Lorraine began to chew at her nails. She’d finished the pack of cigarettes; now she craved not only a drink but a cigarette, too. She suddenly felt tired, and yawned deeply. It was as if she had been up for hours, which indeed she had, but it was still only ten o’clock.
“Can I use your toilet?”
“You don’t have to fucking ask me to go to the John, for chrissakes!”
When Lorraine didn’t show for fifteen minutes, Rosie went to check on her. She was curled up on her bed, deeply asleep, her hands cupped under her chin. Rosie studied Lorraine’s sleeping face, and realized that she must once have been beautiful. You could still see glimpses of it: in repose, Lorraine’s face lost its hardness. Her mouth was closed, so you couldn’t see the missing tooth, and the deep scar was hidden by the pillow. For the first time Rosie really wondered about Lorraine’s past, still certain that the cop line was just that, a line.
She crept out of the bedroom, then searched through Lorraine’s belongings. Nothing. The brown paper bag was empty of any personal mementos. No letters or cards, no makeup—and the plastic purse they had given her was empty, she hadn’t lied about that. But Rosie was sure she had lied about having no family; a girl who had been as attractive as Lorraine must have had someone—had maybe even been somebody.
* * *
Rosie let Lorraine sleep for almost the entire day. She read, made some calls, cooked lunch for herself. Food was one of the few pleasures she had left in life. At four o’clock the phone rang. She snatched it up, afraid it would wake Lorraine.
“Hello, is this you, Mommy?” The high-pitched voice tore at her heart. At last he had called. It was her son.
“Yeah, it’s me. How you doin’, Joey? We gonna meet up? I kinda thought maybe this weekend?”
“I can’t, I got a big game, I’m on the second division basketball team, and so I can’t. I gotta go now.”
Rosie started to panic. He was going to hang up. She wanted to tell him she would drive across L.A. to see him play, but she stuttered, “Wait, Joey, what about you gettin’ a bus out here to me? I can meet you at the station, Joey? You still there, Joey?”
“I’m goin’ to Florida. Me and Dad are movin’ there, we got a place to rent and everything.”
“Florida?” Rosie screeched.
There was an ominous silence. She could hear Joey whispering. “Is that woman goin’ with you, Joey? Is … put your dad on the phone. Joey, you hear me? I wanna speak to—”
Rosie was shaking, she knew that cheap bitch was there, knew she must be putting her ten cents in. Her hand clenched around the receiver as she heard her son calling his father, and then the phone being put down. “Hello? Hello?”
Her ex-husband came on the line—she could even hear his intake of breath as if he was preparing himself to speak to her. It always got her so mad, the way he talked to her, all calm and coming on like he was a shrink, or as if she were ten years old.
“Rosie?”
“What’s all this about Florida? You never said anythin’ to me about Florida, takin’ my kid to Florida.”
“Rosie, just calm down.”
“I’m calm, for chrissakes. I’m angry, too.”
“When we’re settled we’ll write. This is a good job for me, a lot more money.” The voice was smooth, saying each word too slowly.
“I wanna see Joey. I’m not interested in what you earn—you never paid a cent to me, anyway.”
There was the sound of heavy breathing and then he repeated slowly and painstakingly that as Rosie had not been awarded visitation rights, let alone custody, she had little say in where Joey lived. That was up to him and he was making the best decision for his son’s welfare and if she didn’t like it then she should hire a lawyer.
“Oh, yeah? And where do I get that kind of money?”
“You got it to buy booze, Rosie. Maybe you’re stewed right now—you usually have been in the past when you’ve called. It’s been six months since your last call and Joey doesn’t wanna know, Rosie. It’s not me and don’t think it’s Barbara either, he—”
“You bastard.”
Again the heavy breathing. “Rosie, I’m sorry, let’s not be like this. We’ll write, we’ll be in touch. I’m hanging up now because I don’t want to get into an argument. I’m hanging up, Rosie.”
She looked at the receiver as she heard the line go dead and replaced it gently on the cradle. She patted the phone with the flat of her hand, wishing it was her boy’s head. She didn’t even know how big he was now, it had been such a long time.… One day, she told herself, she’d hold him in her arms and he would forgive her. She felt so empty she wanted to cry, for all the lost years.
Wrenched from a deep sleep, Lorraine woke up, heart pounding. There had been a violent crash, as if the front door had been knocked down. Music blared out, the volume on maximum. She sat up, and eased herself off the bed. She didn’t recognize the screeching, confused voice. Then the sound of breaking glass topped even the music.
Lorraine pushed open the bedroom door, and gasped. Rosie was reeling around the room, falling into furniture, drinking from a quart bottle of bourbon. She leered at Lorraine, and waved the bottle. “You wanna drink? Come on in, sit down, have a drink with me!”
Lorraine watched, incredulous, as Rosie crashed into the kitchen, smashing glasses as she attempted to get one from the cupboard. She swore and kicked at the jagged pieces. Her eyes were unfocused, her face bright red and sweating. She swayed as she poured and held out a half-full tumbler. “Have a drink, skinny!”
Lorraine was about to take the glass when the front door opened. She had no idea who the short, squat man was who knocked the glass out of Rosie’s hand, snatched the bottle from her, and began to pour the contents down the sink. Rosie screamed and lunged at him with a punch, missed, and fell into the closet. Mops and brooms tumbled around her as she slumped on the floor, weeping. Her sobs came louder as he ran water into the sink, making sure every drop of liquor was gone. Rosie’s head fell forward onto her chest and her breath came in terrible, heaving rasps.
“Help me get her into the bathroom and turn that fucking music off!” Lorraine did as she was told, and between them they dragged Rosie into the bedroom, then the bathroom, by both arms, like a beached whale, and inched her into the base of the shower; then the man turned it on full blast. When Rosie finally came to, she began to vomit. The man held her head up, getting soaked himself in the process. He snapped out instructions for Lorraine to find more towels and a pillow. When the vomiting subsided he turned off the water, stuffed a pillow under Rosie’s dripping head, and stood up. “She’ll sleep it off now.”
Lorraine followed him into the living room. He was attempting to dry himself with one of the kitchen towels. “You started her on this binge, huh?”
Lorraine shook her head. He began to brew coffee, and found some cups, treading warily over the broken glass. “What brought it on, then?”
“I dunno.” She folded her arms. The smell of the bourbon hanging in the air made her swallow because it smelled so good. “You got a cigarette?”
He tossed over a squashed pack, and rubbed his shoulder. “She must weigh a ton. I’m getting too old for this—she’s put my shoulder out before now, and my back. Once she knocked me out stone-cold. So, if you didn’t bring the bottle in, did she get it herself?”
Lorraine lit the cigarette and pocketed the packet. “I don’t know. I was asleep.”
“Oh, yeah?” he sneered. “Sleeping one off, were you?”
Lorraine was annoyed by his aggressive, punchy manner. His neck was short, his greasy black hair thinning, even his hands were pudgy. “You her boyfriend or something?” she asked.
“Her what? You kiddin’? Need a bigger man than me to take that rhino on. I’m her sponsor, but I dunno for how much longer. They called me from the liquor store—little arrangement we have, saves them from one of her visits. You get her started, did you? Then she went for a bottle? After she’s finished one bottle she
’s only after the next. Those bars they got up may have kept them safe from the riots, but they wouldn’t from Rosie.” He helped himself to coffee, and poured some for Lorraine. “I’m Jake Valsack.”
“Lorraine.”
Jake eased his ample backside onto the sofa. “Well, you made it through a night, did you? And …” He looked at his watch and smiled. When he smiled, his face changed from something that resembled a chimpanzee into a cute pixie. “You been dry almost a whole day. We’ll go to the meeting—she won’t come round for a while yet.”
Lorraine had no desire to go to another meeting, so she said she’d stay with Rosie. Jake hooted with laughter. She was getting increasingly irritated with him.
“So, Lorraine, what kind of work did you do before drinking?”
She crossed to the kitchen and poured more coffee. “I was a secretary.”
He swiveled around. “So you can type, huh? You got a job? Rosie said you’d need one.”
“You going to give me one?”
Jake hooted again. “What you think I am—nuts?”
Lorraine sat on the sofa arm. “So what did you do before drinking, Jake?” she inquired sarcastically. He looked up at her from round, dark eyes—he really was a dead ringer for a chimpanzee.
“I was a doctor. Still am a doctor only I can’t practice anymore. Now I help run a clinic for junkies and alkies and anybody who needs help, like Rosie.”
Lorraine looked away, for she could read the pain in those animal eyes. Maybe Jake could see something similar in her own, because he seemed to relent. He opened his wallet and passed over a card. “You can call me on that line. I know somebody who needs a little clerical work done, could earn you a few bucks—or you can work for me. I’m a glutton for punishment. We need as many helping hands as possible, but there’s no money in it.”
As she pocketed the card, she felt Jake’s cigarettes. She didn’t dare bring one out in case he asked for them back. He stood up and glanced at the broken screen door. “Tell Rosie I’ll come around and see her in the morning.”
Lorraine watched his stocky figure strut off down the road. Then she searched for Rosie’s handbag. She was opening the purse when she heard moaning from the bathroom. Rosie was trying in vain to stand up. Lorraine looked at her, in no way disgusted by the spectacle: she’d seen and been in a lot worse states herself. “I guess I just tied another one on, didn’t I?”
Lorraine laughed. “Yep, you sure did. Your pal was here—Jake.”
“Was he? Well, are you gonna stand there gloating or are you gonna help me get up off the fucking floor?”
Lorraine tried to pull her up but fell forward on top of her. Rosie felt like an immense wet blanket. Eventually, after much tugging and heaving, Lorraine managed to get her into a sitting position, where she held her head in her hands and groaned. Lorraine poured a glass of water and held it out. Rosie gulped it down, and then demanded another. She drank four full glasses before she rested back against the shower. “Did you say Jake was here?”
Lorraine nodded, and Rosie began to cry, guilty and morose. She sobbed and sobbed, a jumbled, incoherent stream of adoring phrases about the chimpanzee man, blowing her nose and wiping her eyes.
“First thing tomorrow morning, Rosie, I’m going to go see if I can find a job. Did you hear me?”
Rosie hauled herself slowly to her feet. “Sure. Do what you like.”
“Can I take a few dollars? You’ll probably be asleep when I leave,” she called from the living room.
“Sure, honey, if there’s any left. I dunno how much I spent.…” Rosie dragged herself unsteadily to the chair by the telephone and sat down. “I’ll wait awhile, then call him. I need to talk to him. I’m sorry, but I guess you’ll do better without me. I knew I’d make a lousy sponsor. Jake was right about that.” She leaned back with her eyes closed. “You must be proud of yourself. You didn’t have a drink with me, did you?”
“Nope, guess I didn’t.” Lorraine quickly went to bed to avoid further conversation. In the morning she made a pot of coffee, emptied Rosie’s purse, and walked out.
She had no intention of seeing Rosie again. She felt almost lighthearted, a strange new confidence in herself: she had not taken a drink. She might have finished the bottle if Jake hadn’t walked in when he did, but, as it was, she had not had a drink.
She walked the streets for hours, relishing her freedom and the possibilities offered by the dollars in her purse. The May sun was bright but not too hot, though she could feel the heat of the sidewalk through her cheap secondhand shoes. So she stepped onto the grass, enjoying its softness beneath her feet. She soon realized she’d walked a complete circle when she found herself back on Marengo, remembering from her station days that it was one of the worst drug areas of Pasadena. Still, the feeling of being in control of something as simple as her own feet, of walking steadily, made her confidence jump a tiny notch higher. She looked up to the big old trees, their branches just budding, and smiled; it was as if she had not really seen for a long, long time. She took off the elastic band from her hair and shook it loose. It smelled of lemons, just like the old shampoo she used, how long ago? Lorraine reached the corner, and stopped to light a cigarette. Tossing the match aside, she inhaled deeply and let the smoke drift slowly out of her mouth. She sucked again at the cigarette, watching the lit rim of tobacco move up the white paper before she exhaled. She didn’t want to think about the past, about what or who she had been. Today was what? Wednesday. She frowned, trying to remember the date, calculating back to her release from the clinic. It was the seventeenth of May, she smiled to herself. It had been a long time since she had been able to recall what day of the week it was, much less the date, and at this moment she had no reason to think how important this date would become.
A car crawled to a stop just ahead of her. She’d seen it out of the corner of her eye even before it passed: a dark blue sedan. She could even describe the driver: linen jacket; blue open-necked shirt; short blond thinning hair; round, rimless glasses; and a wide, wet mouth. That was what she focused on as he leaned out of the window. He smiled, running his thumb around his shiny wet lips as he asked if she needed a lift anyplace. Lorraine stepped closer, inclining her head, showing him her profile so that the jagged scar couldn’t be seen, keeping her lips half closed. She didn’t want to scare him off, didn’t want him to see too much of her teeth—or lack of them. She was an old hand at this and knew that if he was a cop he would try to get her to name a price. She bent lower, down to his level.
“You lost?” She said it softly, her hand reaching out to the door handle. “You need me?”
He stared at her as if sizing her up, then looked past her both ways before he jerked his head. “Get in.”
Lorraine opened the passenger door and climbed in beside him. He drove off fast like they always did, acting macho. Acting stupid. He said quickly, licking his wet lips all the time, that he wanted oral, he wanted it public. Did she understand? Lorraine leaned her arm along the back of the seats, but as she touched his neck, he jerked away. He didn’t want to be touched, he said, he hated being touched. He kept on driving, passing every car on the highway until he wheeled into the parking lot of the Glendale shopping mall. The ground level was not too full—just a few people staggering to and from the store with bulging bags of groceries, their hatchbacks open wide as they loaded up. The place didn’t look like it was doing great business, but then it was only midafternoon.
The sedan’s tires screeched as he sped across the parking lot, heading for a vacant area on the far side, slightly hidden around a corner from the main section. Lorraine had already seen two security guards wandering around and was getting edgy; this guy wasn’t fooling when he said he liked it public.
He had hardly switched off the engine before he unzipped his trousers. Lorraine put her hand out. He swiped it aside. “I told you, I don’t want you to touch me!”
“Okay, chill out, man, want me to talk dirty, you like that? That what
you want?”
His body was tense, his hands clenching and unclenching.
“No, I think you want to be sucked off, right here, like with maybe someone close enough to catch you at it, that’s exciting, isn’t it, bad boy? You’re a very bad boy, aren’t you? Well, you got lucky because that’s my specialty. I give the best head. Come on, you want to ask me for it, yes? That’s what you want, isn’t it?” His lips twitched, his eyes darting around the parking lot. She kept her voice low, whispering, making sucking sounds, and he closed his eyes. “Like I said, I’ll make you feel good, real good, and this is a real public place, but we got to sort out my dough. Can we sort that out? Yeah?”
He looked out of the window, getting more excited as a few customers stashed away their groceries, their voices echoing against a concrete building. He loosened his belt, as if he hadn’t heard her, pulling at his pants. “Just do it, bitch.”
Lorraine’s back pressed against the passenger door and her right hand felt for the door handle. If he played games, she was out. “Twenty dollars.”
A woman with her husband and two kids parked directly opposite them. As they headed toward the exit, Lorraine’s John started to jerk himself off, his mouth stretched in a weird wet smile of pleasure. His erect pink penis burst up from his open fly and he began to pant, leaning his head back, as his left hand flicked the switch for his seat to recline.
Lorraine tried again. “Twenty dollars.”
He lost his erection and gave a half sob. She swore, realizing he was one of those half-a-minute stand-up-for-America and then the weeping impotent syndrome.
Fumbling in his wallet, he took out a thick wedge of bills, peeled off a twenty, and tossed it at her. “See what you can do for it, bitch!” He reached over and grabbed her by the hair, forcing her face onto his pink flaccid worm. Lorraine could smell him, smell his trousers, even the cotton of his blue-striped boxer shorts. His hand on the back of her neck was grasping her hair as he pressed her farther down onto his crotch.
Cold Shoulder Page 6