Tricks. Part 4

Gram nods. I know. I'm sorry.

It's not such a big place.

Barely enough room to fit you all in. But we'll get by.

Yes, I get mad at Iris. She can be downright infuriating. Always was a selfish girl. Never one to think about others, or try to spare their feelings. Not mother material, not at all. Not fair to any of you to pop you out, then leave you to mostly fend for yourselves. Even coyotes and jackals do better by their pups.

All I'm asking is for her to get a job. Something legit. Pay taxes, stop whoring arou-She skids to a stop, has said too much.

"It's okay. I know what she does.

Hate what she does. She'll never stop. Not for you. Not for any of us."

In the Next Room Sandy starts up a fuss. Short nap. He'll be a little t.u.r.dcake tonight. Gram and I move at the same time. Iris will let him squish around in his wet Pull-Up until someone else changes it. I stop Gram with a touch of my hand.

"I'll get him. You do enough."

I kiss her cheek gently before sliding off the bed, onto the chipped linoleum floor. Nothing special about Gram's house. Except Gram.

One second, she says, giving me a fierce hug. I know things haven't been easy for you kids. A regular parade of Iris's men, most of 'em bad ones, in and out of your lives.

Not even knowing your daddies.

Moving around, cycling through homes. No homes at all sometimes.

And not because the army was giving anyone orders. I wish I'd known sooner, but Iris didn't talk to me at all for years. Anger just eats a person up inside, and I swear that girl was born angry. Anyway, that ain't no here nor there.

But now you know where I live.

Whatever happens, I want you to remember this is always your home.

Love, unlike any I've ever known, floods through me. I kiss Gram's cheek. "I will." I want to say more, but I'm afraid if I do I'll jinx myself, and the other kids too.

Speaking of them, there's Sandy again, crying like he's dying.

"Better go!" I dash toward the door, and as I leave, I can hear Gram's quiet, Tsk-tsk.

Then she whispers, Too bad Iris can't be more like her daughter.

I Don't Think She meant me to hear it.

But I did, and I flush, blood warm with pleasure.

That was probably the nicest thing anyone has ever said about me, if not to me directly.

I start toward the small bedroom that used to belong to Iris when she was in high school. I hate going in there, because I know it's where she got preggers with me. Same bed, even. No, I'm not guessing. One night, after a beer or two too many, Iris felt the warped need to share the whole story-how Private First Cla.s.s Kenneth Cordell sneaked in through the window, not once, but enough times to make d.a.m.n sure and knock up one Iris Ann Belcher. Thanks so much, Daddy.

A Poem by Cody Bennett Not d.a.m.n Sure Where my real daddy ran to, if he settled down in some Podunk town or if he fell flat off the face of the earth.

No clue who he is or why Mom slept with him seventeen years ago, give or take.

Maybe it was rape.

No lie.

Mom is pretty much a prude. A nice prude.

and all things considered, a really great mom.

No complaints about her or how we live. Yeah, I've got a stepdad, but he's pretty d.a.m.n good to us.

No reason to turn all emo over not knowing my real-scratch that-I mean biological father. Why would I want to?

No worries.

Cody

After Wichita

Vegas is a strange, strange city.

I mean, everything in Wichita is ebony and ivory. Everyone knows where everyone else stands on things like immigration (electrify the wall) or global warming (greenhouse ... huh?).

But in Vegas, no one knows one d.a.m.n thing about their next- door neighbor, even. We moved here almost two years ago, and the only reason I know anyone on the block is because of school.

Even there, unless you really push hard, you don't make friends, and if you do, they're liable to move away before long.

They say Vegas is a transient city. Whole lot of truth in that.

People come. People go. Not like Wichita, where people mostly stay. Guess I miss some things about Kansas.

But worrying over it won't help anyone. Especially not me.

I Go with the Flow Don't make waves, don't buck the current. I clean my room, play nice with my little brother. Maintain a solid 3.0 GPA. Might even go on to college. Meanwhile, I work part time at GameStop to pay for gas and insurance. My hair is trimmed, my clothes are neat, and I never wear all black, except to funerals. You probably wouldn't notice me walking down the street, unless you happen to be attracted to "average." It's not such a bad thing to be. When you fly well below the radar, you get away with a h.e.l.l of a lot.

Of Course My mom would forgive me just about anything. Always trying to make up for the absent father thing. Not sure why.

My stepfather, Jack, is really pretty cool. To her. To me.

He's an aircraft mechanic, working a civil service job at Nellis AFB. Mom met him at Boeing in Wichita. She was a receptionist there. It wasn't exactly love at first sight, at least not for her. She called him "persistent." He called himself "bit by the love bug." Okay, that's corny, but hey, that's Jack.

I've gotten used to corny. Typical Jack joke: A rope orders a drink, but the bartender says, "We don't serve ropes here." The rope goes outside, ties himself up, unravels one end, goes back inside. Bartender says, "Hey, aren't you that rope?"

Rope shakes his head. "Frayed knot."

Get It?

You know, "frayed knot,"

meaning "'fraid not." Corny as h.e.l.l, like I said. But also kind of funny. Anyway, it's easy enough to put up with corny when it's from-the-heart honest.

Jack is honest as a mare-sniffing stud, which is why he gets along with Mom. She can't stand when people lie. Can't blame her, so I try not to do much out-and-out lying.

"Omitting" is something else.

I do my fair share of omitting.

Despite Mom's ongoing request to know where I'm going, who I'll be with, and when I'll be home, she rarely questions the bare-bones details I usually provide.

I suppose that might change if I ever fall into serious trouble.

But so far I've done a whole lot of weekend partying without getting busted, addicted, or dead.

Smarter than the average stoner.

Tonight Being Sat.u.r.day Night I plan on a little fun before going home. First I have to finish my s.h.i.+ft. One hour and counting, the door buzzer signals a customer. Hope he knows exactly what he wants.

Oops. I mean she, and not just any "she," but Veronica Carino.

I haven't seen her around much lately. Not since I broke up with Alyssa, her best friend.

"Hey, Ronnie. What's up?"

She barely glances my way as she starts a counterclockwise circ.u.mnavigation. Wii. Xbox.

PlayStation. Doesn't she know what system she has? "Can I help you find what you're looking for?"

Finally she reaches the counter, leans across, inflating the scoop of her tank top. Thanks, but I think I found it. She wets her lips with the tip of her tongue, pouts full on.

How come you haven't called me?

Is This a Trick?

Something she and Alyssa cooked up to make me look like a jerk?

Ronnie Carino has never even batted her pretty green eyes at me before. Let alone given me an up-close view of those tasty-looking t.i.ts. Something twitches behind my zipper. Glad I'm standing behind the counter.

"Uh ... called you? Guess I figured since 'Lyss and I broke up, you'd probably be mad at me."

Ronnie takes a deep breath, rounding the mounds I can't quit staring at. Then she exhales in a big sigh. Why would I be mad at you? You and 'Lyssa weren't good for each other. Oil and H2O ...

True enough. We argued over everything, from music to sports.

Only one thing was really good between us.... That twitch again.

"So, are you saying you want to go out with me?" The direct approach usually cuts straight through the bulls.h.i.+t, but it can backfire.

I half expect her to laugh and tell me I'm out of my mind. Instead she smiles a total come-on. Yeah.

Why? Does that surprise you?

Can't she see the shock in my eyes? I feel like I touched a hot wire. "Kinda, I guess." I watch her inhale. Exhale. Ah, why not?

One reason comes immediately to mind. "What about Alyssa?"

She'll get totally p.i.s.sed off. But after she thinks about it, she'll be okay ... or maybe she won't....

Ronnie dips even lower, giving me a quick nipple shot before drawing back and straightening.

Right now, I don't care what 'Lyss thinks. Do you? She waits for me to answer. The thought crosses my mind again that this could all be a setup. Still, I shake my head. Great. How 'bout tonight?

I Watch Ronnie Leave Wondering what the h.e.l.l just went down. Thinking with my d.i.c.k. That's for sure. So what is Ronnie thinking with? That makes the d.i.c.k in question think even harder. Thank G.o.d when the door opens next, it's a bunch of kids. Keeping an eye on them will help me forget about what might happen tonight.

Ronnie and I are going to Frozen75, the only underage club in Vegas.

I guess she's on some special list so we won't have to wait in line to get in. No booze inside, but whatever. I just want to watch her dance. We can keep the refreshments in my car. And as for dessert ...

Stop that! One of the kids comes over, whining about Pokemon Purple, and why don't we have it, when it's right in front of his grubby, little face. "Hang on a sec and I'll get it for you." Brat.

The Rest of the Hour Creeps by. Tick-tick ... tick.

I'm actually happy when people come in, asking dopey questions.

At least it keeps me from looking at the freaking clock every ten seconds. Why am I so anxious?

Well, yeah, there is the idea that I just might hook up with one very hot girl. I have to admit I have thought about boinking her more than once, while taking solo care of a hard-on.

Oh yeah, the big M. I probably do it more than I should, and Ronnie is definite b.o.n.e.r bait, at least when I'm left to my own imagination instead of Internet p.o.r.n. Viva la webcams!

Good thing Mom and Jack aren't too nosy when it comes to my personal web-browsing history. One very good example of "omission." If they asked, would I out-and-out lie? Who wouldn't?

Now, at Least I won't have to lie about where I'm going tonight. I can omit confessing the fun stuff, should any of it actually happen. Finally I get to clock out. Need to shower off the customers' germs, put on clean clothes. Girls love clean.

I'm good with giving it to them.

It's warm for late March, but then it never gets really cool in Vegas.

The dry desert air is peppered with exhaust and city noise.

It's a short ride home, radio screaming, and I'm singing to myself as I park, head up the walk to the front door. Life is good, and I can't help but smile as I go inside. Mom and Jack are in the kitchen. Even from here, the tone of Mom's voice makes me know something's up. I close the distance quietly.