her!” I spat, heat and refraction smudging my plum-purple sunglasses. My brother tried to retake my hand. “No! I don’t wanna go home just yet! I’m sick of watching our pathetic family and you try to justify them.” I jerked around, looking for the direction to nourish my never-ending appetite for entertainment.
Arthur’s face dissolved and exhaled. “Then what do you wanna do? Huh? You don’t got no money left.”
My brown brows dropped. “Anthony’s, I’m going there,” I asserted, curling my fingers in preparation of his rejection.
“Anthony Connors? You might as well say ‘I’m going to get into trouble,’ cuz that’ll be what you’re doing.”
“Do I look like I care?” I hustled, giving Arthur the cold shoulder treatment and slapping the upper hand forthwith. “You cover me, or I’ll tell Mama and U.J. you made out with Stacey in Dad’s Cadillac last week while you were supposed to be watching me.”
He unfurled his fists, flushing, and we went our separate ways like cowboys in a Wild West showdown.
~ *** ~
I waited outside Anthony’s door, tracing the smooth rim of my plastic heart-shaped glasses, biting my lip. The sign on his door read DISTRICT ATTORNEY CONNORS. Soon, it would read REP. ANTHONY CONNORS, according to the latest straw poll.
“What’s taking so long?” I mused, already having knocked twice. I didn’t even know office doors locked. I put my nosey ear to the door and heard the roll and sigh of a leather chair. “Mister C—”
“I’m comin’, I’m comin’, sweetheart.” His cringing vowels give away that he’s not from this barren part of the country. He’s from Boston.
“It musta been so exciting,” I’d swoon all droopy-eyed when he’d mention home.
I slacked against the door frame, dying to know what color of tie he wore today.
“And how’re you today, impatient miss?” he greeted upon opening the door, dark, greased hair curling about his ears, a smooth smirk wrinkling his handsome face.
Oh, he looked like Mark Feuerstein, only better!
Purple, his tie was purple. No, you’re certainly not from here, I reminded myself, looking over his dull gray suit, the subtle pinstripes. I wouldn’t have been bored counting them.
“Well, don’t just stand there, dumb as a whore, doll face. I got places to be, I got work you’re interrupting.” He swallowed and winked. “Tell me about how today went.”
So I did.
As he leaned back in his cushy chair, pointers squeezing his juicy lips, I sat before his desk with a hand on the paper stack that looked fit to fall over. Smoothing out my tall, ivory socks, I crossed my legs, wondering how some men can focus on such lengthy, boring work.
You’d make a good Humbert, I thought. As good-looking and successful, but only twenty-seven.
“Sounds to me this Jimbo hack’s got his hands in her wires,” Anthony observed, thumb dusting his chin. “I can’t stand people like that, just can’t, micromanaging everywhere; it’s ridiculous.”
I nodded eagerly, gripping my latex skirt.
“Just gets ya both nowhere but disappointed. Tell ya what I’m gonna do, doll face.”
I perked up, my back straightening and my straightened mouth turning.
“I’m gonna make you forget about all this shit before ya leave. I’m gonna march down to Mr. Manager and stand up for you and your mother. He can’t put his hands on you. What’re you, his kid? I don’t think so. Yell atcha? He’s a glorified ambulance-chaser, that’s all those guys are, honey; get off when they hear themselves speak. You’re your own girl, a special girl. You’re here, aren’t cha?
Arthur’s face dissolved and exhaled. “Then what do you wanna do? Huh? You don’t got no money left.”
My brown brows dropped. “Anthony’s, I’m going there,” I asserted, curling my fingers in preparation of his rejection.
“Anthony Connors? You might as well say ‘I’m going to get into trouble,’ cuz that’ll be what you’re doing.”
“Do I look like I care?” I hustled, giving Arthur the cold shoulder treatment and slapping the upper hand forthwith. “You cover me, or I’ll tell Mama and U.J. you made out with Stacey in Dad’s Cadillac last week while you were supposed to be watching me.”
He unfurled his fists, flushing, and we went our separate ways like cowboys in a Wild West showdown.
~ *** ~
I waited outside Anthony’s door, tracing the smooth rim of my plastic heart-shaped glasses, biting my lip. The sign on his door read DISTRICT ATTORNEY CONNORS. Soon, it would read REP. ANTHONY CONNORS, according to the latest straw poll.
“What’s taking so long?” I mused, already having knocked twice. I didn’t even know office doors locked. I put my nosey ear to the door and heard the roll and sigh of a leather chair. “Mister C—”
“I’m comin’, I’m comin’, sweetheart.” His cringing vowels give away that he’s not from this barren part of the country. He’s from Boston.
“It musta been so exciting,” I’d swoon all droopy-eyed when he’d mention home.
I slacked against the door frame, dying to know what color of tie he wore today.
“And how’re you today, impatient miss?” he greeted upon opening the door, dark, greased hair curling about his ears, a smooth smirk wrinkling his handsome face.
Oh, he looked like Mark Feuerstein, only better!
Purple, his tie was purple. No, you’re certainly not from here, I reminded myself, looking over his dull gray suit, the subtle pinstripes. I wouldn’t have been bored counting them.
“Well, don’t just stand there, dumb as a whore, doll face. I got places to be, I got work you’re interrupting.” He swallowed and winked. “Tell me about how today went.”
So I did.
As he leaned back in his cushy chair, pointers squeezing his juicy lips, I sat before his desk with a hand on the paper stack that looked fit to fall over. Smoothing out my tall, ivory socks, I crossed my legs, wondering how some men can focus on such lengthy, boring work.
You’d make a good Humbert, I thought. As good-looking and successful, but only twenty-seven.
“Sounds to me this Jimbo hack’s got his hands in her wires,” Anthony observed, thumb dusting his chin. “I can’t stand people like that, just can’t, micromanaging everywhere; it’s ridiculous.”
I nodded eagerly, gripping my latex skirt.
“Just gets ya both nowhere but disappointed. Tell ya what I’m gonna do, doll face.”
I perked up, my back straightening and my straightened mouth turning.
“I’m gonna make you forget about all this shit before ya leave. I’m gonna march down to Mr. Manager and stand up for you and your mother. He can’t put his hands on you. What’re you, his kid? I don’t think so. Yell atcha? He’s a glorified ambulance-chaser, that’s all those guys are, honey; get off when they hear themselves speak. You’re your own girl, a special girl. You’re here, aren’t cha?
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