Ugly Girls: A Novel (9 page)

Travis looked up. At first it was like he didn’t recognize her, but then he closed his book and walked quickly over. “Hey,” he said. “You really shouldn’t be back here.”

“I know,” Perry said. “I wanted to see you.”

Travis looked back at the man in the hairnet, now with his hands on his hips, the spatula held tight at his waist. His apron looked diseased, pocked with brown flecks. “I’ll walk you out,” Travis said. He held one of the metal doors open, waiting for her to follow. She followed him back through the dining room—Pam helping a couple with a baby now—and out through the front doors. She tried to check her reflection in the glass of one of those claw vending machines, but he was holding the door, watching.

In the parking lot they stood facing each other, he in the circle of light from one of the old-timey streetlamps and Perry in the dark just outside of it.

“What are you saving money for?” Perry asked. Her voice felt muffled by the traffic, the endless hum of the traffic and the lights and her own heart in her ears.

“Huh?”

“The first time I saw you here you said you were saving money.”

“Oh,” Travis said, and was quiet, considering his answer. “Actually, my mom lost her job, and all she could get was part-time work, so I got this job to help out.”

Myra had never asked Perry to get a job. Jim had mentioned it once or twice but more as a way for Perry to grow up a little, not because they needed the money. She felt sorry for Travis, but not in the same way she felt sorry for Matt, with his plump, sweaty back and his eager eyes and his cheeks full of zits. She felt sorry that Travis had to do shit he didn’t want to do, that his back was against the wall. She wanted more than ever to put her hands on him, make him feel like something was worth it.

“Did you hear what I said, earlier?” Perry asked him.

“You said you wanted to see me,” he said.

“Oh.”

“For what?”

Perry wasn’t prepared for that. Usually if you told a boy you wanted to see him the rest just fell into place, like dominoes. Just had to tip that one piece, no more effort than the flick of a finger.

So instead of answering, Perry asked him, “Are you bad at math?”

“What? I don’t know, it ain’t my best subject, I guess.” He edged aside, out of the light.

“Me, too.”

In the dark his face seemed kinder. Perry wondered what he thought of her face, if he thought of her face. “You think I’m pretty?” she asked.

“Of course,” he said, quickly. He took a step back, to get into the light, but he only made it halfway. He’d definitely thought of her face.

“Good,” she told him. She walked forward, fast, so he wouldn’t have the chance to get away. Kissed him, or tried to, her lips landing on the side of his mouth. She kept her face close to his. He smelled like bleach, and like he’d had a soda not too long prior. She wasn’t looking to start something with him, right there in the parking lot, she now saw that as clear as crystal. But what was it, then? She couldn’t straighten it out, just knew she wanted to be near him.

“Thank you for saying I’m pretty,” she whispered. She hoped her breath was all right, wished she carried gum or mints with her like Baby Girl always did.

“You know you are,” he said. He put his hands on her shoulders, and for a second Perry almost thanked him for that, too, here it was, here was the giving in. But instead of drawing her nearer he pushed off, backed up. “I got to get back inside,” he said. “Nice seeing you.” He jogged backward, turned when he got to the door. Perry watched him, his white shirt and black pants against all that yellow light, until he rounded the corner to the kitchen and was gone.

Two men in paint-splattered coveralls came out of the Denny’s, the taller man picking his teeth. Perry guessed theirs was the green truck in the parking lot. The highway sounded like rain when it came down hard on the roof of the trailer. So many cars. The thought of walking back seemed like an eternity Perry didn’t have to spend. She leaned up against the truck. They’d surely give her a ride, she wouldn’t even have to ask. She hated asking.

PERRY IS SIGNED OFF.

Jamey hoped it was a mistake, Perry being unavailable to him for so long, hoped her Internet had just fritzed. He checked and he checked again. Still no Perry. He knew it was Dayna’s fault, knew she couldn’t keep those big nasty lips closed.

His momma lolled, he could see the rumpled white flesh at the tops of her thighs. He felt like
Fuck her
, only which her he meant he wasn’t sure. Both. His momma would be waking soon, and damned if he could find it in himself to be there to answer when she asked did she look pretty, not for a momma but for a woman. He couldn’t say,
Of course, Momma
, not one more time. He texted Dayna,
Why u letting your freinds read ur texts?
because fuck her, he let the door slam behind him on his way out because fuck her, he walked over to Perry’s trailer because fuck her, fuck her, fuck her.

Her momma was drinking a beer, flicking from site to site on the computer. Her sandal dangled from her toe. Jamey could tell she had once been a beautiful woman, the delicate way she rolled her ankle, the way she held her back so straight and sure. He might have turned his attentions to her if she’d been younger. Now her skin, though pale and without the veins that inched along his own momma’s legs like the legs of some insect, looked worked over. Like dough that hadn’t been kneaded, like her flesh might lose its hold, become a pile. Perry was perfect. The right age, the right look, so beautiful and mean. Jamey wanted to hold it in his hands, whatever it was. Sometimes he wanted to crush it in his hands. That couldn’t be helped.

And there was Perry’s picture. Myra was on her Facebook page. She scrolled a bit. Perry always had tons of new shit on her wall. If Myra looked at his Facebook page there wouldn’t be nothing to see. Other people had new stuff happening all the time, new photos at least, but that was too dangerous for him. The only good photo of himself he had was the one he used, and it was of the back of his head. Choosing that photo felt like a sign of good luck now, something he finally did right.

Jamey felt a tightening in his pants. He got like that whenever he felt nervous or scared. He nearly put his hand down there, merely as a comfort, a protective shell, and then suddenly Myra closed the page, spun in her chair like she was just admiring the view of the living room. It didn’t make sense until Jim came into view, shirtless, his hair sticking up. Jamey had never seen Jim looking unkempt. It came as a shock, this man Jamey had seen every day for years, this man Jamey had felt sure was made of engine parts and cogs and second hands on the inside, this man everyone would tell you was one of the good ones right up until you felt a sting across the back of your knees. Jamey opened his mouth wide, for what he wasn’t sure. To laugh? Shout? He ended up gulping air like a drowned man surfacing, backing away from the window, rounding the corner and running back to his momma’s trailer.

Only that was a dead end, too. Not welcome at one place, not willing to go in at the other. He guessed that’s what porch steps were for. Sat down and relaxed for one full second before he realized he’d shown Dayna his hand. As if on cue, a text came in:
How tha fuck you know bout that?
He didn’t know why Perry was friends with this girl. This half-bald thing. First thing to go, once everything worked out.

Jamey pocketed his phone. He’d go on patrol tonight, only he’d stay out of sight this time. The gun was just a conversation starter, that was all. And it had already worked on Perry’s momma. Still, it was loaded. Never know when a good BB might come in handy.

He bet Perry tasted like strawberry lip gloss. Pineapple would be his second choice. He took his gun and stood in the shadows between the two trailers again, waiting for her.

THEY DIDN’T EVEN MAKE PERRY
sit in the middle seat. One got in the driver’s side and one got in the passenger’s side, slid into the middle. She’d been expecting the middle seat, had been prepared to hold her legs just so, didn’t want to be touching either man’s thigh.

But here she was in the passenger seat, more than enough space on either side of her, neither man making any moves. It was a relief, and it was a disappointment.

She’d been hoping Travis would come out to mop the floors or bus a table right as she was getting into the truck. Maybe he’d get angry, maybe he’d run out and pull her out of there. But he’d never appeared anyway.

Now she was just grateful it was a short ride to her home, not long enough to learn anything about these men, definitely not long enough for them to try anything with her.

“You work there or something?” the driver asked. His voice had a slight accent to it.

“No,” Perry said. “I was just there for some coffee.”

“Oh,” he said. “’Cause we saw you talking to that boy in the parking lot. He your boyfriend?”

The man in the middle seat turned to face her, listening.

“No,” Perry said, thinking how Travis had touched her only to push her away. “He’s just someone I go to school with.”

Her exit came into view, the green sign growing larger. For a second Perry wondered if the man would truly pull off, or if he’d keep driving, speeding her toward some storage locker or closet dungeon. She put her fingers through the door handle, ready to jump out if she needed to.

But the man put on his signal, slowed, pulled off.

“I like their pancakes,” Middle Seat said. “I like to crumble my bacon over them. Jorge likes their grand ham.”

“Grand
slam
,” the driver said. They both laughed. Perry flooded with relief to see the sign leading into the trailer park. Neither man had said anything about how she looked, didn’t even say
If I was your age
, not even a low whistle. They were just grown men giving a child a ride home. Perry felt mildly disgusted.

“You can drop me here,” she said. “Mine’s the one just over there, and it’ll be hard for you to back your truck out once you pull in there.”

The driver put the truck into park. “Okay then,” he said. “You be good.”

“Yeah, be good,” Middle Seat said. He put his arm around Perry’s shoulders, like he was her uncle giving her a hug.

Something pinged off the windshield just then, making a small spider crack in the middle.

“What in heck?” the driver said. He gripped the wheel, hunched, eyes wild to see what it was.

“Sometimes kids throw rocks,” Perry said. It was true—Perry had thrown rocks herself, as a child. Never hard enough to crack a windshield, but she wanted to say something to soothe the men, to make them leave.

“This is the company truck,” the man said. His voice cracked on the word
company
.

“I’m real sorry,” Perry said, opening her door. “Real sorry.” She turned and ran for the trailer, didn’t stop running until she was inside with the door closed. She could hear the truck idling, the men likely deciding whether to get out and find whoever threw the rock, but then she heard it backing out, driving off.

That was the right decision, she thought to herself. Knowing who threw the rock wouldn’t make the crack go away. But who had thrown it? There weren’t many kids in the park these days. Whoever it was, they were lucky. Those men had shovels in the bed of that truck, and it could have got ugly.

The trailer felt moist. Her momma had run a bath, was probably half asleep in there by now.

She switched on the TV. Ten o’clock news on every channel. Why had Travis been so rushed to get back inside? Maybe it had been her breath. Maybe she’d missed something—he had a girlfriend, or he was a gentleman. But she knew she hadn’t.

She heard footsteps, moving from a walk to a run, heading away from the trailer. Whoever it was didn’t have far to go, she could hear the footsteps all the way until they stopped, could hear them climbing the metal steps to a trailer. Neighborhood kid, probably the one with the rock. She went to the window, yelled from the screen. “Hey, don’t be throwing no rocks!” A door slammed, she knew she’d been heard.

“What?” her momma called. Her voice sounded thick with sleep and probably beer. What did she have to do to get Travis to … what? Touch her? The thought made her long for the dark of her bedroom, where she could think it some more.

“Nothing,” she called back.

She switched the light on in her room, then switched it off again. Her body was tired but her mind was racing. Even if she wanted to, she couldn’t call Baby Girl. Give the bitch her space. She could get online, talk to Jamey, who’d surely be on waiting for her. But that seemed like a lot. He’d want to know why she’d signed off, he’d want to keep saying
Oooh baby
to her. Instead she lay on her bed, trying not to think how the night stretched before her like an unlit highway.

THE PRISONERS GOT QUIET
now when they saw him drawing near. A few had seen him beat the railing with his nightstick, knew he’d jabbed Herman in the eye. They’d heard the man scream, and word had traveled via whispers and signals and whatever else these prisoners had devised to communicate with each other that Tipton wasn’t in no mood. Even Carver, the other walker, left Jim alone. Some shifts they’d call across to each other, “You seen the game?” or “Weekend plans?” But not tonight. Jim was glad for a quiet night, they were few and far between, but he was also resentful of it, being treated like a loose case this way. It seemed like everywhere he went someone was watching for his reaction. Myra watching for him to notice the beer glass. Perry watching for him to notice liquor on her breath, the bags under her eyes. The prisoners watching to see what mood he was in, the other guards watching for the same. All of them making that knot in his back grow, pulse, that other heart lodged in his back thumping wave after wave of disappointment. They were all disappointments. He nearly laughed out loud. Not one of them living up to any kind of potential. Potential what? Was he living up to his potential? He wanted to laugh again, the kind of laugh he’d experienced as a boy when he fell from a tree onto his back. A laugh that quickly turned to loud babyish sobs, aimed right up into the sky. Myra should drink, Perry should sneak out at night, he should beat prisoners when the mood struck.