The Agency

Wank lines don’t cut it anymore, and prossies are far too expensive, especially when you want the weird shit, Bobby thought, tossing his mobile onto his bedside table. Besides, fake, phony play doesn’t do shit for me these days, even if the whores can act well! My brain knows the difference, and it needs the real fucking deal! 

Raking his moist hands through his shaggy hair, Bobby looked at his naked form in the mirror above his bed. “So, now what am I going to do?” he said. “I’m horny as fuck, I have a raging hard-on, and I’m all out of options. Bollocks!” 

He pounded the mattress with his fists and legs like a toddler in full tantrum.

I need to take shit back to that level, but how? he thought to himself. No, I can’t, I could have done some serious jail time! I was lucky to have never been caught; it was a good thing I sought help when I did…

Just wank! came a voice at the back of his head, sounding a lot like his ex-therapist. When you get like this, fighting against your urges, just wank. Wank it out. 

“Fucking easy for you to say, doc! You have no idea what it’s like having urges you can’t control. All that ‘Write your feelings down,’ bullshit. Where did that get me?”

Bobby could feel his anger bubbling over.

“Wanking for wanking’s sake is boring!” he yelled at the voice in his head. “Besides, the urges will only come back stronger if I don’t give myself what I actually need…”

You can’t go on with those kind of behaviors, Bobby, his therapist continued. 

“I wish you’d get out of my fucking head!”

Don’t let your kinks control you, Bobby. They do not define you!

“Ugh!” Bobby said, abruptly rising to his feet. “Shut up, shut up, shut up!” He glared at himself in the wall mirror. “We’re losing it again, Bobby!”

Just wank, Bobby.

Wank. 

Wank. 

Wank…! 

Bobby stepped back and slammed his fist into the mirror, relishing the sound of tinkling, falling glass.

“How do you like me now, doc?” he said, staring at the shards about his feet, hundreds of tiny Bobbys staring back at him.

Get a hold of yourself, Bobby, a new voice interjected. 

“Oh, it’s you…”

Miss me?

Bobby nodded affirmatively. “Have you come to instruct me, as you used to, like the good friend you are?”

Yeah, now you’re not taking those stupid little pills anymore. You won’t ditch me again, will you, Bobby? I’ve been so good to you… 

“I won’t. I promise! Please, just help me out! I’m fucking clinging on here, old pal.”

I want you to settle yourself, Bobby. Remember your breathing exercises.  

Bobby did as instructed, lying back and stretching out on his king size bed.

You’re forgetting something, Bobby.

“What?”

Think, Bobby. Think! What day is it? Where are you right now?

“It’s Friday, I’m at my cabin…”

And who is coming here to meet you?

Bobby racked his brain for the answer he should have already known. Then suddenly, it dawned on him.

“Oh shit, Tilly!”

That’s right, Bobby. You better get ready – you don’t have long before she arrives.

Bobby turned his head and saw the handcuffs hanging from the corner of the bed. His heart began to race as he imagined himself at Tilly’s mercy.

Stop fucking daydreaming, Bobby! She’ll be here soon.

Bobby grabbed the handcuffs and snapped one of the bracelets around his wrist. Then, putting his hands behind his back, he fed the loose cuff around the headboard and clicked it onto his other wrist. Settling back onto the bed, he could now only watch the clock as he eagerly anticipated Tilly’s arrival.

A few minutes later, the phone began to ring. Reflexively he rose to answer, but the cuffs held him firmly in place.

“Hey Bobby, it’s Tilly—” came the voice on the answering machine.

Bobby’s heart sank as he stared at the phone across the room, the handcuff keys in the bowl there beside it.

“—Sorry,” she continued, “but I won’t be able to make it this weekend. I did try your mobile phone, your home one too, and when I couldn’t get an answer on either, I thought you might have already been there at the cabin… Anyway, my mother died last night, in her sleep, and I’m a wreck. I’m not sure when I’ll be back, so I’ll contact you in a few days. I hope that’s okay? Again, I’m sorry, and I know this is short notice—”

Then the line went dead.

“No! No, no, no! Oh, fuck! Fuck! Fuck this shit!” Bobby thrashed against the headboard, trying to dislodge something, anything. “This can’t be happening! Nooo! Aaargh!”

“Hello?” came a voice from downstairs. “Mr Gerald? Bobby Gerald?”

“What, wait! Hello?! Is someone there?”

“Oh, hi… Bobby?” came the voice once again. “My name’s Janeen – the agency sent me.” 

Oh Jesus, thank God! he thought, forgetting about his predicament. “Yes, I’m Bobby!”

“Brilliant. Shall I come up?” Janeen said.

“I—” he started, hearing her footfalls on the stairs. “No, I don’t think—”

The door creaked open and she entered.

“Well, well, well, Mr Gerald,” said the attractive woman standing over him, regarding his naked body. “What a predickament you seem to find yourself in…”

“I-I wasn’t expecting anyone, sorry! Could you just… the keys are over there, just behind you,” he said, indicating with a nod of his head. 

“There’s no need to apologise, Mr Gerald.”

“Please, call me Bobby,” he said.

Her eyes bored into him and he turned away, trying to hide his erection. 

“No need to be shy, Bobby,” she said as she drew nearer. “I’ve seen all sorts, so don’t you worry about that. It’s always the rich ones…”

“What’s always the rich ones?”

“That are kinky and perverted. You were expecting Tilly, weren’t you? Come on, spill,” she said, narrowing her eyes.

Bobby shook his head and kept mum.

“What do you think your bosses at the bank would say about all this?”

“W-wait… This is all just—”

“Yes, yes, just a big misunderstanding,” she said. “That may have worked on young, dumb Tilly, but not on me, Bobby. I know a rotten egg when I see one…”

Shit, what the fuck am I going to do? he thought, hoping the voices would help, but they’d abandoned him. 

“Now, I’m sure you’d love for me to ridicule you, to whip you, to piss and shit all over you, but I’m not going to do any of that. No, sir. Because that would give you what you wanted, wouldn’t it? It would make you shoot your muck all over the place.”

“Please…” he whined. “Please just let me go…”

Bobby whimpered as she sat down beside him, gently cupping his balls in her hand.

“Don’t hurt me!” he shrieked, as she slowly began to squeeze.

“Oh? You’re not the pain-liking type?” 

Bobby shook his head vigorously in response.

“Well, that’s bad news for you.”

“Wha-what do you mean?”

“It means you won’t like what I’m about to dish out, Bobby. Not one bit. So, shall we get started?” 

“No! Let me out of these cuffs, please. Please, I won’t say—”

“You won’t say a word to anyone? That’s rich!”

“You’ll lose your job if the agency finds out about this!”

“What agensssssy?”

Bobby stared in horror as her long, forked tongue darted in and out of her mouth.

No, this can’t be happing! I’m just seeing things, that’s all!

Bobby shut his eyes tight against the madness. When he reopened them, Janeen was mere inches from his face, glaring back at him with yellow, reptilian eyes.

“Jesus Christ!” he shrieked, pissing all over himself.

“Oh, you mucky boy!” she said. “That’s going to cost you extra…”

“Wh-what are you?!”

“Something old,” she said, tracing a talon down the side of his face. “Something your filthy, dirty, rubbish-filled mind could never comprehend…”

Searing pain flashed across his cheek as she dug in, drawing blood.

“Oww, you bitch!”

“Oh, but Bobby, we’ve only just begun! Soon we’ll discover who’s the bitch…”

“You can’t do this! I pay your goddamn agency, for fuck’s sake!”

“I can do it, and I am!” she said. “And besides, I work for a different agency…”  

“Who?! I haven’t done shit all!” he screamed, thrashing against the cuffs. “Please, I beg—”

“Stop that, you snivelling toad!”

Janeen raked her talons down his chest, leaving red gashes on their way towards his groin.

“ARGGHH!!!”

“You’re going to make sure Tilly’s set for life, Bobby. You’re going to pay her on behalf of all the women you’ve abused…”

“Wh-what?! You can’t do this! You’ll never get away with—”

Janeen took his nuts in her fist, twisting them until he was sure they would burst.

“Just a bit more pressure, and…”

Bobby screamed in agony, blood and cum seeping between her claws.

“Don’t you pass out on me, Bobby!”

“Hospital…” 

“What will you do for me?”

“An-anything…”

“Will you give all your money to Tilly?”

“Ye-yes!”

“Good! Tilly will be most happy, Bobby.”

“Ta-take me to the hospital…”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Bobby. Not just yet. You still have one more price to pay, and that price is your ticket to Hell…”

He screamed as she flipped him over, breaking his arms and wrists, popping his shoulders from their sockets in the process.

“Ha-have mercy…” he moaned, as she slowly worked her talons up his ass. His entire body began to seize as she dug deeper inside, ripping his organs to pulp. 

“Come for me, Bobby. Come for me!”

The last thing he felt was her claws bursting through his chest.

Van Gogh

The media dubbed him Van Gogh because each of his victims was missing her right ear. They reported that Van Gogh sliced off the ears post-mortem and that none of the ears had been found. His seven victims were women, though no particular type was singled out. One was tall, one short. Black, Hispanic, White, old, young. Women panicked.

Then the media said all of the victims had been prostitutes. Other stories overshadowed the murders, and the murders were relegated to obscurity. So the whores still worked their corners, a little leery, but willing to get into a car if the john looked all right.

Tonight Van Gogh thought he may have found his next victim. An Amazon of a woman with long, supple legs and honey-colored skin. She wore a gold mini skirt slit to her waist, revealing a firm rounded hip, and a black halter top barely covering her small breasts. Her hair hid under a shoulder-length silver metallic wig, which reminded Van Gogh of tinsel dangling from a Christmas tree, and as he drove by her a second time the wind played the tinsel against her head, allowing one large-lobed ear to peek through.

That little peek hooked him.

He stopped the car one store front away from her, blinking his taillights to let her know he was interested, and hoping she’d notice his bumper sticker – “Jesus Saves.”

She leaned through the open passenger window far enough for the wig’s fringe to brush against the inside door, giving him a glimpse of both ear lobes.

“Hey, baby. Want a date?” she asked.

“Yes. Yes I do. How much will it cost?”

She licked her lips. “Well for you baby only 20.”

“Twenty? I-I can give you 40 if you have a room. I don’t wanna do it in my car. It’s my wife’s car.”

She laughed and reached for the door handle. She hesitated. “You ain’t no freak, are you baby?”

“Fr-freak? No. It’s just my wife…”

She pulled the door open and climbed in. The front of her skirt rested between her legs. “You don’t have to explain it to me, baby. Just go ‘round the corner and pull into the parking lot.”

Van Gogh drove to the lot. A sign that read “Roo s by the our” shone over a one-story hotel which looked like several old trailers linked together by the rusted railing running the length of the structure.

“C’mon baby.” She got out of the car. She negotiated the potholes and cracked pavement with her four-inch heels as Van Gogh untucked his shirt to hide the knife he had stuck inside the front of his pants.

He caught up with her. “What’s your name?”

“Jade.”

They were silent as they walked past the unoccupied hotel office. Jade pulled out her room key from inside her halter and smiled at him. As she bent forward to unlock her door, her right ear emerged from the fringe, illuminated in the incandescent glow from the parking lot light.

Van Gogh was mesmerized by the exquisite shape of the ear’s helix and antihelix. The concha was deep and dark, just as he preferred. The entire auricle was flawless. Perfect. He almost went berserk right there.

Jade went right to the bed, untying the top of her halter as she walked. “I need the 40 first, baby.” She said.

“Why do you do this?” Van Gogh asked.

“Well.” Jade sat on the bed, the halter hanging from its bottom straps. “I am, what’s the word?” She took off the wig, exposing cropped black hair and two beautiful ears. She dropped the wig into her lap, the fringe covering her thighs. “Promiscuous. I love to screw. So I figure why not get paid for it, right baby?”

She stood up, letting the wig drop to the floor. She stepped on its fringe as she wiggled out of her mini skirt.

Van Gogh watched her, thinking how easy this was for her. How it shouldn’t be. But tonight he would save her. He wasn’t “Van Gogh.” He was the Oracle. The Oracle speaking the divine word of the Lord into the auricles of the harlots.

Jade lay on the soiled blue bedcover, naked except for bright red panties. He straddled her.

“Jesus saves,” he whispered into her right ear. He pictured his ear collection laid out on a mirror in his top dresser drawer. He whispered into them every night. “Close your eyes.”

Jade did.

Incubus

Prison wasn’t a holiday. For some blokes it was the best they would ever have: a bed and food, methadone if they were junkies, and some semblance of a routine. For other blokes it was just time cut out of their lives. They would go stale in prison, while their kids grew up without them and their girlfriends cheated on them. I was only in for nine months, so I was hopeful that Emily would stay faithful. I was certain I could tell by her eyes and her face if she felt guilty, should I need to, but I expected her to stay loyal. 

Carrying a knife will get you six months minimum to four years max, or at least that’s how it was when I got caught. I was an idiot for carrying a weapon while smelling strongly of weed. I’d gotten stoned with an old school friend, and headed home in the hopes of some stoned sex with Emily. My self-defense kitchen knife was stashed in my trousers, as it always was when I expected to walk home late at night. That stoned sex never happened. 

My actual sentence was a year, but I kept my head down and my nose clean in the hopes of early release. I had those precious three months shaved off of an already soft punishment. My skin is white, and I’m made to believe that this must have gone in my favor at every stage of my relationship with justice. Sad but true; I’d change things if I could, but in reality I was just happy to get out as soon as humanly possible, after having made the most of a bad situation.

Inside I hit the weights every single day for as long as I could. I took classes as well. The classes were pretty neat. I learned how to wire a plug socket, how to put up a shelf, and how to cook. Cooking excited me the most. I wasn’t too hopeful about getting a proper job on the outside, but cooking would come in handy no matter what. Emily and the baby came to visit every week. She didn’t have anything particularly interesting to say, but it felt relaxing to sit and hear about the outside world. A new chippie opened up, so-and-so got pregnant, some twat had died… It was all a lot more entertaining than Emily’s drivel had ever been before.

When release day rolled around, I was itching to get out, get drunk, get high, and fuck. Emily’s mom picked me up. All three of us, plus the baby, crammed ourselves into her little Punto in the prison car park, and I was on my way home. Emily and the baby lived in the same council house they’d had when I was sentenced, and now it was my own official legal address.

“What are you going to do, now that you’re out Rob?” asked the mom.

“I kinda like cooking now,” I said.

“Oh yes, Emily said you’d been doing classes. Are you going to try get a job in a restaurant?”

“I’ll see. Have to take whatever comes, won’t I?”

She dropped us off at the house and waved goodbye. I carried the baby inside and we sat for a few hours watching TV.

“Are you going to cook something?” said Emily. “You can show me what you’ve learned.”

“What have you got in the cupboards?”

“Tins of veg, pasta, rice… Stuff like that.”

“I’ll see what I can do. I’m guessing you don’t have any spices or seasoning?”

“No, not really; just salt and pepper. Normally I just bung something into the oven or the microwave, same as always.”

I knocked together a ratatouille that wasn’t half bad. Emily was pretty impressed with it. We put the baby to bed and sat fooling around on the sofa. I’d been dreaming about women’s bodies the whole time I was inside. Nothing can ever really live up to dreams, but Emily did her best. 

“Have you got much cash on you?” I asked once we were done. 

“A few notes in my purse. Why?”

“I feel like having a smoke, and maybe some sniff.”

“Do you really need all that? That’s hardly straight and narrow, is it?”

“I’d settle for some booze.”

“Could get a bottle of vodka or something from the shop.”

“Go on then. Let me go get it.”

I went out with some money from Emily’s purse and picked up some vodka from the shop down the street. I also picked up a twenty-pack of Marlboros. I’d been smoking roll-ups inside, so proper cigarettes seemed like a nice way to celebrate getting out. We spent the evening drinking, smoking, and watching a couple of movies that had come out while I was locked up. We screwed a couple more times as well. Emily fell asleep on the couch at two in the morning. Family Guy was on. 

Sat there with a glass of vodka and a Marlboro, I concluded that Emily wasn’t half bad. She was the kind of girl to put up with a lot; I’d have to push things awfully far before she ever got fed up with me. The baby was probably enough to keep us together, as long as I wanted to be with her. That’s assuming it was mine, but it probably was. We hadn’t exactly been an item when she’d gotten pregnant, but we’d been meeting often enough and the baby had my nose and jaw. Seeing myself in something small, new, and fresh had gotten me thinking: should I remain in the picture or not? Would I help it or hurt it? Assuming it was mine, I surely owed it something. I’m not the kind of guy to get into debt, and I like knowing what I owe and what I don’t. The conundrum lay in figuring out if I owed the kid my presence, or my absence. My own dad vanished before I was old enough to memorize his face. According my mother, that was the kindest thing he ever did.

Emily ended up getting a job not long after my release, doing cleaning or something. It was only part time, and she was hardly better off than before once her benefits were cut, but I think she wanted to feel productive. Her mom had the baby whenever she was out working. I started picking up ounces of weed from a chap I went to secondary school with, and selling it in draws. I could shift an ounce in a week at the most, and about eighty quid of that was profit. I ended up smoking about forty of that every time. Why not, after all? Money isn’t everything.

One time I had an appointment at the job center, and I ran into Ayaz. He was a tall, muscly bloke I’d been friendly with inside. He’d only just got out after a five-year stretch for beating someone up. We’d worked out together in the prison gym quite a lot. We talked and caught up, and he convinced me to come round to the gym he’d signed up at. It was full of jacked, tattooed fellas you wouldn’t want to mess with.

“How long until I’m as big as you lot?” I asked while I was resting from a set on the bench.

“Years and years,” said Ayaz. “ But it’ll be a lot quicker if you get on the steds.”

“Steroids?”

“Yes. I can hook you up if you want.”

“I’ll think about it.” I’d known Ayaz had taken juice before prison, then hadn’t been able to get the stuff he wanted while inside. Over the next few weeks he swelled up impressively, and his veins started to stand out. I decided that I wanted to look like that. I didn’t want anyone to want to mess with me. I stopped smoking weed, and starting vapeing instead of smoking fags. I quit drinking because Ayaz told me alcohol and steds don’t mix well at all. Once I’d saved up a bunch of money from the draws I had him sort out a cycle’s worth of gear. He helped me inject it. I started off in my right arse cheek. It hurt a lot but I only had to inject twice a week. 

Emily wasn’t a fan of it at first. She worried, as women do. By the time I’d finished a twelve-week cycle I’d put on a fair amount of weight, and my arms and shoulders looked bigger than ever, and I think she was secretly happy. She probably thought other girls would get jealous seeing her with me. Another cycle or two and people would be moving out of my way wherever I walked, like they did with Ayaz. People would listen whenever I spoke. Something I’ve noticed is that if you intimidate people, then they listen to you. Seems obvious right? The question is: how important is it that people listen to you. Ever since I’d left prison, I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was important, but that no one really was listening.

One night I cooked a lentil curry. We sat round the table eating it. The baby was having cut up carrots and cucumber and kiwi.

“Rob, can I go out with my friend Hayley tomorrow night?” asked Emily.

“Yeah sure.” Hayley was some other girl from work. Emily had mentioned her before.

“Would you look after Kenny?”

“Why? Is your mom busy?”

“Yes, she’s going on a date.”

“I suppose so.” I’d have preferred not to have the baby on my own. It was too much pressure, having to look after it. I couldn’t think of a reason not to agree though. 

“We’re just going to go for food and some drinks,” said Emily. “I’ll be back before midnight.”

The next evening Emily got tarted up, and left me at home with the baby. He cried off and on, which did my head in. He finally piped down at about ten o’clock. I played video games and waited for Emily to get back. I was in the mood for sex, and she was always more fun in bed after a few drinks. I texted Ayaz and asked him to sort out another batch of steds for me. I wanted to get on cycle again soon. Whenever I looked in the mirror, what I saw wasn’t intimidating enough. I wanted to be dangerous looking.

I heard keys fumbling in the front door, then the door opening and the shouts and giggles of female voices. The baby started to cry.

“Sorry babe, the pub just closed and we thought we’d bring the party back here,” said Emily from the hallway, struggling to take off her shoes. “Don’t worry, I’ll sort him out.” She came into the living room. Her hair was all mussed up like she’d been dancing. She stood a little taller than she did when she was sober, as if an invisible weight that kept her fractionally hunched over had been dissolved and washed away by alcohol. “Rob this is Hayley. Hayley, Rob.” 

I stood up, and came face to face with a ridiculously fit-looking woman. She had blue and green dye in her hair, piercings in her nose and ears, and tattoos on her arms. 

“Hello,” she said shaking my hand. “Emily worships the ground you walk on; it’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” I said.

Emily disappeared to go quite down the baby.

“Would you like a drink?” I asked. “We’ve got some spirits in the kitchen. Brandy needs finishing.”

“Go on then. I’ve had a few already so just a small one.”

I went into the kitchen and fixed us two brandy and Dr. Peppers. I took them back into the living room and gave one to Hayley. Emily came back in.

“He’s back to sleep now. Was he alright?”

“He moaned a bit while you were out, but he went to sleep about ten. Did you two have a nice time?”

“Yeah it was nice. I haven’t been out like that for years. Makes me feel young again. We’ll have to do it more often.”

Emily went and made herself a drink in the kitchen. I sat and tried to look at Hayley without her noticing. She had a nice body; probably hadn’t had any kids yet. 

“So you do cleaning as well?” I asked.

“Yes, I was with the company for a while before Emily started. She helps me get through the day without killing myself, or anyone else. What do you do?”

“I sell drugs to be honest.”

“Oh…” I wondered if that was really a surprise to her. She must’ve known that I’d been inside, and that I didn’t have a proper job. Perhaps she was a little surprised that I came right out and said it. I couldn’t be bothered with anything else.

Emily came in with a pint of cider she’d poured into a glass. 

“Shall we order takeaway?” she said. “I’m hungry. We could do with some food to soak up the alcohol.”

“No no no,” I said. I saw an opportunity to impress Hayley. “We’ve got stuff in the cupboards and the fridge; I can cook something before any food gets here by delivery.  I know how to cook you see,” I said to Hayley.

“Are you sure? I don’t mind ordering,” said Hayley. 

“Yeah, sure. I like cooking. I can do something really nice. Hey, I have an idea. Lets have a smoke, and that’ll build up our appetite. We’ll have the munchies by the time I finish. I know what I can make: sweet and sour chicken. I learned how to make a really good sweet and sour sauce while I was inside. It’s quick, and I’ll do it better than a takeaway.”

“You mean smoke weed?”

“Yeah sure. You smoke?”

“Not in ages, but go on then! It’s been a while, but I used to like it. I hadn’t drank or smoked in a while, now both in one night!”

I went and dug out my rolling stuff from the bedroom, then sat back down to make a joint. I used a lot of weed, and just enough tobacco for it to burn properly. Emily had gone to sleep straight away the last time she’d smoked, years before. Hopefully she would again, and I’d have some time alone with Hayley. 

We sat smoking for a while. Then I left them to it and got started on the sweet and sour chicken. I heard the girls giggling in the living room while I banged away in the kitchen. The baby woke up again, and Emily went to soothe it back to sleep. Hayley followed her so she could have a look at the baby and goggle at it. I finished the food, and took three plates in. The girls had left the joint half-smoked in the ashtray. Emily’s eyes were drooping already, but Hayley still looked lively. We turned on the TV and sat eating.

“This is brilliant Rob,” said Hayley. “Best sweet and sour I’ve ever had, and I’ve had at least a thousand.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I try my best when it comes to cooking. It’s one of the few things I’m good at.” 

Once we’d all finished eating I sparked up the joint again. We passed it around a few times, and that was enough for Emily. She curled up on the end of the sofa and started snoring. Hayley got up and put a hoodie over her, then sat back down next to me. 

“You got a boyfriend or anything?” I asked.

“No actually. I broke up with my ex last week. That’s why we went out tonight. Emily wanted to help me drown my sorrows, even though he was a waste of space and I’m well rid of him. She told me to forget him and move on. I said that a good drinking sesh is a mandatory step.”

“That’s a nice tattoo,” I pointed to one of a koi fish on her left arm.

“Thanks. My grandma had a pond with koi in it. I loved looking at them.”

“I’ve wanted to get a tattoo for a long time.”

“Any ideas what you would get?”

“A few I guess. Maybe a ram… My star sign is Aries, so I was thinking of getting a ram on my chest you see.” I pulled my shirt off and dropped it on the floor. I flexed my chest muscles so that Hayley could admire them.

“Oh…” she said, “that could be…cool.”

“Have you got any other tattoos? Anywhere else I mean?”

“No…not really…”

I leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. She ran her fingers down my back for a moment, then froze and pushed me away. I looked into her face and saw that her eyes were on Emily, who was still asleep.

“She’s out for the count,” I whispered. “Trust me.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “No thank you.”

She stood up and patted her pockets. She had left her phone on the cushion beside her. She picked it up and slipped it into her pocket.

“I’ll see you soon,” she said, without looking at me. “Tell Em I said goodbye.” She leaned down to kiss Emily on the forehead and then walked out. I heard the front door open and close.

I sat there for a while feeling pissed off. I rolled another joint and smoked the whole thing. It must have been too much weed at once, especially since I’d been cutting down lately. Out of nowhere I started crying; I couldn’t stop from shaking and crying. All of a sudden I was worried about everything; every last single thing was scary to me. What if the steds had wrecked my organs? What if I got caught selling weed? What if Kenny grew up to be a murderer, and I got called a deadbeat dad? It all came tumbling down inside my head.

Emily woke up. She was scared and confused at first. Then she saw me crying and came over to comfort me. She stroked the back of my head and kissed me on the shoulder. I hated feeling out of control, it was worse than being locked up. At least then I’d had control of my own body. The sobs and tears kept on coming, and snot dripped out of my nose. I’m fairly certain that I haven’t cried in front of anyone since; I’m just as certain that I never will again. 

“What’s the matter?” she said softly. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I said wiping my eyes. “Nothing really. I don’t know… Hayley went home by the way, a while ago. She said goodbye.”

“Oh. Do you want to go to bed?”

We went to bed. We both undressed, and tried to make love, but I just couldn’t. It didn’t work. After that I lay there with my head across her chest, listening to her heartbeat. Was it supposed to be a comfort? The heartbeat of the mother of your child? It was too loud with my ear right next to it, and it reminded me that a human body is just a soft, wet pile of material and it will always be cruelly fragile and it will break apart and rot away no matter what you do. I don’t know why, but I couldn’t bring myself to pull my head away from her chest; I couldn’t bear to move my body at all. 

I was frozen with panic; my mind and soul had been seized by an idea. An irrational, pathetic idea, but one that dominated my every fiber for all that: the idea was that the entire world was an illusion, fabricated to withstand the scrutiny of my eyes and senses. The sense of unreality was so strong that my rational mind stood no chance against it. 

 “What’s wrong baby?” said Emily, stroking my hair. “Whatever it is I’m here for you. I’m here for you no matter what.”

“Nothing…” I said, “nothing…”

“It doesn’t seem like it. You had too much to smoke?”

“He’s…he’s mine isn’t he?”

“What do you mean? Kenny? Obviously! Who else’s would he be, you idiot?”

Chesterfield

Chet sat on the edge of the courthouse lawn. He was a thin black man. He wore khaki slacks and a green t-shirt and had a fedora hat on his head. It had cooled off a little now that the sun was going down, but it was still hot. Chet took a drink from a half pint bottle of Jim Beam, then offered me a drink. I passed. I told him I had been working in the sun in the switchyard at the mill all day, then sat at the corner bar and drank beer after work.

Chet told me he hadn’t worked for a few days. Chet was a coal miner, but he missed a lot of work. He told me one time that coal mining interfered with his drinking. He told me he had been staying with Carolyn a few days, but she run him off. Carolyn was a black nurse that Chet hung out with at times. I had a couple of joints rolled. I took one of them out of my cigarette pack, lit it, then passed it to Chet. Chet took a long hit, then passed it back.

“You want to go to Springfield Doug?”

“Chet, you know I don’t drive.”

I lost my license 6 months ago, but Chet always seemed to forget that. He always had money in those days. The coal mine paid good. He spent most all of it on alcohol and women. Those were the two things that seemed to matter the most to Chet.

When Chet was very young, there had been a club in town that many white woman belonged to. It was called the Chesterfield Club and to be a member a girl had to have had sex with Chesterfield. I guess Chet got around pretty good when he was young. Through the years, I heard that story told by several older guys, including my Dad.

Chet spent a lot of time in Springfield in those days. He would go up there for several days at a time to drink and shack up with women in motel rooms. He had a million stories about his adventures in Springfield. They were filled with dark humor and danger. He was a very good storyteller.

He started telling me a story about an adventure he had last week. It seems he had picked up a woman in a bar in Springfield and they rented a motel room. When he woke up, she was dressed and at the door with his clothes in her hand. By the time he got out of bed and ran outside, she was pulling away from the motel parking lot in a cab with his clothes and his money. The motel clerk came out of the office and escorted him to his room. He was able to get in touch with a buddy in Springfield, who brought him some clothes.

When Chet got old, he stayed in town. He no longer went on adventures in Springfield. He would be seen drinking daily at local bars. He had a sleeping room above one of the skid row bars. His daughter managed his money for him. One time she told me that he got a social security check and a pension check from the mine. She said she would meet him several times a month to give him money, because if she gave him all his money it would not last him through the month.

Sometimes when Chet couldn’t connect with his daughter right away, he would borrow twenty dollars from me. He always paid me back. One time I walked past him while he was sitting at the bar of an establishment we both frequented without speaking to him to sit with some friends at a table. As I was leaving, he stopped me at the bar. “You ain’t getting shy on me are you Doug?” I laughed and told him no.

On Saturday nights, local bands would play at the bars and these nights would find Chesterfield out on the dance floor, dancing with the young girls. One night, I remember asking a buddy, “You think Chet ever gets any these days?” He laughed and said, “I doubt if he can shake the wrinkles out of it these days.”

Finally, when Chet was 82 years old, he became suspicious of the people who rented rooms near him. He felt they had it in for him, so he set a fire in the hallway. He was arrested and it was determined he had alcohol dementia. He was placed in a nursing home just outside of town. After he had been there for a while, I decided to go see him.

I learned that he had died. The nurse said he was a harmless soul and often very funny. She said he was well liked by all the staff, especially the young girls…