Tats (28 page)

I turn away from her when she catches my eye in the mirror. We both sip on our drinks and pretend to study the dancers, but I can feel her eyes on me.

Dixie points at my beer, but I shake my head. “Want another, Delia?” he asks the lady next to me.

“Sure, doll,” she says. “And give her another beer too.”

I look at this Delia for the first time straight on and say, “I can buy my own.”

“Sure you can, sweetie. But why would you do that when Delia will buy it for you?”

I think it’s a little strange when people refer to themselves in the third person, but I don’t tell her that. I just shrug and look away.

Dixie brings the drinks back and doesn’t collect any money. This Delia lady must be pretty important because I’ve never seen him run a tab before.

Delia swivels on her stool to face me and takes her sweet time looking me over. Normally, this would make me a little self-conscious, but I’m not in the mood. In fact, I’m primed for a fight. “See anything you like?” I ask.

“You have a very dark aura,” she replies.

“It’s the lighting.”

“I’ve seen you in here before,” she says, sipping her fancy drink. “You’re Ginger’s girl toy.”

I think of about a million smart-ass remarks to make, but don’t voice any of them. Probably because I know she’s right. That’s all I was. All I am. Somebody’s girl toy.

I turn on my stool and look from her huge tits to her face and hear myself say, “Not anymore, I’m not. I’m totally available.”

Delia picks up her rhinestone-studded purse, stands and orders, “Dixie, you’re closing it down tonight. Put the deposit in the safe and get all the girls out of here in one piece.”

“Sure thing, Delia.” Dixie nods.

“Come,” Delia orders me, heading for the door.

I put my tail between my legs and follow her out.

Delia beeps her key and an orange Cadillac beeps back. I jerk open its door and hit the passenger seat and try not to think about what I’m getting ready to do. The inside is spacious and comfortable and smells like new leather. Delia scoots behind the wheel and sticks the key in the ignition. I snatch the keys out and hide them in my fist. I lean in and kiss her hard, but she places her palm in the middle of my chest and pushes me away. “You taste like cheap booze and stale cigarettes,” she says.

I scoot back to my own side. I catch my reflection in the dark tinted window and ask out loud, “Why am I here?”

Delia seems to sense some deeper meaning to the question and doesn’t answer. She holds out her hand and I give her back the keys. “Don’t worry,” she says, starting the car. “I’ll have your motorcycle brought over in the morning.”

I’m so fuckin’ exhausted. I lean back in the seat and give in to her driving. I close my eyes, feel a left turn, then a couple of rights and the next thing I know, I’m back in prison.

I’d just turned eighteen, I was a convicted murderer and I was scared shitless. It didn’t help any that I was the whitest person there.

I spent the first two months avoiding Teddy and everybody else. It wasn’t too hard to do except during meals. All the white women sat at tables in the middle. The black women took up three tables to my left. The Mexicans were to my right and Indians claimed their space in the very front.

I grabbed my lunch tray and sat alone at a table in the back. I bit into my grilled-in-butter-flavored-Crisco cheese sandwich. I chewed and swallowed quickly so I didn’t have to actually taste the food.

I finished my sandwich and started in on my soggy fries. The food tasted like shit, but I never got enough of it. Seemed like I was always hungry.

I glanced up and saw that all the Mexicans were staring at me. The entire table was staring me down and I had no idea why or what I did. The french fry lodged itself in my throat and I took a quick gulp of milk to wash it down. When I looked back over, Maria flashed her white teeth at me in a smile.

I had noticed Maria right off, like the first couple days I was in. She was impossible to miss. She had long, curly black hair and curves that made my mouth water and my palms itch. Every night I’d wait until Teddy was snoring, then I’d think of Maria and get busy under the thin blanket. One night I came seven times in a row just thinking about her tits, Frida and Diego.

I quickly looked away. I didn’t dare smile back at her and the heat of my embarrassment lit up my face like Rudolph’s damn nose. The Mexicans laughed at me. I forced myself to stare at my tray and choked down a few more fries.

A grilled cheese sandwich flopped down onto my tray. I looked up to see Maria looking down at me over those gorgeous chichis of hers and my heart lurched into my throat. Close up her eyes were black like a shark’s. She devoured me with just one bite of those eyes.

She flipped her hair, turned and sashayed back to her table. All the Mexicans hooted and hollered and made lip-smacking noises in my direction. I picked up the grilled cheese gift and stuffed half of it into my mouth at once.

I looked at Maria while I chewed. She pursed her lips and blew me a sexy kiss. Her table went wild. I suppressed a grin and ate the rest of the sandwich without looking at them.

That night, after Teddy was asleep, I set a new personal best.

Shower time was my favorite time in prison. I didn’t care if I was naked in front of the guard and I didn’t care if I smelled like household cleansers when I was done. All I cared was that twice a week for ten minutes I got to feel halfway human again.

I rubbed the suds between my legs, up my butt crack and under my arms, getting all the important parts first. I rinsed that away under the lukewarm water, closed my eyes and lifted my face into the needles of spray and let it massage my head.

A wet hand reached into mine and grabbed the bar of soap. Maria. She stood before me in all her naked glory.

I looked around. We were alone except for the guard who stood at the doorway with her back to us. I wondered briefly how Maria pulled that favor in.

Maria let the bar of soap slip through her hands and drop to the floor. She pressed her body into mine and I took a second to savor the startling difference between her brown skin and my pale skin. She leaned down and wrapped her lips around my right nipple, nipping with her teeth.

She smiled up at me. “We have seven minutes,” she said.

I pressed her back against the cold tile wall, buried my face in her long hair and Maria became the very first woman I ever fucked.

Seven minutes wasn’t a very long time, but it was just long enough to violate several laws of the state of Oklahoma.

The next day I sat in my spot with my lunch tray and it only took me about ten seconds to realize something was up. I glanced to my right. The Mexicans were quiet, way too quiet. Even Maria wouldn’t meet my eyes.

A chola stood up from the middle of their table and walked slowly and deliberately toward me.

Shit. I swallowed my spoonful of rice and it dropped to my belly like a hunk of lead.

The chola had a faded blue bandanna wrapped around her close-shaved head. She had teardrop tattoos under her right eye and letters tatted all up and down her arms. She was tall, not as tall as me, but she had a good fifty pounds of bulk on me. She had muscles ripped in places I didn’t even know muscles existed.

I’d read that when you’re about to be attacked by a bear, the worst thing you could do is run or act scared. You were supposed to stay calm, don’t move, and look it directly in the eyes. I forced myself to look directly into the chola’s sneering face. She edged up next to me, her hips touching my shoulder.

“
Gusta bajar al pozo
?” the chola asked.

I had no idea what she just said.

She laughed and her table laughed along with her. Encouraged by her own sense of machismo, the chola asked me louder, “
Chaca chaca Maria
?” She wiggled her hips back and forth, knocking into my shoulder and said it again, “
Chaca chaca
, huh?”

I was pretty damn sure what she meant by that so I answered with a clenched smile, “
Chaca chaca
, yeah, I
chaca chaca’
ed Maria.”

The chola’s smile melted. She reached out with one hand and deftly flipped my tray into my lap. I didn’t wipe the slop off. I pressed both my palms on the top of the table and lifted myself to my feet, turning to her.

She called my bluff with a mighty chest bump that sent me stumbling backward and onto my ass. I was debating whether to get up and take my beating or let her just go ahead and kick the shit out of me on the floor when a big black shadow loomed over us.  I froze and watched as Teddy moved her huge bulk between me and the chola.

Teddy was so immense that even the chola couldn’t disguise the fear in her eyes. She spoke to the chola quietly, so quietly only her and I could hear: “
Chaca
with her and you
chaca
with me.”

The chola took one step back. Two. Then three. She waved her hand in the air, dismissing me and strutted back to her table.

Teddy reached out her hand and I accepted. She pulled me to my feet, pushed me down into my chair and said, “Now sit yer scrawny ass down and keep your mouth shut.”

She walked back to her table.

I glanced over at Maria. She winked at me.

That night during free time, I was lying on my bunk, reading aloud to Teddy who was lying on her bunk when Maria slithered into our cell. She began to unbutton her shirt. I glanced over to Teddy.

Teddy rolled her eyes and faced the wall, turning her back to us.

Maria stood in front of me and slipped out of her prison clothes like a snake sheds its skin.

I sat my book upside down beside me on the cot. Maria straddled my lap and offered me a taste of her brown nipples. “You didn’t answer Rosa’s question.
Gusta bajar al pozo
?” Maria teased.

“I can’t speak Spanish,” I said around a nipple.

“...do you eat pussy?” she breathed in my ear.

I laid back and pulled Maria forward until she was sitting on my face. And since it’s not polite to talk with your mouth full, she answered the question for me, “
Si...Oh, Dios mio, si
...”

I knew this wasn’t exactly love, but it sure as hell was the next best thing.

When I wake up from the trip down memory lane, the car is parked in a big circular driveway in front of the biggest mansion I’ve ever seen in my life. The house looks like a movie’s happy ending. Some guy in a suit is opening my door and beckoning me out of the car. I look over to Delia, but she’s gone. “Miss Delia told me to take you to your room,” he says.

I follow the little guy into the house and through a series of hallways and stairs. Finally, he opens a door for me and says, “Goodnight, ma’am, I hope you’re comfortable.”

Holy shit.

I’ve lived in entire houses that could fit into this room three times over. There’s a monster bed and chests and fancy artwork and even a huge television set. I look at all the buttons and gadgets that make up the entertainment center. I don’t even know where to begin. Plus, there’s a huge bathroom all just for this bedroom. You don’t have to share it with anybody. There’s a separate tub and shower and two sinks and a toilet and one of those French bidet things.

I strip off my clothes and climb into bed. I don’t know what Delia’s game plan is, but I have a feeling she’s just fattening up the pig before the slaughter. That’s the last thought I have before falling asleep.

The next morning there’s a knock on the door that wakes me up. For a minute I think it’s the motel manager coming back, then I remember where I am. I sit up and go for my clothes on the floor—but they’re gone. I jump up in panic and see some folded clothes on the foot of the bed with a note:
Lee Anne—I am having your clothes laundered. In the meantime, these should fit. Delia.

My money! Shit! I had twenty grand stuffed into the pocket of my jeans! I glance around the room, already knowing the money’s not there. I throw on the starched white button-down shirt she’s left for me and grab for the pants. That’s when I feel it. I reach into the pocket of the linen pants and there’s my money. I quickly count it. Twenty grand minus the little I spent yesterday. Even my pocketknife is there.

What the hell? Twenty grand must be chump change to her.

I tippy-toe to the bedroom door (I don’t know why, but tippy-toeing just seems appropriate) and open it a crack. There’s a tray sitting on the floor. I glance both ways down the hall and bring the tray inside.

I lift the lid and get a whiff of the most mouth-watering breakfast I’ve ever seen. Eggs, bacon, toast, sausage, coffee, juice, and even some kind of green fruit that I have no idea what it is but I wolf it all down anyway.

My next stop is the bathroom and I pee and brush my teeth. Somebody left a new toothbrush and toothpaste out for me. I go for a bath next because I’ve never been in a tub this big before, and I want to give those jacuzzi jets a try. I slide down into the steam and watch my skin turn pink. Damn. The creamy soap feels so good on my skin I wash with it twice. I ease down into the bubbles and sink under the water, holding my breath for as long as I can. When I come back up, Delia is sitting on the toilet with her legs crossed, smoking a whopper of a joint and looking at me. I sputter away the bubbles and look right back at her.

She holds out the joint, offering it to me, but I shake my head. I need to keep all my senses about me for right now.

She speaks first. “I’m sending out for some new clothes for you. What size bra do you wear?”

“I dunno,” I answer.

She bends forward a little and gives me the once-over. “Thirty-four B.”

I really want to cover up, but I make myself sit still.

“Thirty-six inseam, I’m guessing?”

I answer with a question of my own, “What do you want from me?”

She takes a long toke and holds it in, never moving her eyes from mine, then exhales. “You’re thirty-two years old. Went to prison when you were eighteen. Second-degree murder.” She raises her eyebrows when she says the word murder. “Out at thirty. Held a few jobs over the past year and a half. Bartending. Convenience store clerk. Bartending again. You’ve lived on and off with a series of women. Ginger being the latest. You’ve got twenty G’s in your pocket and I don’t think you earned it bartending. Sound right so far?”