Sharing Life

by

Matthew McFarland

Lila Gerace had been attractive until the asshole at the McDonald’s broke her nose. Now she just looked low-class. Her black hooded sweatshirt could probably stretch the full height of her body, which wasn’t more than five feet, anyway. Her occasionally red hair was still growing back from when she’d shaved her head.

She looked at her reflection in the window of the municipal court building. Her nose was still bruised and crooked, and she absently wished she could afford to get it looked at by a doctor. More than that, though, she wanted a cigarette, and she had smoked her last one an hour ago.

Lila stretched and yawned, and found that the pain caused by yawning was beginning to deaden. She checked her watch, but admitted to herself that she really hadn’t been here that long. It just felt like six hours rather than two. Her mother was asleep in one of the hard plastic orange chairs that the state government so generously provided. The whole place, employees included, had the feel of being provided at the state’s sufferance. Civil servants in general always seemed exasperated to Lila, but maybe it was just the work. They should try couch dancing sometime, she thought.

She went back to staring out the window, idly wondering what the state would decide to do to the guy who punched her, if anything. He had just done it, that was the scary thing. Hadn’t looked angry, really. She had just asked him to buy her food so she could bypass the long line, offered to buy his. “Do I look fuckin’ poor?” he’d asked. She tried to remember if she’d given him any reaction, but she didn’t think so. She just remembered him drawing back and then a yellow-white flash, and then pain. Somewhere before her vision cleared, he’d run out. The people in line hadn’t stopped him, and she wasn’t sure they’d testify.

Lila leaned on the glass on watched the cops at the metal detectors check people’s pockets. She wondered again if she wouldn’t rather just have her friends lynch-mob the guy. Several people had already made the offer, and legal action was long, drawn-out, and rather inconclusive.

But everything you do comes back threefold, she reminded herself. She’d had her friends do that sort of thing before. And look what had happened. She felt a tug in the stomach as she remembered standing at Casey’s bedside as the doctor told him his face would always have that scar. He’d looked at Lila then. Not accusingly, but just a sideways glance. It seemed to say, “For you.” Maybe Casey liked having battle scars, but Lila felt awful knowing she was responsible.

It had always been a joke between them. Casey would rib her about dancing in a strip-joint. Lila would point out that nothing dangerous had ever happened. Casey would say there was a first time for everything. And Lila would say, “But you’d protect me, right?” And he’d say something macho like “Fuckin-A,” or “Bet your cute li’l ass.”

But when it happened, he wasn’t there. Some guy had kicked in the back door, slammed Lila up against a wall, and started yelling about Misha. She could smell whiskey on his breath and he had scared her. “It’s not easy to do,” Lila had told the cops later. And indeed, the guy at McDonald’s hadn’t scared her until he hit her, even considering how huge he was. But the drunk (who turned out to be Misha’s boyfriend) had scared her. So he asked Casey to go after him.

She closed her eyes tight, focusing on the pain it caused her face to do so. When she opened them, she saw Paul sitting down on the bench across the room. She walked over, and not seeing any other seats available, sat on his lap.

“Well, hi,” he said, somewhat surprised.

“Hi.” She hugged his neck. “Can I bum a smoke?” It was a friendly question, but she didn’t bat her eyes or anything else cute like that. Normally, she would have, but with Paul there could be no negotiation. She could already feel a lump under her, and she didn’t want to give him any bargaining material.

“Yeah, I guess. Just be real nice to me.” From anyone else, that would have been a throwaway comment, but Lila hopped off his lap and noted him adjusting his pants. “I still smoke cloves, though.”

“I figured as much. I think I can handle it.” They walked outside. Paul pulled up his collar and lit up, then handed her a long, black cigarette from a red box. It smelled sweet and tasted of candy to her. She tried several times to light it before it finally caught. She took a drag and licked her lips. The only reason to smoke cloves, in Lila’s opinion, was the taste. Just as chocolate bars were dessert and hamburgers a meal, cloves were a treat and Marb’s were cigarettes. But Paul always smoked them.

Paul was a man of rich tastes, anyway, she thought. His coat was black cashmere, his pants were charcoal-gray and neatly pressed, his shirt was black and white and patterned in an Escher-like design. Standing there smoking a clove in his (she guessed) $400 outfit, he looked like an advertisement for GQ. She was thinking how high-class he looked compared to all these other people in their sweatsuits and ripped jeans, then realized that she herself looked scuzzy in comparison.

“So, what are you doing here?” he asked. No loaded question, for once.

“Well, remember I told you that some guy punched me in the face at McDonald’s?”

“Yeah,” he nodded.

“Pressing charges.”

“Good. Fuckin’ prick.” It was always funny to listen to Paul. Around his intellectual, coffee-shop buddies, he talked like an English professor. Around Lila and her friends, he talked like a punk. “You shoulda had Casey go after his ass.” He dropped his cigarette and stamped it out.

Lila watched him crush the butt under his toe. Yeah, right, she thought. Paul apparently hadn’t heard what had happened to Casey. “How do you smoke those things that fast?” she asked.

“Powerful lips.” He smiled at her.

“I was wondering how long it would take,” she muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Powerful lips. Yeah. He was a good kisser. He was also a good talker, and no matter what she said, he always threw that night in summer back at her. She blushed; despite her rather sluttish appearance, she wasn’t fond of one-night stands, and the tryst with Paul had done nothing for her reputation. Paul, of course, had told his friends, and she, of course, had to act like she didn’t care. It was all part of her act; she had to be promiscuous, and it didn’t matter if Paul was, because he was male. She took a long drag on her cigarette and flicked it into the street. “What are you doing here?”

“Trying to get an extension on a speeding ticket.”

“Can’t pay it?”

“Not now, I can’t. No cash flow.” He even talked like a rich guy. He wasn’t. His car was junk, he ate at McDonald’s, and his mother bought his clothes.

She laughed. “What, a big deal coming through?”

He chuckled. “No, I just don’t get paid until next week and the ticket’s due Friday. Damn biweekly paychecks.”

“Yeah, wish I got a paycheck.”

“Thought you were dancing at that...” he paused, trying to be polite.

She pointed at her nose. “Not looking like this. Duh.”

“Leave me alone. I’m overworked.” He leaned against the wall and cracked his back.

“Are you at the writing center, still?”

“Yeah, and at CD House.”

“Oh, yeah? Can you get me a free CD?” As soon as she said it, she knew the response she’d get.

“Sure, what’s in it for me?” She had been right. There was the gleam in the icy-blue eyes, the lecherous half-smile.

“Is that all you think about, Paul?” she said, perhaps a bit more sharply than she meant. He looked at her, surprised.

“Actually, no. I was only kidding, Delila. Jesus.” He was the only one who ever called her that.

“I’m sorry.” She kicked his heel lightly. He kicked hers back. She poked him in the arm.

“What?”

“I don’t know.” She poked him again.

“I’ll poke you back.” Another loaded statement, but Lila didn’t care. The lecherous look was gone, and he simply smiled that spoiled rich-boy smile, like a boy whose father has handed him a puppy for his birthday. A live thing to share life with, thought Lila. She poked his stomach. He poked hers in return. She started in to poke him again, but he caught her arm and tickled her ribs. She laughed out loud, then winced in pain. “Wait, hold on.” He stopped.

“What is it, your nose?”

“Yeah.” She prodded her nose gingerly. It ached, but not badly. It still hurt sometimes, if she laughed too hard.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, fine.” He leaned forward and kissed the bridge of her nose. She thought about those powerful lips again, and then stopped. She had no desire to let history repeat itself.

“All better.” He smiled at her.

“Yeah.” She looked up at him; she had to, he was more than a foot taller than she was. The guy who had punched her had been taller than Paul, and much wider to boot. She felt small and weak, and her hardass attitude left her, and she stepped in and hugged him. He put his arms around her, and held her close, stroking the fuzz on the back of her where her hair had once been.

“You sure you’re okay?” She felt the voice reverberate in his chest. She had always liked Paul’s voice; it was deep and smooth, like dark chocolate.

“Yeah.” She stepped away. “I’m fine.” She blinked in the sunlight.

“You want to go back in?”

“Sure.” They walked into the building, and discovered that Paul had a much longer wait than he’d thought. He had drawn number thirty-one, and they were in the early eighties now.

“I’m going to be here forever.”

“Prolly,” she remarked.

“Prolly?”

“Yeah. Prolly.” She smiled at him, daring him to correct her. She knew he would; Paul never refused a dare.

“I think perhaps you mean `probably’. Right?”

“Ah, you say tomato, I say evil demon hell fruit. Or something.” She smiled as he laughed out loud. “Anyway, I’m going to be here just as long.”

“This is bullshit.” He dug out a ticket from his coat and read it through. “OK, so if it’s late, they just charge me ten bucks. Fuck this, then. I’m going home.”

Lila looked up at him. She wasn’t sure what expression was on her face, but she felt like she wanted him to stay. She stopped herself from asking it of him. If she did, he’d end up seducing her eventually, and she really didn’t have any desire to sleep with him again.

That wasn’t entirely true. She did, she just didn’t think it was a good idea. But Paul was already hugging her, and saying his good-byes, so it didn’t matter. She said good-bye to him, and he walked to the door.

She was just walking over to her mother, who was beginning to wake up, when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned around to see Paul standing there. “Do you want to come with me?” He smiled, but not the lecherous smile, just a smile. Lila thought it was interesting that he didn’t specify why. Just if she wanted to leave with him. Not get a bite to eat, not catch a movie, not visit some friends. Just come with him.

“All right. Let me talk to mom.” Paul waited by the door while Lila explained to her mother where she was going. Her mother was half asleep and only focused on Paul enough to ask if he was Lila’s “rich friend”. “Sure,” said Lila, because it gave her mother a point of reference.

Paul opened the door for her and walked with her to the parking lot. The wind had picked up, and it had gotten cooler. Paul shoved his hands in the coat pockets. “What’d you tell your mother?”

“That I was going home with my rich friend Paul.”

“Rich,” snorted Paul. “What’d she say?”

“She said to rob you.”

He laughed. “Good luck.” They reached the parking lot, and Paul handed the attendant the slip. “I warn you, my car isn’t that much cleaner since the last time you were in it.”

“Oh, God,” she groaned, but it was more the memory of the last time she’d been in the car than of the mess. The car had been pretty cluttered, but it was much too small for sex. Just getting her nylons off had been a feat of agility, and actually having sex had required either lying on the seat with her head against the door, or banging her head against the roof of the car. All in all, she hadn’t really had much fun. But she had been lonely and bored, and not a little horny, so she’d let him pick her up.

The attendant pulled the Mazda around and handed Paul the keys. He got in, and unlocked the door for Lila. “Just don’t look in the back seat,” he said with an embarrassed smile. He shook his head. “God, that was a bad idea.” He caught a look at her hurt face in the mirror. “The car, I mean. Not the act in and of itself.”

“No?”

“Ouch.” He turned on the radio. They rode quietly for a while, Paul singing along softly, Lila looking intermittently at Paul, the road and the vanity mirror.

“You regret it?” he finally asked, as they turned onto his street. The house he and his friend Tyler shared was a two-story red brick duplex, and looked much too well-kept to house college students.

“No. I just...” she paused. He was looking at her carefully.

“I don’t know.”

“You just think it could have been better?”

She didn’t respond to that. He was right, of course, it could have been better, but that was an opening. Here they were, pulling into his driveway, and he was saying it could be better. “Anybody here?” she asked, then mentally slapped herself. That was another opening.

“Nope. Tyler’s in class.” He parked the car and unbuckled his seatbelt. “Why?”

“Curious.” She got out and walked in the house with him, pried off her boots, and wandered around, looking at his place.

The side door led to the kitchen, which looked more like a college student’s dwelling. There was a plastic bag full of beer bottles on the floor, and an overflowing trash can filled with TV dinner boxes and soup cans. Paul led her into the living room. A yellow cat lay curled up on the couch, and meowed at them as they walked in.

“Fuck off, Xerses,” said Paul, and shoved the cat off. He sat down and stretched. Xerses walked over and rubbed against Lila’s legs. She reached down and scratched his head.

Paul was sitting on the couch, feet propped up on an ottoman that looked like it and been thrown into busy street and retrieved the following day. Lila sat on a green neon beanbag and looked at him. He got off the couch and sat in front of her.

“So, what do you want to do?” The loaded statements were flying around like dodgeballs in gym class. Lila shrugged. Paul shrugged back and grabbed her right foot. She tensed, thinking he’d tickle her, but he started massaging the bottom of her foot, never taking his eyes off her. The bastard, she thought. He knows I won’t stop him now. She leaned her head back against the wall and let his hands work their way over her feet, up her shins, and finally to her thighs. Is this really what I want, she thought? She opened her eyes and found him close to her, about to kiss her. She kissed him first.

He slid his arms under her and pulled her onto his lap, never breaking the kiss. She had always loved that about him, he was a great kisser. So few guys were, but he never slobbered, never shoved his tongue down her throat. His mouth fit perfectly on hers, and he always knew how to move, when to dart his tongue between her teeth.

He picked her up and laid her down on the couch, began unbuttoning his shirt. She felt her body responding, and she did want him, she decided. He had that little-boy, caring smile on his face again, and he looked at her as someone to share life with. This, she decided, was the grown-up version of the desire to hug and pet the puppy: the desire to share life.

The cat jumped onto the couch, and curled up on Lila’s stomach. “Fuck off, cat,” Paul repeated, and, picking Xerses up, carried him out of the room.

This disturbed Lila. She wasn’t sure why, at first, but it bothered her that he was so gruff. There was something wrong with the way he treated the cat, as ridiculous as she knew it was to be thinking that.

“OK,” he said, walking back into the room. He stopped when he saw her. She imagined she must have a pretty strange look on her face. “Uh-oh. What is it?”

“I don’t know.” She didn’t. “I think I’d like you to take me back.”

He sat down in front of her. “You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I just don’t think this is a good idea.”
He looked hurt, but he covered it well. He always did when he was embarrassed. “OK. Hang on.” He rebuttoned his shirt.

He drove her back to the court building, staying quiet all the way. He didn’t look angry or confused, just distant and vaguely annoyed. That was what bothered her, she finally realized. Not that sex wouldn’t have meant a relationship or anything more than sharing life, but that, to him, it wouldn’t even mean that. He didn’t look at the puppy as something to share life with, but as something soft to play with.

He dropped her off in front of the big glass doors, and she bummed another cigarette before she got out of the car. “See ya,” she said, hugging his neck.

“Yeah, OK.” He locked the door after she’d shut it and drove away, and Lila walked back into the building.

© 2000 Matthew McFarland

No reproduction is allowed without the author’s express permission.

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