by Clara Nipper
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want you to get off on the wrong foot in a new town. See, I’m an encourager. I see what people are about and I encourage them in the proper direction. Know what I mean?”
“No clue.”
Jhoaeneyie laughed and laughed at that, scaring several passersby. “You…” Jhoaeneyie gasped. “You are amazing. You’re hilarious. I knew we’d hit it off.”
“I’ve got to go change,” Jack announced, standing up. “Save my seat, will ya, precious?”
“Wait! Don’t leave me.” I clutched his arm.
“I’ll be right back. Don’t you worry.”
“Why do you have to change? You look fine,” I persisted.
Jack looked down at himself. “I cannot hope to meet anyone as superfine as I am in this raggedy, wilted shirt. This tragic outfit is so eight o’clock. And just look at me!” Jack admired himself in the mirror behind the bar. “I am a mess.” He grinned seductively.
“Come right back,” I commanded.
“Of course, bobbin. My other shirt is in my car. You smoke as much as you need.” He left.
I glanced at Jhoaeneyie, who double-dipped, her eyes twinkling. Darcy and Ava-Suzanne were headed back to the bar to sit.
“I’m a witch,” Jhoaeneyie said, trembling with excitement as if presenting me with a gift. “Yep, Jhoaeneyie’s a witch,” she repeated, grinning. More patrons glared at the foghorn voice.
“Is that right?” I stirred the bowl of peanuts.
“Doesn’t that shock you?”
“Not particularly.” I shrugged and tossed a few nuts into my mouth, which made me thirsty enough to finish my beer. The bartender replaced the beer with a new, frosted one.
“I really am,” Jhoaeneyie added. “Although my daughter, Journey, isn’t sure she wants a pagan life, I’ve encouraged her to make her own choices.”
“Because you’re the encourager.” I laughed. “That’s beautiful.” I smiled so hard it hurt. “Journey, huh?”
“Yes, you’d love her.”
“I doubt that.”
“No, you would, I’m serious.” Double-dip. “She’s exceptional, you know what I mean?”
“Darcy. Ava-Suzanne. How’s it going?” I clapped Darcy on the back.
“I’m exhausted.” Darcy sighed with a smile. “I don’t know how I do it. I really don’t. With everything I do, I should be dead.”
I said nothing.
“You’re amazing,” Jhoaeneyie said.
“You’re a goddess,” Ava-Suzanne added.
Darcy put a hand on her left breast and addressed me. “There’s a lot going on in here, you know what I’m saying?”
I sank onto my bar stool and hugged my beer.
“Between my job,” Darcy continued, counting off on her fingers, “and supporting Ava-Suzanne, and my spiritual work and my art and then helping this one”—Darcy gestured to Jhoaeneyie—“with her music…I am done in. See, I’m real visual. That’s my medium. So music is more of a challenge.”
“A guitar is a moody mistress, you know what I mean?” Jhoaeneyie said. “See, I’m not like that. I flunk all simple stuff. Tying shoes, flushing the toilet. Give me something intricate and difficult. That’s my métier.” She pronounced it “may-teer.”
“Jack!” I shouted, seeing him come inside again. “Jack’s back.” I noted, with a little envy, how fresh and crisp he looked. I vowed to copy his changing clothes idea.
Jack grinned and sat. Everyone drank in silence for a few moments.
“Darcy’s done time,” Jack murmured in her ear. “Funny, huh?”
Interested, I turned back to Darcy and said, “Jack just told me you’ve done time. Is that true?” I wondered if that had served Darcy’s artistic purpose.
Fake modesty made Darcy smile archly and say yes.
“What for?”
“Forgery.”
I turned back to the bar and said to my beer, “Forgery’s a woman’s crime.”
“What?” Darcy heard me but seemed stunned. “Ava-Suzanne, my lover, has played in Europe. We’ll probably go back there soon.” Darcy sniffed. “Better class of people.”
“Is that so?” I asked Ava-Suzanne, whose nostrils curved into a snarl.
“Oh, Darcy, please don’t brag on me. You know I hate being an ornament. I have issues with being shown off,” Ava-Suzanne said, simpering.
I dared to put my hand reassuringly on Ava-Suzanne’s cold forearm. “Don’t worry about it. Really.”
The infidel voice of Jack slipped into my ear again. “She was third chair in Bumfuck, Arkansas, or some such mishbegotten place.”
I smothered my laughter by draining my beer. I hadn’t planned to drink so fast, but I had no other way of keeping a straight face. Plenty of time later to laugh out loud. I needed a cigarette badly.
“So, Ava-Suzanne, where have you played?” I asked.
“Oh,” Ava-Suzanne replied airily, “Europe, various places in the U.S. In different orchestras.”
“Do you play here?” I didn’t even know if Tulsa had an orchestra.
“No, she can’t anymore,” Darcy interrupted. “She has a serious energy blockage in her right hand. We’re getting alternative medicine to treat it, but until then, it’s agony for her to play.”
“You see,” Jhoaeneyie began, “emotions are connected to the body. I’ve seen it. Ava-Suzanne is gifted, but her obstacles from trauma forbid her playing.”
“Bullshit,” Jack cooed tipsily into my ear.
“Have you been to a doctor?” I asked.
“Yes, but they say I’m fine,” Ava-Suzanne answered haughtily, shaking out her right hand for emphasis as if it hurt to even talk about it.
“Allopathic medicine is worthless. That’s why we’re going to the womyn’s holistic natural healing clinic and have Qiu Qu with Cinnamon Moonbear. She’s the best. I’m learning her trade so that I can do it.”
“Ladyfair Moonbear is amazing !” Jhoaeneyie interjected.
“Cho Choo?” I asked.
“Yes.” Darcy warmed to her subject. “It’s a process of clearing nasty, thorny storages of pain.”
“Ask how.” Jack giggled.
“How?” I asked.
Darcy sat up straighter, clearly loving her own voice. “A qualified practitioner immerses Ava-Suzanne into specially supercharged ionized clear fluid…You know what that is?” Darcy asked smugly.
“Expensive water,” Jack whispered.
“And Ava-Suzanne remains there for a specified amount of time depending on what you’re clearing and how deeply.” Darcy smiled. “After which she is released and the first big breaths afterward are vital to the healing. That is what moves the blockages, those first powerful gasps.”
“You are shitting me,” I said.
“No, why would I? The results are well documented with research and case histories on their Web site. And I’ve seen it work wonders for Ava-Suzanne.”
“Yeah, the Chappadick treatment by inches,” Jack whispered in a slur. “I say, heal her all at once.” Jack and I clinked drinks again.
“Plus, I was a mess before I did it. It made me a whole new person,” Darcy added.
I waited to see if Jack had anything to say about this. He didn’t. He was smoking, though, and in glee, I took one and lit up, flicking one wooden match of my perpetual pocket collection with my thumbnail.
“Oh, baby, that’s cool,” Jack said. I grinned and set several more matches on the bar in case I needed them.
I pulled on the cigarette in ecstasy. Oh, God, the sweet, hot dryness that caressed me deep inside where no woman could get. I held the smoke inside, nestled in every crevice for over a full minute. I kissed the cigarette as I wrapped my lips around it for another long drag. I could keep a straight face now, no matter what Darcy and Ava-Suzanne said. Paradoxically, my career as a jock and a coach kept me in such great shape that I was a better smoker, try though I might to quit annually. With a smile, Jack watched me smoke and offered me
a sip of his shot. I took one and followed it with a long drink of beer. God, I loved things on my lips and in my mouth. Cigarettes, suckers, bottles, pens, pencils, straws, toothpicks, women. I offered my beer to Jack, who drank happily. Darcy and Ava-Suzanne were staring in distaste. I hadn’t noticed before, but under the calming influence of tobacco, I saw that Darcy was nervous and fidgety. Her lips were raw from continual licking, and her cuticles were bloody shreds. I wanted this over.
Darcy was pinching the bridge of her nose.
“What’s the matter, kitten?” Ava-Suzanne crooned.
“Just a second.” Darcy pressed her temples. “I have a headache, but I’m not a headache person. There.” Darcy smiled with all her teeth as if she had done a trick. “All gone. With all I do,” she began, Ava-Suzanne and Jhoaeneyie nodding sympathetically, “all my tension goes right to my neck and shoulders. That’s where all my tension goes. Right there. I carry a load of stress because of my multitasking.”
“Right now, she’s cleaning her oven,” Jack muttered.
“I need to find a good massage therapist. One who will take my special requirements into consideration. And work with me on many levels and simultaneous therapies. One who is exceptional because I like it deep. But till then,” Darcy smiled wistfully, “sometimes I get a little headache and I have to treat and heal myself. Thank God for me, huh?” All three laughed and raised their glasses. I had to shut my mouth, for it had fallen open. Jack winked at me.
“I’m hungry. Where can we go for a bite?” I asked, knowing it would end the interview.
“I’m a vegetarian,” Ava-Suzanne said prissily.
“Of course you are,” I said. “I didn’t fight my way to the top of the food chain to be a rabbit. But you might know where is a good restaurant for all of us. Do you eat milk, eggs, and cheese?”
“Yes.”
On a hunch, I asked, “You eat fish and chicken too, don’t you?”
“Yes, but not every day.” Ava-Suzanne pursed her lips and patted her short, messy, dishwater hair.
“Mostly, I cook for her. I’m a great cook. Chicken, fish, whatever, I can do it. We should have you over some time. We’re both vegetarians, but it would be delicious. And fun.” Darcy seemed sincere. I rolled my eyes in disgust. I knew animal rights activists and true vegetarians and militant vegans and vegetarian chefs. In Los Angeles it was very common. And nobody there had the temerity to admit she ate meat while claiming to be vegetarian. Even I knew fish and chicken were meat. Hell, milk was just liquid meat. Around the college where I coached, the vegetarian places were on every corner. What was uncommon, however, was a femme who would mix a stiff drink and eat a slab of meat. But I understood Darcy. Some people were poseurs and didn’t know it. What’s more, they didn’t want to know it.
“Sure, let’s do that some time. Suppose you tell me what you know about Michelle?”
“Let’s rock and roll!” Jhoaeneyie exclaimed.
Darcy flew through her nervous tics, which seemed odd for this wall of a woman. It would’ve fit her flyweight girlfriend better. Jack had gone to negotiate with the DJ for some better songs.
“All I know is, you better talk to Max Abbott. The number is in the book. Max can tell you everything.”
“Max Abbott.” I wrote it on a napkin wondering why in the hell Darcy couldn’t have told me this on the goddamn telephone. What a motherfucking waste of time. It didn’t occur to me until later that Darcy was lonely and wanted to be the first in town to lay claim to a new friend. I never considered that Darcy just wanted a night out and used me to get it. I continued, “Okay, what about this character…” I dug in the pocket of my navy sport coat for the scrap of paper I had saved since Michelle’s desperate call. “What about this Sloane Weatherly?”
Darcy motioned for me to shut up. Then she looked around and shook her head. “Don’t go looking for Sloane. Nobody wants to be found by Sloane. Leave it. Let that be, okay?” Darcy gathered my unused matches and tried, with her thumb, to light them, one after the other.
“Sloane is baaaad newwwwws, ” Jhoaeneyie said, then held up her hand. “But I can’t tell you why.” Ava-Suzanne just clenched up angrily, like a fussy fist.
I shrugged. “Okay. Listen, thanks for everything. It was nice meeting all of you. I can’t tell you what a help you’ve been,” I lied. “I’ll buy the next round. I’ve got to go.” I sucked the remaining foam from my beer and helped myself to another of Jack’s cigarettes, automatically flicking my thumbnail across the head of a match I removed from my pocket and applying it to the tip. “Not as easy as it looks,” I murmured. I motioned the bartender over, gave her the money for my own tab, a large tip, plus the next round for Jack, at whom I winked before sliding off the stool and into the night.
Chapter Seven
I struggled to get a deep breath. It had been easier to breathe in the bar. The atmosphere was like being under the ocean, the heat was like the center of a volcano, and the air was heavy and sodden. I called Max Abbott. A woman answered and told me that yes, Max would still receive visitors at this time of night. I hung up and even though I had been told she was dead, I tried to call Michelle. Still nothing. I wiped my face, which was slick with oil and sweat. I asked someone in the car next to mine how to get to Max’s address. Oklahomans were nice, obliging people and I liked most of them so far.
After continually wiping sweat from my face just to have it reappear, I fidgeted in the marble entryway of Max Abbott’s house. Maybe I should just leave this alone and go home. What the hell was I doing, anyway? A fool’s errand. Michelle would laugh at me. I was just removing the keys from my pocket to leave when a noise at the top of the stairs startled me.
As the woman descended the stairs, I felt two things: one, a flash of shocked recognition. This was the redhead from the club earlier tonight! The one who had called me a pickaninny and blown me off. So, she was in a sham marriage to this dude Max Abbott and liked lesbian action on the side. Well, I wouldn’t play that. The second thing I felt was a flush creeping over my body. It was especially prickly where my slacks met.
The woman was the sort who had three expressions: about to have sex, having sex, and just finished having sex. She was the kind whose hair was always mussed and tousled just right, her sloe-eyed glance more sultry and sparkling, her lips fuller and redder, her cheeks pinker and her voice huskier than anyone else’s. She was the sort who loved a good roll in the hay and good food, and anything else in the world was a bothersome bore. More than that, she was beautiful. To many, God gave a bounteous, voluptuous body. To many, God gave a pretty face. To very few did he give both, and Lord have mercy, she was one. She looked as if she had just stepped out of a painting.
She wore a floor-length black filmy robe cinched so tightly at her waist, the knot was disciplinary. She had legs to her throat and long auburn hair to the small of her back. The voluminous fabric that belled out around her on her descent revealed nothing but emphasized everything. She had a bosom that rose off her chest like a young boy’s bottom. Her breasts swayed and pulled against the thin gown, seeming as if they would climb up her neck any second. I kept my eye on them in case they did. She stood in front of me, waiting for me to look up and meet her eyes. I knew it and didn’t. I stared straight at her breasts. I watched two spots of material on her chest gather, harden, and protrude as if pouting. I realized my mouth was dry and I swallowed with difficulty. Oh, God, for a lollipop, a sucker, a pen, a pencil, a straw, a cigarette. I would smoke ten at once. My heart beat faster as I restrained myself from grabbing this woman and knocking her to the floor. My mouth would fasten hard onto one of the pouty nipples, pinching the other to silence it. I would quench that nipple with my saliva. Deep sucking and a silvery kiss left on one, as I would switch to the other, biting it, chewing it like an eraser and—
“Come in.” She twirled, turning away and walking into the living room.
I silently coached myself. Snap out of it. Don’t go slobbering and drooling all over Max’s
wife. This chick is as straight as they come. Calm down, she’s just a woman. I breathed. I fondled my matches. Just a woman like me. With that thought, I laughed out loud and smothered it by saying, “Thank you.”
Okay, so she was dangerous. But she’s Max’s and where is he? And what the hell was she doing at the club earlier? I must have a certain attitude with a chick like this. Don’t let her get to you, I coached myself.
“Sit down.” She gestured to a tiny footstool before seating herself languorously on a chaise. I rejected the footstool and chose an overstuffed wingback and cleared my throat. I was thinking of her big, ripe ass, like melons bouncing on two strings. I had admired it as she walked toward the chaise. Oh, what I couldn’t do with an ass like that. Smacking, slapping, spanking, grabbing, fucking, licking, biting, maybe I would just spread it and dive in. Just imagining the fragrance made my breath catch. I cracked my knuckles, feeling my fingers throb. A cigarette, goddammit. Please, please, just one and all this would be okay. I watched her open a box on a side table and extract a cigarette and put it in her mouth. Dunhill cigs. Poseur. Show smoker. But still, it was smoke. I leaned forward to catch a whiff. Obligingly, she blew smoke right into my face, never showing a single sign of recognition from the bar.
All right, I can be cool. “Aren’t you going to offer me anything?” I asked.
She smiled. “You have to really, really want it.”
I needed my mouth to close around a cigarette. The dry, smooth roundness of a good cigarette. The weight of it on my lips, its shape expressing my anticipation, its readiness to surrender itself to smoke in my mouth as I sucked on it with my breath, the firm balance it had, the fire in the tip… My mouth was dusty and my lips were aching, but I shrugged and said, “I don’t want anything that’s not given to me.”
She grinned approvingly. “Then you must have very little.”
“On the contrary, I have more than I need.” I removed my lip balm from my pocket and smoothed it over my mouth. I let my hands rest on my knees. I caught her glancing greedily at my strong, graceful, square hands.