Tricks (12 page)

investments I made was in a sapphire blue satin nightshirt

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with matching bikini panties.

Good thing my cute stalker,

Bryn, didn't see me buy

this outfit. He would have

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followed me home for sure.

I still have his card in my purse.

Not sure what for. Anyway, all dressed down in sapphire

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satin, damp hair, and smooth

skin perfumed with ginger,

I feel sexier than I ever have

before. Could I really
be
sexy?

204

Lucas Makes Me Wait

Almost two hours. It's closing in on noon by the time he decides to grace me with his presence.

I've chewed three fingernails

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clear down to the quick, yanked several strands of hair

out of my head. Not great

ways to deal with nerves,

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and I know it when I'm doing

them, but can't seem to stop

myself, especially just sitting in limbo next to the window.

*

By the time his Eclipse streaks into view, I'm totally in need of fake nails and my scalp

pulses pain. And I'm pissed.

*

But when I open the door, see Lucas standing there, in all his tanned hotness, anger

morphs back into neediness.

*

He checks me out, gives a low

whistle.
You should dress like that more often. Nylons and heels, you'd be just about perfect.

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The pout that pops up is not

manufactured. "What do you

mean, 'just about'? Not the right

thing to say to someone you

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kept waiting for two hours."

I let him in anyway, and he rewards me with one of his luscious kisses. Def perfect.

*

Too soon, he pulls away.

Sorry I'm late. But I wanted
to pick up a little something
to make the afternoon interesting.

*

He reaches into his jacket

pocket, pulls out a small metal

can. Inside is a miniature baggie, a razor blade, and a short length

*

of drinking straw.
All we need is something to chop this up on.

Something glass, like a mirror or maybe a picture.

*

I'm not sure what's in the bag, let alone if I want to try it.

So why do I jump to my feet to go find something glass?

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What's in the Baggie

Is a half-dollar-sized chunk of something yellowish white.

It sparkles in the sunlight.

Lucas slices off a thin section

*

and tells me,
Cocaine, clean as you can find anywhere.

My brother knows the importer.

Wait until you try it.

*

I don't want to admit the idea

scares me. Weed is one thing.

Cocaine is another. I've seen it waste people. Seen it waste

*

entire families, in fact, when

one parent or the other (or both)

invests everything they have into staying buzzed on coke.

*

Lucas keeps chopping, but my

silence alerts him.
You've done

coke before, right? No? Oh, baby, you're gonna love it.

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You're totally gonna fly.

Don't worry.
He grins like a leprechaun.
You're safe

flying with me. Mostly anyway.

207

I Watch Lucas

Suck two long, thin, sparkly

yellowish lines up his nose.

Then he hands the picture to me.

Not too hard or you'll sneeze.

*

I inhale gently, one line up the right nostril, the other up the left. Immediately, both sides of my nose go

*

cold and numb. Now, just like that, my heart is racing and the hairs on my arms rise, sending little chills throughout

*

my entire body. OMG. No

wonder people like this drug.

I look at Lucas, who's watching

me carefully. "More, please."

*

He laughs.
Careful now.

A little of this goes a long

way.
But he indulges me, and himself, with two more.

*

Every nerve jumps to attention.

I can't feel my mouth or nose, but other parts of my body are begging to be touched.

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Lucas indulges them, too, with his hands and his mouth.

I love how he kisses, love how his fingers move over my body.

*

Everything is hard. Everything is warm. No, cold. No, warm.

I've never felt so alive. Never

felt so in love. I glance at the clock.

*

Not even one. We have plenty of time. But I don't want to do it here on the couch. "Let's

go to my bedroom, okay?"

209

I Don't Have to Ask Twice

Lucas scoops me up into his toned arms, carries me down the hall, like a groom

clutching his bride. The thought

*

makes me blush, and I have

no clue why. I rest my head against his chest for the entire

ten-second journey. Then

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he lays me gently on the bed, unbuttons my shirt, peels

back the blue satin, stares at what he has uncovered.

*

I am totally exposed, totally

flying high, and yet I do, in fact, feel safe with Lucas, even as he lowers himself

*

over me. Every ounce of me

wants what he's about to do, and yet for just an instant, regret stings and I say, "Wait."

*

He pauses.
What? You

don't want me to stop, do you? Because I don't

think I can. I need you. See?

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He lowers my hand to feel his need, and my heart screams,

"Hurry!" Still, my brain whispers,

"You can never take this back."

*

I look up into Lucas's eyes.

"I don't want you to stop.

But please don't go too fast.

I'm afraid..." Afraid it will

*

hurt. Afraid it will change me.

Afraid... afraid... the word

thumps in time with my heartbeat, even as Lucas soothes,
I'll go easy.

*

And he does. And I'm ready.

And it does feel good, despite the pain, because it also hurts.

And then, it's just over.

211

Still Buzzed

And yet also drained, we lie

together for a while. I don't

know if it was good for Lucas or not. I want to ask, but I don't

*

want to ask because if I do and he says no, it will leave a scar.

I don't even know if it was good for me, because I'm not sure

*

what "good sex" is. Your first time

probably isn't so good, right?

Because I didn't exactly feel

fireworks. Maybe I was too

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numb. Doesn't matter. What's

done is done, and I love Lucas

even more now because he is my first. My ear rests against

*

his chest. I listen to the promise of his heart, and suddenly

my mouth is moving and what

spills from it is, "I love you."

212

I Wait for Him

To tell me he loves me, too.

After several seconds, I notice

I've been holding my breath.

I grab air as he rolls out of bed.

*

It's getting late. Don't want
to get busted.
He stands, looks

down, at himself and the bed.

But not at me. Why won't he

*

look at me?
We'd better clean

up. And you might want
to wash your sheets. You're

not on your period, are you?

*

"No, not for..." Now I notice

how the front of him is splashed

red, and the crimson stain

flowering on my bed. My face

*

burns. "It's not my period."

How could he not know that the first time can make a girl bleed?

Or did he maybe not believe...?

213

A Poem by Ginger Cordell
Bleed

Open a vein, feel the rush, exodus, delicious.

Don't be afraid, there's no pain in the letting, delectable.

Watch the red

flow, let it go, drip, make it slow, drip.

If you've done it right, you won't

wake from the night's

indescribably peaceful

dream.

214

Ginger You Would Think

The possibility of losing a child would be a wake-up call.

Not for Iris. No way.

*

Sandy is still in a coma, wandering around somewhere

deep inside his brain.

*

The doctors don't know

if he's going to make it.

They say we should pray.

*

Gram's done a whole lot of praying. She's the one who sits by his side, day

*

after day. Iris says it's too

hard to see her little boy

that way. She's only been

*

to the hospital two or three

times. Makes Gram mad.

Makes me mad too. Iris

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doesn't give two squirts who she pisses off. All she cares about is herself.

215

It's Been a Month

A month of worry, of guilt, of my having to play the role of "Mom" even more, because

*

Gram isn't there to help

me do it. A month of

Mary Ann, withdrawing

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into a silent, blank-eyed

world where accidents

don't happen, especially

*

not on her watch. I try to help, but she isn't ready to quit blaming herself.

*

A month of mounting bills--

doctor bills, ambulance bills, hospital bills--that Gram

*

is determined somehow to pay.
Where there's a will, there has to be a way.

*

A month of Iris diving

deeper and deeper into bottomless bottles of numb.

216

She Has a New Boyfriend

A big-boned truck-driving

son of a bitch, with eyes like a crow's--black, dead.

*

I've seen eyes like those

before, on another of

Iris's badass lays, one

*

I can't forget. I do my best

never to think of him, what he did. Try never to remember

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that place in my childhood, but sometimes it pops into view despite all my efforts

*

to keep it hidden. I was almost

ten, and we lived in Pahrump, the butthole of Nevada. Iris

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worked at a cathouse, making

money her usual way, only without walking the streets.

*

Walt was a miner, and though he was a regular paying

customer at Mimi's, he had

217

an appetite for younger

meat. Iris was younger then

too, but even at twenty-six,

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she was way too old for Walt.

Still, he paid for her, then he followed her home. She let

*

him move in for a while.

I remember his sour sweat, coming in after working backhoe.

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I remember how he touched

Iris, and how she didn't care

that her kids could see.

*

I remember his Marlboro breath

falling all down around me when he said,
Let me show you something.

218

On Another Day

It wouldn't have happened, couldn't have happened.

Too many witnesses around.

*

But for some odd reason, that particular afternoon,

Iris had taken the other kids

*

to play in the park.
You stay
and start dinner,
she said.

We won't be gone very long.

*

I didn't mind. I was too old for swings, and I've always

liked spending time by myself.

*

But it wasn't more than ten

minutes before Walt came through the door. He didn't

*

ask where Iris was, or why the house was so quiet.

He didn't say one word.

*

I opened a can of refried

beans, spooned them into a pot. I had no real reason

219

to be afraid. So why did

my hands shake? I kept my back to him but could feel his eyes,

*

carving into me. Finally, he started toward the living

room.
Bring me a beer, sweets.

*

I dug one from the fridge.

But he wasn't on the couch, as expected.
Back here,
he called

*

from Iris's room. He was already

out of his jeans. I didn't know

much then, but I knew there was

*

something very wrong about that. Still, I took him the beer, holding my breath against his

*

stench. He grabbed my hand, jerked me hard against him.

Let me show you something.

*

I tried to run, but he was faster.

Tried to fight. He was stronger.

Tried to scream. He choked my cries.

220

When He Finished

(Thank God it didn't take long), he rolled off me with a grunt.

Reached for his beer. Slammed it.

*

Ripped and pried, swallowed up by the shame of what that

meant, I crawled into the bathroom

*

to scrub away the evidence.

Not that I'd dare tell anyone.

Not when he followed me,

*

stood in the doorway, watching