A Hole In The Universe Part 23

It was long past midnight when the dog jumped off the bed, barking. Jada stumbled after him to the front door, then, still benumbed by sleep, stood staring at the turning k.n.o.b.

"Ma!"

Her mother rushed past her into the bathroom. "Don't turn on the light," she said from the toilet.

"Where've you been, Ma? I've been here all alone."

"You should've called Uncle Bob. I told you to."

"No, you didn't. You said you'd be right back. That's all you said."

"Well, I don't have to tell you everything, do I? I mean, you should've known. You should've called him."

"The phone's shut off."

"You should've gone up and used Inez's."

"I didn't want her to know you were gone."

The toilet flushed, and Jada turned on the light. "Oh!" she gasped as her mother cringed from the glare. She was deeply tanned, but so skinny that her arms and legs were like sticks. Her hair was lighter and had been braided in cornrows. "You look so nice, Ma. Your hair, I like it like that. Who did it?" she said, following her into the bedroom. She sat cross-legged on the bed, holding Leonardo while her mother undressed in the dark.

"Some guy. I don't know, it's like this thing they do. They just come along the beach and they do it. Here, feel." Her mother held out a braid, but Jada didn't move. "They even put these little bead things in."

"You were at a beach?" She was wide awake but deeply tired. Her mother hadn't been in detox. She wasn't clean at all, just high on the curve between hits. Leonardo wiggled, straining toward her mother, but Jada wouldn't let go.

"There was so many different ones I don't even know where I was half the time. There's so many boats parked, you can't even see the water, they're all crowded in so close. And to get on the dock you just walk on the boats, one to the other." She lay down. "That's all you have to do." She yawned.

"You were on a boat?"

"Yacht's more like it. You should've seen it, baby, you wouldn'ta believed it," she said as she petted Leonardo, who'd burst from Jada's resentful grip. He sprawled on her mother's chest, squealing and trying to lick her face. Her mother clamped her hand around his snout. "They even have, like, their own private chef."

The window rattled and Jada sat up. "What's that?"

"Chef. It's a French word. It means a cook that cooks fancy food."

"Ma, Feaster wants his money. He said you did this big buy and then you took off."

"Why do you have to ruin everything all the time?" her mother groaned. "I should've just stayed there, that's what the h.e.l.l I should've done. The only reason I came back is because of you, and now you won't even listen."

"I am, I'm listening, but-"

"You know what I ate every single night?"

"No, but Feaster's mad, Ma. I been really scared. Him and Polie both, they made me-"

"I said I don't want to talk about them. All right?" She paused, then shook Jada's arm, her voice girlish and cozy again. "Guess what I ate every single night?"

"I don't know." There's this and then there's that, there's here and there, but never any connections. Except me, There's this and then there's that, there's here and there, but never any connections. Except me, Jada thought. Jada thought.

"Here's a clue-it's one of the most favorite things you like."

Jada shivered. Without Leonardo's warmth, she felt raw, as if a layer of skin had been stripped off.

"Come on, Jada! Every night I told everyone, I said the same thing, 'This is my kid's most favorite food in the whole world.' Oh, all right. Shrimp c.o.c.ktail!"

"So what about Tron? Was he there, too?"

"Tron?" There was a pause. "Oh, no, he wasn't there."

"How come? Did he go in detox?"

"Huh?"

"He was gonna go in detox and you said you were, too."

"Tron's an a.s.shole."

"He seemed nice to me."

"He's a crackhead, that's all he is, baby. . . ." Her mother's voice trailed off. "That's all he'll ever be." She was already snoring.

Jada reached for the dog, but he growled through the darkness. "Leonardo," she whispered, hurt.

"Jesus Christ," her mother whined, then snored again.

Jada covered her face with her hands, refusing to cry. She slipped out of bed and groped along the floor for her mother's purse. She opened it in the bathroom. Two twenties and a lot of ones. Three cellophane-wrapped rocks lay at the bottom of the purse among grains of sand, matches, hair clips, casino tokens, crimped roaches, and loose cigarettes. She held one rock over the toilet, smiling as she let it go. The minute it splashed she panicked. She scooped it out and wiped it on her shirt, then put it back.

She crept back into bed and drifted into fitful sleep, curled as close to Leonardo as she could get without waking her mother.

The next morning Jada sat on a stool in the Donut Shop, eating breakfast. She finished the onion bagel with cream cheese, then ordered a chocolate-covered jelly doughnut and another coffee. Reflected in the mirror behind the coffee urns were three boys coming down the street, Thurman and two buddies, Colt and Ray. She ran to the door. "Hey, Thurman! You guys want a doughnut or something? I'm paying," she yelled, waving the twenty. They scrambled in and sat at the counter, careful to leave an empty stool between themselves and her. They each ordered two doughnuts, which they wolfed down in silence. When they were done they jumped up and hurried outside.

"Wait!" she called, running to catch up. They ran even faster. "Wait up! You want a smoke? Hey! I got some Camels here."

The wind kept blowing out the match, so they went into the alley next to the drugstore and huddled over the flame. Thurman lit up first. Lighting hers last, she took a deep drag. As they continued walking, Thurman had them staggering with laughter. He was telling them about his crazy sister. She was always messing up her paper route, but n.o.body ever said much because she was the only one the newspaper could get to deliver, the neighborhood was so bad. If Thurman needed a few bucks, he'd go collect from some of her customers. Then when the time came she'd try to collect. Her customers would say they'd already paid, and she'd just get confused and think she'd forgotten to write it down.

"Who you talking about? Peggy Triker? She's your sister?" Jada said, walking faster to keep pace. Peggy weighed at least three hundred pounds and delivered the papers on a gigantic tricycle. "She's, like, grown-up. I mean, how can she be your sister, she's too-" Old, she was about to say as Thurman shoved her against a parked car.

"Careful, freak-face, or else I'll knock those crooked teeth right down your throat."

"Go ahead, try it," she grunted, laughing but mad as h.e.l.l as she tried to knee him. His face was at hers. He b.u.t.ted his pelvis into hers. The two boys watched with ruttish glee.

"Hey! What're you doing? Leave her alone!" a man called.

Heedless, Thurman was just about breaking her wrists.

"Thurman! I said, leave her alone. Get off her!" Gordon's shadow fell over them. Eyes glazed, Thurman stepped back with a nervous giggle. Gordon glanced at her, then continued walking down the street.

"Wait! Wait a minute." She ran after him, but he only walked faster. "Don't be mad," she pleaded, running to catch up, then hurried alongside.

Gordon looked around in embarra.s.sment.

"Please, please don't be mad . . . I told you . . . I told you what happened . . . I was scared. . . ." She grabbed his arm. "That's all. I wasn't tryna come on to you or anything."

Mouth agape, he stood there.

"I wasn't!"

"I have to go to work."

"f.u.c.k you," she whispered as he rushed off. He'd had that same look as Uncle Bob, as if she hadn't fooled him at all and he knew what a hopeless piece of s.h.i.t she was.

Ray waited, with his shirt wrapped around his hand. Thurman sliced the back-door screen with his knife. He unlocked the storm, then tapped the gla.s.s with the knife b.u.t.t just enough to crack it. Ray punched in the gla.s.s the rest of the way, then reached inside and turned the latch. "When's he get home?" Ray asked as they ran into the kitchen and began looking for money, drugs, or booze. Thurman wasn't sure. He hadn't worked at the Market since the a.s.shole got him fired.

Jada hadn't even tried to stop them. She was too high. Plus, it was Gordon's fault. The least he could have done was listen to her. She liked walking around up here like the lady of the house. Everything was so neat, his closets and drawers, the rows of stacked change on his dresser. She studied the picture on the nightstand, instantly disliking the two kids with their fake smiles and stupid pose, the girl sitting close in front of the boy.

Downstairs, cupboards and doors opened and then banged shut. The television came on. Colt and Ray kept calling out to Thurman. The sweet smell of weed drifted up the stairs. Thurman had bought some on the way here with the rest of her money. She sat on the bed and opened the nightstand drawer. Not much in here. A real estate-agency business card with a woman's picture: Jilly Cross, it said. A Bible. A Holy Roller, maybe that's why he was so spooked about the other night. It didn't look like it had ever been read, though. A couple of paperback books that also seemed new. A list of telephone numbers. In the back of the drawer were two folded magazine pages. She opened them and giggled. They were pictures of naked women, the creases worn in places to little holes. She felt a pang of jealousy. They were both blondes. At least Miss July had thick lips and long skinny legs like she did. Forget Miss May, though, with those supersize white b.o.o.bs that weren't even all hers-she could tell. She stood sideways in front of the mirror with her hand on her b.u.t.t like Miss May. She pulled her shirt tight behind her back. It was never going to happen. Not unless she got some of that silicone stuff someday. From downstairs came a crash, quickly followed by another. Then another. She dropped the pictures and ran down to the kitchen. Ray and Colt were emptying cupboards onto the floor.

"Stop it! Stop it!" she screamed from the doorway. "What're you doing?"

Ray paused to chug down the rest of the beer he'd found, then opened the narrow closet by the open cellar door and threw out mops, brooms, ironing board, more cans and boxes. Colt walked around the countertop to get to his beer. He finished it with a loud, convulsive belch then smashed the bottle in the sink. Thurman came up the cellar stairs. "Jesus Christ . . ." He laughed as he kicked his way through the shattered and tumbled debris.

"Make them stop!" she screamed, but Thurman brushed past her into the living room.

"That's all the f.u.c.k there is?" He pointed to the VCR on the floor by the front door. "How 'bout up here?" he said, taking the stairs two at a time.

Ray and Colt charged out of the kitchen after him.

Footsteps overhead. Swearing. Something fell with a heavy thud. They howled with laughter. She felt sick to her stomach.

"Look at her f.u.c.kin' t.i.ts," Ray shrieked.

"Cops! Cops!" She ran up the stairs. "They're coming!" she yelled from the doorway. "I just saw them."

The mattress was halfway off the bed. Thurman rolled over it and landed in the hallway. Colt and Ray stumbled down the stairs, out the back door.

She stood the chairs back up and righted the table, but the rest was hopeless. The floor was slick with jelly- and syrup-covered broken gla.s.s and oily salad dressing. All this wasted food. She rinsed her hands in the sink. Every nail had been bitten to the quick except for her pinkie finger. At least she had one. It was a start, anyway. From now on things would be different, she vowed as she ran out the back door. She made her way through a warren of little backyards until she came out on Green Street. She took her time walking home.

Her mother's head lifted slightly from the pillow as she crept into bed next to Leonardo.

"Where you been?"

"School."

"I need my pocketbook. Go get it."

"Why don't you wait, Ma? See how long you can go."

"Why?"

"Don't you even want to try? For me, Ma."

"Yeah, okay, I will, I'll try."

Jada buried her smile in Leonardo's warm neck.

Her mother sat up in a burst of dismal laughter. "There! Okay, I did it, I tried. Now go get the f.u.c.king pocketbook. Now!"

Delores had called asking if he could help her move some things on his way home from work. The stationery store would be closing for good this weekend. Gordon was on his way there now, but first he had to buy stamps.

Many of the signs downtown were in Spanish. The buildings he remembered most clearly were the huge granite banks. Mostly vacant now, they seemed smaller. The post office had been built when he was in high school, but the ensuing years had dulled it with the same grime and fatigue as all the other buildings. He hurried inside to the end of a long line. A few minutes later he realized these people were all waiting outside the door to the pa.s.sport office. He went around the corner and bought eight stamps for his bills.

He was leaving the post office when a woman in a yellow suit and red sungla.s.ses stepped in front of him.

"Oh! Gordon! I'm in such a rush I didn't realize it was you," Jilly Cross said with a quivering smile.

"I just bought some stamps." He watched his reflection in her sungla.s.ses foolishly hold up the strip.

"I've got to get my pa.s.sport renewed," she said, pulling her shoulder bag close.

"It's a long line. I was just in it. Well, by mistake, that is."

"I know. I should've come earlier. I've just been so busy lately. Running around like crazy." She glanced ahead to the door. "Trying to get ready for a trip. To Bermuda."

"You better go in, then. It's pretty long." His face felt hot. Hadn't he just told her that? Tiny beads of moisture dotted her cheeks. Could she tell how fast his heart was beating? He was short of breath.

"Yes, I better, but . . . well, how've you been?"

"Fine, thank you." He paused and then, when she didn't say anything, felt he had to keep talking. "I've been really enjoying this nice weather." Looking troubled, she stared up at him as if there were something she needed him to say. "After all this rain we've had. I mean, it's nice to get out, out in the sun. The roses are so . . . so beautiful."

She smiled and seemed relieved. "I know you're probably not interested, but the other day I got this great new listing and I thought of you immediately." She removed the sungla.s.ses. "It's on the first floor with its own little . . . well, courtyard, I call it, but you could have plants out there. And just be able to sit outside when you want. Dennis is right, you know. Staying in Collerton just doesn't make any sense. There's so much crime and . . . he worries about you, Gordon."

He felt it building-this anger, this indignation, the need. She was so pretty, so sweet, and what she was doing was so wrong.

"It really bothers him. He's always-"