Candy (3 page)

I looked up, cracking an ugly smile.

“That’s better,” she said. “My name’s Candy, by the way.”

“Joe,” I told her. “Joe Beck.”

She nodded. “Thanks for the doughnut, Lumpy Joe.”

“You’re welcome.”

We looked at each other, grinning like idiots, then my nerves got the better of me again and I buried my head in my coffee cup.

Candy laughed.

“What?” I said.

“You.”

“What?”

“Nothing…”

She was still chuckling as she reached into a little black handbag and took out a pack of cigarettes. She tapped one out and lit it with a disposable lighter.

My surprise must have shown on my face.

“Sorry,” she said, reaching for the pack. “Did you want one?”

“No…no, thanks. I don’t smoke.” I looked anxiously around the room. “Are you sure you’re allowed to smoke in here?”

She didn’t say anything, just shrugged, blowing out smoke and tapping ash into the doughnut wrapper. She looked around, casting her eyes over the black guys, then out the window, up and down the street, over at the station, then she took another drag on her cigarette and looked back at me. Her eyes smiled and she nodded at my hat. “Do you wear that all the time?”

“Not always…”

“It’s nice.”

“Thanks.”

“Why don’t you take it off?”

“What?”

“Take it off…I want to see if the rest of your hair is as messy as the bits I can see.”

For some reason, I started feeling uncomfortable again. “Well…” I said, “you know, I have to get going soon…I ’m late already.”

She just looked at me.

I sighed and took off my hat.

Her eyes widened at the sight of my hair. “Wow! How do you
get
it like that? How do you get it so messy?”

“It’s not easy…it takes years of careful cultivation.”

She laughed.

“I’m not joking,” I said. “The trick with messy hair is making it look messy without it looking like it’s
supposed
to look messy.”

“You’ve done a pretty good job of it.”

“Thanks very much.”

“You’re welcome.”

This time I didn’t look away. I just grinned and pushed my burger to one side. It was cold now. Cold and forgotten. I didn’t care. Who needs a cold burger when you’re talking
to a pretty girl? And I
was
talking to her, I realized. I wasn’t just sitting there mumbling and looking embarrassed, I was actually
talking
to her. Not only that, but I was starting to enjoy it, too. Which was really surprising, because I
never
felt good talking to girls. I always felt nervous and shaky, unsure of myself…especially with girls that I liked. And I liked Candy. I liked her a lot. I liked the way she looked—her face, her eyes, her lips, her legs, her skin—and I liked the way she smelled—of soap and talcum powder. Everything about her excited me. She made me feel fresh. She made me hot. She made me cold. She fired me up and turned my body inside out. And usually that would have messed me up so much I wouldn’t have been able to feel anything, but this time I could feel it. God, I could feel it. And it felt good, like a rush of pure adrenaline…

Of course, that’s not to say I
wasn’t
feeling nervous and shaky and unsure of myself, because I was. To tell you the truth, I was scared to death—scared and wary and unable to think of one good reason why this stunning girl was sitting here talking to me. Why wasn’t she talking to someone else? Someone older than me, or smarter than me, or taller or cooler…?

Why pick on me?

What did I have to offer?

I didn’t waste
too
much time thinking about it, though.

I mean—who cares?

She was leaning on the table now, resting her chin in her hand, smoking her cigarette and gazing idly around the room. The tip of the cigarette was rimmed with crimson lipstick. Her eyes shone darkly, moist with black shadow and mascara, and although they looked unbelievably good,
there was something slightly unsettling about them. I couldn’t work it out at first, but after a while I realized what it was—it was her pupils. They were really small, like tiny black holes, shrunken and empty. Like pinpricks of darkness.

“What’s that on your fingers?” she said suddenly.

“What?”

“Your fingers.”

I looked at my hands. “Where?”

“There,” she said, touching the fingers of my left hand. I stiffened. Her touch was electric, hot and cold, like nothing I’d ever felt before. “What’s the matter?” she said, still holding my fingers.

“Nothing…”

“Does it hurt?”

“No…”

“What is it?”

I looked down again, suddenly realizing what she was talking about. “Oh, that,” I said. “It’s just hardened skin—calluses…from playing the guitar.”

“You play the guitar?”

I nodded.

She looked at me. “You any good?”

“I don’t know. I’m all right, I suppose…”

“You get fingers like this from playing the guitar?”

“Yeah, you know, pressing the strings…”

“What kind of guitar?”

“Bass, mostly.”

“Really? Are you in a band or anything?”

“Well,” I said, starting to feel embarrassed again, “sort of…”

“What do you mean—
sort of?
”

“Yeah, I am.”

“What—a real band? You play gigs and stuff?”

“Yeah.”

“Seriously?”

“Well, you know, it’s mostly local stuff. Pubs and clubs, school things…”

I never liked talking about being in a band. It always made me feel so pretentious, like,
Oh, yeah, I’m in a band, you know
…as if being in a band is some kind of awesomely admirable achievement. I didn’t mind
doing
it—I loved being in a band—I just didn’t like talking about it. It made me feel uncomfortable—and, just then, I was uncomfortable enough as it was. Candy was still touching my fingertips, brushing them lightly with her nails, which was nice, but it was starting to get a bit
too
nice…

“Any records?” she asked.

“Not yet.”

“What are you called?”

I hesitated.

“Go on,” she said. “Tell me—I might have heard of you.”

“I doubt it—we’re called The Katies.”

“Katies? Like the girl’s name?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

I gently removed my hand from hers and wiped a drop of sweat from my lip. “Well, we used to be called Kate’s Bored—”

“Bored as in boring?”

“Yeah—it’s kind of a skateboard thing.”

She looked puzzled.

“Skateboard,” I said. “Skateboard—Kate’s Bored…?”

“Oh, right. What’s the skateboard got to do with it?”

“We play kind of skateboardy stuff…”

“Fast and punky?”

“Yeah, that kind of thing.” I had both my hands back now, and was feeling a bit more relaxed. “We were looking for a name when we first started,” I explained, “and someone came up with Kate’s Bored. It’s pretty stupid, I know, but we couldn’t think of anything else.”

“Then you shortened it to The Katies?”

“Not really, it’s just what they started calling us.”

“Who?”

I shrugged. “The kids who come to see us.”

“You’ve got fans?”

“Not proper ones…They’re just a bunch of friends who follow us around.”

“That’s brilliant. It must be great.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty good fun. I mean, we don’t get paid much or anything…not yet, anyway. We’ve got this big gig coming up…”

I stopped talking then. Candy wasn’t listening to me anymore. She was sitting upright and staring wide-eyed over my shoulder.

“Are you all right?” I asked her. “What’s the matter?”

She didn’t seem to hear me. Her eyes were frozen and her face had gone white.

“Shit,” she said quietly.

“What? What is it?”

“Don’t look around,” she whispered, hurriedly lighting another cigarette. “Don’t say anything. Just pretend you know what I’m talking about—OK?”

“What? What are you—”

“Please,
” she hissed, looking over my shoulder again. She was smiling now, but it wasn’t the smile I’d got used to. It was a smile of fear.

Her hands were shaking.

Her lips trembled.

Then a shadow fell across the table—and the air turned cold.

T
he big black guy who sat down between us had the emptiest eyes I’ve ever seen—empty of feeling, empty of heart, empty of everything but himself. He was tall, well over six feet, with a heavy head, close-cropped hair, and a burnt-looking stubble of beard. His face was a death mask.

He didn’t so much as look at me, just sat down and stared hard at Candy. His eyes went right through her. She wasn’t there anymore. She was a ghost. Fluttering eyes, twitching lips…

“Hey, Iggy—” she started to say.

“What you doing?” he said to her.

His voice was black and hard.

“Nothing.” She smiled. “I was just—”

“Don’t give me ‘nothing.’”

“No, I didn’t mean—”

“Who’s the boy?”

Candy flicked her eyes at me, then immediately looked back at Iggy again. She seemed in awe of him, almost bewitched, her face a conflict of hate and fear and adoration. Iggy just sat there, unmoved. He still hadn’t acknowledged my presence. It was as if I didn’t exist. I was nothing to him—just a piece of furniture or a stain on the table. Which had suited me fine…for a second or two. Now it was starting to scare the hell out of me.

“Who’s the boy?” he repeated.

“I…I just met him,” Candy stuttered. “At the station…”

“Business?”

She hesitated a moment, nervously licking her lips, then said, “Yeah…yeah, of course—”

“Yeah?” said Iggy, his eyes glistening white. “So what you doing in here?”

“We were just going,” Candy said, trying to sound casual.

“Don’t shit me, girl.”

“I’m
not…
honest, Iggy. He just wanted to get something to eat first. Then after that—”

“He paid yet?”

“Yeah…”

“How much?”

“The usual.”

“Show me.”

Candy stubbed out her cigarette and started digging around in her purse. Iggy kept on staring at her. I didn’t know where to look. I didn’t know what was going on. All I knew was that it didn’t feel good. My heart was thumping and my mouth was dry and my stomach felt sick and bitter. I glanced nervously around the room. Everything seemed normal—people eating, people getting in lines, no one caring. The streets outside were a little less busy now,
the sky a little darker. The evening was almost over. The day people had gone; the nightlife was coming down.

“There,” said Candy, showing Iggy a handful of notes. “See? I wouldn’t lie to you, Iggy, you know I wouldn’t…”

He didn’t look at the money, didn’t even blink, just kept on staring—silent and dark—crushing Candy into a cowering silence. As she sat there, wilting under his eyes, a £10 note fell from her fingers and fluttered down to the table. She didn’t seem to notice.

“Pick it up,” Iggy told her.

She picked it up.

“Put it away,” he said.

She folded all the money into her purse, then looked up at Iggy again. He didn’t move. He just waited for her to lower her eyes, then nodded once, sucked his teeth, and slowly turned toward me.

I knew it was coming. I’d been waiting for it. And, despite everything, I really thought I was ready for it. But when his eyes finally fixed on mine and a surge of fear flooded through me, I knew I was wrong. I’d
never
be ready for this. This—the ice-cold void in Iggy’s eyes—this was a different world, a world I knew nothing about, a world of violence and pain and darkness. I felt so small, so weak, so stupid.

“What d’you want?” Iggy said to me.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

“Come on, Iggy,” Candy pleaded. “He’s just—”

“Shut up,” he told her, still staring at me. “I asked you what you want, boy.”

“Nothing,” I said, swallowing hard.

“Nothing?” he said. “You paying good money for nothing?”

“No…” I muttered. “I didn’t mean—”

“You paid the girl?”

I wanted to say,
Paid her? Paid her for what? I haven’t paid her for anything,
but she’d already told him I had, and I could feel her looking at me, begging me not to say anything different.

So I said, “Uh…yeah…yeah, I paid…”

“You ain’t paid her for nothing,” Iggy said, looking at Candy like a butcher looking at meat. “You ain’t doing
nothing
with a piece like that. Not less you got something wrong with you. You got something wrong with you?”

“No.”

“You fishy?”

“I don’t know—”

“You don’t
know?
”

I looked down at the table.

“Hey,” said Iggy, “look at me when I’m talking to you.
Look
at me.”

I looked up. He was smiling now, his mouth a blackened cave rimmed with gold-capped teeth.

“Look at her,” he told me.

“What?”

“Look at the bitch.”

I looked at Candy. She was lifeless, moist-eyed, staring blankly at the table.

“You like it?” Iggy said. “You want it?”

I couldn’t answer.

He laughed at me, a cold hissing sound. “How much?” he said.

“I don’t—”

“How much you give her?”

I looked at Candy again.

“Don’t look at her,” Iggy said. “Look at me. I asked you how much.”

I shook my head.

“All right,” he said. “What d’you pay for?”

“She was—”

“She tell you what it is, yeah? You know what you’re getting?”

“I was just—”

“What? You was just
what?
”

“All right,” Candy said quietly. “That’s enough.”

Iggy went silent. He kept on staring at me for a moment, sucking thoughtfully on his cheek, then he sniffed hard and turned to Candy.

“You what?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

She could barely look at him now—head down, eyes hidden, hands fiddling nervously with a small piece of card in her lap, rolling it into a tube, unrolling it, twisting it, folding it…

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I was just talking to him, that’s all. I didn’t…We didn’t…He’s just a kid. He doesn’t know anything.”

Iggy said nothing.

Candy smiled through her tears. “It won’t happen again—”

“Too right,” Iggy said coldly.

“You don’t have to—”

“What?”

“Nothing…I’m sorry. Please don’t—”

“Shut up.” He turned to me and cocked his head at the door. “Out.”

I stared dumbly at him.

“Get out,” he repeated. “Now.”

I looked at Candy, then back at Iggy again. “Look,” I tried to explain, “it wasn’t her fault…”

But he wasn’t listening.

His face had hardened and he was starting to get up. I was too shocked to move. All I could do was sit there and watch as he got to his feet and straightened up and…God, he was big. He was
enormous.
Big, tall, heavy, wide, hard, rock-solid…he towered over the table like a steel black giant.

As he kicked his chair back and started moving toward me, Candy suddenly leaned across and shoved me in the side.

“No!
” she said desperately, looking at Iggy. “No, it’s all right…Look, he’s going. He’s going now. You don’t have to do anything. See? He’s going.” She glanced at me, her eyes pleading for me to go, but she needn’t have bothered—I was already halfway to my feet. Candy reached for my chair. I felt her hand brush my thigh, then she quickly moved back to her seat and looked up at Iggy again. Still standing over me, he glared at her, his jaw set tight beneath his skin, and for a moment I thought he was going to kill her. I could see it in his eyes. He was going to kill her, and then me…I really believed it. Eventually, though—after what seemed like an age—his face began to relax and he slowly sank back into his seat.

“Lucky boy,” he said quietly.

I stepped back from the table and steadied myself against a chair. My legs were shaking and my throat was tight. I could feel the silence all around me—the hush of violence, sucking the air from my lungs. I could hear people looking on, whispering and muttering, but I couldn’t see them. All I could see was a narrow black
tunnel, with me at one end and a death mask at the other and a pale white ghost floating somewhere in between.

I tore my eyes away from the mask and glanced at the ghost, but she wouldn’t look back at me. Her lowered eyes said,
Go, please…for God’s sake, just go.

I didn’t have enough guts to say no, so I just turned around and started to leave.

“Hey,” said Iggy.

I didn’t
want
to stop—I wanted to keep going and never come back—but I couldn’t help it. It was that kind of voice.

I stopped.

Paused.

Then turned around.

Iggy was leaning back in his chair and staring at me with a piercing chill in his eyes.

“You like a smile?” he said softly.

I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t even know what he
meant.
I watched curiously as he grinned and raised his hand, then slowly drew his thumbnail across his throat.

“I see you again,” he said, “you’ll be smiling to the bone.”