Part 26 (1/2)

”Is it a good poem? Do you like it?”

”Yep.”

Her words listed. She felt slipping into sleep. ”What's it called?”

His fingers rubbing her neck lulled her further, and so did his voice. ”I can't tell you.”

”Why?”

”It isn't finished yet.”

Deeper, deeper, she slipped. ”So? You can at least tell me the t.i.tle.”

”It's creative bad luck,” he espoused, ”to reveal the t.i.tle of an unfinished work to the person it's written for.”

Sleep beclouded her. Deeper, deeper. ”What, Maxwell?”

”It's for you,” he said.

For me? She was suddenly so relaxed, she couldn't speak. She was suddenly so relaxed, she couldn't speak.

”Go to sleep now,” he said.

Chapter 23.

(I).

Everything's ready.

New ideas.

It makes her feel very creative, and very powerful.

She sees her mother standing behind her in the mirror.

Her mother smiles.

Her mother is so beautiful despite blackened eyes, broken teeth, bruises and cuts from Daddy.

Her mother's hands, elbows, and feet are swollen up like discolored balloons from the heroin needles. Daddy made her into an addict soon after they met, so he could control her. He never married her, he just used her to make money. Daddy had a lot of friends that liked to do awful things to prost.i.tutes. He used her mother like a tidbit.

It makes her so sad she begins to cry.

Don't cry, her mother says. her mother says.

They did awful things to her.

Daddy would beat her mother senseless, so his friends could f.u.c.k her while she was unconscious or in pain.

It was a game to Daddy, a kick. He served her mother like a bowl of pretzels at a card game. Quick thrills for his friends. Frequently, he served his daughter too...

Don't cry, her mother says again. her mother says again.

She can't help it.

She's crying now in front of the mirror, her tears making her mascara run.

Her mother's smiling.

She's beautiful in spite of all the pain she's felt.

All the horrible things men have done to her.

Don't cry.

She washes her face.

She reapplies her makeup.

She must be strong like her mother.

An auburn wig tonight.

Long like a mane of beautiful smoke.

A seethrough blacklace blouse.

A black, embroidered linen jacket.

Gray stonewashed Guess jeans.

What a beautiful daughter I have, her mother says. her mother says. You're so beautiful. You're so beautiful.

”I know,” she says into the mirror.

And smiles.

(II).

Jams, Johnny Duff thought. He slipped Slayer's ”A Season In The Abyss” into the Nak indash CD player and cranked up some watts. Yeah, Yeah, he thought. Music always got him in the mood. he thought. Music always got him in the mood.

He equated his car to himself. A Nissan 300ZX: fast, sleek, turbo-charged. Orange, like fire. He'd put on his phony plates tonight, so whatever barcooze he f.u.c.ked over wouldn't get a line on him. Women were paranoid these days. Roofies, GHB. He remembered some j.i.z.zbucket he'd picked up in Annapolis a few years ago, she'd actually written down his tag number before she'd gotten into the car. He wished it hadn't been before he'd gotten the Big H, so he could've given her a dose. Then that other time-Crystal City? he thought-he'd woken up in some cooze's bed at about four in the morning to see her going through his wallet with a penlight. She hadn't been robbing him, she was writing down his name and address off his driver's license! Johnny had a fake license now, which he always brought with him when he went out on the town. It had cost him a couple of hundred from some printing place he caught in an ad in he thought-he'd woken up in some cooze's bed at about four in the morning to see her going through his wallet with a penlight. She hadn't been robbing him, she was writing down his name and address off his driver's license! Johnny had a fake license now, which he always brought with him when he went out on the town. It had cost him a couple of hundred from some printing place he caught in an ad in Merc Merc magazine, but it was worth it. Looked just like the real thing, had his picture, height, weight, eye and hair color, but a phony name and address. He couldn't very well pull any good f.u.c.kovers with his real ID in his wallet, could he? magazine, but it was worth it. Looked just like the real thing, had his picture, height, weight, eye and hair color, but a phony name and address. He couldn't very well pull any good f.u.c.kovers with his real ID in his wallet, could he?