Текст книги "The Opportunist"
Автор книги: Tarryn Fisher
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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 13 страниц)
Touché.
I shuffled back to my room in a daze, considering two options.
One. Caleb, decided the only reason I could reject him was because I was gay. Two. Caleb tells everyone I am a lesbian as revenge for blowing him off. Either way, I was going to have to air my sexuality to clear things up.
Chapter Seven
The Past
I drove a somber Jessica to the clinic Saturday morning as scheduled. The day was fittingly dreary and she stared out of the window for most of the ride, making an occasional comment about a store we passed or a restaurant Caleb had taken her to. I was wondering if she was capable of talking about anything else other than Caleb when she pointed to a billboard for Calvin Klein and said that Caleb was so much hotter than the guy modeling the underwear. I pictured him in his boxers kicking around in the pool and suddenly got lightheaded. He was. Filthy, girlfriend impregnating, scumbag.
The clinic was posh, definitely not one of those shady, inner-city places that is tucked away in a storefront. This was where rich girls came to wipe away their indiscretions…Boca Raton style.
The waiting room was stuffed with oversized furniture and framed art. I chose a seat in the far corner and stared intensely at a macramé plant holder while Jessica spoke with the receptionist. She came to sit next to me while she filled out a mound of forms. The scratching of pen on paper was the only sound in the room. Before the nurse took her to the back, she looked over at me with saucer eyes and said…
“Do you think I’m doing the right thing?”
A nerve in my eyebrow started twitching. I was simply the driver. I didn’t want to be her conscience coach. If I told her ‘no’ we would walk right out of here, she was looking for a reason to leave, and if I told her ‘yes’…well…it made me an accomplice.
I thought of Caleb. He would do the right thing and marry her if she kept the baby. They would probably be divorced within five years. Broken home, broken hearts…me without him. I swallowed hard.
“Absolutely, yes,” I said nodding.
She smiled brightly and grabbed my hand.
“Thank you, Olivia.” she said squeezing. I pulled my fingers gently away and tucked my hands beneath my purse.
Ohmygosh,ohmygosh,ohmygosh!
She stood to leave and I had the urge to snatch her by the hand and run for the car. What was I doing? I could change her mind! She took one step, two, and the moment for goodness passed, kidnapping my conscience as it went. The nurse led Jessica through a set of double doors and then she was gone. I felt sick—like all the blood in my veins had turned to vinegar. What had I done? And for what? Him? Did I really plan on using this information to get what I wanted? I rocked back and forth my arms wrapped around my belly.
“Are you okay?” the receptionist asked, peering around the slab of frosted glass she sat behind.
“Something I ate,” I said. She nodded like she understood and pointed me in the direction of the bathroom. I hid in the handicap stall for thirty minutes with my back pressed against the door, convincing my bruised conscience that it was all her choice and I had nothing to do with it. When enough time passed I slipped back into the waiting room and took a seat.
I flipped through a couple of magazines and bit away at my nails. One other girl arrived during my tortured time there. She looked to be about sixteen and was escorted by her mother who was hiding behind a pair of dark glasses. The mother hurried over to the window while her daughter slouched down in a chair and began texting on her phone, her thumbs moving like fast machinery over her keypad. I pulled my eyes away. My mother would have made me keep it. I remember her telling me, “I’ll be damned if a daughter of mine walks away from her responsibility. Do it once and you’ll do it for the rest of your life.” I really missed my mother. Maybe if she were alive, I wouldn’t be so rotten.
A nurse approached me an hour later, bending down to say something in those hushed tones that everyone kept using. If we speak softly perhaps we won’t draw attention to what is really happening here.
“Jessica is ready. You can pull your car around the back to pick her up.”
I flinched. They were sending her away through the rear of the building. Sneaky, like she was bad trash. I rushed out and hopped in my car glad to be rid of the place. A nurse was standing behind Jessica’s wheelchair, her hands resting lightly on her shoulders. Jessica was pale as a peeled potato. She smiled when I pulled up—a sort of relieved smile that made me uncomfortable. I jumped out of the car and hurried to open the passenger side door.
“She is to do no heavy lifting and no exercising for a week,” the nurse informed me. I nodded.
“Are you okay?” I asked her as she slid from the chair into my front seat.
She nodded weakly.
I pulled away from the curb with anxiety aggravating my belly.
I had accomplished what I set out to do, and now I needed to get Jessica as far away from me as possible. She made me feel guilt, a luxury I couldn’t afford while trying to steal Caleb.
I put the radio on as we eased onto the highway. Jessica spent most of the ride home gazing again out of the window. A part of me wanted to ask what she was feeling, if she was sad or relieved. But the part of me that wanted Caleb, kept my tongue glued to the roof of my mouth. This was business, I reminded myself. I wasn’t here to make a friend.
When the grey rooftops of the campus came into view, we both breathed a sigh of relief. I parked my car in front of the building and jumped out to open her door.
“Do you need me to help you to your room?”
She shook her head “no” and winced as I helped her from her seat. She was pale and her usually full lips looked limp and timid beneath her running nose. Not the Jessica Alexander that was featured in the school paper less than two months ago. Even her hair was dull and lifeless, hanging in greasy chunks around her face.
She hugged me before shuffling off toward the elevators. I watched her jab at the button, leaning limply against the wall, hugging her arms around her torso. When the elevator finally arrived, she turned one last time to wave weakly at me before climbing in and disappearing behind the doors. I slumped against my car suddenly feeling exhausted. I decided not to go back to my room. Cammie would be there and when it came to me, she was terribly perceptive. I drove, instead, to a breakfast place a few miles away and seated myself at the bar with a newspaper someone had left discarded outside.
The cover story was on Laura Hilberson and the lack of leads in her case. The detective handling the case was speculating that Laura’s disappearance might not have been an abduction and that all evidence was pointing to Laura having purposely disappeared. Her distraught parents were begging someone to come forward with information.
I wished that I had paid better attention to the girl when she shared classes with me. Those were my pre-Caleb days, when I hadn’t cared a thing about who he was dating and why. She didn’t seem like the type of girl who would want to disappear. She was popular and perky, a communications major, according to the paper, who had aspirations of becoming a news anchor. I stared at the grainy picture of her and tried to imagine her sitting behind the anchor desk of the six o’clock news. Now she was on the six o’clock news. I felt sad for her, wherever she was. Something had gone terribly wrong, kidnapped or not, and now it was likely that Laura would never see her dreams come to fruition.
I thought about my own dreams as I bit into my bagel. I wanted to be an attorney and put bad people in prison. Now, I was the bad person because I was plotting and scheming for a stupid boy. I hadn’t even thought about my dreams lately. It was like Caleb had rooted out my ambition and replaced it with a lusty obsession. God, I was really going downhill. I finished up my coffee and tossed money on the counter. If this obsession was draining my ambition now, what would happen if I actually got him? Would I be so enraptured with Caleb that I would be satisfied with being his girlfriend and nothing else? That would mean following in my mother’s footsteps and she had warned me against falling for a man before accomplishing my dreams.
I was halfway to convincing myself to forsake my Caleb obsession when I arrived back on campus. I parked my car in the student overflow lot and trotted toward my dorm building feeling resolved. I needed to stop this foolishness now before I ruined everything I was working for. As I climbed the stairs, I heard voices echoing from the third floor landing. I slowed when I realized that one of them was Jessica‘s. She was cooing, talking in that sweet, girly voice that advanced flirters used to charm men. I walked slowly trying to catch as much of what she was saying as I could.
“Not today. I have my…you know…”
I climbed the last few stairs and turned the corner. Jessica was on her tip toes with her arms wrapped around Caleb’s neck. They were nose to nose and he was looking down at her adoringly. I stopped abruptly and they both turned to look at me.
“Olivia!” she said sounding embarrassed. “Hi.”
“Hi,” I said looking at Caleb. He looked right through me—like I wasn’t even there. He turned back to face Jessica. Ouch. Jessica was freshly showered with her hair wet and pulled back in a bun. She looked significantly more polished than when I had left her hours ago. It dawned on me then. Caleb must have hinted at sex. Jessica, who had received strict instruction to abstain from hanky-panky for the next fourteen days, was trying to deter him with a story about her period.
I shuffled my feet embarrassingly. Her face was red and she was looking at me pointedly.
“Um…” I pointed to the door, which they were blocking and raised my eyebrows to demonstrate my annoyance.
“Oh, sorry.” Jessica giggled and pulled Caleb out of the way. She made sure to wink at me as I squeezed past and I made sure to brush Caleb’s back with my arm. He jerked away from my touch and I smiled in satisfaction.
Jackass.
I walked quickly to my room with the faint stirrings of anger beginning to rise in my chest. How could she be all over him like that, after what she’d just done? I jabbed my key into the lock and turned it so hard the tips of my fingers hurt from the force. Hours after aborting her baby and she’s already wrapped around him like string cheese. She was an idiot and I had to have him—simple as that. I would learn to balance him with my ambition. I could have both and I would. I burst through my door with determination and told Cammie to shut up before she had the chance to open her mouth. I threw myself on my bed and pretended to read a textbook. By the end of the week, Jessica and Caleb’s relationship would be in tatters and I would have my second chance.
Chapter Eight
The Present
“Olivia? Will you come?” Caleb’s voice hangs on the other end of the line, waiting for my response. I sigh, looking around my apartment and plucking at my sweater. He wants me to come over for dinner and I feel like that would really be crossing the line. It’s not like I am virgin to crossing lines but I am trying to be a decent person. If I can keep things away from his personal life then I can make-believe that he is instigating the whole shebang.
“Seriously, Caleb, I don’t think it’s a good idea. Your girlfriend would have a breakdown if she found out. Why can’t we meet at a restaurant or something?”
“My cooking is better than any restaurant you’ve ever been to. Besides there’s more chance of her spotting us out at a restaurant than at my place.”
Unless she’s stalking you like the last time….I think bitterly.
“She didn’t have much of a problem finding my apartment,” I say sourly. “Besides, I barely know you. How prudent would it be for me to show up to a stranger’s house for dinner? You could be a rapist for all I know.”
“Olivia, you’ve already had me over to your place and survived. I’ll open a bottle of wine…it‘ll be fun.”
“I’m not really a fun loving person.”
“It will be dangerous.”
I smile.
“I only drink red wine.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And make sure she doesn’t show up this time.”
Caleb laughs. “Really? I thought it would be nice if she came.”
We make arrangements as to what day and time and I hang up feeling anxious. I stuff my face into a pillow and groan in shame. I am in over my head.
My phone rings again. Thinking it is Caleb with a last minute detail, I snatch up the receiver.
“Hello.”
“Olivia?” It is a different voice.
“Yeeees?”
“Olivia! You sexy beast of a woman! Where have you been all my life?”
“Jim?”
“The one and only, baby. How’s life? Kicking your ass lately?”
“Hard as usual,” I say laughing, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I’m in town and there is nothing I want more then to spend some quality time with my dream girl.”
“Dream girl! Last time I saw you, you called me a shrew and told me I had no talent.”
“Those are just words, baby girl. Besides, you had just rejected another confession of my love for you. Give a man his verbal abuse, huh? Now, when are you free for the taking?”
Jim. Jim. The same guy I used to make a statement about my sexuality. The one I dropped like a dirty sin the moment I stole Caleb. He remained faithful. I received a call every time his work swept him past my zip code and we would have a whirlwind night of dancing or eating or whatever other guilty pleasure suited us. Then, he would leave and I was fine with that.
“How long are you in my corner?”
“Two days—three at the most. I was thinking we could go down to the Wave, get drunk, grind around on the dance floor...”
“Hmmm…sounds romantic. When can you be here?”
“Fifteen, I have to stop for some smokes.”
“Fine,” I say. “I’ll be ready.”
I hang up and smear some lipstick on my mouth. I am still thinking about Caleb and I have force myself to stop.
Tonight was just going to be Jim and me and a good time. No obsessions. I slip on a pair of black pants and a green off-the-shoulder shirt, and pull my hair into a ponytail.
Jim picks me up outside of my apartment. I hop into his car, a restored 1969 Mustang painted green with yellow racing stripes, and smile at him across the seat.
“You’re like a Percocet on a bad day, Libby,” he says, surprising me and kissing me straight on the mouth. I pull back and shake my head.
“Mmmm, I love it when you compare me to prescription drugs.” I plug in my seat belt and begin messing with the radio. Jim likes Phish and that’s practically a sin in my books, since they’re just Grateful Dead wannabee’s.
Jim winks at me and perches a cigarette between his lips. Usually, I don’t tolerate smoking—it makes me feel gritty and it doesn’t help that my mom died of cancer. But, there is something about the way Jim smokes that makes me want to watch him. I look on in anticipation as the wick of his lighter spits out a tiny tongue of fire. He lowers his cigarette to the flame and inhales. I can almost hear the tip of his camel hiss in delight as it accepts the fire. This is my favorite part—he takes a long drag, his eyelids flutter like a junkie, then he pushes the grey smoke out of his nose and it curls into the sky, like a graceful, ashen, ghost. Beautiful.
I sit back satisfied. Jim is darkly handsome. He is wearing eyeliner and jeans that cling to his body like lizard skin. His hair is shaggy and dyed black, which makes his sharp blue eyes seem almost lavender. I always thought the British accent belonged more on him than on Caleb. I fan away smoke and hum along with the final bars of an oldie my mom used to love.
“Why are you so happy tonight?” he asks, tapping an inch of cigarette ash into an empty can of Red Bull.
“There is something devastatingly wrong with the universe when you are happy enough to hum.”
He scoots his car into traffic almost hitting the bumper of the truck in front of us.
“I dunno. I just am.”
Jim raises an eyebrow.
“Come on, Libby. I know when something is up.”
I pause. Then I say, “Caleb’s back.”
There was shocked silence. Gladys Knight was on the radio. Jim’s fingers are absently tapping the steering wheel to the beat of the song.
“He’s back.” This comes as a statement instead of a question. I can hear the distaste in his voice and I don’t blame him. Caleb had always been a thorn in Jim’s flesh, especially when I eventually chose Caleb over Jim.
“Olivia,” he turns the radio off and stubs out his cigarette, which means I’ll get to watch the whole lighting process again in a few minutes. “In what way is he back?”
I have no intention of telling him about the amnesia.
“I don’t know. He’s just back and I don’t really care why.”
Jim narrows his eyes and appears to be looking suspiciously at the road.
“I don’t know what it is with you and that asshole. Four years and a bad breakup later and you’re still in a fucking chemical romance with basketball Ken.”
I don’t want to hear it. Not from Jim. Not from Cammie. In my wildest dreams I never imagined this twist to my story. A thousand girls could tell me that they would have done something different than what I did the day I pretended not to know Caleb, and I wouldn’t care. This was my re-do.
“It happened by accident. I didn’t go looking for him, so just shut the hell up about it.”
We pull up to the front of the club and I hop out before the valet can open the door. I wait for Jim as he unwinds his long body from the car and tosses his keys to the attendant. He is pissed. I can see it on his face. More than once he’s accused me of using him as a fall back when Caleb’s not around. I walk in front of him, ignoring the beating his eyes are giving me. I feel kind of badass tonight, so it’s not hard. It’s none of his damn business anyway—meddling, eyeliner wearing, punk. Jim hates weakness, and by God, Caleb is mine. But I have faith that by the time we start dancing, he will get over it.
The Wave is filled wall to wall with vibrating bodies. Jim grabs my hand and pulls me through the throng of dancers until we reach the bar. Most of the girls turn to look at us. What is a razor edged rocker doing with a softie like me? I bristle under their curious eyes, fanning out a couple of dirty looks.
Jim lays a fifty on the slimy bar and orders four shots of tequila. I ready our limes, and smile at him.
“Are you still mad?” I ask.
The bartender slides the shot glasses towards us and we both claim two. Jim shrugs.
“Does it matter?”
I pour the first one down my throat and suck on a lime to pull the flavor. Tequila is gross.
“I don’t want you to be mad. I hardly get to see you.”
Jim does this triple blink thing that makes him look really annoyed and then he kisses me on the cheek.
“Let’s just have fun.”
He orders two more shots and we clink our glasses together. We linger at the bar for a few minutes watching the dance floor. We are still too sober to let loose.
“Let’s go do some dance floor humping,” he says, tossing his lime peel into the trash. I follow him into the wiggling crowd as the tequila finds my head.
We dance until my feet feel numb and my hair is damp with sweat. Jim touches me more than he usually does. I equate it to Caleb’s return. Men always need to piss on everything they feel is theirs. I let him pull me close. I am too drunk to care. It reminds me of the scene in Dirty Dancing where Baby crashes the employee party clutching the watermelon. We are dancing face-to-face, dirty. Jim doesn’t believe in the bumping and grinding, the token dance of teenagers. He calls it dirty spooning. We dance face to face. I find something very honest in that.
We don’t leave until the D.J. starts packing away his equipment.
“You okay to drive?” I ask him. I felt like I am bobbing in space.
Jim snickers. “I’m as sober as a Preacher on a Sunday morning,” he twangs in a mock Southern accent.
On the ride home I keep my eyes closed and let the wind blow over my face. We don’t speak much. Jim plays an old Marcy Playground CD that we used to listen to in college. Sex and Candy. I giggle when he sings loudly to the words.
When we pull up to my apartment, he hops out of the car and follows behind me to the door.
“Was this a date? Why are you walking me home?” I laugh. I dig around in my purse for the keys while he watches.
When I look up, he is staring at me funny.
“Jim?” I ask, taking a step toward him. “Are you okay?” I think that maybe he is sick. His face is blank and a little flushed, like someone who is deciding if they are about to throw up. I pull to a stop when he suddenly jerks forward. At first I think he is going to be sick but at the last minute he veers right for my face and tries to kiss me. I turn my head so his lips land in a wet mess on my cheek. When he pulls back, his eyes are red. “What are you doing?” I ask. Jim and I never go there. It’s an unspoken rule of mine.
He is so close that I have to bend my head all the way back to see his face. We haven’t kissed since college.
“Is it because I’m not him, Olivia? Fucking, Caleb?”
I shake my head. I feel so fuzzy. I can’t seem to formulate words quickly enough.
“It’s not like that with us, Jim. Why now?”
“You know sex doesn’t always have to mean something. It can be done for fun.”
His eyes are blinking, blinking, like he’s trying to expel me from his vision. What am I supposed to say to that?
“I think that friends should stay friends—without the complication of sex.”
“Friends,” he croons, in a nasty hiss. “I’m sick of being your fucking reprieve.”
I shudder. It is very true, but ugly to hear.
“You’re a real cock tease, you know that?” I look up in surprise. He has called me that in a joking way many times, but never in this tone of voice. He is blotchy faced and red eyed and he is scaring me in that deep part of a woman that tells you to run. I take a step back.
“Jim, you’re drunk,” I say slowly.
“I’m drunk and you’re a bitch.” Then he is all over me with his mouth, pushing against my tightly pulled lips, his hands between my legs. I make a muffled cry from behind my attack and I try to push him away. He doesn’t budge beneath my shoving and I realize there is nothing I will be able to do to stop him. I try to plead but everything seems to roll right off of him. He is groping at me trying to pull my pants down. My neighbor’s door is less than ten yards away on the other side of the building. If I can break free, I can run for it. Then comes a moment when he is distracted and his grip loosens on my arms. I take the chance to wrestle my hands free and I slap him hard across the face. He draws back in shock and his hand cradles the place I hit him. I am prepared for him to come back harder, stronger, but he just looks at me. There is nowhere for me to go. I am cornered against my own front door. I consider screaming, but the only person who might hear me is Rosebud and what could she do? So, I try to reason with him.
“Go home Jim,” my voice is firm. Those few seconds that he spends weighing his options become a muddy memory for me. I am angry and ashamed and scared as I watch him decide whether or not to rape me.
Please God let him leave.
The space between us grows, as he turns around and stumbles to his car.
I practically fall through my door. When I am on the other side, I bolt the lock, and throw myself onto my couch. I sob into a pillow until my throat feels raw and then I pick up the phone and called the only person I have ever trusted.
“Caleb…”
“Olivia?” His voice is heavy with sleep. “What’s wrong?”
“Can you come over…to my house?”
“Right now?” I can hear him shuffling around his room…turning on the light...fumbling with things.
“Caleb…please...I…”
“I’ll be right there.”
When Caleb arrives, his hair is disheveled and he is wearing shorts and a tattered t-shirt.
“What happened?” he asks as soon as he sees me. He holds my chin in his fingers and turns my face from side to side. I tell him about Jim, about the club, and about what he did after.
Caleb paces my living room. His face is contorted in anger.
“Where is his hotel, Olivia?” His fists are clenched at his sides. I am afraid that if he finds Jim, he will find out who I really am.
“No! I don’t want you to go,” I pull on his arm until he sits back down next to me. His anger gradually subsides into concern and he pulls me to his chest. I haven’t been against his chest for a very long time and I feel overwhelmed. He smells like soap and Christmas and himself, and I cry like a baby at the unfamiliar security his touch gives me. No one has held me like this before. I don’t know whether to bolt or cling on for dear life.
“Can you stay here tonight?” I whisper.
He kisses my forehead and smooth’s away my tears away with his thumbs.
“Yes, of course I’ll stay.”
I feel so relieved that I shudder pathetically. He squeezes me tighter. What would I have done if he wasn’t around? Who would I have called? Caleb is here now, but the clock is ticking. I have gotten myself into a situation where I am going to lose him all over again. The first time was bad enough. I burrow into his warmth and enjoy the feeling of being cared for. I fall asleep with my head leaning against his chest, listening to his heart drum out the most beautiful beat I’ve ever heard
Chapter Nine
The Past
The decision was made. I told Cammie about the abortion as we sat bent over our dinner trays in the cafeteria.
“You’re kidding,” she said as a French-fry dropped from her mouth.
“No,” I said swallowing the lump in my throat. “I overheard her talking to that tall girl about it—the one who picks her scabs.”
I stuffed the last of my fries into my mouth and licked the salt off my lips.
“Nadia?” asked Cammie, pushing her plate away.
“Yes, Nadia, but you can’t tell anyone I told you Cam, I mean how horrible would it be if that got out?”
I studied my roommate’s pretty face and frowned. Perhaps, this would be the one time that Cammie kept her mouth shut. What would I do then?
“Do you think Caleb would care, I mean do you think he would have wanted to keep it?”
I stared at her glittering eyes and felt a sinking in my stomach. I never really thought about that one. He would have wanted to keep it. I knew that in my heart. The way he had spoken about his family that night at Jackson’s he told me that he wanted to be a father. I closed my wicked eyes and sighed.
“Why would you think I would know the answer to that question?”
Cammie shrugged. “You kinda know him. I mean you spent some time with him right, I just thought—”
“I don’t know anything about him,” I snapped, standing up and grabbing my tray. Except that I wanted him more than anything else in the world. I looked down at Cammie and felt panic. This was it.
Cammie had diarrhea of the mouth. It was going to be all over the school and fast. I had now officially secured my front row seat on the train to Hell.
Choo choo!
“I’m going back to the dorms,” I said. I wanted her to follow me so that I could keep an eye on her. I wasn’t sure that I wanted…
“Ok. I’m going to hang here for a while.” Cammie smiled sugar-sweetly up at me. Her face looked innocent, but her eyes looked evil. I could see the gossip monster crawling its way up her esophagus and pushing frantically behind her mouth to be let out.
I turned on my heels and fled before she could see the tears pooling in the corners of my eyes.
Choo choo…
News of the abortion spun and chortled through the gossip chain until it reached Caleb two days later. It was an ex-girlfriend who delivered Caleb the blow. She took her first chance to ax Jessica in order to win him back. I had watched her give Jessica dirty looks for the last few weeks. I recognized them because I was giving them too.
The entire break up took less than ten minutes. It was witnessed by a large portion of the student body who hovered on the scene like flies over a bleeding carcass. I was not there but was told by Cammie who had a front-row seat. The ex timed it perfectly, telling Caleb right before he was supposed to meet Jessica for dinner, and then standing back to watch. Jessica found Caleb waiting for her on the steps to the cafeteria. Their exchange was a brief. Jessica in hysterics, admitted everything to Caleb, who some say punched a wall and others say threw a bench at a tree. In actuality, he walked away from her stony faced and never spoke a word to her again. Jessica left for home a day after the commotion and purportedly left all of her belongings behind. I wondered if she knew it was me—if she even thought about me after that day or if my face blurred into that place where all of the non-popular’s belonged.
I wore my guilt for a week. It was like a firm hand pressing down on the back of my neck. I hung my head in shame and lurked around the dorms like a shadow. By day eight, I was already justifying what I had done.
I was ensconced in self-love. I had taken advantage of a girl looking for someone to trust and I used her predicament for my own personal gain. I was my father’s child. I hated myself.
My father—Oliver Kaspen, no middle name, was the worst sort of bastard a woman could drop from her loins. My mother used to say that he was a carbon copy of Elvis, dark and sexy, with bedroom eyes. He had the type of mouth that said pretty thing,s but when things got thin, it would curl into a hateful grin and cut you where it hurt. But, before he would peel off the overcoat of charm he wore, and before he would tell you that the only reason he was only with you was because of the ugly brat you bore, he was all smiles and kisses and compliments. That’s how he got my mother and that’s how he got me—the ugly brat.
He only stayed for three years after my birth, before shuffling off with his duffel bag over his shoulder. Periodically, through my tweens he would ‘reconcile’ with my mom, taking up residence on the left side of her bed, before once again jockeying off to sow his wild oats elsewhere. He gambled our grocery money, swore at us when he lost it, and he never batted a guilty eye when we had nothing to eat but a box of stale saltines. My dad.
