A Mirror Tainted

[poohlive]

He wished he could go to hell, but ended up in Ebony Arkansas.

Desert surrounded the small town, blasted lands which reached out in all directions. The only way in or out were long and winding highways, lonely slabs of concrete taking their own punishment from the sun up above.

The lands longed for rain. He felt it beneath his worn boots coated with the dirt of many a walked mile. If only the heavens could open up and give this scarred patch of forgotteness some relief.

That wasn't the way of Ebony though. There were no breaks here. He had only just seen the town over the horizon and knew what it was. Hard as leather, tough as nails, take your pick of metaphors, this was the place they originated from.

He had come here to die. Or, rather, that wasn't quite the right phrase. He'd come here to stop living. There didn't seem to be much difference between the two ideas, but perhaps there were. He wasn't a very learned man, so he didn't much think about it. To him they were the same. It didn't matter much anyhow.

Evan walked into town with a black leather jacket, white shirt that looked as if it had never seen a washing machine, sweat stains nearly covering it, long denim jeans and his old walking boots of cracked leather and hard soles. They look in need of replacing.

Everything on Evan looked in need of replacing, hell even he did. Scraggly black hair, a lean build with just the beginning of a pot belly, rough unshaven face, and one scar that started dangerously close to his right eye and jaggedly made its way down his cheek.

They were brown, his eyes, and they told the story of a man that had too many stories to tell, none of them easy.

Evan went into the first bar he could find, glad to be gone of the heated sun. Inside there was the cool darkness of a cave, with the artificial light he longed for. Cigarettes and beer lingered, as well as sex and cologne. He breathed it all in, as he had done many a time before. This was his place.

The Dirty Pig, with a long bar of stools and assorted tables gave way to a platform stage where once a week some shitty local band could play, and two pool tables in the back. Men like Evan came into this place early in the morning, and usually did not leave until late at night, crawling their way home.

Evan was no exception to this standard. He was already asking the bartender for a hard drink.

"Make it a double," His rough voice cracked as he said this, the dry desert even taking its toll on his voice. All be damned, stay out in that fucking scortch of earth too long and even your voice gets burned.

A single silent prayer went to gods he knew were not listening before he downed his drink, asking for another.

Evan sat at the bar, staring across at the display of different bottles in various stages of emptiness. Behind them he could see a mirror showing his reflection. He looked like shit.

He wondered if the mirror was tainted, if somehow it only showed the fuckrag he thought himself to be, or perhaps the mirror was only tainted because his image graced its presence.

A mirror tainted.

An appropriate title for the story of a man tainted.

He took another drink, letting the fire ease his pain.


(This is a role play set in modern times. Ebony is a town that draws in the flawed lowlife's of the world. Those who do not feel they belong in normal society. If you have a character you'd like to try out with this in mind, please come share this story with me. I don't know where it's going, but we can both find out together.)


If you'll join me...

 

[sharingfantasies]

Tamra stood on the porch of the old trailer looking out over the horizon, wondering what was out there. That was how she had ended up here, in nowheresville. No, wait, that wasn't right. Nowhere had been in Arizona, in this same old trailer with this same old view. Here? Here was just another place to park, a place where people left her alone the way she liked it. A place where life was so hard that you didn't have time for memories. And once the memories caught up to her, she would hike down the road, fill up the gas can and drag it back for her old chevy truck. Then she would go as far as she could until she ran out of gas again.

Meanwhile, she needed to get to work. Stepping back into the shade of the metal hotbox, she changed from her shorts and tank top to her "uniform". She smirked at herself in the mirror, five foot seven inches of independence covering a heart of gold that had been broken too many times for her liking. She brushed the green powder across both eyelids, watching the green of her eyes darken. A swipe of bright red lipstick, across her full lips that seldom smiled. Dragging the brush through her ebony hair, she twisted it up into a pony tail, and nodded at herself. She couldn't care less about her looks or using makeup but she had found out a long time ago that men tipped better if she put in a little effort, and little was about all they were going to get. Her mother, who ever she was, had given Tam a sculped face with high cheekbones and porcelain skin. Someone told her once that her mother had probably been Irish, but Tam didn't care, this face had caused her nothing but trouble and heartaches. As far as she was concerned it was just a mask she wore for the tips it brought in, she sure didn't need the hassles it brought from people.

Tugging the leather vest down a little more covered more skin at her narrow waist but exposed more of her overly generous breasts, another source of headaches and tips. The two sides of the vest were held together with a rawhide lace which tied right at the center of her cleavage. Tam had learned the first night to triple tie the bow, apparently some idiots thought they had the right to put their hands on her to pull the lace. They had learned fast, that she didn't put up with any of that crap. The locals had learned to look without touching, but it had taken several doused heads and a stilleto knife against the underside of the chin of one particularly dense fool. Reaching behind her, she slid her fingers under the bottoms of the shorts and tugged them down to at least cover her cheeks. It was a stupid outfit, and one that Tam suspected only came into existence when she had walked in the door of the dump looking to make some money. But after three weeks, she was almost resigned to it. What she did refuse to wear were the four inch heels that supposedly came with it.

Putting on an opaque gauze coverup, that hung to her knees, Tam put on the sturdy Denny's waitressing shoes she had kept when she left that job. She figured the owner owed them to her after he tried to rape her one night. If he tried collecting on the shoes, she'd report the attack. They were black and heavily padded inside, and had the best arch support she had ever felt. She could work a ten hour shift in them and walk away with very little pain in her feet and legs. No matter what anyone wanted her to wear, these shoes were mandatory. The owner of the Dirty Pig had objected, but he needed help, so it wasn't a particularly long argument.

Sliding her keys, stilleto and cell phone, the one luxury she had, into her waitressing apron, she left the hot trailer and walked the half mile into town slowly so she wouldn't work up a sweat. Miles off in the distance she could see heavy clouds hanging over the Ozarks, but here in Ebony, the sky was cloudless, the heat shimmering on the two lane road down which she walked. Crossing the dirt and gravel parking lot, filled with only a couple of beatup trucks, Tam circled around the building and up to the screen door. There was a circle of flies taking advantage of the cooler air coming out the door with the smell of old grease, beer and smoke. Tam paused, thinking of how much she hated this place. It was going to be time to move on soon, before she dried up and blew away like the tumbleweeds smashed up against the wall. Waving her hands in front of her eyes to avoid the flies, Tam quickly open the screen door and stepped in, trying to keep the flies from following.

A crash of pans told her that Jose was at the stove, and as always a little prayer of thanks that she didn't have to stand over a hot stove in this heat passed through her mind. She put her keys and phone into the small shoe box that passed as her locker, and tugged the coverup over her head, folding it up so that it fit into the small box. Tugging the vestup, the shorts down, she nodded at Jose and went through the swinging door, where she could hear the booming voice of Bull, the owner/bartender laughing at some stupid male joke. Tam paused at the doorway, her eyes still focusing from the brighter kitchen light to the dim barroom. At the bar was Jonesy, a regular of the place, 80 years old at least, an old cowpoke that walked with arthritis from all the broken bones he got falling off half wild horses. Next to him was TonyDee, a local pigfarmer who came in every night at this time for his half beer to clear the taste of pig from his mouth before heading for the house of Maizy Burgess, a widower about TonyDee's age of fifty. He would have dinner there, spend a couple of hours inspecting her abundant flesh, then at 10 o'clock exactly he would walk out the door and back to the bar for another half beer. Then he would shoot the breeze for a bit and head back to the farm. He had done this routine every day of the month Tam had been working here and she had no reason to assume he would stop when she left.

Moving her eyes across the room, she spied a stranger sitting at the far end of the bar. He appeared to be a pile of desert dust, as a puff of dust emitted from his body when he sat his glass down on the old bar. He gave the impression of not paying attention but even in the half dark of the bar, Tam could see his eyes gleam alertly. She would have bet ten bucks that he had spotted her the moment she walked in. She shrugged, he could be law or not, it was hard to tell and frankly she didn't care, she hadn't done anything wrong. Moving away from the door, Tam went behind the bar and nodded at Bull. With a howdy fellows to TonyDee and Jonesy, still cackling over their latest joke, Tam got a bar towel and ran some water over it, then moved over to the booths along the far wall. She began wiping down the tables and vinyl bench seats of the popcorn and beer glass rings left by the lunch crowd.

 

[poohlive]

Wasn't she a tall drink of water? He didn't think you could find one of those in the desert anymore. The occasional flower once bloomed out here, but they were few and far between. He wondered what kept her here, was it some man?

No, maybe it was just the warm comfort of desolation. To be in a better town, better place meant that you had to be a better person. Contribute to society, do all those things you were expected to do, pay taxes, pick up your litter, obey the law, give a shit.

Towns like these were set aside for those who didn't give a shit.

"Hey," His voice still ached from the long hours of breathing nothing but dry sandy air. He paused, long enough to turn his head around and look at her. Such a beautiful desert rose.

"Can I get a drink?" He noticed the bartender was talking with someone, and could have easily got his attention, but Evan didn't want him, he wanted her.

 

[sharingfantasies]

Ears tuned to the call for drinks, Tamra still almost missed his call. His voice was low, scratchy like a long term smoker or someone that had had throat surgery. A last swipe of the last booth and she turned toward him. Wondering humorously how much of his dust would get on her as she approached, she took a closer look. Sunburned, scraggly and unshaven, looking like he had walked from hell, he was one miserable looking man.

"What can I get you, Mister?" Tamra asked, her voice low and dusky. She waited for his order still wondering if he felt as bad as he looked. She thought about asking but a person didn't ask questions in this town. People that asked questions had questions asked of them, and Tamra had no interest in answering any questions.

Shifting her weight slightly, she waited for the man to decide what he wanted. She glanced over at Bull but he was still listening to the other guys tell their silly jokes. She smiled, the two old coots were practically falling off their stools they were laughing so hard. As much as they teased her, you couldn't help but like them.

She looked back at the man who seemed to be not quite there, "Mister?"

 

[poohlive]

The stool under him felt good, comfortable. After hours and hours of walking under that blisteing sun, just about anything would feel comfortable. The hard oak that served as the bar was cool to the touch, and as he leaned on it with his arms, he couldn't help but notice the tolls it had taken. How many years, drunken fights and spilled beers had this endured?

Too many to count, maybe millions. In a town like Ebony, time worked funny. It didn't have the same race neck speed as the real world. Here, a day can feel like months, dragging on like nails on a chalkboard.

He wished he could say he was lost deep in his own though, but Evan wasn't a man of deep thought, or concentration. Actually he just was thankful to look at a good woman in front of him. That pale ivory skin and soft defined curves.

It wasn't until just know he realized how long it's been since he's seen himself a good woman like that.

"Doesn't matter," He said, handing the glass to her, "So long as it's cheap and does the job."

The bar could definitely use a good woman like her, almost like one of those fine fancy features someone sets out as decoration. Yeah, that's what he'd call her for this place. She was decoration, able to keep the tips high and show just enough leg to get some of the fellas coming back for more.

He pitied her for that. With those looks, she must have been pawed at since she hit puberty. Men with only one thing on their mind grabbing and gnawing at her, desperate to get it. He saw it in her eyes as well, the dichotemy of beauty. It got you everything you wanted, but also everything you didn't.

He didn't know if she'd been raped or not, a woman had a certain stare after she'd been raped, almost like watching the fire burn out of her eyes. She still had some fire left, if she hadn't been raped, she sure as hell had come close.

"You were supposed to ask me why I had come here, to some sunny shithole in the middle of nowhere... and then, I was supposed to tell you to mind your own fucking business."

He smiled at that, winking at her as he downed the drink in front of him, already in need of another.

"But, I guess you already know why I'm here, I would imagine it's about the same reason you are."

 

[sharingfantasies]

Tamra started to move away to get his drink, she couldn't help wondering if he had the money to pay for it. But she figured, if Bull gave him a drink already then it probably wasn't a problem. Walking up to the side of Jonesy, she leaned against his shoulder to say to Bull, "Man wants something cheap. I assume you know he can pay for it." She didn't ask a question but uttered the statement, moving way with the cheap whiskey before he responded, if he was going to respond. She and Bull got along all right, and she genuinely liked the old barflies, she just wasn't much for saying more than needed to be said.

Setting the drink down in front of the man, she started to leave again when he rasped, "You were supposed to ask me why I had come here, to some sunny shithole in the middle of nowhere... and then, I was supposed to tell you to mind your own fucking business."

She paused, her body tensing, and turned back just in time to see him wink. Instantly she relaxed. Raising her right eyebrow, she replied, "'Round here we don't ask questions because we don't want to give answers, but if you want to talk, I'll listen."

She wasn't sure what she expected him to say but it sure wasn't "But, I guess you already know why I'm here, I would imagine it's about the same reason you are."

Her eyes narrowed, wondering if he knew something, was guessing something, or thought he could trick her into admitting something. There was something about his eyes, dark and intense, that made it seem as if he could see right through her, see her past, present and future. She didn't like that feeling. Didn't want to feel exposed that way. She wondered again if he was a cop, but she wouldn't ask. She looked at him and crossed her arms in front of her chest, giving more away than she realized. She could have told him she was here because it was just another cheap bar in a life of cheap bars. She could have told him that she was here because she had nowhere else to go. She could have told him about the system, that tosses kids around as numbers and when they hit 18, their number is up and out the door they go with the clothes on their backs. She could have. But she didn't. Instead she looked him up and down slowly then told him the truth. "I am here because I ran out of gas. And from the looks of you, Mister, I would say you ran out about twenty miles back."

 

[poohlive]

"Yeah," He laughed, deep and gravelly, almost like a cement truck rolling boulders down to pebbles. He took another look around, yeah it looked as if that explained most of the people's stories in here. They had just run out of gas, and hadn't given two shits about where they ended up.

A whole town banded together with the premise of apathy and ignorance. His kind of place.

"A lot more than twenty miles..." He looked again at the mirror, the mirror of truth, or loneliness. It didn't matter much difference if they were the same thing. The whiskey went down hard and good, that fire burning nice inside of him. He needed another.

"And something to eat, if you don't mind," He took out his wallet. That was a sorry sight, if he gave a shit about it, he might have waited for her to turn around before he showed her his true meagerness. She had seen more than her fair share just coming in here, though.

He imagined he'd have to sink pretty low for her to have another opinion of him.

He revealed two dollar billst hat looked like they had seen about as much as the American roadways as he had. Crumbled and flattened, one had a piece torn off, while the other someone had hilariously written an air quote with Washington yelling, "FAG!"

"Whatever two bucks can give me," He had another twenty, also crumpled and shitty, but that was for the drinks. It wouldn't buy him much, but it'd get him enough to forget about today.

And when tomorrow came, when he woke up hung over, without a fucking dime to his name, well...

He'd deal with it tomorrow, it ain't here yet so it ain't his problem.

He would just sit here, drink his drink, and stare at this pretty woman across the counter. He hadn't stared at a pretty woman in a long time, all be damned if he were going to stop now.

"Evan," He said, patting his leather jacket, a puff of dust came off, almost comically, settling around him.

"I am sorry you ran out of gas."

 

[sharingfantasies]

Tamra snorted in humorless humor when he said, "I am sorry you ran out of gas."

"You, me and the man in the moon, Mister, er. Evan." Gathering up the two bucks she shook her head, even his money looked like it had been through the mill. "I'll see what Jose can scratch up for this. If you are lucky, he might be in a good mood."

Tamra walked passed the other men, and held out her closed hand with one eyebrow raised. Bull stuck out his palm, and she dropped the bills into his hand. She rolled her eyes when he grinned at the word written on one. Turning it around he showed to the others who instantly hooted in laughter. "Now that is my kinda bill," hooted Jonesy. "Come'on Bull, swap it with me." Digging around in his own pocket he came up with a bill that wasn't in much better shape. "I gotta have that one," he said with a wide grin. " I know just the guy I am going to give it to."

The swinging door closed behind Tamra and she missed the name of the person but all three started cackling. Talking to Jose, she told him to fill up a plate with whatever he could spare, and that she would be back for it in a minute. Returning to the bar, she saw the men still laughing hard, TonyDee stuttering over some name and starting them all back to laughing again. Despite her eye rolling, Tamra had a glint of laughter in her eyes. If she thought one of them would take her up on it, she would have bet that this same dollar bill would end up in the register by the end of the week. Whoever they were thinking of harassing was a local and all the locals ended up spending a little time here.

Filling up the bowls with popcorn, she set one on each table. It always amazed her how people could scoop up popcorn and nuts from a bowl that had been sitting there all evening. Who knew where other people had been before they stuck their hand in that bowl? But it never seemed to be an issue. As long as she kept the bowls full, no one ever asked for a new bowl.

When she was finished, she went back into the kitchen grateful she didn't have to work back there all day. The heat seemed to collect there, never quite dissipating, even with the a/c running. Jose handed her a platter of scrambled eggs, hashbrowns and grits. She grabbed some silverware and the condiment rack, which held the usual salt, pepper and tabasco sause. Carrying her load over to the man, Evan, she set it all down, noticing his eyes widen at the amount of food. "Name's Tamra, and I guess today Jose was feeling generous. You need me to bring you anything else?"

When she had first started waitressing, what seemed to have been a hundred years ago, she would ask customers if there anything else she could do for them. It didn't take her long to figure out that customers were going to give her a long list of things that she could do for them, none of them having to do with waitressing. She paused to see if she wanted anything more but he was already digging in as if he hadn't eaten for days. He probably hadn't.

 

[poohlive]

"Just make sure this keeps getting filled," He said, between mouthfuls, as he put down the glass in front of her. The food felt like heaven. That small buzz he'd been having had a hell of a time disappearing, but he didn't even mind that, not with food.

Damnit all, it was worth two fucking bucks for this. He would have spent all his money, and the key to a beat up piece of shit truck too, maybe even his soul for a meal this good. Ain't that weird, the way the devil can stir up at just the right time, with just the right request?

Most people would sell their soul for a cushy C.E.O. job, or a couple million bucks. Evan? Old Evan will take a plate of home fries and a short stack, extra syrup. Even his wishes matched the fucked over part of his life.

A wish tainted. He chuckled at that, flowering the whole plate with tabasco before digging in.

She had ivory skin. It was ivory wasn't it? It sure as hell looked ivory. Maybe the lights in her were funny, made it look paler than what it was. Didn't matter to him if it was the lights or not, it was good to look at.

He would stare at her, openly, as men had done before. She was used to staring, probably used to pawing too. Compared to pawing, she probably preferred the men just to stare.

Eye what you can fellas, so long as you understand you ain't getting it, and you don't have a chance.

He gave a toast to that, finishing another glass as the last of the food disappeared at once. His belly was a mass of moans, groans, and pleasent little sounds. It was more than thankful.

"My compliments," He gave a smile, knowing she had more than a little to do with his extra helpings.

"Tamra, right? Yeah, thank you."

Tamra, nice name, nice figure, nice everything.

 

[sharingfantasies]

Tamra was concerned that, since he had given her what seemed to be his last two dollars for the food, that there was going to be a problem paying for the drinks. Still, it wasn't up to her to make a judgement call. Walking over to Bull for the third drink, she quietly expressed her concern. Bull took the glass of whiskey down the length of the bar and spoke to the man. Whatever he heard must have been satisfactory, because he gave Tamra the bottle and told her to take to Evan. The way Bull said the man's name you would have thought that they were old friends. Tamra shrugged. Maybe they were soul mates. She set the bottle down on the table then went to sit at one of the booths, to rest her feet before the place got busy. Ask any waitress or barmaid and they will tell you to "get off your feet whenever possible" to help keep the circulation going and the varicose veins from taking over.

Tamra never asked Bull how he got to be in Ebony, never cared to know, never wanted any questions coming her way. She did know that the bar stood on the site of a bar that had been famous in its day, the Westbound. According to the rumor mill, the Westbound had been started by one of the Earp boys before they ended up in Tombstone. Supposedly, this Earp had sold it to some easterner who had expanded the hole in the wall saloon and set it up more like a fancy men's club with dancing girls and a roulette wheel, but a few soldiers back from riding with Teddy Roosevelt had shot the place all to pieces. The easterner had thrown up his hands and headed east. The soldiers had pooled their money and fixed the place up, perhaps not quite to the level it had been, but the holes in the walls were patched and the windows replaced eventually. According to Jonesy, one of those soldiers had been his great grandfather. When an argument over how to improve the bar occured than Jonesy's greatgrandfather sold his share and bought a farm and was soon a successful rye grower. The others turned the place into a speakeasy during Prohibition, and the rumors held that Bugsy Malone had actually shot up the joint one night to impress a lady. The building sat empty through the dust bowl period and in the 1950s, some marine back from Korea knocked down the few parts of walls that were still standing by then and built the current building. The marine supposedly was a friend or relative of Bull's cousin or something but there was enough vagueness that it was probably not true.

So how Bull had ended up here was to remain a mystery to Tamra, one she had no problem living with. All that mattered was that he treated her with respect and paid enough that eventually she would be able to move on. In the meantime some of the regular evening crowd was starting to drift in, and Tamra was kept busy, shuttling drinks from the bar and plates of food from the kitchen.

 

[poohlive]

All towns have regulars. Those aged and dirty locals who come out of the woodwork in the middle of the afternoon, sauntering into different bars and taverns. Everyone knew them, they were more well known than some celebrities.

Go into one bar and ask about Ole Joe. One of the bartenders will sit you down and tell you the crazy story of how old Joe somehow managed to hotwire some car, and led the cops on a wild chase that ended down at the docks.

No, not by the docks good friend, at the docks. A car chases going down piers and walkways. Unimaginable, but that was ole Joe there, good ole Joe. He comes in here later on, sure he'd love to sit and drink with you.

Yeah, towns like this were full of ole Joe's and Sally's. They had to be. This kind of place didn't have much else besides drinking and death.

Evan took the bottle, and poured himself another one. He liked to sit here and drink, listening to the world around him. Not the conversations, just the world. The conversations in a bar were almost always mindless drivel, the same circular logic shit that spewed out of the news every so often. Later on in the evening it was the same argument, only this time the words were slurred and the logic didn't make as much sense.

The words were meaningless, but the sounds were beautiful. The juke box in the background, a simple slow country song playing, two people playing pool, drinks being made, people laughing, shouting, talking. The sound of feet shuffling and hands being shook.

The bottle was less than half gone, and he was really feeling it now. That was the fucking good stuff. He loved it. This is all Evan needed right here. The fucking booze. God, if it could only keep going. If he could just feel like this forever.

He saw that waitress again, from time to time as she moved around and did her job. She was good at her job. He could see that. Most waitresses only have one thing going for them, they are either good looking, or they do a good job. She was a rarity of both.

Had he money to tip her, he would have.

 

[sharingfantasies]

It was getting late and Tamra was getting tired. There had been a pretty good night tonight, noisy but not obnoxiously rowdy. Mostly the same faces she had been looking at since she got here, sunburned brows, sun wrinkled faces, leathery skin, dust so engrained in the skin only sand blasting would get it out. It wasn't hard to picture these faces for generation before generation coming out of the fields for a cold one here. She envied those that had been here awhile, their sense of belonging, their commitment to the land. She had never felt like she belonged anywhere and had never had a commitment to more than the rent or food on her plate.

Tamra slid onto a bar stool, with her face to the tables, watching with an experienced eye for glasses that got low or bowls of nuts or popcorn that needed refilling. She stretched her legs out and tilted her toes forward then back, stretching her calf muscles. She did this several times, then looked at the man next to her. His bottle was almost empty, his head sunk into his shoulders. She wondered if he was in there at all, or if he had found his way to the bottom of the bottle. He'd been here for hours nursing the bottle slowly and it was obvious that he had no where else to go. What he was going to do in an hour when the bar closed she had no idea, and she suspected, neither did he.

Looking around the place, she had the same thought she had at this time every night, "Why did some people feel the need to stay until the doors were locked? Where they afraid something exciting would happen, like little children that don't want to go to bed and miss the party they think their parents are having with them gone?" Too bad they didn't realize that if they went home early so could she. "Yeah, that will be the day," she thought.

Sliding off the stool, her legs feeling a little better after the respite, she turned to the man, "Hey, Mister, Evan? You gotta place to stay for the night?" She wasn't sure if he was conscious or not, his head was sunk so low, only inches from the bartop. She hoped he wouldn't fall off the stool as she put her hand on his arm gently and shook it lightly, "Evan? Are you with us still?"

 

[poohlive]

That had been a good day. He remembered it, like the full moon bloated and shining down on the world in all its glory. As if it were just a stone's throw away, and you could almost touch it if you just stretched hard enough.

He'd spent the day working on some beat up piece of shit car, making yet another necessary fix for it. The thing broke down every few weeks, needing yet another part or repair.

He was all sweaty and grimy when he came inside, and she'd been waiting for him. Naked, her back to him, sweat glistened off her body, making her skin glow to perfection. She only paused once to give him a look, before she turned back around and bent over the sink.

He couldn't get his pants off fast enough.

Yeah, that had been a good day. A good fucking day.

He paused in his thoughts, unsure which ones rang true as they kept swirling around over and over again in his head. Things got kinda muddled from time to time.

He looked over at the waittres, yes, Ivory was her name. No, no it wasn't she just had ivory skin, that's all.

He stood from the bar, one leg catching the ground, but the other slipped, falling off in some random direction. He would have fallen if Ivory hadn't been there to save him. Such a poor loaf, too drunk to stand up.

The world spun in some lazy loop as he breathed in the scent of pure woman next to him. His arms around her for balance. His hardened rough hands, working hands, hands of experience and a life filled with tough luck, these hands pressed lightly against her flawless smooth skin. She felt like some angel, she smelled like a dream.

He imagined hands like his were too rough to touch such soft skin. If he touched too hard, or pressed against her, his rough hands would just cut her up. She didn't need that.

"I'm ok," He paused, his head lolling from one side to the other. He had forgotten hos his neck worked, or perhaps he was just to lazy to remember.

In his pocket was his wallet, and the last of his money. A twenty dollar bill, he fumbled for it, amazed he dropped neither the wallet nor money on the floor. Instead, the money went down on the bar, while his wallet went back in his pocket.

"See, just like a pro," He stared at the fuzzy world through half open eyes, wondering what he was going to do. The last of his money on the table, lost in a bottle. The story of his life.

A bottle, tainted. Tainted with the very sweetness that he yearned for.

"Why don't we go back to my place," He offered, the heat intense in his system, the good times grooving in the back. Evan wasn't sure if it was the juke box playing, or just his own mind, pushing some soundtrack under him like a cleverly planned movie, but it was all good just the same.

"Oh, I don't have a place," Money gone, truck gone. Life gone, almost. He was working on that.

"Maybe next time."

 

[sharingfantasies]

Tamra had to laugh, the guy was so drunk he couldn't stay on his stool yet he wanted to take her home. She shook her head almost fondly at the drunk. She wondered what he would do if she were to say to him, "Sure, let's go." He would probably fall off the stool completely. What made drunks think they should proposition women when they were going to be unconscious the moment they hit the bed, if not sooner, Tamra would never know.

The guy had no more money, she had seen his wallet when he pulled out the twenty, so Tamra figured she'd leave him be. He wasn't going anywhere except maybe the floor. She grinned as she pushed him back onto he stool and then pushed a couple of others against his. At least if he fell over he would fall on a padded stood rather than the floor.

She went back to work, slowly recommending that people call it a night. She glanced again at the snoring drunk, shook her head, grinned and kept moving. He was going to have one extremely bad hangover in the morning. She sure hoped his afternoon of drinking was worth the consequences. Slowly people began to drift home, calling their goodbyes, and walking semi-straight out the door. Anyone that tilted more than 25 degrees to port she stopped and found a less drunk person to haul them home. Everyone was a regular and knew the routine so most of them managed to stand upright at least until they were out the door.
If she was sheriff, she would just park in the parking lot and ticket anyone listing more than 10 degrees. Tamra didn't know if that was legal but it would fill the town's coffers and give the sheriff's deputies their quotas.

Wiping down tables, gathering empty popcorn bowls and glasses, she and Bull worked in quiet companionship to clean up the place. They had been doing this nightly for six months and had a working routine set in place. When Bull got to Evan he stopped and looked over at Tamra. "You taking the latest town drunk home, like usual?"

Tamra stopped wiping the table and put her hands on her hips, glaring at the drunk. He seemed harmless enough, too drunk to be a problem. Tilting her head as she contemplated his existence, she wondered if he would be a problem in the morning. The idea of walking up to a hungover drunk didn't thrill her and yet... She couldn't just leave him here all night. Mentally cursing her "good samaritan" side, she sighed heavily. She was such a sucker or the homeless and drunk, and this guy was both.

"Yeah, if you'll give us a ride home, I will put him up for then night. If he acts out of line, which I doubt he has the ability to do in his condition, I will give you a call. Thanks, Bull, for that protection."

Bull nodded at her words, knowing when he asked what her answer would be. Jonesy and TonyDee had left hours ago, and the last customer of the night was gone. Setting the chairs up, Tamra started mopping the floor, while Bull finished up the register and paperwork for the night. When they were ready to leave, Tamra gathered her belongings from her locker box and between the two of them they half walked, half dragged Evan to Bull's truck. Bullying and pushing they got him into the bed, and she hopped up into the cab with Bull. It was a short distance to her home although when she had been walking it earlier in the heat, tthe distance seemed twice as long.

While they drove, Tamra sat sideways keeping one eye on the semi-conscious body in back. She wondered if he had enough cognizance to be aware of where he was. At her trailer, she went ahead, turned on the lights and opened the door, grateful that the night air had cooled the interior some. Going back to the truck, she and Bull bullied the drunken fool into walking with only a little support as far as the stairs but it took all three of them to get his feet up each of the three steps that led to the doorway. Once through the door, Tamra crabwalked backwards, while Bull tried to hold the guy to his feet. At the doorway to the tiny bunkbeds, she moved out of the way of the door and let Bull get the guy close enough to the bottom bunk, that he could fall in. Which is what Evan did. Tamra went down the small hallway and washed up. When she returned, Bull had the man out of his boots and pants as was tossing a blanket over him. In her hand, Tamra held a bucket which Bull slid up next to the bunk.

The routine finished, Tamra backed out of the way so Bull could get to the door and go. He gave her a shake of his head, indicating she was a sucker for the lost puppies of the world, and reminded her to call if there was any problems. Tamra grinned tiredly, they both knew this wasn't the first "puppy" she had let stay with her and he wouldn't be the last. In the morning, when the man could see semi-straight, she would send him on his way, whereever that was. Meanwhile, she knew what it was like to sleep under a tree, and so she let newcomers avail themselves of the bunkbed.

With a last glance at the snoring man, she hoped he wouldn't snore too loud, she shut the door on the tiny room and went down the hall past the bathroom, to her bedroom. Her own bed wasn't much bigger bit at least it wasn't a bunkbed. Having that other mattress a few inches from her face always made her claustrophobiac. Tamra slid out of her work clothes and took a quick shower with the door locked, then slid into a pair of light weight pajamas. Usually she slept in a long tshirt or even in the nude sometimes, but not when she had a "guest". She might be a sucker when it came to the down and outers but she wasn't stupid. She left her door opened a little, and checked to make sure the pistol under her pillow was loaded, the safety set, but easily accessible. Then she slid into bed and picked up a book to read before falling asleep.

 

[poohlive]

Evan woke up, loving the feeling. His body ached, his head pounded harder than shit, and his mouth tasted like he'd eaten road kill right off the road. It was the constant reminder of a perfect night.

He got out of the warm bed, looking around with some confusion. What in the hell was this? He'd expected to wake up behind some dumpster, feeling just like this except he would be cold and have nowhere to go.

He was without a fucking dime to his name.

It was a small trailer, with just enough room to walk in. He ooked at the living room, nothing more than a couch and a small t.v. The kitchen was the same, barely furnished. He paused, at a half open door in the back, where he saw his savior sleeping soundly.

The woman at the bar, how kind of her. She'd made sure he had a place to sleep. She looked so peaceful resting there. The sun laying over her like some soft blanket.

Stealing wasn't beyond him. He'd found more than one way to pay for his drinks, but that would have to wait for later. Now, he thought of something better to do.

He was in the kitchen, looking through the fridge and pantry. Good, just enough for a nice breakfast. He started scrambling eggs, and cutting up some ham.

By the time he saw her eyes fluttering to wake, he had a steaming omelette in front of her, along with a glass of orange juice. He sat on the side of the bed, looking at the book she was reading.

He wasn't good with books, or reading, but this one seemed interesting.

"Thank you," He said, his voice sounded better today. The frog, or whatever that had been living in his throat decided to vacate at the amount of alcohol in his system. He just sounded like he always did, harsh and mean.

 

[sharingfantasies]

Tamra woke to the aroma of food cooking which was startling enough but to open her eyes to the sight of a stranger sitting on her bed with breakfast was totally foreign to her. She blinked her eyes, thinking it was a weird dream but when she opened them a second time, he was still there. Never having had someone bring her breakfast in bed, she wasn't even sure what to do or say.

She pushed herself up into a sitting position, and cleared her throat. "Um.. thank you, er.. Evan. This was nice of you." She knew she sounded stilted, but this was so awkward for her. She took the plate and glass of juice from him and realized that he was feeling just as awkward when he thanked her for letting him stay with her.

What a pair they were, two misfits of society, so socially inept they didn't know how to talk to each other. He was eyeing her book, she was staring at the omelet, neither of them had a clue what to say next. The situation was just a bit too much for Tamra's tweaked sense of humor. She started to laugh. But when she saw Evan wince, she stopped and without thinking about it put her hand on his arm.

"No, wait, I wasn't.. I wasn't laughing at you," she sighed. "I am sorry, I have a weird sense of humor. I really appreciate what you did," she held up the plate. "I was just.. it is just that.. this is all so awkward. We don't even know each other yet here we are in my bedroom, with you bringing me breakfast in bed, we can't seem to talk to each other and it just seemed suddenly funny to me. But I wasn't laughing at you, at all." She spoke hurriedly, tripping over some of the words, so that he wouldn't get up and leave thinking she laughed at him.

"Honestly, what you did was very nice, no one has ever done that for me before." She realized her hand was on his arm and drew it back, finishing up as awkwardly as she started, her voice drifting at the end. "Anyway, thank you."

 

[poohlive]

School had never been much of a priority for Evan, but he had learned enough from the few years he spent there to learn the basics for himself. He sat there, reading the back cover of the book, mildly interested in it. She seemed to like it. He could never understand spending all that time invested in a book.

He could never understand a lot of things.

She liked to talk. She talked and liked to talk, and was nervous when she did talk. It looked cute, and if Evan liked cute he might have smiled at her, tried to ease her discomfort... their discomfort, it was felt on both plains at the moment.

Instead, he put her book back on the table and looked at her soft hands. Nice nimble soft hands that seemed almost too delicate. They reminded him of soft reeds rocking against some gentle summery breeze.

"You hardly have anything left in the kitchen," He said, gruffly, pointing back out the door. It was as close as a "you're welcome" as Evan was ever going to get.

He was glad she liked it, and lad no one had done that for her before. An intimate moment between himself and her.

He liked her hand on his arm, was sorry to feel it go.

"I just wanted to make sure you got something to eat before I went."

 

[sharingfantasies]

"Did you eat something? How is your head?" Tamra sat up more, frowning as she remembered that he had to have the world's worst hangover and yet he was cooking for her.

"What kind of man did THAT." she wondered. She realized that he was waiting for her to eat so she took a bite. The eggs were so fluffy they practically melted in her mouth. "These are terrific! Are you a cook?"

It suddenly dawned on her that he had said something about leaving. With her eyes wide open in astonishment she continued without waiting for him to answer her first question or second, even third,"Go? Where are you going to go? You don't have a car and I know you spent your last dime on that bottle last night." She hadn't meant her voice to be so accusatory, she was just so surprised at his words it came out that way.

"Ugh, I am sorry, again, " she half smiled, "I didn't mean that the way it came out, I shouldn't have even asked, it isn't any of my business what you do or where you go."

Deciding she had best stop while she was behind, she stuffed another bite of the delicious omelet into her mouth, unable to hide the moan of pleasure that escaped.

 

[poohlive]

Those cold eyes stared at her. They had to be cold and dead, whatever warmth was inside them had left long ago. He wanted to look at her with warm wild eyes, those eyes of a youth, both innocent and free. He wanted to let those eyes play over her body like a second skin

But, they were just cold and dead, like himself. And, he stared back down at the book. It was becoming his one fixation in the room.

"Money'll be easy enough. There's plenty of people with shit jobs to do that no one else wants. Usually the beaners take it, but once in a while they'll let someone like me do it."

She was curious about him though, and where he was going to stay. He hadn't thought about it. He would rest in some gutter somewhere, until he got enough money to get a hotel.

Something.

It hadn't much come to him. He wasn't what you would call, a planner.

"I don't have anywhere to go, honestly. Hadn't thought that far ahead. Just thought it best to leave your place before I overstayed my welcome. For a guy like me, one night is usually overstaying his welcome."

He didn't know why, but his eyes were glued on that book, almost ready for it to jump up and start dancing or something. He had to stare at something, and it was the right object for the job.

 

[sharingfantasies]

His cold hard eyes touched something in Tamra, though whether it was pity, sympathy or empathy she could not have said. She could remember a time in her life when her own eyes had reflected that emptiness of life. When the life had beaten her down to the depths of despair, when it seemed as if the getting through the next hour of life would be more than she could handle.

Tamra could still picture the preacher that was at the Mission in Phoenix, standing in the front of his captive audience, wolfing down the meal knowing they might not get another and that the cost of this meal was the yammering of the preacher's voice in their ears. The man must have been in his twenties, still full of life and hope, his hope was what brought people here as much as the food. Tamra had almost smiled as she wondered if the others were thinking what she was about how hope didn't really exist except in the souls of preachers. There had been a lull in the constant noise of dishes clattering, voices murmurring and the preacher and his words of hope, and that lull had brought Tamra's head up from where she had been scooping the mashed potatoes into her mouth.

"Brothers and Sisters, you may be facing hardships in your lives, times of despair and indignity, times when you feel there is no future or dreams or hope, but no matter how frustrated or disappointed or depressed you get, remember God loves you. And He would never give you more to deal with than you can handle. And as you learn to handle those moments of life, remember that there IS hope, there are people that care, and that each moment you fight with life, you are getting stronger and more capable of living your life the way you want to live it. So eat up and make your body strong so that you can fight for life and hope, Amen."

Tamra wasn't sure she really believed in a God, but she had never forgotten those words. She had taken them to heart and each night she had slept on the streets or eaten in the mission or been shut out of a job because she didn't have an address, she let her despair solidify inside her, and she could feel it making her stronger and stronger. And with time, a job, and her knife, she became stronger. She wasn't sure she was living life the way she wanted it to be, but it sure the heck was a lot better than it was.

Now she was lying in her own bed, in her own trailer, staring at a plate that was once filled with an egg omelet, glancing at a stranger who was staring at her book, one of Evanovich's books that always made her laugh outloud as she read them, but he wasn't laughing or smiling or even really aware of her or maybe, Tamra thought, he was too aware of her, as he spoke quietly about his lack of plans.

Tamra was only mildly surprised when she heard herself speak up hesitantly, "You can stay here if you want for a day or two, if you want, the bed is just sitting there, so you might as well use it, at least for a day or two until you get a job or move on or whatever, if you want."

She didn't really look up as she offered the bed, she wasn't sure why she offered it. Was it that sympathy, empathy or pity she had been feeling around him? He was older, although how much older was hard to tell, his face was lined and showed rough living more than number of years. He exuded a sense of defeat and not so much despair as ambivalence toward life. Tamra wondered when his eyes had died, if it had been over a long period of time or more recent. Was it a lifetime of defeat or a major event like a death or lost of job or something? Was it possible for him to get the light back? She had worked hard at it but now, at least most of the time when she looked in mirror, the cold hard look was gone. She knew it was just buried slightly under the surface and could come back instantly, but for now, she almost liked what she was doing and how she was liiving, almost. She actually, sometimes, almost liked herself.

"Anyway," she half grinned, "I could get use to breakfast in bed," Blushing heavily, hearing the way it sounded compared to what she meant, she spoke rapidly, "I didn't mean.. I was just saying about the eggs..I meant.. " She stopped speaking too embarrassed to go on, and wondering if offering the bed was a stupid thing to do.

 

[poohlive]

"You like to talk, don't you?" It could have been said mean, or sarcastic. She must have heard it said like that a thousand times before, but when Evan said it, it was different. It sounded flat, and monotone. He was not accusing her, or judging her, but simply stating an obvious fact.

One he enjoyed.

Well, enjoyed was a harsh word for a man like himself. He thought it amusing, in his own way. He hadn't been next to a blushing girl in a long time. Most of the women he had met lived long hard lives, and were about as bad as him. They talked more, sure, but not any sweeter.

She talked sweet.

"I like it when you talk," He said. He took the empty plate from her hands. His hand touched hers again briefly, and he was more than aware of the drastic difference. Her soft pale hands, slender and sweet as she touched him. His own, rough and temepered with long hours working.

They were the hands of a man well beyond his years, one who had worked them to the bone time and time again for a few measly pennies to buy another drink with.

Their hands looked as if they should never touch each other.

He drew away as quickly as he could.

"I want to hear you talk some more," He said, pausing to look back at her a moment, before going back into the kitchen and cleaning up the mess.

 

[sharingfantasies]

As soon as he was out of the room, Tamra was up on her feet, gathering some clothes and heading for the bathroom. She was mortified and confused and ...well.. confused. As soon as the door was locked she dropped her clothes on the small cabinet and dropped onto the commode covering her face with both hands.

She talked too much. She couldn't remember anyone ever saying that before. In fact, when she first started working her boss told her to talk more. But Evan had said she talked too much and that he liked it. What did that mean? The only reason she had talked as much as she did was nervousness. Did he like making her nervous?

Getting into the shower, where she did her best thinking, Tamra went over the past half hour again. She had invited a stranger, a barfly, into her trailer for the night because he was too drunk to go anywhere and had nowhere to go anyway. He had made her breakfast and brought it to her in bed, of all places, then sat on the bed while she ate. Then they had talked about him having no where to go and then Tamra had invited him to stay. Was she nuts? He wasn't the first man she had let sleep in the other bedroom but she had never suggested they stay past the next morning. She liked her privacy, liked having the place to herself, liked not having to think about other people. Heck, she didn't have any other people to think about. Maybe that was it. Maybe thinking about him, about Evan, did something for her or to her? But what? Was it pity? Was it just that he seemed as lost as she felt? He was a drunk. A man who spent his last dollar on a bottle? His face had the larger pores, the reddish tones of someone that fell into a bottle more times than not. She sure didn't need a drunk around. So why let him stay?

As she dried off and got dressed, she had no answers to any of her questions. She wasn't used to questioning her actions or motives, she usually did something or didn't do something, but she didn't really question her decisions once they were made. Of course, she snorted, her decisions usually made sense. This didn't.

She couldn't stay in the bathroom all day, even if she could, the steam and humidity were getting to her. She opened the door, and scooted back into her bedroom, shutting the door. Putting on her shoes, she looked at the clock. It wasn't that she had anywhere to be for the few hours before going back to work, it was just that she felt penned in, not so much by him but because of the turbulence in her head. She paced back and forth for a minute or two but the room was really too small for pacing. Deciding she needed out, NOW, she slid her keys and wallet into her jeans' pocket, and shoved her sunglasses onto her nose, opening the door she was startled to find him in the hallway at the doorway to his room.. to the other room.

"Oh...um.. I need to go out."

As he looked at her, she felt something more was expected, so she stammered, "Sh..shopping.. no food.. you said."

Embarrassed again, she paused. "Can I get you something?" Again the words startled her. She knew he was penniless, so that was a stupid question. It seemed since she woke up this morning all she had done was ask stupid questions.

 

[poohlive]

He nodded, getting up to follow her out. He had gotten most of the house cleaned. A good couple of hours cleaning away from different areas, the corners which held cobwebs, and the floor that had layers of dirt and filth.

Also, he himself looked better. Wet hair brushed back, his clothes looking new and fresh on him, the layer of dust had disappeared somewhere in the night. His boots, ancient in their own making, now had an almost charming nostalgic appeal to them.

He was still unshaven, but as he came close to her, he smelled the sweetness of her hair, and she could smell him too.

He would go with her, follow her around, and let her talk some more. She had a sweet voice.

 

[sharingfantasies]

"Well, rats," Tamra thought. He was planning on going with her. How was she supposed to get some alone time with a tagalong? Worse, while Tamra prided herself in keeping the small trailer sparkling, after all it was her only possession, she had been pulling double shifts at the bar for the past couple of months and hadn't done her usual job around the place, and now some stranger had taken that from her and made her seem like a slob. She knew if she said anything she would only hurt his feelings, but still, who was he to come into her house and start doing things?

Stalking off down the dusty road towards the small grocery store, Tamra contemplated the situation. What if he felt he could just move in? Offering a bed for a night or two didn't mean permanently. He had cleaned himself up, although still looking like a misfit, it was obvious he was trying to earn his keep, to fit into a "real world" life. She wasn't sure why she was mad, she just was. If he asked her why she would probably come unglued. Maybe it was the heat, maybe it was the close quarters, maybe she just wanted to be alone. Or, maybe it was something else. Tamra did NOT want to look down that path, so she continued marching down the road, leaving him to follow or not.

A couple of times she felt his eyes on her, but if she looked over at him, his eyes were down. She knew he was just wanting to find out what her attitude was about, but surprisingly, he seemed to know that now was a good time to be quiet. She considered working up a good head of steam and saying something that would make him back off, but, it wasn't his fault she was in a bad mood. And as much as Tamra would love to pick a fight with him, her innate sense of fairness just couldn't do it, and that made her even more angry.

They had gone about half a mile when the heat started to get to her and she began to slow down her pace. He was plodding along keeping pace maybe a step or two behind her and reminded Tamra of a stray puppy, the kind that would follow you even if you kicked it away. As her strides slowed down, she looked at him again, and finally asked the question she had been wondering about, although why was another of those questions she couldn't answer.

Slightly embarrassed by her attitude, feeling as if she HAD kicked him, her voice was gruff when she asked, "Just how old are you, anyway?"

Well that was certainly a dumb question. She might have stormed off again except she realized, she was actually curious about the answer.

 

[poohlive]

What did she want from him? Some cute and funny answer? One of those answers people give on the streets, wise cracking nobodies that prided themselves on half answers and quirky remarks better than the truth.

She must have wanted something from him. He got that impression, as if what he was doing wasn't pleasing her. She wanted more. A showcase, perhaps. A wild act of carnival, starring Evan as her own personal star. Did she want to parade him around, see how much he was willing to do?

He didn't know, and wouldn't do it. Whatever she wanted from him, he would not do. He refused to jump through hoops for her. If this is what she wanted, some loyal pet by her side, she could find someone else.

"I think 36," He paused, to remember, unsure of the exact age. Time became endless on the desert. Days and months felt like years. He could tell her how old he felt, he felt about 60 or so. Or, how old he looked, perhaps 40, maybe 30 if he cleaned up and shaved once in a while.

36 seemed around right. He was born in January, right next to New Years, but he had long since forgotten the year. Sometime in the seventies. It sounded about right. Then again, the seventies felt like an age ago as well. The world had moved on, and the past had turned into nothing more than faded memories.

Dust on the new walls, messing up the place.

"if you want me to go..." He didn't finish the sentence, didn't need to. His boot was already twisted to the side, ready to turn, almost eager to find the road again, open and hollow, waiting for him.

He hated those boots, and how eager they were to move on.