Shred of Evidence

A girl like me can always get work. Good breasts. A thin waist. Legs.

But for the big bucks you need the face. No bags under the eyes. And the teeth. The teeth have to be right. Mine are crooked right in front. They come together and stick out like the prow of a sailing ship.

So I can pull down four or five hundred a week pole dancing at Pepper’s. The men who come in there never look above my chest. But if I want to get into skin films—the classy ones—I’ll need to get the teeth fixed. Two thousand bucks for braces, the clear kind that don’t show. Two thousand goddamn dollars! It’s hard to save on the pole-dancing money. Always some kind of bill needing paid.

And I don’t turn tricks. Some people say what’s the difference, if you’re going to put out in the films with everyone watching, why not take on some Johns? Hey, I know people who do the films in L.A. It’s clean and controlled and everyone’s careful. Work the street and you get what you get. And I don’t have health insurance. And I don’t want some pimp taking a cut. No thanks.

And sunshine. I hate the gray city so much, and would do anything for sun. Skin flicks in sunny California.

So I’m looking in the mirror, obsessing about my teeth again, when Ted comes in the apartment. I hear him work all the locks and throw his coat on the table.

“Misty?”

“I’m back here,” I say.

I practice my no-teeth smile again in the mirror, lips tight but closed. It doesn’t much look like a smile at all. More like a grimace, like I’m constipated and straining.

“Hey, babe.” Ted comes up behind me, puts his arms around me. “Don’t worry. You’re gorgeous.”

“Not my teeth.”

I see Ted grin wicked in the mirror. It’s the grin that says he’s got a secret, but I know it also means trouble. His teeth are straight and even as railroad tracks.

“What is it?” I ask.

“You’re gonna be proud of me.”

Uh-huh. I heard that one before. “Tell me.”

“How would you like those braces?”

I blink. “What do you mean?”

“I’m going to pay for the braces,” Ted says. “I got the money.”

I squeal and turn around to face him, throw my arms around his neck and plant a wet kiss on his lips. His tongue snakes into my mouth, and we hold it like that for a while.

“I love you, I love you.” I kiss a trail all over his face, loud smacks.

He laughs. “I just got to meet this guy across the river tonight, and I can cinch it all up nice.”

I freeze, pull back. “What?”

He senses my lightning mood shift, tries to shush me. “No, no, no. It’s fine. I got it all figured—”

“Oh, shut up, Ted.” I push him away.

His face falls, his whole body deflating. My heart breaks a little for him, but I’m not going to let his puppy-dog act distract me this time.

“It’s always some deal,” I say.

He shakes his head, eyes wide, innocent. “Joey says we can—”

“Joey’s an idiot.” I scream, pull my hair. “I can’t believe you.”

“It’s not the same this time.”

“It’s always the same.” I push past him, grab my jeans and t-shirt, slip them on over the thong. “I have to get to work.” I grab my bag, check to make sure my wallet and keys are inside.

I head for the door, but he grabs my wrist. “Misty, wait.”

“Don’t.” I try to jerk my arm back, but he hangs on. He’s a big puss at heart, but he’s strong and when he gets desperate, he latches on.

“You’ll be glad when I come home,” he says. “You won’t be so snobby then. I’ll toss that big wad of cash on the bed and you can roll in it. I’m doing this for you.”

“Well, don’t,” I say. “Because you’ll fuck it up and get in trouble. You always fuck it up.”

And I see his eyes go dead and his chin lift, and I know I went too far. He lets go of me.

“Ted, I’m sorry. I just—”

“Forget it.”

I sigh out a big, defeated breath. I feel like the world is broken and that nothing is worth it. I don’t know who Ted is anymore or who I am or why any of us even bother getting out of bed in the morning. All I can think of to say is “We’ll talk when I get home, okay?”

I don’t wait for him to answer because I couldn’t bear anything he could possibly say. I skip down the four flights to the street and get in my Volkswagen. It’s stupid to have a car in the city, and I can’t afford it. But somehow having my own wheels makes me feel a little bit free.

I drive toward Pepper’s.

At least Ted didn’t ask for money. Somehow his get-rich-quick deals always cost me money. One time he wanted fifty bucks and I wouldn’t give it to him so he sold our radio. It was a new goddamn radio with CD changer and everything.

I smoke five cigarettes on the way to Pepper’s. I park, and go in five minutes late. Eric is the manager on duty. He gives me a bad look, but I scoot past him into the dressing room and strip out of my jeans and t-shirt, shrug into a glittery tube-top and I’m working the floor in two minutes.

It’s a sad, cheap, early-evening crowd. Men. I feel oily walking among them, but I give them all my closed-mouth smile, and suddenly I’m thinking of the braces and the teeth and even hoping a little that Ted pulls off whatever bullshit deal he’s got going as long as he doesn’t get hurt and I never have to know about it.

I work half my shift, taking the main stage once, the left side-stage once and giving two lap-dances. It’s like rubbing up against the dead.

And then I see Ted walk in. He’s wearing his shiny blue jacket and his gold chains and the silk black shirt he thinks makes him look like a player. He walks right up to me.

“I need to borrow your car,” he says.

I glance sideways. Eric gives me the evil eye from his stool at the far end of the bar. He sure as hell doesn’t want me talking to my boyfriend while I’m on the clock.

“Not now, Ted.”

“I need the car. Just give me the keys.”

I spread my arms. “I don’t have any pockets in this outfit. What? You think I got my keys up my ass-crack?”

The sarcasm slides right off him. “Just get them.”

But Eric is off of his stool and headed for us full steam. He’s a big guy with a bald head. Used to be the head bouncer before he got bumped up to manager.

“Misty.” Eric barks my name like it’s a curse word.

“One minute, Eric.”

“You had your break already.”

“Please.”

Eric rolls his eyes. “One minute. Take it in back.”

I grab Ted’s forearm and lead him down the back hall near the restrooms and duck into the ladies room. The dancers have their own toilet back in the dressing area, and since there are never any female customers (well, hardly ever) the ladies room is like a quiet little area where you can use the payphone on the wall without having some creep paw you and drool.

“Why do you need the car?”

“You know why. I have a meeting in Jersey.”

I still have hold of his arm. I squeeze harder, lean into him. “I don’t need the braces. I can talk to Eric,” I tell him. “They always need an extra person behind the bar.”

Ted jerks his arm away. “You’re always saying things like that. Like I can’t do anything right. I don’t need your money, and I don’t need you getting me a job. You’ll see. I’ll do this deal, and then you’ll be singing a different tune.”

Ted fishes change out of his pocket, puts it in the payphone and dials. “Joey? No she won’t give me the car. Can you work something? Good. When can you pick me up?”

Eric bangs on the door with a meaty fist. “Back to work, Misty,” he yells from the hall.

“One more minute!”

Ted hangs up. “Joey’s sister is going to lend us the Buick.”

“Ted, don’t go.”

“You don’t even know what I’m doing.”

“I don’t care. Forget about the money. I don’t need the braces. Go home and wait for me after my shift and we’ll go out like we used to. We’ll go to Uncle Billy’s around the corner and get a bucket of spaghetti.” I’m hugging him closer and closer and I’m starting to get tears in my eyes.

“This is my last chance,” Ted says. “I let these people down and I’m screwed.”

I shake my head, blink, squeezing back the tears. “No, we can go away. We’ll pack up and just go.”

Ted puts his arms around me. A big sigh.

The bathroom door flies open and bangs against the tile. Eric’s veins are popping out along his neck and up the back of his bald head which glistens with sweat. “Goddammit, get to work right fucking now, Misty.”

“Back off, man,” Ted says. “We just need another minute.”

“You already had a minute,” Eric says. He jabs a finger into Ted’s chest. “You want more, then you pony up for a dance.”

“Screw you, man.” Ted shoves him back.

“Stop it,” I yell.

But Eric’s big fist is already slamming across Ted’s jaw. Ted’s head snaps around, blood and spit flying out. I scream again.

Ted steps up, throws a watery punch and I want to weep it’s so feeble. Eric crowds him up against the wall and gut punches Ted two, three, four times. Ted’s face is so red, his mouth working for air.

I cry and scream and jump on Eric’s back, pull him off and push him out into the hall. Eric doesn’t resist. His smoothes down his jacket, wipes a little blood off his knuckles with a handkerchief. “Get him out of here,” he tells me. “I don’t want him disturbing the customers.” And he walks back into the din, the heavy metal music, everything awash in red light.

I go back into the ladies room. Ted is on the floor, sitting against the wall. He holds his ribs and tries to get his breathing under control.

I kneel next to him. “Oh, baby.” I touch his face.

He brushes me away, gets to his feet. “We’ll get out of here like you said. I hate this town. We’ll pack up and leave tonight.”

I brighten, feel like a lead weight has been taken off my heart. I almost tell him I love him.

“But first I get the money,” he says.

All my hope falls, breaks into little pieces. “Oh, no.”

“I’ll see you at the apartment later.”

And he walks out, putting some kind of look on his face like pride or dignity or something he must’ve seen in a movie because I know he doesn’t have a single thing to be proud about.

* * *

After my shift, I smoke my way home, four cigarettes. It’s after midnight, but Ted isn’t there. I shove my clothes into some ratty luggage and am sadly surprised to see they all fit into one big tote bag. I scan the room, the second-hand hotplate and rummage sale lamps but can’t see a single thing I want to take.

I pack another suitcase with Ted’s clothes. Now all I can do is wait. I smoke my last cigarette, crumple the empty pack and toss it on the floor.

I curl up on the Murphy bed with my clothes and shoes still on and listen to the night sounds and the sirens. There are footsteps in the stairwell, and I hold my breath, thinking it’s Ted. But the steps keep going up and fade.

I drift awhile, and realize I’ve been sleeping when something wakes me up. I yawn, check the digital clock on the window sill. A little after two in the morning. I freeze, hold my breath, listen again. A scratching at the door. I try to think if any of the neighbors have a dog.

I climb out of bed, rub my eyes. I walk toward the door, trying not to squeak the floorboards. I think about calling out Ted’s name, but something draws me toward the door. I reach my hand out to the knob. More scratching. I turn the knob, take a deep breath and jerk the door open wide.

Ted falls through the door, and my hands go up to my mouth, stifle a little scream caught in my throat. I look at Ted, moan, tears in my eyes. There’s blood on his face and his shirt is soaked with it.

He reaches a hand up to me, eyes pleading, mouth opening but no words, just a tickle of blood at the corner.

I grab him. My hands shake. I pull him into the apartment and close the door. I drag him into the bedroom, leave a trail of blood across the floor. It’s like no other kind of blood I’ve ever seen before, dark and thick like syrup.

I realize I’m moaning and crying, little bleating noises coming out of me, but I keep dragging him. I try three times to lift him onto the bed, but he’s too heavy. He ends up in a sitting position against the box-spring and mattress.

“Oh, baby. Oh my God.” I don’t know what to say. “I’ll call a doctor. Keep still. I’ll call an ambulance.”

“No!” It’s the first thing he’s managed to say, and he sounds urgent about it. “Don’t…call.”

“You’re hurt, I have to—”

Ted shakes his head. “They’ll call the police.”

But I’m hardly listening. I run into the bathroom, grab the dirty towels off the rack. I come back, and Ted holds his gut. The blood seeps out between his fingers. I push his hand away and lift his shirt.

I drop the towels and gasp. I cry harder, breath coming in big gulps. The blood is pooling around him now.

“Ted…”

“Joey dropped me off,” he says. “He knows a guy. Gonna come fix me up.”

“Oh, Ted.” I back away from him as far as I can, sit against the wall. Hug my knees. My eyes frozen to the guts spilling out between his fingers.

“Looks…worse…than it is.” His face is so pale.

I stand, grab my bag. “Ted, I can’t.”

“Some water.” He spits more blood. “Bring some water, will you?”

“I can’t do this anymore, Ted. I can’t deal with this.” I sling the tote bag over my shoulder, hold the straps white-knuckled. “I—”

“…some water.”

And I turn and walk as fast as I can out the apartment door. I expect him to yell for me, but he doesn’t. I can feel his eyes on my back, and I tell myself a string of lies about Joey bringing a doctor and Ted being okay, but soon I’m running and then I’m at the Volkswagen. I start it and drive. I feel like there’s some bond connecting us like a rubber band. The farther I drive the tighter it stretches until I hit the tunnel and feel it snap.

I come out into Jersey and keep driving, wiping tears out of my eyes and feeling sick at my stomach.

The dark Jersey sky flakes away a little piece at a time until it’s blue morning over Pennsylvania and I’m heading west, always west, and the thing about these Volkswagens is the good gas mileage, and you can go and go and never stop.