Tricks (4 page)

so-ready to go out and play.

48

We Played That Saturday

Lucas's silver Eclipse Spyder

seemed to maneuver those

Highway 1 curves all by itself.

Good thing, considering how

*

buzzed we got. Okay, it wasn't the first time I'd smoked weed, but I'd rarely smoked myself so close to outer space before.

*

Finally Lucas pulled well off the road, parked.
C'mon.

I want to show you something.

He took my hand, led me along

*

a narrow trail to a steep rock

wall. No way could you climb up from the front, but around back, little ledges allowed access to the top.

*

Despite the residual morning mist, the view of the crest-and-crash

Pacific literally stole my breath

away. "Insane," I managed.

*

We sat, lost in our buzz and the roar of the sea, and when he slipped his arm around my shoulder, it felt right. No, better than right.

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It felt necessary. He wanted to kiss me, I knew that. And

I wanted to let him, but I was afraid I'd look like an idiot.

*

I'd only ever kissed two other

guys, in an eighth-grade game of Truth or Dare. Not real kisses.

Not even real practice kisses.

*

Still, when he touched my face, it rotated easily toward his. And

when our eyes locked, I dove into those emerald pools and our first

*

kiss was an effortless float.

All the love I'd ever thirsted for swelled, symphonic. Finally, too soon, he pulled away.
Wow
.

50

A Man of Few Words

Most definitely, but I didn't

need words then. I needed

another kiss, which he gave

me, and another. And another.

*

Without asking for more. Even

though by the end of that make-out

session, my body was saying, "Please, more." And it has many times since.

*

A few days ago Daddy was in the city, and Mom was off at some fashion

show. I asked Lucas to come over.

We were making out hot and heavy.

*

He started to unbutton my blouse.

I let him. And when he unzipped

my jeans, I helped him help me

out of them. Snared by the heat

*

of his kiss, I barely noticed when he slipped out of his own Levis.

Skin urgent against skin, only

panties and boxers between us,

*

I was ready to shed that final thin

barrier, allow him access to the most

private part of me, when familiar faces

floated past the window. Not-quite busted!

51

A Poem by Ginger Cordell
Faces

I wear many faces, some way too old to fit the girl glued to the back of them.

I

keep my faces in a box, stashed inside of me.

It's murky in there, overcast with feelings I

don't

allow anyone to see.

Not that anyone cares

enough to go looking.

No one wants to know

what bothers me. Too

hung up on their own

problems. Sometimes

I think I have to see the real

Ginger, so I open the box, search inside.

But no matter how hard

I look, I can't find

me.

52

Ginger SOP

Standard operating procedure.

Iris is yelling again. At the phone.

At the guy on the other end.

*

At what he's done to her world-- her totally messed-up, totally self-

centered piece of the universe.

*

Wish she would just shut the fuck

up. Hang up. Forget Hal or Bill or Joe or Frank or whatever this

*

one's name is. I can't remember

them all. Only a couple of names, a face or two. A few other body

*

parts I'll never be able to forget.

All because of Iris's "womanly

needs." That's what she calls

*

her overinflated sex drive. Why

can't she stop thinking about herself and act like a mom?

53

She could start by letting us call her Mom. But, no, she insists on

Iris. Says it makes her feel pretty.

*

Not sure she was ever really

pretty, but if she was, too

many babies and too much

*

hard living has sucked her dry.

Too much, too many. That

describes Iris pretty damn well.

*

Too much booze. Too many

smokes. Way too many

pills. Speed. Downers.

*

Everything in between. Any-

thing to shut off and shut up what's left of her brain.

54

A Door Slams

Guess she's done on the phone.

Done with another Mr. Wrong.

Thirty seconds, she'll be in here,

*

crying. Wanting me to say, "Don't

cry, Iris. Everything will be okay."

And, you know, maybe it will.

*

"Okay" is all in how you look at things. Compared to some bum on the street, or some starving

*

kid in Africa, we're okay, living with our grandma, who manages to feed Iris and us six kids.

*

Six kids, five different fathers.

Only Maryann and I share one, not that we know one damn thing

55

about him, except he's an army

lifer who gave us his face (neither of us takes after our mother) and his

*

last name. Guess Iris actually

married him. Wonder if she ever officially unmarried him.

*

Yes, no, or maybe so, the other

kids--Porter, Honey, Pepper, and Sandy--all have different

*

fathers, but share the same last

name. Belcher, just like Gram's.

Our first names come courtesy

*

of Iris's infatuation with ancient

black-and-white TV reruns. Ginger and Mary Ann were characters on

56

Gilligan's Island.
Porter and

Sandy were on a show about

A dolphin named Flipper. Pepper

*

was
Police Woman,
and Honey

West was a private investigator, cop, or other woman-in-danger.

*

Anyway, we've been at Gram's

place in California for seven months, eating every day, sleeping warm.

*

But I don't know how long it will

last. Iris gets along with her mother about how she gets along with her men.

57

Thirty Seconds Is Up

Iris doesn't bother to knock.

She slaps against the door, pushes her way into the room

*

that I share with Mary Ann, Honey, and Pepper. Four girls, two

beds. Luckily, only I'm here now.

*

Iris tosses herself across my bed, lands facedown against rumpled

blankets.
Bastard! Why are they all

*

such bastards?
She sobs, and her body shakes like she's got the DTs.

Like she'd ever suffer through detox.

*

I should feel sorry for her, I guess.

But I don't. I can't. She makes

me sick. Maybe because I know

*

I could turn out just like her. No way to dig myself out of this grave for the living. No way I've found yet.

*

I try to dig up a little sympathy.

"He wasn't such a great guy

anyway, Iris." He was nasty.

58

But she doesn't think so.
No one's

p-perf-fect I thought we were doing just f-f-fine.

*

Anger punches me suddenly, hard, little blows to the gut.

"Maybe he found out how you

*

make your... uh... living.

Not many guys will put up with someone who screws

*

other guys for money. And if

they do, then all they're after is free booze and an easy lay."

*

She jerks upright, grabs me by the shoulders, shakes till

my teeth rattle.
You little bitch.

*

How dare you talk to me like that? You know anything

I do to get by, I do for you.

59

"You"

Meaning her collective offspring.

I look into her eyes and find only

honesty there. She means every

*

word, hasn't even the slightest

clue how full of shit she totally

is. I don't care. She should know.

*

"Some people wait tables or work in grocery stores, Iris. Hustling

BJs is lazy work." All on your knees.

*

Emotions cycle through her eyes like a color wheel. She wants to hit me. Wants to hug me.

*

Her hands, still attached to my

shoulders, tremble.
I'm sorry.

I just don't know anything else.

*

Finally her hands fall away.

I thought maybe things would

change with Greg. Get better.

*

What planet does she live on?

"Get real! What guy wants a woman like... like you?"

60

Smacked Down

That's how she looks, but I don't

feel bad about it. She wants me to mother her. Well, what mother

*

with half a pair of balls wouldn't say the same thing? (Not counting

my mother!) And I've got a full pair.

*

I swear I can see smoke billowing from her ears.
Who made you so stinking mean?
She spits the s's.

*

What a fucking stupid question!

Isn't she expecting my answer?

"Who do you fricking think?"

*

She wants to say more, but at this

exact moment, Gram comes into the room, carrying an armful

*

of detergenty-smelling laundry.

Her head swivels toward us.

Uh. Am I interrupting something?

*

Iris shakes her head.
Nothing

important. I need a smoke.

She rolls off the bed.
And a beer.

61

I Must Look

As pissed as I feel. Without a word, Gram lays the folded

clothes on the other bed.

*

She turns toward me slowly, and for maybe the hundredth time,

I wonder what has carved

*

such deep wrinkles into her face.

She's only, like, fifty-three or so, and I'm pretty sure that,

*

unlike Iris, Gram used to be a knockout.
You okay?

Her voice is pillow soft.

*

My eyes sting suddenly. It

should be Iris--Mom--

asking if I'm okay. "No."

*

Gram comes over, sits on the edge of the bed. Up

close, her face looks like

*

earthquake-splintered stone.

Worn, but not worn out.

I wish I could change things

62

for
you. And for her too.

Her childhood was no

walk in the park either. Not

*

easy, being an army brat. And

touching down in Barstow

wasn't exactly a reward for years

*

spent hauling around the U.S.

Then, when her dad got killed...

well, she went starved dog wild.

*

Between Fort Irwin, Edwards,
and the Marine Corps bases, there were plenty of men willing

*

to be stand-ins for her fallen

father. Only it wasn't exactly

daughterly love they were after.

63

Guess That Explains

How she got knocked up with me when she was only sixteen. Just my age.

*

And maybe it explains why she never outgrew teendom.

Still, "Why are you taking her

*

side? She pisses you off too.

Not like we can't hear you

yell at each other, you know."

*

Gram nods.
I
know. I'm sorry.

It's not such a big place.

Barely enough room to fit

*

you all in. But we'll get by.

Yes, I get mad at Iris. She can

be downright infuriating. Always

*

was a selfish girl. Never one to think about others, or try to spare their feelings. Not

*

mother material, not at all. Not

fair to any of you to pop you

out, then leave you to mostly fend

64

for yourselves. Even coyotes and jackals do better by their pups.

All I'm asking is for her to get

*

a job. Something legit. Pay taxes,
stop whoring arou--She
skids to a stop, has said too much.

*

It's okay. I know what she does.

Hate what she does. She'll never

stop. Not for you. Not for any of us."

65

In the Next Room

Sandy starts up a fuss. Short

nap. He'll be a little turdcake

tonight. Gram and I move at

*

the same time. Iris will let him

squish around in his wet Pull-Up until someone else changes it. I stop

*

Gram with a touch of my hand.

"I'll get him. You do enough."

I kiss her cheek gently before

*

sliding off the bed, onto the chipped