you, Red, okay?”
“Hey,” I said. “You’re crazy. I love you, Wanda. You’re my girl.”
“Really, Red. You sure?”
“Hell yes.” I kissed her on the nose, and she smiled.
“I better get dinner now,” she said, climbing off and pulling up her pants.
“I know I don’t look good, Red, but I’m going on a diet. I’m going to exercise. And jog with Carol.”
“You look fine the way you are,” I said, drawing her to me and hugging her. For the first time I felt her flesh, her own smells.
“Red,” she said, “I have to tell you something. When I heard about Billy today … well, I got so worried. You’d never … “
I kissed her on the forehead and shook my head.
“No way.”
“I don’t mean do what he did, Red. I mean, you’d never go back into … you know … you wouldn’t try anything crazy to get money, would you?”
“Hey, I’m done with that shit. I don’t like jails a whole lot. They got these hard beds, and they don’t have any good-looking women come home and make love to you.”
She smiled at that and held me close.
“I do love you,” she said. “I’m a damned fool for it, but that’s the way it is.”
I kissed her again and held her close to me.
“You’re my baby, Wanda. You always will be.”
“I better get us some dinner, hon.”
Her voice was ten years younger, and she swayed softly as she walked out of the room.
• • •
I couldn’t sleep for shit. I had started drinking, even though I swore to Wanda that I would lay off. I tried to for a while, but the daily grind of going out there in the rat drizzle or the snow, walking the narrow streets, running down leads for work that disappeared as soon as I showed up … well, it just started wearing me down, and in the mornings I would break one of Dr. Raines’s white pills in half, pop it, knowing that it would only give me about five hours of feeling cocky and confident before it made me feel like there was a little man inside my head pulling the skin tight around my eyes.
Sweat poured off of my forehead, down my armpits, speed sweat, and my heart would start missing beats, and I’d have to throw down a couple of Wild Turkeys just to knock it back.
The booze helped at first, but by nighttime I’d be into full-scale weirdness, thinking that I was hearing messages from the television set, my eyes darting across the room whenever Wanda looked me in the eyes.
And I continued to give Ace shit, though I love that boy more than my own fucked-up, burned-down life.
Gave him a hard time about his homework, when he was a B-plus student. “Why aren’t you getting A’s?” Me, a goddamned straight-C student, and made a big deal about not playing his guitar seriously. I nailed him if he missed a night of practice. Or, even when he
did
practice, for playing the same shit over and over, which I knew he had to do to get it down right.
At night I’d put Wanda in bed, and I’d come back down to the cellar, sit there in the knotty pine basement, and start thinking strange thoughts, like the knots in the wood were eyes, all of them staring at me. I didn’t know whose eye, maybe God’s, watching what a complete asshole I was, not able to get any work. Walking from door to door, sweating even though it was freezing out, coming on with my shit-eating grin, and him watching me the whole time from up above, laughing at me like some gangster in “The Untouchables.”
God with big lips and hard black eyes, just laughing at me with this great mocking growl.
• • •
My mom, Dot, saw to it that I got a full plate of religion, hustling me off to church every Sunday, enrolling me in vacation Bible school in the summertime. And for a while I tried to get with the program the way the preacher laid it down, because the old lady kept saying, “You’ll see, honey. It’s such a consolation when you get old. Such a consolation.” That was just another lie—because the eternal-life part of it never took with me. Maybe
“Hey,” I said. “You’re crazy. I love you, Wanda. You’re my girl.”
“Really, Red. You sure?”
“Hell yes.” I kissed her on the nose, and she smiled.
“I better get dinner now,” she said, climbing off and pulling up her pants.
“I know I don’t look good, Red, but I’m going on a diet. I’m going to exercise. And jog with Carol.”
“You look fine the way you are,” I said, drawing her to me and hugging her. For the first time I felt her flesh, her own smells.
“Red,” she said, “I have to tell you something. When I heard about Billy today … well, I got so worried. You’d never … “
I kissed her on the forehead and shook my head.
“No way.”
“I don’t mean do what he did, Red. I mean, you’d never go back into … you know … you wouldn’t try anything crazy to get money, would you?”
“Hey, I’m done with that shit. I don’t like jails a whole lot. They got these hard beds, and they don’t have any good-looking women come home and make love to you.”
She smiled at that and held me close.
“I do love you,” she said. “I’m a damned fool for it, but that’s the way it is.”
I kissed her again and held her close to me.
“You’re my baby, Wanda. You always will be.”
“I better get us some dinner, hon.”
Her voice was ten years younger, and she swayed softly as she walked out of the room.
• • •
I couldn’t sleep for shit. I had started drinking, even though I swore to Wanda that I would lay off. I tried to for a while, but the daily grind of going out there in the rat drizzle or the snow, walking the narrow streets, running down leads for work that disappeared as soon as I showed up … well, it just started wearing me down, and in the mornings I would break one of Dr. Raines’s white pills in half, pop it, knowing that it would only give me about five hours of feeling cocky and confident before it made me feel like there was a little man inside my head pulling the skin tight around my eyes.
Sweat poured off of my forehead, down my armpits, speed sweat, and my heart would start missing beats, and I’d have to throw down a couple of Wild Turkeys just to knock it back.
The booze helped at first, but by nighttime I’d be into full-scale weirdness, thinking that I was hearing messages from the television set, my eyes darting across the room whenever Wanda looked me in the eyes.
And I continued to give Ace shit, though I love that boy more than my own fucked-up, burned-down life.
Gave him a hard time about his homework, when he was a B-plus student. “Why aren’t you getting A’s?” Me, a goddamned straight-C student, and made a big deal about not playing his guitar seriously. I nailed him if he missed a night of practice. Or, even when he
did
practice, for playing the same shit over and over, which I knew he had to do to get it down right.
At night I’d put Wanda in bed, and I’d come back down to the cellar, sit there in the knotty pine basement, and start thinking strange thoughts, like the knots in the wood were eyes, all of them staring at me. I didn’t know whose eye, maybe God’s, watching what a complete asshole I was, not able to get any work. Walking from door to door, sweating even though it was freezing out, coming on with my shit-eating grin, and him watching me the whole time from up above, laughing at me like some gangster in “The Untouchables.”
God with big lips and hard black eyes, just laughing at me with this great mocking growl.
• • •
My mom, Dot, saw to it that I got a full plate of religion, hustling me off to church every Sunday, enrolling me in vacation Bible school in the summertime. And for a while I tried to get with the program the way the preacher laid it down, because the old lady kept saying, “You’ll see, honey. It’s such a consolation when you get old. Such a consolation.” That was just another lie—because the eternal-life part of it never took with me. Maybe
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