Glass - 02 (15 page)

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?”

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.

Goes fast. Goes incredibly slow.

Midafternoon, Trey calls.

Hey, you. We still on for tonight?

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.”

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.]

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.

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

commuters, 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.