Get Some (4 page)

O
n Tuesday morning, Charles got dressed and left the house early. He and Flo lived downstairs in a backyard apartment. It sat on a very deep lot. When Charles backed down the driveway and got to the street, he saw Percy's powder-blue Regal circle the block. Charles parked by the pay phone way down the street and told his boss he'd be out sick today. He sat and watched Flo get in the new car and drive off. He tailed her all the way to the freeway. He made sure she got on the 10 heading west before finally doubling back to the house. When he came back he saw Percy had parked. Percy was inside his car, holding a mug to his lips. Some dumb fool must owe Tony some money. Tony hired Percy to beat down the deadbeats. Charles was glad Tony cut him some slack. He rushed in and changed both the pillows and sheets and made a tall pitcher of sweet lemonade. He pressed two fat, ripe strawberries into each glass and left them to chill in the freezer.

When Charles peeked from the window again, he noticed that Percy was gone. Charles scanned the small living room once again. It was filled with old crap Flo dragged back from thrift shops. There were wobbly tables and odd chairs that didn't match. Horribly ruined bureaus with doilies on top. It looked like it belonged to an eighty-year-old maid. Charles liked chrome, black lacquer and glass but he was too cheap to ever go buy any of these things. That would mean he'd have to give up some cash. He'd never cared or noticed how the living room looked before, but he'd never had another woman in his house.

Charles socked the smashed pillows, thinking of Flo getting that car. No, he'd never brought a woman to his home before, but things had dramatically changed.

Every time a car passed, Charles immediately looked up. He couldn't believe Trudy was on her way over. But having her here was taking a chance. Someone might see her. A neighbor might tell.

Trudy rang the bell at ten-thirty sharp. She wore a snug aqua dress with a blond slender fringe that licked her thick calves as she strolled. It was an eye-candy dress. She wore it to get Charles's attention. She wanted to get in and explain the whole plan. She had no intention of having any sex.

But Charles had different ideas on his mind. He grinned and took a swig from his lemonade glass. His was swimming in gin.

“You got something for me to drink, honey?” Trudy wickedly smiled. She crossed her big legs, hiking her dress five inches farther up her thigh. She looked around the apartment. It smelled clean and looked homey. Trudy felt bad being inside Flo's place.

Charles offered her a chilled glass.

“You're wearing that dress, girl. Can I come sit next to you?”

Trudy hated that he asked. Begging her for permission. She'd have respected him more if he grabbed her right there and threw her down on the orange shag. But as soon as Charles sat, Trudy stood up. She walked across the floor to the mantel. There were three beautifully framed photos of a couple in different poses. All were of Charles and Flo. One at the beach. One in front of a church, another at a large backyard party. Charles saw them too and wished he'd taken them down. Trudy frowned when she saw them. Charles and Flo looked so happy. She began to feel sick to her stomach.

Charles saw her mood change and turned the stereo on. But the blues Etta sang only made her feel worse. It was the same way she felt right after she stole. Dumping the sad, wrinkled bags on her bed. All that stuff didn't mean nothing. It was just junk piling up. Much of it sat with the tags still intact. In fact, having it only reminded her of who she really was. Someone who takes things. Someone who lives in the cracks. No new outfit could ever shake off that bad feeling. When she stole, all she wanted was to get her foot out the door. Feeling that wonderful first lung-filling breath of escape. Having made it out the door and turning the corner, that was the real true thrill. But she hated living life looking over her shoulder. Wondering when and if she was going to get caught. Trudy looked down at her manicured nails. But how do you control your own reckless hand? How do you trust your fingers when they've failed you before? Trudy was twenty and had stolen for almost ten years. If only someone had stopped her, way back when she was young. If only someone had come up and snatched back her wrist, maybe her life would be different. All she wanted was to do this last final haul so she could stop stealing for good and finally start fresh.

Charles guided Trudy back to the couch. When he put his arm on her shoulder Trudy knocked it back down. When Charles pecked her cheek, Trudy wiped off his kiss. When he reached for her leg she leaned farther away.

Charles was nervous but his roaming hands wouldn't stop trying. Every car going by made him want to leap. The fear of getting caught knotted his stomach, but the excitement made him squirm in his seat. Besides, since Flo went out and bought the new car, Charles felt like she owed him. He was just getting his share. It was time for him to get paid.

“Baby . . .” Trudy said, facing him, placing one hand around his neck. Her thumb stroked the bone in his collar. She hated to touch him. Her fingertips ached. She didn't want Charles. She wanted his help. She glanced at the pictures on the mantel again. All Trudy felt now was scummy. This was Flo's home. She was here in her house. Trudy's eyes fell to the floor. Here she was sneaking around the back like her mother. Everything about it felt wrong.

“What's wrong with you, girl?” Charles laughed nervously. He wanted to get her inside the bed. He hoped she wasn't having second thoughts.

But Charles was sitting there scared stiff himself. Each screeching car made his arm hairs curl up. Each little sound made his head turn around. He was waiting for Trudy to make the first move. If she wanted him, he wished she would hurry.

Trudy had to act fast. There was so little time. She hiked her dress farther up the meat of her thigh. She couldn't be squeamish. She had to speak up. She could see he was waiting for something. He was teetering between satisfying a hot, aching need and wondering if he should get up and run.

Charles tried to act cool. He did not want to blow it. He didn't want this fine chick to get up and leave. So he clutched his wet drink in the palm of his hand. He let the sweet taste of gin wet the back of his teeth and roll all the way down his throat.

Charles leaned closer. She didn't resist. But when a car honked its horn they both sat there frozen. They waited until the car sped away.

Trudy let his mouth kiss her, but it was nervous and stiff. She tried to relax while his hand tugged her dress. She felt totally detached as he unhooked her bra. It didn't feel like she was really there at all. It was like she was at the show, in the dark, watching a movie. Like her body no longer belonged to her. When his hand made its way down the length of her spine Trudy cringed as she stared out the window. She felt awful. She didn't want to go any further. A lone leaf blew listlessly across the dull lawn. It rolled over itself again and again and then stopped in a harsh field of weeds.

“Baby?” Trudy said, pulling him off. This was it. This was the time. She had to ask Charles now.

“What's wrong?” Charles asked, wondering why she made him stop.

Trudy breathed deep and exhaled slow.

“What? What is it?” Charles pulled her face toward his. He was anxious to get back to business.

Suddenly the doorbell chimed through the still-silent room. Trudy pulled her dress on and Charles peeked from the drapes. He saw his neighbor on the porch.

“Damn it,” he said under his breath before going to the door. “Yeah?” Charles yelled without opening the door up.

“We're leaving,” the neighbor said, looking out toward the street. “We were wondering if we could borrow five dollars.” The man wouldn't look at Charles. He looked ashamed to be asking. Charles dug inside his pocket. He counted his money. He held it close to his body so the man couldn't see. He had six twenties, three tens and nine folded ones. He cracked the door open and gave the man a dollar. “That's all I got on me,” Charles lied to the man. “I'm kind of busy right now.” The man had caught a glimpse of the money Charles had. He also had seen Trudy slip in the front door and knew Charles lived there with Flo. So the man stood there. He adjusted his feet. He looked back at Charles with a slight knowing smile. He put his hands in both pockets and waited. Charles put a ten inside the man's hand and angrily shut the front door.

Trudy stared outside at the savage backyard. A chain-link fence separated the backyard from the garage. The garage was a very old, large, run-down shack. The roof was caved in. Assorted car parts and what looked like a million dented paint cans were in there. All kinds of cans, all stacked together, old gummy colors running down the front, pooling around the bases of the cans.

The people upstairs were making a whole lot of racket. Their apartment exploded with loud, crashing bottles and the rough, angry sound of people told to move out. Charles hated living there. He craved his own place. It stabbed him when Flo went and spent all their savings. How could he ever get away from this now?

“Charles.” Trudy smiled and stroked Charles's hairy chest. She didn't want to touch him, but she forced herself on. She wanted him interested enough to want to do the job. “I got a plan to make us both plenty.”

Charles was listening but his mind was focused on something else. He pulled Trudy close. He circled his arms around her waist, letting his hands roam across that magnificent ass.

“I'd help any woman who had all this.” Charles let his hands roam across her silk panties. “How much money are we talking about?”

“It's one-hundred-thousand dollars in cash. That's fifty thou' each. I'm willing to go fifty-fifty.”

“One hundred grand. Who's got that kind of money?”

“This man I see up at the bank.”

“I ain't down for hitting no bank.”

“We ain't robbing it, Charles. Your part is easy.”

“So why'd you pick me? What can I do?”

“Nothing you don't already do every day. Just deliver the mail at the bank where I work.”

“But I'm Dockweiler, baby. That's not my route. That's Beverly Hills you're talking about.”

“Look, don't worry. I got this worked out. Our regular mailman doesn't come until one o'clock. We'll be done way before homeboy gets there.”

“That's all?”

“That's it. I got it all timed. All you got to do is make sure you're early.” Trudy looked down, studying her hands. “But really it's not just the money I want.”

“Oh, really,” Charles said, pulling her chin toward him again. Charles said this last part slightly mocking her. He liked watching them big titties shake while she talked. He pulled her on top of him again.

“When Lil Steve snapped that picture, he changed my whole life.” Three real tears rolled down Trudy's face. “I want Lil Steve. It's his ass I want.” She struggled to pull herself together.

“Look, baby, don't cry. I'll help you out.” Charles felt so good to be needed as a man. Flo didn't need him. She got her own stuff. Didn't ask him to take her to work anymore. He missed those long rides on the 405 Freeway. He'd roll along the coast chasing black-lava waves. The radio blaring. A cinnamon roll and black coffee, licking the sweet off his hand as he drove. One time he pulled off at an
OPEN HOUSE
sign on his way back from taking Flo to work. He didn't get out. Didn't want to talk to nobody. But he sat there admiring the house from his car. It wasn't the best house but it was cared for and clean. Straight fence, good paint and trimmed grass. That's what Flo took. The down-payment money. He glanced at the dishes stacked up in the sink. Flo got what she wanted. She didn't need him. Charles opened his thighs and grabbed Trudy's body, driving her down to the couch. Trudy struggled against Charles, but he had her pinned down. His left leg was wedged between hers.

Just then, Trudy and Charles heard the front door lock click. Both of them shot up and sat completely still. They heard the door handle turn and the creak of the screen.

“Quick!” he said, handing Trudy her purse. “Get in here.”

Trudy jumped inside the closet while Charles grabbed the two glasses. He looked around fast, wondering where he could hide them. He heard the front door open. He tried not to panic. He put the two glasses in the oven.

Flo walked inside the house and threw her purse down. She got sick on her drive into work this morning. She picked up the phone and dialed her office, telling them she wasn't coming in. Flo went to the stove and turned the flame on high. She opened the cabinet and took out some tea. She figured while she was home she could rummage through Charles's clothes. She was more determined than ever to catch him.

“You forget something?” Charles said, walking into the kitchen.

Flo almost screamed.

“Hey, ah, no, no, the freeway was jammed,” Flo said, looking away, walking out toward the porch. “Figured I'd come home and wait.” Flo actually had gotten sick and thrown up by the road before doubling back to the house.

Charles looked at her good to see if she knew something. She looked at him to see if he suspected her. The sun was out now. It warmed the whole porch. Flo looked really pretty standing out there today. He usually saw her getting ready for work, and by the time he got home she'd changed into old clothes. He felt really bad for the first time in his life. He kept his head down. He couldn't look in her eyes. He hoped she wouldn't stay long.

“What about you?” Flo asked, glancing at him. “What are you doing here?”

“Mail carrier strike,” Charles casually lied. “Only the scabs worked today.”

Trudy could hear Charles and Flo talking. She tried not to breathe when their voices approached her. She could see Flo through the slits in the door. She was coming toward the closet. Trudy's heart raged. She prayed Flo didn't pull on the handle.