Rock Chick 03 Redemption (17 page)

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

“Don’t tel Tex you’re gonna buy a franchise, he’l go bal istic.”

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, wil you two keep it the fuck down. The wal s are paper thin and you’re disturbin’ the cats!”

We both stood stock stil 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 col ided with Hank’s col arbone. Stil , I didn’t stop laughing.

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

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.

Final y, 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 stil 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 swal owed because I knew he did and that meant a lot.

“Thank you,” I whispered, for like the mil ionth 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 Bil y
now
. I meant I had loved him, once upon a time when the fairytale could stil 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 Mel encamp’s

“Minutes to Memories”.

“Mel encamp,” 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 Mel encamp explains about the wise old man in the song’s vision. About how that vision was hard to fol ow. 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 Bil y 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 fel 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 rol ed 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 swel ing was gone; the bruises were purple, green and yel ow. 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 Uncle Tex on the couch his feet up on the coffee table, a bowl of popcorn resting on his bel y 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 yel ow daisy-printed, vinyl chair at his kitchen table. He got me a cup of coffee and sat with me. “Hank stil 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 truthful y.

“You wanna talk about it?”

I shook my head.

“You wanna talk about anything?”

I shook my head again.

“Al right, girl. I’l 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.

“Wel , I’l 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 Wil Smith was seriously kicking some alien ass.

Uncle Tex had been fielding phone cal s for the last hour.

Jet cal ed. Indy cal ed. Nancy cal ed. Daisy cal ed. Eddie cal ed. Eddie cal ed again. Eddie cal ed 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 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 cel . 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 pul ed 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 cal .

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.”

“Wel , 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 Wil Smith and making me worried about the future of the coffee table when his bulk settled on it.

it.

“You’re in my way,” I told him.

“Look at me, girl.”

I tried to look around him at the TV.

“Roxanne Gisel e Logan, look at me.”

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

“What?” I clipped, total y uppity.

Okay, so I was conditioned to do what I was told, but I was uppity enough to do it with il 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 al 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 stil ignored me.

“This life is made of good turns and bad turns. Few months ago, I did a good turn. I took a bul et 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 bul et 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 cal s, 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’l cal ,” he said.

* * * * *

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

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

Hank had not cal ed.

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 cel and cal ed Annette.

Annette had given up web design to open a head shop in Chicago cal ed, 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 She had curly, ash-blonde hair, milky green eyes and was tal , tal er even than me. She was a good friend. She was nice to Bil y’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 wal , smashing it to smithereens.

“Yo, bitch!” she answered on the second ring (nothing to be alarmed about, this was how Annette answered the phone al 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! Bil y kidnapped me and beat me up. This is not about Hank!”

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