by Randy Mason
“I just don’t want anybody to see them.”
“I understand that, but why?”
“Cause they’re ugly, okay?” She felt a catch in her throat: she shouldn’t have said that.
But he merely looked at her.
She looked back.
Something connected.
Micki’s heart started to pound.
But Baker’s expression turned cold. He shifted in his seat, lit a cigarette, and leaned back. “Did you turn a lot of tricks when you were using?”
She blinked. “What?”
“What part of the question didn’t you understand?”
“I didn’t do any. None.”
“You’re telling me you never even had sex in exchange for drugs?”
“No! Y’know why d’ya ask me this sh”—she caught herself—“stuff, if y’don’t believe nothin’ anyway?”
She was getting so defensive. A street kid. Like it really mattered. But it was a sore spot—a button he could push. He liked having buttons to push. Stretching his long legs out before him, he crossed them at the ankles. “It’s always a trip to listen to you, y’know that, Reilly? You’re pretty good at sounding like your smart classmates until you get rattled; then the street comes out. And while you may have fooled a lot of people”—he took a drag on his cigarette, then tilted his head back and blew smoke toward the ceiling—“you never fooled me.” He swiveled back around and resumed his paperwork. “You can go.”
When she retrieved her books from his desk, he didn’t even glance up. She wanted to take the heavy texts and slam them across the back of his skull.
♦ ♦ ♦
MICKI WOKE WITH A start. Sunlight filled the room, assaulting her eyes and forcing her to squint. She had no idea what time it was, or even what day. But a key was turning in the lock. She jumped out of bed and ran to the kitchen. Knife in hand, she wheeled around to face the intruder.
“Put that down right now!” Baker ordered.
All she was wearing was the long, oversized T-shirt she slept in, bikini underpants underneath. She’d seen his eyes flick up and down her body. “No way.”
Focused on the ten-inch carving blade she was holding, Baker thought about the small off-duty revolver he carried in an ankle holster. At this distance, if she lunged at him, he’d never get it out in time. “Being an hour late for school is one thing,” he said. “But if you don’t put that knife down, you’re going to be in serious trouble.”
“Forget it! Like I didn’t see you checkin’ me out.”
“That was my mistake, Reilly, okay?”
Her lips parted: it wasn’t exactly an apology, but it was close.
“It didn’t mean anything,” he said. When she still didn’t respond, he added, “It wasn’t intentional.”
“But you shouldn’t be in here when I’m—when I’m not, y’know, dressed.”
“You’re dressed enough; everything’s covered. Now put that knife down. I’m not going to tell you again.”
Eyeing him uneasily, she tossed it into the sink.
“Why aren’t you at school?”
“I overslept. I must’ve turned the alarm off in my sleep.”
“Like I really give a shit. You get yourself in the shower and get your butt to school pronto, understand?”
“Yessir.”
He looked around the apartment. Although it was neat, there was a coating of grime and dust visible on the windowsills and dresser top. A few dust bunnies snuggled in the corner near the door. “This place is filthy. Next time I see it, it better be spotless.”
“Yessir,” she said.
He turned and left, slamming the door behind him.
Just what I need, she thought. More work.
♦ ♦ ♦
LEFT ELBOW ON THE armrest of the door, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, Baker sat in his car with his eyes closed. Whose bright idea was it for him to have to look after a girl? He was totally unprepared for this. By the time he’d caught himself giving her the once over, it was too late. He opened his eyes and started the engine. He refused to think about it anymore.
♦ ♦ ♦
THE SKY HAD CLOUDED over. Micki hurried up the stairs and into the building. Baker wasn’t in the office, but Warner was and gave her a late pass to English class. At the end of the day, Baker told her she’d have to stay an entire hour in the office for being late.
“But it’s the first time,” she said.
“And I want to make sure it’s the last.”
She went to the general staff’s desk and dumped her books on top. But with nothing to do but go from sitting up straight to slouching in the chair, she started to fall asleep. He woke her with a rough shake of the shoulder, then put her to work, first cleaning the coffee machine, then the little refrigerator. When a glance at the clock showed the hour was finally over, she picked up her books.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked.
“Time’s up.”
“Not quite: you were two minutes late to gym, so you’ve got ten minutes left to go.”
“You’ve gotta be kidding.”
“Sit. Down.”
“But I’m already gonna be late for work. Mr. Antonelli’s gonna have a fit.”
“If you can be late for school, then you can be late for work. Now sit down and shut up.”
As she was heading back to the desk, she muttered, “Go fuck yourself.”
“What did you say?”
“Nothing.”
He yanked her around. “What did you say.”
She merely glared at him. But then her eyes narrowed further. “I said you could go fuck yourself.”
He backfisted her across the face, then spun her around and pushed her toward the bathroom. “I’m going to wash that mouth of yours out with soap.”
But when he shoved her forward, she caught the doorframe. “Y’can’t do this. I’m not a little kid.”
Prying her fingers from the molding, he simultaneously pressed his body against hers. She resisted with all her strength, but he succeeded rather easily in forcing her through. And though she put her hands on the sink and pushed against it, her arms gave way, her hipbones crunching against the porcelain. He turned on the faucet.
“No!” she kept repeating. And when he reached for the soap dispenser on the wall, she elbowed him in the ribs.
Though he hadn’t intended to actually go through with anything, now he wanted to grab a handful of her hair and smash her face into the mirror. Until he saw her reflection. Wild-eyed, she had the look of a trapped animal.
He shut the water and threw one arm across her neck, forcing her head back and choking her slightly. With both hands, she grabbed his forearm, trying to free the compromised air supply. But he’d already wrapped his other arm around her waist, and was quickly backing out of the bathroom. He could feel the small ribs underneath his fingers, the tensed muscles of her body as she struggled against him.
“Put your hands down at your sides,” he said, “and I’ll lighten up.”
She gripped his arm even tighter.
Lips right next to her ear, he repeated, “Put your hands down and relax, and I’ll let go.” And when he was satisfied she’d calmed down, he took his arms away. She went to rub her throat, but he turned her around to face him. Holding her by the shoulders, he asked, “What the hell is the matter with you?”
She looked down at his shoes.
He shook her. “I asked you something.”
“Leave me alone!” She could still picture the plainclothes cops who’d laughed as they’d drowned Tyrell in the sink, not knowing she was hiding behind the filthy mattress that was leaning against the wall. But, apparently, Baker hadn’t intended to do anything like that to her. At least not
here. Not now.
Grabbing her chin, he pulled her face up. “You don’t talk to me like that. You’re in enough trouble already.”
“For what? Cursing a little?”
With a look of utter disbelief, he said, “Yes, Reilly, that’s what we’re talking about: the cursing, the disrespect … I don’t appreciate getting elbowed in the ribs, either.”
The taste of blood, from where her tooth had cut the inside of her cheek, was making her nauseous. Voice heavy with sarcasm, she said, “I’m sorry, okay?”
“Well, let me tell you, then, that you just bought two more days of this.”
Lips pressed together, she looked away. Fucking bastard. Two more days of this. No time to rest, staying up even later to do homework …
The early-session security shift was over. Several guards had entered the office to punch their timecards before going home.
“Get out of here,” Baker said.
♦ ♦ ♦
WHILE MICKI WAS WAITING by the curb on Union Turnpike, it started to drizzle. The cool breeze, chilling her damp skin, raised goose bumps on her arms. And though traffic was moving quickly, no bus was coming for as far as she could see. But she recognized Baker’s dark-blue Camaro when it made a left turn onto the street and sped by—leaving her behind in the cold, grey rain.
♦ ♦ ♦
ALREADY LATE FOR WORK, Micki made a quick detour into Sunny’s Superstore, which had really cheap brands of just about everything. She bought an outrageously loud alarm clock as a backup, an inexpensive watch, and an umbrella. On her way out, she noticed a navy hooded sweatshirt hanging on a rack by the door. Lined with some sort of fleece, it felt soft and thick. Yet it wasn’t really what she wanted. She left and ran the short distance to the restaurant.
But when she got there, Mr. Antonelli happened to be in the kitchen. Tapping his watch, he said, “You supposed to be here at-a four o’clock-a.”
She changed her shirt in the basement, then dashed back upstairs. And within half an hour, she’d caught up with everything piled in the sink from dinner prep and early-evening diners. Mr. Antonelli passed through again and took a look inside the enormous stainless-steel basin. One eyebrow raised, he gave her a respectful nod. She told him she’d probably be late for the next couple of days.
“Is okay-a,” he said. “As-a long as everything gets-a done-a.” He even smiled.
She wanted to smile back. But nothing happened.
♦ ♦ ♦
MICKI FINISHED HER HOMEWORK, then studied for an economics test. It was nearly 2:00 a.m. when she got into bed. After sleeping worse than usual, she was off to school—workshirt on top of her books.
♦ ♦ ♦
DURING EARLY SESSION, A couple was found having sex behind the stage in the auditorium; a junior was caught drinking gin in the boys’ locker room; and three separate fights broke out, one boy being sent to the hospital with a broken nose. All this in addition to the usual class-cutting and bathroom smoking. When Micki checked in at the end of the day, Baker was in a foul mood.
Without a word, she started cleaning. But as soon as she’d finished with the coffee machine, he sent her next door to the general office to do clerical tasks, not letting her leave until she’d filed the last file the secretary had given her—even though it was way past the hour and ten minutes she was supposed to stay.
She ran to the bus, from the bus to the subway, and from the subway straight to Bel. But the sink was already beyond full, some dirty pots and casserole dishes left to harden on the sideboard. She worked as fast as she could while the restaurant remained busy—not unusal for a Thursday night. But late in the shift, a large group of workers from the Osprey Company’s manufacturing plant on Forty-Fourth Road came in and commandeered every open table. The men were so loud they could sometimes be heard over all the noise in the kitchen. But they were spending a lot of money—especially on liquor—so Mr. Antonelli let them order food and carry on for as long as they wanted. Micki didn’t get home till nearly midnight.
She plowed through her homework and did a quick review for a physics test. But by the time she settled down to study for an American history exam, she’d run out of steam. She opened the window for some fresh air, only to have the aroma of warm, freshly baked bread come wafting in at full blast from the Silvercup Baking Company. It made her hungry and caused the glossy pages of the thick textbook to seem even more amazingly dull—not quite the effect she’d been looking for. Her heavy eyelids closed, chin falling to her chest and jerking her awake. After several rounds of this, she flopped down on top of the blanket and went to sleep in her clothes.
♦ ♦ ♦
MORNING CAME TOO SOON, requiring No-Doz on top of two cups of instant coffee. She would’ve liked another cup, all hot and fresh from the security office’s carafe, but was afraid to ask. Instead, eyes on the clock, she absently tapped her foot on the floor. But Baker—wearing a brown corduroy jacket with black patches at the elbows and a wide black tie with brown diagonal stripes—didn’t notice. He was busy telling Warner he’d be leaving around one forty-five, shortly before the end of eighth period. “I don’t want to be late,” Micki heard him say. “I swore I’d be there on time to pick her up. The area’s a little sketchy, and they’re closing the studio as soon as the shoot’s done.”
“No problem,” Warner said, chewing on a toothpick.
“Make sure the kid stays till at least three.”
The passing bell rang, and Micki left.
♦ ♦ ♦
THE PEN FELT THICK and clumsy in her clammy hand; her mouth felt very dry. She glanced over the test again while everyone around her was busy writing. Though she’d managed to fully answer the first question—“What were the main reasons for the creation of British colonies in North America?”—she’d written next to nothing for the rest. She couldn’t even guess stuff since the entire exam was fill-ins and essays. Unlike the physics test she’d taken earlier and had probably aced, she was going to fail this one. Badly.
Physics was so beautiful, so effortless—variables and formulas, the answers just popped out. History, on the other hand, required tons of memorization: names, dates, places … But everything was just swimming around in her head: the Townsend Acts, the Bacon Rebellion … She hadn’t had enough time to study. The only thing she’d really memorized lately was the inner workings of the security office’s coffee machine.
The words on the test paper looked jumbled, and her eyes kept jumping all over the page. Minutes were ticking by. Baker was such a prick. She glanced at her watch: 1:34.
She stood up and overturned her desk. “I hate this fuckin’ school. This is such bullshit. Like I’m ever gonna use this shit in my life.” She went over to the bulletin boards and ripped down papers and posters. She tore down the gigantic world map that was hanging in front of the blackboard. Then she headed in the direction of Mr. Ingram, who was backing his way into the corner. But when she swept her arm across his desk, sending everything crashing or floating to the floor, he changed his mind and started toward her.
She picked up the long wooden pointer on the blackboard ledge. Gripping it with both hands, she held it up. “Y’gonna try ’n stop me?”
Frozen, he watched her swing it—as if it were a baseball bat—into the chalkboard, breaking it. But after she overturned his chair and started pulling several drawers completely out of his desk, he motioned to Jeff, the student closest to the back door, to go get help. Slowly, a few at a time, all of the kids got up and moved to the rear of the room.
But to Micki, the room, the kids, the teacher, the blackboard … they all seemed very far away, their voices muffled and garbled as if she were hearing them through water. She felt like she was outside of her body, watching herself; she felt like she was watching someone else. She turned her head and saw Marino—and only Marino—come through the front door.
Her heart sank. Nonetheless, she grabbed the yardstick that was still sitting on the blackboard ledge.
“Put that down!” Marino ordered.
“Fuck off.”
He picked up the larger of the two pieces of broken pointer.
She laughed at him. “Why don’tcha shove that up yer ass.”
Using his walkie-talkie, he called for Baker.
And with a fresh surge of energy, Micki started walking backward between the desks, the ruler at the ready while Marino followed, just out of reach. But at the sound of Baker coming through the rear door, she spun around, and Marino lunged, hitting her hard on the shoulder with the broken wooden rod. She swung back around, but Baker grabbed her and disarmed her before she knew what was happening: one hand gripping her left shoulder, the other twisting her right arm up behind her back. A thread of fire shot from her neck to her wrist, her elbow feeling stressed to the point of breaking. Baker maneuvered her toward the hallway, past her classmates, who were looking on with awe: this was the most exciting thing they’d ever seen at school.
As soon as they were outside, Baker released her and proceeded to shove her along in front of him. They went to the right and he ordered her into the stairwell. Marino, who was behind them, was busy describing the scene he’d walked in on. When he mentioned what Micki had said he could do with the pointer, Baker had to bite his lip, glad neither Micki nor Marino could see his face. The stairwell door clanged shut behind them, the sound echoing down the shaft.
“Okay, Denny,” Baker said, “you can go now. I’ll take it from here.”
“Maybe I—”
“I said I’ll handle this myself.”
And with what sounded like an even louder bang, the door shut behind Marino.
Across the way was a huge window covered with heavy-gauge steel mesh, sunlight spilling onto the landing halfway down to the next floor. Lying there, on top of the scuffed black linoleum, was a twisted purple wrapper from a Tootsie Roll Pop.
“What was that all about?” Baker asked.
Her eyes darted around the otherwise dark and shadowy enclosure, coming to rest on the candy wrapper in the bright pool of light. She shrugged.