“Sorry, sweetie.”
“And don’t be callin’ me that neither.”
“Okay.”
“Not sweetie. Not honey pie. And definitely NOT pumpkin pie! Got it?”
“Yes.”
“Now you know what I like to be called, don’t ya?”
“Yeah.”
“Then call me it from now on.” His tone turned soft, as he smiled and said, “I’ll see you later, baby girl. And we’ll celebrate your birthday right proper.”
“Okay.”
“Okay, what?”
“Okay, Big Bad Baby Daddy.”
“That’s more like it. Bye now.”
He hustled off after his pals.
Later that night, standing in front of her full-length mirror that stood tall in her bedroom, she clumsily applied mascara and waited for Justin. Soon, Sue Ellen heard the roar of exhaust and knew Justin’s old pickup, holey muffler and all, was quickly approaching. She walked downstairs as she heard the doorbell ring.
“Hiya, Baby girl,” Justin spoke through her mother as if she hadn’t opened the door for him.
Sue Ellen walked towards him and said, “Hi…” she paused and glanced at her daddy with the corner of her eye; he sat in his favourite chair in front of a loud football game, just barely louder than Justin’s idling truck outside, “…Big Bad Baby Daddy.”
Justin smiled, “That’s my girl.”
She walked towards him and said, “Bye, Daddy.”
He scratched his faded ship’s anchor tattoo on his shoulder, exposed through his stained white tank top and said, “You kids have a nice time now.”
As they walked out to the truck, Justin said, “Yer daddy sure is a strappin’ strong fella, ain’t he.”
Sue Ellen’s eyes lit up and she said, “He’s the best.”
Justin hopped up into the cab of his once blue but now rotted rust-coloured Ford. Sue Ellen stepped up gingerly in her pretty, high-heeled shoes and climbed in.
They didn’t say much on the ride, as they couldn’t hear each other over the noise. When they pulled up in front of Justin’s trailer, Sue Ellen said, “I thought we wuz going out for dinner.”
“Nah. I got alls we need here. Got some good scotch and nice music.”
“But I’m hungry.”
“Sue Ellen, you don’t need no goddamn food you fat bitch!”
“Do you think I’m fat,” she pouted while fidgeting in her size two dress.
“Nah. Of course not.” He opened his door, slammed it and shouted, “Come on!”
Justin walked up the three-step stoop into his trailer. She followed close behind. It was dark, but Justin didn’t turn on any lights.
“You sit down,” he said as he walked into the next room.
As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she made out the outlines of the couch. She felt her way along and there was shit all over it: newspapers, boxes and who-the-hell knew what else. She pushed it aside and sat.
“Goddamn it, Momma!” she heard him yell from the next room. He walked back and said, “Momma drank all the scotch, but I’ve got some Wild Irish Rose somewhere ‘round here. Lemme get it.”
“Where is she?”
“Who? Momma? Don’t worry ‘bout her. She’s passed out in the other room. She took a bottle of them Viconexes and washed ‘em down with my last bottle of nice scotch. She won’t be botherin’ us none.”
“Where’s yer daddy?”
As he shuffled through the shelves, he said, “Aw, he ain’t been home for weeks. I think he’s gone westbound to Texarkana to pick up a truckload’a Coors.” Sue Ellen heard more shuffling, then he shouted, “Euree-eka! Found it.”
He clicked on a lamp next to the couch, then sat down next to her. Justin cracked open the bottle of white wine and took a slug. “Ahhh. I prefer it cold but I gotta hide shit or Momma‘ll drink it on me. Here.”
Sue Ellen took the bottle from Justin and sniffed it.
“Drink it.” He paused. “It’s good.”
She took a tiny sip. It was bitter… or sweet… or something. It basically just tasted like warm piss.
“Come on. Have a real sip.” As Sue Ellen took another small sip, he grabbed the bottom end of the bottle and forced it upwards so the wine ran into her throat, and down the sides of her face. “That’s it! Drink it, dammit! Guzzle that shit down.”
She gulped as best she could but felt a tickle at the bottom of her throat, and gagged, then spit up a mouthful of wine.
“Goddammit, Sue Ellen. Yer wasting it. That’s the last bottle in the house.”
“I’m sorry, Big Bad Baby Daddy.”
He held the bottle up to the light; there was about a third of the bottle left. “GODDAMNSONOFABITCHIN-MOTHERFUCKINSHITASS! How am I gonna get a buzz on this?”
“I’m really sorry, sweetie pie.”
“What?”
“I… I mean, I’m sorry Big Bad Baby Daddy.”
He shook his head while biting the side of his cheek, then leaned his head back and sucked down the last of the Wild Irish Rose. Once done, he tossed the bottle aside and it clanked around the floor, but didn’t break.
Justin walked into the next room and Sue Ellen heard banging and rattling. He came out, arms full of football equipment, and dropped it in a heap at her feet.
“Put that on. ‘kay. I’ll be right back.”
He started to walk away when she asked, “What ya mean?”
“Put it on, stupid! Just put on my football outfit. You do know how to put on a pair of shoulder pads, don’t cha?”
She shrugged. “I guess so.”
“Good. Now get to it, baby girl.”
She bent over and looked at the pile of stuff. What went where? She took off her shoes, then reached back to unzip her dress but had a hard time reaching. Finally, she did and she slid it off. Sue Ellen picked up the padded pants and stepped into them one leg at a time, then tied the shoelace-strap tight. She picked up the shoulder pads and with a little effort, figured out how to fasten them in place. She picked up Justin’s white and blue, number 17 football jersey, and struggled to get it up and over the shoulder pads. She couldn’t do it. She managed to get the left arm through but the right side hung half on, half off the pad and her arm didn’t go through the sleeve of the jersey, instead it hung limply to her side. Lastly, she bent over and picked up his helmet. It was too big for her small head, but she pulled it on anyway, then sat down on the couch.
“Sue Ellen,” she heard him call in a high-pitched, sing-song voice, “here I come!”
Justin pranced in on his tippy toes. He was wearing a pink, frilly tutu, like she wore as a kid the one summer she took ballet class. As he danced closer, she could see white gunk all over his face.
“What’s on yer face, Big Bad Baby Daddy?” she asked.
“What? That’s kazibuki makeup, like the orientiles wear. Don’t you know nuthin’, baby girl?”
“What’s an orientile?”
“Shit, you really dumb, Sue Ellen. Ain’t you ever seen one?”
“I don’t think so. Maybe on TV. I’ve never been outta Hokeyville.”
“Hey! You ain’t wearin’ the jock strap. You can’t be no football player with no jock strap.” He bent over and picked up a funny looking belt and handed it to her. “Put it on.”
She took it from him and looked at it. Then she looked up, unsure of what to do.
“Step into it. It’s a fuckin’ jock strap, dammit.”
She shook her head, and he grabbed it from her hands.
He pulled it wide and said, “Just step into it. You can wear it over your pants.”
She stepped into the belt one leg at a time, then he yanked it up high.
“That’s better. Now you be the centre, and I’ll be the quarterback. Got it?”
She shrugged.
“Shit. I ain’t never seen a girl as dumb as you, Sue Ellen.” He placed a football on the floor in front of her and said, “Bend over and touch the ball. Okay?”