by Robert Rand
“Damn straight, I’ve been busting my ass” Sullivan interrupted, “You’ve been after me for months to get these things done. Now that I’m doing them, you flip out!”
“Why now? Why all of a sudden are you eager to get the disposal fixed, reseed the backyard and tile the guest bathroom?”
“Because I could end up in jail at any moment”
“What are you talking about?”
“Since Spanky was arrested, I’ve realized that I could get stopped ant any time and hauled in on a parole violation. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’ve never reported. And I wanted the house taken care of for you in case that happens.”
The lies began.
Sullivan tried to hide his use. He even tried to not use. But he had to. He couldn’t get up and function without the drug. And, he reasoned, if he stayed in bed for a couple of days to recuperate, then April would know he had been using. He began making up fictitious business meetings so he could get away from April and her suspicions.
The weeks became months. The questions, the accusations, slowed, then stopped altogether. Sullivan had long given up on believing he had fooled April. When Spanky was finally released, 12 months to the day after his arrest, Sullivan went to pick him up at Chino Prison.
Spanky, though happy to have a ride home and not have to go Greyhound, was shocked by Sullivan’s appearance. He had always been very meticulous about his appearance, even his Levis were usually ironed, but now he looked like another person altogether. Gone was the perfectly groomed hair, clean, pressed clothes and healthy look. Rourk had lost over 30 pounds. His hair was greasy and in need of being cut. The gray jeans looked like they had been worn continuously for the better part of a week.
“Goddamn it, Bro, what the fuck happened to you?” Spanky asked. His mouth hung open, an emphasis to his dismay at Sullivan’s appearance.
“Not you, too!” Rourk said angrily, “Fuckin’ April keeps bitchin’, too. I tell ya, I’m tired of it.”
“I’ll bet she’s pissed,” said Spanky, opening the passenger door of the Vette.
Sullivan got in the drivers seat and slammed the door. Half of the dashboard trim fell out of the dash. Rourk slammed his hand against the plastic molding, shoving it back in place. As he did, the glove compartment door fell open. Inside the small storage area rested the car’s registration, a 357 Magnum revolver and several syringes filled with a yellow tinted liquid.
Spanky slammed the glove box closed and pressed his knee against it to keep it closed. “Man, Sully, you really are blowin’ it.” He nearly hissed the words.
“Yeah, yeah. So, I’m blowin’ it” Rourk replied nonchalantly as he turned the key in the ignition.
The two-hour drive back to Lancaster was made with very little talking. When Sullivan made the turn on to his street, he pulled to the curb two houses before his own and stopped. “April’s got a key to the garage. Your bikes in there.” He spoke while staring straight ahead. “I started it yesterday.”
“Aren’t you going home?”
“I did that pound of dope,” Sullivan said, still looking off into the distance.
“Yeah, that’s kinda obvious, Bro.” Spanky shook his head slowly back and forth. “It’s time to clean up, Sully.”
“Fuck that.”
Spanky got out, shoved the door closed and walked the remaining 50 yards to the Rourk’s house. April was standing out in the driveway. Sullivan made a u-turn and then a left. The low rumble of the Corvettes 454 motor slowly faded.
April hugged her adopted brother. He expected tears, but she was long past being all cried out.
“What happened, Helene?” Spanky asked, reverting to her prior name.
She stepped back and held her hands out in front of her, palms up, and said, “I told him he had to quit and he said, ‘Well, I got pussy in one hand, dope in the other’.” She dropped the first hand, leaving the hand representing the dope still out front.
“Sis…” he began.
“I’m leaving him,” she said, matter-of-factly, then turned and walked into the house.
The sign said, ‘BILLIARDS – DRINKS – DARTS – DANCING’. Sullivan pulled in and parked. Dusk was giving way to full darkness as he removed his gun and a syringe full of meth. He put the gun in his waistband, careful to pull his belt a makeshift notch tighter. The needle went into his sock.
The bar was only dimly lit, which was fine. And there were half a dozen decent looking women who appeared to be unattached, which was ever better. He ordered a bottle of Coors Light and gave the bartender his Visa to run a tab against. There were three dartboards along the back wall of the narrow building. That’s where he headed, beer in hand.
Though Rourk was an avid dart player, it wasn’t the dartboards that grabbed his attention. Rather it was the way the short skirt rode up to reveal twin crescents of pale blue cotton panty each time their blonde owner tossed a dart.
From behind, she was a 10, Sullivan automatically rated on his own sliding scale – zero to ten, ten being best. Fours, fives and sixes sober could be tens, depending on how horny he was. He was pretty damn horny. Seeing April earlier made him that way, but this gal throwing darts would have been a solid 9, even if he were sober. She had white-blonde hair that fell straight to her shoulders; she was petite, no more than a size 3, thin without being skinny, nicely shaped tan legs and a tight, almost boyish butt. She walked to the board and removed her three darts. When she turned to walk back to the throw line, Sullivan was quick to give her his highest rating once more. The round face, bright blue eyes and straight white teeth combined with a small, slightly up-turned nose to make this woman very cute. An adorable little surfer girl.
“You any good?” Sullivan asked with a mischievous grin.
She looked him up and down. Even as thin as he had gotten Sullivan still looked reasonably handsome. The scruffy look gave him a slightly dangerous appearance that appealed to a lot of women, including the one standing before him. Her eyes smiled when she spoke, “I’ve been good at everything I’ve ever tried.”
“Yeah? How ‘bout trying me?” Sullivan replied. He watched the woman’s nipples harden as she thought about her reply, her tight t-shirt growing a little tighter.
“Sure, why not?” she said, locking eyes with him. “Cricket?” she asked, referring to a game played wherein the players attempt to hit only the numbers 15 through 20 and the bull’s-eye three times each. First one to do so wins.”
“Cricket’s fine. My name’s Sullivan.” Rourk gave her a lopsided little boy grin.
“Cricket.”
“Sure, but aren’t you going to let me know who I’m playing?”
“That’s my name and my game.” She turned and threw her three darts in rapid succession, hitting a double 20, single 18 and triple 15. After retrieving her darts, she turned back and smiled, “Cricket Warren. Triple 15, last dart, I go again, loser buys dinner.”
“Alright, Cricket Warren.”
Cricket threw a double 18 and a single 20, but missed scoring with her third dart. Sullivan pulled his darts, which were in a hardened plastic case, from his hip pocket. After fitting the flights into the shafts, he stepped up to the throw line. He held his dart with the tip pointing toward the floor. When he threw, the weight and aerodynamics of the darts’ construction sent the point to wherever his index finger was pointing at the time of release. In this instance, he threw a double bull’s-eye with each of his first two darts and a triple 20 with the third. “You sure you don’t want to throw in a trip to Vegas with that dinner?”
“If I could get off work, I’d take you up on it, but…” She left the rest unsaid.
Sullivan retrieved his darts and threw again. By the time he missed, all he needed were his 15’s and 16’s. He was very good at the game – but so was Cricket. Her next time up brought her to within a double bull’s-eye of winning. When she missed with her second and third darts, her look was one of impending defeat. Rourk threw, scoring a triple 16 and a single 15 with his first two darts, but slip
ped over the wire on the third to land in the 14 slot.
Cricket’s smile was back as Sullivan bowed to her in mock grandeur and said, “Lady Cricket, the court is yours.”
“Thank you.” She put a hand along his grizzled cheek, then leaned up and brushed her lips against his. “For luck.”
Cricket’s first dart hit center, scoring the double bull’s-eye for the game.
“Fine shot!” Sullivan was impressed. “Where would you like to eat?”
“The crab at the Queen Mary is fantastic.”
April began with the clothes in Lisa’s closet, scooping armfuls of little dresses and shirts along with their hangers, then hurrying out to her Jeep, where she dropped them on the rear seat.
After her third trip, Spanky caught her by the shoulder. “You sure ‘bout this, Helene?”
The hurt blazed in her eyes and he could see her answer in her pain even before she spoke. “He’s been spun since you got busted a year ago. The bastard is sleeping with bag whores. We haven’t fucked in six months and his daughter asks if Daddy still loves her.” Her voice was calm, the tones even.
“Come on. I’ll help you pack and take you home to Granny.”
“No, I’ve rented an apartment on the east side.”
“What furniture do you want to take?”
“None of it, other than Lisa’s bedroom set.”
“I’ll call Bob D. over at the Shady Rest and see about borrowing ol’ Cowboy’s pickup.”
“Thank you,” April said as she wrapped her arms around her adopted brothers’ waist and hugged him.
Sullivan and Cricket never made it to the Queen Mary.
Sullivan’s growling stomach reminded him that they never even made it to dinner. He looked at the blonde woman lying next to him. She was pretty, but not like April. There was a time when April wasn’t much different than Cricket, he thought, as he replayed scenes from the night before in his mind.
As they got into Sullivan’s Vette, he reached over and opened the glove box before pulling his gun from his waistband. As he tossed the Magnum in, Cricket saw a full syringe. She pointed to it and asked what it was. He remembered his first thought was that she was probably anti-drug, or at least anti-needles, and that she would be getting right back out any second. He was thoroughly surprised when he told her that it was speed and she said, “Well then, who needs food? My place is right up the street, two signals then turn right. Second house on the right.”
As he put the car into drive, cricket leaned over, unzipped his pants and pulled his penis free. She deftly brought him to a heightened state of arousal with her long, delicate fingers and hot, sensuous mouth. He came as he was making the right turn on to her street and ran up over the curb in the process.
Sullivan brought the drugs and his gun into the small but neat house. They were all over each other the moment the door closed and naked before they could get to the bedroom. Her body was nothing but sensuous curves. Her blonde hair was now confirmed to be from a bottle, but that was fine.
Cricket took one of the syringes, pulled the protective orange cap and quickly sunk the needle into the crook of her elbow. She checked to be sure she was in a vein, and then depressed the plunger. As she pulled the empty needle from her arm, she took in a huge breath, and then coughed several deep coughs.
Sullivan led her to the bed and guided her to it. A Cheshire grin spread across her face and tiny beads of perspiration sprang up on her forehead.
Cricket was licking her lips in anticipation as she watched Sullivan put the needle into his own arm. He pushed the liquid into his system and a shutter spread through his entire body.
They spent the next several hours having sex. What it lacked in emotional connection it made up for in terms of raw intensity.
He looked once more at the sleeping woman beside him. He lifted the thin cotton sheet that covered them both. She had scratches on her back and ass, as well as a few bruises where he had really dug into her butt with his fingers. He hated this woman for not being April. She stirred and rolled onto her back. Cricket opened her eyes and smiled a sleepy smile.
“Who’s April?” she asked.
Sullivan leaned back against the headboard and closed his eyes before he answered her question. “April’s my wife.”
Cricket crawled up and kissed Sullivan on his forehead before telling him, “Go back to her.”
As Spanky finished putting the drawers into his nieces’ dresser, April was tucking Lisa into her bed. “Do you like your new room?” April asked her daughter.
“Yeah. When is Daddy coming home?” she replied.
Spanky looked over at April, interested in the response she would give.
“Daddy’s sick, sweetheart,” she began.
“Is he gonna die?” Lisa asked, her eyes wide with fright.
April pulled her daughter to her, hugging her tight and pulling her fingers through her long brown hair. “Daddy needs to get some help, but he doesn’t want to do it right now.” She sought more words, but found none.
Spanky finished for her. “Your Daddy is going to be fine. But until he gets help and gets better, you and your Momma are gonna live here, okay?”
“Okay.”
It was explanation enough for a little girl. She climbed back under the covers, got a kiss from her mom and uncle and quickly fell asleep.
Back in the living room downstairs, April thanked her adoptive brother.
“No need to thank me. I’m family, sis. But you can tell me what the Hell happened.”
April sat on the couch, pulling her legs up under her and, hugging a throw pillow to her chest, told him what she knew.
“He started using again, right after you were arrested.”
“That’s partly my fault. I’d left a pound stashed on my bike and asked him to get rid of it for me,” Spanky interrupted.
“I kinda figured it was something like that.” She stared off into the distance, not seeing the blank wall ten feet in front of her, but seeing instead her husband in their bathroom of the master bedroom.
Sullivan had several porn magazines open, lying on the long counter beside the sink. They were all variations of the same theme – girl on girl. He was naked and a sheen of oily sweat coated his entire body. He was furiously stroking his penis. He was so into his masturbation that he didn’t even hear April open the bathroom door. She watched in disgust as her husband brought himself to orgasm, his seed and sweat mingled on the glossy pages of Hustler. “Fuck,” he whispered breathlessly.
“Yeah, fuck! Fuck YOU!” April screamed.
Sullivan spun to his left, seeing his wife as she turned and fled.
She was in the kitchen cutting cucumber to mix into the dinner salad when Sullivan finally emerged from the bathroom. Freshly showered and shaved, dressed in a conservatively cut suit.
“April,” he tried to put an arm around her.
“Don’t,” she said through clenched teeth.
He didn’t even attempt an explanation. “I’ve got a meeting in Torrance, I’ll be back late,” was all he said before grabbing his briefcase from the den and leaving the house.
He didn’t come back for three days. When he did come home, he went straight into the bedroom, undressed and crawled into bed. He was asleep the moment his head hit the pillow. He stayed that way for three days and two nights. When he finally woke up, he ate ravenously before dragging himself into the bathroom. When he emerged from there two hours later, he was showered, shaved and high as a kite. He dressed and left without a word.
“And life has basically been a constant repetition of the same scenes ever since”, April concluded.
“Fuck, sis,” was all Spanky could find to say.
“Yeah. Fuck,” she replied.
“So why don’t you go back to your wife?” Cricket asked as she squeezed a glob of Crest onto her toothbrush.
Sullivan was in the shower. He pulled the brown vinyl curtain back and said, “Because I broke her heart and I don’t deserve her.”<
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Cricket didn’t know what to say. She had expected just about any answer but the one that he gave, so she didn’t say anything. She spit into the sink, bent over to get some water from the running faucet, rinsed and spit again. She wiped her mouth on a towel that hung nearby.
Sullivan found Cricket in the living room, watching the Today Show.
“I’d give up dope for just one night with brunette on that show,” Sullivan said as he walked in and sat on the couch.
“She is pretty, isn’t she?” Cricked asked.
“More like gorgeous. Gorgeous, smart and rich, but I’d take her even if she was flat broke.”
Cricket turned to look at him. “And why would you want her if she were flat broke?”
Without hesitation he blurted out, “Because I could talk to her about any subject, just like April.”
“You really love her, don’t you?”
“If you are talking about April, oh yeah, I love her, heart and soul,” his eyes filled, “I love her and fucked that love off.”
Cricket picked up the remote and muted the talking heads. “Ya wanna talk about it?” she offered tenderly.
Sullivan leaned back and chewed on his lower lip for a moment before deciding to speak. He told Cricket about meeting April, getting shot by the FBI, the birth of Lisa, prison, the skinheads, and, finally, his return to meth and his inability to control his need for sex.
“I started buying porn mags and videos, looking at them when April wasn’t home. I became more and more demanding with her in bed, started taking photos of her and playing different fantasy games. I brought up the possibility of bringing in another woman – she wouldn’t hear of it.”
“Some women refuse to have lesbian experiences. You can’t hold that against her.” Cricket defended the woman she didn’t know. The woman whose husband she had slept with only a few hours earlier.
“No, I don’t hold it against her, but the more dope I did, the more I wanted two women. I started buying only magazines depicting lesbians and I’d jack off to them. Finally, I called an escort service and took two call girls to bed.”