Black Blade Blues

by J. A. Pitts

  I didn’t, not really. “If Katie said she loved me, she meant it, no matter where she said it, or what the circumstances.”

  “Fair enough,” she said, adding several teaspoons of sugar to her mug and passing the dish to me. “Do you love her?”

  I ladled sugar into my cup and didn’t look up.

  “Sex is not love, Sarah, I assume you know that already.”

  “True,” I said. “But she’s my first.”

  “First ever, or first girl?”

  “There was one guy in college,” I said, rolling my eyes. “But he was lousy, and controlling, and a shit, you know?”

  She let a hint of a smile touch her lips. “Sarah, you just described my first husband.”

  Husband, I didn’t even know she’d been married.

  “So, Katie is new and fresh, and intoxicating,” she said. “And you guys have great sex?”

  “Amazing,” I whispered, not looking up.

  “But it bugs you at the same time?”

  This I knew, cold. “No, not exactly. It’s just the whole gay scene.”

  The kettle whistled and Julie watched me for a moment before getting up. She poured boiling water into our cups and dropped in tea bags. She sat back down and lifted out her tea bag, dunking it over and over.

  “I think you are jealous of Melanie, and I think you’re a bigot.”

  I jerked back like she’d punched me. “Bigot?”

  “Sure,” Julie said, dunking her tea bag with no concern. “And a hypocrite.”

  “Well, fuck you very much,” I said, pushing away from the counter. “I have enough of this abuse in my head, I don’t need reinforcements.”

  I stalked to the door, not looking back.

  “Tell me I’m wrong,” she said.

  I paused, one hand on the door, and closed my eyes, trying to control my breathing. What could I say? I knew she was right, but it still hurt to hear it. I opened the door and walked out into the late afternoon sun. I tried to close the door gently to rise above the anger that threatened to flow over the levees but I didn’t quite succeed.

  I consoled myself as I stomped my way to my car that I hadn’t broken the glass in the door.

  Seventeen

  I PUT IN A BLACK SABBATH CD AND CRANKED THE STEREO UP to sixteen—enough to allow “War Pigs” to drown out the road noise. Traffic was horrible as usual, but I made it over to Crossroads to my apartment as the first strains of “Changes” echoed within my car.

  I hated that I was so transparent. Gunther and Stuart, Deidre and Jimmy, now Julie. They all knew what a two-faced liar I was.

  It’s not like I didn’t like Katie; hell, part of me wondered if I didn’t love her. But I just couldn’t wipe out the eighteen-plus years of socialization I’d received. I never knew a gay person until I was in college, as far as I know. Whether or not it was true, I somehow knew in my bones that God hated gays and they were unnatural, and all the rest of the rhetoric the church pushes out, and the rednecks, and especially my family. So just where did that leave me?

  I hadn’t talked to my father in three years, not since I realized why I couldn’t keep a relationship with a guy, why I had those thoughts in gym class. My father is sure people like me can be cured if we just take up the Bible and pray. I can’t deny who I am anymore but I don’t know if he isn’t right. I just didn’t know which way was up any longer. My head seemed muddled lately and I couldn’t figure out why.

  I unlocked the door to my place and dropped my pack on the couch. Dirty dishes sat on the coffee table, and the garbage hadn’t been taken out in about a week. I crossed to the fish tank and fed the two goldfish that were still alive. The third took the last swim to goldfish heaven via the toilet, and I stripped for the shower.

  I knew I was no beauty queen. Melanie was cute and curvy in all the right places. I was shorter and dumpy. Not fat, mind you, but built more like a fireplug than a supermodel. I had shoulders that were broad and strong arms from smithing. Katie said I was amazing. Maybe it was the opposite thing. She wore makeup, not a lot, and liked wearing dresses and nice shoes. Me, I preferred jeans and a T-shirt. Of course, I was pretty damn particular about my footwear—Doc Martens, baby. They were my first crush, and my first rebellion. No girly shoes for me. And no jokes about comfortable shoes. I just liked how they looked—well, and how they made me feel. I totally understand why Katie feels a certain way based on the shoes she’s wearing. My Doc Martens made me feel strong.

  I glanced at myself in the mirror and cringed at my reflection. The Doc Martens were my rebellion as a kid. I couldn’t even cut my hair until I moved out. Scandalized my mother, bless her heart. Da said I looked like a guy, and gave me shit about my clothes. I don’t think he’s understood a thing about me since I got my first period.

  I tried to see what Katie saw in me. It’s not like I’m a beast. I have all the right curves, and Katie thinks I’m sexy. I should be happy with that. Just hard to overcome a decade of hiding my body, dressing in baggy clothes and fixating on what’s wrong with being a woman in my parents’ world.

  Maybe I just needed therapy. Not like I was going to get a new face or a new body anytime soon. If I turn on a hottie like Katie, maybe I have something worth considering. I squinted in the mirror, trying to see myself through different eyes, holding my breasts in my hands, turning from side to side.

  I dropped my hands with a sigh and turned the shower on full blast, heat all the way to the fore. Let the steam fill the room and block the mirror. That’s what I needed at the moment. Obscurity.

  I showered quickly and dressed in jeans and a T-shirt advertising another punk band that Carl would’ve never heard of. I think I had a dozen left he hadn’t seen. Tonight I was going to treat him to D’Hammerschmiedsgselln, a cool band I’d seen in Portland a couple of times. The name is a German folk dance about a blacksmith’s apprentice. I find it ironically appealing.

  Okay, if I was being honest with myself, I had a nice figure, proportional and all. But why would Katie pick me over Melanie? Melanie was willowy—tall, blond, intoxicating . . . Anyway, how could I compare?

  Enough introspection. I needed to get my ducks in a row and get to the shoot on time. Couldn’t afford to piss Carl off.

  While I toasted a bagel I checked my mail. More bills, and some guy who wanted to sell me a house. As if I could afford a house.

  There were no messages on the home phone. No missed calls. I double- and triple-checked while I poured a glass of milk that was near expiring, and buttered my bagel.

  Time to bite the bullet. I picked up the phone and punched in Katie’s number. It was nearly six. She’d be home from school for sure, and probably eating something out of a box. She was not one to cook unless she had company. I hoped she would get over being mad at me, and let me explain about the movie.

  The phone rang four times, and I almost hung up, before she answered.

  “Katie, hi.”

  “Hello, Sarah. You calling to apologize and meet me?”

  What the hell? “Um . . . no. I’m getting ready to go to the shoot.”

  There was a long silence at the other end. “Fine,” she said. “Good luck with that.” She hung up on me. Omigod. This was out of control. I thought we were adults.

  I called her back, and she answered during the first ring.

  “What?”

  Okay, fix this fast. “Look, I’m sorry, but you know how things are. I need the money, and I gave Carl my word. It’s not just me on the line here.”

  “I know all about Carl’s inability to schedule,” she said, her voice a little wonky. Was she crying? “But you promised me you wouldn’t cancel on Melanie and Dena again after the last time.”

  “Oh, come on, that’s not fair,” I said. “I need this job.”

  “You could move in with me, cut your expenses,” she said out of the blue.

  “I . . . What?”

  “You heard me. I don’t know what happened out at Jimmy’s but I think I have a good idea wh
at’s in your craw about Melanie. The fact that you’re jealous is cute and all, but you need to understand she’s a very dear friend, and I will not be forced to give that friendship up.”

  My mind was spinning. “Move in?” I asked. “Katie, what?”

  “Never mind, Beauhall. Just go to your stupid movie.” She hung up again. I thought seriously about ripping the thing off the wall, but took a couple of deep breaths instead. Once more into the breach.

  As I dialed, I realized how much I hated phones. If I was looking at her, could touch her, I could fix this. But all I got was static and . . . indifferent silences, damn it.

  She picked up again. “This had better be good.”

  “Katie, look, I’m sorry. I know you hadn’t planned to stay home tonight, but maybe I could come over after the shoot, we could talk then.”

  She barked out a laugh. “I’m not staying at home, Sarah, if that’s what you think,” she said. Suddenly there was anger and steel in her voice again. “Just because you are ashamed of who you are doesn’t mean I have to give up my life. I’m meeting Melanie and Dena for drinks and dinner, just like we’ve planned three times.”

  “But . . . I thought . . . ,” I stammered.

  “You thought I’d stay home because you are being an ass?” she asked, laughing again. Laughing and crying, it was creepy. “I’m going out with my friends. You understand the concept, right, Sarah? Friends, people who you care about, who you see when you want companionship. People you love.”

  She hung up the phone and I stood there dripping butter off the knife onto the counter. What the hell had just happened?

  I needed to work, damn it. Why couldn’t she see it? Hell, I hardly knew Dena, and Melanie would be just fine without me in her life.

  Katie would say I’d know Dena a hell of a lot better if I showed up to dinner, like I’d promised. Of course, she’d be right. She was usually right, but what was I supposed to do?

  Relationships are a bitch. Much harder to deal with people than horses, for example. When a horse kicks you, it’s because they are hurting or scared. They don’t want to hurt you, but they react out of frustration and pain. The echo of Katie’s hurt laughter cut me and I wished I knew what I could do to make this mess go away.

  Eighteen

  THE BAGEL SAT IN MY STOMACH LIKE A ROCK, BUT I MADE IT TO the set on time, early in fact. Jennifer was in the parking lot, pulling cases of bottled water out of her car and loading them on a cart. I grabbed the sword case out of the back of the Civic and hurried over to see if she needed help.

  “Hey, Jennifer,” I said, jogging up.

  She looked around and squared up to face me, her jaw in a firm line. “Oh, good. Sarah. Look, we need to have a little chat.”

  That sounded less than good. “Okay.”

  “Help me get this water inside for the crew first, then we can talk before the goblins start dressing.”

  I slipped the sword case on the bottom portion of the cart and helped her load the remaining flats of water. We wrestled the cart across the gravel and once we had it up on the sidewalk, I let her push it. I held the door and let her go through. She smiled as she passed, but it was a sad smile. I was getting worried.

  Once inside, I took the case with Gram and walked over to the props cage. Two boxes of gauze and a large box of tape were stacked against the door. Someone had come through pretty well.

  I unlocked the cage, slid the sword between two cases of foam elephant ears, and carried the boxes inside. The gauze and tape went on the metallic shelves in their proper order before I broke down the boxes for recycling. I tidied up the cage, moving some out-of-place goblin hands to their proper spot, and noticed that several things were misplaced. Someone had been rifling through the weapons, and the axes were mixed with the swords. Not that it was a big deal, but I spent a lot of time keeping the place inventoried so we cut down on expenses. The only people with access to the cage were Jennifer, Carl, and me. Of course, it was a padlock. I’m sure about a million people on the planet could pick the lock, but still. I’d have to check with Jennifer.

  I placed the broken-down boxes outside the cage, straightened things up, and walked out, locking the cage behind me, making sure Gram was hidden. Hidden? I paused at that. It’s not like I wasn’t going to let JJ swing it around later. For some reason I couldn’t really explain, I didn’t want it out when I couldn’t be around to take care of it.

  I picked up the boxes and headed over to where Jennifer had unpacked all of the water. The bottles filled one of the banquet tables we kept in the back for food and drink. No food again today, I saw. The crew would be glad of the water, just the same.

  I added my boxes to the top of the cart and pushed it a bit, signaling to Jennifer that I’d get the water flats out as well.

  “Hang on,” she said, grabbing two bottles of water. “I’ll walk out with you.”

  We pushed the cart out past the restrooms and onto the loading dock where the city kept a Dumpster for recycling. Jennifer didn’t say anything the whole walk, just kept glancing at me out of the corner of her eye.

  We pushed the heavy fire door open with the cart and stepped out into the fading light of dusk. After we had everything in the recycle bin, she handed me a bottle of water, and settled down on the edge of the loading dock, her feet dangling down. I opened my water and sat beside her, taking a small drink.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  She toyed with her water for a moment, then turned to face me, cocking one leg up on the flat of the dock, leaving the other dangling off the side. “About last night.”

  Uh-oh. Was I getting fired?

  “Hey, I’m sorry if I was a bitch,” I started.

  Jennifer blinked at me, startled. “No, no,” she said, waving her empty hand at me. “We’re all on edge.”

  I nodded, keeping my mouth shut.

  “It’s just that, well . . .” She hesitated. “There’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just launch ahead.”

  I felt a pain start to form in my gut, a tightness that spoke of black days ahead.

  “We’re broke,” she said with a hitch in her throat.

  “Broke?” Not what I expected, but with no food for the crew, and the shortness of supplies, I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised.

  “Yes, broke. Carl has been funding this shoot out of his 401(k) since the DVD sales of Blood Brother II were so lackluster. Didn’t help that the reviews were so horrible for Tri-Wizard’s Blood that our distributor refused to ship it. We’ve limped along on Internet sales, but we are seriously in the red.”

  “So, what then?” I asked. “We bag this one?”

  She shook her head rapidly. “Oh, God no. Carl would rather die. No, he’s screwed with the market, and he’s being forced to start paying back the 401(k) or pay penalties he can’t afford.”

  She stopped to take a long pull from the bottle and carefully screwed the cap back on. “I haven’t been paid in a month,” she said. “And I’ve been purchasing supplies out of my own pocket.”

  “What? That’s not acceptable.”

  “Tell me,” she said, smiling. “But this is important to me. Important to Carl.” She glanced off to the fading skyline.

  My God, why hadn’t I seen it before. She loved him. Jesus, it was like a plague. “Jennifer, you can’t float this out of your teacher’s salary.”

  “Oh, I know,” she said, turning back to face me. “The tape and gauze came out of your check this time.”

  “My check?”

  She put her hand on my knee, a gentle touch, comforting and scary. “I’m so sorry, Sarah. You said we couldn’t shoot without more supplies, and we have to get this film in the can. The distributor loves it. He thinks we may make the Seattle International Film Festival with this one. He’s even talking foreign sales.”

  “But I need that money,” I said, feeling like I was going to cry. “I need to get paid. I have bills.”

  Jennifer turned away again, pulled her hand from my k
nee and brushed her eyes. “He hasn’t paid the city in two months, Sarah. None of the directors have been paid. We’ve cut off the food, and the extras are starting to grumble.”

  “But,” I started, then saw it was no use. I wasn’t getting paid. Damn it.

  “When some thugs came by the other night, looking to collect on some debts Carl had acquired, we knew things were bleak.”

  Thugs? Bleak? “Jennifer, he went to loan sharks or something for this?”

  She didn’t answer right away, didn’t nod, or even seem to breathe.

  “Not his most stellar moment,” she said finally. “But there is some hopeful news. Rolph has introduced Carl to a guy he knows from Portland. Investment banker who loves pet projects.”

  My mind blanked on that. Rolph, Portland, investment banker. Alarms were going off in my head.

  “He’s a philanthropist, just so you know. Well respected in Portland nonprofit circles.”

  I must have moaned, because her hand was back on my knee. “It’s going to be okay,” she said. “Carl is going to sell him part of the company.” She turned away again at that.

  Selling part of the company? That was like selling part of his soul. Only Carl, Jennifer, and Carl’s parents owned parts of the company. Now with an outside money man, things would be really different.

  And if that man was who I thought it might be . . . “Fuck me,” I said finally.

  Jennifer laughed at that, laughed and wiped the tears from her face. “Yes, Sarah. I thought you might see it that way. But this time next week we will either be shut down, or flush with money. Carl will pay you and you’ll be fine.”

  The hurt in her voice was obvious. Did I always make things about me? “I’m sorry, Jennifer. I know this is hard on everyone.”

  “Thank you,” she said, patting my hand. “Just don’t argue with him today, okay? He’s under an inordinate amount of stress and shame.”