Glass - 02

  Finally, he pulls away. I’ll take

  you back to your car now. And

  I’ll wait for our second date.

  As long as it’s tomorrow.

  Not a Wink

  Of sleep tonight.

  I know that without

  trying. Even if I wasn’t

  totally wired out of my tree,

  thinking about Trey would

  keep my mental wheels

  turning. Churning.

  I managed to

  choke down dinner,

  a major accomplishment,

  Meth usually makes me yak.

  But not tonight. Tonight, all

  I could think about was

  Trey. Trey. Trey.

  After dinner I

  played with Hunter,

  watched TV with Mom,

  Scott, and Jake, like nothing

  was new, nothing different.

  But everything’s different.

  And I’m scared.

  I mean, yes, I’m

  happy. Excited, even.

  But nothing seems to go

  right between me and a guy.

  [Stop overthinking it,

  would you please?]

  I’m trying to!

  I really like Trey

  a lot. He’s incredible.

  So what does he want with

  me? Besides the obvious, that

  is, and he could get that

  with pretty much any

  girl. Why me?

  One more thing

  bothers me, but just a

  little, because I’d probably

  be doing it anyway. The meth.

  Is it a requisite, a necessary part

  of a relationship with Trey?

  Which would come first?

  The meth? Or me?

  I’m Glad

  I have a little of my own stash

  left this morning. I’d never make

  it through work otherwise. It’s

  damn little, but enough to help me

  shake off the no-sleep goofiness.

  And hey, later today I’ll have more

  than enough to make up for it.

  At least Hunter didn’t need

  attention before I got up, got

  dressed, and left for work, three

  whiffs of ice my only breakfast.

  I know I should eat something.

  Just don’t know how to manage

  that, with my stomach turning

  cartwheels. The meth is only half

  to blame. The other half is my

  brain, which won’t leave Trey at

  the back of it. He’s front row, center.

  I’m in a pheromone fog

  as I make coffee, stock rows

  of cigarettes, mop up a customer’s

  mistake. Mindless work, and there’s

  always more when I’m finished

  with what I’m doing. Except when

  it gets busy, I leave the cash

  register math to Midge, who’s

  unusually friendly today.

  Not a great thing on a day

  like today. She chatters

  about her grandkids, only half

  the time the apples of her eye.

  Today, to listen to her, they’re

  angels with straight A’s.

  Then she moves on to diss her

  retired husband, Al, who watches

  television all day, every day.

  He loves those damn soaps,

  she says. Idiot TV. He won’t

  even consider really good

  shows, like Oprah or Montel.

  Just before lunch, Kevin comes

  in, payroll in hand. He gives

  Midge her envelope, calls me

  into the back room to offer mine.

  Okay, that’s a little weird,

  but what am I going to do,

  say no? As always, his eyes creep

  up and down my body.

  Here it is, in all its glory,

  he says of my pitiful paycheck—

  $329 and change.

  He pauses, assessing me in some

  way I can’t put my arms around.

  Finally he says, You’re worth

  a lot more than minimum wage,

  but I can’t offer a raise until

  you’ve been here six months.

  Another, closer gawk. Uh, some

  of my other girls work a side job,

  which pays extremely well.

  Would you be interested in

  something on the side?

  Interesting choice of words.

  Now it’s my turn to study Kevin,

  all wolf, on certain prowl. The way

  he’s looking at me makes me

  very uncomfortable. But I can

  handle him, can’t I? [Probably not,

  but I sure can!] Bolstered by Bree’s

  cheerful assurance, I answer, “Well,

  maybe. Like, what kind of work?”

  Customer service, of a sort.

  He reaches out, runs a hand

  softly down my arm. The crystal

  in my system responds, lifting

  a good crop of goose bumps,

  which Kevin is all too happy to

  misinterpret. He smiles a lupine smile.

  Ah, you just might be a good

  candidate after all. I thought

  you might. The job is easy work,

  really. Let’s just say I’ve got

  a list of clients interested in

  videos starring young women

  of your caliber.

  He’s a porn dealer! I knew it!

  Okay, I didn’t know that, specifically,

  but it doesn’t surprise me. Part of me

  is revolted, part fascinated. What kind

  of videos, exactly? Do I know any

  of the girls? Would I ever stoop that

  low? [How much does it pay, anyway?]

  I formulate a careful answer.

  “Uh, I don’t really think so. Not now,

  anyway. I’m still getting my figure

  back, and I don’t have a lot of spare

  time, with the baby and all.

  But I’ll think about it, okay?”

  We Leave It at That

  And it isn’t until I run to

  the bank on my lunch break

  that it comes to me Kevin

  thinks I’m some sort of whore.

  I don’t see myself that way at all.

  Open-minded, yes. A druggie, sometimes.

  An unwed teen mother, for sure. But

  a sleep-around? No way. Never.

  So why am I so hot for Trey?

  Sex with him is definitely not

  out of the question. Maybe even

  tonight. So am I a whore?

  [I am!] But I’m not. I want more

  than just sex. I want a relationship—

  someone to love and to love me.

  Will Trey be that? I don’t know.

  The attraction between us is sexual,

  yes. But I think there’s something

  more. I thought so the first time

  we met, and yesterday confirmed it.

  He could have played games. Didn’t.

  He could have played rough. Didn’t.

  He could have insisted all tweakers

  are whores, one way or another.

  The glass makes me brave, sends

  waves of sensuality throughout my

  body. I know being with Trey will

  be incredible. But will it be only once?

  Because once will not be enough.

  Or maybe it will be way too much.

  Either way, thinking about it makes

  me believe I’m not a whore.

  The Rest of the Day

  Goes fast. Goes incredibly slow.

  Midafternoon, Trey calls.

  Hey, you. We still on for ton
ight?

  Great. We’re all set up, good to go.

  Where and when can we meet?

  His voice sends chills through

  my body. Good chills. “Give

  me some time to run home

  and clean up. How about five

  thirty at the Starbucks on Mount Rose?”

  Five thirty it is. But I doubt

  you’ll need coffee. He hesitates,

  as if deciding what to say.

  Finally, pay dirt. Kristina? I can’t

  quit thinking about you.

  “The feeling is mutual. See you

  tonight.” I can’t quit thinking

  about him, don’t for half a minute

  as the workday dissolves. At

  last the clock says four P.M.

  I race to the house, rush through

  the door. Hunter is in his infant

  seat on the living room floor,

  and from the corner of my eye

  I see him smile at his mommy.

  I should stop, pick him up, shower

  him with love. But I can’t slow down

  or I’ll be late. I run up to my room,

  choose form-fitting jeans and cropped

  crocheted sweater, decide to go braless.

  Then I take a long steamy shower,

  plenty of soap in all the necessary

  places; shampoo with ginger spice;

  shave my legs with a new razor blade;

  dry off, apply plenty of lotion.

  Finally, I put on more makeup than

  I’ve used in a year—blush, shadow,

  liner, mascara, even a smidge

  of lip gloss. The person looking

  back at me in the mirror isn’t me.

  [No, it’s me. Thanks for letting

  me out to play. And BTW, the no

  bra decision? Good one!] Bree

  and I are ready to go. We just

  have to make our escape.

  Mom is in the kitchen, working

  on dinner. Jake is watching TV

  in the living room. “Hey,” I call

  to him, “I’ve got something to do.

  Will you watch Hunter for a few?”

  He turns, assesses, understands

  the gist of what he sees.

  Maybe. What’s in it for me?

  He loves Hunter, often

  babysits when Mom can’t

  play nanny. But it’s only fair

  I pay him something. “Ten

  dollars?” I offer.

  Okay. But don’t stay

  out too late. And what should

  I tell Mom?

  Mom. Oh, yeah. He’ll have

  to tell her something. Not

  like the subject won’t come

  up before too very long.

  “Tell her…”

  What should he tell her?

  Oh, what the hell. Why lie

  about it? Not like I’m grounded,

  and I did set up the babysitting.

  “Tell her I’ve got a date.”

  She’ll Want to Know

  Why I didn’t tell her myself.

  Want to know who I’ve got

  a date with. Want to know

  what we’re doing on our

  date. Where we’re going.

  Exactly when I’ll be home.

  Sorry, Mom. Not in the mood

  for the third degree. Not

  now, anyway. So we’ll

  talk about it later. Hey,

  maybe there won’t be

  anything to lie about.

  The Wedge Parkway

  Starbucks is a fifteen-

  minute drive, with no

  traffic. This evening, lots

  of traffic, it takes forever.

  Trey is already there.

  I can see him through

  the frosted window,

  sipping something

  and watching for me.

  He stands when I go

  inside. A gentleman?

  Unusual, but I like it.

  He pulls me to him,

  kisses me easily on

  the mouth, eliciting

  jealous stares from

  customers and salesgirls.

  I inhale his masculine

  scent: Brut, tainted

  slightly by a tinge

  of ice. But hey, I’ll

  be tainted soon too.

  [More ways than one!]

  You thirsty? Hungry?

  he politely asks, and

  it makes me feel

  special that he bothers.

  He is a gentleman!

  [He’s a player.]

  I Don’t Care

  If he’s a player. He plays well,

  and I’m ready for a challenge.

  Besides, I know the rules of the game.

  We talk for a few minutes,

  about jobs and families and, yes,

  about Robyn, who’s only a friend.

  Finally, Trey suggests, Let’s go.

  Why don’t you leave your car

  here? We can take mine.

  He has washed his Mustang.

  “Oh, I do love your car,” I

  say, “although I’d pick red.”

  Well, you know, the cops tend

  to home in on red cars. Red

  and yellow. Of course, I mostly

  drive the limit, especially

  on trips like this one. You

  ready for a party?

  I smile. “It’s Friday. I don’t

  have to work tomorrow.

  I’d say I’m ready to party.”

  My kind of woman. He starts

  the car, puts it in reverse, but

  before he takes his foot off

  the brake, he turns, looks

  me right in the eye. Did I tell

  you how great you look?

  “No, damnit, you didn’t,

  and I expect a sincere apology.”

  I love Bree’s improv.

  Especially when Trey says,

  Will this do? And he kisses me—

  another long, delicious kiss.

  I pull away, breathless. “Yeah

  that will do,” I whisper, hoarse

  with heat. “For now, anyway.”

  He grins and kisses me again.

  Even better than the first. About

  the time my heart feels ready

  to explode, he slams on the brakes.

  Holy shit. We’ve been rolling

  backward. He stops a split

  second before taking out an SUV

  at the drive-through window.

  We both laugh, disturbing a very

  tense moment. And we both know

  we’ll be back in each other’s arms

  very soon, expecting more than a kiss.

  We Merge onto the Freeway

  Head north of town, and finally

  I feel the need to ask, “Where

  are we going, anyway?”

  I let my fingers creep up

  his thigh, feel an immediate

  reaction. [Mmm. Long time.]

  To my cousin’s house, Trey

  answers. He’s got a new

  shipment of top-quality ice.

  I had a taste earlier. Primo.

  “And I was going to give up

  all my bad habits for Lent. Oh,

  it’s not Lent yet, is it? In fact,

  I’ve got months! Right on.”

  Trey’s right hand falls upon my

  left, moves it higher up his leg.

  Actually, we’re moving toward

  Samhain, he says. Bonfires.

  Sacrifices. Feasts. Those Celts

  knew how to throw a party!

  Oh, yeah, he’s smart. [Fine, too.]

  And I am back in the game.

  We drive north for twenty minutes,

  turn east toward Red Rock.

  The rural community is home to

  comm
uters, dealers, and off-gridders.

  As if reading my mind, Trey

  says, Brad doesn’t live off-grid.

  Good thing, since his wife walked

  and left him with the kids.

  Raising kids with only solar power

  could be tough. “How many does

  he have?” Like I care. The voyeur in

  me wants to know why his wife left

  him. His dealing? Another man? Simple

  boredom, locked up with kids all day?

  Two little girls, one of them

  named after me—LaTreya.

  Cute, huh? She’s cute too.

  Looks just like her mom.

  We turn off the main road, into

  a relatively new neighborhood.

  It’s getting dark, but even so,

  I can see that one house pretty

  much resembles the next. “Glad

  you know where you’re going.”

  Yeah, the houses are cookie-

  cutter, okay. Main difference

  is the colors. Incognito, that’s

  how Brad lives, and that’s good.

  As we pull into the driveway,

  I notice movement behind

  a curtain. We climb out of the car,

  into sweet high desert air and it

  strikes me how normal we must

  look to the neighbors. Family.

  Trey slides his arm around

  my shoulders and I love how

  that makes me feel. Here, now.

  You’re my new girlfriend, okay?

  I don’t know if he means for real,

  or for the benefit of the kids,

  but either way, I’m fine with it.

  I’m someone’s new girlfriend, at least

  for the moment. “Okay.” I wrap

  my arm around his waist. Seamless.