Everybody Knows Jackie Rose (pt 4)

When I was a kid, Jackie says, me and my brother and a bunch of our friends used to jump off the railroad bridge into the river at midnight. All summer long.

The kid in the State Univ. sweatshirt is pissing at the trough; he looks over his shoulder. Are you talking to me?

Jackie is repainting, leaning in close to the bathroom mirror. We’d jump right when the church bells went off at 12 o’clock, she says. It was so dark you couldn’t see nothing, so it was kind of like you were flying into outer space, I suppose. I loved it.

The kid zips up and stands behind her.

Something on your mind? Jackie purrs.

Everybody says you suck cock, the kid says, barely able to get the words out.

Jackie blots her lips with tissue and closes her purse. What everybody says is correct, she says, leading him outside, and is back in two minutes, swallowing, pleased: the kid said thank you ma’am, if you can believe that.

There is a man she doesn’t recognize sitting by himself at a table in front of the cigarette machine, drawing rings on the table with his finger. Jackie heads right for him, giving him her very best walk, hips and ass cracking like a whip.

You are dressed way too nice to be from around here, she says, leaning on the chair opposite him. Lawyer?

Dentist, he says. At least I used to be.

I’ve never had a cavity in my entire life, Jackie says, baring her teeth at him. But maybe you should give me a look-see and make sure everything’s square.

The dentist coughs a laugh. You sound like somebody from a movie, you know that?

Lana Turner, Jackie agrees, pulling the chair out and sliding in. Bette Davis.

Grace Kelly, the dentist says, and Jackie flicks foam from her beer at him.

Now you’re just being silly, she says. But I will tell you that I was voted Most Glamorous at homecoming two years in a row.

Of course, the dentist says, his drink rattling as he raises it to her; she tells him her name and he toasts her again: To Jackie, he says, who the men’s room assures me in the brightest lipstick I’ve ever seen is going to show me a really good time.

Wrote it myself, Jackie says with giggle, and blows him a kiss – he pretends to catch it and the whole thing so ridiculous; the man is very drunk, and she decides there’s no harm in playing just a little.

So, he says to her, leaning in like it’s a secret. Where do we go? He pats his hands on his gut, his upper lip sweating and his eyes trying to find her. Where do we perform this Christmas transaction?

Out in the alley, baby, Jackie says, resting her arms on the table. It’s cold and dark and dirty and full of mean people that can walk by at any old second.

Perfect, the dentist says. He gets unsteadily to his feet, spreading open his jacket and turning twice trying to find his way inside. Show me, he says, holding out a hand to her. Show me this fantastic alley.

She starts to take his hand, feeling like this can’t be real, like the walls will fall over and there will be an audience and tv cameras and it will all be the best joke ever made; she sees that there is money in his hand, folded bills that bring her back to the real right now and gets rid of all that jellyfish nonsense she was thinking. She leads the way, figuring he’d follow her in a minute or two, trying to be sly like they do, but he walks next to her, his hand on her ass, and holds the door open, and has her take his arm so she doesn’t fall on the ice walking back into the night. Just kill me now, Jackie thinks as she feels the strength of his hand on the small of her back. Just kill me right god damned now, and let him be the one to do it, because he would be nice about it. He would kill me as nice as he possibly could.

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