment, but –”

  “Those men know something we don’t.”

  I shrugged. “We’re sitting in a car outside of a gas station. I’m sure they know any number of things we don’t.”

  “No, I don’t mean it like that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The kid didn’t answer.

  One of the marines went back into the store. The rest of them piled into the jeep. As for me and my wingman, we just kept on waiting. The remaining soldier walked on out the sliding doors. Long strides with tremendous purpose.

  The kid let out a whistle, then yelled, “HEY!”

  The marine stopped. Caught sight of our stakeout. He made his way over, trotting slightly. Practically gliding over paved paradise.

  He leaned into the window: “What’s going on, guys?”

  “Where’s the party?” the kid asked.

  I stole another cigarette, sparked my lighter. Watched this exchange with cautious eyes.

  “Couldn’t tell you that,” the marine said. He smiled with an innate warmth, calm as can be. “Me and my friend are just going over to these girls’ place, see if we can get some pussy.”

  The kid grinned. “Yeah?”

  “If you’re looking for action, you could always try The Shack Shack.”

  “The Shack Shack?”

  “Best club around these parts. Real good pussy there.”

  “Can’t, man. Not eighteen.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Seventeen.”

  The marine thought things through. Turned a respectful gaze in my direction. “You over eighteen, man?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Twenty.”

  “Man…” He shook his head, genuinely sorry for us, perhaps. “My guess is this car’s got more a right to buy a beer than either one of you.”

  “She’s a good girl,” the kid agreed, gave the dashboard a tiny pat.

  The engine kept on purring. I snubbed my cigarette, broke its neck in two quick jabs. The marine was lost in thought. Concentrating; deliberating, more like. The night stretched out around us.

  Inside, the station attendant watched us through Powerball posters.

  “All right, boys…” The marine reached into his shorts. Little bit of pocket pool before producing a small, glass bottle. No larger than an average thumb. No label. Just a viscous brown liquid coating the insides, an ounce or so of raw sewage.

  “What’s that?” the kid asked.

  “This… is love in a bottle.”

  Nobody said anything for a few seconds.

  “Love in a bottle,” he repeated. “And I’ll sell it to you boys for three ninety-nine.”

  The kid’s eyes brightened. “What does it do?”

  “It’s love in a bottle, dummy. You want some grad school thesis, or are you going to ask the real question?”

  “What’s the real question?”

  “Does it work?”

  The kid was happy follow him down this path. “Does it work?”

  “You bet.”

  The kid turned to me, cherub face alight. “Wanna go halves with me, Lucky?”

  “Oh, God. No thanks.”

  The kid pulled out his wallet. Black Velcro with gunmetal stitching. I saw another picture of his sister peeking out from between red folds. He removed four singles, turned them over to the Marine.

  The Marine gave up the goods. Gave us a wink. Kept the penny and walked away without another word.

  I watched him get into his car, start the engine.

  Seconds later, they were gone and I was alone with the kid.

  “Love in a bottle,” he mused. “Looks like some kind of drink.”

  “Could have sworn it looks like a goddamn Lexus.”

  My sarcasm slid off his shoulders as he popped the top, took a whiff. “You sure you don’t want to split this?”

  “I’ll stick with my cigarettes.” I stepped out of the car.

  Picked up a pack of Marlboros. Paid with a crumpled fiver, all I had left to show for this mad adventure. The attendant asked if I was from around there. I told him I wasn’t, got my change. He asked what I was doing ‘round those parts. I pulled out a cigarette, lit it.

  “A fortune teller told me to come here,” I told him, and walked out the door.

  Back in the car, the kid was polishing off the last drops of love in a bottle.

  I closed the door as he forced it down. Throat working, lip synced grimace.

  “Goddamit.” He wiped his mouth, whole body shuddering. “Tastes like a landfill.”

  “What did you expect?”

  “I’m not sure… flowers?”

  I laughed, coughing exhaust. “Alright, man. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

  ***

  The kid drove us to his house.

  “Not my house,” he explained. “My sister’s house. Jade. I’m living with her while I get my GED. She won’t mind if you spend the night. And you know she’s hot.”

  I tossed my cigarette out the window. “You admit your sister’s hot?”

  “Well, if you want to get personal about it, she’s my stepsister.”

  For some reason, I felt guilty. “My bad, guy. I was just –”

  “Known each other since I was five,” he interrupted. “Yea high.”

  He didn’t elaborate on what yea high meant. “Ok, that’s fine.”

  “I know hot when I see it.”

  I wasn’t about to argue. Before I had the chance not to, we pulled into the driveway of a rundown beachfront house. Two stories of warped wood towered over us, painted red with dark outliers. To the left and right, a line dance of extravagantly remodeled houses muscled in. Weather-sealed windows. Roofs with fresh shingles, gutters fully furnished. Automated garage doors. Outdoor floodlights ready to pounce on any and all interlopers, sending raccoons scurrying back into the shadows.

  He killed the headlights.

  I got out, mindful of my cigarettes.

  The kid led us up some rotting stairs, damp and green from time-tested events. The ocean wasn’t far off. Sea breeze blasted my face, that odd combination of salt and erosion.

  He pulled back on the scr
een door. Rusted and unwilling, falling off its hinges. He struggled with the lock. Got it, and we walked into the living room. Walls painted the same tetanus red as the outside. White carpet, home to endless grains of sand, glistening bedbugs. Cheap couch, cheap chairs. Ugly frames home to family portraits without focus.

  “SIS?” the kid yelled. “SIS? I’M HOME!”

  I picked an armchair. It creaked with aged complaints. I lit another cigarette and waited.

  Jade made her entrance in a way that made me wish I had been invited. Her hair was wet. Damp from a recent shower, it looked like. She wore a see-through nightgown, behind which a thin, strangely disproportionate body awaited judgment. Nipples, yes, blond pubic hair, it was all in plain sight. Her eyes flashed with intoxicating shards of blue lightning.

  I watched her as she joined her brother.

  “James,” she said.

  James, that was his name. James.

  “Hey, sis,” he said, and the two embraced. Cradled in each other’s arms. They rocked back and forth, surrounded by worn furniture and dim lights. Jade’s eyes were closed tight, ambivalent smile on her face. She ran her hands up and down his back.

  The two broke apart.

  She grinned, crooked teeth radiating an unfulfilled glee.

  Their eyes locked.

  “This is my friend, Lucky,” James said,pointing. “Lucky.”

  Jade extracted herself from her brother. Let her eyes have their way with me. It took me less than a second to realize I was in love. Not the first time, and my namesake wouldn’t make this the last. It was the in between that caught me on that particular occasion. Perhaps not actually in love. A sudden need for instant gratification. I knew I wanted to sweep that Jade sculpture, translucent nightgown and all, take her to the bedroom and roam the surface of her body with my hands, eyes, mouth.

  It was only instinct, but it was also all there was left to trust.

  “Lucky,” she said, walking towards me.

  I prepared myself for the same greeting she had given her brother. Possibly a kiss, full on the lips. Tongues meeting in the median. She extended her hand. It bumped into my chest, and I had to step back. Met it with a firm shake, tasting softness through my fingers.

  Jade smiled. “Looks like you two need a drink.”

  She came back from the kitchen with a bottle of red.

  Did the honors, poured us a serving in disposable, plastic cups.

  “Stole this from work,” she announced with pride. “It’s a merlot. Got three more in the kitchen.”

  We camped out in the living room and drank. Jade and her brother sat next to each other on the couch. I kept to my old easy chair. James told a few stories, and his sister laughed, kissed him on the cheek. I told of a few outlandish encounters, and we opened another bottle. I took obvious impressions of her body. She caught me a few times, didn’t say anything.

  The night was slowly intensifying.

  “I’m going to the bathroom,” James proclaimed. “All that wine…”

  He stumbled out of the spotlight.

  Jade watched him go, turned to me.

  I pierced her nightgown with my eyes.

  She struck a lavish pose for an instant, then laughed.

  “Lucky.” She leaned forward, poured herself another drink. “I bet people ask you about that a lot, right? Whether or not you actually are lucky, or if you believe in luck?”

  “All the time.”

  “When I was little, before my mother died, she told me a secret. She told me that jade was a rock that contained magical powers. And if you threw a piece of Jade into the lake, you could… release these powers.” She played with her hair, shuddered. “And then, one summer, my father took us to the lake. I was walking with him in the woods, and we found a large stone. I asked him what it was, and he told me it was a piece of jade. It wasn’t, it was quartz. I didn’t know the difference, so I took the stone and hurled it into the water. Like that Olympic event, hammer style.”

  I put out my cigarette. “What happened?”

  “My brother was out there swimming, and it hit him in the head.”

  “The scar on his forehead?”

  “The scar on his forehead.”

  “I’m sorry about your mother.”

  “And father.”

  I took another hit of wine. “Father, too, ok. Shit.”

  “Mm.”

  A box fan in the corner kept circulating the same damn regrets.

  Jade’s lips twitched, puckered to the left. “You didn’t ask me how my father died.”

  “Well…” I slid off the chair, propped my back against it. “I didn’t ask how your mother died, so I wasn’t sure if –”

  “Yeah, but I want to talk about my father for a moment.”

  “Ok.”

  “He overdosed.” She flashed an alarming smile, something that shouldn’t have been. Quickly returned to a more appropriate expression. “Some punk handed him what was supposed to be an eight ball. Turned out to be high grade, uncut heroine. Or maybe he did know. Guess I never will, one way or the other. But I came into the room, saw him propped up like a dummy. Bloody nose, blood covering his upper lip and chin…”

  Didn’t want to patronize her with any display of emotion. Kept the overt to myself.

  “Yeah.” She had another hit of wine. Worked her jaw, left to right and back again. “He was already pretty far gone. I called 911. And I waited. And the whole time, he was lying on the floor, chest barely rising. I wanted to grab him, hold onto him. And you know what?”

  I shook my head.

  “I didn’t,” she said. “I was paranoid. The only thing I could think about were those Menendez brothers. It was right about their time, killed their own parents. All over the news. Court TV. I wanted to hold him as he was dying, but all I could think about was whether my fingerprints would end up all over his body, and what would that mean for me..?” She smiled again, lips chapped with tannins. “I screamed at him, so angry. Fuck you, I cried. I circled him ike a vulture. Fuck you for doing this, and I can’t even hug you one last time, you stupid, fucking asshole.”

  Without realizing it, I had synchronized my breath to match the sound of the ocean.

  Jade pointed towards me with an elastic arm. “He died right where you’re sitting, right now.”

  “I could move, if you’d like.”

  She shrugged. “And what would destiny have to say about that?”

  Jade tilted her head to the left, thinking.

  I stood up, took a few wretched steps over to the couch and kissed her.

  She kissed me back for a single, red light second, then pushed me away.

  My legs got caught in a dispute with the coffee table, and I fell to the floor. Knocked over her cup. Spilled its contents. My shirt turned a purple sort of imagination; I thought my heart might be pouring out of me, and before I could make it stop, I said, told her: “Jade, I love you.”

  “I don’t know if you do.”

  “Take a chance.”

  “I love my brother.”

  A few moments passed where I let myself believe I didn’t know what she meant.

  Jade played with her hair.

  I watched the ceiling warp, wondering. Landscaping every last shattered taboo.

  “Never told anyone,” Jade said. “Actually, I didn’t even realize I wanted him until tonight.”

  I sat up, abrupt motions causing contents to slosh, all that wine. “When?”

  “What?”

  “When was it you realized that you were in love with your brother?”

  “I don’t know. I was in the shower, earlier, and I was…” She paused. Laughed at her own dirty joke, then, “I was rinsing myself off, and it just hit me. Occurred, or something. I have never been more in love. With anyone.”

  It couldn’t be…

  “Jade.” I managed to get to my knees. Grabbed hold of her hands, posing for a marriage proposal. “That’s not love you’re feeling. Not even strongly worded like. Tha
t’s just love in a bottle.”

  “Huh?”

  “The bottle that James bought from the army boy. The marine, sorry. That’s all it is. It isn’t real.”

  Jade stood, pushed. A pair of open palms against my chest, knocking me back once more. She stared down at me. Let me stare right up her gown, no apologies, so certain my gaze was so unimportant.

  “Fuck the army boy,” she told me. “I love my brother.”

  “You don’t really love him.”

  “You’re drunk.”

  “How could you possibly be in love with your brother?”

  Her face grew sad. Momentarily resigned to reason.

  I sensed victory, accomplishment. A very real chance of taking what was mine.

  Then, the remorse was gone, and that strange smile returned to her face as she said: “How could you possibly be in love with me?”

  I had nothing left to say.

  Jade straightened up, looked across the room.

  I craned my neck. Saw James slouched against the threshold. Balancing on uncooperative legs. He was smiling, as always. Tried to take a step, fell back against the wall.

  “I’m not feeling so good, Sis.”

  Jade stepped over my body, floated towards him. She cupped his face in her hands. They kissed. James closed his eyes, but I knew that beneath those lids, wonder and abandonment were spinning circles. He reached up, fingers tentatively feeling her hair. She reached down, between his legs, moved her hand around.

  I watched from my feeble position, all things upside down.

  Carpet fibers rubbed into my elbows, thoughts pressed against the ceiling, angry and resentful.

  Their lips separated with a wet seal of approval.

  “Let me put you to bed,” she murmured.

  Jade took him by the hand. They stepped over me, once more, into the breach. Into the bedroom. The door closed. I remained on my back. The wine stain on my shirt taking the shape of a botched transplant. Then came the sex noises. Drunk fucking, it was easy to recognize. Moans, whispers, and sounds easily confused with crying.

  I rolled onto my stomach. Got on all fours. Crawled to the bedroom door. I put my ear to the unfinished wood. Brother and sister fucking for the first time. Muffled but obvious. I listened and slowly, anger let his friends join in. I flipped the script, let my back sag against the door. Reached into my jacket. Lit a cigarette, last of a five dollar bill, and sat against the gateway as a headboard thumped away.

  I smoked, watching it all dissolve, awaiting the approaching climax.

  And what if I had gone halves with James? Nothing made any sort of sense anyway. Fortune tellers were deceitful but correct. Brothers fucked their sisters. Parents lied. Fathers overdosed without thinking of all that they left behind. The world was straddled with a prime meridian bursting at the seam.