Everybody Knows Jackie Rose (pt 1)

The beer bottle slips out of Jackie’s hand and hits the floor, exploding; a group of college assholes in the corner playing pool cheers and the kid with the big scar on his neck comes running over with a dust pan to clean it up. Eat me, baby boys, Jackie calls out to them, giving them the finger. Jude is counting pills on the counter, tying them up into little cellophane bundles; Jackie leans over, watching. He winks at her, scooping his work into an old lunchbox. Gotta give the kids what they want, he says.

Degenerates, Jackie says. Coming down here, eyes all big like they at Disneyland.

She asks him what he’s doing back; he tells her they let him out because of paperwork. Three weeks in Marion is no problem, he says, but they were talking about sending me to Joliet. That place’ll fucking kill you. Lucky me somebody forgot to sign something.

Lucky you, Jackie agrees, and clears her throat. You seen True?

The air between them becomes hard. Yeah, Jude says, he’s sleeping. And he waits for her to say something about it: Dixie’s been gone for two weeks.

She digs her nails into her thigh under the bar; her nails are sharp. She smiles. I was going to take him to get some lunch, she says. You can come with us if you want.

His face lights up; sometimes it’s just so easy. But please don’t give them pills to True, she says softly. Pretty please?

No way, Jude says, full of swagger. I’d never hurt him, that’s the truth for real.

He goes back to slicing off hunks of tar and wrapping them notebook paper; the paper is some kid’s homework, with a smiley face sticker. At her feet the Mexican kid Jude calls Choke is wiping the floor with a towel; he cuts his thumb on a piece of glass and Jackie is glad – she hates that scar, all the way from his mouth to the back of his head; he got it from the Indian because he was mad about who knows what. If it was me, Jackie told him after he healed, that bitch wouldn’t be able to walk no more. Why don’t you get him back? Don’t you know how? But he just covered his eyes until Jackie left him alone.

Mom comes thundering in from outside, her arms full of grocery bags, most of them bottles that clink; she yells at Jude for doing that in the open where anybody could see him. She’s scarier when she’s sober, her words like whip cracks, leaving the bottles on the bar and ripping into Choke for not cleaning up faster, snatching bottles from table tops. Jude decides he’s had enough, gathering up his tools and retreating to the back.

Looking for your little homo buddy? Mom says to Jackie, dumping an armful of glass in the trash. I guess he lives here now, ain’t that grand? My son’s a child molester.

Come drink with me, Jackie says, chuckling, a little drunk, patting the stool next to her. Come tell this beautiful young girl what you’re doing for Christmas.

Mom laughs, wiping her hands on a towel. For your information, princess, I drive up to Chicago to see my son. He’s on the police there.

She goes to the vodka, filling her cup, which has a unicorn on the side; she takes a mighty drink. Her face falls, her mouth opening and closing as she tries to speak.

What in the hell, Jackie says, astonished.

It’s nothing, Mom says, wiping her mouth. Mind your own god damned business.

One of the college assholes comes up to the bar, drumming his fingers. Is Jude done? he asks. We’ve been waiting for him to get our stuff ready for a really long time.

Boy you better go sit down, Jackie says, arching an eyebrow, sipping her beer.

Jesus, the boy scoffs. It’s always such a fucking hassle to come down here.

Calm down, honey, Mom says to him, pulling a beer out of the ice and tossing it to him. It’s Christmas. He fumbles with it, nearly drops it, almost smarts off to Mom but thinks better of it. Can you just tell him we’re still waiting? he sulks.

Jackie watches him join the others, wondering which one of them would be coming up to her later in the bathroom. Mom gets a second beer and sets it in front of her; she leaves like the gesture was painful.

Jackie laughs in spite of herself. Well, fuck me, she says softly.

*