Page 28 of Wicked Me
“You got a ciggy, sugar?”
Those were the first words spoken to me by my late-night partner under the streetlight. Even from that voice, I couldn’t tell if it belonged to a man or woman. It was both feminine and deep, female and male, just like her/his 1980s blond hair metal band curls that never budged.
“Uh.” I patted my jacket even though I knew I didn’t have any. “No. Sorry.”
“S’okay. We been standing here a while, huh?”
“Yeah.” It was two fifteen last time I looked. Hill had sent me here so I could hurry up and wait, which should reserve him a special place in hell. I hated waiting.
“I’ve been here so long that I took a break and went to that donut shop around the block,” she/he said. “You know which one I’m talking about?”
I shook my head, wondering why the potential hooker had chosen now to strike up a conversation. Was she/he the one I was supposed to meet here? Hill hadn’t exactly spelled out for me what I should be doing or who I was to do it with. Or maybe the ladyman had decided I could be trusted with donut talk after the fifteen-minute silence test.
“Best Dressed Donuts, that’s what it’s called. They have donuts with little mustaches and pin-striped suits made out of frosting and ones with little tiaras,realtiaras made out of candy...”
“Sounds amazing. I love donuts.” And I did but I had no fucking idea what a tiara was.
The ladyman fished out a rolled-up white paper bag from a red backpack on the ground and held it out to me. “I couldn’t eat both of them, so take it.”
A car slowed at our intersection. At first I thought it would stop, but it just touched its brakes before turning.
Was it really a donut in the bag or was this what Hill wanted me to take as part of his master plan for me tonight?
“Go on, take it.”
Giving someone, especially a stranger, their uneaten donut was outside my realm of expectation. Especially tonight, or any night I was fetched to do something for Hill. If it really was a donut, no way would I pass that up because I had never met a donut I didn’t like. Unless the ladyman had her/his grubby, unwashed, STD’d hands all over it.
I took the paper bag, slowly in case the ladyman changed his/her mind, and tested its weight. Felt like a donut, smelled like a donut, must’ve been a donut. Didn’t mean I would eat it, though.
“Thank you...?”
“Alex.”
The gender-neutral name fit perfectly. “Thanks, Alex.”
Alex nodded. “You’re welcome.”
A dark suburban swerved to the curb and idled there, thumping a type of music out its open windows I had never heard before. Something like two harps smashing together mixed with whales and a mess of drumbeats behind it. The white guy behind the wheel sat facing forward, an unlit cigar plugged into his mouth, his entire face droopy with what was probably boredom, complete disinterest, or both.
With a heavy sigh, Alex picked up the backpack and moved toward the passenger door. “Don’t you be waiting too much longer.”
For some reason, I almost said, “You too.” I didn’t like the looks of that guy or the sound of his music. It didn’t go unnoticed that Alex had given me the donut and not him. Once Alex folded into the passenger seat, the suburban squealed its tires to get out of there fast.
A strange quiet settled over the corner of 131stand Chestnut once the car disappeared down the street. With Alex gone, the mosquitos swarmed me. With all my swatting, I worked up a sweat underneath my hoodie and jacket. It would be better if I took at least one of them off, but the hood covered most of my face in case there were cameras around and the jacket added bulk. Good old Dad’s political dreams would be smashed into a pile of dick-knuckle if I was recognized.
In a lot of ways, Alex’s life probably wasn’t all that different from mine. Trapped, desperate to change things, to make things right. It was all a long, hard road filled with a ton of waiting on someone else’s schedule. There had to be a better way, but I wasn’t the only one who couldn’t find it.
Curious, I opened the paper bag to find a donut with pink frosting and a jeweled-crown-like thing sitting on top. Ah, so that was a tiara. I didn’t feel any smarter knowing that.
A black sedan with tinted windows and a massive silver grill on its front turned the corner from a block away. It veered to the right and stopped. The window rolled down, and a small, graceful hand wiggled a finger at me.
Was this some kind of proposition? I clicked the buttons on my jacket sleeves, a nervous habit, while my stomach turned in on itself. Good thing I didn’t eat that donut.
The inside of the car was dim, made even darker by the black, very expensive-looking dress worn by the woman in the passenger seat. The thick-necked driver had his head turned so I couldn’t see his face. The woman’s blood-red lips tipped into a smile as she handed me a small brown paper bag without a word.
I took it, the second paper bag handed to me in one night, though this one was much heavier than the first. She must’ve known to hand it to me and not some undercover cop who could be lurking somewhere, which made me think I was being watched. And I probably was, by Hill or someone else to make sure I didn’t fuck up again.
The woman pressed the button for the window, and the car sped away.
