Cherry Money Baby

by John M. Cusick

  “Oh, get over it, Cherry Kerrigan. I’m paying and that’s final.”

  The clerk clicked the register. “Is that all?”

  “Wait . . .” Cherry blinked. What just happened?

  “No,” said Ardelia. She stepped back, examining the rack of candy. “I can’t decide.”

  “They’re all good,” the clerk offered.

  “Are they? Fine, then,” said Ardelia. “How much for the whole rack?”

  Wrappers littered the Spider’s floor, the cramped space behind the seats stuffed to the wheel well with boxes and boxes of Nerds, Bottle Caps, Mike & Ikes, and every other bad-for-you whatsit the 7-Eleven had to offer.

  “What is it?” Ardelia asked.

  A length of licorice rope dangled from Cherry’s lips. She chewed, quiet since 7-Eleven, working her thoughts into a soft, gummy paste.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “You’re not like most rich people.”

  Ardelia tipped back a box of Sno-Caps. “What are most rich people like?”

  “I couldn’t imagine them eating Sno-Caps, for one thing. You’re kinda . . .” She swallowed the licorice rope. “I like you.”

  “Well, thank you. I like you, too.” Ardelia tossed a crumpled carton into the backseat. “Most of the poor people I know make unfair generalizations about entire swaths of the population.”

  Cherry rallied a comeback, then caught herself. “Ahh, I see what you did there.”

  “Clever, right?”

  Cherry smirked. “Very clever, movie star.”

  Ardelia offered her a bag of candy. Cherry took a piece.

  “What are these called?” Ardelia asked.

  “Marshmallow Circus Peanuts,” said Cherry.

  “That’s what they are, but what are they called?”

  “That’s their name. Marshmallow Circus Peanuts.” Cherry was laughing. She was actually having a good time.

  Ardelia held one up. “Absolutely brilliant.”

  There was a crack, and the wheel spun free of Cherry’s hands. The Spider swerved, sending a landslide of sugary orange puffs into the foot well. They wobbled into the right lane, Ardelia shrieking. Cherry steadied the car.

  “Bloody Christ, twice in one day,” Ardelia gasped, clinging to her seat belt. “What happened?”

  “Wait,” said Cherry. “Listen.”

  Something made a warbling sound underneath the car.

  “Did we hit something?”

  Cherry signaled into the breakdown lane, and the girls stepped onto the shoulder of Route 9. This stretch of road was dark, with thick forest beyond the reflectors and guardrails. A green exit sign gleamed up ahead. A semi blasted by. They came around to the rear of the car. The bottom of the right tire lay flattened against the asphalt, air hissing from an invisible puncture.

  Ardelia pressed a hand to her forehead. “Shit.”

  “Fuck. It’s my fault,” said Cherry.

  Ardelia sighed. “It was an accident. What do we do now, though?”

  “You have Triple A?”

  “Triple what?”

  “Okay.” Cherry considered their options. “We’ll change it ourselves. I’m sure there’s a spare in the —”

  She popped the trunk. It was tiny and packed with luggage, a field of L’s and V’s.

  Ardelia winced. “I took the tire out.”

  “So you could fit . . .” Cherry started.

  “So I could fit my new luggage,” Ardelia finished.

  “Right.”

  “Right.”

  “So?” Ardelia brandished her smart phone. “Tow truck?”

  “There’s only one mechanic in town, and right about now he’s watching My Name Is Earl.” Cherry nodded toward the exit sign. “Pop’s auto shop isn’t far. We can get a spare tire there.”

  “How do we get there?”

  Cherry patted the rear bumper. “We push.”

  “As in . . . the car?”

  “Yeah. I’ll put her in neutral. It’ll be easy with the both of us.”

  Ardelia gazed at her phone with a pained expression. “Why don’t I just call someone to get us?”

  “Movie Star, we can’t leave this car here. It’ll get towed or, worse, stripped. And besides . . .” She pushed the other girl’s shoulder, a gentler version of her usual punch. “Why pay someone else when you can do it yourself?”

  “I was about to say precisely the opposite.”

  Another truck rumbled past, honked twice, didn’t slow.

  “Well?” said Cherry.

  Ardelia tucked her phone away. “Fine. Let’s just get it over with.”

  Cherry climbed behind the wheel, shifted into neutral, and popped the emergency brake. Too late, she realized Ardelia was already braced against the rear. The Spider lurched forward and the other girl disappeared in the rearview mirror. Cherry rushed to the back of the car, where Ardelia was on her ass, spread-eagled in the grime, hair hanging over her face.

  “Oh, fuck! Are you okay?”

  Ardelia was convulsing. Cherry pictured twisted ankles, sprained wrists. The starlet turned her face to the sky. Her cocktail dress was covered in mud, dirt speckled her ivory complexion, and she was laughing.

  “What’s so funny?”

  Ardelia sniffed, trying to catch her breath. She looked down at her ruined dress.

  “Chartreuse!”

  Cherry was speechless, dumbfounded by this weird-ass, bat-shit, mind-blowing, star-studded, heartbeat-y, pulse-racing, head-spinning, face-melting brain-fuck of a day. She laughed too, so hard she couldn’t stand anymore and dropped into the mud. The girls leaned against the crippled car and filled the vacant road with their cackles.

  Chartreuse. It was a ridiculous word.

  The Spider jerked, heaved, and rolled into the lot of Kerrigan Auto on Main Street, pushed by two sticky, filthy, bruised young women. They lurched the last few feet into the waiting garage.

  “If only my friends could see me now,” Cherry said.

  Ardelia picked at a leaf sticking to her rear. “I was thinking the same thing.”

  Cherry turned on the shop lights, casting a glare across the chrome and metal tools. The light was on in Pop’s office, a half-finished beer on the desk, still cold, as if they’d just missed him. Ardelia, refreshing herself with a bottle of water from the mini-fridge, inspected the guts of a turbo engine, then peered into the undercarriage of an elevated pickup truck.

  “This is where your father works?”

  “It’s his business,” Cherry said. “This is my inheritance.”

  Ardelia hefted a menacing-looking power drill. “Very impressive. Will we get to use this?”

  “Not to change a tire,” Cherry said. “But if you want to put holes in shit, there’s an old Gremlin out back.”

  “Delicious.”

  The girls positioned themselves on the dusty floor. Cherry showed Ardelia a length of beveled piping with a crosspiece. “This,” she said, “is a tire iron.”

  “I bet I know why it’s called that.”

  Cherry started on the busted tire. “Now, you wanna pop the bolts before you jack up the car. That way the weight on the wheel gives you extra leverage.”

  “I’m learning so much today,” Ardelia said. “No more shall I be a damsel in distress.”

  “I hate damsels, especially distressed ones.” Cherry grunted, popping off the last bolt. “Okay, now we jack.” She rummaged under Pop’s table and came back with a jack. “You should always keep one of these in your trunk.”

  Ardelia saluted. “Roger.”

  Cherry showed her how to position the jack under the car and started to crank. After a few revolutions, she felt Ardelia’s gaze.

  “Do I have something on my face?” asked Cherry.

  “Yes. Grease. And possibly caramel?” Ardelia wiped Cherry’s cheek with her thumb. “But I was wondering why you dye your hair.”

  Cherry cranked with a little more force. “You can tell?”

  “Darling, I may not be able to change a
tire, but I know a home dye job when I see one. Your eyebrows don’t match.”

  Cherry let out a breath. “I dunno. I like blond better.” Crank, crank. The Spider wobbled higher. “Also, Pop always says I look like my mother, and I’m not too wild about that.” She wiped her brow. “I never told anyone that.”

  “Mum’s in Cabo with a yoga instructor named Juan,” Ardelia said.

  “You’re kidding.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Mothers, right?”

  “Who needs them?”

  Cherry sat back, sweating from the effort. “Well, Ms. Oscar Nominee. Ready to change your first tire?”

  Ardelia wrapped an arm around Cherry’s shoulder. “My God, yes.”

  As they pulled into the trailer park, Ardelia texted something on her phone.

  “You’re seventeen Sugar Village, right?”

  “That’s me. And we’re here.”

  Cherry brought the Spider to the curb and killed the engine. Ardelia turned in her seat.

  “This was . . . magical.”

  Cherry shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a good time.”

  “You certainly are. Thank you. For everything.”

  They hugged.

  “I guess I’ll see you on the big screen.”

  “I suppose so.”

  The girls climbed out, and Cherry headed for the door. She turned. “Take care of that car, will ya? She’s a beauty.”

  “Cherry.”

  “Yeah?”

  Ardelia tossed her something shining, tinkling. Car keys.

  “She’s yours.”

  “What?”

  Ardelia patted the hood. “You’ll take better care of her than I can. It’s the least I can do.”

  “Holy shit.” Cherry stared at the keys like they might suddenly turn into Marshmallow Circus Peanuts. “Holy. Shit. You’re giving me your car?”

  “Well, one of them.”

  “I . . . I can’t take this!” She gaped at the gleaming automobile. “Jesus, what am I saying? Of course I can!” She ran to Ardelia and hugged her, squeezing until her back cracked. “Thank you!”

  “Don’t break me!”

  “You want me to drop you at your hotel?”

  “No need,” Ardelia said.

  An engine growled, and a black SUV rounded the corner. It parked across the street, and a kid in a Paramount polo shirt climbed down from the driver’s seat and opened the rear door.

  “Car service by text,” Ardelia said, waggling her phone. “A nice perk.”

  “You’re officially my new favorite movie star.”

  Ardelia waved. “See you around, Cherry Kerrigan.”

  The SUV pulled away, disappearing onto Hope Ave. Sugar Village was quiet again.

  Cherry tested the weight of the keys in her hand and rubbed her thumb across the Alfa Romeo bobble that hung from the ring like a lucky rabbit’s foot. They were hers. She jumped, pumping her fists, and whooped at the moon so loud, every dog in the neighborhood started barking.

  She could hear voices as she approached the trailer door. She came in to see Stew waving his hands like he was putting out a fire.

  “She’s coming, she’s coming!” he hissed.

  “I can hear you, jackass,” Cherry said, laughing. “You guys are not going to believe this —”

  Pop stood at attention by the side door like the world’s fattest palace guard. He cleared his throat.

  “My lady, if you’d step this way.”

  Stew patted her back, grinning. “Oh, man, are you gonna love this.”

  “Have you two gone completely mental? What is this?”

  She was ushered into the garage.

  “I was going to wait for your birthday, but after all the craziness this afternoon, I figured we could do this a little early,” Pop said.

  “Do what?”

  He flicked on the overhead.

  Bathed in the halogen light was a rust-spotted Gremlin, freshly refurbished with new (though mismatched) doors and side-view mirrors, a bumper from a Volvo 950, and a beautiful chrome muffler, brought out special from Marlborough.

  “Ta-da!” Pop spread his arms wide. “And she’s all yours.”

  “I mean, she’s no Dubber,” said Stew, opening the driver’s door and getting behind the wheel. “But she’s fucking tricked out, Cherr. Specialty dials to track your fuel efficiency . . . And I found this killer radio in a Prius that some kid rolled in Springfield.” He turned the dial and Lynyrd Skynyrd began to play.

  “So,” said Pop, touching her shoulder. “What do you think?”

  “She’s speechless!” Stew said. “Wait for it — here comes the screaming.”

  Cherry managed two words, drowned out by the radio. Stew switched it off.

  “What was that?”

  Cherry swallowed.

  “Fuck. Me.”

  The three stood on the lawn, admiring the gleaming Spider. It looked entirely out of place, a time machine dropped in the middle of the shit-pot Stone Age. Pop let out a long whistle.

  “Well,” said Stew, “this is ironic.” He glanced at Cherry. “Am I using that word right?”

  “I’ll give it back,” said Cherry. “I should give it back.”

  Stew leaned on the hood, pressing his cheek to the curves. “Mmm.”

  “Please don’t molest the car,” Cherry said. She glanced at her father. “I’m sorry, Pop.”

  Pop puffed out his mustache. “What are you sorry for?”

  “She just gave it to you?” Stew said.

  “These are the keys.” Cherry dangled the key ring. “It’s a thank-you present, I guess.”

  “Some thank-you,” Pop mumbled.

  “Well, I did save her life,” Cherry said. Pop cocked an eyebrow. “What? I did.”

  “Can I drive it?” Stew asked.

  “You have a car.”

  “I don’t have an Alfa Romeo. Wait, if I save her life, can I get one, too?”

  Neighbors peered through their curtains. Mrs. Budzenia was walking her German shepherd, Grover. She stared. Grover peed.

  Pop cleared his throat. “Let’s go inside.”

  “Come on, Pop!” said Stew. “Can Cherry take me for a spin —?”

  “Now!”

  Stew walked backward into the house, clutching at his heart, pining for the car.

  Pop and Cherry stayed a moment.

  “Are you mad at me?”

  “Why would I be mad at you?” Her father rubbed his chin, his stubble going shhhh-shhhh.

  “You seem kinda . . .” Cherry made a grouchy face.

  Pop shook his head, then said, almost accusing, “It’s just . . . I can’t give you a Spider.”

  “I know, Poppa! I know.” She hugged his arm. “I love the Gremlin. It was made with love.”

  Pop grunted.

  She nodded toward the sports car. “Besides, think of all the speeding tickets I’d get in that thing.”

  Pop grunted again at a higher pitch.

  They stood arm in arm. The Spider seemed to grin back stupidly, like a new puppy.

  “It really is beautiful,” said Cherry.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “I can’t give it back, can I?”

  “I would disown you.”

  She leaned her head on his shoulder. “Thank you, Poppa.”

  He put his arm around her. “You deserve it.”

  At 1:04 a.m., Cherry plugged her dead phone into its charger. The little Nokia played its cloying jingle and began to ping-ping! with texts from her best friend, Vi.

  12:01:

  Hi. Sundays suck. I’m bored. Call me.

  2:30:

  What’s going on down there!!!!! It’s all over fbook.

  2:43:

  Gaaaaaa!!!! Holy shit call me call me!!!!

  2:52:

  I’m coming down there.

  3:31:

  Where are u? This place is a madhouse.

  4:25:

  Ok ned says you went home. Call me k?

&n
bsp; She turned off the light and crawled into bed. Curled into a ball, sheet tucked to her chin, she dialed Lucas’s number.

  “Just calling to say good night and that I fucking love you.”

  “I called your house line, but your bro said you were out.”

  “Yeah, I had an insane evening,” Cherry whispered. “I’ll tell you about it in the morning.”

  “Did you tell your dad about us?”

  Cherry stared into the gloom. The glow from Lucas’s window bled through her drapes. She pictured him at his desk, sketching. “Not yet. You?”

  “Yeah. Dad said good for me ’cause I’d never do better.”

  Cherry smothered a laugh. “Hey,” she said.

  “Yeah?”

  “You’re the most amazing thing that happened to me today.”

  “You, too.”

  The exhaustion settled on her like a blanket, and they whispered their good-nights. She dreamed of piloting a rocket car across the sky, an endless ocean sweeping beneath her wheels.

  Cherry’s alarm chirped at 5:05. Her pre-dawn run was comatose. Her eyes passed over the pavement without seeing it, her ears filled with the rush of her breath. She showered, dressed for school, and was pulling on her sneakers when the previous day began to climb her like ivy. The sun was bleeding through her blinds. It was a new world out there. Or maybe she was new. Or both.

  “Can I drive the Spider to school today?” Stew asked. He stood in the hallway wearing nothing but a towel. With the toothbrush in his mouth, it sounded like, “Cahwah dah da shaydah wa oolooway?”

  “No chance.”

  He removed the toothbrush.

  “I hate you.”

  She patted his cheek.

  Pop was at the kitchen table. Red Sox mug. Sports section. His mustache was dusted with white powder.

  “You’ve been eating donuts.”

  “Good morning to you, too.”

  She checked the fridge. The Entenmann’s box was half empty. “Jesus, do I have to start putting a padlock on these?” She turned with a grin. “It’s fine. Everyone deserves a treat once in a while.”

  Pop fluffed the paper. “Uh-oh.”

  “What oh?”