Maz

by Jessie Cooke

  “I can’t go.” Marissa was trying to convince Charity to leave before her mother realized she was there. Rhonda already felt so badly about losing the puppy: she’d feel guilty if she knew Marissa was staying home because she was so sad. “Roxy is gone and Mom’s upset…”

  Charity pushed her way in. Dressed in a flowered A-line dress that came to the top of her thighs, she looked hot. The dress had blue skulls hidden in the midst of the red roses and her pretty blue eyes were lined with the same color eyeliner. Her highlighted blonde hair hung in long curls to her waist and she was wearing a pair of white pumps with just enough heel to make her legs look five feet long. The guys at Spirits would eat her up. “You told me on the phone that you’d put up fliers everywhere and knocked on doors…there’s nothing else you can do at this point.”

  “I can be here for Mom.”

  “Marissa, your mother is not as fragile as you think she is…or pretend she is when you’re using her as an excuse.”

  “Her blood sugar was 40 earlier. She’s resting now.”

  “What’s her blood sugar now?”

  “I don’t know…”

  “Marissa?”

  “118.”

  “She had her glucose, right? And I’ll bet you made her eat dinner…?”

  “Yes, but…”

  “And she’s in bed, watching Game of Thrones with her fully operational iPhone on the pillow next to her, snacks and insulin at the bedside, and lots of bottles of water, right?” Charity had just described Rhonda’s current situation to a T. Marissa didn’t know whether to be impressed or annoyed.

  “Marissa? Who’s here?” Charity smiled and started toward the sound of Marissa’s mother’s voice.

  “It’s me, Rhonda, Charity.” The pretty blonde pushed open the bedroom door and Marissa saw her mother’s face light up.

  “Well hello, Charity. Wow, you look gorgeous!”

  “Thank you, Rhonda.” Charity went over and kissed her on the cheek. “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m doing well, physically. I feel so bad about losing the pup…I keep thinking about her out there all alone.”

  Charity sat next to her and put her hand on her shoulder. “You know what, as cute as she is, I’ll bet if someone picked her up they’re taking real good care of her. And I doubt she got run over because if she did, it would have been in the neighborhood and someone would have seen it and told Marissa while she was out knocking on doors. Puppies dig, and puppies escape, honey; don’t beat yourself up about it. It’s only been half a day…stay positive. Someone just hasn’t seen one of the hundred fliers your daughter put up all over town yet.”

  Rhonda nodded and covered Charity’s hand with her own. “I’m doing my best,” she said. She looked at her daughter and said, “Mostly, I’m just so tired of being a burden to Marissa.”

  “Stop it, Mother. You are not a burden.”

  “Well, I have been…but things are getting better. Are you girls going out tonight?”

  “Yes,” Charity said, at the same time Marissa said:

  “No.” Rhonda cocked an eyebrow.

  “So, is it yes or no?”

  “Marissa promised me she’d go out tonight, but she doesn’t want to go because…”

  “Because I’m worried about Roxy,” Marissa said.

  “You’ve done all you can for tonight,” Rhonda told her daughter. “Go out and have fun, honey. You’re twenty-four years old. You can’t sit around here with me like an old lady every weekend. Please go, I’ll feel terrible if you don’t.”

  Marissa shot her friend a glare and then looked at her mother and smiled softly. “Are you sure, Mom?”

  “I’m sure. I’ve got all of season five of Game of Thrones to watch here, I’m good.”

  Charity kissed Rhonda on the cheek, stood up and turned to Marissa, and said, “Okay, let’s go get you ready.” With a resigned sigh, Marissa went over and kissed her mother too.

  “Call if you need me?”

  “Promise.”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you more.”

  4

  Spirits was crowded when Maz and Ransom got there, even for a Friday night. Maz parked his Harley almost up against the bar, not willing to leave it out in the parking lot in that neighborhood, and got off his bike. He pulled off his helmet and his skullcap and ran his fingers through his thick, curly dark hair. He never liked his hair. His dad had straight hair and he used to keep it cut short on the sides and styled it on top. Maz tried to do his that way when he was younger, but his crazy, wiry curls always dried in twenty different directions. If he cut it short on the sides, the top grew crazy and toward the sky and he looked like the country singer, Lyle Lovett. If he grew it out long, he looked like Howard Stern. So he kept it somewhere in between…not quite touching his collar and not shaved on the sides…and he finally accepted that his curls would just do what they wanted to do. He still didn’t like it, but it was one of those things he was born with and had to endure. He blamed his mother. He blamed her for everything, though, everything bad – the woman that didn’t want him, not the one that raised him.

  “It’s packed,” he told Ransom when he got off his bike. Ransom pulled off his skullcap and was grinning from ear to ear.

  “Lots of hot chicks.”

  “Don’t call them that.”

  “What should I call them? School me, O wise one.”

  Maz just shook his head at the younger man and pushed open the door of the bar. The bar was lined with people, two or three deep, every table in the place was full, the pool tables in the back were all being used, the tiny little dance floor was crammed with people standing elbow-to-elbow and hip-to-hip. The music was booming and the lights were so dim that it was a wonder the place hadn’t been shut down by someone filing a lawsuit because they tripped and fell over something in the dark. Maz swam through the sea of bodies until he made it to the bar. A few people moved out of his way, maybe because of his size, but more likely because of the patches on his vest. He and Ransom were both wearing their Westside Skulls kuttes. Ransom’s simply said his name on the front and had the Skulls symbol on the back with Fresno as the chapter. Maz’s kutte said his name, and underneath that “Enforcer” was embroidered in thick, yellow lettering. That alone usually made people nervous even though the Skulls weren’t known to be troublemakers in the city any longer…people had long memories and the Skulls had a checkered past.

  “What can I get you?” The bartender had honey-colored eyes and hair. She was wearing a tight t-shirt and a pair of jean shorts. Maz wondered if she scared easily. He smiled and said,

  “Crown and Dr. Pepper.”

  “Two!” Ransom hollered from behind him. Maz nodded at the cute bartender and she moved to pour their drinks. “She’s hot,” Ransom said. “Say something in French when she comes back.” Maz smiled and when the bartender came back with their drinks, he handed her a twenty and said,

  “Tu es belle, il est un cinglé.” Her face flushed red and she batted her eyelashes at him. Every woman seemed to understand “belle.” Women loved to be told they’re beautiful in any language and Maz’s mother…the one who mattered… had taught him that there was something beautiful about everyone, if you looked hard enough. Of course, in the bartender’s case, he didn’t have to look hard.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “What did you say?” Ransom asked as Maz handed him the drink.

  He had said, “You’re beautiful, but he is crazy.” He smiled at Ransom and said, “I told her that she’s beautiful…and you were interested.”

  “Damn! She looked like she liked that. Should I go back up there and introduce myself?”

  “Not yet,” Maz said. “You don’t want to look too anxious. Look, a high-top table just emptied.” Maz didn’t wait for Ransom; he barreled through the crowd toward the table. He had his hand on the back of one of the empty chairs when a gorgeous but snobby-looking blonde said:

  “Hey, this one’s taken.”
She sat down in the chair opposite the one he was touching. He smiled and sat down in “his.”

  “This one too?” he asked. She looked shocked.

  “Um…no, really, my friend is in the bathroom, but she’ll be right back. We were dancing and…”

  “You might have been dancing, but this wasn’t your table before you went out there. I just saw the people that were sitting here leave.”

  “Those were my friends,” she said. “We’re here celebrating my birthday.”

  “Happy birthday!” Ransom was grinning like an idiot as he took the chair on the right between her and Maz. “We should order a bottle of wine to celebrate. Do you like wine?”

  She was looking at Ransom like he had a wart on his nose. Maz was enjoying how uncomfortable she was. How dare she assume that because she was pretty, she could take whatever she wanted? “Oh…hi…” The sweet, soft voice could almost not be heard over the loud boom of the bass coming from the heavy metal as blasting out of the jukebox in the corner. Maz turned toward the voice and wondered, not for the first time, if semen could back up and infect your brain when you go too long without sex. He would swear as he looked at her that he heard the angels singing.

  People talk about things taking their breath away. Maz had never experienced it on a personal level until right then. The woman was probably twenty-five or so, with dark brown hair with gold highlights. It hung to her shoulders and bounced when she moved her head. He couldn’t really make out the color of her eyes in the dim lighting, but they looked brown…or maybe hazel. Either way, they were huge, and she was gorgeous.

  “Hey there!” Ransom said, sticking out his hand. “I’m Ransom and this is my best buddy, Maz. We’re going to help you celebrate your friend’s birthday.” The brunette looked at her friend and rolled her eyes. Maz knew it wasn’t her birthday. Ransom was still rambling, and sounding stupider as he went on. “Do you have a name or do you just go by ‘Vision of Loveliness?’”

  Maz wanted to strangle him. The girls looked at each other and started laughing. Great – as if it wasn’t already hard enough to find a woman, this little midget was going to be a cockblock. “She goes by Vision of Loveliness,” the blonde said. “And you may refer to me as ‘Your Highness.’” The brunette elbowed her and they giggled again. Ransom wasn’t quite bright enough to know he was being made fun of, but Maz was. He opened his mouth to throw another zinger at the blonde when the “vision of loveliness” said:

  “Maz? I’ve never heard that before.”

  “He’s French,” Ransom offered before Maz could respond.

  “Ooh la la,” the blonde said, unimpressed. “No wonder you’re so rude. The French are notorious for it.”

  “I’m rude?” Maz asked.

  “Yes, but I accept your apology,” she said. “Marissa, sit down. Why are you still standing?”

  Marissa…Maz liked that name. Maz and Marissa sounded good together. Unfortunately she looked a little bit skittish, and skittish didn’t bode well for the snake in his drawers. He didn’t like the way she was letting her friend talk to her either. Forgetting his usual mind your own damned business rule he usually lived by, he said, “Marissa looks like she has a mind of her own to me, and you don’t look like the queen.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I think you heard me correctly.”

  “I don’t speak Creole or whatever that dialect is you’re speaking.”

  “Charity, please…” Her friend took her arm. “Come on, let’s go.”

  Maz didn’t want her to go…although he wished that her friend would. “Hey,” he said, drawing their attention back in his direction. “I’m sorry. You can stay, we’ll go.”

  “Do I have to go?” Ransom said. “I didn’t do anything.” Maz smacked him on the back of his head and said:

  “Come on.”

  “He looks like he has a mind of his own to me,” the snobby blonde said. Maz had his back to her but he heard the brunette gasp when she said it. He realized that now he was standing she could see the patch on the back of his vest, and that might possibly be what she was gasping about, rather than her friend’s rudeness. He turned just enough to see Ransom and said:

  “Do what you want, I’m out of here.”

  “Maz…”

  “Sit down – Ransom, is it? Have a drink with us.” Maz could hear the bitchy blonde sucking poor Ransom in as he walked away. The kid was still young enough that his dick did most of his thinking, especially in these types of situations, so Maz wasn’t mad. He stepped outside after pushing his way through the crowd and sucked in a breath of fresh air. It was much nicer outside than it was in that stuffy bar anyways. He went over and straddled his bike, lit a smoke, and leaned back onto the sissy bar and took a long drag.

  “Excuse me…Max?”

  The sweet little voice startled him. He sat up and turned to see the gorgeous brunette looking at him with round, scared, hazel eyes. Damn, she’s hot. “Maz,” he said.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, quickly. “I don’t know why I said Max. But anyway, I just wanted to apologize for my friend. She’s really not usually like that…” Maz laughed. She was a terrible liar, but he counted that as a good thing. “Well, not rude, usually. She’s just not used to being in places like this and around people like…I mean, oh damn, I’m making this worse aren’t I?”

  Maz tried to keep a straight face but he felt his lips twitch as he nodded. “Yeah, you are.”

  “Well, anyway, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” She turned, and he took a second to take in her backside in the tight pair of skinny jeans she was wearing. Stopping short of the “Mm, mm, mm” he was thinking, he said:

  “Hey, Marissa, right?”

  She turned back around. Her blouse was light blue and sheer and she had on another light blue one underneath it…a camisole, he thought they were called. It was shiny, like lingerie, with lace around the neckline. It was cut low enough for him to see a very slight swell of her breast, but it definitely left a lot to the imagination. That was okay, though, he had one hell of an imagination. She was gorgeous, and classy enough not to need to show her tits and ass like half of the other women in the bar. He liked that almost as much as the fact that she was a terrible liar. “Yes,” she said, almost in a whisper.

  “It’s worth a lot,” he said. “And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry for being an asshole myself.”

  She smiled. Damn…his heart sped up. “You weren’t, but thank you. You don’t have to leave…”

  “Eh, not really into it tonight anyway,” he said.

  She made a face and said, “Yeah, me neither.”

  “Why are you here then?”

  “My friend talked me into it. You?”

  “Same,” he said with a smile. “We could go for a ride on my bike.”

  She laughed. “Thanks but…I mean, no offense but I don’t really, you know, take off with men I don’t know.”

  Classy, gorgeous, and smart. Not that he would ever hurt her, but he wondered sometimes about the women that did take off with him…didn’t they worry about getting hurt? “No offense taken,” he said. “As a matter of fact, I think it’s smart.”

  “Thanks. I guess I should get back inside.”

  “Marissa?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Could I at least have your phone number, and then maybe we could know each other well enough for that ride some day?”

  She smiled; that was a good sign. He mentally ordered the snake to lie down. It isn’t happening…at least not with anyone other than Señor Palm. “Sure,” she said. “Can I see your phone?”

  He pulled it out and handed it to her. She put the tip of her tongue between her pretty lips while she typed in her name and number. It was so sexy that the snake lifted its head again and he had to mentally tap it down. “There,” she said, handing him back the phone. He looked at it and said:

  “You didn’t fake-number me, did you?”

  She laughed. “No, I can always block you later
.” She winked at him and with that, she turned and went back into the bar. His heart was pounding and his palms were sweaty. He cursed himself for acting like a damned teenager, tossed his smoke, pulled on his skullcap and his helmet, and headed for home.

  5

  “Damn it!” The top half of Maz’s big body was inside the hood of the truck he was working on and both of his hands were occupied. The puppy had a hold of the hem of his jeans with its teeth and was pulling at it. He swiped at her a couple of times with his other leg because he didn’t want to kick her…but she was fucking annoying. “Ransom!”

  “Yeah?” Ransom was about twelve feet away on the other side of the shop working on his bike. Bruf was helping him put some new chrome pipes on it. Ransom had bought them with money he’d won racing crotch rockets…a side venture their boss wasn’t happy about.

  “Get this fucking chien off me!”

  “English?”

  “Your dog! Get her the fuck off me.” He heard Ransom laugh as he made his way over.

  “She likes you. I don’t know why, you’re always so damned grumpy. Come on, Annie.” He felt the kid peel the pup off his leg and he finished what he was doing before standing up out of the hood and saying:

  “Annie? What the fuck kind of tough boxer name is that?”

  “Annie is my mother’s name.”

  “Not what she told me,” Bruf muttered under his breath.

  “Hey!”

  Maz laughed. “Me neither…she told me to call her Mrs. Robinson.”

  Bruf cracked up at that. “Fuck you guys,” Ransom said, chuckling himself. “Hey Maz, did you call that chick from the bar the other night yet?”

  “Her name is Marissa, don’t call them chicks.”

  “Did you call her?”

  “Nunya.”

  “Is that French?”

  “It’s universal for mind your own fucking business.” Maz hadn’t called her yet. He intended to…but every time he started to press in her number he thought about how he’d take her out, maybe to dinner, take her for a ride on the bike, maybe they’d hang out and watch a movie…and then finally the snake would get too restless and he’d have to introduce them. He tried not to take it too personally when women would run out on him, for the most part. But usually they were women that he didn’t care if he ever saw again. Something about Marissa was different…he was worried about scaring her away.