When Darkness Loves Us

“It’s okay. Say, where’d you get the bread for it?”

This guy’s got more nerve, Leon thought. “It’s Martha’s.”

Leslie hooted. “Martha’s? Martha don’t drive. You mean she bought it for her little gigolo, eh, Leon? You pervert.”

Leon walked toward the bank, turning his back on Leslie.

“Think I might take a tire iron to this pretty paint job tonight, Leon. Yep. That big ole windshield ought to just crack into a million little spiderwebs.”

Leon took three large steps backward and grabbed Leslie by the arm. He was surprised how small the other man was; they’d never really gotten this close. His hand went all the way around Leslie’s skinny wrist.

“You touch that truck and I’ll bust your friggin’ head, Leslie.”

“Let me go.”

“Leave us alone, you hear?”

“I hear, I hear, now let me go.”

Leon increased the pressure as he stared into Leslie’s face. “I mean it!” He threw the arm down. Leslie caught it with his other hand and began rubbing the red skin.

“Cheez,” Leslie said as he turned away. Leon watched him. As he passed the rear end, he reached out with his boot and gave the tire a hard kick, but the rubber bounced his foot right back.

“I’m warning you, Leslie. Stay clear.”

Leslie got into his truck and roared off, sticking his finger up at Leon as he passed.

The bank could wait. Leon got back into the truck and started it up. It smelled so good, brand-new. Like sitting on top of the world and driving, it was so high. It felt real strange. It was even stranger, knowing that everybody knew that Martha had bought it for him. But that’s okay. She’s a good lady and I’m proud of her.

He grinned. Hey, I am, he thought. He tried it out loud. “I’m proud of her,” he said to the rearview mirror. It sounded good. Suddenly, he wanted to see her more than anything, so he put the truck in gear and drove down the road.

Leslie drove to the edge of town, fuming. That prick! He gets all the cash; I get to go to court. Tomorrow, gotta go to court tofuckinmorrow. Gotta get drunk tonight. And laid. That prick. Suddenly, he slammed on his brakes and brought his truck around in a full turn and headed back for town. He pulled up in front of Shirley’s Hair Salon and got out. He fished in his pants pocket and pulled out a crumpled wad of ones and fives. He looked it over, then pushed open the door of the flower shop next to where Priscilla worked.

“May I help you?” It was old Mrs. Watson. Leslie had her for homeroom teacher when he was a sophomore.

“Can I buy a flower or something for about a dollar?”

“Our roses are ninety-five cents.”

“Yeah. A rose.”

“Would you like to choose one? They’re right here.”

“Nah. Any one.”

“Here’s a lovely red one. Fresh.” She held up the flower. “Why it’s you, Leslie. How are you?”

He looked at the flower, at her smile, then at the floor. “I’m okay. I’ll take that one.”

“All right.” Mrs. Watson took forever putting a white bow on the stem, then wrapping it in thin green paper. She stapled the end and handed it to him. He put his crumpled bill on the counter.

“Nice to see you again, Leslie.”

“Uh, yeah, nice to see you too.” He walked outside, then in through the beauty-shop door, feeling very out of place around all the smells and girlie things.

Shirley stuck her head around the corner. “May I help you?”

“Priscilla here?”

“She’s with a client right now, if you’d care to wait.”

Leslie looked around uncomfortably. He didn’t want to wait. “Can you just tell me when she’ll be through?”

“I’ll be right there, Shirley,” Priscilla’s voice came up from the back. She walked out, holding up her hands, covered in plastic gloves and dripping brown goo.

“Hi,” she said.

He held out the flower.

“For me? How nice.” They both looked at her gooey hands, and she lifted up an elbow. He tucked it under her arm. She tried to smell it but was in danger of touching the brown dye to her hair.

“What time you get off?”

“Three.” They both looked at the clock. “I have to finish the head I’m on, then I have another appointment for a cut.”

“C’mon,” he whispered. “Get someone else to do it.”

She giggled. “Leslie, I can’t do that.”

He leaned in close to her, whispered in her ear. “I just gotta have you. Now.”

“Come back at three,” she giggled over her shoulder, with a cute backward glance.

“Okay. Meet me at Mike’s.”

“Okay.” She blew him a kiss.

An hour. Shit. He walked out of the tinkling door and down the street. An hour at Mike’s.

Leslie got the idea when he was taking a whiz about ten o’clock. It was probably the greatest idea of his life. Mike’s was packed as usual, Priscilla was getting giggly and cute as hell, Ned was fuming over in the corner by the old dudes, and Leslie was looking better each time he looked in the men’s-room mirror.

He combed his hair back and admired himself. Yep. One hell of a good idea. We’ll go pay Leon and Martha another little visit. Only this time it won’t be like last time. This time I’ll do the talkin’. He grinned in the mirror, then did a little two-step.