So We Can Glow - Stories - Leesa Cross-Smith Page 0,27
bartender if he knew a guy named Coot. Or Johnny Step. And if he didn’t know, I asked the guys shooting pool and drinking by the back door. I only had to go to three different bars before I found some. Dallas and Black Ray were together.
“So, you’re Rowdy’s girl?” Black Ray asked.
“Not exactly,” I said. Black Ray was pretty and tall, wore a big gold chain with a ship hanging from it.
“What’ll you give me to leave him alone?” Dallas asked.
“How much does he owe you?” I asked.
I gave Dallas a quick, dry hand job in the bathroom. I had full-on sex with Black Ray in his car. Twice. He was sweet to me. Real sweet. It wasn’t bad at all.
I scratched out their names.
Dallas, Hot Knife, Black Ray, Coot, Johnny Step, Smoke
Went to Rowdy’s place and climbed into bed with him. He put his arm around me and I stared at the side of his face until my eyes got heavy and stayed closed. In the morning, I made him swear on the Bible he wouldn’t get into any more trouble. He was superstitious and I told him my Bible had been blessed by a preacher I knew from New Orleans. Spooked him enough. He swore, kissed my hand. I followed him to work to make sure he was going where he said he was going and he did. I watched him climb up on the roof and start hammering in the wavy morning sun. Sat there watching him from my car and listened to the staccato beating of all those different tools echoing up the suburban sky. It was oddly dulcet and soothing.
Hot Knife looked like a California surfer, but he was from the Kentucky hills and sounded like it. Told me his real name was Danny even though I didn’t ask. He had blond hair thick as rope and wore a leather motorcycle club vest over a white T-shirt. Told me Rowdy owed him nine hundred dollars.
“Danny, I don’t have nine hundred dollars,” I said, making a flirty-pouty face.
“How much do you have?”
I opened my purse, got my wallet out.
“I have seventy-five dollars. That’s it,” I said.
“You have pretty feet.”
“Thank you.” We both looked down at them.
He asked if he could paint my toes, so we went to the drugstore and he picked out a tropical orange bottle. I let him do a LOT of weird foot stuff and he told me to keep the seventy-five dollars. Also, he called me Theresa, but that isn’t my name. It was fine. I didn’t ask questions.
Dallas, Hot Knife, Black Ray, Coot, Johnny Step, Smoke
I made a habit out of following Rowdy to work every morning. I was taking a chance on him, believing he’d stop getting himself into crazy situations he couldn’t get out of. I never caught him lying. I was the liar now.
Smoke worked at the tobacco shop. He said he’d seen me around a lot with Rowdy, told me Rowdy owed him some money. I gave him the speech, went down on him in the back office, and spit in the little garbage can next to the door on my way out—the slick black bag in there swished and caught the light.
Dallas, Hot Knife, Black Ray, Coot, Johnny Step, Smoke
I found Johnny Step at the minor league baseball game because it was dollar beer night and I heard he was always there on dollar beer night, never missed a game. He was shady and not nice and he scared me. I gave him the speech anyway, keeping my hand on the knife in my pocket the whole time.
“Let me get this straight. You’re offering to fuck me so I’ll leave that asshole alone?” he asked. He pointed at nothing and said it loud. My face got hot.
“Well, depends. How much does he owe you?” I asked.
He looked me up and down. Made a point of sizing up my ass. I took my hand off my knife, crossed my arms and gave him a look.
“About four hundred,” he said.
His apartment was near the ballpark and when we went to his bedroom I turned around so I wouldn’t have to look him in the face. He called me some awful names and it was the only thing that turned me on. And you know what? He might’ve acted the toughest, but he cried when he came.
Dallas, Hot Knife, Black Ray, Coot, Johnny Step, Smoke
Coot was hard to track down. He was out of town a lot and