Pistol Fanny's Hank & Delilah

by Welch, Annie Rose

  Something about it reminded Hank of the smooth texture of steer horns, felt like it too. The doorways and windows seemed to be chiseled out by a master hand.

  Nothing seemed to fit…yet everything fit. Even the television seemed to be carved into stone. It had a real bedrock kind of feel.

  There was one bathroom in the place, and Hank thought the mirrors hanging on the wall resembled puddles of water frozen into a reflection. The floor appeared to be made of a million pennies glowing copper from the ambience of the sun shining through the windows. The shower was open except for a wall of glass and a wall of stone, creating its pond-like shape.

  Hank looked around the bathroom. “How could Gillian forget this place?”

  “She forgets most places she has. Now that she’s remembered this one, she’ll let someone who’s living in the slums take it. She always does. She doesn’t tell people that, but she’s good in that way. You want to shower first?”

  “No, you go ahead. I’ll wait and go after.”

  While Delilah showered, he could hear her singing “Out of My Head and Back In My Bed.” He could hear her splashing her feet to the beat. Hank laughed, and after staring out of the windows at the views for a while, he heard her emerge and call to him that she was done. He was eager to clean the airport grime from his body and let the warm water roll over his shoulders. He stood naked in the shower, his head under the water, his arms stretched against the stone, feeling like he was worth a million bucks.

  Hank dried his hair and slipped on a black t-shirt, his dark jeans, and his Memphis hat. He took a seat on the red leather couch and waited for the sun to go down, putting his head back and closing his eyes once it had. When he reopened them, she was standing before him, staring.

  Heaven help me, he almost moaned out loud.

  Her hair was curly and wild, her skin glowing as tender as the fading sun just had. It was as though she had somehow stolen the last of its light, gliding it over her skin. Her cream silk dress flowed down her body; wrapped in the front, it created just a light ripple as she walked. The hem fell just far enough from her thigh to be considered sexy, yet classy. A black leather jacket draped her shoulders, and a long gold cross fell well past her breasts, glinting like the diamond earrings shining like stars in her ears.

  He tipped his hat to her. “You look mighty fine, ma’am. Mighty fine.”

  She smiled. “I’ll take it, Hank. Thank you.”

  They dined at a little Mexican restaurant along the coast. Dimly lit by hundreds of votive candles flickering throughout, the blue tile along the walls shone like a well-polished floor. It smelled like cilantro, fresh tortillas, and lime.

  The waiter sat them in a dark little corner booth, and they could faintly hear the waves crashing to shore over the music playing in the background. The man took their food orders, but before he asked for their drinks, he looked at Delilah and smiled.

  “I hope you don’t mind, but I’d like to guess your drink of choice. Is that okay with you?”

  Delilah stared right at Hank. “This is going to be fun.”

  “I believe you’re going to order—” the waiter put a finger to each temple, closed his eyes, blinked a few times “—red wine.”

  Delilah turned her eyes on him then. “Try again.”

  He tried a few more times—champagne, the real expensive kind, a watermelon margarita, or a banana- coconut drink with a big umbrella.

  “I think you have this Lousianna lady all wrong,” Hank said, taking a sip of his water. “Do you mind if I give it a try?”

  Delilah held out her hand to him as if to say, Why, go right ahead. She looked up at the waiter. “You see, my Mississippi man here, he has what he likes to call the feelin’. It hasn’t steered him wrong yet.”

  Hank thought for a moment. “She’ll take a Corona with lime. Heavy on the lime.”

  Delilah slapped her hands together, looked back up at the waiter. “See how good he is? We’ll take two of those, please, to start. Keep ’em coming steady, you hear?”

  The waiter came back with two cold beers, two slices of lime for Delilah, one for Hank. In the glow of the votive candles, she slowly moved the limes around the mouth of her frosty bottle. The flesh of the lime created a thick ring around the rim. Juice flowed down the glass, acidic and tangy. She sucked the limes and then plopped them in, the action causing bubbles to explode in the beer. She licked the lime pieces off with her tongue and lifted her bottle to his.

  “Here’s to losing our minds in California.” She laughed that laugh, razor-edged candy with just a hint of sensuality.

  And to losing other things, Hank thought. “Here’s to it.”

  They clinked bottles and both took a slow pull, eyeing each other with a fierce fire. And like a slow wind blowing off the ocean, the night seemed to drift. They ate tacos and drank too much. Their hands smelled like lime and their breath lingering, sweet alcohol. They laughed like no one was watching, and they talked like no one was listening. They clanked more than anyone else, and they kissed one too many times with green, fruit-filled mouths.

  When the music from the restaurant started to get louder and people started to dance, Hank pulled Delilah on the floor. Hank was moving fast, while Delilah was taking it slow. The men in the room looked at Hank with eyes that said, If she’s your girl, watch your back, because she’s too good for you, but just right for me. The girls rolled their eyes at Delilah. She was more than just a step ahead of the rest. They were hot together, and the room burned with jealousy. All they could feel, though, was the residual warmth, making them feel just toasty.

  The miles between where they started, and where they were, seemed like a million and one. They seemed to disappear, like sand in an hourglass. They were disconnected from anything and everything, except for what they felt for each other.

  Before their time was through, they had a steady line of bottles lined in their corner and too many half-eaten, fully squeezed, pungent fruit pieces lying around the table. They called a cab to take them home, and feeling a little light from a dinner full of delicious folly and sensual dancing, they decided to take a walk along the beach.

  The sand was soft and warm, making its gritty way through the spaces between their toes. Waves crashed against rock, spraying them with cool droplets of water as they walked past. The moon in California floated over the water like a buoy. And an endless number of stars lit up the sky.

  Delilah was playful, full, and still dancing. “Hank, why did you become a lawyer? You seem so young to have accomplished so much.”

  Hank twirled her around, her bare feet collecting sand. “Well, Delilah, I always envisioned this life in my head—I wanted to be the voice. I wanted to stand up for the good people of the world. The ones who don’t have plenty of money to buy the system, the ones who get hurt and disappear with no voice to speak out for them. Some of them are real, Delilah. They can sit with me and speak to me and tell me all about their horrendous stories. And I’m there for them every step of the way. And then there are those who have no voices.”

  “Ghosts.”

  “Yes, ghosts who no longer have any choices, except to haunt me until I do right by them.”

  Delilah stopped dancing, her eyes glossing over. “Why do you always look at the soles of my shoes?”

  “Do I?”

  “Yes, you do.” She paused for a moment, opening her mouth to speak. He could smell the lingering sweetness on her breath, a hint of the tang still on her tongue. A powerful wave crashed, they were sprayed again, and she closed her mouth. A determined look drifted into her eyes. “Why do you want her, Hank? You know she’s not going to lead you down any yellow brick road. She’s going to lead you right into the hands of the devil.”

  Hank looked away, watching the water. Delilah took his face in her hand, moving it back toward her.

  “I mean it, Hank. Why do you let your thoughts run away with her? Why are you here with me if you love her? What do you want with me? What do you want from her?”


  Hank couldn’t answer her. He didn’t know how to. He loved them both, and he couldn’t figure out how to find one without hurting the other. He didn’t know if Pistollette cared, or if Delilah was really Pistollette. Hank had no idea what was going on, and with his mind swimming in what felt like magic, he didn’t want to speak something he couldn’t take back. Hank was just a teaspoon away from bursting again, with no idea what was going to come out of his mouth next.

  He tried to keep it balanced but honest. “The part of me that is attracted to her, it’s dangerous. I know it. I can feel it. And it’s truly psychotic and disastrous. We’re wrong for each other. We’re so different it’s frightening. But for some reason, I still want her. I want to know her more than I’ve ever wanted to know any secret this earth possesses. Even more than I want her, I feel like I want to accept her.”

  “You are wrong for each other, but maybe you’re not right for anyone else either.”

  “That’s how life goes. You’re not right for each other, not meant for anyone else. You end up alone. And some day, at the end of your life, you find yourself wondering where the hell it all went wrong.”

  Delilah curled her fingers around his. When they made it to the doorstep of the stone and glass house, Hank turned his hat around and kissed her. He pressed his lips to hers and they moved until they were pressed against the door.

  She slowly pulled away from him, staring into his eyes. She unlocked the door, without so much as a glance behind her, and walked backward while he walked toward her, until they were in the kitchen. Hank stood with his stomach against the counter, watching and wanting more of her.

  Delilah kept an eye on him, opening cabinets and taking out a bottle of red wine. She set it on the counter.

  “What’s your poison, Rivers?” She licked her lips.

  Hank’s stomach quivered. “My poison?”

  “What can destroy you? The end of Hank Rivers.”

  “Tequila and a sharp-shootin’ gal named Pistollette.”

  Delilah narrowed her eyes at him, directing those storm clouds his way. He narrowed back.

  “You’re not the end of me, Delilah. You’re the beginning of it all.”

  “Not tonight, I’m not going to be.” She reached up in the cabinet again and pulled out a large bottle of tequila. She slid it down the counter with a quick thrust of her wrist. Hank had to catch it before it slid to the floor and shattered.

  “All right,” Hank said, smiling. “Tell me now, what’s your poison, Little Sister?”

  She held up the long bottle of red wine. Her voice became slow, like dripping molasses, her movements as sensual as warm honey to a stinging bee. “Red wine and a boy named Hank. Here are the rules. No cups, no measuring, no holding back. We drink straight from the bottle. We drink, Hank, until we get our fill. And then, we forget.” She popped the cork and put the bottle to her mouth, taking a long drink.

  Hank opened his own poison, fierce like gasoline fumes, sweet like candy, taking a drink just as long as hers. He nodded and took another drink as she watched him. She watched him drink, licking his lips after he was done. Her breath was coming faster and deeper.

  “I’ll be right back, Hank.”

  Hank walked over to the hallway, the firelight from the front room just barely lightening the area. He slid down the wall, one leg out, one leg close to his body, and lifted the drink to his lips again, looking straight through it.

  She floated in the glass, cream colored and wrapped in silk, a sheer, longer dress hanging from her shoulders. It gathered at her waist, with a slit straight from her thigh to the floor. She dragged her feet as she walked past him, the bottle dangling in her hand. She looked down at him, he looked up at her, and they both smiled.

  She met him on the floor, took a seat across from him. They went drink for drink. Sip for sip. Pull for pull. Shot for shot, they sat with their backs against the wall, his poison, her poison, all that poison glowing like blood and gold in the rising shadows of the fire raging in the background. Hank felt all those inhibitions, all those unspoken words and feelings, drowning, sinking further and further with each drink.

  Delilah put her bottle down, took a deep breath. She stared toward the light, fire raging in her pupils, her eyes shining from the heat. “I’ve been trying, Hank. I really have. But you are my one teaspoon to crazy.”

  Hank stared in the same direction, his eyes dream-like and hazy. He could smell the heaviness of it all, the lime, the salty beach. It was all there, trapped with them in that narrow space of time. “I think your rules are wrong. I hate them. I want to break every damn one of them.”

  “Rules are meant to be broken. Life’s not much fun if you don’t bend and break them sometime. The ones you know are damn well worth breaking. Go on, shatter them, Hank.”

  “I didn’t know, until you, what I’d been missing.”

  “One more day with you feels like a life sentence because it will never be enough.”

  “I hated my life before you came along. Now, I don’t think I would fight for anything more.”

  “I told a lie, Hank. I loved a man once. His name was Paulie. He meant the world to me.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Need to know basis.”

  “Stop talking about him. I want you so badly, there’s no limit to what I’d do to have you.”

  “Don’t forget about me, Hank.”

  “Never. You are my one unforgettable girl.”

  “When you smile at me, Hank, my knees go weak. I can hardly stand or breathe. I get a real doozy of a feeling in the pit of my stomach. I want to eat everything, but nothin’.”

  “I feel like the luckiest man, Delilah. I feel like I’m holding a seven up in heaven.”

  “Hank, I’ve never been with a man I could really feel. I feel you already.”

  The free admissions went in circles, all bundled up in the neat package of the hallway. Over and over the lines went, until they were delirious with want and need. Hank felt it. They had said everything, all but the one thing. The rest could wait.

  “I love you, Delilah.” There, he just said it. He felt good about it too. He shattered that rule into a million ways, stealing the most important piece so she could never put it back together.

  There was a long pause as the shadows stretched, the log crackled. Another feeling set free, another fear drowned and submerged in the poison.

  “I love you too, Hank,” she whispered.

  They turned to each other at the same time. They sat and stared, their eyes dancing toward one another. Hank knew then how the dry bush felt when there was nothing between it and the fire except the wind, directing and controlling the speed in which it helplessly burned to the ground. Oh heaven help him, he wanted nothing more than to be inside that woman.

  Moving slowly, Hank crawled to her until they were nose to nose. He steadied his breathing. He could feel her trembling breath as it washed over him. It bathed him in something stronger than the alcohol content.

  He spread his arms around her, enclosing her against the wall. And together, they lazily slid up until they were standing. He stared down at her, pressing his body into hers. His mind was moving a million miles a minute. Everything was spinning, preparing for those few moments in time when he knew everything would stop. Life would cease to exist, except for their pounding hearts begging to be set free.

  Hank hesitated. He loved Delilah, but it wasn’t fair to still feel love for another woman and be with her this way. He had to stop.

  She sensed his hesitation, could read between his lines, he could tell. She rubbed her leg back and forth against him, reminding him of how much he wanted this, how much he needed this. A slight moan escaped from her lips before she whispered, “Forget about her. Just for one night. I know you love her, too. I’m all right with that. But for tonight, let’s just be Hank and Delilah.”

  Hank didn’t know if he could stop himself. His body was begging, screaming, you can’t stop! He had to hav
e her, no matter the consequences. If she was Pistollette, there was no turning back. He was going back on everything he had ever believed. Every standard he had ever set for himself, every promise he ever made, he was going to break it. He was doing the same if she was Delilah. He was going to break it all for one night to be buried deep inside her.

  Delilah put her mouth to his, moaning and trembling. He gave in then to every desire she had built up in him, the sensation rising higher and higher just to drop lower and lower. They seemed to dance in circles as they kissed and touched. Without even noticing, they had moved into the bathroom, warm water soaking them as they undressed each other. The hot air carried the smells of frankincense and myrrh in its humid embrace.

  The warmth of the shower fogged the room, steam rising like smoke, water dripping like a steady flowing rain. He outlined her body with his fingertips, ran his finger along her collarbone, between her breasts. He licked her neck, savoring the bittersweet taste of her, the red wine in her pores.

  Her hands ran through his hair, her tongue along the base of his jaw, as she sucked the skin on his chest. For every action there was a stronger reaction. It was their law, some kind of theory made between the two of them.

  Pressing her back against the clouded glass wall, Hank tangled his fingers with hers, slowly moving her hands above her head. She knotted her fingers tighter with his, her knuckles imprinted in the fog. She wrapped her legs around him, and when he rocked into her, they both cried out in pleasure and need.

  Delilah moaned unintelligible words at the same frantic pace her hips rolled into him. He would stop just for a moment to stare at her, to absorb her, to bury himself so deeply in her she could never break away. His staring only seemed to excite her even more, and she would scream out and move quicker and faster. Her moans and pleas and trembling becoming more and more earth shattering with every touch, every ounce of love transferring between the two of them.