A Work of Art (15 page)

I held back a sigh. “Things have changed since you dated.”

“I doubt that.” She pinched off a piece of cake. “I know how guys operate. I married—”

Headlights cut across the kitchen. She froze, her fingers halfway to her mouth.

I grabbed my purse off the counter. “That's him.”

“He's not coming in?”

“I said I'd meet him outside.”

I stiffened, waiting for her tirade, but all she said was, “Can't say as I blame you.”

Was that an apology? I looked at her sharply, my hand on the doorknob. She sniffled and wiped her eyes. So not an apology. More of her feeling sorry for herself.

I was halfway out the door when she called after me. “Happy birthday, Tera.”

I pretended not to hear and hurried up the driveway. Joey was waiting.

• • •

Joey wore faded jeans and a gray t-shirt with
My Chemical Romance
on the front. Gorgeous as usual. His eyes traveled the length of my body as I slid into the car.

“You look great,” he said.

“Thanks.”

“You ever hear this?” He turned up the volume on his stereo as he backed out of the driveway.

I listened, but it was too loud to make sense of. “I don't think so,” I yelled.

“Civil Twilight,” he yelled back. “They're from South Africa, but they're white.” He turned the volume down. Still loud, but bearable. “So you like them?”

“Yeah, they're good.”

“Sadie was right then.”

“She said I'd like it?”

“She said chicks dug it. Do me a favor, okay?” He steered with his knees and reached behind him to grab a handful of CDs. He piled them in my lap. “Listen to these and tell me what you think.”

I sifted through them. They were all home-burned and labeled in sloppy capital letters. I didn't recognize any of the names except
My Chemical Romance
, because it was on his t-shirt.

“And I almost forgot.” He reached behind him again and came back with a red rose wrapped in crinkly plastic. “Happy birthday.”

I caught my breath. No one had ever given me a flower, let alone a red rose. For homecoming and prom, kids at school could buy each other carnations and have them delivered to homeroom. Some girls got dozens and carried them around all day. I never got one, but I knew what the colors meant. Everyone knew. Yellow meant friendship. Pink meant someone liked you. But red . . . Red meant someone loved you.

Not that I thought Joey loved me or anything. But I knew he liked me. He'd said it himself.

“Wow,” I said. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” He pushed Eject on the CD player. When the disc popped out, he handed it to me, along with an empty plastic case that looked like he'd dropped it a few times. “Can you put this in your purse?”

I lay the flower in my lap so I could fit the disc into its broken case. “So where are we going?” Somewhere downtown, maybe? That's where all the nice restaurants were.

“Red Robin.” He rubbed his stomach. “They have those huge-ass burgers.”

So not somewhere that required a reservation. Prickles stung my eyes. I stared at the flower in my lap, wilting already. Two of the petals lay in my lap.

He glanced over. “You hungry?”

“I think so.” I poked the fallen petals. Still velvety soft. Still good. I closed my eyes, waited for the sting of tears to fade. Then I opened my billfold and stuck the petals inside. Things could be good and not perfect. The world wasn't perfect.

The thought came again, the one I'd been pushing down. Did he ask me out because I'd promised him sex? Did it matter? He wanted to be with me. And he liked me. That much I knew for sure. So what if Red Robin wasn't fancy? Any restaurant where I got to sit down and order from a menu sounded good. Maybe they did something special for people's birthdays. Maybe that's why he wanted to bring the CD.

“So do they play music there?” I asked.

He squinted at the road. “I think so. Why?”

“I never heard of a restaurant playing people's personal CDs.”

He laughed. “The music's not for dinner.”

“Oh.”

“It's for later. You know . . .” He squinted as he lit a cigarette. “For dessert.”

• • •

I sat in the booth across from Joey and scanned the menu. The Parmesan-crusted snapper looked good, but it cost way more than the burgers. Girls at school talked about ordering the most expensive thing on the menu when a boy took them out, like they were entitled or something. I never understood that. The last thing I wanted was for Joey to think I was mooching off him.

He looked up from his menu and smiled at me. “Get anything you want.”

I smiled back. Maybe he'd read my mind.

A gray-haired waitress came to our table and rattled off the specials like a robot. I glanced at her nametag.
Carol.
Joey pointed to a huge bacon cheeseburger on the menu. “Give me the Pig-Out Tavern Double.” Beside it was a big red star with white letters.
Only $9.95!
“That comes with all-you-can-eat fries?”

“You have to finish what you have before I bring more.” Carol wrote on her pad as she talked. “And what about you?”

“Um.” It took me a second to realize she was talking to me. “I'll have the teriyaki chicken sandwich.” It cost less than the burger, and the red star next to it said,
Low in Fat!

“And to drink?”

“Just water.”

Joey searched the menu. “The Cokes have free refills?”

“Free refills on pop and coffee.”

“Give me a Coke, then.” He pointed to a section at the bottom of the menu. “And how does this free birthday meal work? Do we have to tell you when we order that it's her birthday?”

For a second, I didn't understand what he was asking. Not until Carol rolled her eyes to me. She sounded annoyed, like I was trying to pull one over on her. “To get the free meal, you have to have a valid ID saying today's your birthday.”

“Oh.” Heat pulsed in my cheeks. “Okay.” I opened my purse, started digging around. Stupid! Here I was worried about mooching, but he wasn't even paying for my meal.

I found my billfold and opened it. A loose rose petal fell into my lap like a letter from the sky:
He brought you a rose! You're not a cheap date!

But I was, apparently. He probably picked up the rose while paying for his cigarettes at the gas station. I brushed the petal to the floor and handed over my license.

Carol squinted at it.

“So her meal's free?” Joey asked.

“Anything under ten bucks.” She handed back my license, her voice softening. “You still got two bucks,” she told me. “You can get a pop instead of water.”

“That's okay.” I lowered my head, knowing the hurt had settled on my face.

Carol took our menus and hurried off. Joey leaned across the booth. “You think I'm cheap, don't you?”

I bit my lip, shrugged. “Free is free.”

“You're disappointed.”

“No.”

“Just so you know? I'm trying to save up. I found this apartment I need to put a deposit on.” He leaned back in the booth. “For my dad and me.”

I glanced up. So he was supporting his dad?

“The bank foreclosed on our house after Mom went to prison. My uncle's letting us use his address so Child Protective Services doesn't think I'm homeless. But we're not really living there. You've seen where we're staying.”

The storage room in his uncle's bar. I thought about taking his hand, to let him know how bad I felt. But maybe he'd see that as too touchy-feely. “That sucks,” I said.

“So that's why I'm trying to save money.”

“Can't your dad work?”

Joey barked a laugh. “You've seen him, right? He's no better than my mom. The only difference is he hasn't shot anyone yet.”

I swallowed. What do you say to something like that?

He leaned closer, took my hand, looked me in the eye. “I wanted to take you somewhere nice, but this was the best I could do.”

“It's fine.” He didn't need to apologize. “It's great.”

Carol came back, laying down little napkins for our drinks. I liked how the straws were already in them with a bit of wrapper on top to keep them sanitary. I liked that my water came with a lemon wedge even though I hadn't asked for one.

While Joey drained half his Coke, I squeezed the lemon into my water and watched the seeds sink to the bottom. I thought about the red rose sitting in Joey's car, the CD of mood music in my purse. He was trying to make things special for me.

“What?” Joey asked. “Why are you smiling?”

“Was I?” I took a sip of my lemon-flavored water. “I guess you caught me.”

Joey's uncle Johnny lived in an old house on the east side of Decatur, the kind of neighborhood with cracked sidewalks and scraggly grass. The screened-in porch was missing half its screens. Joey unlocked the door and pushed it open.

The house was dark and silent. As my eyes adjusted, I made out the shadowy outlines of a couch and a recliner, a coffee table splattered with newspapers and remote controls. A smell like rotting fruit, but sourer.

“Smells like piss,” Joey said. “Sorry about that.”

A wave of goose bumps prickled my skin. I hugged myself, nervous, a little scared, too. I hadn't forgotten what I'd promised him.

“You okay?” Joey asked.

I nodded. “Just cold.”

“Come on.” He led me through the dark living room to the kitchen and flipped on the light. The fluorescent bulbs flickered before settling into a muffled gloom.

“You can sit down.” He pointed to the card table against the wall.

“Thanks.” The table wobbled when I put my elbow on it.

Joey opened the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of orange juice. “Ever had a screwdriver?”

“Huh-uh.”

“Vodka and orange juice. You hardly taste the vodka.” He grabbed two glasses from the cupboard and blew in them before filling them with ice from the freezer.

I couldn't stop shivering. It didn't help that I had to use the bathroom. “Um,” I said. “Do you have a bathroom?” Stupid question. What house didn't have a bathroom?

“Down the hallway.” He pointed. “First door on the left.”

The bathroom door was closed. Something scratched at it from the inside. Something whimpered.

“I think there's a dog in here!” I called.

“His name's Po'Boy,” he called back. “Try not to let him out.”

The dog barked once. Maybe he recognized his name.

When I cracked open the door, the heavy urine smell hit me in the face like a wet snowball. A big black nose poked its way out of the gap. I blocked the opening with my body and slid inside.

The dog was a black lab. He wagged his tail and stuck his nose in my crotch. I pushed his muzzle away, letting him sniff my hand and lick my fingers. “Hey, Po'Boy,” I whispered. “Good boy.”

The bathtub was streaked with yellowish-orange stains, some dry, some still wet. Kibbles of dog food crunched under my feet. The water bowl was almost empty. I rinsed it out in the sink and refilled it.

The sickly sweet stench wasn't helping my nervous stomach. I used the toilet as fast as I could, patting Po'Boy's head and scratching behind his ears to keep him from sniffing me. “Good boy,” I kept saying. “Good Po'Boy.”

When I got back to the kitchen, Joey had the CD out of my purse. “Hope you don't mind,” he said. “It was right on top.”

I must have left my purse unzipped. “Should we let the dog out?” I said. “We could take him for a quick walk.”

“I'm supposed to keep him locked up.” Joey handed me a glass of what looked like orange juice on ice. “He tears up the house when he's out.”

It seemed cruel to me, to keep a dog penned up all day, but what did I know about dogs? I'd had a dog when I was six. I barely remembered him, but I did remember how I came home from school one day and he didn't come running to greet me. I never saw him again. Mom and Dad had said he ran away.

“Taste it,” Joey said. “Tell me what you think.”

I imagined I could smell the vodka. Or maybe it was the lingering pee smell. I took a sip. He was right. I could hardly taste the alcohol. I drank again, felt my shoulders relaxing with every sip.

“You like it?” he asked.

“It's good.”

He eyed my glass. “I'll be right back. Drink up.”

He took the CD to the living room, and I sipped my screwdriver. I imagined I could feel the alcohol soaking into my flesh, draining away all the tension in my muscles. Then the music started. A slow buildup of guitar and drums flowing from what must have been an awesome stereo system. The swell of the music reminded me of being lost, of longing for something, or someone. I closed my eyes. A wave of goose bumps trailed up my neck.

“You like it?”

I opened my eyes. Joey was smiling down at me.

“Sadie was right. It's good.”

He took my glass. “Let me get you another drink.”

The second screwdriver tasted stronger than the first, but I didn't mind. Suddenly I felt very chatty.

“So how old are you?” I asked. “My mom wondered how old you were, and I couldn't tell her because I don't know. I mean, I know you're in high school, but—”

“Would you believe me if I said I was twenty-two?”

“No.” It took me a second to figure out why I didn't believe that. Because he'd talked with Sadie about quitting school. And he was afraid of living with foster parents. Twenty-two-year-olds didn't live with foster parents.

“Good,” he said. “'Cause I'm seventeen, same as you. Remember the fake ID I showed you?”

“I'm eighteen,” I reminded him.

“An older woman.”

“With a lot less experience.”

He smiled with one side of his mouth. “We can fix that.”