Getting Higher (15 page)

*****

 

"How'd it go?" asked Rocky at home that evening, watching T.V. and eating a hoagie.

"Oh, just great," mumbled Joe, dumped on the floor like a heap of dirty laundry.

"I figured you'd like workin' again," declared Rocky. "Man, when you're off the job for a while, and you finally go back, it sure feels good."

"Uh-huh," yawned Joe, nodding tiredly.

"That's exactly how I felt when I started back at Donaldson, man. I came home after my first day and just felt great. Way to go, Joey-- I'm proud a' you."

"Thanks." Joe closed his eyes; they felt sore and dehydrated from the hot, smoky air of Burger World.

"You work tomorrow?" Rocky took a huge bite of his sandwich as he talked, making his words hard to understand.

"Uh, yeah," supplied Joe. "I work every day this week. Noon to seven."

"Hey, that ain't bad. You'll really be rakin' in the bucks now, bud." Rocky belched loudly and tugged the hem of his T-shirt up, peeling it away from his belly so that he could use it to wipe his mouth.

"Yup," continued Rocky as he swabbed at his lips with the shirt. "It sure must feel good, gettin' back ta' work like this. Right, Joey?"

Joe didn't answer. He was already sound asleep.

*****

Chapter Twenty-Four

 

Joe slogged along the dark sidewalk, sighing wearily as he made his way home from work. Unfortunately, he'd been forced to work late for the third day in a row, and was only now done with his shift. As usual, Joe had been scheduled to work from noon to seven o'clock; today, though, Burger World had been so busy that he'd had to stay until nine.

It had been a full week since he'd started working at the restaurant. For Joe, the time had raced by, seeming more like one day than five. Now that he wasn't just hanging around on the street all the time, things seemed to speed up like an old Keystone Cops movie. He woke at about ten o'clock each morning, went to work at noon, returned home by seven or eight, and went to sleep; it was the same process every day, and it all seemed to blend together after a while.

After the first two or three days, Joe had mastered most of his duties at Burger World, he'd learned all that he needed to learn about cooking and he'd gotten to know most of his co-workers. Most of the people working there were friendly, and more importantly, younger than him. In fact, a lot of them were high school and college students who were only working part-time at the place. For a change, Joe had the upper hand in years and experience; he was twice as old as most of the other employees, and they seemed to look up to him a little because of that age difference. For once, and in the most unexpected circumstance-- working in a cheap fast food joint with a bunch of kids--Joe had a measure of respect from other people. Nobody made fun of him for working there, either, or gave him a hard time because he had to flip burgers for a living at his age; in places like Bartlett and Brownstown, where the steel mills were all closed or closing and unemployment was high, it was no longer unusual for older men to work in restaurants or other low-paying jobs. Many times, they simply had to, just so that they could pay the bills and feed their families.

And so, Joe had managed to fit in at the restaurant. He didn't even mind working there anymore--much. The work was hectic, but not difficult; the pay was only minimum wage, but it would allow him to contribute to Rocky's rent; the managers seemed to be satisfied with his work, and they didn't hassle him often; and the other employees seemed to like him.

He was even starting to get used to his horrible orange Burger World uniform. At first, he could hardly stand to wear the thing; after a while, though, he became preoccupied with his work and forgot about it. When he was in the middle of an early-evening dinner rush, with dozens of orders waiting to be filled and the grill covered with burgers, Joe didn't have much time to think about what he was wearing.

He missed his beard and long hair, of course, but even that was becoming bearable. He didn't like to shave every morning, but if he didn't, he would lose his job. That was all there was to it; at the moment, his job and his paycheck were more important to him than his hair.

As he walked down the street, Joe felt tired, and wanted to get home quickly. Burger World was on Wayne Avenue, about three blocks away from Rocky's apartment; it wasn't a long walk, but after an arduous day of work, it seemed to stretch into miles.

The street remained silent as Joe traveled onward. Like Brownstown, Bartlett retired early each night; by seven o'clock, all the shops and many of the restaurants were empty, their lights doused and their doors locked tightly. Only an occasional car rolled down the street, sliding through the rows of golden oblongs cast down by the orchards of streetlights. Nobody but Joe occupied the sidewalk, and the air was empty and still like the solemn atmosphere of a church.

Joe turned a corner, then suddenly heard a shout from across the street; it was a loud, foghorn voice, and sounded familiar. For a flicker, he thought that it belonged to Crank.

"Hey, Joey! Wait up, man!"

Quickly, he realized that the voice was Rocky's, and turned to see the big man standing on the opposite curb, shouting through cupped hands at him.

"Yo, buddy!" barked Rocky. "Wait up!" Joe stopped walking and watched as his friend jogged across the street toward him. Rocky's brawny body shifted as he ran, his thick arms swinging like cables and his chest flicking slightly beneath his dark blue T-shirt. "Hey, man!" grinned Rocky, panting a little from his dash. "We're doin' the town tonight! Are you ready to party?" Playfully, he slapped Joe's arm.

"Uh, I don't know," yawned Joe. "I had a long day, y'know? They fuckin' kept me till nine again. I just got outta' that hole five minutes ago, an' I'm pretty pooped."

"Aw, c'mon Joey boy!" prodded Rocky. "We ain't been to a good party since you got here, man! Is this th' same Joey I used ta' kick ass with back in Brownstown? C'mon!" Jerking Joe's arm, Rocky pulled him away from the path to the apartment.

"Nah, I don't think so. I think I'll just go home an' hit the hay." Joe started to move toward Rocky's place again, but Rocky's mighty mitt held him firmly, electromagnetically.

"Joey," urged Rocky persuasively, "let's go! Okay? You're
never
too tired to
party
, man! It's over at this babe's place, a couple blocks away. I met her at Donaldson's an' we been gettin' along pretty good. I'm gonna' go for it, man!"

"What about Agnes?" queried Joe. "Wasn't she gonna' move out here with you in a couple weeks?"

"She was," snorted Rocky, "but not anymore! That bitch lied to me, man! She never gave a shit in the first place, so the hell with her. Let's get goin', okay? It's gonna' be great, I swear ta' God. At least show up for a few minutes an' meet this babe a' mine. Make me look good, y'know? Then you can leave. C'mon, man."

Joe considered Rocky's proposition for a moment. If he went to a party and got bombed, there was a chance that he might not wake up in time for work the next day. On the other hand, he knew that he would enjoy a bash that night. He really hadn't been to a party since he'd arrived in Bartlett, and in fact, he hadn't been to one since Crank had been killed.

"All right," he surrendered at last. "I'll go for a little while."

"Way to go, Joey!" crowed Rocky victoriously. "This is gonna' be good! Come on, man!" Towing Joe along behind him, Rocky set off toward the party location.

After five minutes, they had reached their destination. The party was being held, as Rocky had said, in an apartment only three blocks away. The apartment was in a four-story brick building which sat between a house and another, nearly identical, apartment building. The place was pretty run-down, and some of its lower windows had been shattered. Rocky and Joe entered, ascended two flights of stairs, and found the party; they probably could have found it even if they hadn't known the exact room, since loud music blasted from behind only one of the doors in the hallway.

"This must be the place," hooted Rocky, bounding up to the door and thunking his redwood knuckles against it. "Get ready now, Joey. You're about to meet Barbara, the hottest damn babe in this whole damn city." Rocky leered broadly in anticipation and knocked again on the door.

The knob turned then and the door swept open, revealing the lovely individual whom Rocky had described. Standing there before them was a stunning young woman, a glowing, supple vision in a silky red blouse and tight bluejeans. Appreciatively, Joe gazed at her: she had a beautiful face, with glittering green eyes and full, crimson lips; she smiled, uncovering rows of perfect white teeth; her hair was dark brown and wavy, softly framing her eager, flushed features; and her body presented fine slopes which he adored, ample breasts and slender waist, a pair of legs in splendid trim. Joe kept looking for a moment, then realized that he was staring and looked away.

"Hey, guys!" she chirped happily. "Come on in! Glad you could make it!"

Rocky stepped through the doorway, craning his neck to look around as if he was searching for something. "Hey," he squinted, twisting his head to scan the premises. "Where's Barbara?"

Joe did a double-take, stared incredulously at his friend.

"Oh, she's in the kitchen," piped the woman, waving toward a door across the room. Immediately, Rocky made a beeline for the place which she had indicated, thrusting like a bus through the gaggle of people that filled the apartment.

"Thanks," he said over his shoulder as he vanished into the crowd.

"Sure thing," laughed the girl. "I guess he really wants to see Barbara, huh?"

"To tell you the truth, I thought
you
were Barbara," admitted Joe, still amazed by the case of mistaken identity. "I mean, Rocky talked her up so much, an' when I saw you at the door, well...I thought you fit the description."

"Well, thank you," giggled the girl. "I'm Shelly, one of Barb's friends. Who're you?"

"I'm Joe, one a' Rocky's friends. Nice ta' meet you."

"You too," smiled Shelly. "How about a drink?"

"That's the nicest thing anybody's said to me all day. Where's the booze?"

"Follow me," laughed Shelly. "I've got it all mapped out."

With Joe close behind, Shelly maneuvered through the partiers. The celebration seemed to be in full swing; the room was full of people and noise, blaring rock 'n' roll music mixed with chaotic beehive chatter. It reminded Joe of the old days with Crank, when the two best friends had toured parties like this every night. It wouldn't have surprised him to hear Crank's voice at that moment, to suddenly hear that boisterous bellow of his surging drunkenly out of the crowd.

Shelly led Joe through a door into the kitchen; it was the same door that Rocky had hurried through just a minute ago, but the big guy had already evacuated the room. "There's the liquor," said Shelly, pointing at a counter covered with bottles and glasses. "You want a beer, or what?"

"What're you havin'?" asked Joe, stepping closer to the glorious hoard of alcohol.

"Urn, I think I'll have a seven-and-seven. I don't care much for beer." Shelly moved to the counter beside him and chose a bottle from the selection there.

"That sounds good," Joe found himself saying, though he hated mixed drinks and would have much rather had a beer or straight glass of whiskey.

Shelly mixed seven-and-sevens for both of them and handed one to Joe. "That's good," she said after sipping her drink. "I feel better already."

"Yeah," grinned Joe. "Me, too."

"Come on, Joe," said Shelly then, pulling his arm and moving toward the door. "Let's go dance."

"Say what?" fumbled Joe, a little startled by her suggestion. "You wanna' dance?"

"Sure," smiled Shelly, pushing the door open with her shoulder. "Come on, Joe. Let's have some fun."

"Uh, okay." Joe looked around and saw that a few other couples were already moving around to the music. One guy was swinging a blonde all over the place, whipping her around in a wild, sweating frenzy; Joe figured that the guy must've already put away quite a bit of alcohol.

Shelly drew Joe toward an uncrowded corner of the room. With her drink in one hand and Joe's arm in the other, she slowly started swaying to the music, smiling encouragingly.

Joe looked around, hoping that no one was watching. It didn't seem that anyone else was paying attention to Shelly and him, so Joe decided to try to dance though he hadn't done it very often before. Clumsily, self-consciously, he shuffled his feet as Shelly continued swaying; she shook his arm a little, enticing him to join her.

Joe gulped down some more of his drink and began to gradually relax and move more easily. Slowly, he attuned himself to the rhythm of the music, copying the beat with looser movements of his feet and legs and shoulders. He bobbed back and forth, swung his arms from side to side. Shelly giggled gaily, her eyes sparkling.

"See, Joe?" she sang enthusiastically. "Nothin' to it!" Then, she hopped forward and impulsively kissed him on the cheek. "Let's boogie!" she shouted, shaking her body faster than before.

Joe flushed and warmed but kept dancing, his eyes trained on Shelly. Long-dormant feelings roared through his body, and he realized that he wanted another kiss, even more than that. He hadn't been with a woman, or even kissed one, for a hell of a long time.

"Y'know, this ain't bad," he smirked, dancing less awkwardly every minute.

"I love this song," said Shelly.

"Yeah," said Joe. "Me, too."

*****

Chapter Twenty-Five

 

The next morning, when Joe awoke, it took him a while to figure out exactly where he was. Slowly, he came around, drifting out of a deep slumber like a sailboat coasting from a lagoon. He rolled back and forth where he lay, nudging aside blankets and sheets and clutching at a pillow. Gradually, his mind floated into focus, filtering into clarity like a kaleidoscope. Dimly, he perceived that he was on a bed, not a blanket on the floor of Rocky's apartment. He was on a bed, and there were sheets and a pillow...and someone else.