Noble Rot chapter 2
CHAPTER 2— JILL
Helen awoke at eight-thirty with Garrett’s arm slung over her. She adjusted for maximum snuggle, and just laid there for an hour. She'd never noticed him come in, but then she seldom did. After a while, she got up and went about her normal routine. Coffee, breakfast, and writing filled her morning.
At around two-thirty Garrett woke up, so she made lunch. BLTs with home-style French fries. It was one of his favorites, but she tried not to indulge him too much with such greasy foods. He was only thirty-six. But, she wanted him around forever, and bacon could put you in the grave faster than a bullet.
“So, what did you end up doing last night, babe?” he said in between oversized bites of his sandwich.
She drowned one of her fries in ketchup and popped it into her mouth, “I almost freaked out.”
“Oh, what about?” He had that look on him that said ‘oh crap I’ve got to be concerned now.’
It’s an annoying furrowed brow expression that came up often, but at least he puts in the effort. He looked as if he were trying to take a dump, but what can you do? The good intentions behind it were clear, so she let it go.
“There was an animal last night, and it scared the heck out of me.”
He looked up from his meal. “What kind?”
“Cat… I heard it scratching at the backdoor.”
He shoved a third of the sandwich in his mouth and chewed for a moment. After he forced it down, he said, "Did it give you the old horror movie jump scare or something?"
“No, it just kept looking at me and copying my movements.”
“Copying your movements.” She glanced down at her plate and stared for a moment before she finished. “I don't know. It felt strange. It scratched like it wanted in. The freaky thing had two tails as well. It was messed up.”
“That is kind of creepy.”
“Yeah.” She'd eaten too many fries and had to stop, so she pushed her plate away. “Oh, the neighbors came over.”
“Really. What house?”
“They didn't say, and I didn't ask.”
“How’d they seem?”
“Old.” She snagged another fry and popped it into her mouth.
“Well, did they seem nice?”
“Kind of strange.”
“How?”
“I don't know.” she pushed the plate further back to stop her thieving fingers from taking the rest of the salt-crusted heart attack sticks. “I guess… I guess they’re just too nice. Like they're the type of people who will always be bugging you or something.”
“Ah, gotcha.” He finished the last few crumbs on his plate then hopped out of his seat and asked, “You going over to Jill’s?” Helen had been best friends with Jill since the fourth grade, and they couldn’t stay separated for more than a few days.
“Yeah, I’ll head out soon. Need anything?”
“Beer.”
“What kind?”
“I'm going to say Bud.”
“Gross… but okay.”
“Sometimes I'm gross.”
She smiled and said, “You are, but that's why I love you.” She got up and scraped her plate off. “You’re the only man I know that drinks at seven o'clock in the morning.”
“That's my night-time, but yeah it's strange cracking open a beer and watching The Today Show.”
“Thought it was mandatory to enjoy it.”
Garrett chuckled then kissed her on the forehead. “Love you.”
“Love you.” She pinched his side.
“Hey, you mind picking up a box of sheetrock screws before you head home? I noticed a few of the panels in the basement wall are loose, and I'd like to shore them up.”
“No problem.” She gave him one last peck on the lips before he strutted out the door.
After he’d left, she walked over to the cabinet next to the stove and fished for a bottle of aspirin. She sorted through the decongestants, antacids, and other pills until she found the little white bottle she sought. The pills sounded like an out of time maraca as she fiddled with the child-proof cap, and after she popped the top, she popped the pill. This dull creeping headache needed to stop.
The wine might be responsible for the general feeling of ickiness that clung to her, but if that were the case, then she'd feel bad this morning.
She didn't.
She was fine, and a hangover didn't make you stuffy either. Man, she didn't need to get sick now; there was too much stuff to do around the house.
She chased another aspirin with a vitamin C for good measure then walked out the door. Standing on the front porch, she took a deep breath of the afternoon air, hoping it might clear her congestion; however, before she’d exhaled, it hit her.
The dull suburban surroundings were broken up by two cop cars five houses down. The cops were parked in front of the ugly, yellow house that stood at the corner of the street, and they chatted up a woman of about forty.
She wasn’t sure she was the owner of the house, but it was her best guess. After all, only a person with a bumblebee yellow house would own an even more aggressive fluffy, pink robe.
The woman clenched a cigarette between her fingers and had a cup of coffee in the other hand as she talked. She didn't seem nervous or upset as the straight-backed officers questioned her and jotted down their notes on a clipboard.
It didn’t look exciting. A domestic dispute or something, and Helen didn’t linger. She wouldn’t be a gawker; it was bad form. She hopped in her car and took off taking the back way out, so she didn’t appear to be a lookie-loo. Their business was their business, and she'd keep it that way if she could.
***
Later that afternoon
“Knock, knock, knock,” Helen said as she did the same on Jill’s apartment door. Jill swung the door open with a smile.
“Hey, crazy what’s up?” Jill’s voice was always upbeat, and today was no exception. Jill was a short, thin girl with short red hair, and like Helen, she was thirty-two years old.
“Not much.”
“Hey,” Lorry said. At first, she couldn't tell where he was, but over the back of the green sofa, a single well-toned arm shot up holding a Coke.
She stepped into the apartment and tossed her purse down on the kitchen bar table. “What the heck are you doing home?”
“Right now, I’m smoking weed.” A big cloud of smoke bloomed from over the sofa, and there was no doubt from the minty, burnt-popcorn smell that it was weed. It even drowned out the peach scented potpourri that often-overwhelmed Jill’s house.
She walked into the all too familiar apartment finding it the same as always. A black-and-white picture of the Marx Brothers hung to the right of the TV, and to the left, a poster of Betty Page in black leather.
They were Lorry’s contribution to the decor much to Jill’s protest, and it always made Helen smile a little every time she came over. They weren’t tacky, but they were out-of-place with the rest of Jill’s bright arts and crafts style.
Jill shut the door and stood next to Helen folding her arms. “He hurt his back, moving Sheetrock,” She looked at the back of the sofa as if she were trying to burn a hole to the other side with her gaze. “You're not a young man anymore, you gotta be careful.” Her voice was both caring and scolding like a weary mother.
Choking from the weed, he said, “I’m thirty, and I'll get fired if I can’t move heavy shit.”
“Honey, do you gotta smoke that stuff in here?”
“Yeah, can’t get up. You know I usually smoke outside, but I’m pleading special circumstances this time. Also, a few more times after this.”
“God, it smells bad.”
“Yeah, it’s good stuff.”
Helen walked around the sofa and plopped on the burnt orange loveseat. “How you holding up champ?” she said. Lorry’s red, heavy eyes told her this wasn’t the first he’d smoked today. He held a small, green-tinted glass pipe by two fingers; from the bowl streamed rivulets of smoke.
“I've been better, my little twist.”
“Twist?”
“Ah, sorry I’ve watched Miller's Crossing ten times since I’ve been hurt.”
Jill crashed next to her on the loveseat. “It's true. I can quote it line for line now, and that’s not counting all the times I missed the movie going to work. So yeah, he’s watched it a lot.” She’d said it with a smile that bespoke a quiet desperation with Lorry’s movie selections. Not that Miller's Crossing was a bad movie, just he had a way of overdoing everything.
Jill loved Lorry and Lorry loved Jill, but they were by no means a perfect match. She liked Faulkner. He hadn’t read a book since he dropped out of high school. They had a strange chemistry that worked. Who was she to decide otherwise?
“Put that shit out,” Jill said holding her nose. “Helen’s got to drive home, and she can’t be baked out of her mind.” He took one last hit then stamped out the smoldering pipe with his thumb. He looked down at the black and gray smear it left then rubbed it off on his well-worn blue jeans.
With that, Jill and Helen chit-chatted about everything they’d been up to. It was nothing important, but it was fun. Eventually, she got around to telling Jill about the cat that came to her backdoor last night, and that’s when Lorry pried himself away from an episode of Duck Dynasty and became interested in their conversation.
“That's one fucked up cat, man,” he said, butting in just as the conversation was dying out.
“Yeah, it was just strange... you know,” Helen said as she curled her hair around her finger.
“Well, if you don't want it in your yard, throw vinegar or ammonia around. I had a buddy that was always getting his trash knocked over. He tossed that shit around and bam! No more cats, or dogs, for that matter.”
“For real?”
“Yeah.”
“I could see it working for garbage, but if you tossed that stuff on the lawn wouldn't it kill it?” Jill said.
“Probably. Just don’t toss it on the lawn. Put it in like a dish or something.” Lorry furrowed his brow a moment. “I think citrus is also supposed to keep them away.”
“No way. With all the orange and lemon-scented cleaners out there, wouldn’t that just drive every household pet mad?”
Lorry shrugged. “Google it.” With a straight back and no little effort, he pried himself off the sofa groaning the whole time.
“You need help?” Jill asked.
He hobbled towards the bathroom looking like Frankenstein’s monster as he tried not to bend his back even the slightest. “It feels better after the smoke.” The sight of the athletic man being brought down by crippling pain made her wince.
He was strong, but a few times a year he’d lift something too heavy. Then he was out for a week. Having Garrett suffer from the same problem didn’t help either.
Three years ago, Garrett responded to a call one night. It was a simple noise complaint at a mobile home park in Acworth where they had a barbecue that turned into a rager. Garrett thought he’d handled the thing by telling them to turn down the music, but one redneck named Jim Foley had a warrant out for his arrest for drug possession and thought Garrett was there to bring him in.
He shot him twice in the back with a .44. Garrett had been wearing his vest. She had made him promise to always wear it, but it was a soft level two vest. The .44 sailed right through it.
So, there he was, bleeding out to Merle Haggard’s ‘The Fightin’ Side of Me’. If the other people at the party hadn’t helped him, he’d be dead.
One shot had chipped his spine.
He still had no feeling in his left foot from it, and he had to be careful doing anything physical. One wrong move, and it would be Back Pain City for weeks.
Just four years ago he could pick her up and toss her on the bed and twirl her around to any position he wanted when they made love. She’d be there in an instant not knowing how it happened, and his raw power and unpredictable nature fueled her lust. It was the perfect combination of being helpless but safe. Now he couldn’t stay in the doggy-style position for over five minutes before the pain kicked in.
He still tried, but it hurt him.
He acted like it didn't, but she could see it in the sharp winces and forever changing facial tics. She’d expected that her love life would go downhill after marriage, but not until both of them were into their late fifties at least.
“Want to spend the night?” Helen said, trying to push down the memories.
“I can’t… Lorry's back.” Jill pulled a cigarette out of her pack. She jerked her head several times signaling the back porch. Helen nodded and both ambled toward the sliding glass door.
Jill pushed open the door, and they stepped out onto the little wood porch and into the fresh air. Despite the clean spring air, she couldn’t shake the weed smell that clung to the back of her nostrils.
“Should I shut the door?”
“Naw, leave it open. Need to air that place out some.”
“Ah, I wish you…” Helen struck up her smoke before she finished the thought.
Jill scrunched her face into a concerned frown. "Wish I could what?"
“Spend the night.”
“Yeah, I do, too.” The scrunched expression never left her face as she said, “You okay?”
“Just a little lonely, and you know I don't like being by myself. Not for that long anyway.”
“I'm sorry, love.”
She and Lorry spent the night over at Helen's place a couple of times a month since Garrett started working nights a year ago. At first, Garrett was upset about the arrangement, but after he realized they weren’t having wild sex parties, he quit bothering her about it.
Most of the time they ordered pizza and drank wine while Lorry killed a six-pack and watched whatever strange horror or action movie he wanted. He’d pass out on the sofa, and then they would crash in her bed. It was fun and reminded her of the sleepovers they used to have as kids, but most importantly, it kept all the thoughts of bloodthirsty rapists and hunchbacked chainsaw murderers at bay.
At least for a night.
The sun was going down in a blaze of orange and pink as if it was vainly fighting for every inch of sky, but purples and blues were growing with each passing moment. Soon the sun would be sucked under the horizon like a man struggling in quicksand.
“You could stay here,” Jill said, as she lit up her American Spirit.
“Naw, thanks for the offer, but I gotta get some work done.”
“How is the new story coming along?” Jill puffed on her smoke a few times gazing at the sky.
“Not bad. I think I'm going to have Sonja kill Alexander.”
“No way, I like Alexander. Why the hell would she do that?” Jill snapped all of her attention back over to her.
“I like him too, but it makes sense for the story.”
“No way. That's not her personality type.”
“She's already killed Janet. I don't see why she wouldn't kill him, too. She can't have everyone knowing she’s the heir to the Draco Estate. Not before she gets the money, anyway.”
“I know… I know but hear me out. I like Alexander.” She brought her hands down as two parallel lines to emphasize the point.
“Okay, what?”
“I like him.” Jill glared at her as if what she said was a profound and unarguable fact that changed everything.
“I know you do. I like him too, but if you don't torture your characters what’s the point? You can’t have the happily-ever-after throughout the whole story. That’s boring. You got to hurt them.”