Skip to main content

No one told me about her


No one told me about her
Chapter 1

Sarah’s living room, March 2003.

            Sarah bent over the glass table in her living room and did a line of speed.  Seth was doing a line of coke off of a CD and Elijah was balancing between both their drugs. 
“I need to tell you guys something so I don’t do it.”  She said.  She wished she hadn’t gained their attention but she couldn’t help but confess.  If they told her it was a bad idea, she wouldn’t do it in May when Diablo’s family went down to Mexico for the family picnic.  If she told them, rumors could start and there was no way she’d have the nerve to do it. 
“Ever since Diablo beat the shit out of me, I’ve been thinking of getting him back.  The only thing he cares about is his money.”  She said.
Seth set down the CD case on her table, followed slowly by the straw.  Elijah sat up on the sofa. 
Calmly and seriously Seth told her, “That is the most fucked up thing I have ever heard you say.” He stared at her with cocaine-bright intensity and she started to wonder if perhaps the drugs were leading them down that road right before the U-TURN sign you always inevitably miss.  “Man, I gotta thank you Sarah.  If you’d do that to Diablo, then, I guess all I have to do is piss off some bitch to get ripped off. Man, thanks.  I needed to know that, just when you think you might be able to trust someone – you realize once again, you can’t trust anyone in this business.  Even your own girlfriend will fuck you up. You hear what she said Elijah?”  He shook his head smiling, clearly upset.  “How much money do you make in a year Sarah?”
“I don’t know, sixty or seventy thousand.”  She was a secretary at energy investment company.
            “Okay, well that ain’t shit. Let me put this to you better.”  He paused to explain.  She was offended that he’d scoffed at her yearly wages.  “Okay, I make a lot of money and I don’t know what Diablo makes but if some bitch took my money after I trusted her, I’d want to slit her throat.  I don’t care if it was $1,000 or $50,000, that’s my money and whether you like the way I earned it or not, it ain’t fucking yours.  Do you get what I’m saying?  I didn’t run around town risking my life for you to fucking take it.  I don’t like Diablo anymore than anyone else.  You want me to kill him, fine.  I’ll kill him.  But you didn’t leave him, get that too?  You can’t talk shit and act like you’re not in love with him because Sarah, you’re with him.”  Seth looked toward Elijah who was merely listening to the speech.  “Did you hear what that bitch said?  Man, am I tripping?  I mean, of all people, can you believe she said that?”  Seth shook his head while the smile remained.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Gammoned

The shower was running, Parker could see steam come from underneath the door. She had to pee. “Sam, hurry up, I gotta pee.” “Just a minute.” The shower droned on. She went to the kitchen and smoked a cigarette. Her window faced the west. She was watching the traffic go by, inevitably from the beach or to the beach, on this warm day. The cigarette was out. She got up and changed shirts into a tank top.  She was done waiting for Sam to get out of the bathroom. “Sam! Goddamnit! I have to pee!” When he didn’t reply she pounded on the door. Nothing. Well, he’d been in there long enough to drown. She waited a few more minutes while smoking another cigarette. The urgency of needing to urinate won and she knocked on the door again.  Nothing. He had looked sweaty when he came over and the racing gloves in 80 degree weather was a little ridiculous for driving a 1970s BMW around, its alternator was out and he had to constantly rev the engine and use the brake at the ...
3 comments
Read more

Expiration Date (1/15/2021)

  More fountains than Paris and less than Rome, We sipped vodka and trailed along conversation lines. You feel the wire tap, make excuses while you try to dial back the attention span. In the bedroom, you felt sick. Slept next to me, intermittently sighing, I felt your sadness through the alarm this morning, You slammed cranberry vodkas, one after another and made me coffee.    You blur when I’m wide awake. Who found out What Your breath heaves in  exhales long, tumbling downhill. I ask too much. You make no sense. I am left in this prison  we play house in and call home. You fill the air with nervous conversation. Highlight promises, loose bows knotted  in thin air, too much pull unravels it alll.    I hold my breath while you wait. Walking home in pitch black, the snow  falls at my feet, my hands ice cold, you listen to music, staring ahead and stuck behind. I unlock the door and you make excuses like origami, fragile and pretty. You claim ...
1 comment
Read more

Pussy Cow

I am sitting in the waiting room area of Cal Worthington Ford. Football is on the 20” screen that is here for the comfort of their guests while their friends or loved ones purchase their dream new or used Vehicle. Across from me is a bored salesman who came with the specific goal to hit on me. He’s wearing a yellow shirt and black pants, on a busy day it must look like a hive of bees around these cars. I am staring at my computer screen ignoring him, while he taps his fingers annoyingly against the steal armrests of his polyester blue chair. Well, maybe he didn’t come in to hit on me and is anxious for the score, is today Superbowl Sunday? Anyone who grew up in Los Angeles remembers Cal Worthington. Cal was on between Warner Brothers and Hanabarbara cartoons, talk shows and newscasts on local channels. Cal Worthington was old when I was in grade school. Somehow, he’s not dead. In fact, the LA Times wrote an article on the old bastard. He still demands to do his own commerc...
Post a Comment
Read more