Authors: G L Rockey
Peggy returned from
pee pee, pupils dilated, glassy eyed, and very stoned, whispered in my ear, “‘ets
go ‘uck.”
I thought I heard
Berry laughing then I heard Gillian screaming from the direction of the lake. I
looked. Berry and Gillian in the water, he had a handful of her nobleness.
Peggy laughed,
staggered, leaned on me, slurred, “‘et's go my place.”
The fire a red glow,
the night dissolved into dark mumbling, hearty chuckles, a tiny scream then, in
the distance, lightning flashed and the thunder shook the ground. People
scurried for their cars.
Band leader Larry went
to the microphone, “That's it folks, gonna rain … anybody out there. Guess not,
night all.”
I motioned to him, he
came down, and I handed him Peggy. She was comatose. He led her off somewhere.
I walked to the bar
where Joe packed for a hasty retreat.
I plunked my cup on
the bar.
Joe paused, poured, said,
“I'll have one with you.”
I snatched the whiskey
in a gulp and looked Joe in the eye. Looking like he had lost something, he
gulping a belt of Wild Turkey and I saw for the first time, Survivor Joe wasn’t
so sure.
I headed for Winston
and as I walked past the gazebo I saw Berry's wife dragging him toward the
parking lot. He was drenched and his rug was missing. I wondered where Gillian
was.
Further, I noticed
Neon, not so all-together, packing up her Indian blanket. As I noticed, I heard
to my left, “You're dead, prick.”
I looked in
Snakebite’s emaciated face, “Which time?”
Snakebite pressed his
sunglasses to the bridge of his nose and stepped closer. His chin stuck out
like I had seen Catholics, on TV, receiving communion.
He said again, “You're
dead, prick.”
I looked at his hat
and smiled, “New hat?”
Ducking my words, he
grabbed his hat.
His skinny face
hanging out there pretty good, I couldn't resist. I jerked his glasses off,
punched him between the eyes, then kneed him in the groin. He fell to the
ground. Neon screamed.
I walked toward Winston.
Lot of screaming
behind me, starting to sprinkled, putting Winston's top up, Gillian, wet dress
clinging to her skin, hair streaming water around her face, brushing by, said,
“My place, an hour.”
“Which one?”
She turned, “Smart
ass, the farm, an hour.” She stomped off toward Snakebite and Neon.
Lightened illuminated
the park, then the thunder, and it began to rain.
I stood there for some
minutes contemplating time and chance.
CHAPTER 4
Real Time
10:45:02 P.M. CDT
The quick moving
thunderstorm moved to the east, Gillian drove Snakebite's Silver Rolls Royce
toward downtown Nashville. Snakebite and Neon sprawled in the back seat, he
dragged on a Marlboro 100, drank Meyer's Rum from a bottle, nursed his bruises,
and cursed, “Fucking Carr heee’s parts … cat ‘ood … make it a slow roast … ‘ip
that Irish prick limb from limb … alive … ‘ook what's left.”
Back at Felix The Cat, no band tonight,
customers sparse, two Kittens not busy, the Wurlitzer featured “Nobody's Got It
All” by John Anderson.
Angelo and Stella watched the trio stumble
into the lounge. Neon passed out in a booth, Stella evil-eyed Gillian.
Snakebite sat at the bar, sucking on his bottle or run, mumbled incoherently,
“‘ucking Carr is parts….”
Gillian said she
wasn't feeling well, clothes wet, cold, she was going to go home, take a hot
shower, go to bed.
Snakebite babbling,
“No yas ain’t,” passed out. His head hit the bar with a thud.
Angelo told Stella he
would lock up, take care of Snakebite and Neon, go ahead home.
The rain stopped,
Gillian went to the parking lot, started her bike and headed north on slick I-24.
Stella, not far
behind, followed in her purple PT Cruiser.
CHAPTER 5
Jack’s Time
Me and Winston waiting
out in the boondocks, distant lightning illuminating the night sky like war
movie scenes, images of Berry squeezing Gillian's whatever playing with my
thoughts, I said to myself, “She stiffs you, shows up on an Indian blanket with
Snakebite, ends up in a lake playing grab ass, says ‘my place, an hour,’ and
you paddle over like a circus seal offered a bucket of Charlie Tuna. What is
this?”
I checked the time,
little after 11:30.
My place, an hour,
that was an eon ago. Figures.
Another eon passed and
I thought, what a jerk for even coming here. Then I heard a motorcycle coming
down the road. Gillian pulled beside Winston, glanced me a blank, said not a
word, got off her bike and walked to the house. I followed and going up the
front steps, said, “Imagine meeting you here.”
Entering the house,
she said, “I need to get out of these clothes, take a shower.”
Hadn't changed a bit.
* * *
In the bedroom, I took
my boots off and sat on the bed. Window open to the night air, Gillian
showering, I heard a car on the road. It slowed, then went on. I figured it was
the neighbors from the next farm, or somebody lost.
Nursing a pint of Jack
Daniels (I kept a spare in the Winston's boot), the bathroom door open, I
glanced at Gillian taking a shower. Unbelievable.
I took a sip and lit a
Salem.
Drying herself,
Gillian came to the bed and sat on the edge. “You drink too much.”
I said, “Say, do I
know you?”
“I know.”
“What happened?”
Drying her hair: “You
and Moore were getting it on pretty good tonight.”
I stared at the little
bit of bathroom light reflecting off the thin gossamer curtains snapping in the
wind and listened to the night trying to rain, said, “Are you for real?”
Still drying. “Avoided
that nicely.”
Lightning ripped the
night and the house rumbled and the thunder rolled like vibrating kettle drums.
A new wind pushed through the trees beyond the yard and two small pine trees
rubbed the peeling clapboards. The window blind cord taped against the window
sill and the lacy curtains floated out in the breeze like giant moths. The porch
swing bumped the side of the house with rusty chains screeching a worn out
sound.
I waited for first
drops of new rain and they came, pelting the roof and I begin to think how much
this all seemed like stealing time from the long notes so the short notes will
last and when at last we get the rhythm, it's gone.
Gillian stopped
brushing her hair and stretched out on the bed. “What’s a matter.”
“You know, I have this
thing, when I read a book, I like the chapters in order and all of them there.”
“John….”
“Why, I mean why?”
After what seemed too
long, she said, “You remember, that ride on my bike, that Sunday….”
“There was only one
ride, how could I forget.”
“Stella saw us, she
told Snakebite … I went into work Monday night and….”
“Told you to skip that
gig.”
“Snakebite asked me if
I had been with you, I told him no. He threatened me….” She hesitated,
thinking, I think, then said, “Then he told me he was going to fire me and ….”
She hesitated like she was going somewhere with that, then didn't.
I turned to her. “So
what, he fires you.”
“Later.”
“No phone call, no
nothing.”
She lifted my shirt
and played with my second-from-right chest hair. “Why don't you take those
clothes off.”
“That's good, real
good, hickory dickory dork.”
“Will you knock it off
… you have to trust me.”
“Which you?”
She smacked the pillow
and rolled over on her side.
I said, “Nice back.”
“Shut up.”
I sipped and lightning
flashed then thunder crawled across the sky. The rain intensified to a steady
pouring and I smelled, coming through the window, the wet earth. I lit a fresh
Salem, leaned back against the headboard, closed my eyes and, mingling with the
eventful night, Gillian touched my arm, “You okay?
“Peachy, forget it.”
She sat up and whacked
me with her pillow. “Damn it, no ‘forget it’s, remember.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“Give me a slug of
that.”
I gave her the bottle
of Jack Daniels.
She sipped, hesitated
like she was thinking, gave me the bottle back, said, “I don't want to fight.
Not now. I'm just tired … I missed you … I want your warmth. Take those clothes
off, hold me.”
I reached and held her
little finger. “How's that?”
“Jerk.”
I took a slug and,
obeying her disrobe request, said, “Speaking of getting it on, you and Berry
were doing a good job of it all night.”
“He’s an asshole….”
pause, could hear the wheels grinding, “are you fucking that Peggy slut.”
“Simply amazing,
you're out of my life, what, three months, not a word and….”
“Shut up.” She rolled
to her side, settee in my face, said, “I love you.”
See what I mean,
hasn't changed a bit and I love her madly.
The rain slowed to a
steady patter and distant thunder bumping around in the night, light rain ran
down the gutters, dripping at the bottom.
I reached to touch her. “Sleeping?”
“Waiting for you to
make a move.”
“One consolation.”
“What?”
“You're still here.”
She smacked a pillow
and sat up like Buddha on a lotus flower.
I could hear she was thinking again. After a
minute she said. “I love you, very much.”
“Tell me something.”
“What?”
“Are you fucking
Snakebite?”
She turned like a cat
and smacked my face with an amazingly fast left. “You're being a jerk, you know
… here we are wasting time on nothing.”
“I didn't realize I
was on the clock.”
Lightning hard right
jab to my jaw. The jab felt like there was more there but she had held back.
She stood beside the bed, and crossed her arms over her chest. “Damn you, damn
you.”
“Come here.” I held my
arms out, “Sorry I said that.”
“Pay me, you bastard,
now, then we fuck!”
I tried to take her
hand.
“No.” She shivered and
an awful groan from somewhere deep came out of her. “You think it, so think it,
think it all.”
I was feeling dumb,
low, and rotten. “You don't have to do this….”
“Think everything.”
I saw she was
trembling. I wanted to put the sheet, something, around her. I said, “You don't
have to do this.” I moved to hold her.
“Don't touch me.”
I stayed put. “I'm
sorry….”
“Shut up.” She
clutched herself, elbows crossed, holding her shoulders.
“Gillian….”
“Whatever you can
think of, think I did it. Drugs, men, women, even a dog. How's that, spike your
imagination? Every night, sometimes ten, twenty … how's that … still love me …
want to marry me now?”
“I'm sorry, I….”
”Oh God … why do I
love you.”
I listened to her sobs
mingling with the rain. Tears glistened down her face and dripped to her folded
arms. I reached to touch her. “You didn't really, did you?”
“Jesus Christ.” She
pushed me away, wiped her eyes, tilted her head back, and stared at the
ceiling. “You asshole.”
Lightning flashed. She
looked like a marble statue, shining and smooth and carved and a beautiful
silhouette against faded flashes of muted lightning, shadow in pale blue. I
studied the fine line of her body, the firm line of her jaw and thought how
much I loved her and her voice and her way of crying and telling me I was an
asshole. Must be something to it. I couldn't think of living without her.
I stood beside her and
wiped her face with my hands. “I need you. Marry me.”
She didn't move.
I kissed her neck and
her face and the breeze blew cool on us and I eased her onto the bed and I
pressed her warm to me and reasoned with this stillborn night that I had told
only one other person ever, that I needed them.
After some time she
sat up. “Jack, I….” She was going to tell me something but stopped.