“What ya’ think, baby? Feel like sharing?” she purred and nodded toward where the meth had landed on the coffee table. Some had spilled out and sparkled on the scarred veneer.
“Sure,” he relied as he sat up. He pulled the cellophane off of the cigarette pack and tapped two big rocks into it from the baggie.
“Looks like a couple of grams or so. Think that’ll hold you for a day or two?” he asked.
She took the plastic and looked at it closely.
“That might do it,” she muttered.
“Might do it? Shit, that’ll do you and Amy both. For a few days anyway.”
She sat up and the shirt opened to again reveal her body. She smiled at him.
“Yeah, baby, I know, I know. Hey, I got an idea. Why don’t you run get some more smokes and maybe some Jack Daniels? We can just hang out here till…till,” she hesitated.
“Till what?” he asked. While the place felt right and so did she, he assumed she was only doing whatever she needed to keep him there as long as the crank lasted.
“Till we’re done,” she finished.
He looked at her dark tousled hair. Her darker hungry eyes and the silken expanse of skin she showed. He marveled at how this woman, so hard to the world, could appear so soft at this moment. He thought for a moment and then realized that there was really no decision to make. Sex? Yes. Good sex? Hell yes. But he could get that in a lot of places for a lot less dope. Hell, for nothing. But what he really wanted now was to understand the contradiction that she was presenting. He’d become curious. So yeah, he’d go get smokes and Jack.
“Got some ginger ale or Coke?” he asked as he stood and pulled on his boots, shirt and leather jacket.
“Yeah, baby. Got all that covered,” she said as she followed him to the door.
As he reached to open the door she grabbed him and pulled him close. She hugged him tightly. Burying her head in his chest, she mumbled something.
“What’d you say?” he asked as he cupped the back of her head, felt the softness of her hair, folded her into him.
She sniffled and leaned her head back to look up at him. Her eyes were again misty.
“I said to always remember what I said. You ain’t them. And you ain’t me,” she whispered and broke the embrace. Pulling the flannel tightly around herself, she walked over and plopped back down onto the sofa.
“Yeah, I got it. I’m different. You know you’re acting pretty fucking nuts, right?” he said as he closed the door behind him.
Driving to the liquor store, he wondered why the hell this woman, so hard and self-contained, had revealed something so different and unexpected to him. How? Was this the same woman he’d seen pull Ailey out of some guy’s pick-up by the hair and beat her bloody with her fists, until the guy had pulled her off? That he’d seen stare down unspoken challenges after she took someone’s money at the pool table? Could this really be that same fearless creature that just happened to come wrapped in a female body?
Not today. Today she’d given him a look at something he’d had no idea existed. Turned out Kerry might be a real woman, too. One that was soft and scented and giving and demanding and, like so many of us, seeking at least the pretense of the domesticity that seemed forever out of reach. He thought that somehow she even looked different today. A mask of tense aggression had been removed. It was a mask with pleasant features to be sure, with its high cheekbones, delicate nose and strong jaw line. But the expression worn on those features had always discouraged all but the most brave or foolish from acknowledging them. Her looks were just another tool she used to get what she wanted. And in her circles, no one cared if she smiled or not. Guys didn’t seem to notice her face while they grunted themselves to satisfaction on top of her. So what? They got laid. She got high. A trade was a trade.
But relaxed and vulnerable, she was almost beautiful.
Besides, today he sensed that she wasn’t just trading a pound of her flesh for a gram of meth. No, today she’d opened a door and in so doing had shown him something… Inviting? Confusing? As sure as he was that he didn’t want to go through that door, he was also as sure that he wanted to see more of what was in there.
He picked up a fifth of Jack at the liquor store and stopped by the Seven Eleven. He grabbed some chips, hard candy and a carton of Marlboro. And as an impulse he got two tins of those disgusting Beach Cliff Brand Fish Steaks in Louisiana Hot Sauce. The sugar and salt were his cravings. The canned herring, to which she always referred by its full name, was something that she craved for some ungodly reason. Well, the protein was probably something she needed.
The world seemed a much better place by the time he was headed back to her apartment. Sunshine, a cold beer and loud music helped him decide that maybe this new part of Kerry was real. And maybe he liked it. Maybe a lot.
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