Leavin' Trunk Blues (21 page)

She drank tequila out of a shotglass like it was tea.

“Excuse me … my coat,” he said.

“We can share,” she said.

Nick smiled.

She put out her hand as if she were in a business interview.

“What’s your name, baby?” she asked, raking her nails on the flesh of his hand.

Nick told her.

“You can call me Fannie.”

Nick and Fannie stumbled out onto Armitage in the snow to catch a cab. He’d said good-bye to Tony and Mama and other friends he’d made in the cozy bar. Feeling good, warm, and friendly, he’d wished more Merry Christmases that night than he had in his whole life. Fannie had her arms clutched around his waist like she was holding a life preserver. Her breath rich with whiskey and smoke. His hand stayed on her hip as a couple of cabs sped past on the slush-covered roads.

Three Mexican teenagers in long, checked flannel shirts walked in front of them, carrying a boom box.

“My apartment’s just a hop and a skip,” she said, giggling.

“No, no. Let me get you into a cab.”

“Baby, see me home. Please.”

A cab rolled before them, and Nick held open the door for her. She scooted across the duct-taped seat and rapidly fired off directions to the driver. Nick had no idea where they were going but let it ride. He remembered JoJo’s advice about always being where you needed to be. But this was just a ride. He needed to make sure the woman was all right. He couldn’t leave her just wandering around the cold streets. Drunk. Lost.

The passing lights in the windows made Nick feel dizzy as she snuggled her head into his neck and gave light pecking kisses. Nick smoothed her black hair and leaned back into his seat. The Nigerian cabdriver gave a thumbs-up in the front seat as Fannie’s kisses became more intense. She sucked on his neck and groped around his chest and arms in the shady light of an alcoholic fog. Hot breath in his ear as his hand brushed her warm stomach.

He delicately pushed her to the side as the cab soon slowed in front of a dimly lit brownstone. No particular neighborhood. A no-name street. Nick told the cabbie to wait as he walked her to the front door. The new-fallen snow cracked like wafers on the sidewalk.

“Wait,” she said. “Wait just a damned minute.” She walked back to the cab and leaned inside.

The cab took off.

“Hey, hey, hey, what are you doing?” Nick asked, leaning his back against the cold stone. The steps before him broke like ocean waves. His stomach rolled.

She patted the side of his face and tramped up some creaking green steps.

At an apartment door, she grabbed him close and pushed his back against the wall, forcing her tongue into his mouth. The door knocker was cheap and tarnished. Someone had wedged dried flowers under the metal.

He could feel her hand grip between his legs. She grabbed his hand and stuck it below her left breast.

Nick shook his head and pulled away.

They had had a good time at Rosa’s. Good enough time to see her home. But this wasn’t what he was looking for tonight. Too fast. Reminded him of a schoolteacher he’d picked up in the Quarter. The woman was so starved for the human touch, she quivered when his hand felt her cheek. But that was tender. Slow. This was all speed and strength, loose buttons, and ripped clothes.

She bit his ear and pushed open her door.

He did like the narrow shape of her eyes, the thin slits when she smiled gave her an oriental look. Inside, there was a long hallway covered in faux-wood paneling and a cheap reprint of
The Boulevard of Broken Dreams
. Bogie, Marilyn, and James Dean all hanging out in some kind of immortal cafe. Moonlight bled into a window down the hall.

When Nick turned, she had slipped her halter top over her head. She wrapped her arms around him and he could see the full tiger on her cold breasts. The breathing was quick and heated as he moved his hands over her back and then gently pushed her away.

“You are really, really gorgeous, okay. And any other time, I’d be right with you, but I can’t do this. I’m . . .”

“Just stay a few minutes, I’ve been soooo lonely. Please, I’m just a little lamb. I’m not going to do anythin’ to you that you don’t want done. How ‘bout one last drink and we’ll fade off together? I’ll call you a cab and you can go back to your hotel. All right?”

“Sure,” Nick said. “Sure.”

She pulled him into a tiny room with pink walls. A cheap four-poster bed and dozens of teen heartthrob posters. A pack of stuffed animals on the bed.

“See, I’m just a sweet little thang. I’ll get you another whiskey, just stay put.”

Nick picked up one of the animals from the bed. It was a little dog. Ratty old thing with moth-eaten material and a missing eye.

He stood as she gave him the drink and pushed him back on the bed. She was still shirtless and he marveled at her large breasts with silver-dollar tips. Slats of light covered her body like prison bars.

He took the drink and smiled.

“Fannie, I really have to go. All right?”

“I just want a friend,” she said, walking over to a tall closet door and disappearing for a minute. She returned in T-back pink panties and a see-through baby doll top. Her hair was pulled into pigtails. She flipped them behind her shoulders as she sauntered over to a flower-printed bureau and lit a candle.

Nick drank faster and started to rise again from the bed.

“Lean back and get loose,” she said.

“If I get any looser, I’ll melt.”

“Then just drip away.”

She pulled the drink from his hand, placed it on a nearby table, and grabbed both wrists. She held them in a tight grip with her clawlike nails biting him. In one quick motion, she jerked his hands above his head and pushed him deeper into the bed. She straddled him with her knees hugging his body and licked his face from his chin to his nose.

He felt rope being wrapped around his wrists and tried to wriggle his hands free. Strong little thing.

“Fannie . . .”

She ripped open his wool coat and pulled open his flannel shirt, running her tongue over his chest. She unbuttoned his pants and was about to pull them down when the closet door flew open.

A blonde girl clutching a knife rushed from inside.

Fannie rolled to the floor as the woman reached the knife high above her and leaped onto the bed. Nick pulled his arms forward hearing the wooden bedpost crack.

With his hands still bound, he pulled his knees into his chest and launched her off the bed. Her body rammed with a thud against the plywood walls. The candle knocked to the floor, scattering eerie shadows. Nick ripped the rope from his wrists with his teeth and jumped to his feet.

He faced the blonde woman who squatted before him.

She held the knife before her and slashed at his face.

The room spun and buzzed around him as he tried to evade the edge. He felt like he was going to puke. His stomach churned as the whiskey rose in his throat. She slashed again, and Nick made a wide punch to her stomach.

She grunted and fell to the ground.

The knife scattered on the floor. Nick scrambled to pick it up as he felt Fannies heel on his hand.

Her boobs jiggled in the candlelight, a smile smeared on her full lips.

“Let it go,” Fannie said, grinding her heel.

“Get the fuck off me,” Nick said.

Nick pushed her down with his free hand and jumped to his feet. The blonde girl walked on her hands and knees for the knife as Nick kicked her hard. Square in the gut.

His actions seemed like some kind of awkward slow-motion dream.

The blonde girl tackled Nick to the ground and the air rushed from his lungs.

Fannie jumped on top, twisting Nick into a headlock and grunting with her effort. The blonde girl tried to squeeze and hold his legs but Nick kicked out of her like a pair of pants. He kicked her hard in the mouth and she gritted her bloody teeth, punching him hard in the stomach.

He tried to awkwardly stand like an Olympic weight lifter with the women’s bodies clinging to him. He lowered his legs and stepped for the wall, smashing the women against the faux wood.

They let go.

He dropped to the floor for the knife. He held the blade in his hand as the women moaned and writhed on the floor. Fannie lay in a heap rubbing a swollen lip. The blonde girl was motionless, her face worked into a feral grin.

The breathing sounded like the last round of wind sprints. Grunted labored breaths working in the silence. Nick tucked the knife under his arm and pulled his coat shut. He loosely felt for his wallet and ran his hand over his face. The room twirled. He held the urge to vomit.

Stepping back, he heard the blonde girl plead for the knife.

“Please leave him, please,” she sobbed. “Willie! Willie!”

Nick shook his head walking backward to the door.

He spun and ran down the steps to the no-name street in the unknown neighborhood. He chose a direction, jogging toward the brightest light. He stopped for a moment listening for any signs of the women following, bent at the waist, and threw up about thirty dollars’ worth of good whiskey.

Nick wiped the foul foam from his lips and walked for miles among the urban decay and unfamiliar surroundings. He felt like a lost dog. A clouded mind seeking something familiar. A touch of home. But the abandoned buildings in the deep midnight cold brought no comfort.
This mean ole city ain’t nobody’s friend.

Prison life wasn’t hard to get used to. Not much different than Mississippi. Just live by the three rules: never look no one in the eye, work until they tell you to quit, and accept everything.

The guards first had me workin’ in the laundry room. I must’ve washed enough clothes to fit Chicago. The heat from the presses sometimes would knock me out, but I was glad to keep my mind off Billy while I waited for my freedom. Soon, all my appeals were denied. My lawyer wouldn’t return my letters and my sister stopped comin’ to see me.

My best friend in the world became a three-hundred-and-fifty-pound woman with gold teeth named Queen. Queen was my prison teacher. She was a lifer who taught me how to get by. She once stuck a bull dyke’s head in the laundry press after the woman threatened my life.

Queen knew my music and loved it.

She got me into the kitchen where she worked and taught me things about food I never imagined. The right way to salt greens and how to make crispy biscuits that strengthened your soul. She also taught me how to speak properly and about the Lord. Taught me how to trust in his actions and the path he had chosen for me. I became convinced the Lord wanted me here. Sunday services were all I looked forward to.

I cooked, read the Bible, and the years passed.

Queen died sometime around 1970. I don’t know how that fat,
old woman did it. But somehow, she crawled on top of her sink, tied a sheet to a light and around her neck. No one claimed her body. We buried her in the ground so frozen it felt like rock.

I pretty much gave up too. My beauty had long since faded and my voice was broken and weak. Each day rolled into the next. Sometimes I didn’t even know what year it was.

I thought about the cold earth where Queen was buried, and it somehow seemed to be a relief to me. Just like layin’ down and goin’ to sleep.

I had it all planned, until the letters from New Orleans started coming. This man, Travers, said he wanted to talk to me about my two years of being somebody. At first, I didn’t believe it and left the letters in the back pages of my hand-tooled leather Bible.

I hadn’t responded to anyone over the years. I wore my silence like a heavy coat. Gave me some kind of pride. But he kept tryin’, and I decided to give one last act of faith. One last chance.

Memphis Minnie once told me every good kick in the butt moves you ‘long. She’d twirl that six string and smile her bright grin, unaware of the shadows that had begun to fall.

Stagger Lee wanted Annie and Fannie to meet him at the Sears Tower early Saturday morning. Sometimes that big black man’s ideas were just a little too crazy, Annie thought. Like he just acted on whatever kind of crazy shit popped in his mind. He wanted them to go on some kind of fucking elevator ride like they were tourists or something. You just didn’t go to the fucking Sears Tower to hang out. That was when you were in school and had to hold hands with your teacher as you walked across the street. But that idiot Twon did whatever Stagger Lee wanted him to, and so there they were, riding on this super-rigged elevator that shot like a million fucking miles in the air like a jet pack or whatever.

Annie felt like she left her stomach somewhere on the bottom floor as Fannie stood across from her, laughing at her face turning green.

Annie didn’t feel like laughing or smiling. She was pissed. That guy Travers had taken the one thing that meant more to her than her whole collection of Archie comics. How she longed to stroke Willie’s clean blade and kiss his wooden handle. Bastard. Her stomach was bruised from where Travers had kicked her, and she had a loose tooth that she could rock with her tongue.