by Paul Heatley
Patti looks into his face and there is alarm in her eyes. There is fear. “Jacob,” she says.
He nods fiercely. “That’s right. Thought you woulda forgotten all about me by now.” His mouth is dry in his fury. He licks his lips, still with so much to say. “Tried your damnedest, didn’t you?”
Her mouth opens and closes but she struggles to find the words. She has gone very pale.
Jake holds out his arms. “Ain’t you gonna ask me how I been?” He is enjoying her discomfort.
“What – how – how did you find me?”
Jake laughs. “That’s what you wanna know?”
Patti holds the door like she is about to slam it in his face, but she won’t. All colour, all strength, has been drained from her. She looks limp, tired, as if that hand on the door is all that keeps her upright. “What are you doing here?”
“That’s better, that’s more like it – I want something. That a surprise to you? You owe me a hell of a lot.”
“You smashed the windows,” she says quietly.
“And I’ve scratched your cars and pissed on your house and more besides. Give me what I want and I’ll stop.”
“I can call the police.”
Jake laughs in her face, a harsh sound that is more like a dog’s bark. “Go ahead. Call the cops. Call them on your abandoned firstborn. What d’you think Harry will do when he finds out?”
She swallows and her face goes paler, though he hadn’t thought it possible.
“All I gotta do, is give him an address.”
“What do you want?” It’s barely a whisper.
“I want money.”
She doesn’t look surprised.
“Fifty bucks.”
She looks surprised. Her eyes narrow. “What are you going to do with fifty bucks?”
“I’m going to fuck a prostitute.”
Patti reels as if she has been struck.
Jake lifts his chin. “Run along and get it now. You ain’t got it in the house I’ll be more’n happy to wait. I don’t mind. I got nowhere else I need to be.”
Patti moistens her lips. “Then what?” she says.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re gonna keep coming back here, demanding money, that it?”
Jake runs his tongue round the inside of his mouth. “Nah. This one time, then we’ll call it even.”
“‘Even’?”
“Even on account of what a no-good piece of shit mother you been to me, and I don’t want to ever have to talk to you again.” He catches his breath. “Standing here like this, face to face with you, I get that now. I understand it. All this time I’ve been angry at you for leaving me behind, but now I’m just angry. I thought maybe talkin to you I wouldn’t feel that way, like maybe I’d be a kid again just wishin his mommy would come back and get him. But I don’t. Now, go and get my fuckin money.”
Patti lets go of the door but she does not fall. She turns and walks deeper into the house and Jake can see as she goes that her hands are shaking.
He turns away while he waits and tilts his face to the sky as if the sun is shining, but there are thick grey clouds above. He smiles.
20
There is no face behind the glass at the reception, watching him. There is no queue for room sixteen. Jake glides up the stairs and knocks on the door and he holds his breath with anticipation and he waits. He knocks again.
There is movement inside, but she is slow to answer. He half-expected her to remain on the bed and to call, to invite him in from across the room, but he is glad she is coming to the door. He wants to see her face. Wants to see the realisation dawn when she remembers who he is, the bond they created the last time.
She opens the door but doesn’t bother to look at him. “Come in,” she says, already turning and walking away, crossing the room back to the bed.
He fumbles, then steps quickly after her, closes the door, says “Joanie.”
She turns, an eyebrow raised. She looks him up and down, studies his face. He does see the realisation dawn on her, but the surprise and happiness he expected does not come. Her face is blank. “What’re you doin here, kid?”
He can’t help but feel she calls him ‘kid’ because she can’t remember his name. “It’s me,” he says. “Jake.”
“I remember you. Where’s Carl?”
“Carlson?”
“Whatever. Where is he?”
“I don’t know. What’s it matter?”
“Why’re you here?”
He stands, stunned, feels as though he doesn’t have a suitable explanation, like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t have, then he remembers and reaches into his pocket and pulls out the bills. “I have money,” he says.
Joanie looks at the cash for a long time, then she looks at him. She shrugs her shoulders, holds out her hands. “Kid, I –” She trails off.
Jake frowns, but he keeps his arm outstretched, offering the money.
“I thought I told you – I thought you understood –”
He looks at the money. “It’s not enough?”
She looks like she is chewing on something, like she is biting her tongue or the inside of her cheek. She takes the money from him, doesn’t count it. “It’s enough,” she says.
She goes to the bedside drawer, pulls out a condom and passes it to him, then climbs onto the bed. “Put that on,” she says.
21
Jake stays awake, waits for Carlson to return. The television keeps him company. It plays black and white films that look old but are unfamiliar and seem foreign, though no one speaks and everyone communicates via hand gestures.
He eats a sandwich. He has survived on sandwiches filled with cold meats and condiments since he came to stay with Carlson. There is no other food. He has never seen Carlson eat and has surmised that he probably does so while he is at the diner.
It is a long time after midnight when Carlson finally returns. Jake sits in darkness but the television is still on and Carlson seems surprised by it. “Hey,” he says.
Jake nods.
“You’re still up.”
“Yeah.”
“Haven’t seen you in a while.” It has been a few days since they last saw each other. Their paths have rarely crossed. “Wasn’t sure you were still stayin here, truth be told.” He turns on the light. “Your face is good,” he says. “All healed.”
“Is that your way of askin me to leave?”
“No, it’s just –”
“It doesn’t matter. Figure I best be on my way back home soon.”
Carlson nods. “Yeah, yeah, exactly. Harry will be worried about you. When was the last time you spoke to him?”
Jake snorts. “He doesn’t worry about nothin.”
“You’re his boy.”
“And that’s all I am. But that ain’t what I wanna talk to you about.”
“You wanna talk about somethin?”
“Your diner, Good Eats – there any jobs goin?”
“Like, weekend jobs?”
“Weekend, nighttime – anythin, I don’t give a shit. Doin drinks, bussin tables – hell, I’ll even try my hand at fryin, I just need to get some money.”
“Why’s that?”
“Cos I ain’t got any.”
“What’s the rush now?”
“There’s no rush. But we all gotta start somewhere.”
Carlson opens his mouth and Jake thinks he knows what he’s going to say, that he’s going to mention Joanie, so he cuts him off.
“I need a job, man. I gotta get some cash together. A day’s gonna come I can’t live with Harry anymore. I can’t stay there forever, you know that. I’m gonna have to get a place of my own. Might as well have a little something to fall back on when that day comes.”
Carlson looks thoughtful. “What about school?”
“It’s summer vacation. And when I go back I’ll just do weekend work, like I said. I’ll work around school.”
Carlson goes into the kitchen, to the frid
ge, gets himself a beer. He pops the tab and takes a long drink then says “Just part-time, right?”
“Right.”
“Just weekends, you’ve still got school during the week.”
“Maybe a little more round the holidays.”
Carlson nods. “Okay.” He takes another drink. “Okay. I’ll talk to the boss man.”
22
Harry looks up from the television as Jake enters the trailer. “Well shit,” he says. “Look who’s come home. Where the hell’ve you been, boy?”
“Out,” Jake says.
“Jesus Christ boy, you been gone for Lord knows how long now, and you ain’t even gonna tell me where you been?”
“With friends,” he says. “Where d’you think I’ve been?”
Harry laughs. “We were startin to get worried, weren’t we?” He’s talking to Maggie. She is in the kitchen, cleaning plates. She comes into the front room drying her hands on a dish cloth.
“I was,” she says.
Harry laughs. “I told her you’d be all right. Told her you can take care of yourself. Said you’d just be stayin with either one of those boys – what they called? Gary and Dave?”
“Ray and Glenn.”
“Yeah. Them.”
Harry is smoking. The air in the trailer is thick with the cloying smoke of burning marijuana, Jake felt a contact buzz as soon as he stepped into the room. The ashtray on the table in front of Harry is filled with crushed butts and flicked ash. He holds a joint in his hand, he takes a draw from it. His eyes are half-closed and the parts showing from under the lids are red. It looks like he’s been smoking since Jake left. He sits in his underwear, light blue boxer shorts and a well-worn vest that started life white but is now rinsed out and grey with patches of brown.
“You were gone an awful long time,” Maggie says.
“Said he was with friends,” Harry says.
“I heard.” Maggie wears a red t-shirt and a pair of denim shorts. Her feet are bare. “Leave that door open some,” she says. “Before your daddy smokes us all out.”
Jake opens the door a little wider, steps away from it, lets clean air in.
“She wanted to call the police,” Harry said. “I had to talk her out of it. See, I knew you’d be okay. You’re my boy, you can handle yourself.”
“You been worried too,” Maggie says.
Harry snorts.
“No good makin that noise. I know you’ve been lyin awake at night, creepin out here to look out the windows every time you think you hear someone comin close.”
Harry grins and waves her off. He turns to Jake. “So why have you come back, today of all days? Somethin special goin on?”
Jake shrugs. “Had to come back eventually.”
Harry nods. “That is true. Why don’t you go on and get changed, those clothes are lookin a little worse for wear.”
“Sure.”
“You plannin on leavin us again anytime soon?”
“No. I got a job, though. I wanted to tell you that.”
“A job?”
Maggie leans one hip against the counter, folds her arms and crosses one leg over the other. “What about school?”
“It’s a weekend job,” he says. “A couple of nights, too.”
“Doin what?” Harry says.
“At a diner in town. Good Eats – you heard of it?”
Harry scratches the stubble around his mouth, tugs at a corner of his moustache. “Name sounds familiar. What they got you doin there?”
“Little bit of everythin – bussin tables, scrubbin pots. Say they’re gonna get me on the fryers, too.”
“Don’t let it take up too much of your time,” Maggie says. “Don’t let it get in the way of your schoolwork.”
“Hell, Maggie – boy’s gotten himself a job!” Harry says. He sounds pleased. “Gonna make himself some money! I’m proud of you, boy.”
Jake forces a smile, nods.
“When do you start?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Shit, they don’t waste no time, do they?”
“Guess not. I’m gonna go get changed.”
Harry beams. “Good to have you home, Jacob. When you’re ready, come back out here and sit with me a spell. Plenty of this to go round, we oughta celebrate.”
Jake goes to his room. Maggie follows him in, closes the door after them. She looks concerned. “You all right?” she says.
They are cramped in Jake’s small room. He sits on the bed so they are not stood so close to each other, their breath in each other’s face. “I’m fine,” he says. “How are you?”
She ignores him. “You been gone a long time.”
He shrugs. “Ain’t been up to much.”
She looks at him sideways, her eyes narrowed. “Somethin’s different,” she says.
“What?”
“I don’t know. You just seem different.”
It occurs to Jake that if he were to stand up again they would be close enough to kiss. He could kiss her. She would probably let him. She seems to like him. He thinks about his father in the next room and stays sitting. “Same old me,” he says.
“Mm. I’m gonna make some food soon. You gonna sit with us?”
“Yeah.”
She nods, then leaves him.
Jake changes his clothes, lies on his bed for a few minutes just to get used to being back home, then goes out to join Maggie and his father.
Harry lights up when he sees him. “Carlson!” he says. Jake freezes. “I knew I knew the name, Good Eats – Carlson works there! Think he’s a cook or somethin. When you see him, tell him I say hey, and that he oughtta get his ass back round here sometime.”
“Okay.” Jake sits down, takes the joint his father offers.
“You remember Carlson? He’s been round here a few times before, but it was a long time ago now. We usedta work together.”
Behind them, Maggie sets to work in the kitchen, pulling out pots and pans from the cupboard. Jake watches her out the corner of his eye. Her back is to him. She turns enough he can see the side of her face while she works.
“Sure,” Jake says. “I think I’ll recognise him.”
23
Jake walks along the dark streets, his legs tired and his back sore. He can smell grease, the stink of it sunken already into his hair and his skin, permanently up his nose. He passes a drunk taking shelter in a doorway, sucking on a bottle of wine. The drunk raises his hand in greeting, smiles a toothless smile, and Jake nods back.
He’s been paid. His first pay cheque. He is going to the motel.
He takes his time up the stairs, his body aching from fifteen hour days spent standing with only short cigarette breaks for respite. After the first shift Carlson took him aside. “If you don’t like it, you don’t have to keep doin it,” he said. “You can find somethin else.”
“I never said that,” Jake said.
After the second shift, Carlson took him aside. “If you don’t like it, just remember you can leave any time. This ain’t the end of the road for you.”
“I never said that.”
After the third shift, Carlson took him aside. “How you doin, you copin? It’s tough, I know. It ain’t for everyone. If you don’t feel cut out for it, just tell me, understand? There’s always somethin else.”
“I never said that.”
After the fourth shift, Carlson clocked out, said goodnight, and was on his way.
Jake reaches room sixteen, knocks. There is no answer. He puts his ear close to the door, can hear noise inside. Occupied. He steps away, leans against the railing, has to wait his turn. He lights a cigarette. There is no queue.
He hasn’t finished smoking when the man leaves. They don’t look at each other, but Jake studies the other man out the corner of his eye. He is short and fat and most of his hair is gone. Jake waits until he is halfway down the stairs before he knocks.
“Come in.”
Joanie is in the bathroom. She stands at the window, smokes, hasn’t bothered to
dress. “What’s that smell?” she says.
“I got a job.”
She turns, eyes narrowed, sees him. She looks at him for a long time, looks him up and down. “Uh,” she says. “What do you do?”
“I’m a cook.”
“Good for you. You smell like burgers.”
“That’s what I cook, mostly.”
“You any good?”
“You just gotta fry them up.”
“You’re really sellin your business.”
“It is what it is.”
She snorts. “Ain’t it just.”
“And it ain’t mine.”
She nods. “Let me see the money.”
Jake shows her the notes.
“Put it on the side.”
He does as she says.
She falls silent and finishes her cigarette. Jake stands by the door, watches her. Inside the room, he can’t smell himself. All he can smell is the man that was here before him, his sweat still drying on the crumpled bed sheets.
“Take off your clothes,” Joanie says. “Get in the bed. I’ll be right through.”
Jake undresses, presses his clothes to his nose. They stink. He can smell the potato of the fries in there more than anything else, even the burgers. It feels good to take them off. He climbs onto the bed, slides under the blanket, doesn’t think about whoever has been here before him, however many of them, doesn’t think about the side of the man’s face leaving the room before he entered.
He hears Joanie close the bathroom window, hears her bare feet padding across the floor. She puts her cigarette pack down next to the money, then picks up the notes and counts them out. Satisfied, she puts the money away then gets into the bed with him. She doesn’t lie down, she stays on her knees. She reaches under the cover, checks him with her hand. He is semi-erect. She gets him the rest of the way.
“How’ve you been –” Jake starts.
“We don’t need to talk,” she says.
When he is ready she climbs on top. She doesn’t give him a condom. She straightens up and rides him hard and fast. Her face is turned to the side. She looks disinterested.
Jake lies back and closes his eyes, and pretends that she’s having a good time.
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