They Could Have Named Her Anything

by Jimenez, Stephanie

  “I’m sorry,” Maria said, turning back to the room.

  Rocky was sucking her hair. She had crawled over to the side of the bed to retrieve her cell phone again, and now she was enthralled by it, frantically pushing buttons.

  “Just be more careful, okay? I’m not made out of money.”

  Maria felt the muscles in her face tense up. “I never said that, Rocky.”

  Rocky continued to stare into her phone’s screen. Maria noticed how all over her arms, even down through her chest and knees, and even through her undeniable sunburn, there were tiny, faint cobwebs of blue veins. It looked as if, were a sheaf of paper to scrape against her a little too roughly, Rocky might never stop bleeding. There was no muscle anywhere on her body. She seemed so weak. Finally, she looked up at Maria. She saw me, Maria suddenly feared, but when Rocky spoke, the fear went away.

  “My dad gets here tomorrow morning. You know what that means? I get the credit card!” She was brimming with a smile. “They’ve got good shopping here.”

  Maria lost her breath. Charlie was coming.

  “Well, I don’t have a credit card,” she said. “So you shop, and I’ll watch.”

  “Oh, come on, Maria. Don’t be like that.”

  Maria tried to laugh, but the giggle stopped short in her throat. In the silence, she walked toward the bathroom. Behind the closed door, Maria kept her gaze on the floor. Cautiously, she looked up at the mirror, to brace herself for her reflection. But what she saw was not nearly as bad as what she’d expected. She looked severe, yes, with her hair flattened out by the lack of humidity, and her skin slightly dry from the sun, but she also looked suntanned, not burned. In her tight jean shorts, she didn’t look skinny. She looked strong.

  When Maria returned to the bedroom, Rocky was curled under the sheet, her phone still in her hand. “Can you turn the light off?” she asked in a small voice, and Maria stepped in between the two beds to twist the knob below the brittle lampshade until it switched off. She stood submerged in the hardly dark dark, enveloped in the purple that radiated from the window, the aura of light that filtered into the room and washed the walls in the colors of a sun-setting sky. In the glare, Maria didn’t need to feel her way to the mattress. She went to her bag and fished for the book. When she’d found it, she brought it with her to bed.

  “Hey, Maria,” Rocky said, as soon as Maria had stopped moving beneath the sheets. “Let’s skip the stores. They’re probably white-people stores anyway.”

  But Maria wasn’t paying attention to Rocky anymore. With her head on the pillow and her arms crossed over her book, she closed her eyes. She liked to look at the things that formed behind her eyelids, those squiggles of light that someone once told her were the walls of her mother’s womb imprinted in her mind. But something new and unrecognizable was forming in that pixilated canvas of black. In that darkness, she saw a seat by a window and the view of a tiny skyline, like a Lego building set. She saw it emerge from behind a blanket of clouds. She saw the pocket in front to store magazines, the fold-out tray for water on ice. It was a journey she was watching unfold, and in an instant, as the Vegas Strip appeared and the overhead lights snapped on, she became aware of the thumping of her heart, so loudly and quickly against the duvet that she turned to the direction of the hallway, away from the window, away from Rocky’s bed, where there was less of a chance Rocky would hear it.

  CHAPTER 11

  On the night before his flight left for Vegas, Charlie received a frantic phone call from Kenny. He was supposed to be meeting a client for a Rangers game at Madison Square Garden, but according to Kenny, the client had bailed, and wouldn’t Charlie go with him? Kenny was his only friend from college who still worked in sales, who complained about how he seemed to be aging out of his department once he realized all his coworkers were twentysomething frat boys who had all graduated from the same cluster of mediocre upstate schools. Still, Kenny hadn’t left his company, and Charlie suspected that for all his complaining, Kenny enjoyed letting brigades of stocky young men take him out for lunch, their emergent beer bellies all tucked into the same starchy button-ups and their toes curled in anticipation in their burnt sienna oxfords, hoping that among the fish flakes Kenny would throw them, there would be the prospect of a career.

  But the fact that after all this time, he still got excited, stoked, like Kenny said, about unlimited chicken strips in the skybox, and that he still yelled whenever fights broke out between men armored with wooden sticks on ice, made Charlie very tired. It also made him a little regretful, because he could also remember having once enjoyed spending money on his company’s tab, and he had once also called himself a hockey fanatic. Charlie had simply reached a point in his life where he wasn’t enticed by free things anymore, and perhaps, in some perverse way, that was what going to Vegas was about: that he no longer sought out ways to enrich himself, but was willing to—got a thrill out of it even—gamble it away. He knew other men who swore by their bookies, but he liked sitting right there at the table. With a bookie’s help, it was too easy to win.

  “Charlie! Over here!” Kenny was sitting at the bar. Around him were men’s faces, sprouting like garlic from their pinched, collared necks.

  As Kenny patted him on the back, Charlie saw how Kenny was already red in the face, and it looked like another roll had been added to his midsection since Charlie had last seen him. When they were competitive college students, it would have brought Charlie joy to see Kenny so disfigured, but now, it only made him self-conscious. In school, while the rest of them rotated through girlfriends, Kenny was the only guy Charlie knew whose decision to never lie to women didn’t adversely affect his ability to bring them home. At twenty years old, it had been impossible to imagine a way to bed women without leading them on. It still seemed that way at forty-six.

  “I’ve started to play in a band,” Kenny said, waving his hand to flag down the bartender.

  “Get outta here,” Charlie said. Whenever he saw his college friends, a different version of himself—a decidedly native New York one—had a habit of coming out.

  They finished a couple of rounds and still had time to kill. Kenny raised his hand again to flag down the bartender. “I’ve been drinking way too much,” Kenny said as two foaming pints of beer were placed down in front of them. Charlie hated how Kenny could just come out and say things like that. All the things that Charlie was secretly ashamed of, Kenny readily admitted to, and it was off-putting precisely because it was true. Maybe that’s why all those girls in college chose Kenny over any of the other boys—even if they were depraved, at least they weren’t deceived.

  “Charlie, did I tell you?” Kenny punched Charlie on the arm. “I got hit by a car! A fire truck! I was suddenly on my back on the street, surrounded by a bunch of dudes with axes and hard hats. Oh my God, it was fucking hilarious, like a real life ‘Y.M.C.A.’ video!”

  “A fire truck? Are you okay?”

  Kenny leaned toward Charlie conspiratorially. With his chubby hand, he grabbed Charlie’s forearm. “I walked away with not a single broken bone. You know why? Because I was loose!” Kenny threw his arms up in the air like a human field goal post. “You know why I was so loose? Because I was fucking wasted!”

  Kenny’s face was still red, gleaming like the shine of a polyester purse. Charlie felt he should feel sorry for him, but when he imagined a bumbling Kenny getting hit by a car—by a fire truck, no less—he found he couldn’t stop laughing. It was, like Kenny said, hilarious. He kept laughing and laughing until he started to cry. Maybe they were rotting bodies after all, but did he really care? That night, when they realized the game had already started, but that neither wanted to get up from the bar, Charlie was immediately relieved. The bartender served them another round. Their chairs at the bar were suddenly so comfortable.

  In the morning, Charlie felt his toes first. He curled them and stared up at the ceiling. He realized he couldn’t remember how he got home, and that he hadn’t heard the alarm go off. He did
n’t have to be at work today—but wasn’t there something else? He sat there, at the edge of the bed, rubbing his knees.

  As he watched the sun make gleaming panes on the carpet, he realized he would miss his flight.

  The door to Nick’s bedroom was open, but he wasn’t in his room or his bathroom. Charlie cursed when Nick didn’t pick up his call. Then, when he called a third time, and it still went to Nick’s voice mail, Charlie yelled out loud. He paced around the apartment, waiting, his packed suitcase against the wall. Where was Nick? Didn’t he know they were leaving that morning? He knew bringing the boy had been an awful idea, and he brought his fingers to the bridge of his nose. The dull throb of the headache he woke up with was now ringing like a school bell.

  He called Veronica, but she didn’t pick up. Charlie gripped his phone in his hand, wanting to throw it, but instead, he yanked the handle of his suitcase and rolled it out of the apartment door. He’d have to explain later why Nick hadn’t come, and Veronica would be furious. Nick would be more than fine, and Charlie knew this because they left him alone in the apartment constantly, but that wouldn’t stop Veronica from seizing on such a perfect opportunity to make Charlie feel like an asshole. He was slamming on the elevator button again with his fist, even though he’d already pushed it several times, when his phone rang.

  “I’m at the Wendy’s outside the gate.” Nick paused. “Where you at? I don’t see you.”

  Charlie said he’d be there soon. He hung up, and when his phone rang again, he dug his nails into his hand. “What does he want now!” Charlie shouted, and his voice echoed in the tiny pearlescent hallway.

  “You called?”

  Charlie saw the elevator, the lit-up button, the suitcase, the rage and embarrassment that had made the veins stand on his hands, shrink into miniature. He imagined folding everything up like a piece of origami paper.

  “Yes, hi,” he said. “We’re on our way. Just wanted to make sure you checked in.”

  “We’re all set.” Veronica’s voice was ardent and firm. “I’m at the hotel now with Rocky, and Rocky’s friend.”

  “Great.”

  The elevator doors opened, and quickly, before he lost service, Charlie bid her goodbye and hung up the phone. Charlie was grateful that nobody else was in the elevator, because he was sure he reeked of raw alcohol. He could taste the way it had shriveled his tongue and made his teeth feel like ancient tusks.

  He closed his eyes, listening as the elevator dinged on each floor. He hadn’t known Rocky would bring a friend, though now that Veronica had mentioned it, he remembered she had brought one last year. He wondered if it was the same girl, or if it was another one—if it was Seventeen. He imagined Kenny, and Kenny’s hearty laugh, and how his willingness to admit to his vices had the effect of making them mundane, unimportant. Maybe Charlie had an inflated ego to think that not everyone did sleazy things. The girl acted like she was in her twenties, and when she spoke, she was unashamed. Depraved, not deceived. Who said that? Thoreau? No, just idiot Kenny. Like an insolent child, he smirked. He had sixty-nine minutes to get to his flight. With no traffic, he was sure he would make it.

  Rocky had failed to inform Maria that her brother, Nicholas, would accompany her father to Vegas. She also failed to inform her that the two of them would be saddled with looking after him for the remainder of the trip—which was already half over. Maria had never met Nick before, so she didn’t know what to expect.

  “Hopefully he won’t be too annoying,” Rocky had said casually as they exited the elevator to the lobby.

  “I’ve been around thirteen-year-old boys before,” Maria said, thinking of Ricky when he was that age. He was even fussier back then and spent hours fixing his hair in the mirror. Around that time, there had been a big argument between her parents when her father told Ricky to stop acting like a girl.

  They met outside the hotel buffet, tendrils of clattering metal and voices just reaching them from where they stood at the entrance. Rocky’s father seemed to be looking above their heads as they approached, like the men at the airport standing with signs, men who somehow knew that Maria wasn’t whom they were looking for. He was wearing a suit again, but Maria didn’t see the gold cuff links. Beside him was a reedy little boy with dark eyes. Maria was a ball of nerves. She had to restrain herself from picking her lip.

  “Where’s your mother?”

  Rocky held out her arms to embrace him. He looked neat, and his hair was combed back, but his eyes were ringed in darkness like Rocky’s were whenever she wore kohl eyeliner.

  “She ordered room service. We thought we’d eat at the buffet with you.”

  “I think I’ll go upstairs and get settled. But take Nick. I bet he’s still hungry.”

  “You’re not coming?” Rocky’s eyebrows arched in surprise.

  “I don’t really have an appetite.”

  “I do,” Nick said. He crossed his arms as he stared at his sister, as if wanting to challenge her.

  Rocky hesitated. Maria wondered if it was obvious to anyone that Rocky was disappointed, or if she just had spent enough time with her recently to be able to tell. She watched as Rocky crossed her arms over each other and pinched the skin of her elbows. “Then we’ll meet you for dinner later?”

  “Yeah, that’s possible. Coordinate with your mom. You know she manages the schedules.” He reached into his back pocket and retrieved a small leather wallet. “And before I forget, you’d been asking for this?” He slid out a gold plastic card and held it out for Rocky to take.

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  Suddenly, Rocky’s father pulled her to him to hug her, and she hugged him back awkwardly. He turned from her, patted Nick on the shoulder, and stepped aside. All of it made Maria uncomfortable, and instead of wondering if her hair looked right or if Charlie had remembered her, Maria felt bad for her friend. Maria’s father would never do something like this. He made her mother knock on her bedroom door every time she was home in time for dinner. He would never pass on an opportunity to share a meal with her, especially if it had been her suggestion.

  “Bye,” Nick said, walking toward the dining room.

  “Bye,” Charlie said. “Have fun.”

  And then just as Rocky followed after Nick, Maria saw Charlie wink. It was blurred, as if she’d been driving past it, like a highway traffic sign. But she’d been so timid, so unable to look at him straight in the face—it was likely that it hadn’t happened. It was likely her imagination. But a doubt tugged at the faultless corners of Maria’s explanation. Would she really imagine something like that?

  “You know we won’t see him again,” Nick said as soon as Charlie was out of earshot. They approached a long buffet table, and Nick pulled a silver knife from out of a black caddy. “Good thing you got the credit card from him.”

  “You heard him.” Rocky picked up a plate. “We’re getting dinner later.”

  “Oh right, I forgot. Mom will jump for joy.”

  They moved toward the hot bins of scrambled eggs and croissants, and Maria would have been able to listen if she’d liked, if she’d kept close enough to try to hear them. But it was the wink that had her attention, the wink that was over so quickly she could hardly know for certain it happened. That’s what she was debating then, not a choice between home fries or waffles, but if Charlie’s wink had been real. It made Maria woozy to think they were sharing this secret. It made her heart leap. He had been brusque with Rocky, but was that really significant? Rocky already had so many things—Matthew adored her, she had the best clothes, she was rich, her arms always looked great . . . and all Maria wanted was this one thing.

  Maria watched as Rocky clipped a pancake so tightly, it ripped down the center, and she lifted one half onto her plate. Maria picked up the tongs right after, and tossing aside what Rocky left, she picked up a whole pancake, round like a moon. Then, she picked up another. If Rocky had it all, Maria deserved some, too.

  In the airplane bathroom, he had stared at his face and put
a finger to the bags under his eyes. If he pressed hard enough, they looked like they would burst. At one point, when he was younger, there was one vein on his lower stomach that felt the same way, the blood coursing through it so healthily, he sometimes became afraid that if something scraped up against him, it would start gushing. He had no idea where to find that vein anymore. Quietly, he had tried not to despair.

  So of course, he was delighted when he saw the girl again, standing in her jeans and black tank, a pair of purple sunglasses pushed atop her head, looking doleful and tan and clearly stricken. Of course, he had liked the way she kept furtively stealing glances at him. It even made him feel good to know he was financing her trip, that he was the reason she was standing across from him in Vegas, and something surged in him, made him feel powerful, capable. And as he handed over his credit card, of course, he forgot about the bags under his eyes, about what his daughter was saying, about why he had ever allowed Veronica to make him feel unimportant. If Kenny was right, if he was being honest, then he could admit that it felt good, and that after seeing her, he walked away grinning, tucking a little laugh into his breast pocket, and went straight to the bar from the lobby, to taste his first drink on land. He already had a faint spring in his step, and already, he felt like he was a little bit high, and it likely was a mix of the altitude and desert air that had him feeling this way, and then something else altogether.

  By dinnertime, neither Rocky nor Nick had mentioned their father again. By then, they had posed in front of all the hotels and ridden on the New York roller coaster twice. On consensus, they went to Denny’s to eat, and by eight o’clock, they were bored. Denny’s had been Nick’s suggestion, which had made Maria laugh. Apparently, there was no class difference wide enough in America to breach a liking to a chain diner. Rocky ordered a grilled cheese and chips, while Nick and Maria both ordered variations of a hamburger. By then, Maria had decided to stop hating Nick, and even convinced him to ask for onion rings over fries so they could share off each other’s plates. She was sure that he was only tolerable because he was slightly afraid of her, his big sister’s moody (if not slightly bitchy) friend, and she let herself enjoy this new revelation, and bossed him around gently enough that Rocky wouldn’t take offense or fully notice. At the end of the meal, the waitress came around again with a three-page dessert menu. Maria’s eyes watered.