Tricks Page 4

  my teeth rattle. You little bitch.

  How dare you talk to me like

  that? You know anything

  I do to get by, I do for you.

  “You”

  Meaning her collective offspring.

  I look into her eyes and find only

  honesty there. She means every

  word, hasn’t even the slightest

  clue how full of shit she totally

  is. I don’t care. She should know.

  “Some people wait tables or work

  in grocery stores, Iris. Hustling

  BJs is lazy work.” All on your knees.

  Emotions cycle through her eyes

  like a color wheel. She wants

  to hit me. Wants to hug me.

  Her hands, still attached to my

  shoulders, tremble. I’m sorry.

  I just don’t know anything else.

  Finally her hands fall away.

  I thought maybe things would

  change with Greg. Get better.

  What planet does she live on?

  “Get real! What guy wants

  a woman like … like you?”

  Smacked Down

  That’s how she looks, but I don’t

  feel bad about it. She wants me

  to mother her. Well, what mother

  with half a pair of balls wouldn’t say

  the same thing? (Not counting

  my mother!) And I’ve got a full pair.

  I swear I can see smoke billowing

  from her ears. Who made you so

  stinking mean? She spits the s’s.

  What a fucking stupid question!

  Isn’t she expecting my answer?

  “Who do you fricking think?”

  She wants to say more, but at this

  exact moment, Gram comes

  into the room, carrying an armful

  of detergenty-smelling laundry.

  Her head swivels toward us.

  Uh. Am I interrupting something?

  Iris shakes her head. Nothing

  important. I need a smoke.

  She rolls off the bed. And a beer.

  I Must Look

  As pissed as I feel. Without

  a word, Gram lays the folded

  clothes on the other bed.

  She turns toward me slowly,

  and for maybe the hundredth

  time, I wonder what has carved

  such deep wrinkles into her face.

  She’s only, like, fifty-three

  or so, and I’m pretty sure that,

  unlike Iris, Gram used to be

  a knockout. You okay?

  Her voice is pillow soft.

  My eyes sting suddenly. It

  should be Iris—Mom—

  asking if I’m okay. “No.”

  Gram comes over, sits on

  the edge of the bed. Up

  close, her face looks like

  earthquake-splintered stone.

  Worn, but not worn out.

  I wish I could change things

  for you. And for her, too.

  Her childhood was no

  walk in the park either. Not

  easy, being an army brat. And

  touching down in Barstow

  wasn’t exactly a reward for years

  spent hauling around the U.S.

  Then, when her dad got killed …

  well, she went starved dog wild.

  Between Fort Irwin, Edwards,

  and the Marine Corps bases,

  there were plenty of men willing

  to be stand-ins for her fallen

  father. Only it wasn’t exactly

  daughterly love they were after.

  Guess That Explains

  How she got knocked up

  with me when she was

  only sixteen. Just my age.

  And maybe it explains why

  she never outgrew teendom.

  Still, “Why are you taking her

  side? She pisses you off too.

  Not like we can’t hear you

  yell at each other, you know.”

  Gram nods. I know. I’m sorry.

  It’s not such a big place.

  Barely enough room to fit

  you all in. But we’ll get by.

  Yes, I get mad at Iris. She can

  be downright infuriating. Always

  was a selfish girl. Never one

  to think about others, or try

  to spare their feelings. Not

  mother material, not at all. Not

  fair to any of you to pop you

  out, then leave you to mostly fend

  for yourselves. Even coyotes and

  jackals do better by their pups.

  All I’m asking is for her to get

  a job. Something legit. Pay taxes,

  stop whoring arou—She skids

  to a stop, has said too much.

  “It’s okay. I know what she does.

  Hate what she does. She’ll never

  stop. Not for you. Not for any of us.”

  In the Next Room

  Sandy starts up a fuss. Short

  nap. He’ll be a little turdcake

  tonight. Gram and I move at

  the same time. Iris will let him

  squish around in his wet Pull-Up

  until someone else changes it. I stop

  Gram with a touch of my hand.

  “I’ll get him. You do enough.”

  I kiss her cheek gently before

  sliding off the bed, onto the chipped

  linoleum floor. Nothing special

  about Gram’s house. Except Gram.

  One second, she says, giving me

  a fierce hug. I know things haven’t

  been easy for you kids. A regular

  parade of Iris’s men, most of ’em

  bad ones, in and out of your lives.

  Not even knowing your daddies.

  Moving around, cycling through

  homes. No homes at all sometimes.

  And not because the army was giving

  anyone orders. I wish I’d known

  sooner, but Iris didn’t talk to me

  at all for years. Anger just eats

  a person up inside, and I swear

  that girl was born angry. Anyway,

  that ain’t no here nor there.

  But now you know where I live.

  Whatever happens, I want you

  to remember this is always your home.

  Love, unlike any I’ve ever known,

  floods through me. I kiss Gram’s

  cheek. “I will.” I want to say more,

  but I’m afraid if I do I’ll jinx

  myself, and the other kids too.

  Speaking of them, there’s Sandy

  again, crying like he’s dying.

  “Better go!” I dash toward

  the door, and as I leave, I can

  hear Gram’s quiet, Tsk-tsk.

  Then she whispers, Too bad Iris

  can’t be more like her daughter.

  I Don’t Think

  She meant me to hear it.

  But I did, and I flush,

  blood warm with pleasure.

  That was probably the nicest

  thing anyone has ever said

  about me, if not to me directly.

  I start toward the small bedroom

  that used to belong to Iris when

  she was in high school. I hate

  going in there, because I know

  it’s where she got preggers

  with me. Same bed, even. No,

  I’m not guessing. One night,

  after a beer or two too many,

  Iris felt the warped need to share

  the whole story—how Private First

  Class Kenneth Cordell sneaked

  in through the window, not once,

  but enough times to make damn

  sure and knock up one Iris Ann
>
  Belcher. Thanks so much, Daddy.

  A Poem by Cody Bennett

  Not Damn Sure

  Where my real daddy ran

  to, if he settled down in some

  Podunk town or if he fell flat

  off the face of the earth.

  No clue

  who he is or why Mom

  slept with him seventeen

  years ago, give or take.

  Maybe it was rape.

  No lie.

  Mom is pretty much

  a prude. A nice prude.

  and all things considered,

  a really great mom.

  No complaints

  about her or how we

  live. Yeah, I’ve got

  a stepdad, but he’s pretty

  damn good to us.

  No reason

  to turn all emo over not

  knowing my real—scratch

  that—I mean biological

  father. Why would I want to?

  No worries.

  Cody

  After Wichita

  Vegas is a strange, strange city.

  I mean, everything in Wichita is

  ebony and ivory. Everyone knows

  where everyone else stands on things

  like immigration (electrify the wall)

  or global warming (greenhouse … huh?).

  But in Vegas, no one knows

  one damn thing about their next-

  door neighbor, even. We moved

  here almost two years ago, and

  the only reason I know anyone

  on the block is because of school.

  Even there, unless you really

  push hard, you don’t make

  friends, and if you do, they’re

  liable to move away before long.

  They say Vegas is a transient

  city. Whole lot of truth in that.

  People come. People go. Not

  like Wichita, where people

  mostly stay. Guess I miss

  some things about Kansas.

  But worrying over it won’t help

  anyone. Especially not me.

  I Go with the Flow

  Don’t make waves, don’t

  buck the current. I clean my

  room, play nice with my little

  brother. Maintain a solid 3.0

  GPA. Might even go on to

  college. Meanwhile, I work

  part time at GameStop to pay

  for gas and insurance. My hair

  is trimmed, my clothes are neat,

  and I never wear all black,

  except to funerals. You probably

  wouldn’t notice me walking

  down the street, unless you

  happen to be attracted to

  “average.” It’s not such a bad

  thing to be. When you fly

  well below the radar, you get

  away with a hell of a lot.

  Of Course

  My mom would forgive me

  just about anything. Always

  trying to make up for the absent

  father thing. Not sure why.

  My stepfather, Jack, is really

  pretty cool. To her. To me.

  He’s an aircraft mechanic,

  working a civil service job

  at Nellis AFB. Mom met him

  at Boeing in Wichita. She was

  a receptionist there. It wasn’t

  exactly love at first sight, at least

  not for her. She called him

  “persistent.” He called himself

  “bit by the love bug.” Okay,

  that’s corny, but hey, that’s Jack.

  I’ve gotten used to corny. Typical

  Jack joke: A rope orders a drink,

  but the bartender says, “We don’t

  serve ropes here.” The rope goes

  outside, ties himself up, unravels

  one end, goes back inside. Bartender

  says, “Hey, aren’t you that rope?”

  Rope shakes his head. “Frayed knot.”

  Get It?

  You know, “frayed knot,”

  meaning “’fraid not.” Corny

  as hell, like I said. But also kind

  of funny. Anyway, it’s easy

  enough to put up with corny when

  it’s from-the-heart honest.

  Jack is honest as a mare-sniffing

  stud, which is why he gets along

  with Mom. She can’t stand when

  people lie. Can’t blame her, so I try

  not to do much out-and-out lying.

  “Omitting” is something else.

  I do my fair share of omitting.

  Despite Mom’s ongoing request

  to know where I’m going, who

  I’ll be with, and when I’ll be home,

  she rarely questions the bare-bones

  details I usually provide.

  I suppose that might change if

  I ever fall into serious trouble.

  But so far I’ve done a whole

  lot of weekend partying without

  getting busted, addicted, or dead.

  Smarter than the average stoner.

  Tonight Being Saturday Night

  I plan on a little fun before

  going home. First I have to

  finish my shift. One hour and

  counting, the door buzzer

  signals a customer. Hope he

  knows exactly what he wants.

  Oops. I mean she, and not just

  any “she,” but Veronica Carino.

  I haven’t seen her around much

  lately. Not since I broke up

  with Alyssa, her best friend.

  “Hey, Ronnie. What’s up?”

  She barely glances my way

  as she starts a counterclockwise

  circumnavigation. Wii. Xbox.

  PlayStation. Doesn’t she know

  what system she has? “Can I help

  you find what you’re looking for?”

  Finally she reaches the counter,

  leans across, inflating the scoop

  of her tank top. Thanks, but I think

  I found it. She wets her lips with

  the tip of her tongue, pouts full on.

  How come you haven’t called me?

  Is This a Trick?

  Something she and Alyssa cooked

  up to make me look like a jerk?

  Ronnie Carino has never even

  batted her pretty green eyes at

  me before. Let alone given me

  an up-close view of those tasty-looking

  tits. Something twitches

  behind my zipper. Glad I’m

  standing behind the counter.

  “Uh … called you? Guess

  I figured since ’Lyss and I broke

  up, you’d probably be mad at me.”

  Ronnie takes a deep breath,

  rounding the mounds I can’t

  quit staring at. Then she exhales

  in a big sigh. Why would I be mad

  at you? You and ’Lyssa weren’t

  good for each other. Oil and H2O …

  True enough. We argued over

  everything, from music to sports.

  Only one thing was really good

  between us…. That twitch again.

  “So, are you saying you want to go

  out with me?” The direct approach

  usually cuts straight through

  the bullshit, but it can backfire.

  I half expect her to laugh and tell

  me I’m out of my mind. Instead

  she smiles a total come-on. Yeah.

  Why? Does that surprise you?

  Can’t she see the shock in my

  eyes? I feel like I touched a hot

  wire. “Kinda, I guess.” I watch

  her inhale. Exhale. Ah, why not?

  One reason comes immediately

  t
o mind. “What about Alyssa?”

  She’ll get totally pissed off. But

  after she thinks about it, she’ll be

  okay … or maybe she won’t….

  Ronnie dips even lower, giving

  me a quick nipple shot before

  drawing back and straightening.

  Right now, I don’t care what

  ’Lyss thinks. Do you? She waits

  for me to answer. The thought

  crosses my mind again that this

  could all be a setup. Still, I shake

  my head. Great. How ’bout tonight?

  I Watch Ronnie Leave

  Wondering what the hell just

  went down. Thinking with my

  dick. That’s for sure. So what

  is Ronnie thinking with? That

  makes the dick in question

  think even harder. Thank God

  when the door opens next, it’s

  a bunch of kids. Keeping an eye

  on them will help me forget

  about what might happen tonight.

  Ronnie and I are going to Frozen75,

  the only underage club in Vegas.

  I guess she’s on some special list

  so we won’t have to wait in line

  to get in. No booze inside, but

  whatever. I just want to watch her

  dance. We can keep the refreshments

  in my car. And as for dessert …

  Stop that! One of the kids comes

  over, whining about Pokémon

  Purple, and why don’t we have

  it, when it’s right in front of his

  grubby, little face. “Hang on a

  sec and I’ll get it for you.” Brat.

  The Rest of the Hour

  Creeps by. Tick-tick … tick.

  I’m actually happy when people

  come in, asking dopey questions.

  At least it keeps me from looking

  at the freaking clock every ten

  seconds. Why am I so anxious?

  Well, yeah, there is the idea

  that I just might hook up with

  one very hot girl. I have to admit

  I have thought about boinking

  her more than once, while

  taking solo care of a hard-on.

  Oh yeah, the big M. I probably

  do it more than I should, and

  Ronnie is definite boner bait,

  at least when I’m left to my

  own imagination instead of

  Internet porn. Viva la webcams!

  Good thing Mom and Jack

  aren’t too nosy when it comes

  to my personal web-browsing

  history. One very good example

  of “omission.” If they asked, would

  I out-and-out lie? Who wouldn’t?