by G L Rockey
The drummer did a drum roll. Peggy executed a sloppy bump and grind, then her voice hacked from the microphone, “Let's hear it for the great white hope, piano playing Jack Carr. Get yer ass up here, doll.”
Whistles, cheers, a loud boooo, a chant: “Jack, Jack, Jack.”
Keeps you humble.
Berry said, “Go ‘hut that bitch up, Carr.”
Peggy over the loud speaker again: “Let’s hear it for the piano man.”
Amid pleasant applause, I went up the gazebo steps.
Taking my arm, Peggy rubbed her nobleness against me pretty good. In the rubbing, her left noble popped out. She hauled the matching one out, squeezed them together, a drum roll, and Peggy did some more bump and grind.
Cheers, whistles, applause. One boo.
Peggy took the microphone in hand and said to the Billy Boys, “Dogwood Blossoms, hit it.”
The Billy Boys hit it, I accompanied on keyboard, and Peggy slurred through Dogwood Blossoms.
Half way through the song, I noticed Snakebite, Neon, and Gillian had joined Berry and Galbo at the bar. I observed Berry's hands on Gillian's shoulders. He seemed to be pushing words down her throat. I also observed Gillian glancing my way.
Dogwood Blossoms over, Peggy looking toward Berry and company, said into the microphone, “Hey folks, look who's here, a big hand for the albino shithead, Snakebite Walker, give him the fin’er too.” She flashed her middle finger.
I started to stand but Peggy sat on my lap and chewed into my ear. “Ya ain't going nowhere.” Then she said to the Billy Boys, “Walking After Midnight, boys, hit it.”
The band hit it and she started wailing: “I go out waalkin, after midnight, out in the starlight….”
I noticed, coming to the dance area, Berry and Gillian. Berry began some kind of rumba boogie in front of Gillian. Not a pretty sight. Gillian pretty much stood there, swayed, and did a good job of ignored Peggy's tit in my ear.
Song ended. Applause, whistles, booos, Peggy kissed my cheek and said, “I dedicate this next one to Jack … ‘Crazy’. Hit it boys.”
I started to get up, “I gotta go.”
“Sit down.” She pushed me back.
The crowd cheered. Peggy straddled my lap, put everything in my face, the Billy Boys hit it, and she started to wail: “Crazy, I'm crazzy for feeling so lonely….”
My attention on Berry’s hands roaming over Gillian’s body like a quack looking for lumps, I noticed that she was staring through me to Upper Michigan.
Singing, Peggy nodded me toward the lake and snapped her bikini bottom. I looked. Several people were mooning the festivities. I also noticed that Berry, haw-hawing, was maneuvering Gillian to the side of the water’s edge for a closer look.
Crazy ended, Peggy said, “I gotta go pee pee.” I stepped down, stood by the side of the gazebo, lit a cigarette, and noted a new moon rising. Its light welding the night sky with the purple landscape, a smart wind began to blow and the cattails by the water's edge swayed in the breeze.
I sniffed the air—rain—noticed that Gillian and Berry had disappeared, and Galbo yelled, “Time to roast the marshmallows,” and through the music like in a foggy dream, I watched Big Joe throw paper and branches on a smoldering fire, the fire sparked and popped as people came to the fire, stuck marshmallows into its glow, ate from sticky fingers.
Peggy returned from pee pee, pupils dilated, glassy eyed, and very stoned, whispered in my ear, “‘ets go ‘uck.”
I thought I heard Berry laughing then I heard Gillian screaming from the direction of the lake. I looked. Berry and Gillian in the water, he had a handful of her nobleness.
Peggy laughed, staggered, leaned on me, slurred, “‘et's go my place.”
The fire a red glow, the night dissolved into dark mumbling, hearty chuckles, a tiny scream then, in the distance, lightning flashed and the thunder shook the ground. People scurried for their cars.
Band leader Larry went to the microphone, “That's it folks, gonna rain … anybody out there. Guess not, night all.”
I motioned to him, he came down, and I handed him Peggy. She was comatose. He led her off somewhere.
I walked to the bar where Joe packed for a hasty retreat.
I plunked my cup on the bar.
Joe paused, poured, said, “I'll have one with you.”
I snatched the whiskey in a gulp and looked Joe in the eye. Looking like he had lost something, he gulping a belt of Wild Turkey and I saw for the first time, Survivor Joe wasn’t so sure.
I headed for Winston and as I walked past the gazebo I saw Berry's wife dragging him toward the parking lot. He was drenched and his rug was missing. I wondered where Gillian was.
Further, I noticed Neon, not so all-together, packing up her Indian blanket. As I noticed, I heard to my left, “You're dead, prick.”
I looked in Snakebite’s emaciated face, “Which time?”
Snakebite pressed his sunglasses to the bridge of his nose and stepped closer. His chin stuck out like I had seen Catholics, on TV, receiving communion.
He said again, “You're dead, prick.”
I looked at his hat and smiled, “New hat?”
Ducking my words, he grabbed his hat.
His skinny face hanging out there pretty good, I couldn't resist. I jerked his glasses off, punched him between the eyes, then kneed him in the groin. He fell to the ground. Neon screamed.
I walked toward Winston.
Lot of screaming behind me, starting to sprinkled, putting Winston's top up, Gillian, wet dress clinging to her skin, hair streaming water around her face, brushing by, said, “My place, an hour.”
“Which one?”
She turned, “Smart ass, the farm, an hour.” She stomped off toward Snakebite and Neon.
Lightened illuminated the park, then the thunder, and it began to rain.
I stood there for some minutes contemplating time and chance.
CHAPTER 4
Real Time
10:45:02 P.M. CDT
The quick moving thunderstorm moved to the east, Gillian drove Snakebite's Silver Rolls Royce toward downtown Nashville. Snakebite and Neon sprawled in the back seat, he dragged on a Marlboro 100, drank Meyer's Rum from a bottle, nursed his bruises, and cursed, “Fucking Carr heee’s parts … cat ‘ood … make it a slow roast … ‘ip that Irish prick limb from limb … alive … ‘ook what's left.”
Back at Felix The Cat, no band tonight, customers sparse, two Kittens not busy, the Wurlitzer featured “Nobody's Got It All” by John Anderson.
Angelo and Stella watched the trio stumble into the lounge. Neon passed out in a booth, Stella evil-eyed Gillian. Snakebite sat at the bar, sucking on his bottle or run, mumbled incoherently, “‘ucking Carr is parts….”
Gillian said she wasn't feeling well, clothes wet, cold, she was going to go home, take a hot shower, go to bed.
Snakebite babbling, “No yas ain’t,” passed out. His head hit the bar with a thud.
Angelo told Stella he would lock up, take care of Snakebite and Neon, go ahead home.
The rain stopped, Gillian went to the parking lot, started her bike and headed north on slick I-24.
Stella, not far behind, followed in her purple PT Cruiser.
CHAPTER 5
Jack’s Time
Me and Winston waiting out in the boondocks, distant lightning illuminating the night sky like war movie scenes, images of Berry squeezing Gillian's whatever playing with my thoughts, I said to myself, “She stiffs you, shows up on an Indian blanket with Snakebite, ends up in a lake playing grab ass, says ‘my place, an hour,’ and you paddle over like a circus seal offered a bucket of Charlie Tuna. What is this?”
I checked the time, little after 11:30.
My place, an hour, that was an eon ago. Figures.
Another eon passed and I thought, what a jerk for even coming here. Then I heard a motorcycle coming down the road. Gillian pulled beside Winston, glanced me a blank, said not a word, got off her bike and walked to t
he house. I followed and going up the front steps, said, “Imagine meeting you here.”
Entering the house, she said, “I need to get out of these clothes, take a shower.”
Hadn't changed a bit.
* * *
In the bedroom, I took my boots off and sat on the bed. Window open to the night air, Gillian showering, I heard a car on the road. It slowed, then went on. I figured it was the neighbors from the next farm, or somebody lost.
Nursing a pint of Jack Daniels (I kept a spare in the Winston's boot), the bathroom door open, I glanced at Gillian taking a shower. Unbelievable.
I took a sip and lit a Salem.
Drying herself, Gillian came to the bed and sat on the edge. “You drink too much.”
I said, “Say, do I know you?”
“I know.”
“What happened?”
Drying her hair: “You and Moore were getting it on pretty good tonight.”
I stared at the little bit of bathroom light reflecting off the thin gossamer curtains snapping in the wind and listened to the night trying to rain, said, “Are you for real?”
Still drying. “Avoided that nicely.”
Lightning ripped the night and the house rumbled and the thunder rolled like vibrating kettle drums. A new wind pushed through the trees beyond the yard and two small pine trees rubbed the peeling clapboards. The window blind cord taped against the window sill and the lacy curtains floated out in the breeze like giant moths. The porch swing bumped the side of the house with rusty chains screeching a worn out sound.
I waited for first drops of new rain and they came, pelting the roof and I begin to think how much this all seemed like stealing time from the long notes so the short notes will last and when at last we get the rhythm, it's gone.
Gillian stopped brushing her hair and stretched out on the bed. “What’s a matter.”
“You know, I have this thing, when I read a book, I like the chapters in order and all of them there.”
“John….”
“Why, I mean why?”
After what seemed too long, she said, “You remember, that ride on my bike, that Sunday….”
“There was only one ride, how could I forget.”
“Stella saw us, she told Snakebite … I went into work Monday night and….”
“Told you to skip that gig.”
“Snakebite asked me if I had been with you, I told him no. He threatened me….” She hesitated, thinking, I think, then said, “Then he told me he was going to fire me and ….” She hesitated like she was going somewhere with that, then didn't.
I turned to her. “So what, he fires you.”
“Later.”
“No phone call, no nothing.”
She lifted my shirt and played with my second-from-right chest hair. “Why don't you take those clothes off.”
“That's good, real good, hickory dickory dork.”
“Will you knock it off … you have to trust me.”
“Which you?”
She smacked the pillow and rolled over on her side.
I said, “Nice back.”
“Shut up.”
I sipped and lightning flashed then thunder crawled across the sky. The rain intensified to a steady pouring and I smelled, coming through the window, the wet earth. I lit a fresh Salem, leaned back against the headboard, closed my eyes and, mingling with the eventful night, Gillian touched my arm, “You okay?
“Peachy, forget it.”
She sat up and whacked me with her pillow. “Damn it, no ‘forget it’s, remember.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“Give me a slug of that.”
I gave her the bottle of Jack Daniels.
She sipped, hesitated like she was thinking, gave me the bottle back, said, “I don't want to fight. Not now. I'm just tired … I missed you … I want your warmth. Take those clothes off, hold me.”
I reached and held her little finger. “How's that?”
“Jerk.”
I took a slug and, obeying her disrobe request, said, “Speaking of getting it on, you and Berry were doing a good job of it all night.”
“He’s an asshole….” pause, could hear the wheels grinding, “are you fucking that Peggy slut.”
“Simply amazing, you're out of my life, what, three months, not a word and….”
“Shut up.” She rolled to her side, settee in my face, said, “I love you.”
See what I mean, hasn't changed a bit and I love her madly.
The rain slowed to a steady patter and distant thunder bumping around in the night, light rain ran down the gutters, dripping at the bottom.
I reached to touch her. “Sleeping?”
“Waiting for you to make a move.”
“One consolation.”
“What?”
“You're still here.”
She smacked a pillow and sat up like Buddha on a lotus flower.
I could hear she was thinking again. After a minute she said. “I love you, very much.”
“Tell me something.”
“What?”
“Are you fucking Snakebite?”
She turned like a cat and smacked my face with an amazingly fast left. “You're being a jerk, you know … here we are wasting time on nothing.”
“I didn't realize I was on the clock.”
Lightning hard right jab to my jaw. The jab felt like there was more there but she had held back. She stood beside the bed, and crossed her arms over her chest. “Damn you, damn you.”
“Come here.” I held my arms out, “Sorry I said that.”
“Pay me, you bastard, now, then we fuck!”
I tried to take her hand.
“No.” She shivered and an awful groan from somewhere deep came out of her. “You think it, so think it, think it all.”
I was feeling dumb, low, and rotten. “You don't have to do this….”
“Think everything.”
I saw she was trembling. I wanted to put the sheet, something, around her. I said, “You don't have to do this.” I moved to hold her.
“Don't touch me.”
I stayed put. “I'm sorry….”
“Shut up.” She clutched herself, elbows crossed, holding her shoulders.
“Gillian….”
“Whatever you can think of, think I did it. Drugs, men, women, even a dog. How's that, spike your imagination? Every night, sometimes ten, twenty … how's that … still love me … want to marry me now?”
“I'm sorry, I….”
”Oh God … why do I love you.”
I listened to her sobs mingling with the rain. Tears glistened down her face and dripped to her folded arms. I reached to touch her. “You didn't really, did you?”
“Jesus Christ.” She pushed me away, wiped her eyes, tilted her head back, and stared at the ceiling. “You asshole.”
Lightning flashed. She looked like a marble statue, shining and smooth and carved and a beautiful silhouette against faded flashes of muted lightning, shadow in pale blue. I studied the fine line of her body, the firm line of her jaw and thought how much I loved her and her voice and her way of crying and telling me I was an asshole. Must be something to it. I couldn't think of living without her.
I stood beside her and wiped her face with my hands. “I need you. Marry me.”
She didn't move.
I kissed her neck and her face and the breeze blew cool on us and I eased her onto the bed and I pressed her warm to me and reasoned with this stillborn night that I had told only one other person ever, that I needed them.
After some time she sat up. “Jack, I….” She was going to tell me something but stopped.
I held her. “What?”
“Give me a little more time, not long, okay, I need to tie up a few loose ends.”
“Is that an ‘I do’?”
“But one thing.”
“Ah oh.”
“You can't say anything about us, tonight, now, to anybody, not even Sago.”
How’d she know Sago? Only time she saw him was that night at The Cat, his tutorial on smiles … let it go.
* * *
Sunday a day of bliss, Sunday night bliss 2, Monday morning, after a lingering kiss before I left for work, I asked Gillian to reconsider Felix The Cat, just call in and tell Snakebite she quit. She couldn’t just yet.
“Why?”
She said “later” and I promise to keep my big mouth shut
* * *
After a quick pit stop at my apartment to ready for work, the trip to TV12 a cloud—nine plus classic, Joy couldn’t believe the look on my face, sitting in my office, things looking up, up, up, Sago popped his head in the door, took a look and wanted to know how much the lottery jackpot was I had won.
“Whaddaya mean?”
“The smile.”
“Say Sago, I know we talked about her, you saw her that night at The Cat, the smile tutorial of yours … but have you ever met Gillian?”
“Don’t think so, why?”
“Nothing.”
He then told me he was close on the S-Stuff, rumor was, raid coming down sooner than expected. Then he said, “Are you okay?”
“Super, couldn't be better.”
CHAPTER 6
Real Time
2:45:30 A.M. CDT
Monday evening slow at Felix The Cat, past midnight even slower, Gillian overheard Snakebite mumbling to Stella that he was going down to the ranch. He had an order for the chinchilla and he wanted to give her a final squirt. He wanted to know how long the chinchilla had been off her medication. Stella said since a week after she arrived. He said, “Good, 'em prick quacks is getting picky.” He then told her Chuck would be delivering a new chinchilla in a week. Stella should be ready to meet him, pick up the delivery. He'd let her know the exact time. Then he mumbled something about taking the chinchilla to the airport.
Changing to her street clothes in the dressing room, Gillian asked Neon about the ranch Snakebite was always talking about, was she ever there.
“Nope, sometin’ for kids.”
“Where is this Disneyland?”