Getting Higher

by Robert T. Jeschonek

"Yeah," doodled Rocky, lifting an eyebrow. "I know what happened next. You two disappeared for the rest a' the night! Way ta' go, bud! I'm proud a' you! You're startin' ta' take after me!"

  "Thanks a lot," Joe cynically smirked. He walked past Rocky into the bedroom and shut the door. Joe wanted to don some nicer clothes, abandon the ragged old jeans and T-shirt that he was wearing.

  "Looks like you really got this babe," shouted Rocky from beyond the closed door. "You're takin' her out tonight, huh? Not bad, not bad. You really got yourself a live one, this time."

  "Hey," said Joe, searching Rocky's closet for a shirt that he could borrow. "She's nice. Not just nice-lookin', either. I mean, she's hot, but she's got a great personality, too."

  "'She's got a great personality'?" roared Rocky. "Shit, man! That's what they all say, Joey!"

  "No, I mean it," Joe qualified defensively. "She's really nice." He paused, slid some clothes hangers over the rod in Rocky's closet, then added: "Plus, she's great in bed!"

  Rocky howled deafeningly, slapping the door so hard that it rattled in its frame. "Ha!" he erupted. "I knew you had it in you, Joey! All right!"

  Joe found the shirt he had in mind, a black silk one with a collar and long sleeves. He put it on, then removed his pants and stepped into a pair of jeans that Rocky had just bought. Since Rocky was a few sizes bigger than Joe, the jeans were baggy and pretty loose around the waist, but Joe tightened them up with a brown leather belt and he thought they'd look okay. He glanced in the mirror then to make a final check of his appearance.

  As he smoothed his hair and adjusted his clothes, it suddenly hit him: he realized how different he was from the way he had been for most of his life. His hair was short and he had no beard or mustache; he wore a black silk shirt and new bluejeans, not his standard, filthy old clothes; he was clean, and had gained a little weight; he had money in his pocket, and a steady job; he had a job and a girl, and he lived in an apartment and helped pay the rent. He wasn't the same anymore. He wasn't the original Joe Jones, who had slept in the street and eaten garbage and collected unemployment. Incredibly, but without any fanfare, he had changed.

  For a moment or two, he gazed into the mirror at the person he had become, remembering the person he had been. He wondered if he really liked himself this way, and why he had changed in the first place. He had never really wanted to change, to give up the way he had been; it had just happened gradually, unobtrusively, like the movement of the hour hand on a clock. All along, he'd been progressing toward this transformation, but he hadn't noticed until this very instant that any movement had taken place at all. He guessed that he liked himself now; there wasn't anything that he really hated about his new life. Things were good, in fact, and the more that he thought about it, the more he realized that he was happy. He had money, and a job, and a friend, and a place to stay, and a woman. Yeah, he was doing pretty well...a whole lot better than he'd ever done before. There was certainly nothing to complain about.

  Still, he missed his beard. He'd had a lot of good times in the old days, too, and he missed them. He missed Tap's Bar, and he missed Crank.

  When he tried to picture Crank, though, when he tried to imagine him in the mirror, he failed. He just couldn't seem to do it.

  Joe thought for a moment, staring intensely at his reflection.

  Then, he thought of Shelly, and headed out the door for his date.

  *****

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Joe met Shelly at her apartment and they left right away. To start with, they hiked to Jack's Tipple, a bar which was only a few blocks away. After a couple drinks, they set out again, looking for someplace else to hang out at for a while. Though they initially planned to find another bar, Shelly admitted that she would rather just have some coffee and a snack; though Joe was still thirsty for alcohol, he gladly acquiesced, eager as he was to please the woman and pave the way for later pleasures. The two ended up sitting in a coffee shop called Welchel's, a quiet little place with a kitchen that was open all night.

  Joe ordered coffee and a hunk of apple pie and Shelly asked for coffee and a chocolate ice cream sundae. As their food arrived, they sat at a table and talked, spoke in pleasant, cheerful tones. Except for them and the combination waitress and cook, the little place was completely deserted.

  "So, how was work today? Were you on time, Joe?" Shelly smiled slyly, her eyes glittering at the thought of what they'd done the night before.

  "Yeah," nodded Joe. "I made it on time. Soon as I got there, though, the place went nuts. It was a damn madhouse today, y'know? I couldn't keep caught-up, and the boss kept runnin' around and gripin'. It really sucked."

  "Boy," said Shelly sympathetically, shaking her head, "that must be a crummy place to work. With my, job, all I gotta' do is sit in an office and type and take phone calls all day. I mean, it gets really busy a lotta' times, but at least I'm not always running around like you." Shelly scooped some ice cream from her soda and licked the spoon.

  "Well, it's a royal pain in the ass," Joe admitted, "but it pays the rent. It's nice ta' have some money for a change, even if it ain't much. Much as I hate the job, I'm gonna' keep it, 'cause I need the bucks. I guess people'll do just about anything for money, huh?"

  Shelly stopped licking the spoon and looked wryly at her companion. "Almost anything, Joe."

  "No, they'll do anything," snorted Joe with a mischievous smirk. "Hell, I knew some people like that back in Brownstown, even."

  "Oh, really?" drawled Shelly, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Just how well did you know them?"

  Joe hesitated, realizing that he'd made a mistake in bringing up the subject of hookers he'd once known. It was a stupid topic to touch on in the first place, not a smart thing to talk about with a woman on a second date. He wished that he hadn't brought it up to begin with, but as so often happened, his mouth had been running too far ahead of his brain. "Aw, I didn't know 'em well," he hemmed. "I just knew 'em to see 'em, I guess. You know, word gets around about people like that."

  "Uh-huh," grunted Shelly. "I'll bet you just knew them to see them." Shelly spoke flippantly, teasingly, yet still made it clear that she didn't approve of the shady type of characters that Joe claimed to know.

  "Gimme' a break," laughed Joe. "I ain't bullshittin' ya'! You know I tell you th' truth."

  "I do?" she asked quizzically, staring over her sundae at Joe. "How do I know that? How would I know when you're lying and when you're not? I mean, really...I hardly even know you, Joe."

  He chafed at her suddenly cooler tone, the disgruntled clip which had swum into her voice. "I'd say you know me pretty good," he smirked glibly, hoping to defuse her with a less-than-serious reaction.

  "I don't mean that," she sighed, unmollified. "You know, sex isn't everything."

  "It ain't?" he grinned.

  "No. Just because you've been to bed with someone doesn't mean you really know them. Like, what do I know about you so far? I know you live with your friend Rocky, and you work at Burger World, and that's it. You seem like a nice guy, and you're fun to be around, but even though we slept together, I still don't know much about you."

  Joe thought for a moment, disturbed by Shelly's newfound irritation. Though he didn't feel like telling her his life story just then, he wanted to keep her in a good mood for the rest of the night; to make her feel better, he decided to confide in her a little. "No problem," he shrugged conciliatorily. "Whatta' you wanna' know? I'll tell you anything."

  Shelly's features shifted from annoyance to contemplation. "Okay," she began. "Where are you from originally?"

  "Taiwan," he offered teasingly.

  "Oh, come on," she urged, unamused. "Where're you really from?"

  "I lived in Brownstown all my life, till now," he revealed. "I moved out here ta' Bartlett 'bout three weeks ago."

  "Why'd you move?" she inquired, staring intensely, forgetting her soda. "Were you just looking for a job?"

  "Not really," he admitted. "I just, uh, came out ta' v
isit Rocky, an' decided ta' stick around. Things weren't too good back home, y'know. My unemployment ran out, I got evicted, an' then Crank died."

  "Who's Crank?" wondered Shelly, watching Joe as if he was a storyteller spinning a yarn.

  Joe paused briefly, remembered Crank's dead body. "Crank was...a good friend a' mine. We hung around a lot. He got killed."

  "Oh my God," she fumbled, looking startled. "I'm sorry. Who did it?"

  "They don't know for sure," Joe reported, glumly picking at his pie with the tines of his fork. "I think I know, and I told the cops, but I don't know if they hauled the guy in yet. He was a real son of a bitch, anyhow."

  "That must've been awful for you. No wonder you left." Shelly reached across the table and held Joe's hand, her manner softening now to empathetic concern.

  "Uh, let's not talk about it, okay?" he crimped awkwardly. "Ask me about somethin' else."

  "Okay," said Shelly quietly. "Where did you work in Brownstown?"

  "I didn't," he responded, scratching his forehead. "I haven't had a job for a long time, till now. Last job I had was in a supermarket, baggin' groceries. It sucked, an' I got laid off."

  "Didn't you get another job after that, though?"

  "Nah," negated Joe. "I just hung around an' collected my unemployment checks. Things were pretty cool till they ran out. There just weren't no good jobs around town since the mills closed, so I figured I'd just kick back for a while and forget it."

  "So why'd you take that job at Burger World?" she queried. "You don't like it a whole lot, from what you've told me."

  Joe had to think about that one. He sure didn't like working at Burger World. The managers were always watching him, Mr. Gurney was always hassling him, and it was busy all the time. The pay wasn't even that good, just minimum wage. He really didn't know why he'd taken the job, or why he'd kept it so long.

  "Uh, I guess I need the money too bad." Yeah, that sounded right; it was as good an explanation as any. "I wanted ta' help Rocky out some, y'know, since I'm staying at his place an' all. I guess it ain't really that bad. Everybody bitches about their job some."

  "How would you like another job, then? A better one?" Shelly smiled and leaned forward conspiratorily. "I think you'd have a good shot at Donaldson Trucking. I might be able to get you in there real soon. A couple guys quit this week, so the place is short-handed. Like I told you, I'm Mr. Donaldson's personal secretary and receptionist. I've got the inside scoop, Joe."

  Joe was surprised by the suggestion. He remembered that Shelly had mentioned the possibility of a job earlier, but he hadn't thought much of it at the time. "Uh, you really think I'd have a shot?"

  "Sure!" she chimed. "I'm totally serious, Joe. Number one, I know there're jobs coming open. Number two, I've got some pull with Mr. Donaldson. I've been working for him for the past three years, and we get along real good. He's really a nice guy, and I think he'd give you a chance if I recommended you."

  "What do I haveta' do?" asked Joe.

  "Nothing yet," she told him. "I'll talk to Harry tomorrow, and ask him if you can come in for an interview. Maybe he'll even see you this week." Smiling, she gently squeezed his hand. "What do you think, Joe?"

  "Sounds good," he nodded. "I'd really like ta' get outta' Burger World."

  "Great. I'll let you know what he says when I ask him." Shelly finished her sundae and pushed the dish away with her fingertips. Leaning forward, she smiled at Joe. "Hey," she purred coyly. "You wanna' go someplace?"

  Joe smiled, too. "Well, if you force me, I guess I'll think about it."

  "How 'bout we get the heck outta' here?" she tendered. "I know a nice place near here we could go."

  "Your place?" he grinned eagerly.

  "Pay the bill, Joe."

  *****

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Time passed quickly for Joe Jones. During the days, he worked at Burger World, sweating out his shifts from noon to seven or eight or nine. The work was busy and often stressful, but Joe rapidly became more proficient at it, had fewer problems maintaining control of the kitchen. After work each evening, he went home, ate something for dinner and watched T.V. Sometimes, he went out with Shelly, took her to a bar or a diner or a film. Joe kept moving along, coasting through his daily routine with little trouble, and time flew by.

  He didn't think much about Brownstown anymore. He was reasonably happy now, and didn't want to depress himself with thoughts of Crank and death. He shunted the past from his mind and got on with other business.

  Another week passed, flipping away like a page of a calendar, and Joe continued his routine. He went to work, he ate, he went out with Shelly, and he slept.

  After another week, and an especially taxing day of work, Rocky persuaded him to break his routine and go to a party. The party was being held by some of Rocky's pals from Donaldson Trucking, a group of wild drivers who sponsored such shindigs on a regular basis. Shelly couldn't go because she wasn't feeling well, but that was fine with Joe; he looked forward to a night of boisterousness, and felt the need to get plastered, which was something he couldn't do around his girlfriend. Shelly never drank much, so when Joe went out with her, he likewise kept his boozing to a minimum.

  The place where the party was being held was an old house on the edge of town, a decrepit, two-story tenement with peeling white paint. When the two guys entered the front door of the place, they were greeted with thunderous hoots and slaps on the back, and cold beers were thrust into their hands. Everybody knew Rocky because they worked with him, and many knew Joe from that first party he'd been to in Bartlett, the one at which he'd met Shelly.

  For a while, Joe and Rocky remained in the thick of things, chugging down beers and shots of whiskey and laughing at jokes and outrageous tall tales. They both felt good, and as the booze accumulated in their systems, they felt even better.

  After a few hours, Joe and Rocky finally sat down in a corner to rest. Joe clutched one beer, Rocky had two, and they drank as they sat there, heads spinning crazily.

  "Oh, man," muttered Joe, clapping a hand to his forehead. "What a party. This's the first good buzz I've had for months, man."

  Rocky swigged from one of his bottles of beer and sighed with satisfaction. "Ahhh," he gushed, smacking his lips. "I hear ya', Joey. These dudes know how ta' throw a bash, ya' better believe it."

  "I'm feelin' good. This makes up for Shelly not bein' here, definitely."

  Rocky gaped at Joe through liquor-filmed eyes. "You really get off on that chick, dontcha'? I mean, you're really into her. You take her out almost every fuckin' night, man."

  "Yeah," dipped Joe nonchalantly. "She's okay."

  "She's 'okay'? That's all you can say about her? 'She's okay'?" Rocky looked shocked, bugging his eyes wide like hard-boiled eggs. "Joey, that babe is beautiful! She's fine, man!"

  "So she's pretty," conceded Joe. "She's a looker, man. What else you want me ta' say?"

  Rocky grinned toothily as a gator, leaned closer to his compatriot. "How's she in bed?"

  Joe tilted his beer to his lips and drank deeply. The cool liquid rushed down his throat, then he belched and turned to Rocky. Slowly, his lips formed a smile, then he chuckled and nodded emphatically.

  "All right!" roared Rocky. "Joey, you are one slick son of a bitch!" Squinting, he threw his head back and laughed, baying robustly as a Mongol at a campfire.

  Joe laughed, too, feeling the lightness in his booze-loaded brain. For a while, he and Rocky kept it up, chortling and whooping and falling around on the floor like a pair of outright lunatics.

  "Ha!" sputtered Rocky. "Joey...you dog, you! Way ta' go!" As always, Rocky laughed the longest and the hardest, his throaty hoots filling the air interminably, pumping out long after Joe had quieted.

  "Yeah, she's great," snickered Joe, wagging his head and leaning back against the wall. "I never knew no one like her before."

  "Yeah, what a bod!" Rocky burst out in full frenzy once more, bobbing back and forth and clinking the beer bot
tles loosely in his grip.

  "Not just that," wheedled Joe, brushing an arm through the air. "I mean, she's built nice, but she's...she's nice inside, too. Like, she's cool, y'know? She seems ta' like bein' around me an' shit. She ain't no whore, is what I'm tryin' ta' say."

  "Yeah, man," said Rocky, his laughter fading. "I know what ya' mean. She likes you, bud, a lot. Whenever I run into her at work, she's always askin' about you. I think she loves ya', Joey."

  "Uh-uh," spouted Joe, feeling annoyed all of a sudden. "We're like friends, that's all."

  "Right, Joey...tell me another one. What are you, stupid or somethin'? Wake up, asshole. That broad wants you bad."

  "She don't love me," Joe insisted. "We're just havin' some fun, that's all. Let's drop the subject, okay?"

  "How come?" puzzled Rocky. "What's the big fuckin' deal? It ain't like I'm tellin' ya' somethin' ya' don't already know!"

  "Drop the subject," Joe repeated. "I'm tired a' talkin' about Shelly."

  "You ain't embarrassed, are ya'?" quizzed Rocky.

  "Drop it," Joe slung forcefully, oddly rankled by the questions.

  "Geez," mumbled Rocky. " 'Scuse me. I'm just tryin' ta' have a damn conversation here."

  "Let's talk about somethin' else then," groused Joe.

  "Okay, okay," grumbled Rocky at last, unhappy with Joe's hostility but willing to cooperate. "You hear anything 'bout that job? Did what's-her-name talk to Donaldson yet?"

  "Hell, I don't know. I haven't asked her, an' she hasn't said nothin', so I guess nothin' happened. I don't really care, one way or the other."

  "What're you talkin' about, man?" boggled Rocky. "Donaldson pays at least twice what you're makin' at that shitty restaurant, plus benefits. What the fuck you mean, you don't care?"

  Joe finished his beer, then laid the empty bottle on the floor and gave it a push. It wobbled across the floorboards for a few inches, then hit the edge of a ratty throw-rug and clinked to a halt. "I don't know," he answered dully. "I just don't really care where I work."