Going for the Western & Attraction (Companion Pieces)

Going for the Western

John held Susan by the elbow as they walked across the lot toward their new car. He held the door for her as she slid in, tucking her in like a kitten before bounding to the driver’s side and slamming the door after him. He checked behind him before easing the car out onto the road. They needed to get moving if they wanted to reach Las Vegas by midnight.

Susan arched her back and curved her neck to the left, peeking between the seats. “Lots of room back there,” she commented. Her heart was still beating two times too fast. She had never seen so much red paint, so much cream leather before. “We’re sitting on some goddamn soft cows.”

Susan was jolted out of her thoughts as the car swerved to the left. John had taken his eyes off the road as he reached up to ease the fabric of the convertible top back behind their heads. “Can you jump on back there and fix us up, baby?” John asked Susan with a lopsided grin.

Susan squirmed in her seat, pivoting between the front seats and hoisting herself far enough into the back seat to push the convertible top down to rest in place. She felt a bit self conscious; she knew her skirt was a little too short and John was guaranteed to be staring. She looked around from her place in the back seat; by now, they had made it to the highway. The desert extended in every direction possible. The night was clear and perfect; the velvety black sky dotted with sequins.

“Susie Q, why don’t you come back up here where I can see your cute ass?” John drawled.

Susan complied, but once she was tucked in to the jump seat, she looked over at John. Glancing hesitantly at first, her gaze whipped back over to John and she drew in a sharp breath as she stared at his ear. “I told you not to call me that,” she said, soft but evenly, gaining confidence, “Or Susan. I’m Martha now, Mrs. Martha Washington.”

“Okay, Martha. What do you want for dinner, Mrs. President?”

She smiled shyly. John had been her man for six years and he still made her nervous sometimes. She was proud of herself, and what they had just done. Part of her still couldn’t believe it. She was the best damn assistant John could ever ask for. “What can you eat that’s three thousand dollars?” Susan asked.

They had put John’s black dress socks on their faces before they jumped out of their old clunker – what a car; it had only taken them five blocks from the bank when it started making that funny noise. On an impulse, John decided to trade it in for a new 1958 Thunderbird before the cops could even figure out what was going on. Cranbrook was a slow town and things like this never happened.

The sock had been itchy. Susan was surprised she could see out of it as well as she could; she knew the people in the bank couldn’t see her. They had planned it out over breakfast. John was to take the lead and Susan would hold the gun. She could shoot pretty good, but she sure didn’t want to. John said he knew it would look better if the man was holding the gun but they both knew Susan couldn’t be trusted to get what they wanted. “You’re not the best with speeches, darlin’,” John had put it sweetly.

They stopped at a diner in New Mexico, a real greasy spoon. “Pancakes?” John asked. Susan gave him a fierce, happy look. “Not tonight. I’m going for the Western tonight.”

“Baby, you sure do like them omelets when you’re proud. I’m glad you’re so pleased with yourself. You should be. We pulled off a real great heist today. I couldn’t a’ done it without you, sugar.” John leaned across the table and landed a quick kiss on her forehead.

After dinner, it was back to the road. “When we get to my sister’s place, what do you think we’re gonna do, Johnny?” Susan trained her owl eyes on John’s ear, following his sideburns down to his stubbly chin. They hadn’t showered yet today and she wondered if they’d get to.

As if reading her mind, Johnny said, “Well I don’t know about you, but I’m going to take a nice, long hot bath and if I fall asleep after there’s no harm in that.”

Susan shivered. “No, Johnny, I mean with our lives.” She pulled a flowered scarf from her bag and tied it around her face and under her chin, keeping her hair back and warming her ears.

“You sure look silly like that, Susie. I mean, Martha Washington, excuse me,” Johnny said with a smile.

Susan ignored his last comment. She knew she would finally get the answer she wanted after how proud Johnny was of what she’d done today. She had to ask him. “Let’s get married, Johnny,” Susan stared at John, imploringly. “Don’t you want a baby soon? We can stop all this nosing around and start a real life. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

Susan had been waiting an awful long time for Johnny to come around. He knew how important it was to her for them to get hitched but he always had an excuse. Sometimes she thought maybe she wasn’t likable enough, sometimes it was her lack of smarts. She knew she wasn’t getting any younger. After what she’d done for him today she thought she’d finally caught him.

“Baby, that’s a lot of talkin’ about marriage for one night. I’ve had just about as much as I can take on the subject. I love you, baby, but it just ain’t a good idea.”

“Oh Johnny,” Susan flopped down in her seat, pushing her knees toward John and leaning on the door a little. “It’s just an idea,” Susan conceded, rubbing the arch of one foot with her thumb. A giant green sign declared that they were ten miles from Nevada. “And keep your eyes on the road.”

Attraction

The fan in the bathroom hummed. My foot shook. It was quiet in the room. I could hear a woman squealing.

“Oh Daddy, Daddy I beg of you, whisper to Mommy, it’s alright with you.” Johnny was singing in the shower. He was dancing, the white bar hugging his slick body. He would be in there forever.

I waited on the bed, but damn it, I couldn’t forget. I was the one who needed a shower. I knew tonight would be one of those nights, when you cry so hard your face turns orange and your eyes get that baked look in them. That’s what showers were for.

He was right though, he did smell something awful. I picked up his shirt. He wore a ratty white t-shirt all day with the pocket half torn off.

There was blood on the shoulder but I pressed the shirt to my face anyway. The smell was familiar and intoxicating, like a car crash where no one gets hurt.

I took off my skirt, slipping his old shirt over my shoulders. I would wait here on the bed in his shirt until he came out of the shower. He would see me and as we made love he would know he wanted to get married.

We were in Las Vegas for Christ’s sake. If he were ever going to change his mind, it would be here.

The bed was an expanse of white and down. I thrust the back of my skull against the pillows, squeezing them against the red headboard and kicking my knees up. The water was pounding against Johnny. Steam escaped through the cracks in the door.

I burrowed my toes in the blanket, pushing them forward. I was exposed. As the water shut off I threw off Johnny’s shirt, pulling the robe down from the hook and twisting it around my body.

I sat on the edge of the bed, legs crossed. The doorknob turned.

“Watch out, lady. I’m about ready to crash. That shower’s all yours.” Johnny’s towel was slung low on his hips, exposing the patch of dark hair below his navel.

“Johnny,” I whined, “I’m not quite ready to get in the shower.” I sat primly on the edge of the bed, looking up at Johnny. He walked toward me. The dark patch was right in front of me.

“Baby. I ain’t playing around. Why don’t you take a nice, long bath? You need to get clean, Susie.”

I hated when he called me that. Plus, he was still supposed to call me Martha. “Martha!” I yelled, scooting past him and heading for the bathroom.

“Martha!” he yelled back, grabbing me with one hand under my shoulders and hoisting me up into his arms so the backs of my knees were over his left arm. He kissed my neck and the exposed part of my chest between the folds of the robe.

We rushed into the bathroom. Johnny held me tight to his chest as he bent down to turn the water on for the tub. He sat down on the toilet lid to wait, with me on his knee, my arms around his neck. The scruffy hairs on the back of his neck felt strange. I was too close to his chest for us not to be touching.

I tilted my chin up and looked into his eyes, deep and brown like an Utahan forest. He had shaved his stubble and I brushed my nose against the smooth surface of his cheek before kissing him on the mouth. I moved in and our skin touched. He wrapped his arms across my back, pulling me closer. This was what I had wanted all along.

The steam rose from the hot surface of the water, which had now reached the lip of the tub. “You’re all ready,” Johnny stood up, pulling me with him. I braced my arm against him, easing myself in.

I closed my eyes. When I opened them, John had gone. I wondered what he was doing, out in the bedroom. He had probably fallen asleep on the bed, feet at the headboard, listening to the radio as usual, but I had a nagging feeling he wasn’t in the room at all.

I scrubbed my toes, hurrying to rinse the shampoo out of my hair. I was so tired, but I pushed myself to get out of the aromatic bathwater. I rubbed the hard towel all over my body until I was completely dry, pulling my robe back on after.

I turned the glass doorknob, peeking out into the room. It was empty.

Johnny’s suitcase was out on the bed. His shoes were missing and so was his heavy coat.

I went to the balcony, throwing open the curtains and stepping outside. “Johnny!” I yelled. A couple on the street stared up at me, then hurried away down the road. I kept yelling. A woman in a room on the floor below us told me to shut up.

I put my palms up to my temples. I didn’t feel well. I ran back into the room, checking under the bed and in the closet. Maybe Johnny was just playing a trick on me. He left me in the tub, asleep, to die. People really died that way.

I pulled the room apart. He wasn’t there. I either had to wait for him or go find him myself. I had no idea where he would have gone. He couldn’t pull something in Vegas, it was too dangerous. Plus we had more than enough cash from this morning.

The money was gone. I checked once, I checked again, I put my whole hand through the false bottom to Johnny’s suitcase but the money was gone. Johnny had taken the money and run.

I weighed my options. I could call the police. Would they know it was me back in New Mexico this morning? I was the one with the gun. Calling the police wasn’t really an option. I could look for our new car, keep looking for Johnny, keep chasing him across every border. Or I could just end it now.

I couldn’t jump in my bathrobe. I searched the suitcase for my light purple slip. I put on my pantyhose, my longest tan skirt, my silk lavender blouse. I buckled my brown Mary Jane pumps and checked my face in the mirror, freshening up my red lipstick.

I stepped out onto the balcony. The night was cool and crisp, and I could see stars in the moon despite the heady glow from downtown. I looked down and felt the rush of nine stories. I swung one leg off the edge of the balcony, turning around to face the inside of our hotel room. I stood on the edge, scraping the concrete with my Mary Janes and extending my arms. I was shaking. I closed my eyes; it was peaceful.

“What are you doing? Susie!” I opened my eyes. Johnny was standing in the door with a bucket of ice. I smiled. “You old nut, get in here right now,” Johnny pulled me over the metal rail, sweeping me to the bed. My head was cushioned by about a dozen pillows. I felt calm.

“Baby, you could have killed yourself. Are you still hung up on that marriage thing? I’ll think about it. Okay? I promise.” John looked very worried. “Let me tuck you in here.” He poured himself a big glass of Jim Beam, making it a double for me. I’d done good.