Ray loved him.
Tough People
The bell rang for the first round and I stepped across the canvas holding the red gloves high to guard my face. The crowd was rooting for my opponent, a big Indian with plenty of reach. All I could do was duck, go inside, and go to work. I’d never fought before and I was scared.
We circled each other and I blocked two jabs, then dodged a roundhouse right. The only rules were no kicking, biting, or elbows. Blurred tattoos covered his chest and arms. He came at me again. I ducked and popped him in the face, and the jolt went up my arm and into my body. I stung him twice more the same way. My mouth was dry. It seemed like we’d been fighting for hours. He led with his jab and I ducked again, but this time he was waiting for me. His haymaker got me on the temple and I felt two days pass.
When I woke up, the cornerman was removing the gloves. He led me out of the ring to a folding chair. I sat there breathing hard, mad at myself. A little piece of my mind wondered if Lynn had run off with the guy who’d beat me, but I knew that was bad luck talking in my head. Bad luck was how I got here, and now my luck had dipped again.
Lynn dropped into the chair beside me. She doesn’t sit in a regular way. She gets near a chair and lets gravity pull her onto the seat. It’s her only bad habit.
“Are you hurt?” she said.
“I’ll have a shiner.”
“I wish I took some pictures.”
“Where you been?”
“I signed up for tomorrow.”
“I’m out of it. You only get one chance.”
“Not you,” she said. “I signed up for the Tough Woman Contest.”
“No way.”
“Way,” she said. “There’s only three women so I’m automatically in the finals. I get five hundred bucks for stepping in the ring. We can go back to Billings.”
She and I had been traveling together before we went broke here in Great Falls. Entering the Montana Tough Man Contest had seemed like a good way to raise bus fare out of town. Now it just seemed stupid.
Lynn held my arm as we walked to the motel, and after a quick shower, we put that mattress through its paces. I guess the main reason we were together was sex. I know that has a bad sound to it, like we’re just wild, but that’s not exactly true. I’d left Kentucky a while back and was a cook at the same diner where she worked as a waitress. She was a photographer, but had pawned her camera to cover our motel bill. We’d been hanging out for two weeks. We got along okay. We talked. It’s just that our bodies could sing.
In the morning my eye was puffed and black as a burnt biscuit. I’m not even an athlete, let alone a fighter, and my body was pretty sore. Lynn went out for coffee while I took a long bath. The notion of her fighting for money went against my raisings. It made me feel responsible for her and I didn’t want that. Neither of us did. We just wanted to be free.
She came back to the room and held her hands in front of her face, thumbs touching, fingers pointing up. She tilted her head and squinted. It was how she practiced taking pictures.
“That would make a good photograph,” she said. “The boxer in the tub.”
“I don’t want you to fight,” I said.
“It’s not up to you.”
“I ain’t trying to tell you what to do, Lynn. Going broke was my fault and I hate you had to hock your camera.”
“Get off it,” she said. “I bought it used. I’ll get a better one next.”
“We could sell our blood,” I said. “Maybe volunteer for medical tests.”
“It’ll take too long. I can make a half a grand in three minutes.”
“It just ain’t right. A woman ain’t supposed to fight for a man.”
“What’s fair for you is fair for me. Besides, I might win. We’ll get two thousand cash and have a great life. This is just a rough patch. Even rich people have it rough sometimes.”
“I reckon.”
“Let’s pretend we are rich,” she said. “Let’s just think that way and act accordingly.”
“First thing is to get a fancy camera.”
“I’ll take a thousand pictures of you a day. That’s like twenty-five rolls.”
I got out of the tub and dried myself while she practiced taking pictures, squatting to change angles, and making a whirring sound as she advanced the film. Even though she was faking, I felt embarrassed by a nude shot.
“Let’s go to Seattle,” she said. “Everybody I know is moving there.”
“It’s your money.”
“No, it’s ours. There’s better jobs there.”
We laughed and talked and made plans to open a photo gallery and diner in Seattle. It would be old style, with good food cheap. Lynn’s pictures would hang on the walls, and the menu would be shaped like a negative with holes along the side. We’d have specials called F-Stop Burger, and Zoom Lens Soup. Photographers and Kentuckians could eat there free.
Lynn needed rest and I took a walk. The sky was haired over solid grey. There was no sun, just a dull light, and I figured snow was coming. Great Falls reminded me of towns in Kentucky that hadn’t changed since the fifties. The buildings were low and made of stone, and people strolled from store to store. I thought about home and wished I’d never left. Kentucky’s idea of a tough man contest is to get through the season at hand.
In a pawnshop window was a camera that came with a bunch of lenses. I wanted to buy it all and go back to the room and throw the whole rig on the bed. That would make Lynn and me square. I hated the idea of owing somebody. I stood there for a long time thinking that having money gave you freedom, but getting the money took freedom away. What I needed was luck.
I started worrying that Lynn might get hurt in the fight, break her nose or lose a tooth — and blame me. The more I thought about it, the madder I got. Inside I felt like I was about to bust, but there was nowhere for me to go with it.
I went back to the motel and stopped at the bar. It was called the Sip & Dip, and had a tropical decor with plastic parrots, bamboo walls, and fake torches. Any minute you expected a cannibal to jump out at you. An older couple was arguing at a table shaped like a kidney bean. A tall man about forty came in, ordered a whiskey ditch, and began talking to me. He was from Mississippi. His southern accent made me feel good, as if I were talking to a countryman.
“Luck always turns,” he said. “There’s nothing you can do when you’re running bad but develop yourself a leather ass. How did you happen to be here for the Tough Man Contest?”
“I borrowed a car from a guy at work. Me and Lynn wanted to get out of Billings and run around.”
He told the bartender to bring a couple of drinks.
“On me,” he said. “You’re a guy who needs a lot of outs right now.”
“You know I can’t buy the next round.”
“There was a time when all I owned was on my back. So you and Lynn were on the loose.”
“Yeah,” I said. “We had a couple hundred bucks and four days off from work. We’re thinking maybe we’ll hit the Chico Hot Springs when bang, we’re pulled over by the Highway Patrol. I’m sober and we’re not carrying dope, so I’m not worried. I’m good with cops, I say yes sir and no sir, and all that. They have a tough job. I respect that because my job ain’t the best. When you’re a cook, everything will cut you or burn you.”
He said he understood. The older couple who’d been arguing were kissing now, pecking at each other’s faces like a pair of chickens.