Everybody Knows Jackie Rose (pt 3)

Jude’s in one of the booths cleaning his gun; Jackie can’t help herself, she takes a seat across from him, watching the little black hole at the end of the barrel dance in the air as he runs pipe cleaners and oil through it. He points the gun at her and says bang, and there’s a tickle down her spine like she used to get when Dixie would beat somebody. She twists her rings on her fingers, taking a good look at Jude, trying to see him: his eyes are like something he dug out of the trash; he’s layered in jailhouse ink, ridiculous blue skulls and crosses like a shitty treasure map; his hands are scarred, and she loves the scars. Some kid comes up to them wearing a State Univ sweatshirt; Jude demands double and Jackie lets herself be impressed because the kid is pissed but doesn’t say jack shit, tearing bills from a roll and jamming the baggies into his pocket as he leaves.

These kids, Jude says, shaking his head.

Jackie nods with him, stirring her beer with one long red nail and sucking on it. She’s about to ask him if they could go wake up True when he appears, rubbing his face, eyes so black they’re like holes poked in his head, hair sweaty and stuck to his neck; he slides in next to Jackie, holding his stomach. You need to let me cut this, she says, brushing his hair back; He swats her hand away.

How come it’s so crowded? he grumbles; he sees Choke looking at him and reluctantly waves, and Choke waves happily back. Jackie tries to hold his hand but he won’t let her. Somebody’s playing Jingle Bells; Mom put a pile of Christmas 45s in the Rowe that skip but the drunks can’t get enough, groaning along with the words and toasting with their bottles over and over until you want to take a chair and smash the damn thing in.

Her chest starts to hurt like some great weight is crushing her and the air won’t go into her lungs – and for the first time she wants nothing more than to get out of there, get out of her clothes and her wig and just, just not be her anymore.

The record changes; True begins to rock, holding his gut; he looks at them, waiting, and then shoves himself out of the booth, ducking around the men and reaching the door, his face floating away in the dark.

You going? Jude asks. His eyes narrow a little, and if Jackie Rose knows anything in this world, she knows that look when she sees it. Thank god, she thinks, horrified to be so relieved; she smoothes her wig, calmed by the feel of it, the loveliness of it. And she tells Jude no, she’d rather stay here with him if that’s all right.

Jude smiles like a zipper. He gets up, scooping up his gun, and leans over the bar to fish beers out of the cooler, sauntering back to his room. Jackie doesn’t hesitate to follow him, doesn’t wonder what she’s doing: Jackie Rose is a practical girl, and there’s no point in pretending when there’s no point in pretending.

By the time she gets to his door Jude is already taking off his pants.

*