The Lucky Star

by William T. Vollmann

  After awhile Xenia said: Did I really make you feel worthless or do you just like saying that? I mean, you’re a happy goddamned masochist. You’re a fuckin’ hoot—

  Judy replied steadily: So you do those things for money. I mean, I thought—

  Look, said Xenia. In my personal life I definitely play dirty and I date rough. I date prostitutes. I feel so supportive of them that I think, why shouldn’t I?

  Flushing and hesitating, Judy finally said: Would you possibly wanna play dirty with me?

  With you? You stinking fat slut . . . !

  Judy’s lower lip trembled.

  See? You like that! Sure I’ll play with you. Let’s go make up in bed. I’m gonna beat you to death and bite off your earlobe for a souvenir.

  Smiling, Judy burst into tears. She kissed Xenia’s hands, staring into her face like a young girl who masturbates in front of a mirror.

  Come on, called Francine. You two play nice.

  What the fuck does she know? cried Xenia with a beautiful laugh. She and Judy disposed of their drinks in two swallows apiece, then went round the corner. After fifteen minutes Hunter stuck in her head; she was searching for Xenia, so none of us said anything. Then the lesbian came in. The straight man upraised his cell phone and, tapping it, leaned smilingly forward, so that Neva did likewise, bending compliantly over her own cell phone to receive what he was sending her: a photograph of him with his hand in his underpants. So they departed together, and two old men craned their heads, watching the back of the lesbian’s head as she went out. On our television a superhero trembled through space like a dragonfly that has been sprayed with insecticide, then in a final spasm punched through the wall of a spacecraft in order to rescue the blonde. Two hours later the cheating lovebirds returned; Judy was limping but wore that same shit-eating smile as when she played “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” on the jukebox; and Xenia slapped her on the ass. Francine shook her head, but that could hardly mar their bright new friendship. And more might have come of it right then, but the lesbian glided wearily in.

  20

  It was Judy’s turn. That day the retired policeman had said: Now here’s what you’re gonna do. Are you listening, bitch?

  The transwoman nodded eagerly.

  I want you to get hold of her phone. Can you bring it here?

  Oh, no! No, no, no! How could I?

  Well, then can your phone take pictures?

  Well, I’m not smart, so I don’t need a smart phone. That’s what I always say—

  First you’re gonna practice. Next time Karen goes to piss, you’re into her purse like a fly on shit, and you’re opening her phone and then closing it; do you hear me?

  Yes, honey.

  Fine. You’re gonna do that until you gain confidence. How many times have you stolen a john’s pills? There’s nothing to it.

  All right, I’ll try.

  Then you’ll take my phone, and if you lose it I’ll fucking kill you. Do you wanna know what I’ll do to you? Do you, bitch?

  I swear I won’t lose your phone. But what if somebody takes it?

  No one will take it if you don’t show it. The whole world knows there’s nothing in that ratty handbag of yours but condoms and snotty toilet paper, so don’t get caught. That’s all there is to it. Do you understand?

  Judy should have photographed whatever she could, but sometimes her phone uttered incriminating musical moans and she was too nervous to remember how to turn those off. She settled for non-virtual theft. In the top inside flap of that famous overnight bag there remained more photoportraits to steal, so while Neva was in the bathroom her nasty guest withdrew two more: a very dark black-and-white snapshot of a beautiful young woman in some poolhall or bar, her right arm nearly as luminous as the cue ball, her perfect face concentrated on the table, and behind her the backside of a plainer woman in a skimpy dress which tied up behind the neck; then came a color photo of the beautiful girl on what appeared to be an airport tarmac, her slightly wavy hair down around her shoulders, the top button of her white blouse undone; she was smiling.

  This time Judy felt less scared. She even had fun.

  21

  But what are you looking for? she begged. Just tell me so I can—

  She has a secret. That’s obvious. What do most people want to hide? Money, sex, love, drugs or murder. What else is there?

  What else? I—What is it for me?

  You lie, you cheat and you steal. You’d do anything for a climax, a nickel or a pat on the head. I doubt you have the guts to murder. Everything else, probably . . .

  What about you?

  Oh, me? My secret is I never had a fucking life. I risked my ass on the street for nothing and then I got old and now I’m waiting to die, so just to take my mind off—

  I know. I’m your secret. Baby, tell me I’m your secret!

  Sure. That’s exactly it. You’re my secret bitch. Getting excited now, are you? I s’pose that means you need another spanking. What a world.

  What a world, what a world! And then she melted, and Judy Garland—

  Took it up the ass, just like you. And the Wicked Witch of the West rode my ever-lovin’ broomstick.

  So did Judy, then and there—because wasn’t she his dear little secret? And perhaps she was the reason that the lesbian’s secret, real or supposed, had fastened its teeth upon the retired policeman, so that he could not get away from its pinching. When Judy licked her forefinger and then slowly traced it around his nipple, the nipple sprang up and even his tired old penis began to straighten.

  22

  And Sandra, with her ovoid breasts floating above the soapsuds, played mermaid in their bathtub, all the while trying to reassure the straight man. When he asked why she stayed with Neva, she answered: I suppose it’s a form of escape but also a connection. I feel so rootless, unattached, floating right now; I want to connect with someone whom I love . . . , and she added as an afterthought, and with you whom I love, but the straight man didn’t buy it.

  23

  Well, we could spend longer periods together, said the lesbian.

  But what good would that do? cried Sandra. Then I’d only have to lie more to Louis, or come and go and lie and never be in the moment . . .

  24

  Ever more often came that feeling when Sandra would agonize for half an hour about whether to text the straight man back or call him back, and then she decided that if she called him he probably wouldn’t be there, so she called him, and of course he was there, so she sat naked on top of the lesbian talking to him with a big smile and with her big black spectacles on; as silently as she could, the lesbian got out from under her, and went into the bathroom to sit on the toilet and wait, listening to Sandra slam her wine glass down and chitterchat, thinking: This is hell, sitting cold and sad on the toilet minute after minute with her knees trembling. Then she remembered what her purpose was, and softly sang Reba’s song of names.—Oh! said Sandra. What do they say, honey? Isn’t that kind of an international chain?

  25

  Admit it, Neva. You play it cool, but you’re the same as me: a whore for attention.

  Maybe I shouldn’t talk about it.

  Why not? cried Judy, glorying in that warmish-hot feeling that she could invite into her chest at any time by thinking about the lesbian.

  Because it sounds weird.

  Tell me, girlfriend! Please tell me!

  Well, the thing is, I do feel happy to be loved but I . . .

  But you what?

  I do it for you.

  What? So you’re just doing me a favor, is that it?

  No, because I kind of have to do it.

  What do you mean?

  C’mere, Judy. You want to suck my breast—

  Neva, I’m trying to be a good friend but I’m afraid I may be too selfish . . .

  26
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br />   Sending Judy on her way, the lesbian received my worship, and her anus tightened around me in much the same way that Shantelle’s hand was guaranteed to slam around any little packet of crystal or powder even when she didn’t know which drug it was. Then she went next door to service Catalina, who said: We need to talk, because I keep thinking about you and I’m trying not to get irritated. Can’t you understand how this is for me?

  I think so.

  For me, it’s not that it mentally matters. But physically, if I do get an orgasm, even with Carmen, it’s just more healing than if I don’t. It feels like a circle, like complete. Is that how it is for you?

  Sure, honey, said the lesbian.

  And when you’re doing it to me, Neva, oh, God! Do you want me to leave Carmen for you?

  No, honey.

  Because I would, you know. I swear by all the saints! Do you believe me?

  Of course I do, said the lesbian.

  Then why don’t you want me?

  You know I do.

  Neva, whenever I’m in your arms I do feel desired and loved, but then you go away. And most of the time you’re not with me, and I watch all those others go in and out; then I start doubting what we have. And I can’t stand it—

  What about Carmen?

  To hell with her. I only want you.

  But before we met—

  That was different. Everything changes . . .

  Will you do something for me, Catalina?

  Anything!

  Keep making Carmen happy. Do it for me.

  So you’re leaving me.

  No, honey. Do you want to get closer to me?

  You know I do.

  I already love you unconditionally, and our love is only going to grow. You feel desperate because you want more, right?

  Catalina nodded, staring at her like a child.

  That means you love me more. And I love you more, but you don’t know how to feel it. Now what I ask you to do is take even better care of Carmen, try to make her happier and more fulfilled, and see if my love comes through to you better. I want you to try it, for me, and then we’ll talk again.

  When?

  In two months.

  No. I won’t wait that long.

  Okay, said the lesbian. Let’s give it a month. And then we’ll sit down together, you and Carmen and me . . .

  27

  Tell me a story, said Judy.

  No, said Shantelle, thrusting her middle finger at the television. That ain’t Jennifer Lopez’s real face. Just look at her. She’s definitely had botox, and fuck knows about the nasolabial folds.

  Tell me a story about Neva.

  Get lost. Hey, Sandra, where’s your boyfriend?

  Right now we’re not actually seeing each other.

  I don’t give a shit about that. I want somebody to play liars’ dice with. He’s a good one ’cause he always loses.

  Giving up on Shantelle, Judy eavesdropped on Francine, who had poured herself a Hell’s Balls and was telling Sandra: When I was like sixteen, the quarterback of the football team wanted me to suck his cock and I was like, okay. He really actually liked me and it was the first experience that I had with someone liking me. Until then I never got to experience what it was like to have someone interested in me. My girlfriends would cry to me when their boyfriends broke up with them. I broke one boy’s heart but not that quarterback’s. But I also got married to a woman when I was seventeen. But I would also never have said I’m a lesbian—

  Selene, who had just gotten a butterfly tattooed right below her navel, was standing by the door complaining into her phone: So then Ricardo started saying he was too busy selling furniture to see me at night. And I was like, really? I thought we were married. Then he Blurfed me and Xenia to justify himself. And Xenia got so mad she even deleted her Blurf account. Is that so? That’s because you’re not Xenia. And besides, Neva’s on a completely different level from you.

  You mean, Ricardo dumped you? said Judy.

  No one had taken her bait about Jennifer Lopez, so Shantelle, who was wearing huge sunglasses to better resemble a badass, set the hook anew: Francine, did you pick up those rumors about Angelina Jolie?

  No.

  That bitch won’t even have the guts to kill herself when the time comes.

  Why pretend to know what you don’t know? You want a refill?

  Pretty please? Judy interjected.

  Pretty please what? Shantelle and I were having a conversation, and besides, your glass is half full.

  Wishing that she could lock herself away from everyone, the transwoman dragged her fingers back and forth across the sticky counter. Indifference felt as bitter to her as contempt. Fortunately, just then little Erin came in. Judy hugged her; Judy kissed her over and over; Judy bought her a drink.—Um, thank you! said Erin.

  Will you tell me a story?

  About what? said Erin. I don’t really—

  About anything. No. I mean, about you. Because you’re so goddamn interesting.

  I am? Oh, okay, said Erin. But I really have to—

  I’ll buy you another drink, I promise!

  No, I’m good. Let me think . . . Judy, sometimes you act kind of weird. I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, but . . . About when I was little, right? ’Cause that’s what gets you off. Oh, my . . . Well, I remember kind of waking up outside of my bed when I started sleeping in my room, and I started to have dreams that were sexual.

  If only I’d been right next to you! cried Judy, but Erin continued: The thing that makes me unhappy in my life is that I was taken advantage of when I was nine. He was forty. I was curious and he went along with it. He asked me a few years ago if I would have sex with him again and I said no, that’s not acceptable. There was a family intervention. Well, so we had sex. Maybe that’s why I was not happy later about getting breasts. I remember him showing me a picture of his daughter who was a few years older than me, and I asked him, do you have sex with her? and he got mad and said, no, she’s my daughter, and I’d thought I was like his daughter, too, so I felt disrespected.

  Well, asked Judy, what if he’d had sex with her too?

  Then it would have been okay.

  A refill for Erin! cried Judy, delighted to be running this show.

  Two dollars, said Francine (it was only fizzy water).

  Erin raised her drink almost to her lips, then put it down and said: I feel awkward when young men in high school notice me. I feel an attraction, but if you’re under eighteen I don’t wanna play. Even under twenty-one I don’t wanna play. I just want to know that someone’s been in the world a bit longer, so he’ll . . . See you, Judy; I’ve gotta go. Now I feel upset, I don’t know why—

  Why the hell did she rush off like that? said Shantelle.

  Chase her down and ask her, said Francine. Judy, hon, you need a refill.

  Oh, I do? Okay—

  Six dollars.

  Then Selene, who was either high or else just practicing for show night, began slowly spreading her thighs on the empty stage.

  28

  It was four in the morning. The lesbian might be sleeping now, assuming that she ever did. How many hours did she need? Unlike the retired policeman, I had realized that such considerations did not matter. Whenever we humans desired one another, understanding our object of desire concerned us only insofar as the knowledge facilitated our purpose: How does she like to do it, and how can I persuade her to lower her guard?

  Then it was five, and Melba visited the lesbian, in hopes of learning how to make the retired policeman love her again.

  29

  Six hours later his dry tongue awoke him, so he treated himself to a stiff shot of Old Crow. His ankles swelled up right away. He made a date with his informant Mariah Chambers. Then he lay down. In the afternoon he rolled into Ladykiller’s with that b
lack-and-white snapshot of the beautiful young woman playing pool.

  No, said Mariah Chambers, I don’t recognize her, but that place must be Jingle’s. Oh, how we used to get shitfaced there! No problem with underaged drinking; they were the best. I spent some of the best nights of my youth puking in the weeds behind Jingle’s. And that’s where I learned how to give blow jobs. I actually give a really good blow job. It’s one thing I pride myself on. And see the wallpaper? Dude, that is classic ugly. I used to rack pool there with the dick who became my first husband. He wrecked my life, because—

  Because you spoiled him with Class A-1 blow jobs.

  Fuck you!

  Can you tell when that photo was taken?

  Could have been any time. Jingle’s never changes. That wallpaper’s really . . . Why not ask the geezers in there?

  All right. Where is it?

  Oh, you can walk there from Vallejo High. It’s . . . Let me see that again. You know what? That’s got to be Karen’s girlfriend. Elaine or Eloise or something like that; E something . . . What a memory I have! Are you really gonna go to Jingle’s?

  Sure.

  Will you do something for me? Order a Hot Bitch in my honor. You don’t have to drink it. Just . . . You know, that place was the best. And that was the drink.

  Was it Karen’s drink?

  Who gives a fuck about that twisted little queer? I hope she died from AIDS, screaming. Buy me another drink. Now I like you. You’re on my wavelength, even if you are a cop. Don’t queers make you sick?

  Uh huh, he said. So you’re telling me that was the drink.

  All the cool girls drank it. That was the in thing, you know, to be a hot bitch. And you know what? I’m still trying. Did I tell you I give A plus blow jobs? My secret is that I really like to swallow.

  Let’s keep it a secret, he said.

  30

  Judy was in his bad graces again, so he declined to take her to Vallejo, especially since that sloppy bitch would only fuck up his business. But she was willing to do anything, I mean anything, to make him love her again, so he said: You steal from Karen, right?