His lips are dark in the night, and I can barely see them. But I can see hers. She smiles what I know to be a phony smile at him, because her real smile will drop a man to his f**king knees, and she says, “Fine.”
“This your guy for the night?” he asks.
She looks at me and steps forward, running the tips of her fingers down my chest. I go hard immediately, and I catch her hand in mine. She startles for a second, but then I cover her hand with mine, pressing it against my heart, tight and secure. She looks up at me and bats those brown eyes. I hadn’t realized how dark they are. But they’re almost black in the darkness of the night. “This is my guy,” she says. But I can tell she’s talking to him, and not to me.
The hair on her arms is standing up, and so is mine. But it’s probably for very different reasons.
Bone walks away, looking over his shoulder at her ass. I want more than anything to punch him in the face. But I have a feeling that wouldn’t be a good idea. “I’m your guy?” I say to her.
She deflates, and lifts her hand from my chest. “He’s gone,” she says. She slips her bag off my shoulder and puts it on her own. She stands up on tiptoe and kisses my cheek, her lips lingering ever so briefly. I want to turn my head and catch her lips with mine, but she’d run if I did that. I’m sure of it. Thank you, she signs. My heart leaps when I realize she’s speaking my language. I just taught it to her, but still.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
“Home,” she says with a shrug. Then she turns on her heel and leaves me standing there. I shake out a new cigarette and light it, and I watch her walk away. She doesn’t look back. Her black bag is bouncing against her leg, and her guitar case is in her other hand. She hunches down against the wind. Does she own a coat? I wish I’d given her mine.
I follow her. I can’t help it. I need to see where she’s going, or I won’t be able to find her again. Not to mention that her being alone in the night in the city scares the shit out of me. She’s not hard enough for this place or for these people. If I let her get away from me, I might not ever find out what that tattoo means to her. And I sort of need to know now that it’s on my arm. I might be able to find her in the subway tunnel. I realized when I saw her today that must be why she looked so familiar. I’ve seen her in the tunnel, busking for change.
She crosses the street and goes toward the old bank building, the one that was turned into a shelter for the homeless a few years ago. There are people in a line outside, and she gets in line with them. She doesn’t have anywhere to stay. She’s going to a f**king homeless shelter? But before she can go inside, they close and lock the doors. The people in line stand and protest. But they’re full.
The throws her head back, her long dark hair falling even longer, reaching her ass. She’s frustrated, I can tell. But she doesn’t complain. She picks up her case, and starts down the street. There’s another shelter a few blocks over, but my guess is that it’s full, too. The shelters sprung up around here like fast food restaurants when the city began to change. But there are too many homeless and not enough places for them to stay.
I follow her, finishing my cigarette while I do. But instead of going to the next shelter, she stops and sits down on a bench, dropping her face into her hands. She’s tired. And I feel weighed down by her burden, too. I approach her and sit down beside her. She looks up, her brown eyes blinking in confusion.
“You followed me,” she says, looking up and down the street like she’s not sure where I came from.
I nod.
Her chest bellows with air, and I’m guessing that was a heavy sigh. “You don’t have to sit with me,” she says.
I look at her, and I make sure to use my voice. “Come home with me,” I say.
She looks into my eyes, hesitates for a moment, and then says, “Yes.”
Emily
He’s going to expect me to sleep with him. They usually think they can get in my pants if they give me a bed and a meal. He’s given me food, and now the bed is the next part of it. He wouldn’t be hard to sleep with. He has those dreamy blue eyes and curly locks of blond curls spring about in wild disarray all over his head.
I retrieve the money he gave me earlier from my pocket and try to give it to him. “For the place to sleep,” I say. So he’ll know I don’t plan to sleep with him.
He shakes his head, looking at me like I have lost my mind. He slides my canvas bag off my shoulder again and puts it on his. His building is surprisingly close. All this time, I’ve been staying at shelters right around the corner from this guy. And I didn’t even know he was there.
He opens the door and motions for me to step inside. “Do you live alone?” I ask.
He shakes his head no.
I stop him and press on his shoulder. “Who do you live with?”
He does that thing again where he shows me two people taller than him and two shorter than him. He lives with his brothers. Shoot. I’m not going to an apartment filled with men I don’t know. “I can’t,” I say, but he rolls his eyes at me. Then he bends at the waist and drives his shoulder very gently into my midsection. He hefts me over his back like I’m a sack of potatoes. I’m still holding on to my guitar, and I knock him against the backs of his legs with it, because I know I could be screaming at him right now and he would have no idea. I can’t talk to him. I can’t tell him to put me down.
He carries me like that up four flights of stairs, and he’s huffing a little when we get to the fourth floor. I expect him to keep climbing, but he doesn’t. He stops and opens a door, and we’re suddenly in a hallway.
My struggling has ceased, because it’s no good. He can’t hear me. He can’t respond. So, I brush my hair out of my face with one hand and hold on tightly to my guitar with the other. He opens a door and steps inside, closing it behind him.
Four men turn to look at me, flopped there like a sack of potatoes over his shoulder. I’m turned to face them as he closes the door, so I wave. What else can I do? The one I met at the tattoo parlor gets to his feet. “Who’s that?” he asks.
The tattoo guy bends over to look in my face. “Shit, Logan, that’s the girl who clocked you.”
The other men get up and walk over, too.
One of them says, “Dude, she’s got Betty Boop on her panties.” I can’t even reach back to cover my ass.
Logan lowers me to my feet. I stumble as he sets me upright, when all the blood rushes back to my head. He reaches out to steady me, and he smiles. I realize that they could all see my panties when he had me upside down, not just the one of them. The rest were just nice enough that they pretended not to look.
Logan points to each of his brothers in turn,
and motions for them to talk. “Paul,” the biggest one says, as he extends his hand.
“I remember you,” I say.
“I’ll never forget you,” he says, with a laugh as he smacks Logan on the shoulder. “And neither will his nose.” He feints as Logan makes like he’s going to punch him. But he doesn’t. He stops right before he gets to his face.
The second to largest one, and they’re all big boys, sticks out his hand and says, “Matthew.” Matthew looks tired and a little green. I look at Logan and he nods subtly. This is the one who has cancer and is going through chemo. Paul slaps Matthew’s hand away and says, “You’re not supposed to be sharing any germs right now.”
“Fuck you,” Matthew says, and then he walks toward the hallway and goes in his bedroom and closes the door. He doesn’t look back at me, but I don’t mind.
The last two brothers have to be twins. They’re younger than Logan, and they look identical. “Sam and Pete,” Paul says.
They huddle around me, and I end up sandwiched between them, which they think is hilarious. They jiggle me around for a minute, until Paul barks at them. “Let her go,” he says. He pops them both on the backs of their heads and says, “They don’t know how to act when company comes over.”
Company? That’s what I am? “Nice to meet you,” I say. I’m a bit overwhelmed. This is a lot of testosterone in one room. There’s shooting and fighting blasting from the television and I look over at it. I know Logan can’t hear it, but there are subtitles playing at the bottom of the screen. I don’t know why, but that makes me smile.
Logan motions for me to follow him and I do, presumably toward his bedroom.
One of the twins (I can’t tell them apart) calls out for us to wait. But Logan can’t hear him. I follow him down the hallway, and the other of the twins is standing at the end of the corridor laughing like hell. Something is up, but I don’t know what. Logan opens his bedroom door, and steps inside. I follow him. And that’s when I see a form move in the bed.
“Who the f**k is that?” a female voice shrieks. Logan turns around and slaps at the light switch, and the room goes bright. A book flies across the room and hits his shoulder just as the light comes on. I step back out of the room, because whoever that is in his room is throwing shit like crazy. She’s blonde. And she’s nak*d. Completely and starkly nak*d. Shoot.
She jumps out of bed and starts grabbing for her clothes. Logan swipes a hand down his face and sticks his head out of the room. He motions toward Paul, who is leaning casually against the wall, a grin on his face. Paul walks down the hallway, his stride full of swagger, and he removes me from the doorway and goes in himself. The door closes with a thud.
“I thought you knew she was coming!” Paul says with a laugh. I imagine him doubled over, because that’s how the twins are, they’re laughing so hard. They’re high fiving each other and listening to what’s going on behind the door.
Logan must have signed something to him. Because he says, “She said she was going to surprise you.”
Well, she did that, apparently.
Paul heaves a sigh and says, “He wants you to go.”
More thuds in the room make me think she’s throwing stuff again. Good God.
“He doesn’t want you to surprise him again,” Paul says quietly, but I can hear it. I want to press my ear against the crack in the door, because things have gotten quiet. I can hear her sniffle.
“You don’t have to worry about that,” she says with a loud inhale. “I’ll never sleep with you again.” The door flies open and she steps out it, and then she attempts to crowd me back against the wall. The twins freeze, their mouths falling open. She’s almost six feet tall. I’m not.
“Oh, shit,” one of them says.
I tolerate her until a piece of spittle flies out of her mouth and hits me in the cheek. “You better back the f**k up, bitch,” I say. And I draw my fist back. I don’t hit like a girl. I never have. I never will.
Like one of those hooks on the gong show my grandma used to watch, Logan wraps his arm around her waist, picks her up and spins her away from me. He shakes a finger at me. He better be glad he caught her, or she’d have my fist up her ass.