The Book of Adam and Jo: an Interracial Literary Romance

by C. L. Donley

  “They must’ve really fucked it up if you’re doing the run yourself,” she said. Her response made me smile.

  “If you want it done right,” I said.

  “I know all too well what you mean.”

  We stand there for an awkward moment before I remember my manners.

  “Well. It’s good to put a face to a name, Jo Abrams,” I say, with my hand extended for her to shake.

  “You sure you wanna do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Shake my hand.”

  And that’s when I knew, somewhere sometime, she definitely saw it. The crooked cross.

  Hell, I’d nearly forgotten about it. It’s on my right arm, facing the other side and poorly hidden under my shirt sleeve.

  It’s only about yay big. In the center of a large tattoo of the Imperial Eagle with its wings spread. The swastika is made outta my lilly white skin, outlined in black.

  I’m used to getting flack, not in Bethesda but when I go into Canton. Which is getting bigger and bigger and more… tolerant. No doubt because we keep building the damn neighborhoods. The more “tolerant” it gets, the more we gotta cover up. Why go to jail for pointing a finger in the chest of some vegan pussy hat beta and bruising his ego? Or his sternum?

  Now I’ve had some nice people refuse to shake my hand because of it, among other things. And those people were few and far between. Brave fuckers. Made me wanna be their friend, but they never want to be mine, ironically.

  But I never had anyone ask if I was okay shaking theirs.

  “I got no problem shakin’ your hand,” I said, “if you got no problem shakin’ mine.”

  Her cute little pouty mouth drooped down in the corners as she gave a shrug. She reached out her hand and it met mine.

  She looked down at our joined hands as they cordially shook. I was looking at her face, feeling her petite hand in my hand. Her lips broke out into a grin, her eyes still on our handshake. Instinctively I knew what she was thinking, as if once we touched I could read her mind.

  “See?” I said.

  “Wasn’t so bad,” she joked with a smile.

  “We don’t bite,” I said.

  “That’s good,” she laughed.

  “Am I your first white supremacist?”

  “Probably not.”

  I chuckled.

  “At least you’re marked.”

  I laughed again, feeling a little nervous. This chick seemed like an unwavering badass. A tiny little fun-sized badass, who could hang and finish drywall like it was art. And look nazis in the face and shrug and smile. Now I was 100% certain this ex of hers was a piece a’ shit.

  “I should get going. C’mon Judah,” she said.

  “Hey, can I… get your number?” I asked.

  Why? Because, fuck it.

  If she looked at me like I was insane, I could just say it was for professional reasons. I saw the hesitation all over her face. Judah rescued me by knocking over a shit ton of spray paint. I started to bend down when she stopped me.

  “Judah. Pick it all up, right now.”

  As we both watched Judah put back all the spray paint the way a four-year-old would, my question hung in the air.

  “Wanda’s gonna have to re-do everything he’s doing.”

  “I know. It’s the principal,” she sighed.

  “Anyway, I just… Kenny isn’t the most punctual. I figured I could call you directly. About Cormier. Or… whatever project.” I stumbled around like an idiot. It doesn’t help that I can feel the entire store watchin’ us as I walk with her to the counter. Fuckin’ normies. Like just because I’ve got a swastika on my arm I’m s’posed to fuckin’ slit her throat or something. I can feel Shannon the paint girl is stabbing me in the back with eye knives.

  “Something wrong at Cormier?”

  “No, everything looks great. Let me get that,” I said, as she went to pay for her tape. “You use mesh?”

  “Just for certain patches. It’s the last thing I do and it doesn’t shrink when I use the minute mud.”

  “Ah.”

  “Um… is that you?”

  I finish paying and I look over in the direction of the parking lot, where my big ass truck with the confederate flag painted on the front is parked.

  “Yes ma’am it is,” I reply.

  “Jesus Christ,” Jo moaned. At this point, everyone in the store is laughing, and I am welcomed back to the land of the living, even if just to laugh at me. If Jo can laugh me off, then everyone else feels like they can too. I just take it in stride. In the right setting, I’m actually charming as all get out.

  Right then, if that wasn’t enough, here came Judah to save the day again.

  “That’s your truck?!” Judah says loudly, pointing in disbelief.

  “Yes, sir,” I replied. He runs right up to the glass door, waiting for someone, anyone to let him out.

  “It’s so cool!” he shouts. With his face against the glass just so, his voice is super amplified. This time Jo isn’t laughing. She’s only shaking her head with a cordial grin. I don’t think she’s happy, but everyone else finds it hysterical. And adorable.

  “The innocence of children,” the clerk volunteered.

  No one asked your opinion, Deborah. That’s what I wanted to say.

  Jo had a look on her face like she knew Judah was about to learn something about the world that she doesn’t want him to know, or at least doesn’t care for him to know.

  But Jo’s never been a little boy. The sooner Judah learns, the better. I held the door open for Jo as we make our exit and I can feel it frying the brains of everybody watching, which gave me an unexpected glee.

  “Wanna take a ride?” I ask Judah on the way out.

  “Absolutely not,” Jo said without hesitation. I wouldn’t expect anything less. Had she agreed to it, I probably would’ve hightailed it outta there.

  “Mom!” Judah exclaims like he’s embarrassed, as if there was ever any chance. I can’t help but chuckle. But it’s sad. Clearly this kid is dying to bond with any adult male that shows him the least bit of attention. I know, because I was once this kid.

  Although to be fair, he does sorta think I’m Thor.

  “Did Captain America give you this truck as a gift?” Judah suddenly says. Probably on account of the colors and stars. This time it’s my turn to shake my head. The boy clearly knows nothing about history.

  “Yes, that’s exactly right,” Jo immediately fills in, her arms folded. She gives me a look, like I’d better go along with that or else.

  I break out into the biggest grin of my life. Her little mouth is in a pout and one of her eyebrows is sky high, and for a split second, I think I want to be with her forever.

  I bet everyone in the world would like it if I had a girl who could shut me up. It would turn every one of my family members into a Bible-believin’, church-goin’ Christian if they could see me right now.

  “And you thought this was just gonna be another boring day,” I finally find my voice again.

  “Nice meeting you, Mr. Kerr.”

  “You too, Jo. Call me Adam.”

  “Alright, Judah, tell Adam bye.”

  “Bye, Adam!”

  “Bye. Hey Jo,” I yell back at her, “about that number…”

  Jo moves a stray piece of her little fake European hair behind her ear like she grew it herself. Not gonna lie, it was damn sexy. Feminine.

  “…I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she says.

  She got in her car that was an old model Infinity. The dash was cluttered with papers, flyers and junk mail. She started the engine and Beastie Boys blasted through her speakers so loud it damn near gave me a heart attack. Partly because it brought on a flashback that I didn’t want, a piece of the puzzle that I’d truly forgotten about. That’s music for ya. Damn near brought back the smells. Stale carpet. Yellow walls and kitchen tile the ugliest brown shade you can imagine. Mom’s dealer, the steadiest boyfriend to date. I’m your daddy now. Didn’t even
have ten years on Gus.

  The beige Infiniti pulled off with me still frozen in the parking lot, alone with my memories. Her son didn’t even flinch. Jesus. He was probably deaf.

  For some reason I had the sudden thought that if she saw the tat then it meant she saw me before I saw her. I climbed in the truck absent-mindedly.

  She must’ve been staring. Hard, I told myself. Who the hell knew if that was true. I told myself it was. Then I started up the engine with a dumb grin on my face.

  2

  Chapter 2

  “I don’t get it,” Corey says when I finally get to the end of the story.

  “What don’t you get?” I asked.

  “I don’t know how you get ‘I want your cock’ out of her saying, ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’”

  “First of all, you weren’t there, so you didn’t see how she said it,” I insisted. “She wasn’t saying it like, ‘get away from me motherfucker,’ she was saying it as she was getting into her car. With like, twenty feet between the two of us.”

  “…okay.”

  “She was sayin’ it like, ‘I don’t think it’s a good idea, so change my mind.’”

  “…Adam.”

  “She wants me bad, Pete.”

  “So what, I mean… where is this going?”

  Oh, Jesus. This is the part where Corey pretends like he has moral convictions about pussy. More than I do.

  I just let him. ‘Cause he’s younger and he needs to test out his shit. But pretty soon, I’m gonna have to start calling fuckers out.

  “Corey, relax. I didn’t say I was gonna marry her.”

  “I know, but it’s just… you keep goin’ on and on about it, like… what the fuck.”

  “You sound a little jealous.”

  “I’m not jealous, man.”

  “You would be if you saw her. She’s a fuckin’ human piece a candy. I just wanna watch her hang drywall as big as her own damn body.”

  “Prolly uses one of those drywall lift panel things.”

  “Probably.”

  “Just don’t let Gus hear you talkin’ like that,” Corey said. Gus is the oldest and the closest one to dad. Unfortunately.

  “I’m not afraid of Gus, you are. And also, I still remember when you and Gus both fucked the same Filipino girl— and did I say shit about it when he busted your fuckin’ lip over it? No, I didn’t. Why? Because both of you are fairweather about this shit.”

  “Well, if you’re such a good klansman—”

  “I wasn’t a good klansman. I was the first one of us to leave. And I seem to recall you wanted to jump me out like a fuckin’ gang.”

  A strange part of me still wished they would have. I had some real pent up shit I couldn’t wait to unleash without worryin’ about jailtime. They call it “blessing” you out. Corey told me they didn’t do it at Dad’s request, out of respect for him, but Dusty Kerr never “requested” shit. More than likely those old fucks didn’t wanna catch a beatdown. Corey was only hollerin’ the loudest ‘cause he knew between me’n Gus he probably would’ve ended up without a scratch.

  “Yeah I did,” Corey said. “Because you built the damn thing up and then you left. You betrayed the family.”

  “No, Pete, you wanted to show out in front of your new faggy friends. And I didn’t betray the family, because I was never devoted to the family. I was devoted to the cause. And the cause wasn’t devoted to shit.”

  “So what, now you’re gonna cast off all restraints like—”

  “Restraints? You still don’t fuckin’ get it, Corey. You never did. You need to stop goin’ along to get along, ‘fore you let someone get you killed.”

  “Like you almost did?”

  He was talkin’ about the Cellar. I didn’t like that. At all. I got up real close to that smart mouth little shit.

  “Yeah, Pete. Like I almost did.”

  “Don’t go around talkin’ about her like she’s Jaz or Caitlin or one of them.”

  Caitlin was my no-good piece a’ shit girlfriend that I later found out slept with all of us. And I was the last to know.

  “First of all, every woman dead or alive deserves more respect than a thot like Caitlin. Secondly, like I said, I’m not gonna marry her. Probably not even gonna sleep with her. She’s got a kid.”

  “Adam, this chick’s got you talkin’ crazy. Talkin’ to me about how she wants you bad, and all the shit you’re not gonna do about it. You sound disloyal as fuck.”

  Well. He did have a point. But he didn’t have to know that.

  “It’s not disloyalty, it’s science,” I said. On some bullshit, but not entirely. “When there’s more women than men per capita, the men always assimilate. They didn’t tell you about that at meetings, did they?”

  “Man, you hookin’ up with a black chick cannot, in any universe, be called assimilation.”

  Just then my phone rang. And it was a good goddamn thing because Corey was about to get throat punched.

  It was Kenny.

  “Well, well. Speak of the devil,” I said.

  “Who the hell was talkin’ about me?”

  “I was up there at the hardware store and I just ran into your ‘guy’.”

  “Which guy is that?”

  “Your drywall guy.”

  “Well, I got a couple of those.”

  “How many people know Joe Abrams is a black girl named JoAnn Abrams?”

  “Hey, don’t look at me. All the secrecy was her idea.”

  Smart. Her prices were competitive, and the work spoke for itself. If she went into a job as her pretty little brown self they would definitely low ball and expect her to be grateful. Or maybe not use her at all. I just hoped Kenny wasn’t gouging her for the privilege. He’s a good guy, but still. Most guys I know would probably take a stupidity tax from a black chick with no husband.

  “How’d you even get hooked up with her?”

  “Her daddy. Known him since Katrina. All of my guys went down there while he was comin’ here from Ohio. Took all the rest of the white men’s jobs.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “Yep. Drove anywhere in a hundred-mile radius. Hard workin’ bastard. Moved back to Ohio, far as I know. I think he’s retired.”

  “What’s she doin’ here?”

  “Her mother’s got family all over. Runs the flower shop in Bethesda, right on the edge of Leland.”

  Leland was the part of Bethesda where all the blacks lived. Ironically named after one of the most prolific Klansmen that ever walked the earth. Probably the Jews’ idea of a joke.

  “Flower shop? Over there on Main?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  “Did she find out you’re a redneck retard?” Kenny ribbed me.

  “She did. Almost immediately,” I told him.

  “How’d she take it?”

  “Really fuckin’ well.”

  “Sounds like she made an impression.”

  “She did. Is she free next week?” I asked.

  “I don’t know, that’s probably somethin’ you should ask her.”

  “I meant to drywall, ass.”

  “Ohhh, that,” Kenny said. I know he was wearin’ that stupid grin of his. “Yeah, she’s free, but she doesn’t like to work back to back. Better show her the job and see if she wants to do it. She’s got a kid, you know.”

  “I know. I met him.”

  “I can put a good word in for you if you want,” Kenny kept teasin’ me.

  “Kenny, you’re a sick bastard.”

  Kenny just laughed.

  “Boy, wouldn’t that just make your dad shit a brick and die,” he said.

  “That’s just fine by me.”

  “Anyway, I’m just joking. Unless we’re talkin’ woodwork, I’d never put in a good word for you. Ever. To anyone.”

  “What are you talkin’ about Kenny, I’m a goddamned teddy bear,” I grinned.

  “Don’t fuck around with my best drywall guy, Kerr.
I know where you live, and I won’t hesitate to pump your ass with a double-barrel dose a’ rock salt. Don’t forget.”

  “I’m writin’ it down right now, Kenny,” I rolled my eyes.

  “Yeah, yeah. I mean it.”

  I wanted to deny all that shit, but I couldn’t do that in front of Corey without looking insane. Had to keep it professional from here on out.

  But if I’m being honest, I didn’t like that shit about not putting in a good word for me. I’m a good fuckin’ dude and I’m sexy as hell. I make good money, I like oral and I can knock a man out with a fuckin’ bitch slap. Women love that shit.

  Sure, my reputation got a little sullied in Bethesda, but that’s not my fault entirely. How was I supposed to know Bethesda’s full of skanks?

  I hung up the phone with Kenny and looked over at Corey, holding back a grin.

  “Well, looks like you’ll get to see what I mean. She’ll be at the Cormier house next week.”

  “Who?”

  “Jo Abrams.”

  “For what?”

  “Cleanin’ up your mistakes, that’s what. Plus, Charlie called. The buyers wanna finish the attic.”

  “Whatever.”

  I didn’t say shit after that. Tryin’ to explain Jo to a couple a country retards like Corey and Gus would be like swimmin’ upstream. Them hookin’ up with a black chick— a fuckin’ good one with a college degree and all her teeth— in any universe, while wearing a swastika tattoo, was as close as a human would ever get to the impossible.

  Buncha fuckin’ bottom feeders. ‘Disloyalty.’

  They all made shitty klansmen too. They all left because I left. No wonder there’s no more white pride if the damn thing’s full of beta males that can’t stand to see another white man’s happiness.

  * * *

  The first thing Jo Abrams did every time she got in her champagne-colored Infiniti with the tan interior, was pick the proper driving music.

  It all depended on the day, the weather, her mood, and where she was going. This Sunday afternoon she was on her way to make the hour-long trek from Canton to Bethesda to go pick up her son Judah, where her mother lived.

  Her phone picked a song at random: Off the Wall. Skip. Lujon. Skip. The Nearness of You. Skip.

  Some days it took longer than others. Her thirteen-year-old I30 idled faithfully in the driveway.