Rock Chick Redemption

by Kristen Ashley

“I’m sorry. I’ll pay for any damage or cleaning of your house,” I said.

  He ignored my totally stupid comment.

  “You told me you weren’t in danger.”

  Shit.

  I had said that.

  “I wouldn’t have left you alone if I’d known you were in danger,” he went on.

  Good God, he thought it was his fault.

  “It wasn’t your fault, Hank. I didn’t think I was in danger,” I told him.

  And it was true, I didn’t think I was.

  I thought Billy loved me. He was crazy and possessive, not to mention crazy possessive, but I never thought he’d even hit me, much less beat me up and threaten to rape me on another man’s bed. I never thought he’d drag me across country, on the run from what had to be bad guys and put me in even worse danger from them than I had from him.

  How lucky was I that they didn’t take me with them or shoot me on the spot?

  How fucking lucky was I that they left me cuffed to a sink?

  I never thought, growing up with dreams of being a corporate goddess with two closets full of clothes and another one dedicated to shoes, that I’d end up like this.

  My tense body started shaking.

  “Oh shit,” I said.

  He felt it coming and he turned me. I resisted but he did it anyway.

  “Shit,” I repeated as it came over me. “Shit, shit, shit.”

  I was face-to-face with him and both Hank’s arms went round me as the tears arrived; great, wracking sobs.

  Dammit, I hated when I cried. I was so fucking weak. And anyway, crying hurt my ribs.

  I put my hands over my face and, pain or not, had no choice but to let loose.

  “I’m so s-s-stupid,” I stammered, between crying hiccoughs, taking my hands away from my face. “Billy scared me, what with the sledgehammer and all, but I was so stupid. I thought I could play games.”

  “Sledgehammer?” Hank asked but I ignored him.

  “I thought I was smarter than him. Uncle Tex said my plan would go south. It’s so south, it’s in the next fucking galaxy!” I shouted.

  “Let’s go back to the sledgehammer,” Hank suggested.

  I pulled away and started to roll out of bed. I was nearly out when Hank tagged the camisole top of my pajamas and pulled me back into bed.

  “Let go!”

  “Roxanne, calm down.”

  I struggled against him, “Hank, let me go!”

  Surprisingly, I won the struggle. It didn’t occur to me he wasn’t going to wrestle with me when I had three cracked ribs. I jumped out of bed and ran to my suitcases, my breathing labored with that minimal effort.

  “I have to go, like, now,” I announced even though I was in no shape to go anywhere.

  Hank was out of bed and getting in my space.

  “Come back to bed,” he said.

  “No, I have to go.”

  He was blocking my way, every way I turned, and herding me back to the bed.

  “Get out of my way!” I shouted.

  “Where are you going to go?”

  I made a split-second decision, “Mexico!”

  “Mexico?”

  “My money will go further there. I could start a franchise, like a convenience store or something. I’ll be the gringa queen of my village.”

  I was still trying to dodge him when his hands caught my hips and he held tight.

  “Don’t tell Tex you’re gonna buy a franchise, he’ll go ballistic.”

  What he said made me stop and I stared up at him stupidly in the dark.

  “What’s wrong with franchises?” I asked.

  “They’re the death of America,” Uncle Tex boomed from the next room and both Hank and I froze. “Now, will you two keep it the fuck down. The walls are paper thin and you’re disturbin’ the cats!”

  We both stood stock still for a moment and then I started laughing. I couldn’t help myself. I laughed so hard I thought I’d crack another rib. I started to bend double but my forehead collided with Hank’s collarbone. Still, I didn’t stop laughing.

  Hank, I noticed vaguely, didn’t laugh at all.

  His arms went around me and my laughter quickly turned to tears again. I put my arms around him, I didn’t want to but if I didn’t, I wouldn’t have been able to stay standing.

  Finally, when I’d gotten some control, I said quietly, “I thought he loved me.”

  Hank’s body had relaxed when I’d wrapped my arms around him, but, at my words, it went still again.

  “I promise, I didn’t think I was in danger,” I continued.

  He began to stroke my back with one hand, holding me with the other arm. Something had changed in the way he was holding me but I was too worn out to notice it.

  “I believe you,” he said.

  I swallowed because I knew he did and that meant a lot.

  “Thank you,” I whispered, for like the millionth time that day.

  “Do you love him?” Hank asked.

  I nodded against his chest and the air changed again and, again, I was too exhausted to notice.

  I didn’t mean that I loved Billy now. I meant I had loved him, once upon a time when the fairytale could still turn real.

  I didn’t love him anymore. I didn’t hate him either. I just didn’t want him anywhere near me. I didn’t even want to think about him.

  I stood there, in Hank’s arms, and let the tiredness seep through me.

  It was like he felt it, he was so tuned into me, and he guided me to the bed.

  I didn’t resist.

  We both got in and he held me again.

  I didn’t resist that either.

  Sleepily, to take my mind off my thoughts, or maybe to teach myself a lesson, I quoted the lyrics to Mellencamp’s “Minutes to Memories”.

  “Mellencamp,” Hank muttered.

  “Yeah,” I whispered. “I should have listened closer.”

  Hank’s head moved, he kissed my neck and then he settled.

  I waited until his breathing evened.

  Then, when I knew he was asleep, I whispered the part of the song where Mellencamp explains about the wise old man in the song’s vision. About how that vision was hard to follow. About how the young man in the song did things his way and he paid a high price. About how, years later, he looked back at his conversation with the old man during their bus ride and he knew the old man was right.

  And oh man, was he right.

  I went silent.

  Then, after awhile, it hit me and I started to sing, thinking it was a secret, my secret, my song. In another life, a life without the last three days, a life where Hank came home from his run before Billy found me, it could have been Hank’s and my song.

  Springsteen’s words.

  I sang so quietly, my voice was barely a whisper and I changed just two of the words.

  It was the first verse of Springsteen’s “Because the Night”.

  I hummed the second verse and in the middle of humming, I fell asleep in Hank’s arms.

  Because I was asleep, I never realized Hank wasn’t.

  * * * * *

  It felt like I slept for a week.

  When I woke up, Hank was gone.

  Chapter Ten

  MP3 Torture

  It was daylight when I rolled out of bed. My body protested with aches and pains letting me know early that they felt like hanging around for a while.

  I didn’t know where Hank went but I figured to work because it was nearly noon.

  I went to the bathroom and saw that either Indy or Jet had put my toiletry bag on the sink. I crushed down another wave of remorse that these kind people would not be in my life but for a few treasured memories. Then I swept the thought aside, brushed my teeth and washed my face.

  I surveyed myself in the mirror. The swelling was gone; the bruises were purple, green and yellow. Not a good color combination and I was doubtful that Calvin Klein would use them in his spring line.

  I walked into the living room and saw U
ncle Tex on the couch his feet up on the coffee table, a bowl of popcorn resting on his belly and a Bruce Lee movie running quiet on the console TV.

  He looked at me when I came in. “Hey darlin’ girl. How you feelin’ today?”

  “Coffee,” I replied.

  He grinned. “I can do coffee.”

  I sat in a loud, green, white and yellow daisy-printed, vinyl chair at his kitchen table. He got me a cup of coffee and sat with me. “Hank still sleepin’?” he asked.

  “Hank’s gone,” I replied.

  He looked at me funny. “What do you mean, gone?”

  “Probably at work.”

  He stared at me.

  “I didn’t hear him go,” he said.

  I shrugged and looked out the window.

  “You mad at me that I let him in?” he asked.

  “A little bit,” I answered truthfully.

  “You wanna talk about it?”

  I shook my head.

  “You wanna talk about anything?”

  I shook my head again.

  “All right, girl. I’ll give you today. Tomorrow, we’re talkin’ about it.”

  “I’m leaving town as soon as I shower and get dressed,” I said.

  “How’s Hank feel about that?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t care,” I lied about the second part.

  Silence.

  I looked from the window back to Uncle Tex. He was staring at me again. I think he was finding it hard to keep his peace.

  Then he said, “So be it.”

  I was surprised he gave in so easily. Surprised and relieved and maybe a little sad. I got up and kissed the top of his head, took my coffee mug and headed to the shower.

  * * * * *

  I stood on the sidewalk, Uncle Tex next to me, my suitcases on the ground either side of him, staring at my car.

  “Well, I’ll be,” Uncle Tex said. “Never seen that before.”

  I slowly turned my head to look at him. He kept staring at my car. Then he went on. “Can’t say this is the best neighborhood, but four slashed tires? That has to be a record.”

  “Uncle Tex –” I started.

  “Welp!” he boomed, bending over to pick up my suitcases. “Guess you aren’t leavin’ today.”

  I had a sneaking suspicion my four slashed tires had nothing to do with this being a bad neighborhood.

  Uncle Tex walked into the house with my suitcases and didn’t look back.

  I turned back to my car and stared at it.

  After awhile, I heaved a huge sigh and I went into the house.

  * * * * *

  I was sitting on the couch, feet up, watching Independence Day and Will Smith was seriously kicking some alien ass.

  Uncle Tex had been fielding phone calls for the last hour. Jet called. Indy called. Nancy called. Daisy called. Eddie called. Eddie called again. Eddie called a third time. Every time, Uncle Tex covered the mouthpiece and boomed out a name, making the covering-of-the-mouthpiece action moot.

  Every time, I’d get tense, thinking it was Hank. Worried it was Hank. Wishing it was Hank. Then, when it wasn’t Hank, I’d shake my head and Uncle Tex would make some ludicrously bad excuse for me and hang up.

  Another phone rang and I knew it was my cell. Uncle Tex was sitting next to me and he stared at me while I ignored my purse ringing on the floor by the side of the couch. Then he got up, grabbed my purse, rooted through it and pulled out my phone just as it stopped ringing and stuck it out at me.

  I shook my head.

  “Maybe it was Hank,” he said.

  Shit.

  He knew I was waiting for Hank to call.

  I shook my head again.

  He flipped open my phone and started pressing buttons. He did this for a long time. Then, my phone started making alarming noises and I couldn’t help myself, I yanked it out of his hand.

  “Stop that!” I snapped.

  “Find out who phoned, maybe Hank’s tryin’ to get hold of you.”

  “He knows your number.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t want to talk to me. Maybe he just wants to talk to you.”

  “Well, I don’t want to talk to him.”

  Uncle Tex stared down at me and then walked in front of the coffee table, his shins pushing my legs aside, forcing me to sit up. He sat on the coffee table right in front of me, blocking my view of Will Smith and making me worried about the future of the coffee table when his bulk settled on it.

  “You’re in my way,” I told him.

  “Look at me, girl.”

  I tried to look around him at the TV.

  “Roxanne Giselle Logan, look at me.”

  I looked at him. I’d had years of “Roxanne Giselle Logan”. I was conditioned to do what I was told after my full name was uttered by an authority figure.

  “What?” I clipped, totally uppity.

  Okay, so I was conditioned to do what I was told, but I was uppity enough to do it with ill grace.

  He leaned forward and his eyes were bright, so bright, they were fevered, and something about them scared me.

  I held my breath and waited for what was coming next.

  “You’re at a crossroads, darlin’. You got two paths to go down.”

  I stared at him and he continued.

  “I was at your crossroads once. I chose the wrong path. Once you go down, it’s fuckin’ impossible to find your way back.”

  I let out my breath, but only to suck another deep one in and hold it.

  His beefy hands settled on my knees and he got closer. “Halfway down my road, a six year old girl wrote me a letter.”

  Oh shit. Oh shit.

  “No,” I whispered but the word wasn’t audible, I think only my mouth made the form of the word but without sound. My breath caught with something fierce and I knew, pretty soon, I was going to lose all control.

  With effort, I sucked air in my nose, keeping the tears at bay.

  “She didn’t stop me from losin’ my way, but she stopped me from losin’ myself.”

  “Quit talking,” I whispered and I heard the words come out this time but Uncle Tex ignored them.

  “Now, I got a chance to return the favor.”

  “Please, Uncle Tex, don’t.”

  I felt my nostrils quiver.

  He still ignored me.

  “This life is made of good turns and bad turns. Few months ago, I did a good turn. I took a bullet for Indy. The last three days, Lee paid me back.”

  I closed my eyes.

  “Look at me, darlin’ girl.”

  I opened my eyes.

  “Lee’d put himself in front of a bullet for his brother, make no mistake. Hank was fuckin’ beside himself when he came home to find you gone. I thought he’d tear Denver apart lookin’ for you. Lee nearly had to lock him in his safe room to keep him from comin’ after you.”

  “Please, stop.”

  “You had your bad turn, Roxie. Open your fuckin’ heart and let Hank be the good.”

  We stared at each other awhile. Somehow, I didn’t cry.

  Then, I nodded and opened my phone.

  With shaking hands, I went to my received calls, my heart beating, hoping it was Hank.

  It wasn’t, it was my friend Annette, from Chicago.

  “Annette,” I told Uncle Tex.

  His hands left my knees.

  “Not Hank?” he asked, openly surprised.

  I shook my head.

  He got up and sat down beside me.

  “He’ll call,” he said.

  * * * * *

  I lay on the bed in Uncle Tex’s extra bedroom and listened to Joni Mitchell on my MP3 player while I stared at the ceiling.

  Independence Day was over, Eddie had called again and so had Stevie. I didn’t talk to either of them.

  Hank had not called.

  Uncle Tex was down at Kumar’s buying stuff to make pigs in a blanket and macaroni and cheese for dinner.

  I shut down Joni singing about drinking a case of you because I knew I
was just torturing myself. I picked up my cell and called Annette.

  Annette had given up web design to open a head shop in Chicago called, appropriately, “Head”. She sold bongs, pipes, incense, blankets with Celtic knots and pictures of Jimi Hendrix printed on them, psychedelic posters, tie-dyed t-shirts and hemp clothing. To her surprise, it was a huge success, most likely because she was a nut the caliber of Tex and it made her store fun to hang out in, just like Fortnum’s. After she got too busy and couldn’t do it anymore, she hired me to run the website. She sold bongs on five continents.

  She had curly, ash-blonde hair, milky green eyes and was tall, taller even than me. She was a good friend. She was nice to Billy’s face, never letting on that she’d once gotten so angry on my behalf (yes, after my recounting the sledgehammer incident), she threw a yard glass at a wall, smashing it to smithereens.

  “Yo, bitch!” she answered on the second ring (nothing to be alarmed about, this was how Annette answered the phone all the time).

  “Hey,” I said, quietly.

  Then I burst into tears.

  Then I told her my story, all of my story.

  “Holy fucking Jesus H. Christ,” she said when I was done.

  “I know.”

  “He hasn’t called?”

  “Annette! Billy kidnapped me and beat me up. This is not about Hank!”

  “Billy’s probably been whacked and his worthless, dead body is being eaten by red ants on some sand dune in Utah, goddess willing. Billy’s the fucking past, this Hank dude is the future, baby.”

  I told you Annette was a nut.

  “I’m coming home, as soon as I get my tires fixed,” I said, skirting the issue of Hank.

  “When’s that gonna be?”

  “Uncle Tex has a friend who’s picking up the car tomorrow. It can’t take that long to change four tires. I figure I’ll be on the road tomorrow night. Then, I’ll pick my stuff up from your place and if you and Jason can come with me to the loft, just to make sure it’s safe, I’ll close it up. Then I’m going to Mexico.”

  “Fuck that shit,” Annette said. “Jason and I were going on a long weekend camping in Michigan. We’ll make it a longer weekend and bring your shit to Colorado. We’ll leave tomorrow. What do you want from the loft?”

  “Annette,” I said low. “I’ve made up my mind.”

  She ignored my warning tone.

  “Well, I’m un-making it up.”

  “You can’t come out to Colorado! What about Head?”