Drowning Tucson (9 page)

Something else was bothering Manny too: his uncertainty about whether Vinnie had seen him behind the Boat. He remembered seeing Vinnie leave the club but wasn’t sure if he’d had enough time to get to his car and drive away before Satin pulled him outside. Manny thought for a while, trying to envision the men and see if Vinnie’s face was among those watching him, worrying Vinnie might become disgusted with him, or think he was a terrible man, what if he thinks I’m some sleazeball who’ll
screw anything that moves or that I’m a bad father and he never speaks to me again and that was my one chance, until he felt the pressure returning, somewhere beneath his heart but not quite in his stomach, as if he had an extra organ that was swelling, an organ that had developed while he was a teenager and kept growing and growing like a swollen piece of rice until it threatened to explode within his chest. He panicked, thinking something awful was about to happen to him right there in the tub. He threw his torso above the waterline, his chest heaving and burning.

In the solitude of the bathtub, he had forgotten all about Stella and suddenly he was overcome with guilt. He stood up and began scrubbing frantically at his skin with a soapy washrag. He scrubbed and rinsed desperately, splashing water over the sides of the tub and peering down at the layer of soap and dirt floating in the bath, ignoring the burns he was getting from the washrag. He pulled the plug and watched as the water level sank, leaving his feet and ankles covered in scum. He turned on the shower and rinsed the soap away and toweled off and tiptoed down the hallway to the bedroom where his wife was waiting. He edged beneath the covers, and she rolled over and put her arm around him and snuggled her head between his neck and shoulder, making sounds of contented sleep. Manny watched how peacefully she slept and wished more than anything that he could simply be at peace. His wife burrowed deeper, turning her head and smacking her lips, and Manny clenched his teeth to suppress a scream of anguish. He held his wife tight against him and wept.

Manny, get up. Stella was shaking him by the shoulder. She giggled at how difficult it was to wake her husband. Even though he could be a grump, she still enjoyed watching his eyes open every morning when she pulled the blinds and let in the Arizona sun. After a couple minutes, she put her hand on his rib cage and traced the gaps between his ribs with her fingers, tickling him.

How was last night, honey? You had fun, right?

Manny grimaced, thinking of something to say. Instead of speaking he turned to his wife and placed his hand behind her head. He drew her head toward his and kissed her. Then he lay back and closed his eyes.

Stella smiled, thinking how lucky she was to have found a man like
Manny. Genuine and caring. She knew plenty of women who were disappointed when Manny took himself off the market by proposing to her. In fact, when she went grocery shopping at the PX, she still got dirty looks from a few women who had thrown themselves at Manny when they were younger. He had been a real up-and-comer. Very few had moved up the ranks as fast as young Manny. It had something to do with the way he carried himself in public, Stella was sure. The way he walked, confident yet approachable, drew people to him. They simply assumed he was a man who should be respected, and in time, he had proven them right.

Respect was definitely something Stella held for her husband. And she liked making him happy. When he was in a good mood, her whole day seemed to go well. But he seemed tired today, so she quit tickling him to allow him a few extra minutes of sleep.

He gave her hair a little tug, and Stella squealed with surprise. Manny, what’s gotten into you? She moved closer to him, pulling the blanket from between them so their bodies could touch. His skin was hot. His heart was racing. What’s got you all worked up, baby? He said nothing, only pulled his wife closer and kissed her neck and rubbed his cheek against her breasts. Stella sighed and moved on top of him, whispering I love you, over and over like she did every time, and Manny kept his eyes closed and thought about the Loveboat, about the swirling blue lights inside and the stars outside above the dumpster; he heard the sails flapping and the men chanting his name and smelled the sweat and—oh god, Manny—smoke and a handful of dollar bills fluttered past his calf and came to rest on his foot—it’s all yours, Manny—the stars swaying above his head until he felt Stella’s nails digging into his shoulders, piercing the flesh, and then she collapsed on top of him—oh god, oh god, ohmyfuckinggod.

They lay in silence for a few minutes, waiting for their pulses to slow, breathing short breaths. Manny? You’re amazing. She fell over onto her back. So are you, baby. He hated calling her pet names. Why don’t you take a shower and I’ll get the boys ready, Stella. He got out of bed and wiped himself with a towel lying on their dresser. Across the hall in the boys’ room, Manny unplugged the GI Joe nightlight and picked his
younger son out of his crib. He bent over and nudged Justin with his elbow, nodding toward the school clothes Stella had set out the night before. Keeping to their morning ritual, Justin groaned and Manny sang good morning to you, good morning to you, you look like a monkey and you smell like one too. His son laughed and sat up in bed. No, you look like a monkey, Daddy. Manny made a grunting noise and left the room.

He walked into the kitchen with his younger son, squeezing the boy’s cheek before buckling him into his highchair and placing a frozen teething ring on the tray in front of him. He brought a carton of eggs out of the fridge and started whistling while he cracked them into a skillet. He heard Stella humming in the shower. The soapy-smelling steam drifted into the kitchen. Manny whistled and tapped his foot to the rhythm of an upbeat song, like one they might play in a club. Something easy to dance to. Something to set the mood.

Without realizing it Manny had stopped cracking eggs and stood with his hand suspended over the counter, clenched into a fist, an egg crushed inside. The yolk dripped between his fingers, hanging like strands of speckled mucus. The shower stopped running, snapping him out of his trance. He hurriedly finished breakfast and set it on the table as his wife and older son walked into the kitchen.

During breakfast Manny and Justin joked back and forth while Stella fed the baby. She was content, laughing at their jokes. Daddy, what do you call it when Scooby-Doo goes potty? Scooby-Doo-Doo. Hehehe. Well, what do you call Scooby-Doo’s ghost then, Justin? Scooby-Boo. Stella shook her head. It was always the same terrible jokes. But every morning Justin and Manny acted as if it were the first time they’d heard them.

Gentlemen, I hate to interrupt your improv routine, but I need a favor. Manny tipped an invisible hat in her direction, winking at Justin. At your service, m’lady. He listened intently, like a true gentleman, as she told him about her hair appointment on post and wondered if he had time to drop the boys off this morning. Justin’s little foot kept bumping against Manny’s knee, trying to draw his attention to the butter knife clenched between his teeth and the egg he held over his eye like a pirate’s patch.

After breakfast Manny buckled his sons in the backseat while the car
warmed up. Stella waited until he was finished, then kissed him goodbye. She didn’t see him flinch. See you tonight, baby.

When Stella was gone, Manny reversed out of the driveway and started singing Blow the Man Down, gently swerving the car back and forth. His sons loved it.

When they reached Justin’s school, Manny pulled up beside the pole where the principal was hoisting the flag. Justin got out and saluted his father, then turned and walked inside. The principal saluted Manny too.

Inside the PX hair salon, three black women were cutting hair. The waiting list was already seven names deep and there were still appointments coming in, but it was like that every day, so the waiting wives of airmen and the few enlisted women sitting in a row didn’t mind.

But girl, you shoulda heard this muthafucka go on bout Cap’m Torres. Talkin bout how he was drunk off his ass and some stripper come up to him.

You let your man go to the strip club?

Shit, I don’t give a damn as long as he comes home to me and I gets mine.

Laughter. Hair fell to the floor and snipping scissors stopped and waved around, barely missing the heads beneath them. The waiting customers pretended not to be listening, reading their magazines.

Both a yall crazy, and you need to watch whatchou talkin bout up in here.

Shit. We got free speech, right? Aint that why our men out there flyin them damn planes and shootin at stuff? I aint come all the way from Atlanta to sit up in here and not say what’s on my mind.

That’s RIGHT girl. Spill it.

Yeah. So Torres is throwin money around, gettin titties in his face and drinkin beer while his woman at home watchin the kids and he runnin up in the Loveboat talkin bout I’m gonna get mine while all the other guys is there tryin to enjoy themselves and have a drink, maybe look at some titties. You know how Rodney is.

Shit, you know he a lyin bastard.

Whatchou know about that?

Girl, I just call em like I see em.

You both some silly bitches.

Who you callin bitch? So Rodney says Torres, the same guy who usually have a stick up his ass, is yellin and carryin on and gettin all cozy with the strippers.

And what’s Rodney doin the whole time, coverin his eyes?

Girl, he was probably wishin he could afford to do the same thing, with his broke ass.

Everybody laughed again, putting down their magazines and watching the three women banter back and forth.

Why don’t you both talk about somethin else?

Oh I got other stories, but lemme finish this one about Torres.

Yeah, now I’m all interested and you know yall are too, so quit trippin.

So, I guess the dudes figure Torres drunk so they just ignore him and watch the girls, and when it’s last call, Torres ordered himself a couple shots and took em and went trollin for hoes.

Scandalous muthaFUCKA.

Yeah. And he went and found him this one name Satan or some shit and offered her money if she went in the back with him and gave him some head.

That’s it?

Nah. Guess he took her ass to the back of the club and a buncha guys followed him out—

You mean Rodney went out there too?

Nah, he came home before the club closed, and his boys told him about what happened next.

Sure.

Girl, don’t make me—she pointed her scissors at the woman in the stall next to her, then smiled. So Rodney says Torres went out back and whipped his shit out and was all wavin it in her face and tellin her bout how she had to do him right there in front of everybody.

Tell me that ho didn’t do it.

You KNOW she did.

That’s some NASTY shit.

Oh, it gets worse.

Then neither of you need to be talkin bout it up in here.

Damn, Kia, you gonna shut the hell up already? Let her ass talk. Keep goin, Sonya.

Girl, that bitch took off her clothes in fronta all them muthafuckas and start givin Torres head and all touchin her junk and lettin Torres put it in her ass—

Oh, HELL no. That’s some sick shit.

And all of em just standin around and watchin and pullin money out and throwin it down on the ground.

She just goin at it?

Girl, lovin it like it gonna make her a movie star.

And Torres just had his thing hangin out in front of all them guys?

Wavin in the breeze like it was a flag and he all proud of his shit, like it’s somethin.

Each woman sat with a gaping mouth, wondering if her man had been there, trying to remember what time he came home the night before.

I’ll tell you both one thing.

Quit tellin us what we can and can’t say.

No, it aint that. It just goes to show that all men are horny dogs and you better off not messin with em.

Shit, Kia, you think we don’t know? But what can you do? I aint tryin to be no nun or some kinda lezzie.

Me neither. I’m STRICTLY dickly.

The salon filled with laughter and exclamations of agreement, and little conversations began between the women as they talked about how come men can’t be faithful and sometimes think with their big head instead of their little one. And they laughed and talked and joked, Kia interrupting every now and then on principle, but the other two going on and on as if they were sitting at home with just the two of them and not in a salon filled with customers.