sounds. No screaming or ripping of clothes. No pounding or slopping around in paradise. Someone says that little Donnie is soooo romantic, and that gets a laugh, but after that the men get bored.
Donnie isn’t more than a half hour before he comes out smiling. The men cheer. He bows. “Best piece I ever had,” he says, and his buddy Stumpie says, “Yeah, because it was your first, not counting your hand,” and the men hoot and whistle and Donnie joins them and they lift him on their shoulders and carry him to the fire.
I grab Luscious and a Coleman lantern and we go into the shack. It has a garage door and I open it so the men can see that I’m not taking my turn early. The girl is on the floor face-up with her pants down. Her hands are still taped together behind her and her mouth is gagged and her jeans are pushed down to the tape around her ankles. Her legs had to have been closed when Donnie slipped it to her. Maybe Donnie didn’t do anything, but that’s between the two of them.
I take the cloth out of her mouth. It’s a sock with old blood and lots of miles on it, and I expect her to scream when I take it out, but she doesn’t.
“My name is Melanie,” she says. Her voice is low but strong, and I want her to last a while, so it makes me glad to see that she’s okay.
“Glad to meet you,” I say.
“You’re Bill Junior.”
“Yep.”
“Are you the person I talk to about getting a bath?”
She’s not happy, but she’s keeping her shit together. It kind of surprises me.
“I’m the person you talk to about getting
anything
.”
She doesn’t cuss me or break out crying. She looks right at me with her steady green eyes, not talking down to me or trying to kiss my ass. It’s like we just met in a park somewhere and we’re equal in every way and maybe we’ll get to know each other better and maybe we won’t. I don’t know whether to be disappointed or impressed with the girl.
“Well then, I could sure use a bath,” she says.
“Yeah? You don’t want to eat first?”
“No.”
“Okay. I’ll see what I can do.”
She doesn’t thank me and it kind of pisses me off, but I let it go. As I walk away it comes to me that she didn’t ask about her family, and it says something about how smart she is. How in control of herself she is. I tell Luscious to keep someone watching her because people like that can be dangerous, don’t ask me how I know. People like that make plans and they keep the promises they swear to themselves.
The men drag the girl over by the fire and then they get to work sprucing up the whorehouse. I doubt if any of us has ever been to a real whorehouse, so they only have television to go on for inspiration, but they do a good job of it. They line the walls with leather cut from the upholstery of cars and they lay down a carpet of optional floor mats from Toyotas and Nissans and domestic, made-in-America what-all.
While they’re making their love fort, I send Luscious to see about heating up water for a bath. It’s high time we all had one, to tell the truth.
Jerry
Dear God, protect and keep us. Keep us breathing, every breath a prayer, every heartbeat an oath. Susan is shaking my shoulder and saying it’s time to get up. The new explosion mixes with my memory of the explosions I heard in Beirut.
I sit up and only Susan is here, her lips moving, her arm in a sling. I don’t know where the children are, and then it’s worse than just another bad day. I come out of it in stages. My legs are rubber, but I get to my feet. No telling how long I’ve been out. The sun seems to be no lower in the sky. I can hear only a solid tone—the sound the television used to make at night, back when television stations went off the air.
I unwrap my face so I can see better. The blood flows again, and I let it. The roof is down in the back of the store. Scotty is alive but unconscious. His pulse is strong and he’s breathing okay. I drag him behind the checkout counter. Susan
Donnie isn’t more than a half hour before he comes out smiling. The men cheer. He bows. “Best piece I ever had,” he says, and his buddy Stumpie says, “Yeah, because it was your first, not counting your hand,” and the men hoot and whistle and Donnie joins them and they lift him on their shoulders and carry him to the fire.
I grab Luscious and a Coleman lantern and we go into the shack. It has a garage door and I open it so the men can see that I’m not taking my turn early. The girl is on the floor face-up with her pants down. Her hands are still taped together behind her and her mouth is gagged and her jeans are pushed down to the tape around her ankles. Her legs had to have been closed when Donnie slipped it to her. Maybe Donnie didn’t do anything, but that’s between the two of them.
I take the cloth out of her mouth. It’s a sock with old blood and lots of miles on it, and I expect her to scream when I take it out, but she doesn’t.
“My name is Melanie,” she says. Her voice is low but strong, and I want her to last a while, so it makes me glad to see that she’s okay.
“Glad to meet you,” I say.
“You’re Bill Junior.”
“Yep.”
“Are you the person I talk to about getting a bath?”
She’s not happy, but she’s keeping her shit together. It kind of surprises me.
“I’m the person you talk to about getting
anything
.”
She doesn’t cuss me or break out crying. She looks right at me with her steady green eyes, not talking down to me or trying to kiss my ass. It’s like we just met in a park somewhere and we’re equal in every way and maybe we’ll get to know each other better and maybe we won’t. I don’t know whether to be disappointed or impressed with the girl.
“Well then, I could sure use a bath,” she says.
“Yeah? You don’t want to eat first?”
“No.”
“Okay. I’ll see what I can do.”
She doesn’t thank me and it kind of pisses me off, but I let it go. As I walk away it comes to me that she didn’t ask about her family, and it says something about how smart she is. How in control of herself she is. I tell Luscious to keep someone watching her because people like that can be dangerous, don’t ask me how I know. People like that make plans and they keep the promises they swear to themselves.
The men drag the girl over by the fire and then they get to work sprucing up the whorehouse. I doubt if any of us has ever been to a real whorehouse, so they only have television to go on for inspiration, but they do a good job of it. They line the walls with leather cut from the upholstery of cars and they lay down a carpet of optional floor mats from Toyotas and Nissans and domestic, made-in-America what-all.
While they’re making their love fort, I send Luscious to see about heating up water for a bath. It’s high time we all had one, to tell the truth.
Jerry
Dear God, protect and keep us. Keep us breathing, every breath a prayer, every heartbeat an oath. Susan is shaking my shoulder and saying it’s time to get up. The new explosion mixes with my memory of the explosions I heard in Beirut.
I sit up and only Susan is here, her lips moving, her arm in a sling. I don’t know where the children are, and then it’s worse than just another bad day. I come out of it in stages. My legs are rubber, but I get to my feet. No telling how long I’ve been out. The sun seems to be no lower in the sky. I can hear only a solid tone—the sound the television used to make at night, back when television stations went off the air.
I unwrap my face so I can see better. The blood flows again, and I let it. The roof is down in the back of the store. Scotty is alive but unconscious. His pulse is strong and he’s breathing okay. I drag him behind the checkout counter. Susan
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