She turned to confront the women with their jars but found she was alone.
She looked at the blood on her fingertips, then wiped them against the surface of the sculpture and half-walked, half-ran back to her car.
7. Craterface and Absences
She went back to her usual pub—which was still quite crowded, surprisingly. The bartender and several of the servers were buzzing about the terrible thing that had happened earlier. There was a strong smell of disinfectant in the air but it didn’t bother Sparkle Eyes, who noticed the empty booth near the back—the one next to the window covered by a sheet of particle board.
Everyone looked at her when she glided through the doors. Men glanced into mirrors, straightening their ties and patting down their hair. Women greedily took hold of their dates and shot her a look that said, Don’t try it, bitch.
As she walked down the aisle, not having to look to see if anyone was watching her because she knew everyone was, her attention was caught by a song from the jukebox, an old Motown hit: “Always Something There To Remind Me.” She stared at the back of the man who was leaning over the machine, punching in his next song choice.
Any guy who was a Motown fan got high marks in her book.
Ready or not, here I come, she thought. Then he turned around. Amanda’s breath caught in her throat. Dear God.
The acne scars on his cheeks were so deep she could see them even from where she was standing, some twelve feet away, and you could tell from the way he moved, from the way he looked down at the floor and would not make eye contact with anyone who passed, from the way his hands immediately—snap!—went into his pockets, you could tell that this was not a confident man, not a popular man, not a man who'd come here easily; it had probably taken all the nerve he could summon just to leave the house, let alone actually walk into this place. It wouldn’t have surprised her to know that he was terrified, and it did not surprise her that he was sitting alone at a small two-person table near the jukebox and loud pinball machines and entrance to the billiards room; it did not surprise her that he gripped his half-empty glass a bit too tightly, or that his head came up a little too hard and a little too quickly whenever some woman nearby laughed; it came as no surprise that his waitress would not look at him, even though he smiled and tried to be friendly when she came to his table; it came as no surprise that he stared at his folded hands, that he rubbed his eyes a lot, that he smoked and blinked too much, and that he looked like he couldn't decide whether to cry, scream, leave, or just drop dead on the spot. Every move he made, every gesture, every awkward smile and self-conscious glance-around betrayed his true feelings, if only to Amanda: I know I'm not much to look at, but I'm a nice guy, really I am, and I wish you'd sit down and talk with me, that’s all I want, really, just to talk and nothing more, I’m not trying to get into your pants, promise, just let me buy you a Coke or something because I've been sitting here for most of the evening and I gotta tell you, I feel stupid and ugly and lonely and I don't know if I can handle it anymore so, please, if you wouldn't mind—
—he froze, blanching, when he saw that she was staring at him, and for a moment, one slow, frightened, awkward and god-almighty-agonized moment, he stared back at her, just long enough for a gleam of hope to flash across the surface of his eyes—Is she really looking at ME? Is that smile of hers meant for ME?—then die a fast, sputtering, miserable death as reality kicked in—Hell no, what would a woman like that want with YOU? How could a woman that damned beautiful be attracted to YOU, CRATERFACE?
—and before she could lift her hand to give him a little wave, a little gesture to tell him she was on her way and it was not, repeat not out of pity that she wanted to be with him but because she could tell he was a nice—hell!—a terrific guy, and she would settle for nothing less than a terrific guy—before she could do this, something inside of him, something weak and frightened and conditioned since childhood to kick in on those rare occasions when he felt like a fine, normal, and at least partially attractive man—this awful something reached up and jammed an iron butcher's hook into his heart and he...
crumpled, simply crumpled. He looked away, ashamed, then turned toward the jukebox, downed what was left in his glass, then tossed a too-generous tip onto the table and jumped to his feet and made his way toward the rear exit door, head down, hands in pockets, shoulders slumped and trying hard not to shudder too much. Disgraced, defeated, diminished.
And alone; alone, alone, alone.
The song finished playing, then started again. Sparkle Eyes Amanda wondered if he sat in a favorite chair at home listening to this song over and over, sipping at his beer or whatever poison he picked until he got a dreamy look on his face and could pretend he was someone else. Her heart broke for him a thousand times, then a thousand more. By the time she got to the door and ran out into the parking lot, he was nowhere to be seen. So Sparkle Eyes went back inside.
She took a seat at the far end of the bar and soon found herself laughing just a bit too loudly at some joke told by a man sitting two stools over. He smiled at her. She smiled in return. He moved closer, bought her a drink, and stumbled over his tongue several times, not able to look away from her face. She laughed a soft laugh that ended in something like a low, promising purr, then touched a fingertip to his lips. The rest was easy. Because Beauty always has her way.
* * *
He was very skillful with her.
Kissing her everywhere and endlessly, licking her, a bite here, a nibble there, probing her with his fingers, cupping her breasts in his hands and tonguing her nipples in slow, wet, maddening circular patterns; she pulled back and said, "There's a halo around you," and he stopped for a moment, looking down at himself. There was a thin beam of moonlight slipping in under the window blinds; each hair on his body was isolated by that light like a bluish gossamer, a wrapping. "It's just a trick of the light," he replied to her, his hand resting for a moment on hers. His fingers were long and bony but soft, soft as her own supple neck. He ran those fingers up her arms and the little hairs there sprang to attention, then he touched her eyes with his fingertips; they were like pads, responsive to her every pore. Her eyelids fluttered beneath his touch and she drew her own fingers down his cheeks to the bone of his jaw, then down his neck, leaning forward and kissing his lips. Her mouth felt larger than human, able to protect his in its clasp. She felt his tongue beating against her lips and opened them and soon felt his saliva in her own, then his mouth was crawling down her body and she lay back, opening her vagina for him. Soon, her murmurs seemed to fill the room. She arched her back slightly as her knees bent around the small curve at the back of his head, pressing it slowly downward. They twined around each other as if their limbs had lost their natural form. A moment later he lifted his head from between her wet heat and moved up her belly to her breasts again, at first teasing her nipples, then sucking them deep into his hungry mouth, trailing his lips across her shoulders, his breath moist and warm against the side of her neck, his cock rigid and hot, his entry smooth and painless, the two of them rocking together, pumping slick and steady, and it was good, it was great, it was heaven, and Sparkle Eyes grabbed hold of his shoulders and rolled him onto his back, straddling his hips, locking her ankles under the backs of his knees as her own pushed out and down, her ass rolling back and forth across his groin, pushing him deeper inside of her as his hand grabbed one of her breasts and his mouth encircled the aureole, slurping and sucking and biting as he thrust himself upward with more force, ramming his erection deeper, deeper, and deeper still, and she threw back her head and arched her back, her nails digging into his well-toned pectorals, and she caught sight of their bodies reflected in the closet-door mirror; sweating, glistening, heaving bodies attacking one another, devouring one another, then came the sounds, low, throaty growls, grunts and sighs and strangled screams as their rhythm grew faster, harder, frenzied, bedsprings squeaking, almost causing her to laugh but she didn't, she wouldn't, she groaned instead, driving herself down, pushing his cock in so much deeper it was starting to hurt but she didn't care, she wanted him to bury it in her up to her throat so she dug her fingers into his chest, tangling them in his sweat-matted hair, God he felt so good, so thick and solid, pulsing, throbbing, sliding wet and steamy into her slick sex as she doubled her efforts, grinding down with all her strength; he arched his back and groaned, she threw back her head once again and squealed, then moaned, then screamed, her juice-soaked thighs sliding against his own, then he was sitting up again, burying his face between her breasts, his tongue lapping at her nipples, then he was biting them, hard, harder, and she loved it, it was incredible, and now they were moving side to side as well as up and down, the chaotic motion setting fire to her body as she pulled up and slammed back down on him, tossing her head to the side—