Black Blade Blues

by J. A. Pitts

  “You can just leave?” I got my feet planted firmly in the boots and rushed to catch up to her.

  “I was off shift three hours ago,” she said. “I just stayed because I thought Katie meant something to you.”

  That didn’t hurt, nope. Not one bit. I followed her in silence. I was one huge walking lump of pain, and the scrubs rubbed against several cuts in a bad way, but I was not going to make a peep.

  Thirty-nine

  SHE TOOK ME TO THE BAR. MY CAR WAS THERE, BUT I DIDN’T have a spare set of keys. I’d have to get the other set from my locker at the smithy. I could see the sword case was where I left it and felt a bit of relief.

  The lot looked very different with the rising of the sun. No mystery shadows, just gravel and refuse. Pretty place for a girl to give it up.

  We walked through the field beside the lot looking for my pants, and then around the bar itself just to be sure. They wouldn’t be open again until much later, so I couldn’t check inside.

  “I can take you somewhere,” Melanie said, standing next to the car.

  “Thanks,” I said, staring at my feet. “I guess you can take me to the smithy. I need to get my spare keys and such.”

  She nodded and climbed into her car. I crossed the lot toward her, scuffing my boots and feeling thoroughly miserable.

  As we pulled out, my stomach rumbled and Melanie glanced over at me. “Geez, Sarah. When did you eat last?”

  I had to think. Dinner? No . . . “Lunch yesterday.”

  She drove on in silence for a moment. “I’ve been on all night, I’d kill for some coffee.”

  This was new.

  “Want to grab some breakfast? Maybe talk about what’s going on?”

  Most any other time I’d have laughed it off, told her no, and resented her asking. But at that moment, when Katie had heard me at my ugliest, and the world had stopped making any kind of sense, I decided to throw caution to the wind.

  As the man said: I’ve tried nothing, and I’m all out of ideas.

  “Sure,” I said, letting my head fall back against the headrest. “That sounds nice.”

  We pulled into this little dive Melanie knew about. “Lots of doctors and such come here,” she said. “They keep the coffee full, and don’t hassle you if you stick around a while.”

  “Sounds good,” I said, sliding into a booth and grabbing a menu from behind the catsup.

  “They make good omelettes.”

  Then I remembered—no money. “Damn, Melanie. I don’t have my wallet or anything.”

  She just shook her head and rolled her eyes. “I know. I’ll buy. Then, you’ll feel obligated to talk.”

  I laughed at that and smiled up at the waitress who set two glasses of water in front of us.

  “I’ll have a coffee IV,” Melanie said.

  “Orange juice,” I said.

  The waitress turned to get the drinks, and Melanie called out, “Oh, and a pitcher of water, please.”

  She just waved at us over her head and walked on.

  “She know you?” I asked.

  “Janie?” she said, shrugging. “She knows I work over at the hospital and have fairly rough nights from time to time. She can usually tell if they are too bad.”

  I drank my glass of water and crunched the ice as I set the glass down.

  The juice arrived and I drank half of it in one long swallow. We ordered eggs and hash browns. She added bacon and I chose ham.

  I hoped the food would give me some strength back.

  “So, tell me,” she said, adding sugar to her coffee. “Anything you’d like to get off your chest?”

  I shrugged. “Lot been going on,” I told her. I toyed with my juice glass, turning it from side to side and sliding it between each hand on the film of moisture that had built up under it. “Lost my job last night.”

  “The smithy?”

  “No, Julie’s cool. This was the movie thing.”

  “Ah,” she said, picking up her cup. “Katie’s told me about that.”

  “It’s not just playing, if that’s what you think,” I said.

  She blew on her coffee and watched me. I felt a frown slide over my face and my shoulders began to ache.

  “Sarah,” she said, taking a sip and closing her eyes for a moment, “I have no idea why you’d get yourself into the position you did last night—”

  “No kidding.”

  “—but I do know that it’s self-destructive.”

  I only nodded. That was a no-brainer.

  “And if you want to fuck up your life,” she said, putting her coffee down ever so carefully, “I can’t stop you. But if you continue to hurt Katie, I may just have to kick your ass.”

  The anger in her voice appeared out of nowhere. I felt an answering call rise in my chest and she reached out and took my hand.

  “She loves you, you idiot. And I can see why . . .” She paused. “Most times.”

  The anger that had begun to uncoil in my chest evaporated like a mist.

  “I’m not a threat to you, Sarah. No matter what Katie and I had in the past, we are just friends.”

  “I know,” I lied.

  “Uh-huh.” She took her hand off mine and picked up her coffee again. “So, care to explain what is causing all the turmoil?”

  So I did. If she loved Katie, which I was sure she did, in that way you love old friends, then she knew of Katie’s crazy notions, her fantasies of elves and dwarves, her musical jaunts and her ren faire excursions.

  So I told her about the sword, and the dwarf, the movie, and the dragon.

  Funny thing was, as I told her the tightness in my chest began to ease. She was a good listener. Didn’t judge, just nodded and asked leading questions when I lost my way. I could see why Katie thought so highly of her.

  When our food arrived, I ate like a wolf, while she told me about the first time she’d ever heard Katie sing.

  Then I talked some more while she ate. Told her about meeting Katie at the ren faire. About the last time we’d made love, the shower, and the fracas afterward.

  “You realize,” she said, spreading apple butter on a last piece of toast, “you are horrified that folks will think you’re a freak.”

  I didn’t need to answer that, she could see the truth on my face.

  “Sarah,” she said. “Who you love is up to you. Straight or gay, it’s no one’s business. I just wish you could accept it.”

  “I know what I am,” I said, and stopped as she looked at me with horror.

  “What you are? What kind of talk is that?”

  The blush rose over my face like a tide. “You know what I mean.”

  “Yes, I do. I know exactly what you mean. It’s what your father says, what your preacher says. Katie’s told me about your folks, about their attitudes toward women. And anyone else who doesn’t fit into their version of reality.”

  I was too damn tired to be mad anymore. I wanted to crawl into a ball and block it all out. It was just so hard.

  Her hand covered mine again.

  “Do you think Katie is evil? Do you think her a fool?”

  “Of course not,” I said. “She’s sweet and caring.”

  “Yes, she is. So, if she can be wonderful and light, and if you can love her . . .”

  I didn’t protest that. I couldn’t.

  “If you can understand her and her lifestyle, if you can accept it in her, why can’t you accept it in yourself?”

  And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you win an argument.

  Of course I couldn’t accept one without the other.

  “I can see the need in you, Sarah. I know the pain and the confusion. We’ve all been through it in one form or another. You want something so badly it overshadows everything in your life, and yet you think it’s horribly wrong. And sometimes it feels so wrong that you are willing to totally destroy yourself because of it.”

  What could I say? Funny thing was, on some level I felt that this wasn’t just about sexual orientation. Everyon
e had their demons they wrestled with. I just let my battles get public. Loss of control, inability to trust myself—and by extension anyone else. Old story, million of them just like it out there.

  So I switched the subject. She knew it and let it go.

  We talked about Frederick and the sword, about his erratic behavior and the thugs and the check.

  “Doesn’t make much sense to offer all that, and then send goons after you and your friends,” she said. “Is Katie in any danger?”

  “Surely not,” I said. “It’s a sword, not a nuke.”

  We finished and Melanie took me by the shop to get my keys. I grabbed the spare to the shop from where Julie kept it inside a hanging flower pot on her porch. I was careful to be quiet, not to knock things around and wake her.

  I left a note about a hospital visit and apologized for missing work. I tucked the note and her keys under her keyboard. She’d find them there for sure.

  Melanie took me back over to the bar to pick up my car.

  Seeing my trusty hatchback, with my sword in the back, I felt relieved and horrified by the last few days.

  But I’d made some headway with Melanie. Mended a bridge or three on that front.

  We’d talked a long damn time, and I felt fairly good about it.

  As I walked across the lot, Melanie pulled around and stopped. “Give her some time,” she said through her open window. “She’s pretty freaked out by all this.”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Give her a chance here, okay?” she asked.

  I waved. “I’ll give her a day or so.”

  She yawned then, and waved at me. I watched her pull away, thinking I really should just go home and sleep.

  Forty

  JULIE WAS PISSED. IT WASN’T LIKE SARAH TO JUST NO-SHOW. They had a big job out at the Smithfield Farm, and it would take her most of the day to handle it alone. But, she’d swing by and see Jack on the way home. That would be nice.

  The horses were ornery, and the owner was annoyed at the time it took, but Julie finished all the shoeing and some hoof doctoring with her usual skill. Old man Smithfield grumbled a bit, but in the end was happy with the work.

  But Sarah would get a talking to, that was a fact.

  Julie washed up and packed her supplies back in the truck while Smithfield wrote out the check for her services. And no apprentice to pay today, she thought. Maybe I’ll just take Mr. Marlowe out for a nice dinner. Make it up to him for the other night when Rolph showed up unexpectedly.

  Not that he was a bother, either. Julie liked the strange man. He loved smithing and knew a ton about things that Julie had only read about.

  They’d shared a few meals and exchanged some ideas for improving certain techniques. Julie found it refreshing to be learning from someone again. She missed her own apprentice days sometimes.

  When she arrived at the Circle Q, she spotted Jack’s pickup right away. She checked her watch, nearly six. He’d get off soon.

  He straightened up from a tractor and smiled at her as she got out of her truck, wiping his hands on a rag and placing a wrench in his back pocket.

  “Tractor acting up on you?” she asked, seeing what he’d been working on.

  “Nah, nothing serious. Just changing out the spark plugs.”

  She sauntered up to him, pushed his hat back, and kissed him.

  He flinched back a bit, which surprised her, and she saw he had a split lip.

  “Oh, baby. What happened to you?” she asked, stroking the side of his face, noticing the long bruise running along his jawline.

  He grimaced and took her hand. “Had a tussle last night. Things got out of hand over at the Triple Nickel.”

  She laughed then, backing up and looking at him from head to toe. “You and your sidekick get in a fight?”

  He shrugged. “Nothing we couldn’t handle.”

  There were several marks on him, she noticed. A bruise on his forearm, and maybe on the scruff of his neck. His hands had several small cuts and his left hand was swollen, knuckles bruised. She thought maybe she’d take him back to her place and see about playing a little nurse. The thought sent a shiver through her. Definitely a good idea.

  He kissed her on the ear, and let his hand glide down her back in that way he had. Such big hands.

  And his cell phone rang. The tinny strains of “Super Freak,” the version with the banjo, echoed from his back pocket. He pulled out the phone, saw who called, and shrugged. “Boss calling,” he said, and flipped open the phone. “I’ll only be a few minutes.”

  She patted him on the ass as he turned and walked back to the tractor, talking about hay and mowing. He glanced back at her, winked, and limped around the side of the tractor.

  Helluva fight, she thought. Hope they didn’t hurt someone.

  While he talked, she walked past his truck, trailing her hands along the side, and then hopped up on the tailgate to sit and wait for him. The call took a while, and she was just wondering how a man could have so much crap piled in his truck when she saw something that caught her breath. A bra poked out from beneath an old feed bag. She climbed into the truck and pulled the bags away. There was not only a bra—with a bigger cup than she had, she noticed, wounded—but there was also a pair of pants.

  Son of a bitch, she thought, picking up the jeans. The design that was sewn down the left leg looked very familiar. She held her breath and felt for the pockets. In the back right pocket, she pulled out a wallet.

  Now her heart was thumping in her chest. This was not happening. Not now, not this guy.

  She opened the wallet and dropped it with a cry of anguish. There on the bed of his truck lay a picture of Sarah Jane Beauhall’s smiling face. It was her driver’s license.

  Julie slowly put the wallet back into the pants and rolled them up, wrapping the bra inside the roll. Then she climbed out of the truck and stomped over to the tractor, and the lying sack of shit.

  “How could you?” she said, hitting him with the rolled-up jeans. “Is that where you got those marks?” she asked, her voice rising to a shout.

  Jack turned around, startled, and quickly hung up the phone, while holding an arm up to protect his head.

  “Is that a hickey on your neck, you lying bastard?”

  “Calm down, Julie. Let me explain.”

  That’s all it took. If he could explain, then she was done.

  “What, am I too old for you? Huh?” She was full-on crying now and hated herself for it. “You fuck her in your truck and can’t even return her pants. Where is she?” The moment turned black and she took a step back from the rather tall man, seeing him as a threat for the first time. “What did you do to her?”

  “Her,” he said, his own voice rising. “The little whore about killed me and Steve!”

  Julie turned. “If you’ve hurt her,” she choked back a sob, “I’ll kill you. Where is she?”

  “We left her at the bar,” he said, pulling his shoulder back. “She wasn’t fighting it until the end, just so you know.”

  “Stop it,” Julie said, her vision sparkling with tears.

  “You want to get into it, then fine,” he said, stomping past her. “She wanted it. Wanted it bad. But all of a sudden she went psycho—” He spun around, waving his hands in the air. “—began punching and kicking. We didn’t sign up for that craziness so we left her. You happy?”

  Julie shook her head, crushed the jeans to her chest with both hands, and ran for her truck.

  He didn’t move, just stood and watched her as she drove away.

  Forty-one

  I WAS SWEEPING THE FLOOR OF THE SMITHY WHEN I HEARD Julie coming across the lot from her place. I’d gotten in pretty early for me, hoping to make up some time for missing the day before.

  I was in a whole world of hurt and probably needed to stretch to loosen up, but for now the pain was a steady reminder of my stupidity.

  I’d had a hard time sleeping, as you might expect, and made sure I got the sword back in the safe this morn
ing. Watching it disappear as I closed the door, hearing the locks synch home, gave me a bit of peace.

  We had several orders to get out, and a day of shoeing ahead of us. Would be nice to do some work, feel useful again.

  Julie opened the door, and stopped. I didn’t turn immediately, as I was digging some dust out from under a worktable. When she didn’t say anything, and didn’t move, I turned. “Hey, Julie,” I said. “Sorry about yesterday, I would’ve called, but . . .”

  She threw a roll of cloth at me. “Here’s your pants,” she growled, her voice tight with anger.

  I didn’t even try to catch them. They bounced off my chest and landed at my feet. “Julie, where’d you find . . .” And I realized where.

  “Left your pants in his truck,” she said, seeing my face. “No idea how you got home without them, but by the look of you, it was a rough night.”

  “You have no idea,” I said, sagging against the broom. “Look, I’m sorry.”

  She held her hands in front of her, palms out, and opened and closed them into fists. “You have a lot of problems, Sarah. I’ve tried to be there for you, but you’ve crossed a line.”

  I looked up at her, tears filling my eyes.

  “What I can’t figure is your angle. I know you were struggling with Katie and all,” she said, walking into the shop. There were tears in her eyes, and more anger than I’d seen outside my own mirror in a while. “You lament your fate and all that horseshit, then you go out and try and bang the one guy I’d found to like? The one guy who didn’t assume I was a dyke because I’m a blacksmith, or work with horses. You have to ruin that for me? For what, Sarah?” She’d crossed into yelling. I’d never seen her so angry before. “Is this a game to you? You move on from Katie to a couple of guys you pick up at a bar? What’s that do for your reputation, huh?”

  I couldn’t breathe. She just kept yelling and pacing. She was a strong woman with many more years swinging a hammer than I. And she looked like she’d like nothing more than to punch me right in the face.

  I didn’t screw them, but did it matter? Was that line really important at this point? “I don’t know,” I said, honestly.