by Ronica Black
Elaine squeezed her hand. “I need to go.” Somehow hours had passed. How had she not noticed?
Johnnie stepped back. “I know.”
“Thank you,” Elaine said as she walked away.
“For what?”
“For making me feel.”
Chapter Twenty-two
Johnnie smiled at Jolene across the small, worn table. They were eating hot noodles, ramen noodles. For the first time, they weren’t eating them dry, choking them down with tepid water. Here in the tiny studio motel room, they had a microwave and running water. Warmth from the chill of the desert night. Jolene smiled back and slurped in a large mouthful of food. Her face was wrinkled and wind worn. Johnnie had bought her a jar of Vaseline, which they both applied to their hands and faces to help soothe the sting of the dry skin.
“They have a laundry room,” Johnnie said between bites.
“No,” Jolene said. “I will wash them in the sink.”
Johnnie nodded. All that they owned sat in a pile near the door. They guarded it like dogs because people were more than happy to walk off with their stuff. It was probably why Jolene didn’t want to use the public laundry.
“We have two nights,” Johnnie said. “We can get some good sleep.”
“Mm, that will be good.”
Sleep on the streets was never peaceful unless you were drunk. Johnnie and Jolene took turns keeping watch most nights. Even when they slept behind the beauty salon between the building and the chain link fence. It was quiet, no one bothered them, but still, they never felt totally safe.
Johnnie finished her noodles, placed the plastic bowl in the sink, and stretched. She lifted her Buck knife from the waist of her pants and placed it on the table. Jolene had one too, and they’d had to show them more than once to keep bad men at bay.
“You going to shower now?” Jolene asked.
“Yes.”
Johnnie walked to the bed and sat to peel off her boots. Then she headed to the bathroom. The image in the mirror shocked her, though she knew it would be bad. Her face was chapped and hollow, eyes sunken. Her hair was long and stringy, and she knew she couldn’t run her fingers through it. She had long ago stopped worrying about looking normal. When you had no money, no shelter, it grew tiring to care. And no matter how many times you tried, brushing your hair, brushing your teeth, wearing deodorant, people always knew. Homelessness had a stench one couldn’t hide. And people were like sharks; they picked up on it from great distances and treated you with disdain.
Johnnie took off her two sweatshirts and the T-shirt below. Her bra was no longer white, and it was basically threadbare and useless. But she wore it for warmth. She fingered her bony ribs and her sunken abdomen. She pulled her loose fitting pants down over her hips and kicked them away. When she went for her socks, she paused. Small black specks covered them. And they moved.
She tore them off and yanked open the bathroom door.
“Jolene.”
“Yeah.”
“We’ve got fleas.”
“Okay.”
“Goddamn it.” Johnnie hugged herself, already itching. She walked to the bed and pulled back the covers. The sheets were clean. She checked the mattress. It looked okay.
“I think they’re just in the carpet.”
“I will call,” Jolene said, rising to deposit her bowl in the sink.
Johnnie returned to the bathroom and stepped into the hot shower. She scrubbed and scrubbed, washed and rewashed her hair. Then she saturated it with cheap conditioner. It was the only way she’d get a brush through it. Jolene knocked on the door as she rinsed.
“They brought a bug bomb.”
“Great.” She turned off the shower and dried herself. She pulled a brush through her tangled hair. She reentered the bedroom and found that Jolene had laid out an outfit for her. She was sitting on the bed and stroking her long braid which hung down her shoulder.
“We have to leave the room for an hour while the bomb works.”
Johnnie dressed. She was frustrated. “Can’t they give us a different room?”
“They are full.”
Johnnie put on her boots, and she and Jolene set off the bug bomb. They sat outside their door and waited, too afraid to leave their stuff. Dusk had fallen, and the motel was hopping. Prostitutes walked by, some leading johns by the hand. Kids screamed as they ran and played, raising hell without supervision. Two cop cars pulled in, lights on. The two officers emerged and leaned against the cruiser to talk.
“You thirsty?” Johnnie asked.
“Sure.”
Johnnie rose and headed for the stairs. As she walked down, she noticed a man slumped over near the bottom. When she reached him she said, “Excuse me.” But he didn’t budge. She said it again and got no response. She stepped over him carefully and bent to examine him. He held his empty wallet open in one hand with a single family picture inside. She pushed back on his shoulder to view his face. His eyes were open but unfocused. His mouth was slack.
She left him, unsure what was wrong and what she could do to help. She made her way to the soda machine and bought two Cokes. When she returned to the stairs, the man was weeping uncontrollably. He didn’t seem to mind when she bumped him to get by.
She returned to Jolene and they sat and watched darkness bleed in completely. More prostitutes brought more johns. Then the girls would stand at the rail and smoke, looking down on the parking lot. One walked up to them and asked them if they wanted any pills. Said she’d give them a good deal.
Johnnie thanked her but said no. She returned to her friends and they laughed and carried on, hollering at potential clients down in the parking lot. When Johnnie and Jolene returned to their room, it smelled like chemicals and stale cigarette smoke. Johnnie took off her shoes and walked the carpet in her socks. Numerous fleas hopped on.
“Didn’t work,” she said.
Jolene shook her head.
They would have to keep everything on the bed and on the table. Jolene went to shower, and Johnnie hung things in the closet and organized as best she could. Then she walked to the couch and placed a sock on her hand to run it across the cushions. No fleas.
Relieved, she sat and closed her eyes. Jolene emerged dressed in clean clothes and joined her. They didn’t bother with the television. They got enough of people and noise on the street. They preferred peace. But peace was not forthcoming. Beyond the thin walls, people shouted and laughed and cussed and banged things. Sirens wailed. Soon helicopters circled overhead. Johnnie stared at the flimsy lock on the door.
For forty hard-earned dollars, she thought they could feel safe for one night, maybe two. But it wasn’t meant to be.
Jolene turned on the television, hoping to drown it out. They watched PBS and Everybody Loves Raymond. They fell asleep leaning into each other with Johnnie’s knife in her lap. Around midnight, there was loud shouting and spotlights shining from helicopters, police calling out orders. Johnnie jerked when someone tried to barrel their way into their room. She stood and unsheathed her knife, heart pounding. They tried three times, physically moving the door. Then she heard them run and soon after more shouts and footsteps.
She remained standing, with her knife poised. She pushed back on the door and braced it with a kitchen chair. Jolene sat watching her.
“You won’t sleep tonight,” she said.
Johnnie shook her head. “You go ahead.”
“You should ask those girls for Xanax. It helps you.”
Johnnie stared out the window. “No, I need to be ready for anything.”
“In the morning, then,” Jolene said. “You will get Xanax and sleep while I keep watch.”
Johnnie knew better than to argue with her. She simply nodded.
Jolene went to bed and Johnnie returned to the couch. She watched the door and listened keenly. She held the knife tightly. Would she ever feel safe?
As she stared at the drone of the television, she knew the answer was most likely no.
Chapter
Twenty-three
Johnnie stared into the pint of Guinness and inhaled. It smelled miraculous, and she took a small sip and thoroughly enjoyed it. This was her first and she decided it would be her only. She was in her favorite back booth, back in her hovel, sketch pad in hand. But for the first time in weeks, she wasn’t worried about painting. She felt relaxed though truly awake. Memories of the past had been haunting her dreams and her waking thoughts. She wasn’t sure why, but she figured it had something to do with the woman and her probing questions and deep, penetrating looks. Johnnie had let her in a little, and the realization didn’t terrify her as she’d suspected it would.
Still though, she needed to be careful. Her relationship with Gail was a harsh reminder of how people could turn. Somehow though, after feeling the loss she’d felt when she’d touched the woman’s chest, she didn’t think the woman would act anything like Gail. But how could she be sure? She’d read Gail wrong, so who’s to say she could read anyone anymore? Maybe her family was right; maybe it was all in her head.
“Ah, Johnnie, I see you’re enjoying your usual,” Sean said with his thick brogue. He gave her a basket of fresh bread. “Eat it and don’t argue. You could use a little fattening of the arse if you ask me.”
“Thanks.” She took a bite and tried not to groan at how good it was. Sean grinned and wiped his hands on his bar towel.
“So you’ve been painting?”
“Quite a bit actually.”
“Well, that’s grand. Are you feeling better then?”
“A bit.” She motioned at the empty seat across from her. “Want to join me?”
“Nah, I can’t. But there’s someone who wants to.” He looked over his shoulder. “Name’s Ian. Fresh off the boat. He’s a good friend of mine and he’s one hell of a painter.”
“Really?”
Sean turned again and gave a shout. “Ian, get your sorry arse over here and meet me friend.”
A small man at the bar fumbled a bit as he slid off his stool and turned toward them. For a second, Johnnie thought he was drunk. But when she saw the cane, she realized he was blind.
He walked up and felt for Sean, who took his arm and guided him to the booth.
“Is this the lovely lady?” he asked, smiling.
“’Tis. Her name’s Johnnie.’
“Johnnie? Well, that’s quite a name.”
He removed his pageboy hat and patted down his gray hair. He reached across the table.
“Can I feel ya? So I know who I’m talking to.”
Johnnie let him have her hands. His eyes, which he didn’t cover with sunglasses, were dark blue and unfocused. He had purple scarring around them from some sort of accident. But when he held her, she could feel him seeing her, physical body and all.
“Aye,” he said. “Sean was right about you. You’ve got the feelers on you.”
“Sorry?”
He smiled again and squeezed her hands. “Probably why you’re hiding out in this sorry old pub. Can’t handle being around people.”
Johnnie tried to pull her hands away, but he wouldn’t let her.
“Don’t fright. I’m just feeling ya. Feel me back, you’ll see.”
Johnnie stared into his face and breathed deeply. She felt calm, warmth, peace. He smiled and released her hands.
“There now.”
Johnnie pushed him the basket of bread. “Hungry?”
“Not for food, love. No, thank you.”
“What are you hungry for?”
“Same thing you are.”
“Sorry?”
He patted the table and leaned forward. “Woman.”
Johnnie stared at him a moment and then laughed. It seemed to amuse him.
“I’m hoping a nice one will walk in here in a minute. Take me home and have her way with me.”
Johnnie sipped her beer. “I hear ya.”
“Why aren’t you with yours?” he asked.
“Mine? I don’t have one.”
“No? Hm, must’ve read you wrong. I coulda sworn your heart was taken.”
Johnnie blushed, and she was glad he couldn’t see. “No, I’m single.”
He grabbed her hand. “Does your heart know?”
Johnnie stammered for words. He released her and leaned back.
“Never you mind. You’ll go after her when the time is right.”
Johnnie thought about arguing, but she knew it was useless. He could see her the way she felt others.
“You paint her though, don’t ya? Beautiful lass like that.”
Johnnie looked over to the bar where Sean shrugged and grinned.
“I have been, yes.”
“I had a girl I would paint. Long time ago. Before I lost me eyes. Aye, she was a looker. I didn’t know what was better. Painting her or touching her.”
“I know what you mean.”
“I lost my chance with mine. Don’t lose your chance.” He slapped the table. “Sean tells me you’ve done quite well for yourself. With your art.”
“Somewhat, yes. I’ve had some luck with collectors.”
“Your heart belongs to a beautiful woman, you’re making money painting, tell me why the hell are you sitting in here all alone?”
“I like quiet.” She squirmed a little in her seat and fingered the corner of her sketch pad.
“Don’t like it too much. Life goes like that.” He snapped his fingers. “And let me tell ya, when you get to being my age, you wish like hell you could go back and say fuck ’em, fuck ’em all.”
“What do you mean?”
“You can’t hide away, Johnnie, just because you can feel. You’ve got to live. Fuck people. Fuck ’em all.” He gripped his cane tightly and placed his fist on the table. “Do ya think I give a fiddler’s fart what people think of me? Look at me. I know I look crazy. I know I am crazy. And you know what? I’m happy. I paint what I want, say what I feel, and take step after step without knowing what’s ahead. You need to do the same.”
Johnnie stared into the grooves on his face. Stared into the stormy ocean of his eyes.
“Fuck ’em,” she said softly.
“That’s a way. Fuck ’em. Even when you’re feeling them and they aren’t good inside, don’t let it get to ya. Just walk away. You don’t owe them an excuse. You don’t owe them anything.”
“What if they are good?”
He smiled. “Then you’ve got to hang on tight and live and feel with them. Don’t run. Don’t hide away. Pain has a way of finding ya, no matter where you live.”
“Who are you?” Johnnie asked. She squeezed her beer glass, trying to control her heart rate. Looking at this stranger, this strange powerful man, she felt like she was seeing into her future.
“A kindred spirit.”
Johnnie looked around. Sean was busy washing glasses, and the two other patrons were staring into their beers.
“Did someone send you?” Did he know the woman? Was this part of her therapy?
He laughed. “Like who? An Irish fairy?”
“No, I’m serious. The stuff you’re saying, it’s just so relevant to my life lately.”
“Life has a way of giving you what you need when you need it. You just have to know how to see it.” He pointed to his eyes. “Not here.” He covered his heart. “But here.”
Johnnie looked at him for a long time. She could feel his goodness radiate outward toward her. She allowed their connection to mix, like a warm mist. She wished she’d met him years ago.
“Where are you staying?” Johnnie asked.
“With Sean for now. But I just bought me self a little house.”
“You’re staying here in Phoenix?”
“Aye, I need to dry out. And I want a tan. Get me a tan lady.” He smiled.
“Can I see you again? Maybe see some of your art?”
“Of course. And you’ll tell me all about yours?”
“Yes.”
“We can paint together.”
Johnnie touched his hand. “I’d like that.”<
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She opened her sketch pad and wrote down her number. “Give this to Sean. Call me.”
She rose, glanced at her watch, and grabbed her sketch pad. She had to meet Eddie soon and she couldn’t be late.
“Will do, love.”
She touched his shoulder. “Good-bye,”
“Good-bye,” he said, smiling after her.
Chapter Twenty-four
“I hope you don’t mind,” Michael said as he handed Elaine a glass of merlot. “But I invited another guest for dinner.”
She was ready to take a sip but paused. “You’re kidding.”
He smiled and looked away quickly. “Just a friend of Donovan’s. Don’t worry. She’s got it all. Brains, looks, heart.”
“Michael, I don’t need this tonight. I thought it was just dinner.” She rubbed her temple and crossed her legs. She’d kicked off her heels at the door, thankful for a relaxing evening. Now she had to rethink things.
“She’s great, honest.”
“Your refusal to respect my wishes about dating is really starting to get to me.” She’d told him over and over, she wasn’t going to date. He knew why.
He rounded the kitchen counter and continued chopping a block of cheese. He had on his trademark apron which said World’s Hottest Husband. It usually made Elaine smirk, but at the moment, she was in no mood.
“It’s not a date,” he said lightly.
“No, it’s worse. It’s a blind date.”
“No, there are no expectations. None whatsoever.”
“Then why tell me? Why tell me she has it all, as you say?”
He shrugged. “Just thought you might still have a heart in that chest of yours.”
“Funny.”
He sighed. “I know you won’t date, Elaine. And I know things are getting somewhat serious with your client. I’m just offering a bit of a distraction is all.”
“I can get my own distractions.”
He popped a bit of cheese in his mouth. “You’re still having your one-night stands?”
She sipped her wine, refusing to answer. He knew more than she thought. He was always so damned perceptive. She couldn’t keep anything from him.