Evil in Me, page 4
Ruby was surprised at how much that stung. “Well, no. A lot of bad shit went down. Did you enjoy being smacked around, being called a weirdo all the time? Because I sure as hell didn’t.”
“No, I didn’t and maybe that’s why I’m making changes. Maybe I don’t want to be thought of as a weirdo all my life.”
“Changes? What kind of changes?”
“Been working out for one thing.”
“Working out? You?”
“Yeah, me,” he huffed. “You probably hadn’t even noticed. Well, other folks have. Why Stacy was just saying how well I’d grown into my frame, that I was a long stretch from that gangly dork she knew back in high school.”
Ruby laughed. “I bet she did. Bet she wouldn’t mind at all hooking up with someone who’s gonna inherit their father’s dealership one day. Why, I’d go so far to say the thought of having a shiny new Chevy every year and living in a big house instead of that rinky-dink trailer of hers is making you more attractive every day.”
“You’re just being mean now.”
They both fell quiet again.
How did we get here? Ruby wondered. Used to feel so connected, two losers bonding over ridiculing all the douchebags at school. Maybe that was all we had. And maybe … maybe I am boring. She had to admit Billy was right, she would rather stay home listening to records, reading, or playing guitar than getting drunk with the party kids—the ones that didn’t make it to college, or join the service, or do anything except talk about what they were gonna do. The ones Ruby thought of as the left-behinders. Of course, she was painfully aware that she was a left-behinder too, that “gonna-do” was her favorite subject—gonna move to Atlanta, gonna get a band going, gonna tour the nation. She sighed, refusing to believe she was like them, wanting to believe it was this town, because if you weren’t into high school football, there was simply nothing going on here, nothing to feed on, no live music, no nightlife at all—unless you called cruising up and down the half-mile strip and visiting burger joints “nightlife.” It was a dry county for fuck’s sake, not even a bar. Had to drive ten miles to buy a goddamn beer.
The only inspiring thing Ruby had ever found in Enterprise was the giant statue the town had erected to a bug—the Boll Weevil Monument. And not just any statue, but some magnificent Greek goddess, standing in the middle of a fountain, holding the divine insect above her head like a gift from heaven.
“Want me to drop you off at Pam’s?” Billy asked, his tone cold now, distant.
“Yeah, thanks.” She let out a sigh. “No really, Billy. Thanks. I … I do appreciate your effort here. Just … well, I’m still working through all this. That’s all.”
He gave her a hopeful smile and nodded.
Fuck, need a cigarette, Ruby thought, and even though she’d promised herself she was done with them, she popped open the glove compartment looking for one. She reached for a pack of Marlboros and froze.
“Billy, hell!” she said, pointing at a plastic baggie. “What’s this?”
“Pot,” he said, like it was nothing more than a pack of gum.
“Billy, goddamn it. Fuck! Y’know what’ll happen if I’m caught anywhere near this. They’ll send me to state this time.”
“Oh shit, yeah. I forgot about that. It’s no big deal.”
“It is a big deal! Billy, really? You just don’t give a shit, do you?”
He rolled his eyes. “You’re overacting.”
They pulled into Pam’s driveway, but Billy didn’t cut off the motor, just kept his eyes forward, waiting for her to get out.
“How can you be so careless? It’s your fault I’m in this mess. Your fault I’ve been mopping floors the last couple of months.”
“How many times you gonna throw that in my face?” he snapped. “I fucked up, alright? Seems I can’t apologize enough. Please, just crucify me already. God, this was a mistake.”
Ruby blinked, couldn’t even find the words.
Billy started selling marijuana about a year out of school, mostly to friends. He called it “buying in bulk”—his way of keeping the price down for everybody. Ruby never thought much of it, at least not until they got busted.
The whole thing was stupid. They’d been on their way to Lake Tholocco when Billy pulled into Ray’s Bait Shop out on Highway 27 to get some gas. The fact that they didn’t even need gas should’ve been Ruby’s first clue something was up. A rusty green van pulled in next to them, driven by a guy Ruby had never seen before. Some woman wearing a tank top and Daisy Dukes got out the back and headed into the bathroom. Ruby was trying to figure out what all the eye contact was about when Billy shoved an envelope into her purse and told her to go give it to that woman. Ruby took a peek, saw the cash, and finally caught on—told Billy no way. Billy gave her his why-are-you-making-such-a-big-deal-out-of-nothing face, the one which, if she didn’t do what he wanted, could quickly turn into his mad-sulk-all-day face. Still, she refused. He then told her he sure as shit couldn’t go into the women’s bathroom, and if she didn’t do it she’d fuck up the whole deal. Might even get him beat up. Ruby, who only wanted to have a nice day at the lake, thought, I can take two minutes and get his dope, or I can spend the whole day dealing with his pouting and acting pissed at me. So, Ruby followed Miss Daisy Dukes into the bathroom.
Close up, Daisy Dukes turned out to be pushing fifty and looked hard as concrete, but she smiled pleasantly enough. “Here you go, shug,” she said, handing Ruby a small brown paper sack. Ruby didn’t bother to look inside, just handed the woman the envelope. The woman told Ruby to wait a couple of minutes before following her out. As Ruby waited, her hands began to shake and she swore right then and there, never again. She tucked her purse under her arm and headed out. The van was gone, and Billy was in the car, over by the tire pumps with the engine running. That’s when the sheriff pulled in.
Ruby froze as the sheriff got out and started around to the gas pump. In retrospect, if she hadn’t panicked, she’d probably been fine, but she did panic, snatching the bag out of her purse and dropping it under one of the cricket cages and acting like she hadn’t. She started toward Billy, not making it four steps before the sheriff called to her. “Hey, miss. You dropped something.”
Billy hit the gas and just drove away, leaving her there in the middle of the goddamn parking lot. The sheriff grabbed her and that was when she went off, just completely lost it. She barely even remembered what happened next, just a blur of screaming, kicking, and biting.
The long and short of it, Ruby got busted. Didn’t take long for the cops to figure out Billy was in on it too, but Ruby was the one with the dope, so she was the only one to get charged. But that wasn’t the worst of it. Apparently, she’d had a complete meltdown in lockup, leading to a short stay at the Dothan Mental Health Center, under observation by Dr. Ferguson. This was followed by nine months’ probation and endless community service, along with a court order to stay on her medication. There just seemed to be no end to the fun.
“You getting out, or what?” Billy asked.
“Oh, I’m getting out, alright.” Ruby opened the door, sliding her guitar over, and stopped. There was a cassette tape under the bag of dope. She pulled it out and burst out laughing. “Oh, my God. Really?”
“Please get out of my car.”
She held it in front of his face and laughed some more. “Dewydoo and the Boohoos?”
“So what?”
“So what?” She could hear the shrillness rising in her voice, but couldn’t stop. “This is who you are now?”
“God, are you off your meds again?”
Ruby stopped laughing, glared at him.
“Shit, you are. Fuck, you could’ve at least warned me. Man, this is the last thing I need right now. Look, just go back to your punk rock loser club already. Your little being-mad-at-the-world club. Have fun. Always such a joy to be around, Ruby. I swear.”
She got out, slamming the door shut so hard it rattled. “Yeah, well you can go back to your … your … to your fucking Dewy-fucking-Doo loser club.”
“Good one, Ruby. Can I have my tape back now?”
Ruby forgot she was even holding it. She looked at it and grinned. “You want this? Do you, babe?” She grabbed the tape and yanked it out of its spool, yanking and yanking until she had a big wad of tape, then threw it at him. “There’s your goddamn tape!”
“Nice, Ruby. Real nice.” He jammed it into reverse and shot back out of the driveway, then shouted, “Crazy-ass psycho!” And drove off.
Ruby stood there shaking from head to toe. The word “psycho” ringing in her head. In all the blowups they’d ever had, he’d never jabbed at her mental health, never crossed that line. He’d always been the one person to tell her she wasn’t crazy, that it was that mean old world out there that was crazy.
“I’m gonna cry,” she whispered. “Fuck it, I’m gonna cry.” And she did.
* * *
Ruby stood in Pam’s yard, wiping away the tears as she tried to compose herself.
“Why don’t you come on in?” called a warm voice from behind her.
Ruby turned to see Pam looking out through her screen door. She pushed the door open. “Come on.”
Ruby came in, setting her guitar down by the door.
Pam had on her flight suit. She was a warrant officer in the military, flew fix-winged aircraft over at Fort Rucker, the nearby Army base. Ruby worked for her three or four days a week, taking care of her elderly father while she was away.
Pam put an arm around Ruby and led her into the kitchen. “How about some tea?” she asked. Being from Brooklyn, Pam had a slight accent. She fixed two glasses and brought them over to the table. “This should cool you down a bit.”
“Thank you,” Ruby said as they sat down. Pam wasn’t much older than Ruby, maybe twenty-six or -seven, but she seemed like such an adult to Ruby. It was more than her strong jaw and no-nonsense cropped hair, more than the fact that her house was tastefully decorated and always in order. There was such confidence in the way she looked at you, in the way she spoke: direct, but neither confrontational nor condescending. Something Ruby felt she could never pull off.
“Guess you heard us carrying on?” Ruby said.
“I did.”
“Sorry about that.”
“Don’t be. Thought you two were done.”
“Oh, we’re definitely done.”
Pam took a sip of her tea and leaned back in her chair.
“Y’know,” Ruby said. “You know what pisses me off? Two years I waited around for him to go to Atlanta with me. Two fucking years. I let Tina down, all for him. And that’s how he repays me?”
Pam set a hand atop Ruby’s, squeezed. “You didn’t know he was playing games.”
“Yeah, but I should’ve. Maybe not at first, but certainly when he kept coming up with excuses not to go. We’ll move to Atlanta next week, then next month, then after Christmas, then after he gets his braces off, and on and on. Whenever I suggested that maybe I should go on ahead, he’d get all pouty. Start in with that if-I-really-loved-him-I’d-wait crap. Y’know what I think? I think he never intended to go. That he was just stringing me along, y’know, hoping I’d give up on Atlanta, the band. Just stay here in Enterprise with him.”
Ruby shook her head. “God, it all just makes me feel so bad. You think you know someone.” She stared at her tea for a minute, then let out a long, deep breath. “And you wanna know something else, something that really makes me feel bad? Sometimes I wonder if I was just using him as an excuse. That deep down I’m afraid. That’s what Tina said. I mean really, why else am I still here? Maybe I am a loser … a left-behinder.”
“You know that isn’t true. Tina and that band is about all you talk about.”
“Maybe. Guess it doesn’t matter now. All I know is I haven’t gotten a letter from Tina for almost a year. I think she might’ve given up on me. Can’t say I blame her.”
“I know this,” Pam said. “You have one week to go. One week and you’ll be on your way. You have your whole life ahead of you. Can be anything you want.”
Ruby tried to smile, but she was thinking about Tina, wondering where they stood. They’d started their band, the Night Mares, in high school, more just pretending to be a band, at least at first. Tina looking badass with her shorn hair, braless in her tank top, her thin, ripped arms flexing while she strummed. Ruby growling out the vocals while banging on her bass, and Tina’s older brother, Jim, popping the drums. But after a couple of years, they started to pull it together, even managed to work out a few songs of their own.
Jim left to go to work on an oil rig, leaving them without a drummer. Tina tried junior college for a while, but became disillusioned. That’s when Tina and Ruby decided to get serious about the band and started saving up, making plans for Atlanta. They had stars in their eyes, dreaming about getting out of Enterprise, traveling across the country, and playing every hot spot along the way.
One thing Ruby could tell you is that things rarely go to plan. They never played a single gig, but she’d also tell you that filling that basement with all that noise was some of the best times of her life.
Pam stood up. “Oh, before I forget.” She snatched a notepad off the counter and sat back down. “Here’s your work log. Added up all your hours and pay, just like your probation officer asked for. What was his name? Larry … something?”
“Thanks, Pam. Yeah, his name’s Larry Asswipe.”
Pam chuckled.
“Not looking forward to going back to see him either. That guy hates me.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Oh, I know it, because he told me so. Said straight to my face that he thinks I should’ve gone to jail for hitting the sheriff. Told me he’s just hoping I’ll screw this up so he can lock me away.”
“Yes, well, that may be, but nothing he can do about it now. You’re practically home free.”
“Lord, don’t say that! You’ll jinx it.” Ruby knocked on the wooden tabletop, crossed her fingers, then crossed herself two times, not caring in the least that she wasn’t Catholic.
Pam laughed. “You are so superstitious, Ruby. Everything’s going to work out fine. I feel it, because you’re owed a streak of luck after all you’ve been through.” A sad look fell across Pam’s face. “Going to miss you. And not just because you’re such a great dad-sitter either. Really going to miss you.”
“Gonna miss both of y’all,” Ruby said, and couldn’t have meant it more. “Oh, hey, how’d the interview with Mrs. Wheat go? Did Mr. Rosenfeld like her?”
Pam almost spit out her tea. “Well, first off, he didn’t hear us walk in, so there he was, standing in his kitchen in nothing but his polka-dot boxers. I’d liked to have died, but the thing is, Mrs. Wheat, she didn’t bat an eye, just snorted and complimented him on how nice his underwear was.”
“Oh, sounds like you found a winner.”
Pam laughed. “I hope so. She won’t be his Ruby Dear, but I think he’ll adjust. Funny, y’know how unpredictable his mind can be. Well, he was as sharp as a tack when she visited. Even walked her through how to fix matzo ball soup. I could see that Mrs. Wheat wasn’t sure what we even needed her for.”
“So, is today a good day, or bad day?”
“He’s doing alright,” Pam started. “Well … he … he—” Suddenly there were tears in her eyes. “He didn’t know me today.”
“Oh, Pam. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s the first time that’s happened. I thought I was prepared … I—” Her lip began to tremble. “It just caught me so off guard. That’s all.”
Mr. Rosenfeld’s problems started with lung cancer. They’d removed half a lung to get rid of it, only to discover the cancer had already spread, that he had not one, but three inoperable tumors growing in his brain, one larger than a golf ball. According to Pam, there was nothing else to be done at this point, other than make him as comfortable as she could.
“Let’s go see him,” Ruby said, suddenly needing to give the old man a hug. “I’ll play some of his Barbra Streisand albums for him. I’ve noticed a bit of nostalgia helps with his memory.”
“Oh, you’re a saint. I don’t know how you can stand listening to her all day.”
“Who, Streisand? I love Barbra!” Listening to records with the old man was Ruby’s favorite thing to do when she visited. She’d even gotten him to listen to a few of her favorite albums. He’d wrinkled his nose at most of them, but he actually liked Madness, the two of them dancing to that crazy ska beat, laughing until they collapsed onto the sofa.
Pam smiled. “Glad you’re here today, Ruby. Especially today. He always seems a little better after your visits.”
They left through the back door, walking past a black Cadillac parked on the grass, an older model, from the late sixties probably. It was Mr. Rosenfeld’s. There was a large dent in the front bumper. Pam had to take his keys away after that one. They approached a small but nice single-wide mobile home.
Mr. Rosenfeld had been in residence about a year now. He’d been living alone in Brooklyn before that, but his ongoing medical issues left Pam with no other options than to bring him down to stay with her. Pam’s primary job, as she put it, was flying high-ranking muckity-mucks wherever they needed to go, and she often had to be out of town for several days at a time. So, she needed a little help, someone to keep her father out of trouble.
“Where did you say you were going this time?” Ruby asked. “Costa Rica?”
“I wish. No, going to Colombia. They don’t tell me much, but I’m betting it has something to do with the drug cartels and that hot mess. Like I said, I should be back by Wednesday. I’ll have someone from the base let you know if it’s going to be longer.”
Pam stepped up on the small porch and knocked on the door. “Papa?” She knocked again and opened the door. “Papa? Hey, it’s me, Pam. Coming in … are your pants on?”
“Maybe they are, maybe they aren’t,” called back a gravelly voice. Pam groaned and led Ruby in.
