Forever People (pt 1)

Forever People

The guys in line for the shitter jump back as the door bangs open and the Indian comes out with Jackie climbing on him like a pissed off cat, scratching the shit out of him. He shrugs her off and shoves her in the face, knocking her off of her platforms; she hits the cement floor hard enough to pop rhinestones off of her jacket.

The bar holds its breath, all eyes cutting to where Dixie was sitting, but he’s not there anymore, wading through people like a torpedo to grab the Indian by the throat and drag him towards the door outside. The Indian’s drunk and stupid, but he’s a regular and he knows Dixie; he jerks out of the big man’s hands and throws the door open, sprinting into the chilly night. Dixie follows, not running, just as calm as Christmas, as they say.

Everybody goes back to their drinks, mumbling, and the ones who have fought Dixie before are wishing the Indian good luck. Jackie, brushed off and her wig pushed back in place, saunters to the booth where True is sharpening a hypodermic on the side of a box of matches. That bitch wasn’t gonna pay me, she says, unshouldering her bag and dropping it on the table, rifling through it until she finds cigarettes. Can you believe that? Motherfucker. Like I suck dicks on credit.

True ignores her, intent on his needlework, sniffing and wiping his nose on the edge of his ragged sleeve. The kid shuffling between tables picking up empties whose hair almost covers the pink slug of a scar across his neck passes by, wiping their table off with a black rag.

When’s the last time you ate? Jackie asks. True shrugs. His hair is brilliant in the bare overhead bulb, blonde and greasy. She reaches across the table and takes the needle from him, disappearing it into her bag and trading it for a handful of pretzels cupped in a paper towel. We’ll go in a minute, she tells him. He holds the pretzels against the chest of his sweater, sucking the salt off of them one at a time.

Jackie makes herself look away. Everybody knows that if you look at True for too long you fall in love with him. It’s those blue chips of ice in his eyes. The Mexicans lined up to play pool, the ugly girls all huddled together waiting for the truck drivers to give them a throw at closing time: they all know it too, but nobody can stop.

She tells True to stop scratching. He’s covered in scabs.

I’m out, he tells her.

How, she says. We just –

Don’t. True puts his hands over his ears. Don’t be mad.

The Rowe fumbles, needle scratching as Fleetwood Mac is swapped for Elvis.

I’m not. She pulls his hands into her own and kisses them. Never, honey.

Dixie’s not back yet; Jackie gets up, pushing her way to the bar, wedging in between old women who don’t dare say a word, spilling rhinestones on them. Jude is nodded out next to the cash register, head rolling on his neck. Jackie leans over the bar, flicking him on the nose but gets nothing more than a twitch in response. A furious gray woman swaying on her feet, sipping from a coffee mug filled with vodka, smacks her hand away, her black eyes glaring.

You’re on thin ice, she says, stabbing a finger into the air. How many times I gotta tell you to keep that pervert stuff outta that bathroom.

Mom, Jackie says, folding her hands and batting her eyelashes. It’s too cold to work outside, now you know that.

Mom slams a knuckle into Jude’s thigh and he bolts upright with a yelp, hissing. This trannie wants to talk to you, the old woman says, wobbling off to sell drinks.

Jude blinks, staring at Jackie stupidly. What? What?

She grabs him by the sleeve and pulls him to her, pressing a folded bill into his hand. That’s for True, she says into his ear. When he comes to you you’re going to tell him it’s on the house. Don’t you fucking touch him.

She lets go. Jude straightens his shirt. You act like I’m gonna hurt him or something, he says. I’d never hurt him.

Jude has the same dumb face they all get when they talk about True. Behind them Dixie comes in the door like a laser, everybody getting out of his way.

I know you better not never, Jackie says to Jude, and turns with a flourish, putting some sass back into her walk now that the devil is back home. Unless you wanna die.

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