Problem Child, page 7
God, I was so angry that others were blind to how absolutely stunning I was: Look at me, you unseeing idiots!
But I’ve grown wiser, and I now recognize how much easier it is to triumph when people barely notice you. My looks are my chameleon skin, and I can hide my superpowers under a perfect camouflage of averageness.
My dinner arrives, and I’m so glad I got the loaded baked potato. I pride myself on making the best possible food choices in every situation. It’s a gift, but I’ve worked hard to hone it.
My phone dings with a text as I’m chewing my first bite of delicious steak. It’s slightly more than the medium doneness I’ve ordered, but the seasoning is delicious, so I’m happy.
I’m even happier when I see that Luke has reached out. Even if I’m going to break up with him, I still want him thinking about me. I’ll always want him thinking about me. Did you make it safely? he asks. Any information yet?
I set down my fork and take another sip of margarita, rolling my eyes in exasperation when I realize I’m already slurping the last of it. I’m in town, I type back. Saw my brother. That’s it so far.
Is he out?
No, I went to the jail.
Sounds dangerous, Luke writes with a frowny face. Stay safe out there.
It’s not dangerous here, but it’s not as safe as you might expect. Boomtowns never are. Too many people coming through every day, the highways full of workers moving from job to job. It was no place for a young girl to be running wild when I was young any more than it is now. I certainly found my share of mischief, and none of these hardworking, salt-of-the-earth, economically anxious men were looking out for my well-being, as far as I ever saw.
They wanted to use me. Use me up until nothing was left. Instead I used them every chance I got.
My phone dings again. Let me know what you find out, ok?
Sure, if you’re still interested, I text back.
Of course I’m interested, Jane. I love you.
Whatever. If he loved me, he wouldn’t be pushing me for something he knows I don’t want.
Bleh. I’m not good at melodrama because I’m too logical, and I know love rarely means shit when it comes down to it. Luke actually does love me—or, to be clear, Luke loves the parts of me I let him know. But what has that ever mattered in the world?
The ranch family two tables over has been utterly circumspect and polite, and even the children are well behaved. Everyone is kind to each other, not a hint of scandal about them. The kids’ clothes are worn but neatly pressed, their hair clean and combed. This is the kind of family I envied, even in my teenage years.
What would it have been like to grow up in a calm, supportive household with food in the fridge and the lights always on? What would life have been like with a hardworking father figure and a mom who never once called you a sneaky little cunt? What if there had even been siblings who wanted to play games and share secrets?
I roll my eyes at the lovely scene before me as the two kids squeal, “Thank you, Grandpa!” when he orders them ice cream. There’s bad here just the same as there is in the city. And there’s good here too, just like everywhere else. It’s all the luck of the parental draw no matter where you’re born.
By the time I get back to the hotel, it’s 7:00 p.m. and the previously deserted lot is crammed full of trucks and SUVs. I guess I know what the front desk clerk meant by “rush” now. The place is packed. Men in coveralls stand outside smoking cigarettes, and I follow footprints of red mud through the doors.
A couple of guys are checking in at the front desk, several are gathered in a little laundry room, and two more are working out in the tiny gym near the pool. It’s a weekday, and none of the guests seem like they’re here for a wedding, but I’ll keep my fingers crossed. I’d love to crash a reception for old times’ sake, and I do so love cake.
The margaritas have loosened me up nicely, so I freshen up and head right back out the way I came. Instead of going to my car, I turn left toward the entrance of the bar. When I get there, I laugh with delight.
I can’t remember what this place was called when I was young, but now the letters S-E-C-R-E-T-S are spelled out in big wooden squares on the first wall I see when I walk in. Secrets! In a small-town bar!
I giggle at the false promise of it, as if a certain amount of drinking will shield you from the prying eyes of your neighbors. Delightful. So many secrets here, and everyone knows them. I’m clapping my hands as I waltz through a set of open doors into the main bar area.
I freeze mid-clap.
I used to sneak in here on a Saturday night, but on a Monday it’s dead as hell. The big wooden dance floor is empty, and only three tables are occupied. It’s going to be a long night for me and for the bored bartender, who rushes over as soon as I grab an empty table. “Hello!” she coos as she sets down a Coors coaster, her pitch-black ponytail bobbing. “I’m Maria! What can I get for you?”
“I’ll take a screwdriver with a splash of soda.” I glance past her toward the bar. “Slim Jims?” I ask, glimpsing the familiar giant canister stuffed with plastic-wrapped meat snacks.
“They’re a dollar each,” she says.
What the hell. “Just one.”
“I’ll be right back, hon,” she says cheerfully, her round face glowing. She moves fast to make my drink, her enormous butt bouncing under a tiny waist in her stretchy pants. She likely needs an electric fence to keep the cowboys’ drunken hands off her cheeks. She either tolerates their groping with a smile or she stabs any man who gets close. I doubt there’s a workable middle ground with an ass like that.
I imagine I’ll find out if anyone else shows up, but it could be a while. There are two old guys playing darts, a younger couple with pool cues leaning against their table while they flirt, and one big group of older ladies sharing pitchers of beer. None of them look like they have grabby hands. I’m probably the most likely candidate here, if only because I’m so impulsive.
Some upbeat music begins playing, and the old ladies hop up with shouts of delight and head to the empty floor for a line dance. The bartender returns with my drink and a Slim Jim. “You want to start a tab, honey?”
I sure do.
My first bite of Slim Jim floods my tongue with salt. I haven’t had one of these since I left Oklahoma, and my mouth waters like crazy at the familiar taste. The perfect bar snack to keep me drinking.
I suppose I should be running over to the address Ricky gave me to see if his daughter has been found. Or maybe I could solve the whole mystery tonight with just a few questions around town. But I’m tired and melting into my seat as an old country ballad begins playing and the group of women return to their long table to wet their whistles. An ancient cowboy I hadn’t noticed before suddenly appears to ask one of them to waltz. She happily agrees and heads back out to the floor.
“You can join us if you like!” one of the women at the table calls out. When I realize she’s talking to me, I point to myself in surprise. “It’s Friends and Fun Night!” she yells back, as if that explains everything.
“Oh. Okay. Sure.”
Always looking for more emotion and energy than I can generate on my own, I gather my purse and drink and half-eaten Slim Jim and slide over to an empty chair. My kind really likes company. When it’s too quiet we can hear the hollowness inside us. When things get loud, the echoes fill us up.
The women, five in all, not counting the lady with the cowboy, introduce themselves, but their names flit away from me as they’re spoken. “I’m Jane,” I offer in return.
“You here visiting?” the skinny one with the no-nonsense gray buzz cut asks.
“Yep.”
“You have family here, then?”
“Yeah, my brother is over in the county jail.”
“Oh,” she says flatly, but another woman bursts into laughter.
“My husband was in that jail a few times.”
“I’m sorry,” I say without being sorry at all.
“Nah. Good riddance to bad rubbish, I say. He finally died five years ago, and look at me now!” She jiggles her shoulders, showing off her cleavage and the hot-pink lace bra peeking out from her V-neck sweater.
“Go, girl!” I raise my drink, and they all hoot and raise their drinks as well, and just like that, I’m one of the girls! They push a bowl of tortilla chips toward me and fall back into their gossip.
“That’s Clarence,” the woman with the cleavage says as she leans closer. She tips her head toward the waltzing cowboy. “He’s harmless. Comes down from a ranch an hour north of here to keep us company on Mondays.”
“Harmless, huh? You sure about that?”
She giggles when I wink, but he really does look harmless, thin and gentlemanly with deep layers of wrinkles on his leathery face. Before I know it, I’m on my second drink and being pulled out onto the dance floor for the Electric Slide. I’ve done it a million times, but I’m still terrible at it. I’m no good at music or art, but I also don’t have any shame, so I throw my hands in the air and slide and spin, making the ladies laugh when I bump into them. They’re my new best friends. We’re having so much fun together.
By the time we exit the dance floor, the place is finally starting to fill up. I survey the men—and they’re all men—but I’m disappointed by the findings.
Cowboys wear tight jeans no matter how old they are or how big their gut is. You can still fit a size 34 waist under a huge beer belly if you wear those jeans low enough, and I admire that kind of persistence. But these traveling oil field workers? Good Lord, I’ve never seen such a baggy, sloppy mess of men. Worn-out, oversize jeans, canvas cargo pants with pockets stuffed full of who knows what . . . There are even a few guys here still in coveralls, their boots half laced and muddy as hell.
That really doesn’t give me much hope for the state of their groins.
Would picking up one of these men—one of the few recently washed ones—be cheating on Luke? I’m not sure if we’re still together. We’re on some sort of a break, but which sort?
Sex with Luke is of a far higher quality than anything I can find in a bar. He knows right where my clitoris is and worships it with the lavish attention it deserves. Given my own personal studies, I’d guess that none of the guys here would even try to find it.
But I definitely miss the mystery of it all. The strange fun of strange bodies. Big men with little dicks. Little men with big dicks. Short, fat guys with skinny dicks. Tall guys with . . . You get the picture. With penises you just never know. It’s a surprise package and you can unwrap a new one every night if that’s what you want!
Same goes for women’s parts, of course, but I’m only rarely interested in those. Still, everyone likes a little variety. Would it be cheating if I went home with one of my new line-dancing buddies? Cleavage lady went to a lot of effort with her lingerie tonight.
I mean, I guess it would be cheating if Luke and I are still together. If.
I get out my phone. What are you doing? I text to Luke as another slow song starts. Are you out? If he’s at a bar, taking advantage of our “break,” then that will be a clear answer.
Just finished a jog, he texts back a minute later. About to get in the shower.
Ooo. Send a pic.
How about I send one later when you’re in bed too.
You filthy boy. Absolutely.
He sends back a smiley face. He’s still mine if I want him. I think I still do.
My friend Meg was my only connection in this world. She felt emotions so deeply and so frequently that I could absorb her experiences and pretend they were mine. But they weren’t mine, and when she died, I thought I would never feel attached to anything again.
But then I found Luke.
He’s a real person, with a real life. He has a family: a brother and brother-in-law and their adorable baby daughter. He accepts me as I am and gives me space. Or he did until now. The now part is the problem.
I suddenly wish I were home. His hand around my ankle as I read. My cat snuggled between us, with her soft fur and deadly claws. Warmth and happiness and the illusion that I’m a real girl.
What a dumb thing to wish for. Any guy here would be happy to wrap his hand around my ankle. Still, I look over the growing crowd and feel my lip curl.
Yeah. I’d rather have cookies and some phone sex tonight. What the hell do I want with muddy shoes and sweaty balls?
I bid farewell to my new friends and approach the bar to settle my tab. Eyes follow me. So many eyes. These men are on the road tending to wells and lines for weeks at a time, and they’re hungry. They want to play with me. Eat me up. Some of them want me to enjoy it. And some of them prefer that I don’t. I’ve had enough of them over the years to detect the different kinds pretty easily.
For example, the handsome blue-eyed fellow who smiles when I sidle up to the bar is trying for charming, but I see the cruelty beneath, shining through like greasy skin through matte makeup.
“Hey, beautiful,” he says, as if I’d believe a gorgeous twenty-something like him thinks I’m beautiful. He doesn’t think I’m gorgeous. He thinks I’m plain, and plain means desperate and easy for a boy with sparkling blue eyes. He thinks I’m the type who’ll be so grateful for his attention that I’ll let him use my mouth in a dirty bathroom stall. I’m not beautiful but I’m right here.
Silly boy doesn’t know I already got laid in a bathroom this week, and my exquisite mouth is reserved for better men than him.
“Buy you a drink?” he purrs.
“No thanks!” I chirp. “I’m heading back to my room.”
“Oh yeah? Want some company?”
I turn to him and giggle nervously at his wide, white grin. “You’re funny.”
“Nah, I’m serious as a heart attack, darlin’. I haven’t seen you here before, and I love making new friends.”
I shrug one shoulder and duck my head, pretending to blush. “I’m just visiting.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want you to be lonely while you’re visiting. Why don’t you sit down and keep me company?”
“Stop it! You’re so silly!”
“At least let me buy you one more drink. I’m James.”
“James,” I repeat, not offering my own name. He doesn’t notice or care. “Okay, James. Sure. I’ll have another drink. Thank you.”
When Maria brings over my tab, I sign off on it and James tells her he’ll get me another of whatever I’m drinking. Her friendly smile falls away and her gaze goes sharp and ugly, first on him and then on me. “Great,” she says, with none of her earlier enthusiasm.
Poor thing. She obviously fell for his false charm at some point or another. He probably convinced her that he was mad for her, wild for her big ass, and she believed it. Plenty of men are, after all.
But not James. One look at him and I can see exactly who he is: a big fish in a tiny pond. He wants the petite blond rodeo queen on his arm while he screws his way through the county. After that relationship falls apart, he’ll marry some rich daddy’s girl from Oklahoma City and get a job with her old man, then screw his way through that county while her daddy pays their mortgage and keeps him employed.
But Maria doesn’t see that. She probably crushed on him for a while; maybe he was an older boy in school, and then he finally turned those eyes on her and she fell hard. But that’s not my fault, Maria. I don’t deserve the icy stare that comes as she delivers my drink.
It’s definitely a little more watered-down than the first ones. That’s fine. I’ll be drinking it quickly. I take two big gulps and watch James flash a sly smile at the man next to him.
“Thanks again for the drink,” I say. “You’re sweet.”
“Sit down,” he suggests.
I hold up a hand and gulp the rest of the drink. His cocky grin tips down into a cocky scowl.
“Sorry. I’d love to but I can’t. I have to call Mama before she goes to bed or she’ll worry.”
“All right. Go make your call and come back. I’ll be right here waiting for you.”
Who the hell does James think he is, telling me how to make his night easier? I’m tired of playing with him, and I have to pee, so I drop my faux shyness and set my empty glass down. “Nah.”
“All right, then,” he says tightly. “Tell me your room number and I’ll bring you another drink. We can talk and get to know each other. Must be lonely being in a strange town alone.”
“Room 205. Fifteen minutes?”
“Sure. I think I can do that.” Even his assent is a little condescending, meant to make me thankful he’ll waste a quarter hour waiting to use me.
I’m only ten feet away before James and his friend are laughing, loud ugly chuckles at my expense. This dumb bitch thinks I like her. What a pitiful little slut she’ll be for me. There are so many small monsters in this world.
After hurrying back to my room, I jump in the shower and wash off the travel grime. Then I pull on sexy undies and soft socks and my favorite ancient T-shirt to wait. The mattress is a little soft, but the room is warm and cozy and I settle in with a sigh. A few breathless minutes later his knock raps through the pool atrium, so I bounce up with a laugh. He’s not patient, of course, so a second knock follows close behind. “Open up, baby,” he calls.
I crack open my door to better hear him, and, right on time, loud bootsteps echo through the ceiling above me. The door swings open. “What the hell do you want?” a man upstairs growls in a deep, phlegmy voice.
“What the shit?” yelps James.
I clap a hand over my mouth to stifle giggles. I’d clearly heard the boots of two men above my head when I dropped by earlier, and James is making the acquaintance of at least one of them.
“Is . . . uh . . .” He’s realizing he never bothered getting my name. “I was supposed to meet someone here?”
“Well, fuck off. Looks like you’ll be meeting Rosie Palm tonight, you dickwad.” The man’s guffaw bounces around the high metal ceiling of the atrium before being cut in half by his slamming door. I giggle harder, my laughter trying to leak out and join in the fun.
