Glass (31 page)

Away from me, onto his feet.

Take care of your baby.

He vanishes into the night.

Close behind is Grade E,

with a sizeable buy and

a pilfered rock. I glance

around the cluttered room.

An ash tray overflows on

the coffee table. A glass

pipe lies on the floor, midst

papers, knocked off a chair.

A raft of papers, floating

on a swamp of nasty carpet,

a place no baby should crawl.

The sink cannot possibly

hold another crusty dish.

Clothing, dirty and clean,

decorates the furniture.

I should straighten up.

Scrub. Make the place

presentable. Habitable.

A place I want to be in.

But I’m exhausted. Sore.

Sore. Too sore to pick up

my stuttering baby. I warm

a bottle. Similac pacifier.

Then I locate the phone.

“Mom? I know it’s late,

and I’m sorry. But I need

you to come get Hunter.”

When he stumbles in. Wasted.

Like me. We don’t bother with

words, instead collapse into bed,

shedding clothes as we go.

Finally, sweaty and shaking,

I whisper, “I’m sorry. Oh, God.

I don’t want to be without you.”

The same hands that only hours

ago hurt me now caress me.
I’m

sorry too.
He lays his fingers into

finger-shaped bruises. Perfect fits.

I can’t believe I did this to you.

Why do I hurt you when I love

you so much? Am I crazy?

We both know why, but we

don’t dare admit it. What would

we be if we did? “We’re both

crazy. I don’t care, as long

as you’re with me. Kiss me.

Make love to me, hard. Don’t

think about it. Hurt me more.”

We lie, knotted together,

as if to undo this macramé

would unravel us altogether.

After a while, Trey sighs.

I have to tell you something.

Every muscle tenses. He’s

leaving. Or he’s been with

Angela. Or he wants to be.

I haven’t been job hunting

all the time I’ve been away….

I don’t want to hear this.

I don’t want to lose him.

I don’t want to share him.

I’ve been going to the casinos.

I…I’m not lucky at gambling.

He’s not leaving. I don’t have

to share him. Wait. Gambling?

He’s been gambling? And losing?

I’m sorry. I thought I could make

a little profit, to get a nicer place.

My body stiffens and bends

in half, like a mannequin, sitting.

“Where did you get the money?”

From the lockbox. I know some

of it was to get more speed….

Yes, and for rent. Electricity. Phone.

Gasoline. And, until a few hours ago,

baby food. “How much is left?”

I don’t know. Not much. But there’s

still a little glass. We can sell it…

Lockbox. I spring from bed, rush

to its hiding place, line up the numbers

on the lock. One hundred sixteen dollars.

Trey is still talking.
We just have to stay

out of it until we make our money back.

Stay out of what? Oh, the stash. Right.

We’re so very good at that. I sit back

in the chair beneath the window, stare

at the same stars in the same night sky.

Inside, everything is different. Again.

But I can’t trust him,

and so the love feels

different.

I still love Hunter,

but know he’s better

off away from me,

and so the love is

distant.

I still love Brad, in

some warped way,

even though I was

discarded,

used then tossed

aside, like a once-

favorite toy,

outgrown.

Funny, but I still love

Chase. Seeing him,

married and

moved on,

stuffed me with pain.

It throbs, stabs.

But that isn’t so bad.

At least I know I’m

still alive.

Like, the rent is due and we’re

out of cash. I give the manager

a sob story about the baby getting

sick. Since the baby isn’t here,

she buys it, gives us a few days

to catch up, with a little interest.

Translation: twenty-five for her.

Like, we really need to sell some

ice right now, and everyone seems

to be
a little short on cash
or set

for the foreseeable future. Trey

actually goes downtown to peddle

small quantities to tourists and card

dealers—an inspired way to play.

Like, because we’re not selling it

very quickly, we’re tempted to go

ahead and smoke it. First the profit

goes up in a cloud of exhaled ice.

Next goes the investment capital,

or it would be investment capital,

but it wasn’t our capital to invest.

Like, by the time we’re supposed

to pay Cesar what we owe him, we’re

even further behind than when I

concocted that ridiculous plan.

We don’t have close to what he’s

expecting, and wouldn’t, even if

we sold everything that’s left.

Anyway, we can’t sell everything

that’s left, or we won’t have any

personal, or any way to get more.

Which leaves us pretty well

screwed. Like 100 percent

screwed, unless I can, with lightning

speed, concoct a workable Plan B.

Revolves around that we need

money. Lots of it and fast.

Three possible ways to

come up with it.

Beg.

Not really my style. I mean,

I suppose I could call Mom,

tell her I can’t even afford food.

But would she believe me,

and would she care even if she did?

Borrow.

I could maybe call Leigh, ask for

a loan until payday, lie and tell

her there really is a payday

coming up soon. But she’s not

exactly rolling in money herself.

Or steal.

I’ve never considered this option

before. Course, I never had to.

Would I even be good at it?

Who would I steal from?

And afterward, would I feel

no remorse?

If I’m going to steal, Trey has to be

in on it. This is his fault to begin with.

“So, any ideas how we might come

up with some cash, uh, illegally?”

You mean like counterfeiting?

Huh. That thought never crossed

my mind. We couldn’t do that, could

we? “No. I meant more like…hmm,

borrowing. With no intent to repay.”

You aren’t serious, are you?

“Far as I can see, we don’t have

much of a choice. We’re almost dry,

and we’ve got to make good with Cesar

to get more…and stay in one piece.”

Well, I’m not about to snatch purses.

Sheesh. Never thought of that, either.

“What if I could get hold of some checks.

Think we could get away with cashing

them?” I have an idea where to get some.

Probably. At least with a fake ID.

Fake ID. Good idea. It could, in fact,

come in handy in a number of ways.

But I have no idea how to get one.

“How could I get one of those?”

I do happen to know this guy….

A guy who makes them for college

students. A guy who once helped

Trey himself out. A guy who isn’t

the least bit difficult to get hold of.

That must be some kind of sign.

In a little brick house, with a white

picket fence and flowers in the yard,

a few blocks from the university.

He greets Trey with a nod, says

to me,
Hi. I’m Frank. Come in.

Frank doesn’t look like a crook.

He looks like a computer nerd,

which he most definitely is.

His turn to check me out.
So,

you want to get into the clubs?

“Uh, yeah. Can you help me out?

Guess I don’t quite look twenty-

one.” Perfect. Just perfect.

No problem. Come on. Let’s

take your picture.

Digital this. Special program

that, my new ID is almost ready

to go. Just one thing missing.

What name did you want here?

Most people use someone else’s.

Well, duh. Of course I want to

use someone else’s, the someone

whose name will be on the checks.

“Put Marie Springer.”

Is figure out how to get the checks.

Best if no one is home. I give Mom

a call. A bit of small talk, then I ask,

“When is Jake’s next baseball game?

Trey and I thought we might stop by.”

I’m turning into an experienced liar.

I listen for a tone of suspicion, but can

find not a trace when Mom informs me,

Friday at three. He’s starting pitcher.

“Very cool. Are you bringing Hunter?”

Like she would leave him with a baby-

sitter. If she’s going, he’s going too.

Her voice totally cools.
Of course.

We’re going out to dinner afterward.

You’re welcome to come with us.

Everything clicks completely into

place. Unreal.
Maybe we’ll take

you up on that. See you Friday.