I don't say anything.
“Yeah, that happens,” he sighs. “But I tell you what, having a little wife he could really smooth over them rough patches, Owen. You should give it some thought. Really. If you got girls over there, ready… seriously. Give it some thought.”
I shake my head. Silas would never allow it. He's got this idea about how we’re supposed to be outside that part of life. Not the way Catholic priests are, but like Egyptian kings or something. How they didn't want to pick favorites among the peasants or whatever.
I don't know. Frankly, it sounds kind of weird to me sometimes.
But Silas has strong ideas about these things. He's afraid of what would happen if everybody in the compound got jealous of each other. He is afraid of what would happen if he took a wife, or if I did. They would think that they were Queens. There would be jealousy. There would be divisiveness.
He is probably right. But it is still lonely as hell.
“Come on, there is probably one you like, right? Big strapping boy like you? All those fresh, innocent faces walking by you every day? No backtalk, no status symbols, no Snapchat or rap music or anything? Fuck, Owen. You live in paradise on earth, and you're telling me that you don't want a little taste for yourself?”
I choke back another shot of tequila. Dustin won’t mind. Still going through my dad's old tab. The liquor warms my belly.
“Yeah, there's one. Maybe. It's hard to say.”
“Oh, now this is interesting…” he says. “What’s she like? Big tits? No brain? That’s what you religious types like, right?”
I shake my head. I shouldn't be thinking about her. If there was ever one, it would be Angel. She's just like her name. Just like an angel. She shines a light. She's beautiful, and so sweet her soul brightens the room. She makes me feel good in a giddy, stupid way.
“No. She's perfect. She's gorgeous.”
“You don't say,” Dustin says slowly. “Yeah, every once in awhile I guess he does get a real beauty there? One with all her teeth and everything?”
“You remember Melissa?”
He pushes himself back in his chair, crossing his arms. I see him go defensive. He remembers Melissa, all right. She came through here like the other runaways, with one black eye and a two-year-old that she tried to hide in the ladies room. Strung out and filthy. But somehow, irresistible.
“Hell yeah, I remember Melissa. You think she remembers me?”
I have to laugh. “Don't think she remembers much from those days, Dustin. Sorry to let you down.”
“Yeah… you guys got lucky you got her. Or I thought so at the time. Then again, I didn't have to pay her bail money or pay off her pimps, did I? Maybe I ended up getting the better part of the deal after all!”
“Angel’s her daughter,” I tell him after a sip of beer. The cool liquid spreads through my chest.
Dustin lets out a low whistle for a long time. He's quiet, maybe remembering what Melissa used to be. Which she definitely isn't anymore.
“Hey, you know…”
I shrug and look at him. He glances at me and then looks away, rubbing his jaw again.
“You know, Owen, maybe there's a way to help us both out. Maybe it's time to do another trade?”
“I don't think Silas would go for that. He remembers what happened to Rose.”
“Eh. Nobody really knows what happened to Rose,” Dustin counters. “But I tell you, there a lot of lonely old dudes around here. These runaways, they get rougher every year. If you got one of your shining, virginal cult pussies over there…”
“Don't call her that.”
Dustin holds his hands up apologetically. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry. That wasn’t nice. But, understand… There could be a mutually beneficial agreement. Unless you want her for yourself…”
“Yeah right,” I say sourly.
“Hey, Dustin!” Rhonda yells out from across the bar, facing off with the old guys in some kind of argument. She whistles through her teeth until he stands up.
“Just think about it,” he asks me. “Mutually beneficial arrangement. Seriously.”