Lenore shrugged and sat down in a big broken armchair, folding her legs up close for warmth. Tucker had scrounged up most of the furniture for their downstairs flat when they’d moved in with nothing but a couple bags of clothes and a truckload of books. And their furniture, bad as it was, was in better condition than the stuff Tucker lived with. In his weird way, he was the best landlord she’d ever had.
“You want some smoke?” he offered.
Lenore shrugged. “Wouldn’t turn it down.”
He started loading a small ceramic bong. “Been pretty dry lately, and we’re a long way from summer. You run out of that last bag I give you?”
“Days ago,” she said.
“Wow, girl, you been holding out a good long time. Shoulda come see me before now.”
“Hey, Tucker, I’m not a junkie or nothing. I can do without.”
“Sure you can, babe. Sure you can. Here, taste this.”
He finished tamping something green into the pipe of the bong and passed it to her along with his Harley-Davidson lighter. She burned it down in one deep breath; the stuff was hot and resinous, and immediately expanded in her lungs. She hacked it out in one violent burst, and then the coughing fit began.
“Whoa, girl, you’re aiming high tonight!”
She couldn’t answer. Her eyes were streaming, and her head felt as if it were shooting straight up through the roof of the house. Tucker scooped up the wine bottle by its neck and passed it to her. She knew she shouldn’t; she even hesitated for a minute. Dope was one thing, but alcohol was another entirely, and she’d made a deal with Michael. No drinking. Pot, okay. But no alcohol.
But it wasn’t the first time she’d broken her little rule up here with Tucker, and what the fuck, she was coughing her lungs out. She needed something wet. It didn’t really take her long to make the decision; she put the bottle to her mouth and swallowed. One swig was all she needed. It was all she’d ever needed.
A tight little ball in her stomach uncoiled as soon as she drank; it eased her coughing jag instantly, but then she felt embarrassed because her bowels turned to water and she already knew the condition of Tucker’s toilet. No way would she use it; but she couldn’t go back downstairs. Not yet. She sat very still, holding the bong and the bottle. After a few seconds, she took another swallow. The tension eased. Her guts stopped cramping. She laid back her head and shut her eyes.
She could hear Tucker moving around; he switched the music off and slapped a tape into his VCR.
“So where’s Michael? Did you tell me?”
“Fucking Michael,” she said dreamily, peering out between her lashes. “He’s doing his stuff again.”
“Goddamn, that guy’s a regular devil worshipper.”
“It’s not devil worship, Tucker. He doesn’t believe in that shit. I’m not sure myself exactly what it is, but it’s not the devil.”
“I don’t care. All the heavy metal bands, they’re into that Satan shit. It’s cool with me.”
“It’s fucking lame,” Lenore pronounced. She felt the jug in her lap, cool and comforting, a nice round heaviness.
“You like that stuff?” he said. “Pretty good, huh?”
“Mmm-hm.”
“I’ll give you some, okay? Same deal as last time?”
“Mm-hm, sure.”
“I got a Baggie all ready to sell, but you can have it if you’re sure….”
She was sleepy, drifting. Thoughts were coming to her, thoughts like feelings, drifting up inside her till they burst at the surface of her mind.
“You want a beer?”
At that moment, they both heard a bell ringing downstairs, sharp and pure, penetrating the walls of the house. As the tone faded slowly into inaudibility, she was sure she heard Michael chanting in a deep voice.
Tucker laughed. “There he goes! Let me get you that beer, baby.”
She tried to say no, she had the bottle, but the words didn’t exactly come out in a hurry, and by then Tucker was putting a cold can against her cheek.
“Shoot, honey, you must be feeling pretty good.”
Realizing that she was grinning, she opened her eyes. “Oh, yeah.” Laughing.
“You go right ahead and pop that. I’ll load you up another hit.”
Lenore was laughing hard, and Tucker had the music turned way up again and he was laughing too, and the video was going but there wasn’t any sound from that. Then she knocked over the beer in her lap and reached down to pick it up again, but she wasn’t in the big old chair at all anymore, she was sitting on the couch, and there were a bunch of cans scattered around that hadn’t been there before, so many she wasn’t sure which one she’d been drinking from. The bottle was there; she remembered it like an old friend, wistfully, since it was empty now; and she felt like she was surfacing for a big gulp of air, but then… and then… she looked up and Tucker was standing by the VCR, stepping back from the TV looking over at her with his goofy ugly grin missing a couple teeth and she could see on the screen why he hadn’t bothered with the sound, since there would have been nothing to hear but moaning. He’d slipped in one of his porno tapes. She found her can and swallowed but it was empty, but that didn’t matter because Tucker had read her mind and was pulling the top off another. And then… and then…
And then his arm was around her, and she thought she’d been vomiting because her throat burned and her mouth was sour, but she couldn’t remember it. She opened her eyes and moaned, and sure enough Tucker had his arm thrown across her chest and he was son of helping her, but really more urging her to lie back down. When she realized what was happening she started to fight him, she threw herself forward, but Tucker got rougher then and grabbed her shoulders and shoved her back down on his bed. They were in his room, and what bothered her most was that it all looked sort of familiar, as if she had seen it before in exactly this way but never remembered till now, and would probably forget it all over again—which scared her more than anything that was actually happening yet.
“Tucker!” she said. “Get off!”
He pulled back, looking hurt, as if surprised that she would really object. “Hey, girl….”
She tried to crawl backward. “What are you doing?”
“What do you think? You said same deal as last time. You want the weed or not?”
“The weed?” She stood up, swayed, stumbled but caught herself on the doorframe.
“Well, there’s the rent too, but I wasn’t gonna get into that yet.”
“What, were you gonna come down later and try’n collect?”
“Lenore…“He shook his head, coming back off the bed. “Shit. Don’t do this.”
“I gotta go.” She turned out into the hall, or thought she had. The edge of the doorframe slammed into her face. She stood there with her eyes closed, holding very still but spinning anyway. Just then, from downstairs, she heard the bell again. Michael was finishing up. He could probably hear them up here; he might assume it was Scarlet and Tucker; he was good at wishful thinking. She had to get away—somewhere she could straighten out.
Tucker was right on her, putting a finger to his lips. “Shush, you hear him down there?”
“I hear him. We’re both fucking idiots.”
“Well, baby, takes two to you-know.”
She swerved away, free now. Hoping her clothes were all on, since she didn’t want to have to come back for anything later, she made her way to the kitchen, then out the door into the cold. Her coat.
“Hey, girl, don’t forget this.” Tucker had it; he was right behind her, looking stone sober. “Now don’t be mad at me. You’re a pretty little thing, I’m only doing what comes natural. Besides, I thought we had an agreement.”