Rose of No Man's Land (29 page)

Aw, you’re shittin’ me
, the guy said. His voice was thick with slurred disappointment.
What you got the light on for? That’s false advertising.

Sorry guys.
Amber swung out the tiny saloon door and moved across the room to the entrance. She swept the glass door open with a chime. The men sludged toward her. They were wasted.

Just a shamrock, sweetheart. How much a shamrock cost? When’s the dude in?

Try tomorrow
, Amber said. She leaned against the open door and sighed.
Come on, guys.

Come on, guys
, the tattoo-dude’s friend said in a fake girl voice. He sort of swished himself out the door. Drunk dudes always love to pretend they’re girls. Amber swung the door shut and switched the lock. She unraveled a long shade, blocking the view of the parking lot and the still-teetering, guys. They were
woo-
ing again. We could hear them outside, like we were in some sort of naturey cabin and there were packs of crazy animals prowling outside, howling. Amber hit a light switch, and the blue neon glow in the front window went cold.

I just don’t have it in me to give another shamrock tattoo
, Amber said, almost sadly. She sunk her blunt fingers into the dry mop of her hair and scratched her scalp wildly, shaking white-yellow clumps of hair to attention all over her head.

You Give A Lot Of Shamrock Tattoos? I asked her. She nodded. Her crazy hair bobbed on her head like bird feathers.

All those guys, they get wasted and want shamrocks. Just little, teeny shamrocks, on their arms or on their ankles. They’re pussies
, she said.
They’re too drunk and they bleed all over the place and they smell awful.

Fuck them!
Rose chimed in, standing up from the floor.
You like us though, right? You wouldn’t have fixed Trisha’s foot if you didn’t like us.

It’s got nothing to do with that
, Amber said sternly.
I’m not going to let some kid with a huge gash in her foot hobble around Route 1 all bloody. It has nothing to do with liking
you.

But you like us
, Rose insisted. She smiled. Her hands were filled with money. One grubby little fist clutched the wad of cash, her other paw dripped coins. They spilled from her grip, spinning shiny on the linoleum.

I don’t know if “like” is the right word
, Amber said.
What, did you rob a bank?

The River At Weyloon’s, I told her. We Robbed The River.

Trouble
, Amber repeated.
That’s what you girls are.

That would be a good tattoo, huh?
Rose asked. She tugged down the front of her nightgown, showing off her bony sternum. Every time she moved her hands money fell out of them. Silver shine slid down her body, beneath her shredded nightgown and onto the floor, like she was peeing quarters.
Trouble
, she said, moving her hands across her bare skin. I could imagine it, in thick looping script, or those unreadable gang boy letters.

No way
, Amber said.
Final answer. I’m not dealing with your crazy cracked-out moms coming here to kill me in the morning ’cause I tattooed their babies. Or your crazy drunk dads with shotguns or whatever.

Whoa, I said. I got up from my luxurious recliner. It had felt nice, but my body was way too zingy to keep still. You Think We’re, Like, From A Talk Show Or Something? Like
Jerry Springer
? Like From Florida?

Amber laughed and shook her head. She went for the red cross lunchbox and packed up the first aid supplies.
I just never seen more fucked-up looking girls in my life
, she laughed.
I am not tattooing you.

Our Moms Don’t Care, I told her. My Mom Won’t Ever
Come Here. She Just Stays On The Couch, She’s Sick.

What’s wrong with her?

A Bunch Of Things. Mostly Hypochondria. And Rose’s Mom Is A Lesbian, So She’s Not Going To Care About A Tattoo.

Amber turned to Rose. It looked like a Doberman had eaten the bottom half of her dress.
You’re mom is a lesbian?
Amber asked her. Rose nodded.
Hmmmm.
Amber went thoughtful. I wondered if she was racist against lesbian people.
So, are you a lesbian too? Are you guys lesbians together?
Her hand shot out and waggled in the air between me and Rose. I was bursting with glee, a maniacal glee. I wanted to tell Amber, this stranger, all about kissing Rose at the golf course, about what she had done to me in the Weyloon’s bathroom, about what she was doing to me still, my body vibrating with crazy memory. I didn’t even care if it made me a lesbian. It’s not like I was going to lose any popularity with the world. The world pretty much didn’t give a shit about me before I lezzed out with Rose, and I gave no shit about it, either, so fuck it all is what I figured. I was on the verge of a too-much-info confession session with cranky Amber. And then Rose fucking ruined it.

I’m not a lesbian
, she said. She said it in that weird way. She could have been any rotten girl from any lousy high school. We could have been in the girl’s bathroom, regulation pink from the walls rosing up our faces. Rose sounded like she was looking at a toilet stall door that had R
OSE WHATEVER THE FUCK HER LAST NAME IS IS A GODDAMN LESBIAN JUST LIKE HER LESBIAN MOM
scratched into the flaking layers of paint. She sounded grossed out. I stared at her. I could
still feel her in my downstairs parts. What if she’d messed me up down there for good.

You’re Not? I asked her. I guess I sounded challenging. Amber’s eyebrows went up. So did the corners of her mouth, just a little. I could tell Amber thought she knew everything that was up with us and was kind of amused by it. I hated her for thinking she knew anything and I hated her for getting it right.

No
, Rose snapped at me.
I’m not a lesbian. Do you even know any lesbians?
She was weirdly accusational.

No, I said.

If you knew any lesbians then you would know I’m not a lesbian.

You have a boyfriend?
Amber asked. She had this fake innocent voice on.

I mess around with a guy at work
, Rose said. She didn’t sound too proud of it. Her eyes were cast down at the coins that had fallen from her grip. She crouched down to fetch them.

Marty? I asked. It sounded like I was spitting or something. Hucking a loogie, a loogie named Marty. Fuck Marty, I said. A bold statement. It seemed like the hour for bold statements. It seemed like a showdown here at the 777 tattoo parlor.

Yeah, right
, Rose laughed. Rose was trying to make a joke.

Are you in love with Marty?
Amber asked, tauntingly. Who the fuck was Amber anyway. We were now her evening’s entertainment. She owed us both free tattoos, I thought. We weren’t a fucking reality show.

No
, Rose scoffed.
He’s just a guy.

I felt a surge of something hopeful puff up inside me. Does Marty Have Tattoos? I asked her. She thought about it.

No
, she said.
No and I don’t want to talk about fucking Marty, why are we talking all about me, why don’t you ask Trisha if she’s a lesbian or if she has a boyfriend. Leave me alone. Everyone always wants to know about me because of my fucking mom.

Amber looked at me.
Are you a lesbo?
she asked. I looked at Rose. I’d be one if she was, but now if she wasn’t I didn’t know what was up with me. Maybe I was just on a lot of drugs. Maybe crystal makes you lez. I shrugged.

I Don’t Know, I said. I’d Never Considered It Before Tonight, I said. Before Rose fucked me in a Chinese restaurant, I wanted to say but amazingly managed to keep my mouth shut.

Amber was looking me up and down with that face of hers. I don’t think I liked her much. Why was everyone so hateful?
You’re a lesbian
, she told me.
For sure.
I didn’t know what to say to that. It wasn’t like some joker on the street calling me a lezzie. It was a rather calm adult informing me I was a lesbian.

Oh, Really? I said. What Do You Know?

Come on
, Rose said.
Cut this shit out. Who cares. Are you going to give Trisha the tattoo or what?
She moved forward with her heaps of dough and plonked it all on the table.
We’ll even give you the quarters. For laundry and parking meters and whatnot.

Amber quietly considered the cash.
It would be nice
, she said,
not to do another fucking shamrock.

No way!
Rose said, excited.
Trisha wouldn’t ever get a pussy tattoo like that. You’d give her this —
she dashed for the poster that held the original Rose. She brandished it.
Where?
she turned to me.
Where did you say?
She was next to me, tugging the sleeve of my T-shirt up, showing my naked arm to Amber. When her fingers hit me my whole body was jolted with Rose-energy. My body hopped up on its hind legs and started slobbering. Jesus. I looked at her. What about fucking Marty, I wanted to ask her. Who the fuck is Marty, what is up, who am I, what is fucking up with me, what is going on? Marty. I imagined some greasy little fry-man, with frizzy hair poofing out under a hairnet. Red-faced and zitty with one giant eyebrow, a pimply teenage clown, no, not teenage, worse than that, one of those guys who graduated a few years ago but is stunted at the same dating age, always hanging out with high schoolers, buying them beer. Marty. But maybe not. Maybe he was some lean and muscly kid with a scrawny mustache and one earring glinting in an earlobe, the not-gay earlobe. Maybe he worked the fryers with his shirt off, tucked into the back pockets of his baggy baggy pants, the waistband of his man-panties sticking out, the word TROUBLE tattooed across his chest in gang letters. Maybe even a gold chain or two. Fuck Marty. Would Marty get a picture of Rose tattooed onto him? I didn’t think so. Did Marty understand Rose, did he know that she was the Rose of No Man’s Land, the spooky ghost-nurse of nighttime Route 1. Marty didn’t know shit. Fuck Marty.

Right There, I said. I flexed my left arm, like there was some sort of muscle under there. C’mon, I said to Amber.
You’ll Get To Keep Hanging Out With Us. We’ll Give You Crystal Too.

Oh, fuck
, Amber sighed.
Fuck you guys.
She prodded the pile of money with a finger.
All right. I’ll set it up in here and you set it up in there.
She pointed to the bathroom.
You know I could get arrested. You know that, right? You get it? I’m making a big exception for you girls.

Yeeeeah!
Rose leaped into the air. She snatched up the backpack and loped off in the direction of the bathroom. I followed her.

Stay out of each others’ pants in there, you little lesbos!
Amber laughed. She loved that we were little lesbos. I think I hated Amber. But in a homey way, like hating Kristy or even Donnie.

In the bathroom I was quiet and looked around at all the posters on the walls, more tattoo shit, ads for tattoo conventions and big posters of skulls with snakes crawling through the empty eyeholes. A little plastic shelf piled with a jumble of crusty dusty makeup and hairbrushes furry with hairballs. A box of tampons and a gleaming pink metal can of hair spray.
Grab me a few tampons
, Rose said, looking at the mess. I plonked a handful into the backpack. I threw the hair spray in as well, just for fun. Later I would impress Rose with giant fireballs. It would be our own raw laser light show. Rose was efficiently laying out the drugs on the smooth white back of the toilet. She was scraping the powder into lines using the edge of one of the naked Polaroids.
Amber’s got all the money now
, she said.
We’ve got nothing to snort it with. That was stupid, huh? Do you think
that was stupid? I should have kept some for us.
She looked at me.
Are you scared? About the tattoo?
I thought about it. I felt scared, but not about the tattoo. I just felt scared. I tried to figure out what was scaring me.

Listen, I said. Do You Think Amber’s…I tried to think of the word.

A bitch?
Rose asked.

Unethical. That was the word.

Oh, yeah!
Rose said.
But only an unethical tattoo artist would give us tattoos. So just be happy she doesn’t have any morals or whatever.
The lines were perfect, sparkly stripes on the back of the can. Rose looked at me. My whole body pulsed in her direction.

I Feel Crazy, I told her.

You just need more speed
, she told me.
You’ll be fine.
She paused. We looked at each other. Maybe I was staring. She started to talk and then began chewing on the inside of her mouth instead. She was thinking.
I think you’re tripping out
, she said.
Are you tripping out?

Maybe, I confessed.

Cut it out
, she said simply.
Don’t think so much. You’ll fuck everything up.

You Think I’m Thinking Too Much? I asked her.

I don’t fucking know. I’m not in your brain. But I think you might be. You kind of seem like maybe you’re thinking too much.

Okay, I said. All Right. It was good to have someone sort of observing me, letting me know how or how not to be. I didn’t know. Everything felt looped, like it went out of control a long, long time ago. I’ll Stop Thinking, I said to
Rose. Was it even possible to stop thinking? That question was a thought in itself. I had to stop thinking about thinking. Stop thinking about thinking and about Rose and about Marty. Stop thinking about Amber’s morals. Just snort some more drugs and get a tattoo.

I bet the tattoo will knock the thinking right out of you
, Rose said.
It’s gonna hurt.
She grinned, like this was a great thing, my future pain. She looked like a little ghoul, her bony head grinning, her shredded dress. Don’t think about Rose looking creepy, I told myself. Just snort the line. I loved Rose. There it was. The pileup of every thought and kiss and grab had built a love for her inside me. Even if she looked creepy. I looked down at the floor, at my naked red toes, so as not to think about her. Looked at the bandage taped neatly to my foot. Soon it would be gray and shredded with the filth of the streets but for now it was crisp and hospital-ish. The painful pulse of the wound was softer, like the cushion of bandage was muffling it. Rose’s hand reached out for my shoulder.
Hey
, she said. Her voice was nicer.
You’re really freaking out, huh?