Enamel

by Tim Sabados

  He walked over and knelt before the safe at the side of his desk, punched in the combination and took out the money he needed for G.G’s. When he was finished he locked the door, solemnly tapped the top of the safe with his fingers and let loose a drawn-out sigh.

  There was so much that needed to be done. He and Ariek couldn’t afford to screw things up this time; he shivered over the thought of what would happen. But this was not the time to dwell on such things. First things first, he needed to buy those coins. He stood and tucked the money into his pocket.

  Sammy slid his hand over the box of animal banks, walked out of his office and headed for the exit. His nephew was holding the microphone with his fist and staring out at the gas pumps, seemingly waiting to pounce on another customer. A restrained grumble rattled Sammy’s throat.

  The morning manager was out sick, the afternoon one couldn’t make it for another few hours and his nighttime staff had already gone home. Of all days, why today? Could he trust his nephew to keep things running smoothly while he was gone? Avoid any unnecessary controversy? At least his nephew couldn’t burn the place down. Could he? Sammy’s heart anxiously pounded against his ribs. A shake of his head. He’d make it a point to get back as soon as possible.

  8

  Sticky globs of sweat slumped off humidity’s fleshy extremities and slathered Aryssa. Dewdrops percolated on her forehead, her neck, her back and crawled down her skin like bugs overdosed on Xanax. The sun’s overly bright rays relentlessly drilled into her eyes and pounded her skull. She massaged her temples to try to relieve the headache. How had she managed to forget her sunglasses, yet again? Last night’s bourbon was partially to blame. The bottle exposed itself like a second-rate cabaret dancer from behind the thick curtain hanging inside her head. That extra hit of crush hadn’t helped matters, either.

  Aryssa’s stomach churned on a sea of melted cheese. Her arms hung like decaying branches from the knotted sockets of her shoulders. She slipped under the awning of a jewelry shop and slowly exhaled. Fought back the vomit that wanted to rocket from her gut. She was running late and the Penn Bar and Grill was only a block away. Still, she needed to rest. Needed this brief reprieve to give her that final nudge to make it the rest of the way.

  After a few deep breaths she heaved herself toward the bar and was soon standing in front of the door. She reached for the handle, but stopped when a twinge of anxiety tumbled across her nerves. A sheen of sweat glazed her palms. How long had it been since she’d been on a date? Six months? A year? Longer than that?

  She ran her hand over her hair, then flipped a few layers behind her shoulders. Was this even considered a date? Maybe it was nothing more than a simple get-together. She nodded her head in agreement. Just two neighbors talking. Despite the mental justification, the nervousness wasn’t going away. Charlie had always been kind of cute. A little gruff, but then again, he was someone who could make her feel safe.

  Aryssa sighed, opened the door and stepped inside. The acrid odor of the decades-old building swirled around her head and crawled into her nose. The geriatric scent seemed to ooze from deep beneath the walls, maybe from the building’s skeleton itself. She reflexively sniffed. Got a whiff of stale body odor mixed with the stench of decomposing alcohol, dried grease and endless conversations of counterfeit optimism.

  The smell made Aryssa’s head teeter. Made her belly want to purge itself of the caustic veneer clinging to its sides. She tightened her gut to keep from retching. Took a deep breath and momentarily held it. Somehow managed to extinguish the launch out of her stomach.

  Charlie stood and waved from the far end of the place. The dark jeans and white dress shirt he was wearing made Aryssa’s heart skip a beat. Damn…he looked even better cleaned up.

  Aryssa’s anxiety trickled down her legs and puddled in her feet. Her steps became heavy. Balance a little off. Shoes seemed to unnecessarily clunk across the floor. The hangover wasn’t making it any easier. Still, Charlie looked good…well, very good. Wasn’t this supposed to be a simple get-together?

  “Hey,” Charlie said shyly. “Glad you made it.”

  Aryssa smiled. “No problem.” Ugh. Did she really just say that? Could she sound any more conceited? “I mean…thanks for inviting me.” An awkward pause. “Sorry I’m running a little behind. Hope you weren’t waiting too long.”

  “Not really,” Charlie tucked his hand into his pocket. “Did you get some sleep?”

  “Sort of.” Aryssa rubbed her temple. “I forgot to set my alarm.”

  “I can never sleep when I have to use one of those.” Charlie gestured at her head. “Headache?”

  Aryssa nodded. “Rough night.”

  “That sucks,” Charlie said. “I never see you up when I’m coming home.”

  Aryssa dropped her arm. “You…you know how it is. Work was so busy that I left all wound up. I get home and my place is scorching hot. Nothing’s working. The fans suck. So, of course I couldn’t fall asleep.” She sighed. Was she complaining too much? “Anyway, I had to get out of my apartment and…and one thing lead to another.” A pause. “Basically, I had to get out and get some air.”

  “I know the feeling.” Charlie sat down. “Working nights can mess with your rhythms.”

  “It does.” Aryssa slid into her chair. The sudden change in altitude made her head throb harder. “Don’t get me wrong, I love the nights. But I don’t mind the daytime either. It’s just that on some days it’s too bright.” An exasperated sigh. “Sometimes I wish I could turn off that burning ball they call the sun.”

  Charlie chuckled. “That’s why I chose to sit way back here.” Tipped his chin toward the windows in the front. “Hope you don’t mind?”

  “Not at all,” Aryssa answered with gratitude. “If only it was that easy to get my fans to work.”

  “I can take a look at them.”

  “You know how to fix things like that?”

  “Yeah.” Charlie nodded. “I know my way around a toolbox.”

  “That would be amazing if you…”

  “I can come over before I go to…”

  “Hi folks.” The waitress stepped up to the table. “Can I start you off with something to drink?”

  Charlie looked at Aryssa. “You want a beer or something?”

  Aryssa moaned silently. Her gut grumbled with annoyance over the thought of being doused with alcohol. Temples thumped in agreement. “I think I may have to pass.”

  “Not feeling it?” Charlie asked.

  “Not really.” Aryssa tapped her belly.

  “Too much last night?”

  Irritation singed the edges of Aryssa’s voice. “How’d you know?”

  “You looked a little tipsy in the stairwell.”

  “I did?”

  Charlie uneasily rubbed his forehead. Pinched his thumb and forefinger together and then softened his voice. “Well, just a little.”

  Aryssa said nothing for a few long seconds, allowing her irritation to dissipate. “Ugh.” Squinted. “Was it that bad?”

  Charlie shrugged. “I just happened to notice.”

  “I guess the bourbon looked too good to pass up.” Aryssa flicked her hair. “Like I said, one thing led to another and well, you know.”

  “I hate when that happens,” the waitress interjected. “It sneaks up on you.”

  “It does,” Charlie chimed in.

  The waitress tipped her chin as she looked at Aryssa. “You know what they say?”

  “No, what?” Aryssa curiously asked.

  “A little hair of the dog goes a long way.”

  “Hair of…” Aryssa mumbled. She braced her elbow on the table and then her head in her hand. “Where did that come from?”

  “The middle ages,” Charlie said a little too eagerly. His enthusiasm downshifted. “At least I think it did.”

  “Did you read that?” Aryssa questioned.

  “I think so,” Charlie said. “In fact, I must have. All I know is that they believed if a dog bit you, you had t
o get some of that dog’s hair and rub it on the wound.”

  The waitress scrunched her face. “That’s gross.”

  “Why in the hell would they do that?” Aryssa said with disgust.

  Charlie shrugged. “They thought it was the only way to make sure the wound didn’t become infected. Hence, hair of the dog.” A pause. “It somehow found its way into the belief that drinking would cure a hangover.”

  “I’ll be damned. I’ve never heard that,” Aryssa commented. “Kind of makes sense.”

  “Which part?” Charlie asked with a sly smile. “Rubbing dog hair on a wound or drinking for a hangover?”

  “Ha ha,” Aryssa said. “I’m just saying that it kind of makes sense how that saying came about. Do you think drinking really works?”

  “I think it does,” the waitress answered. “I have friends who swear by a Bloody Mary.”

  Aryssa bit her lower lip. “As long as it’s not too spicy.”

  “Trust me, you’re going to love it.” The waitress turned to Charlie. “And you?”

  “Pint of Oberon and a glass of water.”

  “Make that two waters,” Aryssa added.

  “No problem. Let me get those for you.”

  Charlie looked at Aryssa. She briefly gazed back. Awkward silence. Some announcer was going over last night’s sports highlights on the nearby television. The hum of several conversations echoed throughout the place. Ice tumbled into a glass.

  “So…” Aryssa said hesitantly. “Did you do anything productive with your morning, or did you sleep late, too?”

  “Believe it or not, I was up kind of early,” Charlie said.

  “How come?”

  “I just woke up.” Charlie leaned back into his chair. “Don’t know why, I just did. I hate when it happens.”

  “I do too. I end up feeling like crap for the rest of the day.”

  “Part of being a night-shifter.”

  “One of the few drawbacks,” Aryssa added. Her stomach quietly rumbled. Still, the conversation was going much better. More relaxed. She nestled into her chair and did her best to suppress the hangover. “When it does happen, I usually just lay around. Then I feel guilty for not doing anything, but at the same time I’m too tired to get up and actually do something about it.”

  “I’ve done that,” Charlie agreed. “Not this morning, though. I managed to pry myself out of bed.”

  Aryssa softly clapped her hands. “Kudos to you. However, the bigger question is, did you get anything done?”

  Charlie chuckled. His stone-chiseled cheeks crinkled into a smile. A smile that made him…dare she say it…even better-looking. “Not really. A couple of errands. Nothing special.”

  “At least you did something.”

  “True, but I was too tired to…”

  The waitress stepped up and placed the drinks on the table. “I’ll be back in a few to get your order.”

  “Take your time,” Charlie said. He raised his glass. “Cheers.”

  Aryssa grabbed her Bloody Mary and clinked Charlie’s glass. “Cheers to you, too.” She took a long drink through the straw.

  The acidic tomato juice flowed across her taste buds. A tinge of saltiness swam beneath the current. The burn of vodka quickly followed. It all sloshed together, swirled down her gullet and swam into her stomach. Her gut buckled in revolt. The door to her memory swung open. That time she had drunk so many vodka-and-tonics that she’d barfed over and over again in her friend’s backyard.

  A waitress delivered a couple of burger baskets to a nearby table. The heavy, grease-laden odor crashed into Aryssa’s olfactory sensors and triggered another distant memory. That cheap diner on Forest Avenue. A sweltering afternoon. Undercooked beef and the way it sat like a rock in her stomach.

  Aryssa’s head spun like a merry-go-round. The noise in the bar intensified. So did the hammering against her temples. Heartbeat echoed in her ears. The oven in her core flicked on and instantly set itself to broil. A trickle of sweat dribbled down her back. She struggled to get her mouth to move. “Where’s the bathroom?”

  Charlie pointed. “Over there.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  “Please, go and…”

  Aryssa was up and running before Charlie could finish his sentence. Stars swirled in and out of her vision. She tightened her gut, desperately trying to keep it all in, despite her stomach’s unyielding retching.

  She burst through the bathroom door and slapped her hand over her mouth as if it were a cork trying to clog the rumblings in her gut. It wasn’t enough. The contents roared upward, churned through her throat, burst into her mouth and exploded between her fingers before she could lean over the toilet. The red liquid splashed across her shirt. Dribbled onto her jeans.

  Another wave struck. She made it over the toilet just in time. Except the vomit crashed onto the rim and splattered across her pants. She retched again, and again, and again, until her stomach was completely drained.

  She quickly cleaned off the porcelain with toilet paper and looked at herself in the mirror. “Oh crap,” she mumbled. “I look like shit.” A glaze of sweat varnished her pale skin. What little mascara she had managed to put on was streaking down her cheeks as if she were a psychotic extra in a horror movie. The circles beneath her eyes looked like the decaying carcass of road kill. Of course those red stains splattered across her clothes made her look like she had taken part in a damn axe murder.

  Aryssa exhaled sharply. How could she face Charlie looking so…so repulsive? There was no way he would find her attractive. Embarrassment singed her cheeks. She bowed her head and braced her hands on the edge of the sink. The chill of panic swept away all doubt, leaving her with only one option. She needed to get out of here and it needed to be now.

  Aryssa opened the bathroom door and gazed out at the crowd. Charlie was watching the televisions with his back to her. Everyone seemed focused on their conversations. It was now or never. With her head down, she slipped out of the bathroom, scampered across the bar and out into the piercing bright sunshine. Next stop, home and bed.

  9

  Sammy hoisted himself out of his car, leaned his elbows on the roof and glanced over at the gas station. There were cars parked by the pumps. People were doing what they were supposed to be doing, and that was filling them with gas. It was as simple as that. Could things really be going this well?

  The drab voice of his nephew wasn’t blanketing some unsuspecting customer with its condescending overtones. There were no flames licking the entrance or tarnishing the windows. No plumes of smoke billowing through the roof. The open sign was still lit. A sigh of relief. Everything appeared to be perfectly normal.

  Sammy strolled across the parking lot, fiddled with the coins in his pocket and cautiously opened the door to the store. Business as usual. A couple of people were browsing the coolers. One of them grabbed a bottle of Coke. To his left his nephew was ringing up a sale for a customer. He still wore that dimwitted expression, though. Moved as if he were a sloth on Ativan. “Change…fifty-two cents,” his nephew said.

  “Thank you,” the customer replied.

  “Want the receipt?”

  The customer shook his head.

  His nephew lethargically ripped the strip of paper from the register, crumpled it and dropped it into the garbage.

  “Have a nice day,” Sammy mumbled. Why couldn’t his nephew say the words? Instead, he slowly exhaled and proceeded to stare off into space. Still chewed that damn piece of gum like a calf eating out of a trough.

  Sammy squeezed his fists to contain his frustration, then unfolded them, effectively releasing the tension. “Everything seems to be running fine.”

  “Yep,” his nephew replied.

  “Any issues?”

  “Nope.”

  “Phone calls?”

  “Nope.”

  Sammy bit his lip with uncertainty. Dare he ask? “Did you get those boxes of gum stocked?”

  His nephew sighed sharply. Shoulders s
tooped. “Yes.”

  “You did?” Sammy did his best to contain his surprise.

  A huff. “Uhh…yeah.”

  Sammy shook away the wave of disbelief that had crashed over him. He glanced down the candy aisle. It was true. Boxes were filled. Organized. His nephew had done what was asked of him. “Nice job.” A point toward the back of the store. “I’ll be in my office.”

  “Uh-huh.” His nephew turned and grabbed the microphone. “Umm…like, pump three.” Sarcasm molded itself into his tone. “You need to like push one of those blinking lights if you…”

  Sammy’s frustration boiled over. He stepped toward the counter and reached. First he’d choke the life out of the microphone. Then maybe his nephew. Thoughts of his sister and mother flashed across his mind. Of the endless scolding he would receive from his family. The difficulties of trying to hide his nephew’s body. All he had to do was turn around. Let it go. Just walk away.

  Sammy silently huffed. Let his head sag, then dropped his arm. There were matters more pressing that needed his attention. He reached into his pocket, gripped the coins and headed into his office.

  The boxes appeared to be a little disheveled. Sammy shrugged his indifference. It was to be expected, since his nephew had to rummage through them to get the gum.

  He pulled a box off the top of the pile and casually set it on the floor. Took another one off. Then another. Something wasn’t right. A tinge of worry crawled over his back. He tried to shudder it away, but it clung too tightly.

  Sammy lifted another box and gently set it on the stack next to him. It still wasn’t adding up. Was it the way his nephew had restacked the boxes? Something was missing, but what? The label on the bottom box snared his attention. Cigarettes. What were they doing there? It should be the…

  “No, no, no!” Sammy yelled. The moorings to his heart broke loose and sent the beating organ free-falling into the pit of despair. He frantically peeled away the boxes until he got to the last one. Tore open the lid. Cigarettes. Cartons and cartons of them. It should be…be…

  He ran out to the counter and angrily jabbed his finger toward his office. “Where are…?” Struggled to get the words to roll off his enraged tongue. “Where in the hell are…are the…the animal banks?”