Story

I been from eggs to apples, and I tell you huh-what, I aint been nighwheres I wouldn’t want to not see every again. Like I was sighin’, you got a Rotterdam nerd to spec me to go ribberoll away to debunk just to cup a cap a kippers cold-awary, feb-aweary, junta jewel eye. Sumpin’ in a cushion with Dyna, stompin’ on a pension I owe I owe. Chumpin’ any cutcheon wheateena - plumbin’ odeon banquo (and splinkin’) fief eye griddle if I go, viva riddle-a-bye grow-row-row-row. Soapdish in a crimonette mynah! Stumblin’ out of O-hi-o (indignant)
 
Grieg, grime, grotto P’tie dough slo-mo. Sandwich springs us back to proto di nuovo. Was it what it, really, ever. All is, never could it. Here as no any other. Sedition bristles Betelgum as chromes of additures priandle their way through bubbleyew canyon. Unablated browt morgansars letivate acrools.
 
------------------------------------
Tuesday
 
Porch. Swing. Summer night. More spark than sparkle. Sitting in a shadow slice, shy of the streetlight. Cuspin’ and maroonin’ a youth away. Not alone ever, really. Not with those thoughts, all atumbling and blounding aloud, almost, it seems, at times. Crumble the cliff some more. At the end of a short block, a long weight, a sorry site. Swing don’t even swing so much as it waddles, one side now glidelessly stulted. Snidelessly scuffled. Timmerously truncted, splunked, and defunked. Absolvalutely scruppled and kerbluffled. Waiting on the world to end.
 
And the next world to begin. Where yidon't have to be 21 and nigh on nuts. On a hung glider. On a dun porch. In a dark patch. Unawares.
 
Broke end of a porch swing feels right. Smoke feels right. Dark feels real right. Up flups a loozy of a Hardytack. “Crumb,” he says. 
 
“Tsup,” yissay like a knee jerk. “No Trail?” Hardytack pays no nevermind and sits squeakily on the side of the glide that actually slides.
 
Up asks Hardytack, “Where’s jimi?”
 
Slip a roach outcha cigarette pack, pass it unlit. “I just,” yissay.
 
“Trail’s all dead,” Hardytack says. Trail’s a bar yain’t never been. Dead, alive, unknowhen either way, so yissay, “What d'ya call this?”, looking at streets full of nothing.
 
Says Hardytack, “Better.” He lights the roach, hits it twice. “Cheaper,” he coughs. You look across the way, three doors up. Nothing stirs. Canada Molly, sparker’s folly, oot ‘n aboot with who knows who, where knows where. Not you, no place, no more, no Molly. Look anywhere else.
 
“Cloth,” Hardytack says. 
 
“What,” yissay, not a question. “What’s he,” still no question. “Want the.” Sniffs. “Roaring stinking suddabits.”
 
“Same as ever,” Hardy tacks, “some pinnalcoholic.” 
 
“Had that at the Trail, the bickin’ bullshivick.” 
 
Cloth’s green Dodge ups up. “Banned me,” says Cloth when he gets out. “Lifetime ban from the Trail.” He sits on the porch's cement rail, laughs, lights a pieceofshit cigar, laughs more.
 
“Kicked outta the Trail,” yissay. “Disastrous.”
 
“Take it as a sign, Clothy boy,” says Hardytack. “Back to the seminary. The Vatican awaits.”
 
“Not a seminary,” squalls Cloth. “Forestry school.” 
 
“How's a kid from Detroit make a living climbing trees?”, goes Hardytack.
 
“You left that school faster’n Chopin left that iron carrier in Cleveland.”
 
“Chopin got chased off that boat at knifepoint in Milwaukee,” says Cloth. "He didn't even make Mackinac. I didn't get chased out that school. Walked out on my own feet. Damn tree nazis.” 
 
Yidon’t want to ask. Hardytack does. “What happened at the Trail"
 
“Nothin’,” Cloth laughs. “Nothin’ I had anything to do with.”
 
“What didn't you have anything to do with?” 
 
“The fire.” Cloth chews his cigar. “They’re nazis, anyway.” 
 
Yask, “The bar nazis and the tree nazis are gonna get together?”
 
Cloth laughs, “Nazis in trees, nazi in bars, my two favorite places took over by d’brown shirts.”
 
“Fire?”, Hardytack reminds him.
 
Cloth stops laughing. “Stupid Wadly,” he says. “Says he wants a Greektown pizza. Soaks it with Don Q, lights it, phew!” His hands go up.
 
“Suck Wad?”, Hardytack asks. “Then why’d they boot you?” 
 
Cloth just laughs and chomps the cigar. “I know why,” yissay. “Wadly’s Trailbound. Clothy’s got his pick of bars. Trail’s the only place Suckly knows.” 
 
Cloth laughs louder. “I’ll be back,” he says. “Money’s money.”
 
“Beer’s beer,” Hardytack says. 
 
“Smoke’s smoke,” yissay. 
 
A firebird pulls up across the street. “Speed,” says Hardytack. Cloth's laugh slows.
 
Two blondes exit either side in unison. The driver’s holding a cigarette. The passenger’s holding a bottle of Blue Nun. “Doll, damn,” yissay.
 
The driver walks unsteadily up the porch’s cement steps. “Quite a show,” she says to Cloth as she sits next to him on the broad porch rail.
 
Your eyes are on Doll, who’s walking slowly across the street, swinging the wine bottle like a bell. Is she looking back? “Doll,” yissay.
 
Doll walks, up she steps, like amused. “Can I get a glass?”, she asks. You start to get it. “Nuh-uh,” she says and goes inside.
 
“One for me,” says Speed too late. “You know how to make an exit,” she says to Cloth, who keeps laughing slow and low. “Missed the cops,” she adds.
 
“Don’t he always,” says Hardytack. Yilook at the door for Doll. Speed asks you, “Where were you, eh?”
 
“Ha,” says Hardytack. “Crumb in the Trail. Funny.” Speed says nothing, looks at you. Yilook down at the street. Dolls comes out the door, two empty wine glasses clink in her hand. She hands one glass to Speed.

“How did you find them?”, yask.

“Your dad,” Doll smiles. Cloth removes his cigar.
 
“The Chief’s home?”, Cloth asks. Yistand so Doll can take your seat on the broken glider. She does. Yissit on the wide cement porch rail across from Doll.
 
“Pretty cool for a cop,” Doll says. “His kid’s partyin’ on the porch with his hoodlum friends.” 
 
“He knows hoods,” yissay, “He knows we ain’t. We're just rebellious.”
 
“What about Clothy,” says Speed. “How many counties?”, she asks him. 
 
“Six LP,” he replies, “three UP.” 
 
Doll looks at you. “Jails,” yissay.
 
“Three in the UP?”, asks Doll.
 
Cloth recites: “Ontonagon, Chippewa, Delta.” 
 
“D ‘n D?” Hardytack asks him. 
 
“Nuh, not Chippewa,” Cloth replies. “Creatin’ a disturbance.”
 
“Where was assaulting an officer?”, Hardytack asks. 
 
“Washtenaw,” Cloth answers. “Damn sewer.”
 
“What do all nine have in common?”, yask. “Ripped, blasted, boozified, and pixelated. Skunk as a drunk.” 
 
Cloth keeps laughing. “Brings out the best in me,” he says. On cue, Doll fills Speed's glass, then her own. “Spoken with pride,” she says.
 
“Wadly,” says Hardytack as a big white LTD rolls up. Yithink, he better fuckin’ not be drunk. Out comes Suck Wad, aka Hi-rick, aka Blank Denoir, aka Quanch. Real name used since fifth grade by no one but his parents and police. Even to his teachers, he’s Wad.
 
“Knock it off!”, yissay as Wad climbs the steps. 
 
“I didn’t say anything,” says Wad, way too loud. That gets Hardytack laughing, then Cloth. “Hey hey,” says Wad when he sees Doll. 
 
She looks away. “Thought we left you at the Trail,” she says.
 
”What a mess,” Wad says. “Eh, Cloth?”
 
Cloth ignores Wad, who sits on the porch rail next to Speed. “Ten minutes,” Doll says. 
 
The porch is silent. “Ten minutes?”, yask finally.
 
“Til the first cop car arrives,” Doll clarifies. “With Wad joining Cloth and Hardy, we’ve reached a critical mass of trouble. Just add alcohol.”
 
“Taco Death,” says Cloth out of nowhere. 
 
“Not Burger Death?”, Hardytack asks. “Not Mac Death?” 
 
“Taco Death,” Cloth repeats as he stands up.
 
“Taco Death,” Wad echoes. He stands up and follows Cloth down the porch steps. Hardytack looks at you. Yishake no, as do Speed and Doll.
 
-------------------------------
 
Yiwatch Cloth and Hardytack pile into Wad’s big Ford and the three of them wheel away. Speed takes Hardytack’s seat on the side of the glider that actually glides. She asks, “How is it Cloth’s been thrown in jails all over and Wad’s never been booked once?” 
 
“Cloth wants to go to jail,” yanswer, “Wad doesn’t. Wadley sees a cop, he takes off the other way. Cloth sees a cop, he heads for him scowling. That gets the cop's attention but good.”
 
Yadd, “Most cops are like everybody else. If you’re nice to them, they’re nice to you. If you’re not nice, they won’t be nice right back.”
 
“You got the first part right,” says Doll back. “They’re like everyone else. They’ll screw you soon as look at you if they get the chance. But not your dad,” Doll adds with a smirk. “He’s different.”
 
“You got a crush on my dad?”, yask. “You gonna be my new step-mom?”
 
“At least he didn’t make me get my own wine glass,” Doll says and takes a sip. 
 
“You used to drink right out of the bottle,” yissay back.
 
“Not since junior high,” says Speed. “That apple-tasting shit.” 
 
Doll gives you a long look. “But not you,” she says. “Mister Clean.”
 
“I drink sometimes,” yireply, feeling defensive. 
 
“For show, you drink,” Doll says. “You ever been drunk? Even once?” 
 
“Once was,” yanswer. “Twice, even. At the Alps, New Year’s Eve. And at Rahsan Roland Kirk.”
 
 “At Baker’s?”, Doll asks. “You can’t get drunk at Baker’s.”
 
“Not my favorite thing,” yissay. “Alcohol, I mean.” Doll and Speed just wait. 
 
“So how come all your friends are drunks?”, Speed asks finally.
 
“Not all of ‘em,” yissay. “Half, maybe. And only half of them’ll die of it. Thirty years from now. Forty maybe. The misery won’t start for another five. I’ll be way gone by then. Off this porch, off these streets.”
 
“Won’t even come back for their funerals,” Doll says. “What a pal.”
 
“Depends on when they kick,” yissay. “February, no chance. August, not likely. May or October, I just might make it, even say a few words.”
 
“That’ll make everything okay,” Doll says. “Save yourself the airfare. You’ll be dead to us a week after you leave, whenever that may be.”
 
“I’m dead to you now,” yissay. “Gone already, mostly. Those guys know it like they know they’ll never leave. Just playing out the string.”
 
“Enough!”, Speed says. She puts her wine glass on the porch rail and stands up. “Nobody’s dead. You’ll remember each other ‘til you die. And if you weren’t such idiots, you’d be in the attic fucking all your mutual misery away.” She heads down the steps.
 
You and Doll watch Speed get in her car and go. You look at Doll. She looks back. “Is the Chief a deep sleeper?”, she asks. 
 
Yipoint up, say, “He’s listening to us now. He’s right upstairs. In this heat, his windows are open.” Yiswitch to a whisper. “He hears everything.”
 
“He heard Speed?”, Doll asks in a whisper. You nod. She stands up. “Let’s go,” she says. 
 
“Where?”, yask. 
 
“The attic, dummy,” she smiles.
 
“You're nuts,” yissay. “I’ll catch holy hell.” 
 
Doll keeps smiling. “No you won’t,” she says. She picks up the wine bottle and her empty glass.
 
Yigetup and follow Doll into the house. “I still say yer nuts,” yiwhisper. 
 
“Compared to what?”, Doll whispers back. She heads upstairs. The first step creaks loudly. The second squeals. The third is a thunderclap. Halfway up the first flight of stairs, yigive up on quiet. Yimake the second floor and open the attic door. Your pop hears every step you and Doll take, probably hears the wine sloshing in her bottle.
 
Up the attic steps yiget, the stairs as firecracklin’ as the first flight. Switch on the light, and there’s the attic, hangout of hangouts. A heavy-duty card table with four mismatched chairs, box springs and mattress with no frame, a nightstand, a lamp salvaged from a flood. A large, 49-star US flag hangs from the rafters on one side. A turntable, two small speakers, and a stack of records are on the floor. Next to the turntable is a hubcap from a Mercury Meteor overflowing with cigarette butts, ashes, and spent matches. 
 
Doll looks around slowly. “I like the new look,” she says with straight face. “Bauhaus doghouse.” 
 
She sits at the card table, sets the bottle on it. “Thanks,” yissay. “It took some work,” yilook around, “but it was worth it.” 
 
Doll regards the three LPs on the ground next to the turntable. “Are any of these worth playing?”, she asks, pointing at the records on the wood floor. 
 
“They’re not even worth picking up,” yissay back.
 
“Speed obviously hasn’t been up here in awhile,” Doll says. 
 
“Didn’t spot her at the last coupla bacchanals,” yissay. “It was kinda dark.”
 
“Like you’d have thing one to do with a bacchanal,” Doll says. “You won’t even drive past the Trail. What is it, like an allergy? Or what?”
 
Yissit at the table opposite and say nothing. Doll pours wine in her glass. “I just don’t like it,” yissay finally. “The feeling. Drunk feeling, All dumbed down. I just wait for it to pass. Besides, there’s plenty of better feelings.” Y’reach into your pocket, walk to the window, and open it halfway. Yiwave Doll over, light the joint, take a hit, hand it to Doll when she joins you. She hits it.
 
Half a joint later, back at the table, yissay “This feeling I like.” 
 
“A+ for dodging the question,” Doll says. Yact dumb. She says “C’mon.”
 
“I spent enough time in bars,” yissay, “when I was a kid.” 
 
“You worked in one,” Doll says, “in high school.” 
 
“Two,” yissay, “three, really. The bowling alley was nothing but a bar with pin setters. Zubock’s was the worst. Friday fish fry. Old pollacks getting drunk. Pounding down Stroh’s and cheap vodka. Listening to the Banjo Pals play Midnight in Moscow. The Zubock boys reelin’ it in. All those good Catholics tossin’ up cheap cod and cheaper booze for me to hose off the building the next morning.”
 
“You’re making me hungry,” says Doll. 
 
“It was that bad,” yissay, “I was fifteen years old, just barely, seein’ these old farts shitfaced.”
 
“How’re you workin’ in a bar at fifteen just barely?”, asks Doll. “Isn’t there, like, a law?” 
 
“Who they gonna complain to?", yask right back.
 
“Your dad the Chief,” Doll says and laughs. 
 
“Shh!” Yiwarn and wave. “He’s right there,” yippoint down. But yican’t help laughing with her.
 
“So people get drunk? So what?”, Doll says, not laughing. 
 
“There’s drunk and there’s drunk,” yissay. “Fool drunk, mean drunk, sad drunk.”
 
Doll looks at her empty wine glass and says, “I’m no kinda drunk right now. A little high, maybe.” Yismile, nod, and point to yisself. “You think everyone who drinks is a drunk,” Doll says. “Uh-uh. I drink. I’m no drunk.” 
 
“You got me all wrong,” yilaugh. Doll’s unconvinced. “Some,” yiggo, “sometimes, some no times, some all the time, even when they’re not ‘cause they’re thinkin’ about it. Getting drunk, I mean.” Doll frowns. “Not you,” yissay. “You just like to see people happy.” 
 
Doll’s frown deepens. “Happy people such as yourself,” she says.
 
“It’s just, alcohol, you know?”, yiteller. “It does stuff to some people. Makes ‘em stupid mean. Removes the facade of civility they wear.”
 
“Like who in particular?”, Doll asks. 
 
“Like no one in particular,” yissay. 
 
Doll doesn’t buy it but lets it drop. “Not a thing,” she says. Yilook at Doll confused. “You’re not missing a thing,” she says. “Not drinking.” 
 
“I’m missing everything,” yissay. “Who’re you kidding? The Trail, Brave Bull, Kenilworth, Frankie’s... It’s all bars,” yigowan, sounding sadder than you mean to. “Each one worse than the next.”
 
“You’re not missing a thing,” Doll repeats. “They’re pits. I’ll take your front porch any day.”
 
Yissmile. “Come by next January,” yissay.
 
“There’s more to it,” Doll says. “More than the drunks. Something, I don’t know, different, when I got back. Speed won’t say, if she knows.”
 
Yithink of Doll’s semester-and-a-half at Ferris State. A mistake a lot of different ways. Doll’s got way too much going for Ferris State. Yidon’t think about what Doll’s hinting at. Trying not to think of that has become a full-time job. The night yibroke. Humpty fucking Dumpty.
 
“Y’ever have a bad night?”, yissay. “I mean a really bad night?” 
 
“One or two,” Doll answers. “Is this a really bad night?” 
 
“So far?”, yask.
 
“When was yours?”, Doll asks. 
 
“Seven hundred and thirty-one nights ago,” yireply, “but who’s counting?”
 
“What happened?” 
 
“Nothing at all.”
 
Doll says, “Most bad nights are bad because something bad happens.” 
 
“I thought something bad was happening,” yissay, “but I was mistaken. And that’s part of the bad thing that happened. Didn't happen, I mean."
 
“Being mistaken about a thing being bad doesn’t sound like such a bad thing,” says Doll.
 
“I thought I was dying,” yissay. “I knew I was dying. I’ve been dying ever since.” 
 
“You look okay to me,” Doll says. “What’s killing you?”
 
“Whattiya got?”, yask her. “Sleep was always tough, ‘specially after the diet pills. I would read ‘til three, four. Up for school by eight. That moment, when you should tick over from wake to sleep, it skips like a scratched record. Long hours stuck in the in-between.”
 
Yismile at Doll. “You really want to hear this?”, y’ask. She nods. “Thoughts’re the worst,” yissay, “sparkin’ like a damn welder’s torch. So I read until what I’m reading becomes a dream. I wake up with the book on my chest and the light shining smack in my face. And the radio playing,” y’add. 
 
“Radio?”, Doll asks. 
 
“Jazz or classical,” yissay. “Helps corral those runaway thoughts. Gives ‘em a beat. So that night, that August Sunday night, I’m walking the tightrope between wake and dream and something pops.” Yistop, surprised.
 
Sounds so weird to hear this, yithink, like it happened to some stranger. The before to your after. 
 
“Popped?”, Doll asks some time later.
 
“I’m dying,” yissay. “That’s what popped. I ran. Nowhere. Then I’m home telling my brother I’m dying, and he’s no you’re not, but I’m I am. And I am dying, and I’m not, and have and haven’t been since. Every heartbeat every breath every step every thought my last. Until the next last one. Still expecting to drop dead this moment, even after the moments have collected into days, weeks, months.”
 
“You know it’s not real,” yissay, “but it’s real. Feels real. What’s the difference between being real and the brain thinking it’s real?”
 
“Nuts,” Doll replies, then adds, “Was that not a real question?” 
 
Yilaugh, “That was a real answer. You think it’s real, it isn’t, nuts. Right?”, Doll laughs. “Or religious,” y’add. “But this is like knowing something is real and not real at the same time. So you pretend.”
 
“Pretend it’s real or not real?”, Doll asks. 
 
“Pretend I can tell the difference,” yissay. “Pretend I’m not freaked. Try passing for normal.”
 
“You’re more normal than you think,” Doll says. 
 
Yifrown. “That’s sad,” yissay, “or would be if it were true. I know normal. This ain’t it.”
 
“You know normal,” Doll repeats. “Well, maybe you do and maybe you don’t. It isn’t like you’re surrounded by it.” Yilook at her confused. Doll leans forward. “Name one normal person in your life,” she says. Yithink. “Don’t say me,” she adds. 
 
“OK, the Chief,” yissay. 
 
She laughs. “I saw that bowl of brown goo he was eating,” Doll says. “At 11:30 at night. Not normal.” 
 
“Bran and molasses, mostly,” yissay. Not normal. “Now I really,” yissay. 
 
“Really what?”, Doll asks. 
 
“Screwed up,” yissay. “About dying. Sounds stupid. Is stupid. Broken brain spillage.”
 
Doll stands up. “You’re taking this whole thing wrong,” she says. “You break, you get patched. Happens to everybody. I need some fresh air. She starts down the attic stairs. “You don’t know how lucky you are,” she says. “You broke early. You got plenty of time to patch.”
 
Yifollow Doll down the attic stairs, trying not to make a racket but squeaking with every step. She’s right, yithink. That makes it worse. Yiblab all over about your nutsiness and Doll’s “boo-the fuck-hoo, you bowl of mewly gruely. You had a bad night, now you’re ‘I’m dying!’”
 
Doll leads you back to the porch and sits on the side of the glider that still glides. Yiplop next to her. “Would you mind explaining?”, yask.
 
“I just might,” Doll answers. “Explain what?” 
 
“Breakin’ and patchin’,” yssay. “Especially the patchin’ part, ‘cause that’s a new one on me.”
 
Doll sighs. “You can’t take all that speed and not have it fuck up your shit,” she says, “even if it was your doctor who gave it to you.”
 
“I never liked it,” yissay. “Not one damn day. I can’t imagine how anyone could ever like that feeling, like burning up from the inside.”
 
“Good thing,” Doll says. “Else you never woulda stopped. Then you probably would be dead, instead of just thinking you are.”
 
“Nuh,” yissay. “I don’t think I’m dead. I think I’m dying. Or thought I was, back then. Dying, not dead. Big difference.” 
 
“Briefly,” Doll says. “Until you’re right,” she laughs. “But you haven’t been yet.” 
 
“It’s kinda selfish, giving in,” yissay. “Even if I know.”
 
“Know what?”, Doll asks. 
 
“That it’s not real,” yissay. “Like I’d rather imagine calamity than actually do something like a regular human.”
 
“Where do you think they hang out?”, Doll asks. 
 
“Who?”, yask back. 
 
“Regular people,” Doll says. “I never met one. I bet you haven’t either. You’re always talking about ‘normal people, regular people.' Everybody wants to be conventional, or most do, anyway. Fit in. We’re all freaks, one way or the other. Just some show it more.” She looks at you. “You’re wearin’ it on your face,” she laughs.
 
That gets you smiling. “It’s easy,” Doll says. “I’ve seen you being phony social, you know how it goes. Have fun with it, for fuck’s sake.”
 
“Not the same,” yissay. “You know it. You they want around. Me, well, I’m tolerated, mostly. Maybe. I can kill a party from a block away. I swear. At Magoudy’s I heard him through the door when I knocked, ‘Who told him about it?’” The memory stings.
 
“Magoudy’s an asshole,” Doll says. 
 
“He has a lot of friends,” yissay. 
 
“No, he has lots of company,” Doll says. “There’s a big difference.”
 
Not to Magoudy, yithink but don’t say. Maybe not to a lot of people. Maybe company is all some people need. “You’re good company,” yissay.
 
“I’m tired company,” Doll says back. 
 
“Feel like walkin’?”, yask. 
 
She looks up at the starry sky. “Not yet,” she says. 
 
After a nice pause, Doll says, “I want to ask, but I don’t want you to freak.” Shit, yithink, Molly. “Molly,” she says. Yifreak.
 
“Haven’t seen her,” yissay. 
 
“Why haven’t you seen her?”, Doll asks. 
 
“She doesn’t want to be seen,” yigo. “Not by me.” 
 
“When did this start?”
 
“About two seconds after I told her she was too smart for me,” yissay. 
 
“Why did you say that?”, Doll asks. 
 
“Because it’s true.” 
 
“So what? Molly’s smarter than just about everybody,” Doll says. “You’re smart enough to recognize it, but not smart enough to keep quiet about it.”
 
Yithink, Doll says “Molly” and you think of her kiss, the kiss, that kiss, that stopped everything, started everything, changed everything. You don’t remember it ending. You remember only Molly giggling. “Did you feel it?”, she asked you, “The drip?” She pointed up. “Off the awning?”
 
“I thought I,” yanswered. Imagined it, yithought, didn’t say. 
 
“Got us right on the lips,” Molly giggled. Molly never leave me, yithought.
 
Yididn’t even know what it was. A big drop of water fell from the awning and splashed onto your lips as you kissed. Molly had to tell you. And the first thing yithink is Mollydon’tleaveme. And the next thing yido is make her want to leave. And what’s the next thing Molly does?
 
“Bobby Mo-cal,” yissay to Doll. 
 
“So what?”, she asks. 
 
“He was buggin’ Molly,” yanswer. “I said she went out with me just to scare him off.”
 
“So what?”, Doll repeats. “Bobby Mo-cal’s a dick. You’d kick his ass.” 
 
“That's not it,” yissay, “Bobby Mo-cal is nothing. It was like I was getting played some."
 
“So what?”, Doll asks yet again. “That’s what friends do. Like they say, the trick is not minding. Besides,” she adds, “look what you get in return.” Yishrug. “Molly!”, Doll says. “Don’t you want more of those raindrop-sloppy kisses?”
 
I sure do, yithink but don’t say. Nothing ever felt as good as Molly’s kiss. “I miss her, yeah,” yissay. 
 
Doll huffs. “Listen,” she says. “What you don’t say is a lot more important than what you do say,” Doll says. “When you get those crazy-ass ideas, keep ‘em to yourself. Go find Molly. Tell her you’re sorry and you want a second chance.” 
 
“She left,” yissay. 
 
“When she gets back then,” Doll says.
 
“Canada,” yissay. 
 
“Oh, right,” Doll answers. “Nobody comes back from Canada.” 
 
“How can I not see her?”, yissay. Yipoint across the street.
 
“Inconvenient,” Doll says and laughs. “You could move,” she says and laughs harder. 
 
“You wanna wake the Chief?”, yask. Doll keeps laughing. Yilook at Doll until she quiets down. “My brain’s broken and the girl I’m crazy about avoids me like the plague,” yissay. “Entertaining.”
 
“Your brain’s not broken,” Doll says, quiet now. “You had a bad night. Delayed detox from the diet pills.” 
 
“A year and a half later?”, yask.
 
“That’s what ‘delayed’ means,” Doll says. 
 
“This isn’t going away,” yitell her. “It’s easier to deal with most days, but not nights. The moment, right between awake and asleep. Terrifying. Imagine being scared of going to sleep.”
 
 “That’s what it is,” Doll says. “Imagining. You do too much of it. Try just lettin’ stuff happen instead of living it before it does. You’re everywhere but here.”
 
“Can’t,” yissay. 
 
“Won’t,” Doll says back. 
 
“Can’t,” yirepeat. “It won’t stop just by wishin’ it away.” 
 
“Not without some training,” says Doll. “Your brain’s not broke. it’s just lazy. You need some mental jumping jacks. Discipline your mind, young man,” she laughs.
 
“Maybe so,” yissay, “but that doesn’t help with the sleep.” 
 
Doll gives you a big, warm kiss, nearly knocks you off the glider. She stands up, says “Walk me home.”
 
“I got a car,” yissay. Doll walks down the porch steps and heads across the street. Yijump up and follow her. Yiwalk in silence for four short blocks. “Through the park?”, yask. Doll keeps walking. Feels good, yithink. Then yiget scared. Doll? Jesus.
 
Not Doll. She’ll break your heart and not think twice about. Because yiknow her well, have for years. She breaks guys, walks.
 
What a walk, yithink, sneaking a peek as you keep pace beside her. Even on a hot night like tonight, Doll’s stride raises the temperature. To keep your throat from tightening, yiremind yourself to enjoy walking with this beautiful woman on this perfect summer night. Each step.

Your throat tightens anyway. Doll walks on, like the night’s just been waiting for her to show up. Yitry to guess what she’s gonna say next.
 
Half a long block later, Doll says, “Maybe you’re right. Maybe she is too smart for you.”
 
“Too smart for me,” yissay, “too pretty for me.” What’d she goddamn kiss me for? yithink. When I was fat, she never even saw me. I saw her. I saw her all the time. Couldn’t not see Molly. I get skinny, she gets interested. 
 
“How much did you lose, anyway?”, Doll asks.
 
“Eighty-five so far,” yanswer. 
 
“So far?”, Doll asks. “I thought you said you stopped taking the pills.” 
 
“I did stop,” yissay, “eighteen months ago. I never got back in the eating habit.” Yitry to hide your embarrassment as you walk down the shadowy street. “I mean, I eat,” yexplain. “I’m not like starving, I just don’t get as hungry.” Yithink of what your big sister told you. Doll picks up on it.
 
“What the fuck was that?”, she asks, still walking. 
 
“My sister said something,” yistart. 
 
“Which one?”
 
“Don’t matter,” yissay. “’Don’t get fat again.’ That’s what she said when I got skinny. Like a threat. She only likes the skinny me. Thing is,” yistop.
 
“What is the thing?”, Doll asks half-joking. 
 
“I’m the same guy,” yissay. “There’s only fat me, even when fat me’s skinny. Same old fat me. Same fat me I come to find out they don’t like a bit. All those years I spent thinking people liked me. Not so much.”
 
“So your sister’s a jerk,” Doll says, “one of ‘em, anyway. She’s not everybody. People liked you.” 
 
“Did you?”, yask. 
 
“Nuh-uh,” she says. “I’m just being honest. It was a status thing. Mine high, yours low.” 
 
Yiknow she’s right. “Then what?”, yask her.
 
“Then status got stupid.”
 
“You switched tribes,” yissay. “From the cakes to the rats.”
 
“Not rats,” Doll says. “Freaks, more like.”
 
“Freaks were more fun."
 
“Freaks had better drugs,” Doll says back. 
 
“Same difference."
 
“Jamie Kane,” Doll says and walks on.
 
“Ouch,” yissay. 
 
“He’s not having any fun.” 
 
“There’s drugs and there’s drugs,” yigowan. 
 
Doll laughs. “I like you now,” she says, “well enough.” 
 
“You like skinny me,” yissay, “but skinny me isn’t real. I’m the same me I was.”
 
“Your old head self hasn’t caught up with your new body self,” Doll says. 
 
“Nuh-uh,” yissay. “Just the same old fat me in here, nobody new. The same guy they didn’t like. I didn’t realize it then, they don’t realize it now.”
 
“What the hell are you talking about?”, Doll asks. “People like you plenty, liked you back then, too,” she says, not breaking her stride.
 
“You are so full of shit,” yissay. 
 
Doll laughs. “You’re right,” she says. “The world is only humoring you. It really thinks you’re a dolt.”
 
“In that case,” yissay, “the world is an excellent judge of character. No need to save my feelings.” 
 
“I’ll let the world know,” Doll says.
 
“You’re a good friend,” yissay, trying to sound sarcastic. “Sure I am,” Doll says. “Just don’t get fat again, okay?” Yiknow she means it.
 
Yilook up and see yiv reached Doll’s flat. Doll sighs. “I’m too tired for wine or weed,” she says, “’And you’re too Mollied to come upstairs.”
 
“Says who?”, yissay. “I’ll come up to your place anytime.” 
 
“Talk,” she says, her tired showing. “Go home. Sleep. Call Molly. Forget Molly. Same difference. Molly’s in your heart, whether you want her there or not. Maybe somebody’ll push her out. Won’t be me.”
 
Yithink as yiwatch Doll walk up the driveway, Molly in my heart, yeah, but Doll’s on my mind. Molly’s too smart for me, and Doll’s too wise.
 
The night feels hotter than it was when Doll and Speed walked up your front porch steps hours earlier. Yiturn and stare back the way yicame.
 
----------------------------------------------
Wednesday
 
Twelve hours later, yir back sitting on the porch glider, Hardytack in the seat next to you and Cloth sprawled across the porch railing. One breeze, yithink. One damn cool breeze. It’s so hot yican hear the street and sidewalk sizzle. Yithink about what Doll told you.
 
How the hell did Molly get in your heart? A lawyer six years out of high school, while yir barely a junior, working on yir third damn college.
 
“What’s with Doll?”, Hardytack asks out of nowhere. 
 
“I give up,” yissay, “What’s with her?” 
 
“She likes it over here lately,” Hardytack says.
 
“She’s got a crush on the Chief,” yissay. “That or she’s hiding from somebody.” 
 
“Doll’s not the hiding type,” says Hardytack. Yilook away. “Who’re you hiding from?”, Hardytack asks. Yilook back, mock shock. “Your ass has been parked on this porch all summer, lookin’ at that house.” Hardytack points at the house across the street and three doors down. 
 
“She’s outta there,” yissay. 
 
“Her family’s not outta there,” he says.
 
“Oh shit,” says Cloth when he spots a beige Maverick approaching. “Shitshitshit,” he repeats. He slowly sits up. 
 
“Shit,” echoes Hardytack. The Maverick rolls to a stop directly in front of the porch. A tall, thin man in clothes too small exits the driver door, walks to the back. You, Cloth, and Hardytack watch in silence as the man walks slowly around the car. When you see the stub wrist, you know for sure: Tootsie.
 
Kazmir Pietkowski was called Tootsie since First Grade. He was an okay guy through high school, before he went nuts. Now he’s come to visit. Or so it seems as Tootsie walks around the back of the Maverick and onto the sidewalk. Yifeel Cloth and Hardytack tensing up as much as you are.
 
Instead of coming up the porch steps, Tootsie walks around the front of the car and back to the driver-side door. He pauses, then gets in. A few seconds later, the Maverick starts and drives off. “Shit,” Cloth says, “Did you see that? One-armed Tootsie almost paid you a visit.”
 
“Shit,” Hardytack agrees. “I didn’t know he was out.” 
 
“He didn’t really,” yissay. 
 
“He did really,” Cloth says. “Sharpy was first on scene.”
 
Dave Sharpy the EMT you got the nitrous tanks for, yithink. “You were in California,” says Hardytack. “Cloth visited him in the hospital after.”
 
“You visited Tootsie?”, yask Cloth. 
 
“Didn’t know he was crazy til after,” Cloth replies. “They told me he hurt his hand. They didn’t say how.”
 
“Gave it to his girlfriend?”, yask. 
 
“That’s crap,” Hardytack says. “He took the hand to her house, put it on the mantel, lit a cigarette. Said he only wanted the train to take off his finger. Whole freakin’ hand comes off. Sharpy said he near bled to death. Sharpy walks in, sees Tootsie standing in the living room, like everything’s cool as can be.” 
 
Yilook down the street. “Was that the Haggerty tracks?”, yask Hardytack. 
 
He nods. “Half block from his girlfriend’s house.” 
 
“They were on my paper route,” yissay. “Rzepka’s, right?”, yask. 
 
Hardytack nods again. “Donna Rzepka,” he says. 
 
“No wonder Tootsie went nuts,” yissay, “Donna’s evil, for real.”
 
“Donna’s not fucking evil,” Hardytack says. “Some girls like playing gullible jerks like Tootsie. Her bad luck that this jerk went nuts.”
 
“When d’ya think it was Tootsie went full loco?”, yask. “He seemed pretty normal to me at Fordson. I mean, it couldn’ta been all at once.”
 
“Hell if I know,” Hardytack says. “I hadn’t seen him in years.” 
 
Yilook at Cloth. “You’re pretty quiet,” yissay. 
 
“Same difference,” he says. “Tootsie was always gonna be crazy,” Cloth says, “whether it showed or not.” He looks at you. “Like you and skinny,” he says. “Gonna be.”
 
Hardytack laughs. “Like Cloth and county jails,” he says. “Gonna be.” 
 
“You knew I was gonna get skinny?”, yask Cloth. “How’d you figure?”
 
“Tootsie was crazy,” Cloth says, “you were skinny, Hardytack was a sick fuck.” 
 
“What was Doll?”, yask. 
 
“Trouble,” Cloth answers, “big time.”
 
“I was a fucking whale in high school,” yissay. 
 
Cloth shrugs. “Only on the outside,” he says. 
 
“Where the fuck else can you be fat?”, yaskim.
 
Cloth just laughs. “I know what he means,” Hardytack says. “You didn’t act like Gwoniak or Richy Ross or them other tubs. You weren’t done yet. Like a whatchacallit,” Hardytack stops. 
 
Yiwait. “What the fuck are you talkin’ about?”, yask. 
 
“The butterfly thing,” he tries. “A syllabus.”
 
“Chrysalis,” says Cloth. “Took all them diet pills to bust you out.” 
 
They busted me alright, yithink. In, out, over, under, upside and down. “You saw me skinny when I was fat,” yissay. “I see myself fat now that I’m skinny.” 
 
“You gotta get your eyes checked, man,” Hardytack says.
 
“Get your head checked while you’re at it,” says Cloth. 
 
“I’ll ask Tootsie to recommend somebody,” yissay. “Look how much good they did him.”
 
“I’ll recommend a shrink for you,” Hardytack says, “but you gotta give me half the pills he prescribes you.” 
 
“Don’t want any pills,” yissay.
 
“That’s cool,” Hardytack says, “I’ll take‘m all.” 
 
Cloth says at the same time, “No pills? That doesn’t sound like you.” 
 
“Does now,” yissay.
 
“No pills,” Hardytack laughs. 
 
“No pills,” yirrepeat, “no shit.”
 
Cloth says, “Huh.” The three of you listen to the summer sizzle and steam. Hardytack takes a joint out of his pocket and holds it up to you inquisitively. Yinod, he lights, hits, passes it to Cloth, who refuses it. As usual, yithink as yitake the joint when Hardytack offers it. Cloth stays true to the bottle. Hardytack remains up for anything. As usual.
 
Yithink as yiregard the lit number, this’ll do me alright alright. Slowly yirealize Cloth is asking you something about Doll. “Hm?”, yask.
 
“What’s up with Doll?”, Cloth asks. Yilook at him like he’s nuts. “Speed was sayin’ last night,” Cloth says. “Her ma mighta split again.”
 
Shit, yithink, Doll’s little sister’s what, 10 maybe? And two brothers not much older than that. No wonder Doll was freaked. “Shit,” yissay.
 
Hardytack hands you back the joint, already mostly burnt. Yihit it half-heartedly. “What’d she tell you?”, Cloth asks. Yishrug. Cloth nods. 
 
“What happened to whats-his-name?”, yask Cloth. 
 
He shrugs. “Same thing happens to all of ‘em. The big  kiss off,” he says. “Buh-bye-seeya.”
 
“Fucked up family,” says Hardytack. 
 
“Show me the one that ain’t,” yissay. 
 
“Yeah, but, I mean,” Harditack stammers. “Her old man. Christ. All that aitch." 
 
“Three kilos, paper said,” says Cloth. “Three kilos, 10 years.” 
 
Yithink of Doll’s little bros and sis. “Doll’s family isn’t fucked up,” yissay. “Her parents are total shits. Nothin’s wrong with their kids.” 
 
“Soon to be homeless,” Cloth adds.
 
“Nah,” yissay, “Doll’s on it. I bet she’s already got the angles worked.” Yiwonder if they believe you cuz yisure don’t believe yourself.
 
For a minute, the three of yiwatch nothing happen in the world off the porch. Then Cloth says, “Storm’s an hour off,” and yiknow he’s right. Yiknow because Cloth always knows about summer thunderstorms. One thing Cloth doesn’t know is how to keep his bony ass out of county jails.
 
“Let’s go,” yissay as yijump off the broken glider and head down the porch stairs. 
 
“Where?”, Cloth asks as he follows you down the steps.
 
Yishrug. “Since when does’at matter?”, yask him. Hardytack stays planted on the glider. Yilook at him, say “whatever,” and walk to your car.
 
Yirrippin’ down Ford in your beat-up blue bug, smackin’ the gears, light on the clutch. Cloth is fidgeting a home-made tape into the deck. Yibreeze up Evergreen, past both colleges. Cloth turns down the McCoy Tyner as yapproach the mansion. “It’s about set to break,” Cloth says.
 
“The heat?”, yask. 
 
“The heat,” Cloth echoes. “This stinking, fetid, so-heavy-you-wear-it heat. This braise-my-brain-in-a-hurricane heat.”
 
Yipark in the empty lot fifty yards from the mansion. Yiwalk with Cloth past the majestic weeping beech, keeping clear of the big stony house. When yiget to the edge of the meadow, the heat feels like it’s coming up from the ground. Yiwalk with Cloth the quarter mile to the trailhead. As yipass Hidden Lake, yir tempted to jump in but know the skeeters would be murder in the woods. Yiknow Cloth’s thinking the same thing.
 
Yiboth know to take the trail that leads away from the river. Once yir under the canopy, things change. It’s quieter, noticeably cooler. A hundred yards in the trail starts making yifeel better about the general condition of the world. A good chunk of it, anyway. After a half-minute of silent walking down the trail, Cloth asks, “Doll didn’t say anything last night?” Yignore the question. Enough Doll.

“Where’d you end up last night?”, yask Cloth. 
 
“Hines,” he answers, “then the Egg. Speed keeps goin’ on about Doll’s ma takin’ off again. You gonna go see her? You should,” he adds without waiting for you to answer. “She likes you. She doesn’t like many people.”
 
Lotsa people like Doll, yithink as yiwalk the muggy trail. “She’s just playin’ me,” yitell Cloth. 
 
“The trick is not mindin’,” he says back. “She got your mind off Molly, speakin’ of bein’ played.”
 
“Molly’s playin’s nothin’ like Doll’s playin’,” yissay.
 
“Doll’s playin’s ten times more fun,” says Cloth as he walks ahead of you down the trail. 
 
“Like you’d know,” yissay. “Playin’s bullshit.”
 
“So don’t get played,” Cloth replies. “Which means you miss out on the likes of Molly and Doll.” 
 
Yimiss out, yithink. A recurring theme. Yikinda stop listening to Cloth as yireplay the kiss on Molly’s front porch that changed everything. Yihear Cloth’s question: “Don’tcha?”
 
“Don’t I what?”, yask.

“Think about her all the time,” Cloth says.

“Nah,” yanswer, “I spend a coupla minutes a day thinking about the Pope. Like, I bet the Pope’s gotta beat those Italian donnamarias off with a miter or whatever that thing’s called. Sharp duds, rings.”
 
“Nice digs, too,” Cloth says, his steps bouncing down a little hill. 
 
“The ride,” yissay. “You can’t beat the Popemobile. Serious Pope envy.”
 
Just as Cloth’s about to repeat the question, yinterrupt, “Enough Doll.” 
 
“You’re a goner,” Cloth says, “between Molly and Doll.” He laughs.
 
Between Molly and Doll is nowhere, yithink. No Molly, no Doll. Did Doll say anything? Wereyi even listening? Moping over Molly, lusting after Doll. She was telling you something just by being there. She never would've back then. Back then yiwere backdrop, maybe. Nothing to Doll, coolest girl in school. Even the outcasts wouldn’t have you. Back then.
 
Eighty-five pounds ago.
 
“What?”, Cloth asks. 
 
“What?”, yask back. 
 
“Same joke, you said.” 
 
“I said that?” Cloth nods as he walks ahead of you down the muggy trail. “Lemme guess,” yissay. 
 
“So what’s the joke?”, Cloth asks. 
 
“Huh?” “You said, ‘same joke.’ What is it?” 
 
“Not joke like ha ha. Joke like sad. What do they call it when you say things you think you’re only thinking?” 
 
“Shutthefuckupitis,” Cloth replies. “Only one known cure.” He looks up and announces, “Rain ETA: twenty minutes.” Yicontinue down the trail at a steady pace, unhurried. This trail is an old friend.
 
“Anyway,” says Cloth out of nowhere, “just cuz you talk out loud without knowing doesn’t make you crazy. The crazy bar’s set pretty high hereabouts.”
 
“Dealin’ pounds of heroin when you got three little kids is crazy,” Cloth says as he walks, “runnin’ off with a no-good drunk is crazy.”
 
“Twice,” yadd. A picture of Doll’s mother pops in your head - permed hair, tight smile, dull eyes, always a drink in her hand or nearby. Yithink, how could such a woman have such a daughter? Doll, so lively and electric, sparks flying crazy, firing up everything and everybody. Yir surprised when yilook up and see the trail open ahead. “Jesus,” yissay, “the mansion already.” 
 
Cloth is halfway across the broad lawn. “Jesus,” yirepeat louder. Cloth turns for a second, then continues toward the back of the large stone structure. Yifollow him, looking skyward. Cloth sits at a table on the deserted patio on the west side of the mansion, facing the meadow and pond. “Rain,” yissay when yiget there.
 
“Imagine livin’ in a place like this,” Cloth says, looking at the mansion’s fortress walls. 
 
“Nuh-uh,” yissay. “I’d miss my moldy basement.”
 
“You’d miss your porch swing,” Cloth says as yissit. Yir the only ones on the patio this hot, muggy afternoon. 
 
“That’s a damn fact,” yissay. Yilook around, decide half a joint’s safe. Yispark up, knowing Cloth’s not interested. Yihand it to him anyway, he declines, like always. A minute later yiv burned half the joint and put the rest in yir pocket. Yir paying attention to the line of clouds on the western horizon. “We’ll be drenched out here in about five minutes,” yissay. 
 
“More like ten,” Cloth replies, looking at the sky. 
 
Yistand and say, “Porch.”
 
Now yir blowing down Ford Road in the blue bug, trying to get home before the thunderclouds open and blast big raindrops across creation. “A buck,” says Cloth.
 
“A buck,” yagree, not sure which side of the bet yijust took. If a drop hits the windshield before yipark, yeither get or yigive a dollar. Yilook up, see the line of the storm bisect the sky, east half bright, west half black. “Cooler already,” yissay. 
 
“Gonna blow,” says Cloth. Good, yithink as yidrive, blow this town into oblivion. Blow the past out of all these souls who don’t know anything but what used to be.
 
As yipull up in front of the house, yissee Doll sitting on the porch glider. “Ready for the show?”, yask her as yicome up the cement stairs
.
“Y’owe me a buck,” says Cloth, coming up the steps behind you. 
 
“I thought I had no rain before the porch?”, yissay. Doll ignores you both. Yissit next to Doll on the glider - the broken side. Indistinct lightning flashes to the southwest. 
 
Cloth sits on the broad porch railing. “One minute,” he says. Doll looks at you and hits an imaginary joint. Yipull the half joint out of your shirt pocket, fire it up, pass it to her. Another lightning flash, thunder a few seconds later. “Ladies and gentlemen,” Cloth says like an emcee, “back for a limited engagement!”
 
On cue, a streak of lightning rips across the sky, followed closely by a bang of thunder that grows into a bass-heavy rumble. Yithink, okay! Next come those big, fat raindrops like a drumbeat, splatting over everything. In seconds, the rain smell arrives, the heaty dust disturbed.
 
Yibarely notice Doll handing yiback the joint, already a roach. Yitake and hold it, concentrating on the storm’s progress. Another flash. The street’s now one big puddle from curb to curb. The rain’s heavier, the wind’s wilder, and the clouds darker. Getting good, yithink. Doll takes the joint back, nudges you for a relight. Yihand Doll the lighter as the lightning flashes brighter and the thunder claps louder.
 
Yinotice a car, a blur in the rain, making its slow way down Williamson. When the car’s two houses away, your hair stands up, light explodes. The sound wave blasts you. Your nostrils fill with the sweet fiery smell of ozone. Slowly your eyes readjust, the flash image dissipates. The nails of Doll’s right hand are digging into your left leg just above the knee. “Fuck,” she says with a laugh. 
 
“Lightning,” yissay back.
 
“No shit lightning,” Doll says, still laughing. “My fucking hair stood up. Jesus!” Yiboth notice the car, now parked in front of the porch.
 
The rain is pounding so hard on the car’s windows yican’t see through them. Another lightning flash, then the thunder booms a second later. “You recognize that car?”, yask Doll over the roar of the storm. Instead of replying, Doll tries to spark up the joint, with little success. Cloth has retreated from the porch rail and stands against the brick wall next to the front door, puffing on a cigar, laughing softly. The rain keeps pounding.
 
The smell of pot lets yiknow Doll has managed to get the joint lit. Yireach for her to pass it to you as another lightning bolt flashes. Doll’s too caught up in the storm to notice you motioning for the joint. Yir glad to see her looking with wonder at the weathery spectacle. In no time the storm has blown through, trailing a gray drizzle that the evening sun will dry up like it’s threadbare laundry. Yibreathe deep.
 
The aroma mix of Cloth’s cigar, Doll’s joint, and summer afternoon thunderstorm brings one word to mind. “Perfect,” yissay. Doll nods, hums.
 
Both doors of the car that arrived with the lightning open at once. Hardytack exits the driver’s side, Speed pops out of the passenger door. Speed rushes up the wet front steps and squeezes next to Doll on the glider. Doll squeezes into you to make room. Hardytack’s cackling away.
 
“It fucking hit us,” Speed says. 
 
“It didn’t hit us,” Hardytack shouts from the street. Speed scowls at him. “Close,” Hardytack concedes.
 
“The thing’s fried,” Speed says to Doll, who looks confused.
 
“Just the radio,” says Hardytack as he walks toward the porch. “Apparently.”
 
Yask, “Whose car is that?” 
 
“My sister’s,” Hardytack replies. “She just picked it up yesterday. She let me borrow it, and then I seen Speed.” Hardytack acts like his last statement explains everything.
 
“Why’d your sister lend you her car?”, yask. 
 
“I told her I had an interview,” he says.
 
“She believed you?”, Doll asks him. 
 
Hardytack ignores her. “Why did you borrow her car?”, yirepeat. 
 
“Just wanted to get out,” he answers.
 
“Into a thunderstorm?”, yask, “with little your sister’s brand new car?” 
 
“That thing ain’t brand new,” Hardytack says. “Just look at it.”
 
“Smoke’s coming out the vents,” Speed adds. 
 
“That’s not smoke,” Hardytack protests, “just a little condescension.” 
 
“Condescension?”, yask.
 
“Yeah,” says Hardytack, who’s still standing on the porch steps. “You know, mist.” 
 
“Smelt like burnt toast, or worse,” Speed says to Doll. Yithink about getting off the crowded glider, but yilike the feel of Doll’s hip pushing into yours. Yalmost put your hand inside her thigh. Like that, Doll slips her right hand inside your left thigh like it’s nothing. Yiboth have your feet resting on the broad cement porch rail.
 
Yireposition your right leg to accommodate your erection. Yithink of how to get Cloth, Speed, and Hardytack off the porch and Doll upstairs. Right on cue, Cloth turns to Speed and asks, “Tacos?” 
 
“Margaritas,” she replies. 
 
“I’ll drive,” says Hardytack. 
 
“Hell you will,” says Speed. When Speed stands to leave, Doll slides over on the glider and takes her hand off your thigh. Yirecross your legs and watch the trio depart.
 
“Show’s over,” yissay, looking at the brightening sky. 
 
“Good one,” says Doll. 
 
“Water?”, yask. Doll nods. Yiboth stand up at the same time.
 
“I can get it,” yitell Doll. 
 
“Inside time,” she replies. She addresses the street: “Mother Nature, take a bow.” Then she heads for the door. Yifollow, a little thrilled. Yihope Doll waits awhile before she cracks open the wine. Stony, dreamy Doll’s more fun than boozy, weary Doll.
 
Doll does a little dance as she makes her way to the kitchen. She takes two glasses out of the cabinet, fills them halfway from the tap. She hands you one of the glasses and sits at the kitchen table. Yissit across from her and wonder how she manages to stay so damn happy. But yidon’t want to ask Doll why she’s happy. That’d remind her of all the reasons she has for not being happy. Still, yid like to know.
 
“For fuck’s sake,” Doll says finally, “just say it.”
 
“What?”, yask. 
 
“Whatever the fuck is on your mind,” Doll replies. “Say the damn thing.”
 
“I’m just glad to see you happy,” yissay. 
 
“Why wouldn’t I be?”, Doll replies, then adds quickly, “Oh. That.” Yiconclude yir a fucking idiot.
 
“She’s not coming back this time,” Doll says. “So that’s something to be happy about. It was my grandma’s house, so we don’t pay any rent. My dad you know about. I’m working full time at Dr. Gunn’s. We’ll be alright.” She smiles, “That’s not why I’m happy.”
 
“Are yigonna tell me,” yask, “or are yigonna make me guess?”
 
Doll just looks back at you. “You got a raise,” yitry. “You hit the lottery. Yididn’t get struck by lightning."
 
“Came pretty damn close,” Doll says. “But you’re cold as ice, and I’m still not gonna tell you.”
 
“Then I’m just gonna let you be happy and not know why,” yissay. 
 
Doll feigns disappointment, then laughs. “Now you’re wising up,” she says.
 
Yirefill Doll’s water glass. She raises it to you and drinks. She sighs a little and says, “Let’s go.” 
 
“Where?”, yask. 
 
“Camp,” she replies.
 
“Camp?”, yanswer a little surprised, then, “Camp. Okay.” Yistand. “I’ll buy the gas,” yitell Doll, “you buy the chocolate ice cream cones.”
 
“Canteen onion rings,” Doll smiles. Yiboth head out of the kitchen. “With lots of hot sauce,” she adds.
 
Yistop. “What about Speed?”, yask.
 
“Speed can get her own fries,” Doll says. She heads out the front door. 
 
“Remember the last time?”, yask her. “Her and Cloth and Hardytack?”
 
Doll stops at the top of the porch steps. She laughs once. “Let’s hurry,” she says, “before they get back. They’ll be tryin’ to act sober with a flashlight shining in their eyes, we’ll be munchin’ on rings and ice cream cones.”
 
“Beats what I had planned,” yissay. 
 
“Get high on the porch and pine for Molly?”, Doll asks. 
 
“Half right.” 
 
“What, did you run out of weed?”
 
Yistart the car and wait for Doll to settle in before yissay, “I’m not pinin’ for Molly any more’n she’s pinin’ for me.” Yihead for Camp.
 
“How do you know she’s not?”, Doll asks.
 
 Yithink, Molly’s not the pining type, but you don’t say it because yifear it’s not true. Hope it’s not. “The thought of any woman pining over me is ridiculous,” yissay, “let alone Molly. She’s not the type to be generous with second chances.”
 
“You don’t want her enough,” Doll says as yippoint the car toward the freeway. “If you did, none of that would matter, to either of you.”
 
“Sometimes you don’t make a bit of sense,” yissay. “How much is enough wanting someone?”
 
“Enough to get over your damn self,” Doll replies.
 
“So first get over myself,” yissay, “and then want Molly so much that she won’t be able to help herself.”
 
“Just the first part,” Doll says. “You talk yourself out of every good thing you find, because you’re all you instead of being all them. It. Her.”
 
“I’m who?”, yask.
 
“Exactly!”, Doll about shouts. “You’re who. Make her who. Them, it, whatever. Just not you. Be somebody else for a change. Couldn’t hurt.”
 
Shit, yithink, every night I go to sleep hoping I’ll be somebody else when I wake up. Morning comes, same asshole I was the night before.
 
“Can’t be somebody else,” yitell Doll. “Tried once. It was worse than bein’ me, if you can believe that.” 
 
“You give up too easy,” Doll says.
 
“Okay, you win,” yissay, then yiboth laugh. 
 
“Whoever you pretend to be better know how to dance,” Doll says. “Right after the ice cream.”
 
“Oh, yeah,” yissay, “the guy I’m gonna pretend to be is a real twinkle-toes.” Yilook over at Doll. “But he’s particular about his partners.”
 
“I’ll pretend not to notice,” says Doll. Yiwanna ask Doll, what the fuck are you doing? But yithink, she’s acting pretty happy, so why bug? Right on cue, Doll says, “I should be freaked, but it won’t do any good. The kids’ll be fine. My folks can stay wherever the fuck they are.”
 
“Goddamn parents,” yissay. “Whaddya gonna do?”
 
“Turn into them,” Doll says. 
 
“No fucking way,” yissay, “I’ll never be my pops. Not ever.”
 
“You could turn into your mother,” Doll says with a laugh.
 
“I think I got her tits,” yilaugh back. 
 
“You used to,” Doll says, “not anymore.”
 
“The embarrassments never end when you’re a large person,” yissay. “Now I’m skinny and life is grand.” Doll doesn’t respond. “Except,” yadd, “I’ll tell you a secret." Doll looks at you sideways. “I’m still the large person,” yitell her. “The one with his mother’s tits.”
 
“I got news,” Doll says, “fat you’s way gone, except maybe in your own head.” She slaps your shoulder. “Maybe that’s why you ditched Molly.”
 
Yiget a little jolt of anger when Doll says yiditched Molly, but yiknow she’s right. “Can we not--” 
 
“Yeah, yeah,” says Doll, “no Molly.”
 
Yitry to get your mind back on canteen fries and chocolate cones and ‘60s soul pumped through tinny loudspeakers and a country night sky. Long strings of yellow lights like big smiles hanging on a line. “I remember you at the canteen,” yitell Doll before yicheck yourself. “You and your friends were runnin’ down the hill from Tent Village,” yexplain. Doll just stares through the windshield at the night road. Yicontinue: “You were runnin’ so fast down the hill you kept right on into the road. Nearly got hit by a station wagon pulling a trailer.”
 
“I kinda remember that,” Doll says. “Where were you?” 
 
“Across the street,” yissay, “at the Canteen.” 
 
“I didn’t see you there,” Doll says.
 
“That was back when I was invisible,” yissay. “I didn’t get noticed all the time. Anyway, you laughed when the trailer nearly clipped you.”
 
“You thought I was cool,” Doll says, “because I almost got hit by a station wagon?” 
 
“Because you laughed,” yissay. “Like it was nothing I was more freaked about it than you were.” 
 
“Why were you freaked?”, Doll asks. 
 
“Freaked is kinda my natural state,” yitell her.
 
“You don’t seem so freaked to me,” Doll says. 
 
“I got good at hiding it,” yitell her. “Better if they think you’re an idiot than a lunatic.”
 
“I got news for you,” Doll laughs. “They think you’re both.”
 
Yilaugh though you know she’s serious. “I got news,” yissay. “They’re right.”
 
“Cut the shit,” Doll says. “You’re neither and we both know it.” She rummages in the ashtray. “You just got a bad start. You’ll be fine. Where’s that roach?” Doll sifts through the butts. Yireach in your shirt pocket and remove a joint. Doll takes it, sparks it.
 
“That’s pretty fucking easy for you to say,” yissay as yitake the joint from Doll. “You had it made in high school.” 
 
“Bullshit,” she says. “Had it made.” Doll takes back the joint. “My father’s a junkie, my mother’s a tramp, I got three young siblings to keep fed. I work for a crooked dentist who’s forever feelin’ me up, and my grandma’s givin’ me shit about always using her car.”
 
Doll hands yiback the joint, now nearly gone. “I’m not even tellin’ you the worst part,” she says.
 
“What’s worse than all that?”, yask her.
 
“I just said I wasn’t gonna tell you,” Doll says in mock anger.
 
“That’s usually followed by you sayin’ what you said you wouldn’t,” yissay.
 
“Not this time,” Doll says. “You’re shook up enough already.”
 
“Now you really gotta tell me,” yissay. “What do you care if I’m shook up?”
 
“I’m not sayin’ another word ‘til I have a Canteen strawberry ice cream cone in my hand,” says Doll. 
 
“I’ll take that bet any day,” yissay.
 
“What bet?”, Doll asks. 
 
“You staying quiet for however long it takes us to get to Camp,” yireply. “Don’t worry,” yadd, “I’ll stop askin’."

Yijaw with Doll the whole half hour it takes to get to Camp. Yiknow the guy at the gate, a friend of Lar’s, so he waves you right through.
 
Ten minutes later yir in the ice cream cone line at the Canteen. “What the fuck,” yissay with a smile. You and Doll at camp. Getting cones.
 
“What the fuck what?”, Doll asks, intent on the ice cream scoopers. 
 
“What?”, yask back. 
 
"You just said ‘What the fuck?’,” she says. 
 
“I did? Just,” yiscramble, “hangin’ with you at Camp, at the dance. Kinda....” The cone line moves up. “Surreal,” yifinish. Doll pays you no mind.
 
“I’d s’really like this line to move faster,” says Doll. She elbows you. “It’s just Camp,” she says, “not some fucking adolescent paradise.”
 
“Not anymore it ain’t,” yissay as yireach the ice cream counter.
 
“One strawberry, one chocolate,” Doll says to the girl holding the scoop. The girl is so short she all but disappears when she reaches into the icebox with her scoop. “Um,” Doll says. “You okay back there?”, Doll asks. The girl pops up with Doll’s strawberry cone, hands it to her, disappears again. 
 
“She’s a pro,” yissay.
 
Doll takes a good bite of her ice cream. “Better than I remember,” she says. She sways to the music coming from the far side of the Canteen. The girl behind the counter pops back into view, this time holding out a chocolate cone. Yitake it, pay for both, and look around for Doll.
 
Yithink yispot Doll snaking her way through the crowd toward the parking lot that doubles as the Canteen’s dance floor. Yitake off after her. Yiround the corner and see the string of yellow lights that run along the four sides of the parking lot/dance floor. There’s Doll, dancin’. Nippin’ and lickin’ on her strawberry cone as she lets the P-Funk rhythm send her spinnin’ and swirlin’. Yiforget all about your own cone.
 
As she dances, Doll opens one eye and gives you a look like, “Get your too-tight ass the fuck out here.” So yido, drippy cone in your hand. Somehow, yir able to work on your chocolate cone while dancing with Doll and not splashing ice cream on her or anybody else. Not so Doll. Doll is waving her cone like a beacon, spraying strawberry ice cream around like a priest blessing the crowd. Some of the crowd isn’t happy.
 
As the song ends, Doll hurls the half-eaten cone into the night sky. Some disco shit comes on next. Doll frowns and heads for the Canteen. Yifollow Doll off the parking lot dance floor, past rows of picnic tables, into the line for onion rings. “I’ll get the rings,” she says. “You get Cokes.” 
 
Yiwalk to the side of the Canteen where they sell soft drinks. Yihear a shout: “Crumb!” 
 
“Renzo!”, yissay back. Yilook toward the shout but can’t spot your brother. Yissee smoke billowing out of a rusty Maverick’s side window. Gotta be ‘Zo, yithink. Yiwalk toward the beat up Ford, yissee your brother hitting a skinny jay, smilin’, bouncin’ to the radio. Yilean in. “Whose is this?”, yask.
 
Renzo keeps hitting, smiling, bouncing. He hands you the jay, yihit it quick, hand it back. “You workin’ tonight?”, yask. Renzo shakes no.
 
“Whaddya doin’ up here on a Wednesday?”, Renzo asks. 
 
“Doll wanted a cone,” yissay. 
 
“Doll know her boss is here?”, he asks. 
 
“Fuck,” yireply. “What the fuck’s he doin’ up here on a Wednesday?”, yask. 
 
“Maybe he wanted a cone,” Renzo says. He concentrates on relighting the roach.
 
“I’ll meetcha,” yissay and head back to the Canteen. Yipick up two Cokes and work your way to the dance floor parking lot. Yidon’t see Doll. Yido see Doll’s boss sitting at one of the picnic tables that are arranged in a long double row beside the Canteen. With him are two of the Mayor’s cronies. Yithink, What the fuck’re they doing at Camp on a fuckin’ Wednesday? Yilook around for Doll, spot her across the parking lot dance floor.
 
Doll’s talking to some old guy. As yiwalk toward her, yirealize the guy she’s talking to is the Mayor. Yistop and go back the way you came.
 
Yir thinking, Doll talking to the Mayor at the Canteen dance on a Wednesday? Doll’s dentist boss sitting right over there? The fuck is this? Yilook down at the two Cokes in your hands. 
 
“Can we get the fuck outta here?”, Doll asks. Yabout jump outta your skin. 
 
“Yeah buddy,” yissay. Yihand Doll one of the Cokes. “Let’s check out Renzo’s trailer,” yissay as yiwalk with her to your car. “Yiknow your boss is here?”, yadd.
 
Doll tosses her Coke into the parking lot. “Renzo got any wine?”, she asks.
 
“Prob’ly,” yireply. Then yadd, “Yir gonna make me ask, aincha?”
 
“Don’t even,” Doll says as yiboth get in the car. 
 
“That was the Mayor, right?”, yask as yistart it up and put it in gear. “My dad’s boss?”
 
“My boss is an asshole,” Doll says, looking at the Canteen lights recede.
 
“He’s a damn dentist,” yissay as yidrive. “What did you expect?”
 
Doll just scowls. Yiwant to ask her again what the Mayor was talking to her about, but yikinda know better. Yiknow about the Mayor from your pop. “Jeez, Doll,” yissay, “smoke a fuckin’ joint or something.” Yihand her one out of your cigarette pack. She takes it, punches the car lighter.
 
“He was askin’ about my mother,” Doll says after hitting the joint. “Like it’s his business.” Shit, yithink, How does the Mayor know about Doll’s mom?
 
“Like he can do something about it,” yadd. Yimotion for the joint. 
 
“Like she can do something about it,” Doll mumbles as she passes it.
 
“Not fair,” yissay between hits on the jay. “You’re the only one doin’ anything about it, and you’re the only one hasn’t done anything wrong.”
 
“Wrong,” Doll replies. “What about my brothers and sister? She left them more than she left me.”
 
“Wrong,” yissay. “She left them with you. She knew you’d take care of them. Better than she could herself.”
 
Doll kinda laughs. “That’s not sayin’ much,” she says.
 
Yiturn into Trailer Camp One and head for the narrow paved path labeled B row. Yifind the 20-foot trailer Renzo’s renting for the summer. Yipark next to the dusty red-and-white trailer, surprised to find it vacant. Parked next to the trailer next to Renzo's is an unmarked county sheriff cruiser.

Doll gets out, walks to the cold, dark campfire ring beside Renzo's trailer. “You see any firewood?”, she asks.
 
You hold up a finger, run into the trailer, take out two beers, run back out, hand one bottle to Doll. Doll hands yiback the beer, yopen it, hand it to her again. Yispot a stack of wood under the trailer, run over and grab an armful, run back. Fuckin’ Renzo, yithink as yiscrounge for kindling. He’s the campfire champ. I couldn’t set a gas pump on fire. 
 
Doll stands there, frowning. “Jesus,” Doll says as yifumble the logs. “Find the damn ax.” Yigo back to the woodpile, see a hatchet stuck in a log, bring it to Doll. Doll takes the hatchet and starts chipping at a big chunk of wood to make kindling. Yilook around for a couple of beach chairs, guzzle half your beer.
 
Yiturn around again and goddamned if Doll doesn’t have the first licks of fire working up one of the logs. “Chairs’d be nice,” Doll says.
 
Yactually hear yourself say, “Right” before yiscramble around for those beach chairs.
 
“Inside,” Doll says. Yopen the trailer door. Chairs. Yisset the chairs away from the smoke now rising from the pint-sized campfire. Yissit in one while Doll feeds tinder to the blooming flames. Yican’t take your eyes off Doll’s face in the light of the fire, as glowing as the embers she’s tending. Yiwill her to sit down next to you.
 
All your wishing doesn’t do any good. Doll keeps tending the fire, which doesn’t need it. “Not bad,” yissay. Doll starts, like yipoked her. “The fire,” yexplain when Doll looks at you over her shoulder. 
 
“Renzo got any wine?”, she asks, gazing back at the fire.
 
Yiget up to look, but yistop and say, “Damn, Doll. I’ve been lookin’ at you since third grade. You never looked better than you do in that campfire light. Right now, in your old blue jeans and beat-up Pendleton shirt.”
 
Doll stands, thinks about it, kisses you. “Thanks,” she says.
 
Yiwatch Doll saunter to Renzo’s trailer door, step up and in. Yistart to follow her, but she steps out holding a bottle of wine. “Fire,” she says.
 
“So, no more kissing?”, yask. 
 
“Unlikely,” Doll says as she walks past you and sits by the campfire.
 
“I got lots more compliments,” yissay.
 
“Save ‘em for Molly,” Doll says. 
 
“Ouch,” yissay, not hardly aware of it.
 
“Sorry,” Doll says, “that wasn’t nice.” Doll apologizing, yithink. That’s new. “I’m doing you a favor,” Doll says, putting her hand gently on the back of your neck. “I’ll only fuck up your shit, believe me.”
 
“You’re afraid of Molly,” Doll goes on. “You should be afraid of me.” Yiwant to say yir not afraid of Molly, but yiknow Doll’s fucking right. “On second thought,” Doll says, balancing the wine bottle on her knee, “maybe fuckin’ up your shit would do you good.”
 
“It just might,” yissay. Yitake the wine bottle from Doll and put it on the ground near the campfire. Yikiss her and hope she doesn’t toss your ass into the fire. She doesn’t. Doll’s kiss is better than yiv been imagining it would be since yiwere in eighth grade and she was in tenth. Yicalm right down.
 
Yidon’t know how long you and Doll necked. Yican’t recall how yiboth got into Renzo’s trailer. Yiwere relieved Renzo’s bed was close to clean. Doll was more Doll than yever before. She made yifeel like the best yever were. She didn’t take charge. She showed yihow to show her how.
 
Yidecide the most beautiful thing in the world is a woman in climax. This is sex like yistop being you, yistop being anybody. Yijust are. Doll finishes slowly, sweetly. She rolls you on your back, straddles you, smiles, holds your head in both her hands, kisses you, stops time.
 
When time starts again, yilook up at Doll, who’s looking down at you curiously. “Where did you go?”, she asks with a smile. 
 
“Huh?”, yask.
 
“You checked out there for a second,” Doll says. 
 
“That was just me gettin’ my shit fucked up,” yissay. “And lovin’ every goddamn minute.”
 
Doll rises up slowly, wraps herself in the sheet, and rummages in your collective pile of clothes beside the narrow bed. “What?”, yask her.
 
“Joint,” Doll replies, still rummaging. 
 
“Cigarette pack,” yissay, “shirt pocket.” 
 
Doll finds the joint, settles next to you, sparks it up. “Renzo’s gonna want his trailer back some time,” yissay as yitake the joint from Doll. 
 
“You’re his brother,” Doll says, “you’re entitled.”
 
“Yigot it backwards,” yissay. “He’s my brother, so he’s entitled.”
 
Doll holds you close, coos “Awwww.” 
 
Yihit the joint, but it’s gone out. Yiturn to face Doll. “You okay?”, yask.
 
Doll thinks about it, then asks, “Compared to what?” 
 
“Doll I know doesn’t sleep with guys like me.”
 
Doll kicks you off the narrow bunk into the pile of clothes on the floor. Then she jumps on top of you, laughing, “Guys like you. Gee-zus.”
 
The feel of Doll’s skin on yours makes yiweak and strong, aware and asleep. The two of yiwind up cuddling in the clothes pile on the floor. Yiget hard again. Doll shifts a little, yishift a little. Yirecommence as natural as that. Yithink, maybe I’m not a guy like me after all.
 
Yidon’t know how long yiv been lying in Doll’s arms on the floor of Renzo’s trailer. “I gotta get outta here before I fall asleep,” yissay.
 
“You’ve been snoring for 10 minutes,” Doll says into the soft of your neck. 
 
“C’mon,” yissay without budging. “We gotta get back someplace.”

“I’m the one with the job,” Doll says sleepily. 
 
“Okay,” yissay, “You sleep, I’ll drive.” Yistill haven’t budged, all wrapped up in Doll. “Shit,” yissay, starting to untangle from Doll, “forgot about Renzo.” 
 
Doll sits up slowly, looks around, picks her underwear off the floor. “Better,” yissay as yifumble to put your clothes on. 
 
“What?”, Doll asks as she does the same. 
 
“Than I imagined,” yadd, “I imagined a lot.”
 
Doll places her hand on your cheek and neck, rubs you lips gently with her thumb. “That’s sweet,” she says, “I think. So I guess it worked. Shit fucked up?”
 
“Shit totally fucked,” yireply. “Grand mal breakdown, dead ahead.” Yigrab your shoes, nod toward the door. “I’ll get you home first,” yadd. “And I gotta make it up to Renzo, but after that, it’s oil tanker train wreck, extinction-level meltdown.” 
 
Yiwalk out of the trailer as quietly as yican manage, see a figure slumped in a chair near what’s left of the campfire. It’s Renzo asleep. “Hambro,” yissay softly. Renzo slumbers on. 
 
Doll joins you, mostly dressed. “Let him sleep,” she says. 
 
Yignore her. “Hey, ‘Zo,” yitry. Zip. Yilift your brother out of the folding chair and sling him over your shoulder. Doll steps aside as yicarry him jaggedly into the trailer. Yiplop Renzo onto his narrow platform bed, take off his boots, and put a pillow under his head. He stays flat out. “I owe ya, Ham,” yissay.
 
“Son of a bitch is the fuck out,” Doll says behind you. 
 
Yilook at her and realize, same Doll, same you. “Don’t talk about my ma,” yissay. Doll gets the joke, but yiwish yihadn’t brought up mothers. “Yimight get home by two,” yitell her. 
 
“If I wasn’t so damn hungry,” she says.
 
---------------------------------------
 
An hour later, yir sitting at a table across from Doll, waiting for pancakes yidon’t want. “Yibetter eat ‘em,” says Doll, reading your mind.
 
“Don’t say it,” Doll adds two seconds later. “I don’t sound like anybody.” 
 
“Stop doing that,” yitell her. 
 
“But it’s so easy,” Doll laughs. “Now yir not gonna tell me I sound like my mother,” she says, no longer laughing. “Or act like her, even if I do.” 
 
“Yidon’t,” yitell her.
 
“What were we just doing?”, Doll asks. 
 
The waitress brings the pancakes and leaves without speaking. “Havin’ the time of my life,” yireply.
 
“Don’t fucking fall in love with me, jerk,” Doll says, digging into her pancakes. 
 
“Don’t flatter yourself,” yissay, poking at your plate.
 
“You know what I mean,” Doll says as she wolfs her pancakes. “One good screw and yir writin’ poems and sendin’ flowers. Fucking romantics.”
 
“Jesus, Doll,” yissay, “gimme some credit. I know you pretty good. Yihate flowers. The only poems yilike are limericks. Dirtier the better.”
 
“Eat, willya?”, Doll says, noticing your nearly full plate. “Molly won’t recognize you.” Thinking of Molly kills any appetite yimighta had. “Yir turnin’ into one of them goddamn dyslexics,” she adds.
 
Yiwanna correct her, but decide not to bother. “Too fat to too skinny. Shit. What a sweet-talker,” yissay, pushing your plate away. “Thanks, Doll.” 
 
“Yisaid it yourself,” Doll says. “Diet’s over, you skinny fuck.”
 
“So’s breakfast,” yissay, “or whatever the fuck yiwanna call this slop.” 
 
Doll goes on eating. “See? I told you,” she says when she finishes. “Your shit is fucked the fuck up.” She reaches for the check. “I’m workin’,” she says, “I’m payin’.” She stands.
 
---------------------------------
 
You’n Doll smoke more than talk on the 15-minute drive back to her place. A block from her house, Doll says, “Stop. I’ll walk from here.” She gets out, says through the open passenger window, “That was fun,” and laughs. 
 
“Fuckin’ up my shit was fun?”, yask.
 
She laughs harder. “What do you think?”
 
“I think I had fun too,” yissay. 
 
“Fuckin’ ay right yidid,” says Doll. “Yiskinny fuck.” Then she gets serious. “Don’t waste your time on me and those others. Call Molly. And I don’t really mean that skinny stuff. Much.”
 
“You should get yourself a new job,” yitell Doll. “That dentist is a damn freak.” 
 
“He pays like a motherfucker,” Doll says as she walks off.
 
As yidrive by her, Doll doesn’t even look your way. Yiturn at the corner so yiwon’t pass her house. Calling Molly was not in your plans.
 
---------------------------------------------
Thursday
 
Yenter the side door of your house and descend the half-flight of stairs to the basement. Yihit the john, take off your clothes, go to bed. As tired as yar, yidon’t sleep. Doll is traipsing naked through whatever thoughts get through the pot haze. Yalmost say out loud, “No more.”
 
In your dream, Doll’s next to you in your twin bed. Yican feel her breath on your neck. As yiwake, yiwish it wasn’t a dream. Yigroan a bit. When Doll groans back, yinearly fall out of the bed. “What are you doin’ here?”, yask. 
 
“Office is closed,” Doll replies. “Doc didn’t show. Didn’t wanna go home.” 
 
“Don’t you fucking fall in love with me,” yissay and laugh. 
 
“Where’ve I heard that?”, Doll smiles.
 
“Why’d yissay I should call Molly?”, yask.
 
"’Cause yishould,” Doll answers drowsily. Yilet Doll fall asleep in your arms. Yithink of Molly.
 
Yileave Doll sleeping in your bed, get semi-dressed, hit the can, go upstairs to the kitchen. Just then, the Chief walks in the back door. “Hey pops,” yissay, trying to hide your surprise. 
 
“Is that your friend Doll’s car out front?”, the Chief asks.
 
“I suppose it is,” yireply. "Her grandma's, actually."
 
“It wasn’t here when I left this morning.”
 
“Doll’s downstairs. She just got here.” 
 
“What’s she doing downstairs?”
 
“Sleeping.” yireply sheepishly. 
 
“Are you two sleeping together?”, the Chief asks. 
 
“Technically, no. In the plural sense, anyway.”
 
“You having sex with Doll?”, the Chief asks warily.
 
“Technically, yes. Just the once. Or the twice. Coulda been three.”
 
“When was that? Don’t say last night.”
 
“Okay.”
 
The Chief asks, “Was it last night?” 
 
“You said not to say,” yireply. “So I won’t.”
 
“Here?”
 
“Camp. We went to see Renzo. We were waiting for him to get off work. Talkin’ by the fire. You know.”
 
“Doll’s boss was at the Canteen,” yadd. “So was the Mayor.” 
 
“Doll’s boss Dr. Gunn, yimean?”, the Chief asks. Yinod. “My my,” the Chief says. "And the Mayor, you say?” Yinod again. “My my my,” says the Chief. “Do me a favor. Get Doll to the station by noon, okay? Don’t tell anyone she’s here. And neither of you leave before then. Find Doll’s car keys. I’ll put it somewhere.”
 
“Why are you taking Doll’s car?”, yask. “Why am I taking her to the station?”
 
"Somebody killed Dr. Gunn’s wife yesterday,” the Chief says. “We need to know what her boss was up to. We don’t want Doll talking to anybody before we can talk to her.”
 
“Geez, Dad,” yissay, “Doll didn’t kill anyone.”
 
“Of course not,” the Chief replies. “Probably not,” he says after a second. He smiles wryly. “Doll’s a potential witness, not a suspect. At least for now.” He sees the look on your face and laughs again. “Her keys?”, he asks. “Yidon’t want me going through Doll’s purse, eh?”
 
Yiscurry downstairs to fetch the keys to Doll’s car, doing your best not to wake her. Yiscurry back to the kitchen just as fast. As yihand Doll’s car keys to the Chief, he says, “No one talks to Doll until we do.” He heads for the front door. Yifollow him outside.
 
“What if Doll doesn’t wanna go to the station?”, yask him, “hypothetically speaking.”
 
“Noon,” the Chief says without turning around.
 
An hour later, yidecide to wake up Doll. “We gotta go,” yissay as yishake her gently. “Dr. Gunn’s wife was killed yesterday. Get dressed.”
 
“The fuck you say?”, Doll mumbles. 
 
“Mrs. Gunn was killed yesterday,” yireply. “Yigotta talk to the cops at noon.”
 
“Bullshit,” Doll says.
 
“She really was killed.” yissay. 
 
“I mean bullshit I gotta talk to the cops, at noon or whenever,” Doll says. “Her gettin’ killed I believe. Go get yourself cleaned up.” Doll starts to get out of your bed. “I’ll call Molly.”
 
“What’s that?”, yask, “Molly? Why yicallin’ her?”
 
“Who would you rather have talkin’ to the Chief about dead Mrs. Gunn?”, Doll asks, “Molly or me?”
 
“What I’d rather don’t matter,” yireply.
 
“I seen what happened when my dad talked to the cops without a lawyer,” Doll says. Yiwanna add that it was after they found the three kilos. “Go shine up your face. Yir gonna see Molly for the first time in how long.” She smiles and waves you away. Yiget a little ill.
 
Yiget cleaned up and look for your freshest clothes, settle on jeans and plaid shirt, likely the ones yihad on the last time yisaw Molly. “Don’t think about it,” yissay out loud.
 
“Don’t think about what?”, Doll asks. 
 
“Last time I saw Molly,” yanswer, trying not to sound sad.
 
“Not a social visit,” Doll says. “Yir just my ride.” Yir amazed Doll looks so fresh after just waking up from nowhere near enough sleep. “I bet you know the number to Molly’s office,” Doll says. Yido, so yidial it on the phone on the wall next to the steps leading upstairs.
 
Molly answers on the first ring, says her name. “Hey,” yissay.
 
“Hey,” she says back.

“Something’s up, with Doll.” 
 
“Yeah,” Molly replies. “Her boss’s wife.”
 
“Yeah,” yissay, “so the Chief wants me to bring her to the station.” Molly figures out why my dad asked me.
 
“Are you home?”, Molly asks. “Is Doll with you?”
 
“Yeah,” yissay. “Wanna talk to her?” 
 
“Not on the Chief of Police’s phone,” Molly replies. “How soon can you make it to my office?”
 
“Half hour,” yireply.
 
“Tell her not to talk to anybody.”
 
“Doll? You tell her.”
 
A half hour later you and Doll are in the small lobby of the two-story building where Molly rents an office. “Maybe I should wait,” yissay. Doll ignores you, walks to the page-size directory, heads inside. Yiwatch her for a second, then follow. In ten steps she’s at Molly’s office door.
 
“Shouldn’t I wait out here?”, yitry again.
 
“Say hello to Molly, goddammit,” Doll says. “Jesus.” She enters Molly’s office without knocking. By the time yiget up the nerve to follow her in, Doll’s sitting in a chair across Molly’s desk. And there sits Molly, like yir dreaming.
 
Molly stands, walks around her desk, gives you a stiff hug that you give right back. “Hey,” yissay. Molly half smiles, half frowns, sighs. Yiwanna tell Molly, “It’s not my fault,” but yir not sure what exactly yir not apologizing for. Instead, yask, “Should I go or something?”
 
Molly and Doll look back at you with the same disappointed expression. “Nice to see you, too,” Molly says finally. 
 
“I mean,” yissay, “yeah. I miss you like crazy, you know that.”
 
“I do?”, Molly replies.
 
“All those phone calls yididn’t make,” Doll says, “That’s how, huh?”
 
“Okay, Doll,” Molly says, waving her off. She turns to you. “I need to talk to Doll in private,” she says, motioning toward the office door.
 
Yiwalk out of Molly’s office, eyes on the floor. Yireturn to the little lobby, sit in one of the three stiff chairs there, whisper, “Fuck.”
 
 A half hour later, Doll walks out of Molly’s office, with Molly right behind her. “Get something to eat,” Molly says. “Meet us at the station when you're done. Take your time.” Molly follows Doll out the building. “No rush,” she says over her shoulder.
 
Yir left standing in the tiny lobby. “Fuck,” yissay again.
 
-----------------------------------------------------
 
“What happened to you bringing Doll to the station?”, the Chief asks the moment he sees you in the police station lobby. 
 
“Doll,” yexplain.
 
“We’re gonna need a statement from you about yesterday and last night,” the Chief says. “You want Molly to sit in on that session, too?”
 
“Statement?”, yask. “Me? About what?”
 
“Yesterday,” the Chief replies, “Last night, today. You and Doll....” He lets the question dangle.
 
“Is this part of the interrogation?”, yask.
 
“Statement,” the Chief says, “nobody’s interrogating anybody. You’ve known Doll a long time.”
 
“Dad, between you and me, asking how long I’ve known Doll, that’s about as interrogating as it gets.”
 
The Chief nods his head, signals you to follow him as he walks down the hall to his office.
 
“So what happened?”, yask once the Chief has closed the door. “To Dr. Gunn’s wife, I mean," yadd when the Chief looks puzzled by the question.
 
“She got killed,” the Chief replies. “Suspects at large.”
 
“When I saw Dr. Gunn at Camp last night, he was sitting at the Canteen with some of the Mayor’s boys.”
 
“Where was the Mayor?”, the Chief asks.
 
“In the parking lot,” yireply, “talking to somebody.” 
 
“Doll?”, the Chief asks. 
 
“Coulda been,” yissay. The Chief acts like he knows it was.
 
Yirecall the crowd that used to congregate on the patio at Dr. Gunn’s super-deluxe double-wide trailer each summer weekend. Some shady characters. 
 
At the opposite end of double-wide hill from Dr. Gunn's moveable mansion, with a view of half of the 800-acre Camp, yid find a refuge from the summertime political life in our blue-collar burg. Ann and Nino Cardinale didn’t have the fanciest trailer on snob row, but it was definitely the best provisioned, liquorwise and elsewise. Most summer weekends, the Chief could be found relaxing in the shade of the Cardinale’s narrow cement patio, a cigar in one hand, a glass of Cutty in the other.
 
On the hoitier, toitier end of double-wide hill, Dr. Gunn hosted the local business bigwigs, crooked a little or crooked a lot. When he visited Camp, the Mayor rarely strayed from a corner table on the Canteen's outdoor patio that served as his remote office. Here he regaled the citizenry under a green canvas umbrella. But before returning to the city, the Mayor and his personal security detail would enjoy a nightcap, always at Dr. Gunn’s swanky double-wide.
 
Yithink about how the Chief and the Mayor keep their distance at Camp. Yir dad never complains about him, but the Mayor is big-time creepy.
 
All yiknow about Dr. Gunn’s wife is she wasn’t around much, at least not at Camp. Yican’t blame her for that. Or for anything else, now.
 
Yir sitting in the lobby of the police station, thinking about poor dead Mrs. Gunn who yididn’t know, waiting for Molly, Doll, or the Chief. Somebody who can tell you what the fuck yir doing sitting in the police station lobby, waiting to be interviewed about poor dead Mrs. Gunn.
 
Just like that, here comes the Chief, index and middle fingers flapping at his sides as he walks - a sign he’s feeling jolly. Yismile kinda. The Chief doesn’t have to tell you yiwon’t be interviewed. Yican sense that yir off the hook. 
 
Yistand. “You take Doll’s car,” the Chief says. “I’ll drive your bug home.”
 
First yithink, What am I gonna do with Doll’s car? Then yirealize yijust became Doll’s new best friend. For a little while. Yir gut burns. The Chief is long gone, leaving you standing alone in the hallway. Yiwonder where Molly and Doll are, think how chill Molly was with you. “Fuckin’ up my shit alright,” yimumble to yourself as yileave the police station. Molly told you she would, so it’s not like yiweren’t warned.
 
Yistart Doll’s car before yifigure out where yir supposed to bring it. Molly’s office? Uh-uh. Doll’s place? Nope. Yihead for the porch. 
 
Yir a half block from your house when yinotice two people sitting on the broken porch glider. Yir scared and happy to see both of them. “Any chance either one of you wants to tell me what the fuck?”, yissay as yiclimb the cement porch steps. 
 
Doll and Molly just smile back. “We decided the Chief’s a real gentleman,” Doll replies, still smiling. 
 
“My dad? A gentleman?”, yireply. “I guess. What about Mrs. Gunn?”
 
“She’s dead,” Molly replies. 
 
“She coulda been a gentleman,” Doll adds, “’cept she was a woman.” 
 
“’Til she died,” Molly says. Yilook at them.
 
“She was a woman after she died, too,” Doll adds, still smiling. “Only a dead one.” 
 
“A murdered one,” yicorrect her. “Maybe by your boss.”
 
Molly and Doll laugh off that suggestion. “Dr. Gunn didn’t kill his wife,” Molly says. 
 
“He could barely look her in the eye,” Doll adds.
 
“He had someone kill her for him,” Molly continues. She and Doll smile atya like a couple of Cheshire cats. 
 
“Who?”, yask. 
 
They keep smiling. “The Chief’ll find ‘em,” Doll says, but she nearly bursts out laughing after she does. 
 
Molly turns to Doll and says, “Think of Mrs. Gunn. Think about having to find a new job after your boss is sent to prison.” 
 
“Like working for a crooked dentist is paradise,” Doll replies.
 
“So, are you done with the cops?”, yask Doll. 
 
She looks at Molly. “For now,” Molly replies. “Maybe for good. They’re kinda busy right now.” The two go back to their Cheshire cat grins. 
 
“Are yiever gonna tell me what the fuck’s up?”, yask. 
 
“Not me,” Molly says. 
 
Doll shakes her head. She stands up and stretches her arms nearly to the porch roof. “Gotta go,” she says at the end of the stretch. Molly stands and hugs her. Doll whispers something in Molly’s ear, then she comes up to you and gives you a big kiss on the lips. Yitry to think of something to say. Doll just smiles and holds out her hand. “Keys, please,” she says.
 
Yireach in your back pocket for her car keys and place them in her hand. “Eat something,” Doll whispers in your ear. She pops down the porch stairs to her car parked at the curb. Off she drives. 
 
Yilook at Molly, who’s sitting on the side of the glider that still glides. Yithink, she manages to make nerdy lawyer look damn sexy. “Wanna eat?”, yask.
 
Molly thinks, says, “I know a place.” She stands slowly. “Quiet,” she takes a step toward you. “Cheap,” she takes another step. “Not far.” Now Molly’s a step away. Yilook in her gray-green eyes. She smiles, sizing you up. There’s friendship there. Some well-earned mockery, too.
 
“Yeah, I know,” yissay, looking away. “I fucked up.” 
 
“Which time?”, Molly asks, still studying your face. 
 
“All of ‘em, I guess,” yireply. Yitry to look Molly in the eye. 
 
“I mean,” Molly says, “which one are you apologizing for?” 
 
“All of ‘em?”, yoffer and think, fucking lawyers.
 
“You’re lucky,” Molly says. “You get a blanket dispensation.” She starts down the stairs. “Because I’m hungry.” She stops, adds, “for now.”
 
Yifollow Molly down the front porch steps, trying to think about food. Molly walking two steps in front of you makes that very difficult. 
 
------------------------------------------
 
“Okay,” Molly says, putting down her fork, “I’m not hungry anymore. Talk.” Yilook at her like, what the fuck? “Explain yourself,” she adds.
 
“Yimean Doll?”, yask. 
 
“You,” Molly replies. Yijust stare back. “Like what’s with the not eating?”, she asks. “I ate,” yilook at your plate. Most of your moussaka is still there. “I guess I got out of the habit a little,” yissay meekly. 
 
“You still taking those pills?”, Molly asks.
 
Yishake your head. “Not for a long time,” yissay, “more than a year.” Yisquirm. “Haven’t even seen the doc ‘cept that once.” Yilook away.
 
“That once,” Molly repeats. 
 
“And what’s he do but give me more pills,” yissay. 
 
“Not diet pills,” Molly says. 
 
“Worse,” yissay. “A lot worse. Fucking zombie pills.”
 
“What’d you expect?”, Molly asks. “He does nothing but give you pills for how long?” 
 
“Five years,” yissay. “Off and on. I hated it. That sick feeling. They’re giving me pills, so I must be sick. S’pose I was, though I felt just fine fat. Sure, I got teased a bunch, but I didn’t realize how disliked I was ‘til I got skinny. I mean, I kinda knew, but not really ‘til the compliments. ’Yir like a whole different person,’ they say.” Your eyes are locked on the tabletop. “And ‘don’t ever get fat again,’ like a threat.”
 
“Who said ‘don’t ever get fat again’?”, Molly asks. 
 
“My sister, for one,” yissay. 
 
“Which-- Don’t tell me,” Molly says. “Gotta be Peggy.”
 
“The thing is,” yigo on, ignoring Molly’s comment, “I’m the same guy. The fat guy. The one they all hate. I only look different. Like--.” Yihesitate. Molly waits. “Like a costume,” yissay finally. “A disguise. I may not look like me anymore, but here I am.” Yitap your chest.
 
“Is that why you’re trying to shrink to nothing?”, Molly asks. 
 
“I’m not trying to do anything,” yissay. 
 
“You’re succeeding,” Molly replies.
 
“I’m doing something,” yireply quietly. 
 
“Hiding?”, Molly asks. 
 
“Healing,” yissay. 
 
“Starving,” Molly says back. “Smoking, moping, fucking.”
 
“Not starving,” yitell her. “The others, yeah, I guess. I just can’t find my appetite. I took a lot of them damn pills.” 
 
Molly sizes you up. “Maybe that doc can give you a pill that’ll make you fat again,” Molly says. “Solve everything.” 
 
“I’m gonna fix this,” yissay. “No more docs.”
 
“Yir gonna fix it,” Molly laughs. “How you gonna do that?” 
 
“I can out-think it,” yissay. “I did it before.” 
 
“Out-think what?”, Molly asks.
 
“My thoughts,” yireply. 
 
“Yir gonna out-think your thoughts,” Molly repeats. 
 
Yinod. Molly waits. “It just takes practice,” yissay finally. Molly waits some more. “Like with the counting,” yissay. “I just kept repeating ‘Stop counting, stop counting’ ‘til it stopped. Like that.” Molly goes on waiting. “Sure,” yadd, “for awhile I counted how many times I repeated ‘stop counting,’ but that stopped in a week or two.”
 
“How many weeks?”, Molly asks. 
 
“Fourteen,” yireply. “That’s just an example, because I hardly ever count these days. Just now and then. And I can do the same for the others.”
 
“What others?”, Molly asks. 
 
“Strays,” yissay. “Put ‘em right in the box. Shut the lid.”
 
“Stray counting?”, Molly asks. 
 
“No no,” yireply. “What? Stray counting? What’s that?”
 
“That’s what--,” Molly starts. 
 
“Thoughts,” yinterrupt.
 
“Ah!”, Molly says with just a hint of mocking. “Stray thoughts.” She waits for an explanation. 
 
“Irrational,” yitry. “Nonsensical. Not good. Sometimes not good,” yicorrect yirself. “Sometimes really nice, like the music and the stories. Those definitely do not go in the box.”
 
Molly keeps a tight smile on her face. Her eyes widen slightly. “Um,” she says, “Music and stories?” 
 
“I love having those play,” yissay. 
 
Molly tries not to look confused. “Like songs on the radio and movies on TV?”, she asks. 
 
“Nah,” yissay. “Stuff I make up. New in my head.”
 
“You make up stories and songs in your head,” Molly says. 
 
“Not really ‘make up’,” yissay. “More like hittin’ the play button. They just go. So that’s fun,” yadd, sitting up. “I don’t want to lose that. It’s worth puttin’ up with the other, which is only really bad at night.”
 
“That explains sleeping with the radio on and a 100-watt lightbulb shining in your face,” Molly says. 
 
Yishrug. “Yido what yigotta,” yissay.
 
Molly looks at you. Yilook at your cold moussaka. “You look beat,” Molly says. 
 
“Long night,” yissay. 
 
“So I heard,” Molly says. 
 
Yilook up. “From Doll?”, yask. 
 
“From the Chief,” Molly replies. “Yir Doll’s alibi, you and Hardytack.” 
 
“And Speed,” yadd.

Molly squints. “Speed?”
 
“She came with Hardytack,” yissay. “Left with him, too.” 
 
“Huh,” Molly says. “Does the Chief know his front porch has become party central?”
 
“Hell yeah,” yireply. “His bedroom’s right above the porch, his windows are open on summer nights, we light a joint every other minute.”
 
Molly looks at the bill lying on the table, takes money out of her purse, sets it on top of the tab. She points up with both thumbs, then stands. Yistand along with her and follow her out the restaurant. When yir back in her car, yissay, “Thanks.” 
 
Molly smiles and says, “Your choice.”
 
“My what?”, yask as Molly pulls out of the parking lot. 
 
“You can pretend you’re still the fat kid everybody secretly hated,” Molly replies. “Or you can be the skinny guy who thinks everybody secretly hates him because he used to be a fat kid who everybody hated.”
 
“That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard a smart person say,” yissay. “I got no choice of who I am. I can’t help who thinks I’m an asshole. Only thing I can do is not care what they think. I haven’t learned that trick yet.” Yilook at Molly. Her eyes stay on the road.
 
Just when the silence in the car is making yisquirm, Molly says, “What you got has nothing to do with being fat or skinny. You don’t know.”
 
“I don’t know what?”, yask. 
 
“You,” Molly replies, “yet.” 
 
“I don’t know me,” yilaugh. “How’s that even possible?” 
 
“Good question,” she says. “Ask yourself, how would you like people to see you?” 
 
Yir stewing about Molly saying yidon’t know yirself yet. After a second, yissay, “That I’m a nice guy, I guess. Fun. Good company. Yiknow.” 
 
“Nice guy,” Molly says, “yeah. Fun? At times. Company? Well,” Molly continues, “Company-wise, maybe you could improve. Sometimes you look like you got the weight of the world on your shoulders.”
 
Yikinda laugh and say, “That’s how I feel sometimes.” 
 
“That’s how everybody feels sometimes,” Molly says. “Most people try not to show it.”
 
“Okay,” yissay flatly. “I’ll work on that. Thanks.” 
 
Molly ignores you, drives on. A half mile from your house, she says, “Someday. Someday." Yistart to say something, but Molly continues, “You’ll stop living in your head and think about changing what happens in everybody else’s.”
 
“How’m I s’pose to think about what’s inside other people’s heads when I know fuck-all about what’s hap’nin in mine?”, yask. 
 
Molly bops you. “Don’t you think just maybe you got it ass backwards?”, she asks. “Forget about your noggin for awhile and consider what makes them tick.”
 
“Did you just say forget what’s in my noggin?”, yask. “Is there like a manual, ‘How to forget everything you ever had in your brain ever’?”
 
“You don’t need one,” says Molly. Yir a block from your house, and yir bummed ‘cause Molly’s gonna leave and yill be alone on the damn porch.
 
Yitry, “I know I’m a f--” 
 
“Stop talking!”, Molly interrupts. “Doll’s boss is a murderer, if yihadn’t noticed. Doll’s got mouths to feed. No more sentences from you that start with ‘I’.” 
 
Yalmost say I’m sorry but stop yourself just in time. “OK,” yissay, “I hear.”
 
Molly leans over, gives you a playful slap. “Help yourself by helping others,” she says. “Start with Doll.” She pulls the car to the curb.
 
Yithink, the woman yilove but have never had sex with just told you to help the woman yispent last night having sex with. “Got it,” yireply.
 
Yiknow Molly’s waiting for you to get out but dang, yiwanna kiss her. “Any time,” Molly says, pointing out the door. 
 
“Okay, okay,” yissay. “I gotta say this. I love you, okay? Since that kiss, that goddamn kiss on the porch, in the rain.” 
 
“The kiss?”, Molly asks.
 
“You know the one I’m talkin’ about,” yissay. “With the big raindrop? It’s like that flipped a switch or something. It’s all I think about.”
 
“That kiss is all you think about?”, Molly asks. 
 
“No,” yireply, “You. You’re all I think about.” 
 
“Don’t you mean me and Doll?”, she asks.
 
Before yican explain about Doll and Camp, Molly adds, “You think about me, huh? That’s where you’ve been? Somewhere thinking about me? Because since the night of that kiss you’re raving about and today I’ve seen you how often? You about done thinking now?”
 
“I’ll tell you why, though you know already,” yissay. “I’m too far behind. Jesus, you’re a lawyer. I almost got kicked out of Wayne State. You got your own office and a nice apartment. I’m livin’ in my parent’s basement and working part-time midnights as a computer clerk.”
 
“You’re just a little young for your age,” Molly says. “Plus whatever all those diet pills did to you.” She looks you up and down and up.
 
“Besides makin’ me skinny,” yissay. 
 
“Besides makin’ you nuts,” Molly replies. “You even got Doll worried. Didn’t think that was possible.”
 
“Nah,” yissay, but something twitches. Doll worried about you? Doll? The girl all the boys dreamed about - amazing she even knows yir alive. “Her parents run off,” yissay, “leave her to care for her little brothers and sister, and she’s worried about me? That’s fucking fucked up.”
 
“Different kinda worry,” Molly replies. “Her family is a years-long worry. You’re a couple-of-months worry. Plus your head’s not right.”
 
“What’s not right about my head?”, yask. 
 
“What was that stuff you told Doll about thinking you’re dying?”, Molly asks back. “For starters.”
 
Molly’s passenger seat is getting uncomfortable. Yilook up at your front porch. “I’m not going up on that porch,” Molly says. “Not today.”
 
“So where does that leave it?”, yask. 
 
“Take care of Doll,” Molly says. “Let her take care of you. For now.” 
 
“Are you fucking nuts?”, yask. “This is Doll we’re talkin’ about. Nobody takes care of Doll unless Doll says okay, and I think she’s about done with me anyway.”
 
Molly shakes her head. “Just keep tabs on her,” she says. “Check in. She likes you, if you didn’t notice.” 
 
“I meant it, you know,” yissay.
 
“You meant it so much you’re gonna disappear for twice as long this time,” Molly says. She smiles, motions for you to get out of her car.
 
Yidecide Molly deserves the last word, so yiget out of her car and stand on the curb. She drives off before yican wave goodbye. Yilook up, think, Work tonight. Maybe yishould get some sleep. Yissit on the glider to think about it. The broken side. Yitake out a roach, spark it.
 
Halfway through the second hit, the Chief comes out the front door. Yipinch the lit end of the roach, turn your head, exhale facing away. The Chief sits down on the side of the glider that glides, but he stays on the edge, leaning slightly forward. “Yiwork tonight?”, he asks. Yinod. "What about Molly?", he asks.
 
“Molly?”, yask back. “I really like her, I mean a lot.” 
 
“I mean,” the Chief says, “I was surprised to see Molly with Doll this morning.”
 
“Yeah,” yitry, “Doll wanted to talk to Molly before she went to the station. And Molly thought she should come with us. I thought, well.” Yihesitate. “Well,” yigo on, “it doesn’t matter what I think because Doll’s gonna, whatever, not to mention Molly.” 
 
The Chief looks at you. “You and Doll ever go to Camp before?”, he asks. 
 
Yishake your head. “It’s not like that, dad,” yissay. “Doll’s not a damn murderer.”
 
“I know who killed Mrs. Gunn,” the Chief says, “or who paid for it, anyway. I don’t think her husband’s office assistant makes that much.”
 
“If yiknow who killed Mrs. Gunn,” yask, “why don’t you arrest him?” The Chief looks at you like yir a dolt.
 
“You mean arrest the fake delivery guy?”, he asks. “That’s who pulled the trigger. Delivering flowers,” he laughs, “Ain’t that a kick. Delivered two shotgun rounds instead.”
 
Yonly knew Mrs. Gunn from Camp, sitting outside that deluxe double-wide with a cocktail in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Newports. Who smokes Newports? Never said much. Never smiled much. Mrs. Gunn just sat there on the little patio, watching her husband’s many friends.
 
“So why are you on Doll if you know she didn’t do it?”, yask. 
 
The Chief asks back, “When was it you and Doll started hanging out? Recently?”
 
“C’mon, Dad,” yissay, “you don’t think Doll’s using me.” 
 
“You don’t really think she’s not using you,” the Chief replies. “C’mon yourself.”
 
“It’s not like that,” yargue. “See, Speed’s been hangin’ with Doll since her mom, yiknow.”
 
“Who?”, the Chief asks. 
 
“Jenny Racy,” yireply. “Racy, Racer, Speed. So anyway, Speed’s friends with Johnny Hardytack, and Johnny like lives over here, so Doll comes with her.”
 
“Does Doll ever talk about her mother?”, the Chief asks. 
 
“Like where she is? I thought you said I wouldn’t be grilled. And no. I don’t say anything to Doll about her mom, or her pop, she never brings ‘em up.” Now yireally wish Molly woulda stuck around.
 
The Chief pats you on the knee and says, “No grilling.” He stands up. “You and Doll should ride out to Camp again,” he says, “bring your brother some real food.” Yiwait for the Chief to comment on your weight, but after an uneasy pause, he just says, “Maybe tomorrow, eh?”
 
“Sure, pop,” yireply, “He’ll love it.”
 
After the Chief goes back in the house, yiconsider whether he’s right about Doll maybe knowing more about Mrs. Gunn than she’s letting on. That gets yithinking maybe Doll and you and the campfire and Renzo’s trailer, all of it, was just Doll getting the Chief’s son as her alibi. 
 
So Doll’s using you, yithink, so what? The Chief even said Doll didn’t kill anybody. Doll sure didn’t act like she knew somebody just got murdered. Yirecall thinking she was happier than she had a right to be, considering.
 
Considering Doll’s no-good dad is in prison for like ever, and her no-good mom ran off with another crook, leaving three little ones behind. Three little ones who are now their big sister Doll’s responsibility. Doll, who works for a crooked dentist whose wife was just murdered.
 
Molly tells you to keep an eye on Doll. The Chief wants to know what you and Doll talk about. Yiwonder whether yir ever gonna get any sleep.
 
“Shit,” yissay as yispot Cloth’s pale green truck coming down the street. So much for sack time before the night shift. “Sonofabitch,” yadd.
 
“I gotta work tonight,” yissay as Cloth comes up the porch stairs. 
 
“Did Doll’s boss kill his wife?”, he asks before he sits on the glider.

“Probably,” yireply. “I was hopin’ to get some sleep.” 
 
“Go ahead,” Cloth says. He leans back, causing his side of the glider to rock slowly. Cloth takes a cigar out of his shirt pocket, lights it with a match, says, “I’m just waitin’ for Hardytack.” The glider wobbles as he rocks.
 
“Why not wait for him at his house?”, yask. Cloth just laughs at this, a low, sullen chuckle. Yigive a couple hours of sleep a last thought. “Are you gonna tell me?”, yask. 
 
“No,” Cloth says. His side of the glider rocks slowly. 
 
“Good,” yireply, “’cause I don’t give a flyin’ fuck.”
 
Cloth repeats his low, slow growl of a laugh. “How’s Molly?”, he asks. Yir reminded of your promise to Molly that yid keep tabs on Doll.
 
“Shut the fuck up,” yitell Cloth. Again that growly, raspy laugh. “Yiknow, and stop with that fucking laugh while yir at it, eh?”
 
Cloth’s laugh gets louder, more raucous, a rhythmic cough. “What’s with Speed and Hardytack?”, yask. 
 
“They hate each other,” Cloth says. “They’re either fucking or fighting or both They’ll be married in a year.” 
 
“Divorced in five,” yadd, “with three kids.”
 
“And two drug habits,” Cloth says with a chuckle-grunt. 
 
“Those they got already,” yissay. “Don’t ever smoke a joint that Hardytack rolled.”
 
Another grunt-chuckle from Cloth. “Oh yeah,” yissay, “I forgot.” 
 
“I’ll stick to cigars,” Cloth says. 
 
“And every kind of alcohol,” yireply.
 
Cloth gets serious. “He puts somethin’ in those, don’t he,” he says. 
 
“Crystal,” yireply. “Stuff’ll make you fuckin’ crazy. Stick to booze.”
 
Yirealize there’s no way yil make it through a night shift without any sleep. Yistand, say, “Keep ‘em outta the basement,” and head inside.
 
Cloth ignores you as you walk by him. He just rocks the side of the glider that isn’t broken, staring down Alber Street at nothing but dark.
 
Yigo in the house, head straight downstairs, kick off your shoes, and plop on the bed in your clothes. Yir asleep about three breaths later.
 
Something starts rousing you some time later. Yexpect it’s Feet waking you for work. Then yifeel an arm around you, breath on your neck. Yithink, that’s not Feet. Before yican turn, Doll says, “I know what you’re thinking. You wish I was Molly.” 
 
Now yiturn and say, “Nope. I was thinking, why me?” 
 
Doll kisses you. “I don’t know,” she says. “Does it matter?” She rolls you over, slides on top. Yir hard like that. Doll’s on it as quickly. She takes things over. Yifollow her lead, her pace, her tempo. Doll is pulling all the strings.
 
Yilook at Doll. She’s all in it. Yir all with her, except that little piece of you that’s saying, this stuff doesn’t just happen. Not to me. Then yilook at Doll’s perfect breasts, her long, supple neck, parted lips, closed eyes, and yiforget all that something’s-up-with-all-this.
 
Yitry to last, but yifire before Doll does. Yistay hard until she finishes. Yithink, I’m gonna miss those breasts for the rest of my life. Doll drops her chest onto yours, stretches her legs back, rocks her hips gently, lets out a whispery gasp, relaxes. Yir still inside her.
 
Doll’s motionless on top of you. “Um,” yissay. 
 
“I know,” Doll says. She slowly rolls off you, lies on her back next to you. Yitake her in.
 
“Doll, you are beautiful,” yissay as she lies next to you. “What the fuck are you doing in my bed? Women like you, I mean, guys like me....”
 
“Go to work,” Doll mumbles. “Eat a big lunch.” As yiget up, she asks, “Yithink the Chief would mind if I spent the night?”
 
“Yeah,” yireply. “Just be quiet and he’ll never know yir here.” Even half asleep, Doll manages to laugh at this. Yistart to dress in the dark. Yilook at the clock, figure yigot ten minutes before Feet arrives to pick you up for another night spent checking a computer’s math. Fuck.
 
Yidecide Feet doesn’t need to know about Doll sleeping naked in your bed, so yihead for the front porch. Yilook back at Doll, think, No way.
 
As yigo up the basement steps and out the side door, yithink, the Chief’s right. Doll’s using me for something. Probably not something good. “Feels pretty good so far,” yissay to yourself as yiwalk up the porch steps, sit on the glider, and fish a roach out of your shirt pocket.
 
On your second hit yisee Feet’s Plymouth wagon come rolling down Alber. Yiput out the joint and walk down the steps to meet him at the curb. “I been waitin’ here for fuckin’ ever,” yissay to Feet when yiget in the passenger seat. Yicrack up as soon as yissay it. Feet just sighs.
 
“What’s with Doll?”, Feet asks before yican even shut the door. 
 
“Hi to you, too,” yireply. 
 
“She really at the station all day?”, he asks.
 
“What the fuck, Feet?”, yask. “We goin’ to work or what?” He hits the gas. “Who the fuck you been talkin’ to, anyway? Don’t say Hardytack.”
 
“Hardytack,” Feet says. “He heard from Speed, who got a call from Molly askin’ when Speed picked up Doll yesterday. So Speed calls Doll. Only Doll’s grandma answers and says Doll’s with you, so Speed calls Hardytack ‘cause she can’t call the Chief’s house. Speed asks Hardytack where you are, so she can find Doll. Hardytack wants to know why, so Speed tells him about Molly.”
 
“Yiknow,” yissay, getting a little ticked, “I forgot completely that it just fucking doesn’t matter.” Feet looks at you, ready to laugh. “Doll didn’t kill anybody,” yadd, “and she doesn’t know anything about anybody gettin’ killed. Cops know that. Molly just... I don’t know.”
 
“I didn’t think Doll killed her boss’s wife, shit,” Feet says. “Just how come she was at the station talkin’ to, yiknow, your dad and all. With a lawyer, no less.”
 
“Ask Molly, if yir so curious,” yissay. Yilook out the window at night flying by. 
 
“Uh-uh,” says Feet.
 
Yiknow Feet’s not done asking questions, so yask him, “How’s everything in Chicago?”

“Fuck,” he replies, “I hate that town, swear to God.”
 
“Last week you were talkin’ about movin’ there,” yissay, looking out the passenger window. 
 
“Nah, not really,” Feet replies, “Not for long. She wants me to move there.”
 
“Carol?”, yask. 
 
“Connie,” he replies. 
 
“Why would you do that?” 
 
“Exactly.” 
 
“No, I mean why?”
 
“Cuzza her family,” Feet replies. 
 
“Her family wants you to move there?, yask. 
 
“No, they don’t want Connie to move here.” 
 
“Can’t blame ‘em.” Yitune out Feet’s sad tale of woe about Cory or Carrie or Crimony in Chicago and watch Telegraph slice by in lifelike 3D outside the window. A mile from work yiflip a roach out of your cigarette pack and take a hit. “Use and be used,” yissay with held breath. Feet ignores you.
 
As Feet pulls his wagon into the parking lot, yissay, “Chicago isn’t so bad a place. And Connie....”
 
“Yeah?”, Feet asks. 
 
“She seems nice.”
 
“Nice?”, Feet snorts. “Nice? Thanks a lot.“ He keeps grumbling as he parks and heads for the small, two-story office building’s back door. 
 
Yihurry to catch up with him. “What’s bad about nice?”, yask. 
 
Yir both inside the building when he answers, “Who wants a nice girlfriend?” He continues as yenter the computer room: “Yiwant a girlfriend who, when yigo on a date, yimight end up needin’ bail. Someone like Doll.”
 
From across the computer room, Mickey Uh-uh shouts, “What’s with you and Doll?” 
 
“Hey Mick,” yishout back over the din. “Nothin’s with it.”
 
“Bullshit,” Mick says as he walks up to you and Feet, a big, goofy smile on his face. “I bet that dentist she works for killed his wife.”
 
“’Cept he has a half-dozen witnesses who saw him in his office at the time she was shot,” yissay, “including Doll.” 
 
Mickey keeps smiling. “You know that don’t mean diddly beans,” he replies. “He just had one of his trailer buds do it for him. Paid him in pharmaceuticals.”
 
“Maybe the Chief should be talkin’ to you instead of Doll,” yissay. 
 
“Molly, huh?”, Mick asks. 
 
Yishrug. “Check-in time,” yissay. Yileave the computer room and head for the Controls desk, which is actually four desks pushed together in the center of a windowless room.
 
“Where’s the twins?”, yask nobody because Feet didn’t follow you out of the computer room. “Hey!”, yishout. “Where’s the goddamn twins?”
 
Mick sticks his head through the computer room door. “Amber says you should collect the cards,” he says. “Says you owe her for last week.”
 
Yidon’t call bullshit, though you and Mick both know it is. Yidon’t even tell Mick how much yihate collecting the cards. He knows that too. Yigo up the back stairs to the back office, where the last keypunch operators handle the work of the holdouts who haven’t switched to tape. In the office are two rows of four desks. Beside each desk is a tall wire basket on wheels. Inside the baskets are today’s keypunch cards. Yicollect the cards from the baskets, following all those stupid procedures, just like the twins showed you when yistarted this summer job six weeks ago. Yithink, what a place.
 
By the time yiget back downstairs, the twins have arrived. “Hey,” yissay as yipass them on your way to the computer room carrying your trays. Yislide the tray onto the shelves of a six-foot-tall cabinet, again following the stupid procedures. “Hey,” yishout at Feet over the noise, “whatiya do with these?”
 
“We turn ‘em into those printouts you spend the night checking,” Feet replies. 
 
“Anybody ever find a mistake?”, yask. 
 
“Ask Mick,” says Feet.
 
Yigo back into the controls office, find the twins, Terry and Amber, who aren’t related and don’t look alike, but are inseparable, so twins. Amber is sitting at one of the desks, leafing through a printout, checking numbers. Terry is sitting on top of the same desk, watching her.

Yilook at Terry and think, that’s damn creepy. She looks 30, but there’s a teenagerness about her. Like her unadulterated devotion to Amber.
 
“Hey,” yissay to the twins as yissit at one of the empty desks. The twins “hey” you back. Even in full disco mode, Amber knocks you out. Yithink maybe Terry caught you taking in Amber just a little too long not to be ogling from three feet away. Yignore Terry glowering at you.
 
Yir in no hurry to start working. Yigot two hours of checking numbers to spread over an eight-hour shift. So yiwatch Amber work instead. “How long you been doin’ this?”, yask. 
 
“Three years,” Amber replies without looking up. 
 
“Yever find a mistake?” 
 
“Not yet.” Yikeep watching. A few seconds later, Amber adds, “You won’t find any either, unless you start looking.” Yitake the hint and grab a printout from the pile. Yileaf through the printout, locating headings with a specific type of numeric value. Then yicompare the value to a control. All night long.
 
Yiwait til 3 a.m. for your first break, out to the parking lot to smoke half a joint. Mickey Uh-uh’s there, looking at the gray night sky. “Controls clerk,” yissay as yiwalk up to Mick, startling him a little bit. Yifish a joint out of your cigarette pack and add, “It’s nuts.”
 
“You’ll never find an error,” Mick says as yilight the joint. Yoffer it to him though yiknow he doesn’t smoke. “Everybody knows,” he adds. “Even the customers know, and they’re the ones who insisted on it. They don’t trust the computers to count better than humans.”
 
Mick goes on as yismoke: “Just think, your job won’t exist in a year or two, once they figure out they’re wastin’ money. You’ll be long gone by then. Not bad for a summer job, though, eh?”
 
Yissay, “Probably won’t be the last time a computer takes my job. It can have it.”
 
“Easy money,” Mick replies. “Eight hours pay for two hours of work, maybe. No bosses, smoke breaks.” 
 
“But I’m not doing anything,” yissay. “Amber told me she’s never found a mistake. She’s been working here for three years.” 
 
“Four,” Mick says. “She loves the place. It’s all in your way of lookin’ at it,” he adds, boredom now sneaking in. “Yispend 40 hours a week workin’, so make it painless, yiknow?”
 
“That’s it?”, yask. “That’s yir career advice? ‘Make it painless’? Forty years later you look back and say, ‘Well, that didn’t hurt much’.”
 
“Forty years later,” Mick replies, “Yidon’t waste yir time looking back.” He walks toward the back door, stops, turns, asks, “How’s Renzo?”
 
“Apart from living in a leaky trailer,” yireply, “he’s fine.” Yifollow Mick inside and down the steps to the computer room. The music is cranked. Feet is playing air guitar to an Eddie Money tune. Mick walks over to an oversized line printer. “Did they sink your battleship?”, yask.
 
“It’s Star Trek,” Mick says, keeping his gaze on the printer output. 
 
“Same difference,” yissay, giving Feet a thumbs up on the air guitar. Yirejoin Amber and Terry in the Controls room. They don’t appear to have budged since yileft them there 20 minutes earlier. Amber smiles. Terry looks up briefly, then she returns her attention to the desktop she’s sitting on. “Nice night,” yissay as you settle into your chair.
 
“I can smell the weed,” Amber says without looking up. 
 
“Weed?”, yireply, “No, no. They’re just fumigating out there is all.” 
 
Amber looks up. “Fumigating?”, she laughs. “All I’m saying is you could give us some.” Yitake a joint out of your cigarette pack, roll it across the desk. Amber grabs the j in mid roll and hands it to Terry, who puts it in her shirt pocket. “Fumigating,” Amber laughs. “At three in the morning.”
 
Yimake it through the shift, listening as Amber talks her Chaldean boyfriend up and then down again. Yirealize Terry’s part of the equation. “Yimean,” yask, “when you and Kazim go out, Terry comes too?” 
 
Amber looks surprised. “O’ course,” she says, “What’s she gonna do at home? Kazim doesn’t mind,” Amber says before yican ask. “He likes Terry. Besides, she quiets my anxiety.” Amber and Terry beam at each other.
 
“Yeah,” yissay, “if I was going out with Kazim, I’d be anxious too.” 
 
“Kazim doesn’t make me anxious,” Amber replies, a little ticked off.
 
Amber and Terry stare back at you. “Y’know,” yissay, “anxious sorta generally, as opposed to being anxious about one thing in particular.”
 
“What do you know about anxiety?”, Terry snaps at you. 
 
“I’m learning more about it every day,” yireply, “Every minute, you could even say. I just mean sometimes yir nervous about everything out of nowhere, and other times, something in particular makes yinervous.”
 
Terry looks ready to pounce, but Amber waves her back and says, “I know what he means. Those are what yicall triggers.” Yirelax a little. "Sometimes something stirs it up,” Amber continues, “and other times yijust don’t know what.” She smiles. Terry’s still fuming on the desk.
 
“Yeah,” yireply astutely. Yir shocked that yir connecting with Amber. Since yistarted working six weeks ago she has hardly said boo to you.

Once yigot past Amber’s hillbilly disco wardrobe, yifound a good looking young woman, strong and curvy. Lively. She’s still smiling at you.
 
“Breathin’ helps me sometimes,” yissay finally. 
 
“Yeah,” Terry says taking the joint out of her shirt pocket. “Breathin’ these.” She laughs.
 
“Sometimes it does,” yireply. “Yido what yigotta.” 
 
Amber leans toward you and says, “Champagne’s the best medicine for my panic attacks.”
 
“I’ll try that next time I’m freakin’ out over nothin’,” yitell her mock seriously. “The way Terry’s looking at me, I may need it soon.” Terry’s eat-shit expression doesn’t change. Yithink, so much for her warming to you. “Yinever been scared of anything, have you?”, yask her. “Whatever works,” yitell Amber after a pause. “I’m an RCH away from a grand-mal freakout just about every waking minute.” 
 
Amber’s jaw drops. “I didn’t understand a word you just said,” Amber says flatly. This gets a “huh!” kinda one-syllable laugh out of Terry. 
 
“What?”, yask her. Like that, your brief connection with Amber disappears. Yilose interest in her service dog Terry just as quickly. Yiwalk away wordlessly.
 
“Sanctuary!”, yishout as yenter the noisy computer room. Feet nods, looks confused. Across the bright room, Mick asks, “Amber or Terry?”
 
“Like it matters,” yanswer. “It’s too soon for a break, but I can’t go back in there with the twins.” 
 
“They’re okay,” Mick says, “apart.”
 
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen them apart,” yissay. "They're like Miss Hillbilly Disco 1978 and her comfort animal."
 
A second later, Amber enters the computer room, without Terry. “There yigo,” says Feet. When Terry follows Amber into the room, Feet adds, “And there yiwent.” 
 
“Who went?”, Amber asks him, then she says to you, “Yigot a visitor.”
 
“Me?”, yask Amber. “Nobody even knows I work here.” 
 
“She called,” Amber says. “Said meet her in the parking lot.” 
 
“Who?”, yask, then answer yourself: “Doll.” 
 
“Didn’t give a name,” Amber says flatly. She returns to the controls office, Terry right behind her. Mick laughs.
 
Mick laughs. “Comfort animal,” he says as he goes back to work. Feet does likewise, singing obscene lyrics he made up to a Foreigner tune.
 
Yitry to figure what Doll wants at 4:00 in the morning as yihead up the stairs to the back door. Yilook around the parking lot, see nobody. Yithink, somebody’s got a car just like Molly’s, then yithink Doll musta took Molly’s car. When Molly gets out, your mood does a one-eighty. Yir not sure if yir happier ‘cause it’s Molly walking towards you, or ‘cause it’s not Doll. This makes yifeel kinda sad ‘cause yilike Doll.
 
Yidon’t want to be the first to mention Doll, so yask, “Why aren’t you home asleep?” 
 
“Hello to you too,” Molly replies. Yicurse yidamnself. 
 
Yi give Molly a genuine hug. “It’s good to see you,” yissay. “I’d invite you in, but the parking lot’s much, um, friendlier.” 
 
Molly smiles. “Six weeks from now you’ll be back in school,” she says, still smiling, “and they’ll still be here, doing their best to forget about you.”
 
“Six weeks from now,” yissay back, “tell me Doll’s not in jail and her druggie dentist boss is.”
 
“Yes and no,” Molly replies. “Doll’s cool, apart from being unemployed."
 
"And having her little brothers and sister to raise,” yissay, “and a father in prison, and--.”
 
“Stop,” Molly interrupts. “I said, Doll’s cool. She is. Doll won’t thank you for helping her out, but I will.” 
 
“What’d I do?”, yiprotest. “The Chief’s done more for Doll than I have.”
 
“Because of you,” says Molly. “Because she’s a friend of his son.” 
 
Yithink, bullshit. “It ain’t anywhere near that simple, and you know it,” yissay. “There’s more goin’ on than Doll’s boss’s wife gettin’ offed.” 
 
Molly smiles. “Like what?”, she asks mock-seriously. 
 
Yisquint, ask, “Am I talkin’ to my good friend Molly, or to the attorney of my good friend Doll?”
 
Molly steps closer, says softly, “One friend expressing her gratitude to another friend for helping a friend of them both.” 
 
Now yir toast. Yiknow yill do anything Molly asks you to. Yifeel a little ashamed for enjoying the help yigave Doll so much, and for hoping to help more. Yijust want to be with Molly, but yir also wondering whether Doll will come home with you after breakfast. Molly knows this, seems amused.
 
“What else?”, yask. Molly gives you a mock-incredulous smile. Yissay, “Yididn’t come out here at 4 a.m. to say thanks for diddlin’ Doll.”
 
Molly says, “Where d’you think Doll would’ve been if she hadn’t been diddlin’ you?” 
 
“Goin’ to Camp was her idea,” yireply. 
 
Molly just smiles. “Whose idea was it for you and Doll to meet for breakfast when you get off work?”, she asks. 
 
“What, now I’m her bodyguard?”, yask back.
 
“Doll doesn’t need a bodyguard,” Molly says, “She needs someone who doesn’t need anything from her. Someone easy, predictable. That’s you.”
 
Yithink about this, realize Molly’s right, as usual. “I don’t know how I feel about this,” yissay finally. 
 
Molly laughs, gets in her car. “Enjoy your breakfast,” she says before she shuts the car door. She motions toward the building and adds, “Your computers are waiting.”
 
Yihead for the building’s back door, not bothering to watch Molly drive off. Yitry to think about Doll, but Molly’s smile is all yipicture.
 
Yistruggle through the back end of the night shift. Yiclock out before the day shift floods the place, follow Feet to his banged-up wagon.
 
“You still goin’ to the Egg?”, Feet asks as yitool down Southfield. 
 
“Why wouldn’t I be?”, yask him. 
 
“’Cause you’re not hungry?”, he laughs.
 
“Why’s everybody so concerned about my appetite all of a sudden?”, yask. 
 
Feet laughs, “Maybe ‘cause you just lost a hundred damn pounds.”

“Eighty-five damn pounds,” yicorrect him. “I got used to not eating is all. I’m gettin’ the habit back.” Feet starts to say something, stops. “I stopped takin’ them pills more’n a year ago, in case you were wondering,” yissay. 
 
“Yeah,” Feet says. “I mean, nah, not really. You know.”
 
Two minutes later, Feet asks, “Is Doll in trouble? About Mrs. Gunn, I mean.” 
 
Yithink, Fuck. A week ago, Doll barely knows me. Now, I’m what? Yissay, “Doll’s father’s doing 10 years in Jackson State for heroin distribution, her mother took off on her and her brothers and sister. Doll’s boss is a druggie dentist who probably had his wife killed and used Doll as his alibi. You tell me. Is she in trouble?”
 
“So you hangin’ with Doll all of a sudden is like your good deed or something?”, Feet asks. 
 
“Yeah,” yissay, “a completely selfless act.”
 
Yiboth start laughing. “And so, uh, Molly...,” Feet asks. 
 
“Molly’s Doll’s lawyer,” yitell him, trying to sound like it’s nothing. Feet nods. “Okay. Alright,” yissay finally. “I’m still fuckin’ crazy about Molly, but she’s tellin’ me to stick with Doll.” 
 
“Her client,” Feet adds.
 
“Nah,” yissay after a second. “Molly wouldn’t.” Yileave it at that, but yiknow Molly would. “I should be on her payroll,” yiwhisper. “Shit.”
 
“Time to punch in,” says Feet as he pulls into the Egg’s narrow parking lot. Yisee Doll’s car parked with the back end blocking the alley. “How’s your appetite now?”, Feet asks as yiget out of his car. 
 
“Yijust couldn’t resist,” yissay before shutting the door. Yihear him cackle.
 
--------------------------
 Friday

Yilook at the menu, trying to find something yid actually eat. Yir about to ask Doll why the fuck people come to this dump when she asks, “You gonna tell me?”

"Sure," yireply, not looking up from the laminated menu. "Anything you wanna here."

"Why are you so mean to Molly?”, Doll asks.  
 
“Shut the fuck up, seriously,” yissay. “I'm always nice to Molly.”
 
“You shouldn'ta disappeared,” Doll says. 
 
“I couldn't see her, either. I was too embarrassed. Like I was a fake. Am a fake. With you I’m just me and it’s great. With her I’m, I’m...,” 
 
Yilook at Doll, tongue-tied. “Please, continue,” she says. “I want to hear this. With Molly yir....” 
 
“Me and it's not great,” yissay finally.
 
“And why is that?”, Doll asks, her smile disappearing. “Same you. What’s different?” Yistare back. “I’ll tell you. I’m not real to you, and Molly’s too real. You can be yourself with me because I'm an illusion.” 
 
“Nuts,” yissay. "You're as real as real gets." Yilean across the table and whisper, “I’ll tell you why. You and me, we're a team. I help you, you help me. But you would break my heart, if I let you. Molly--” 
 
“Already has,” Doll interrupts.
 
“Wouldn't even if she could,” yifinish. “My heart’s fine. My brain, I'm workin' on.” 
 
Doll half-smiles. “We’re all workin' on something,” she says.
 
Yinotice two big guys in dark blue windbreakers come through the Egg’s front door. They walk straight to your table. Doll sees you see them. “You don’t look happy,” she says just before the men arrive at your table. 
 
“Friends of yours?”, yask her as the two figures glare at you.
 
“Your boss is worried about you,” one of the men says to Doll. He slides an envelope across the table towards her. “One week off with pay,” he adds. “Double time.”
 
“Didn’t catch the name,” yitell him.
 
He looks at you, turns, and follows his buddy out the door.
 
Doll ignores the envelope. “Well,” she says, stretching the word to breaking.
 
Yitry to cheer her up. “You didn’t know your boss was a crook when you took the job. Who ever heard of a mob dentist?"
 
“This is so fucked,” Doll says, pushing the envelope away with her elbow. “I kinda knew as soon as I got the job,” she says, looking toward the door. Then she looks you in the eye and adds, “When my dad got sent up, my ma got this call asking was I interested in this paid training for dental assistant. When they said it was with Dr. Gunn, she hung up fast.”
 
Doll waits a beat before continuing: “An hour or so later, she tells me who it was that called, and Dr. Gunn’s not square, but he’s offering me a job, so be careful.” 
 
Yilet Doll tell it at her own slow pace. “Later,” she goes on, “I saw how my ma planned it, the whole thing. Get me a job,” Doll is talking to the table, “Get the kids used to me caring for them while she’s at the bar, or wherever.” Yijust let that last word hang in the air. 
 
“Doll,” yistart, trying to find something funny to say. Yisettle for, “Let’s split.”
 
Yipay up at the cash register after yimake sure Doll doesn’t leave behind the envelope the bagmen dropped on the table. Yistart making out when yir half way to the car. Yikeep it up on the drive home and are half disrobed by the time you stumble in a tangle through the side door.
 
Yimanage not to fall down the half flight of stairs to the basement while stuck to each other, bash through the half-open door, and crash into your twin bed, nakeder with every step. Yisurprise yourself by waiting to climax until after Doll is done bronc-riding your midsection.
 
You and Doll cuddle and coo in that narrow bed a good long while, staring at the radiator on the low ceiling. Yihear someone walking upstairs and think, shit. The Chief’s home. “Six more weeks ‘til I’m in Ann Arbor,” yissay under your breath. 
 
Doll sits up, says, “Let’s go say hi.”
 
“Bad idea,” yireply, but Doll’s now half out of bed. 
 
“Don’t worry,” she says, “I’ll get dressed.” 
 
“Still a really bad idea, Doll,” yissay, “Molly wouldn’t like that.” 
 
Doll continues to dress, retrieving clothes strewn all the way to the side door. “Molly?”, she laughs, “Really?”
 
“Molly your lawyer,” yireply, “not Molly my....” 
 
Doll stares back at you, nearly dressed now. “Yir gonna have to finish that sentence all by yourself,” she says finally. “While yir thinkin’ about it, we can see how the Chief is handlin’ all the pressure.” 
 
“What pressure?”, yask. But Doll is taking the steps two at a time up to the kitchen. Yigot your pants mostly on and yir looking around for your shirt, which is half stuck in the side door. From the stairway landing yihear laughter in the kitchen. Yir blood turns ice cold. Dad and Doll, best of friends.
 
Yithink as yiplod up the steps, what a fuckin’ nightmare. Molly, who yir in love with, wants you to hang with Doll. The Chief, who should know better, wants you to hang with Doll. Doll, who really should know better, wants to hang with you. Yisidle into the kitchen like nothing.
 
Doll and the Chief are sitting across from each other at the small kitchen table, not saying a word. “Hi, Dad,” yissay to the Chief. “Off today?”, yadd even though he’s in a suit and tie.
 
“Lunch,” the Chief replies. 
 
Yilook at the clock on the stove and say, “Wow. One o’clock.”
 
The Chief smiles at Doll, who smiles back. The Chief stands and says, “Back to the salt mine.” He winks at Doll and says to you, “Get some sleep.” He looks back at Doll and says, “See that this one stays out of trouble.” 
 
Doll nods solemnly, still smiling. Yisputter, “That-that. That’s backward.” The Chief heads for the back door. “I’m the one keeping her....” He’s gone. “...safe.” 
 
Yiturn to Doll. “Right?”, yask her. 
 
“Of course,” she replies. She stands right in front of you, her lips inches away from yours, “You’re doing a bang-up job.”
 
Yican’t believe yir getting hard again. Doll looks you in the eye, your noses almost touching. She feels you, says “Well.” Yikiss her, hold her, nudge her gently toward the basement steps. “Chief’s bed,” she whispers. 
 
“No way,” yiwhisper back. 
 
“Chief’s bed,” she repeats, softer.
 
“He’ll fucking kill me,” yanswer, even softer. 
 
“Chief’s bed,” Doll says again, like a mantra. She kisses you, nudges you upstairs. 
 
“That’s my ma’s bed too,” yissay as you and Doll step slowly up the stairs, wrapped in each other. 
 
“Nuh-uh,” Doll replies. 
 
“How’d you know?”, yask.
 
“When your sister skipped off to Utah,” Doll replies, breathing heavier now. “Your ma took her room.” 
 
“Arizona,” yicorrect her. “How do you know this?”, yask as yireach the top of the stairs. Doll starts taking your shirt off, ignoring the question. “How ‘bout the attic?”, yask. Doll grabs the front of your now-unbuttoned shirt and pulls you into the Chief’s room. “I don’t know,” yitry, “I feel kinda weird fucking you in my dad’s bed.” 
 
“That’s the point,” Doll whispers harshly. 
 
Yistand facing each other at the foot of the Chief’s bed. Yistart to laugh. “Lemme shut the door,” yissay, but Doll throws you onto the Chief’s bed and straddles you. “Doll,” yissay as she yanks off your clothes, then her clothes, then more of your clothes. “Doll,” yitry again. She kisses you hard in reply. “Are yever gonna let me drive?”, yask finally.
 
“Someday, maybe,” Doll replies as she slides into position, “not today.” Yidecide to enjoy Doll’s imagination along with her. A few minutes later, Doll adds in a low moan, “When you graduate, I’ll give you the keys.” Yir mind is on Doll and her rhythm, so yimiss it at first.
 
It’s not until yir catching your breath after that yask, “What’s finishing college got to do with letting me drive once?” 
 
“There’s more than one kinda graduating,” Doll replies softly. She stretches out, luxuriating in the Chief’s big bed. 
 
“Somebody’s downstairs,” yissay. Doll ignores you. Yistretch out next to Doll, your front against her right side. Yissay, “Yir only sleeping with me because yiknow I’m crazy in love with Molly.”
 
“Crazy is right,” Doll says. 
 
“Craziest part is,” yadd, “Molly’s cool with it.” 
 
“She’s more than cool with it,” Doll says. “Her idea.”
 
“Yiknow,” yissay, snuggling closer to Doll, “I don’t even mind that. Molly’s the smartest person I ever met, and I’m havin’ the time of my life with you.” Doll doesn’t respond. “I bet she sensed something was up about your boss and told you, ‘Get tight with the Chief’s kid.’”
 
“Nah,” Doll replies, turning toward you slowly, “She said get tight with the Chief.” 
 
“How’s that comin’?”, yask the side of Doll’s neck. 
 
“I’m workin’ on it,” she murmurs. 
 
Yidecide Doll’s apricot-earth aroma is your new favorite smell. “We gotta get going,” yissay, not budging.
 
“Not ‘til we finish the laundry,” Doll says into your shoulder. 
 
“What laundry?”, yask.

​Doll ruffles the sheet with her left hand. “How’m I gonna get tight with the Chief if I leave his bed a mess?” 
 
Yilift your head, say, “There’s something really weird about this... situation.”
 
“Clever boy,” Doll says, rolling onto her back slowly. “I knew you would figure it out. Was it the murder of the dentist’s wife in her kitchen in the middle of the afternoon that tipped you off? Or maybe the dentist’s alibi - me - having the Chief’s son - you - as her alibi?”
 
“Where did I go after work that day?” Doll asks, pointing at the front porch below the Chief’s bedroom window. “Who’d I spend that night with?”, she asks, pointing at you. “At Camp. And who else was there? My boss, the Mayor and his henchmen. At the Canteen dance. On a Wednesday. All this while poor Mrs. Gunn lies dead on her kitchen floor." Doll reaches to pull you closer. “Is that a weird enough situation for you?” She kisses you, soft and slow. 
 
“You forgot the county sheriff in the trailer next to Renzo’s,” yissay when the kiss finally breaks. "And you forgot why.” Doll looks at you like, huh? “If we’re set up,” yistart, then Doll elbows you. “If I’m set up, why? So the mob dentist you work for wants his wife killed. Why bring me into it? I mighta said two words to the woman, maybe.” 
 
Doll raises one eyebrow, laughs. “You just answered your own question.” She jumps out of the bed, stands naked in front of the window, says, “Laundry time.” 
 
“How ‘bout get dressed time first,” yireply, pointing at the window. 
 
“Get arrested for indecent exposure?”, she asks, “In the Chief’s bedroom?” Doll puts on her shirt and pants, leaves her underwear on the floor. “You strip the linen and get the first load going,” she says. “I’ll make the bed.” She heads for the linen closet in the hall. 
 
“First load?”, yask, but yido what yir told after getting yourself mostly dressed. 
 
Yir heading for the basement with an armload of dirty laundry as yipass Doll heading back to the bedroom with her arms full of clean linen. Yistop at the top of the stairs, think, Good thing I don’t believe in symbolism, and start down the stairs. Yinearly walk right past Molly.
 
She’s sitting in the chair at the kitchen table that the Chief occupied when yicame up from the basement. “Did we have an appointment?”, yask, half serious. 
 
Molly looks puzzled. “I’m here to see my client,” she says. “Your girlfriend.” 
 
“This was your idea,” yissay.
 
“Relax,” Molly says flatly, “everything will work out fine.”
 
Yistand there with your arms full of dirty linen. “I thought lawyers weren’t supposed to say stuff like that,” yissay. 
 
“You’re not my client,” Molly replies. 
 
“What am I?”, yask. “And no client’s boyfriend bullshit.”
 
“This I gotta hear,” Doll says. She’s standing behind you. Yididn’t notice her enter the kitchen. 
 
Yiboth look at Molly. “Troubled,” Molly replies, voice flat as a pancake. “Young,” she adds, “younger than your age in birthdays.” 
 
“She’s right,” Doll says. “You said so yourself.”
 
“That don’t mean a thing,” yissay. “I’m wrong all the time.”
 
Molly acts like she didn’t hear you. “It’s perfect,” she says. “Doll needs you, you need Doll.” 
 
“I need him for what?”, Doll asks as yask 
 
“She needs me for what?”, yadd. 
 
“A job reference,” Molly whispers. Nobody says anything.
 
“I knew this was about the Chief,” yissay after five seconds of silence. 
 
“Three young siblings,” Molly says, “her dentist boss in prison for murdering his wife.” 
 
“Legal bills,” yadd, then, “sorry, cheap shot.” 
 
Doll hugs you from behind. “The Chief likes me,” she says to Molly. “I’ve got no schooling to speak of, no experience except Gunn. I need all the friends I can get.”
 
Yiturn towards Doll. “You and me being buds isn’t gonna make my dad like you,” yissay. “Besides, your boss might get away with it. I mean, you’re his alibi, right?” More silence.
 
“Now you get to talk to Molly the lawyer,” Molly says finally. 
 
“Who was I talking to before?”, yask. 
 
“Molly who you have a schoolboy crush on,” Doll says, loosening her hug a bit. 
 
“I have a schoolboy crush on you,” yitell Doll. “I’m in love with Molly. It makes sense, really.”
 
“Wash,” Molly says. Yilook at the dirty linen yir still holding in your arms, say “Good idea,” and head for the basement. Yilook back and say to Doll, “Remember, if she starts talking to you about me, she’ll probably bill you for it. Something to keep in mind in my absence.”
 
Yiget the wash load going quick as you can, make a stop at the toilet, grimace at your reflection in the mirror, head back upstairs to the kitchen. Molly and Doll have disappeared. Yithink, porch, and there they are. Yissit on the broken side of the glider. Molly is beside you, Doll is sitting sideways on the porch rail in front of you. “I don’t want to talk about it,” yissay. 
 
Molly and Doll ignore you. “Maybe the Chief’s basement isn’t the best place for you to be entertaining,” Molly says.
 
Yihang yir big toe off the edge of the rail next to Doll’s hip. “She prefers the Chief’s bedroom,” yissay. 
 
“I heard,” Molly replies flatly. Doll stares down the block, smiling. 
 
“Besides,” yadd, “In six weeks I’ll be in Ann Arbor. Already got my place all lined up. On Liberty.”
 
“Ah,” Molly says, meaning what does that have to do with anything? “You see,” she continues, “Fred Salvatore, you know Fred? A few years ahead of us at Fordson. Ran track. Anyway, he manages property and he told me about this sublease.” 
 
“Told you after you called him,” yissay.
 
“You like it in the basement?”, Molly asks. “Sure,” yireply. “Doll doesn’t mind.” 
 
“I like it upstairs better,” Doll smiles. 
 
“Which is a good reason for you to be thinking about a sublease,” Molly tells you. “Murder trial witness caught in Chief’s bed, not so good on the old resume.”
 
“I can see how that could tarnish a young lawyer’s reputation,” yissay mock-seriously, “but it could be a good career move for me.” 
 
Doll laughs, “Me too, if my lawyer didn’t object.” 
 
“I do,” Molly says. “You’re about to get some generous offers. Direct them all to me, okay?”
 
Yilook at Doll and ask, “Did you tell her about the gents with the envelope?” 
 
“I left it on the table,” Doll says. 
 
“I didn’t,” yireply. 
 
“I don’t want it,” Doll says as Molly holds out her hand to you. 
 
“I don’t have it on me,” yissay, patting your pockets. “Oh wait. Here it is.”
 
Yihand Molly the envelope. She takes it and turns to Doll. “Has your boss ever paid you in cash?”, she asks. 
 
“What?”, Doll replies. 
 
“Does he pay you vacation? Sick time?” Doll laughs. Molly turns to you and asks, “Does the Chief know about this envelope?” 
 
“’Course not,” yanswer.
 
Doll and Molly look at you. “I wasn’t gonna leave it on the table for the waitress,” yexplain.
 
“Why not?”, Doll asks. 
 
Molly holds up a hand to cut her off. “Witness tampering,” Molly says to you, pronouncing each syllable separately. 
 
“I’m not a witness,” yissay. They look at you. “Since when am I a witness?”, yask. 
 
“Where were you the night after Dr. Gunn’s wife was murdered?”, Molly asks. “Who were you with? Who did you see? What did you do?” 
 
“Geez Louise, Molly,” yireply. “I never seen you go full lawyer before.” Yilook at Doll, ask, “What did we do?”
 
Before Doll can answer, Molly interrupts: “The Chief’s home.” All three of you watch the Chief’s unmarked police car glide down Alber Street, past the right side of the porch, out of sight. Yihear the tires turn into the driveway behind the house. 
 
“Besides fucking?”, Doll replies finally.
 
Yilook sheepishly at Molly, who looks back at you and says, “Shouldn’t you offer your guests some water?” 
 
“Yiwant me to go talk to my dad?”, yask. 
 
“He might like that,” Molly smiles. Doll laughs. 
 
“The bed,” yiwhisper to Doll. 
 
“It’s made,” she replies. 
 
“The water?”, Molly repeats.
 
“Two waters,” yissay as yistand and head for the front door.

When yiget to the kitchen the Chief is at the sink, filling a glass from the faucet. “Hey dad,” yissay, sounding too chipper. 
 
“Did you offer your guests something to drink?”, he asks as he takes his seat at the kitchen table. 
 
“Doin’ it right now,” yitell him. “How’s everything down at the station?”, yask as yifill the first glass at the sink. 
 
“What?”, the Chief asks, looking up from the newspaper on the table. 
 
“The Police Station?”, yask again, “Everything okay down there?” 
 
“Why wouldn’t they be okay?”, the Chief asks back.
 
“No reason,” yireply, “just curious.” Yisset the first glass down, start filling the second at the tap. 
 
“Since when are you curious about the Police Station?”, the Chief asks. 
 
Yiturn, say, “I’m not, really, but Molly suggested I talk to you, so....” 
 
“Molly,” the Chief repeats. 
 
Yigo back to filling the second glass at the faucet, say over your shoulder, “So, is Doll in trouble?” 
 
“With the law? No,” the Chief replies. 
 
Yiwait for him to continue, but he doesn’t. “How ‘bout in trouble with someone else?”, yask. 
 
“I believe she is, yes,” the Chief answers.
 
Yiwait for the Chief to elaborate but he reads his newspaper. “Isn’t that the type of thing the police take an interest in?”, yask. 
 
The Chief looks up, asks, “What’s that?” 
 
“Doll being in trouble,” yissay. 
 
“We’re always interested,” the Chief says, “when someone commits a crime.”
 
“You said you think Doll is in trouble,” yissay. “Don’t you have to, like, protect witnesses?”
 
“What makes you think Doll’s in trouble because she’s a witness?”, the Chief asks. 
 
“Why else would she be in trouble?”, yask back. The Chief returns his attention to his newspaper. 
 
Yilook at the two glasses of water yipoured. “I’m feeling a little pushed and pulled here, dad,” yissay. “I really like Molly, I mean a lot, but I’m having a ton of fun with Doll. And she’s had nothin’ but bad luck since we started hangin’ out.” 
 
The Chief looks up, says, “Hmm.” He smiles, says slowly, “Did you ever think the reason you’re with Doll is because she’s hit a patch of bad luck?” Yistart to answer, but the Chief cuts you off. “It’s not like you’ve got anything better to do, at least until you’re back at school.” Yitry to mention work. The Chief resumes, paying you no mind: “I include that computer job. That’s a dead-end business if I ever saw one.” Yistart to point out how much money Feet and Mickey M’har are making, but the Chief’s on a roll: “Listen to Molly. She’s a smart cookie.” 
 
Yithink, that’s the problem.
 
“And don’t think Molly being smart is a problem,” the Chief adds, returning to his newspaper. “Really smart people let even-smarter people do some of their thinking for them.” 
 
Yir serious when yissay, “I gotta think about that.” 
 
“If you’re smart,” says the Chief, “you won’t.”
 
Yistand at the kitchen sink trying to come up with a response. The Chief glances up from his newspaper again, nods at the glasses, says, “Your guests are getting thirsty.” 
 
“I’m definitely not thinkin’ about it,” yissay as yitake a glass in each hand and head for the front porch.
 
“That was a bad idea,” yissay as yicatch the screen door with your foot to keep it from slamming. Yihand one glass to Molly, the other to Doll. 
 
“Of course it wasn’t,” Molly says after taking a long drink. “What did you talk about?”, she asks. Yilook at Doll, who’s still sipping. “What about her?”, Molly asks. 
 
“That she’s not in legal trouble,” yireply, “but she may be in trouble with someone else, but until there’s a crime, there’s nothing for the police to do about it.” Yipause. 
 
“So?”, Molly asks.

“So I should give her a hand, for now,” yissay quietly.
 
Doll laughs, and Molly joins in. “See?”, Molly says, “That wasn’t a waste of time.” 
 
Doll moves over to sit next to you on the porch railing, asks, “You’re gonna help me out, for now?” She snuggles your neck, which yilike except for Molly sitting right there on the porch glider.
 
Yithink, six weeks ‘til I’m back in school, I can help Doll out, even if she’s in trouble with somebody. Yirealize Doll is getting a little too serious with the foreplay. On the porch. At four in the afternoon. With Molly sitting right there on the glider. “The Chief said something else,” yissay. This only slows Doll down a little. “Something yir gonna love,” yadd. 
 
“What’s that?”, Molly asks. Yidon’t know if she sounds bored or tired or disappointed. Maybe all three. 
 
“He said I should let you do more of my thinking for me,” yissay, trying to smile. 
 
“Oh joy,” Molly says. “And what do you think about it?” Molly sounds even more bored. 
 
Yissay, “The Chief said if I was smart, I wouldn’t think about it, which I guess is the whole point, thinking-wise.” Doll chuckles. “I mean,” yadd, “just do, like goin’ to Camp that night." Yir starting to respond a little to Doll’s nibbling and rubbing, even with Molly sitting right there on the glider. Molly looks as bored as ever.
 
Yir starting to realize that Molly looks bored when she’s thinking. Doll breaks off gently, says “Allow me to consult with my attorney.” 
 
Yistand, stretch, say “Hokay, I’ll be downstairs, approximating sleep, awaiting Molly’s legal opinion on you and me meeting' up with Renzo at Camp.” Yismile.
 
Molly smiles back, asks, “If the Chief’s still inside, could you ask him to join us on the porch? Us,” she clarifies, pointing at herself and Doll, “not us,” she points at you. 
 
“Great, yeah,” yissay as yihead for the front door. “No need for me to know anything. I’m just muscle.” When yidon’t hear Molly and Doll laughing, yadd, “That’s a joke.” Still no response, so yijust go inside. The Chief isn’t in the kitchen, but his big Ford is still in the driveway. Yithink about looking for him, then figure he’ll show soon enough. He does, through the back door.
“Hey Pops,” yissay, like yihadn’t just seen him five minutes ago. 
 
“When you see Renzo tonight,” the Chief says, “tell him to pay you ten dollars for cutting the grass.” “I didn’t—“ yistart, then yijust nod. “Yonly paid me five bucks,” yissay. 
 
“Renzo’s good,” the Chief replies.
 
Yirealize the Chief’s right. Renzo edges, pulls weeds, even sweeps up the clippings. Yalways managed to cut half the lawn down to scorched earth while leaving the other half looking longer and scragglier than it was before you started. “Um, Molly’s asking for a word,” yissay.
 
The Chief heads for the front porch, leaving you standing in the kitchen. Yiwant to ask him why he wants you and Doll to visit Renzo at Camp. Like who else is the Chief expecting to be there? Not Dr. Gunn two days after somebody shot his wife in their kitchen, in broad daylight. On McKinley Street, for Christ sake. Hard to believe anybody dies on staid, middle-class McKinley Street, let alone gets plugged next to the radar range. 
 
Tired comes over you like a bucket of water. Yitumble down the basement steps, shuffle to the narrow bed, and drop.
 
Yiwake to a kiss. Yireach out to embrace Doll, but she pulls back. Yopen your eyes and see Molly’s smiling face. “I knew it was you,” yissay. 
 
“No, you didn’t,” Molly replies. “We’re not on my front porch.” 
 
“Doll told you about that too?”, yask. 
 
“She didn’t have to,” Molly smiles.
 
Yitry to sound awake. “You can see why I might feel a bit overwhelmed by the, um, attention.”
 
Molly stands at the foot of the bed. “I can’t see why you’re not having the time of your life,” she says. 
 
Yirealize, yikinda are. “It’s just that,” yitry, “I like to see things coming.”
 
“You’ll get over that,” Molly replies. “Doll’s car keys are on the glider. The Chief gave her a ride home. Take Doll’s car to Camp to see Renzo.” 
 
Yisit up. “Why are we going to see Renzo?”, yask. 
 
“You should go back to sleep,” Molly says. “Renzo doesn’t get off work until ten.”
 
“So you don’t know why Doll and me are supposed to see Renzo, or yir not telling me why we’re supposed to see Renzo?”, yask. 
 
“Don’t you want to see your brother?”, Molly asks back.

“Sure,” yireply. “I always like hangin’ with Lars. My dad tellin’ me to visit him, that’s new.”
 
Yican see that Molly’s ready to leave, but yiwant her to stick around some. “People are telling me what to do but not why I’m doing it or what it’s about,” yitell her. 
 
“How’s that working out?”, Molly asks. 
 
Yireply, “So far, not bad, really. I just don’t want to get used to it.”
 
“Why not?”, Molly asks, “I mean, if it’s working out.” 
 
“Do what yir told and don’t ask why,” yireply. “Pure military bullshit. That’s not me.” 
 
Molly approaches you, leans down, gives you a long, soft kiss. “Duty, honor, country,” she says. “Not you.” Yimiss that kiss immediately.
 
“More like moody, stoner, crusty,” yireply. 
 
“Doll will help you with the mood and crust,” Molly says as she heads for the door. “You’re on your own with the weed.” She disappears up the basement steps and out the side door. Yirealize yihaven’t sparked one all day, so yido.
 
Yiwonder whether the joint will keep you awake or put you to sleep. Yask yourself, if I heard someone’s footsteps coming down the stairs, would I want it to be Doll of Molly? Yiknow the answer right away. Molly every time.
 
Immediately, another part of you says “bull fucking shit.” Doll’s like floating down a river with the current. Molly’s like canoeing up Niagara Falls. Sure, Doll’s got serious shit to deal with, starting with three young parentless siblings and a murderous boss with a DDS degree. But Doll never asks for anything, never wants you to do this, that or the other. Molly’s nonstop manipulation, like yir a resource she can benefit from. In your head yihear Molly replying, “Are you sure Doll’s not doing the exact thing I am, only better?” 
 
Yithink, it’s different

-----------------------------------

It turns out, the joint does make you sleepy. Yiwake to find Doll lying next to you, atop the covers, fully clothed. Yiturn toward her and say, “That’s no fun.” 

“We’re going to Camp,” Doll says softly. “To see Renzo, remember?” 

“Where’s the Chief?”, yask her. Doll sighs. Yissit up slowly. “Are you gonna wait down here or--“ 

“On the porch,” Doll answers before you can finish. 

“Help yourself to the Chief’s wine,” yadd.

Twenty minutes later yir bouncing down the creaky steps after finishing your shower and finding clean clothes in Renzo’s closet. Yihead for the porch but stop when yihear Doll talking to someone out there. Yican’t place the voice. Yistep out the door and see a guy in a gray suit. “Who’s this?”, yask Doll, but yidon’t wait for her to answer. “Get the fuck off my porch,” yitell the guy in the suit, but yidon’t wait for him, either. Yigrab both of his coat lapels in one hand and toss him down the wide cement steps. He falls a little harder than you expected.

Before yican worry about whether the guy in the suit sprawled across your steps needs an ambulance, here come the two goons from the Egg this morning. Yibounce down the steps three at a time, vault the jerk in the suit at the bottom, and beeline for the two lug nuts, mad as shit.

“Wait,” one of the goons starts to say, holding his hands in front of him, palms out. Yiwalk up to him and smack him in the nose with an overhand right. He yowls. 

“Hey,” the second goon tries. Yithrow a left that catches him on the side of his head, dropping him onto all fours.

“You come to my house?”, yishout. Yipick up the first guy yidecked and ram him head first into the passenger door of their big Buick. “You come on my porch?”, yask the second guy, who’s still on all fours, gasping. He rolls out of your reach before yican toss him into the street.

Yiturn around and head for the guy you threw down the porch steps. He’s laboring to his feet as yapproach. He starts to say something but he’s interrupted by your knee slamming his balls. Yitoss this guy into Williamson Street and say, “Come here again, I’ll crack your skulls.”

From the porch, yihear Doll say, “Technically, you’d be crackin’ that one guy’s skull again.”

Yidon’t want to laugh because yiwant to look serious as the two goons and their sharp-dressed companion drag themselves back into the Buick and drive off. Then yiturn to Doll and shrug. “On my damn porch,” yirepeat under your breath. Yithink about asking Doll what the guy in the suit wanted, but yiknow already. “Ready?”, yask Doll, but she’s already coming down the porch steps. 

“Yigot one rolled?”, she asks as she passes you on the sidewalk. 

“’Course,” yireply.

Yir working on yir second joint when the Camp entrance comes into view. Yipull over to finish the jay, hoping somebody cool is working the gate because you know the car’s going to stink to high heaven. Yidon’t catch what Doll’s saying. Something about Renzo. “What’s that?”, yask.

Doll leans toward you and says, “I said, we shoulda brought something for your brother for the mess we made of his trailer.”

“What, like flowers?”, yask. “I think Renzo would fall over. Beer maybe. Pizza for sure. And pot, o’ course. Always the perfect thanks-for-the-flop gift.”

Doll sits up, says, “Cops.” A second later, an Oakland County Sheriff races past on GM road, headed for the gate, but no sirens or flashers. Yir about to ask Doll how she did that when two more squad cars whiz by in the same direction. “Maybe we—“, Doll starts. 

“Uh-uh,” yissay. “This I gotta see,” yissay as yipull the car onto GM Road and follow the squad cars into the Camp entrance. The three patrol cars have continued through the gate and down the road leading to the Canteen. Yalmost forget yihave to check in with whatever schlub got late gate duty. The woman on the gate is mechanically waving you through without a glance your way. Yiwant to ask her what the cops are here for, but her gaze is on the patrol cars’ disappearing taillights. Yidrive past the inattentive gatekeeper and think, we should find Renzo first, but, cops.

“Maybe we should see what’s up,” yissay as yidrive into Camp. 

“Maybe we should find Renzo and let him tell us what’s up,” Doll replies. The cop cars are nowhere in sight as yipass the turnoff to the Canteen. Yihead for the trailer camp, hoping Renzo’s working a little overtime.

There’s no sign of life when yipull up to Renzo’s trailer. A light’s glowing in the window of the county sheriff’s rig on the next lot. “This looks familiar,” Doll says. 

“He probably still doesn’t have any wine,” yireply as yipark the car. 

“I knew we shoulda stopped,” Doll says.

Yifollow Doll to the empty fire pit. Doll looks at the dark ring of ashes in the middle of the pit. Yilook over at Renzo’s little red and white trailer. “What’ll it be?”, yask. “Inside or outside?”

“The beach,” Doll says. 

“What about Renzo?”, yask. 

“He’ll find us,” Doll replies.

“At the beach?”, yask, but Doll is already heading for the car. “The beach,” yirepeat as yifollow her. 

From Renzo’s trailer it’s a downhill shot to the beach. Yicould put the car in neutral and glide all the way. Yir tempted, but Camp’s got some asshole cops yid like to avoid.

“No swimming,” yissay as yipark in the spot closest to the beach. 

Doll chuckles, “It’s a beach.” She gets out. 

Yifollow. “It’s night,” yireply. “It’s cold, it’s dark, it’s wet.” 

Doll kicks off her shoes, says, “It’s water, what’d you expect?” 

“Campfire at ‘Zo’s,” yireply, “pot.”

Doll’s stripping as she strolls along the sand toward the water. Yithink, she’s not gonna let me stick to spectating. Yifind yourself disrobing as yifollow Doll to the edge of the shallow lake. The sight of Doll’s bare back puts worries about cold, wet, and dark out of your mind.

As usual, Doll’s a couple of steps ahead of you. Your clothes and hers are strewn across the dark sand behind you like breadcrumbs. Doll shimmers as she steps into the water. The lake is so shallow she’s a dozen steps in before the water reaches her knees. Yiwonder, what’s next?
​
Yir surprised by the warmth of the water. Also that yir naked in public and not freaked. Also that watching Doll wade into the lake ahead of you is getting you hard. 

Yihurry to catch up with her, and to get your rising member under the water. Doll hears yisplashing, turns around. She looks you in the eye, drops slowly into the water backward, floats away. Yifollow, like yicould do anything else. Fifty yards from the beach the water’s still shallow enough to stand in. Yisee that Doll is swimming to the big diving platform floating another 20 yards out.