by C. L. Donley
“I gotta give it to you, Jo. You’re one brave cookie goin’ around in this symbol of oppression,” Pete added for effect. Speakin’ of changing the way he talks around people…
“Thanks, Corey.”
“Call me Pete.”
“Thanks, Pete.”
“You heard from Gus?” Corey asked me.
“No, but he’ll be there.”
“Alone, hopefully.”
“Carla doesn’t like the smell of alcohol. Anymore.”
“Shit,” Corey snickered. I cracked a smile, while Jo just looked lost.
“I’m afraid to ask,” she said.
“Gus’s got this new girlfriend,” I filled in. “Who’s also sort of an old girlfriend.”
“Isn’t her daddy a wetback?” Corey asked.
“He is.”
“No offense, Jo,” Corey said for good measure. I shot him a glance.
“I… none taken, I guess?” Jo replied.
“Corey, you can cut all that bullshit. Jo knows good and damn well what she’s gotten herself into tonight.”
“Actually, I’m starting to think I have no idea.”
“I know, but I don’t want Jo to hate me. She’s cool as shit,” Corey proclaimed.
“Thanks, Pete.” Jo smiled. I gave Corey a long “bitch please” type a’ look that made Jo laugh at me.
There are always more people outside than inside the tiny establishment in the middle of nowhere known as the Salty Dog. A meager shithole of a bar on the corner of an extra curvy part of the main highway so treacherous, that you have to slow down to 30mph to not die on it. So you might as well stop in. That seemed to be the marketing strategy.
Cars minded themselves in the tall grass out front that served as the parking lot. People basically drink in shifts because if the place held more than 25 people, including the bartender, they’d have to call the fire department. Inside it’s a demonic combination of red and black on the walls and covered in graffiti. We earned some curious looks on the way in that seemed to be more about all of us Kerr boys together rather than Jo. Or maybe it was a combination.
“Gus’s already here,” Corey said.
We went inside and Jo went stiff. I looked over at her and she had her eyes on the booth where Gus was sitting. Next to him was Jesse from the Bethesda Cafe. This little shit stain.
“What in the hell does he want?” I grunted.
“Lookin’ for a job. Says you got him fired.”
It isn’t the first time a motherfucker tried to go over my head to Gus. Can’t say I blame them. Next to me, Gus sure as shit looked like he was in charge of something. But then he would open his mouth and you would know pretty much immediately that he couldn’t be.
“I told this little turd to come to me,” I said.
“Did you break into the damn diner, Adam?” Gus scowled.
“Jesse, if you don’t tell Gus the goddamn truth, I’m not replacin’ shit and I’m not payin’ for shit.”
Jesse might’ve tried to dance around it if Jo wasn’t there, staring him in the face.
“I apologize for any offense I may’ve caused,” he directed at Jo.
“He doesn’t wanna say because he’s afraid of catchin’ a beatdown,” I said with my eyes still on him.
“He spat in our food,” Jo said, hastening the interrogation process.
Corey covered his mouth wide-eyed and busted out laughing while Gus just turned and looked at Jesse sideways. Gus only had to quickly flinch an intimidating threat of a beating to make Jesse jump several inches off his seat.
“Get the fuck outta here, Jesse.”
Jesse complied and Corey instantly was replacing his seat, still laughing. No doubt he thought it was hilarious that I was the victim of a fuckin’ “hate crime” because a’ Jo. I let Jo get in the booth next to Corey and I sat on the end. Gus called the waitress over and ordered a round of beers.
“I feel like I’m at the mob boss table,” Jo said. She looked so beautiful that I didn’t trust myself to talk. I just gave her a confused look.
“You don’t think you guys give off a ‘mob boss’ air?” she asked.
“Like we’re gonna fuck somebody up at any minute?”
“Well, yeah, among other things.”
“Like people are pretending to like us because they’re too scared of us to tell us to get the fuck out?” I read her mind.
“So you do know what I mean.”
“Well, we’ve had to move around a lot, and when we do, we stick out. It’s kind of normal for us. I’m just curious how you picked that up in a room full’a peckerwoods.”
“Well, unlike you I’ve never moved. Black or white, I know Bethesda. The three of you are new, wild, and officially not following any of the rules now that I’m here.”
“Touche.”
“But for the first time in my life, I’m learning how to not give a shit.”
“Thanks to me, I hope?” I grinned.
“Thanks to you. This weekend has turned out to be one hell of a training.”
“If there’s one thing I could pass on to you, Jo, I’m glad it was my lack of fucks.”
“They’ve got a jukebox,” Jo ignored me.
“You’re not on the clock, DJ Girly Girl.”
“I know, but I can’t help myself.”
“Ain’t no Tupac in that thing, I can tell you that.”
“Adam, you insult me. I know how to get any and all parties started,” she said with all the enthusiasm of a world-class DJ.
I had to look down as I gave her a long lingering smile and she returned every bit of it back. For a second we were the only two people in the place and she was mine.
“Don’t move,” I told her. I got up and went to the bar, pulled out a wad of cash and came back with a large beefy hand full of quarters.
“Let’s see what you got, Jojo.”
Jo gave me a cute little lip bite and sauntered over to the jukebox. Every person in the place craned their necks as she passed and stopped in front of the box, perusing the selection intently.
“Adam, what in the hell are you thinkin’?” Gus said once Jo was gone.
I didn’t look over at Gus as I scoffed. “I’m not.”
“I like her,” Corey chimed in.
“It doesn’t matter. She knows as well as me this thing has no future,” I said after I took a swig of my beer bottle.
“So what you’re doin’ is fucked up, then. Leave the poor thing alone,” Gus gave me an unusual empathetic pep talk. He was trying to be gentle with me, which wasn’t like him. He must see it the same way Corey sees it.
“Relax. She probably hasn’t had a night out in years. Hasn’t had any good dick in ever. She’s havin’ fun and so am I.”
“Should we do a Caitlyn Compromise?”
Oh, hell no.
“Absolutely not,” I said.
Caitlyn Compromise is when one of us is datin’ a girl, the other two try to get the girl to sleep with us. Not for real, just to see if she’s a piece a’ shit or not. Keeps shit from escalating if the girl turns out to be such. But that’s after a few weeks of somethin’ serious, as in dating, and the brother in question has to request it. Which I wasn’t.
“I don’t need that because Jo isn’t like that,” I said.
“She’s a negro, Adam,” was Gus’s 1950’s-ass reply. I turned to Corey.
“You think Jo’s like that, Pete?”
“I think it doesn’t matter. The test exists for a reason,” he said, siding with his pretend daddy Gus.
“Just leave it,” I said, taking a sip of my beer.
“Might make it easier for ya if she comes up positive,” Gus argued. Corey nodded his beer bottle in his direction.
“No, it’ll make me feel like complete shit.”
“Only for a little while,” Gus replied.
“Gotdamn, why’re you so damn eager, Gus?”
“So you do like her,” he pushed.
“'Course I ‘like’ her,” I a
dmitted. It seemed like that’s what he was after.
Suddenly, a song cut through our conversation and stole the attention as it filled the room. The song had an unusual beat, almost like a march, but unmistakably country, especially once the guitar and the vocal kicked in. I looked over at Jo who was on her way back to the booth.
“Who’s this?” I asked when she sat down.
“Drive-by Truckers.”
“Nice choice.”
“Oh, I’m not done,” she said.
The night wore on and we got looser and drunker. Jo occupied herself with the jukebox like a nerd most of the night. “Gimme some more quarters” was pretty much her only refrain while me, Gus and Pete fought the same old fights about which one of us was the most shit human being and laughing hysterically about it. I had a feeling Jo would be the one driving tonight. She’d inadvertently DJ’d more or less the entire night, and at the peak hour of drunken merriment, she dropped the hillbilly equivalent of a bomb.
I didn’t notice when she got up from the booth one last time. I didn’t hear the last quarter clink into the machine right before she made her selection. The CD dropped, and the opening bars to Lynyrd Skynyrd began. And everyone in the room lost their collective shit.
I tried my damndest not to grin back at her when she gave me a knowing look of DJ triumph, slowly making her way back to her seat next to me. She shrugged an excuse with her sweet little smooth brown shoulders.
“Couldn’t help myself,” she said.
“Sweeet Hooome Aaalabamuh!”
At the end of the night, the bartender unplugged the jukebox and started cussing everyone, which meant the bar was closed. I was fit to drive, but barely.
“I don’t feel very confident behind the wheel of this monstrosity, Adam,” Jo groaned.
“Guarantee it, you’ll drive it at least as well as I could right now.”
Gus flopped himself into the bed of the truck in the back, laying down and ready to ride, like it was 1983 and people still did that. He was moving hella slow, and me and Corey found it completely hilarious. If that wasn’t enough we came around the front and the sight of Jo behind the wheel completely did me and Pete in.
“How do I move this fuckin’ seat?” Jo said.
Corey was pretty drunk and I was about to piss myself laughing. We were holding each other, incapacitated seeing Jo’s tiny frame barely looking over the dashboard of my truck. Some of the straggler’s of the bar also had to come by and laugh. A few of them said goodnight to her before leaving.
“Tell your mama the Richardsons’ said thanks again,” one older woman said. Probably kin to Mr. Richardson who died last month. Her mom must’ve done the flowers.
When it was clear me and Corey didn’t plan on being any help, Jo rummaged through the cluttered back seat for something to sit on. She finally found a metal toolbox that did the job fine.
“Alright, clowns, let’s go,” she said. I hopped in next to her with Corey. Jo pulled off precariously with Gus passed out in the bed. We only had a few miles to go and it was the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere. Jo had her hands tensely at 10 and 2 on the wheel since she could only see a few feet in front of her by the light of the headlamps, which were floodgrade and therefore badass.
“You can go faster than 20 miles an hour, Jojo,” I said.
“Jeez, it’s fuckin’ dark as Satan’s asshole out here. Where do I turn?”
“Jo, I gotta be 100% honest with you right now. You behind the wheel of this bigass truck has got me so hot and fuckin’ bothered,” I heard myself say.
“Adam, which way do I fuckin’ turn!”
We got our second wind at the house, lighting my homemade firepit and cracking another case open.
“There’s a couch within walking distance now, Jo, if you wanna have a few more.”
“Beer’s not my thing,” was all she said. But I got the feeling she didn’t trust herself drunk around me. Me, I’m a pretty decent drunk. I just keep to myself, sit in one place and drink. At least, when I’m alone. Corey just acts like a fuckin’ four year old- more than usual- and Gus just wants to fight until he passes out. But it’s usually pretty funny, and Corey always eggs us on to act like teenage retards. And, of course, this was the night we decided to give in.
But it turned out watching the three of us damn near kill each other by the light of the fire was a riot, because Jo was dying laughing at everything we did. We weren’t used to having an audience. So, of course, I had to show out. Sober or not.
“Now I know where all that play fighting with Judah comes from,” Jo said.
“Hit me as hard as you can, Pete,” I said to Corey. “Right here.”
“No, right here,” Corey picked a spot on my side, fuckin’ liver shot that was gonna hurt like hell and Gus knew it, which is why he seconded. Corey was dying laughing once he saw the trepidation in my face. Gus started the countdown and I didn’t want to look like a pussy in front a’ Jo, even though I was drunk and I probably didn’t look that great to begin with.
“1…2… Gus started. I just winced and shook my head trying to brace myself for the impending pain. Pete wanted to laugh but he was trying to brace himself to hit me good and hard, which of course made me want to laugh, but I didn’t dare.
Finally, the hit came and I seized up in agony, which sent Gus into a fit of crying laughter.
“You guys are fucking idiots!” Jo was gasping for air in a fit of laughter that made the pain worth it.
It had to be almost 3 am when Jo asked where the bathroom was and Corey and Gus prepared themselves a spot somewhere in the house to sleep it all off until tomorrow. I hung back wanting nothing more than for Jo to yawn and say she was exhausted, and sleep next to me in my bigass bed. So we could do more shit we weren’t supposed to do until our eyelids were as heavy as lead weights.
But instead, she came around the corner looking like she’d seen a ghost.
“Hey, I think I’m gonna head out,” she said, polite and clipped. What the hell?
“Okay,” I said. “Everything alright?”
“Fine. Thanks for letting me hang out.”
“Sure you’ll be okay on the road?”
“It’s just my mom’s. Ten minutes tops.”
It was clear that whatever was wrong, I wasn’t getting that goodbye kiss I’d started to dream up.
“Well, do me a favor and send me a text. When you make it.”
“Will do.”
“Will you be around tomorrow?”
“Not really. I gotta get back to…”
Reality. She didn’t have to say it.
“Alright, Jojo. Be careful.”
She gave me a weak smile on her way out the door and to her car.
I couldn’t help but be bothered. She seemed more than a little spooked. A long minute later, Corey came swaying around the corner, eventually letting out a big grin. I was still leaning against the closed front door trying to make sense of things. But Corey wouldn’t go away.
“What is it, fool?”
Corey just whipped his long arms in front of him, his twin thumbs held up.
“She’s officially Caitlyn Compromise approved.”
My blood cooled in my veins. I dropped my head into one big hand.
“Pete, I told you I didn’t want it done.”
“Gus said you don’t know what you want.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I groaned.
12
Chapter 12
Jo didn’t sleep at her mother’s house. And when she got up the next morning, she took an Uber back to her house rather than have Adam drive her all the way home.
She didn’t know how to address it, if she wanted to address it at all. As much as she’d like to, she couldn’t forget the strange proposition of sex from Corey. Or the slimey way Gus loomed over her in the bathroom hallway after, another lewd offer right on its heels.
“You really do think you’re better than us?” he’d said. “That’s funny.”
Jo had gathered a few things over the weekend, one of which was that Adam liked her a lot. Another was that Adam trusted in his belief that despite white people being horrible, they got a pass. And the others, well. Perhaps he didn’t want them harmed, but they were certainly inferior— a wild card, at best.
She knew what she had to do. The relationship had been nothing but a series of humiliations glued together with thick layers of lust and thrill and intrigue. In essence, a clusterfuck sandwich. She had to cut it off. And having him believe his flesh and blood over her would be the best way to do it. The hardest, but the best.
The way Adam talked, she had no trust that he would do anything besides call her crazy if she told him about it. Or call it a misunderstanding. Gus would deny it up and down, of course. He’d told her as much himself.
Gus said she was like a dog in heat, sniffing around his redneck brothers who were “losers” with nothing to offer. He was wrong about that. Truth was, she did like Adam back. He was weird and annoying and masculine and gorgeous. Magnetic. Oddly attentive. She was willing to overlook one glaring red flag just to get to the stage where he would one day dare to touch her, just to feel what that felt like.
But it turns out when it came to red flags there were always more than just the one. Which she must’ve overlooked. She was pretty sure if she repeated to Adam what his brother Gus had said about them verbatim, he’d slap her and tell her it didn’t happen. And after two days of radio silence, she still wasn’t ready to brutally cut this cord. She was having a hard enough time quelling Judah’s asking after him.
“Is Adam coming over today?”
“I don’t know, baby. He’s really busy.”
She felt caught in the middle, a tug of war between Adam, Judah, and a third rope— her own soul. This wasn’t going away.
On Wednesday night Adam’s name popped up on her phone and it knocked the wind out of her. She was in bed, about to go to sleep anyway…
But she couldn’t ignore him anymore. She hadn’t sent the text she’d promised, for fear he would spark up conversation. Something told her Adam wasn’t the type to let her just ghost him. He’d keep after her, the way he was now, the way he’d already done. And as much as he needed to know the truth about his disgusting brothers, she would do anything to not be the one to have to tell him.