“I don’t know why a hooker thinks she’s better than her own mother. At least I worked an honest job,” she said. She had that nasty tone in her voice, the one that said she was just itching for a fight.
“You haven’t had an honest job in a long time,” I reminded her. “Last time I checked, your job was drinking, smoking, and trying to get by on other people’s money.”
She looked up at me, a triumphant smile on her face. “At least I’m not gettin’ by on other people’s di**cks.”
“Yes, you are,” I said. It was sad, but her words didn’t even faze me anymore. “You have one nasty man after another up here, and that’s how you pay your rent and buy your cigarettes.”
“What do you know about it?” she snapped.
“I know all about it. I’m a whore, too,” I said flatly. “It takes one to know one.”
She stood up, her hands curled into fists, ready to come after me. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time, but I didn’t want to get into it with her tonight. I wanted to diffuse her and put her on the back burner of my life, where she would stay out of trouble for the imminent future, maybe forever.
As usual, I was doing a crap job of that.
“How much do you need,” I said. It was a statement, not a question.
“Two thousand dollars,” she said. She uncurled her fists, but she didn’t bother looking like she was sorry.
“I can give it to you, but there are conditions,” I said, pacing around the grimy kitchen. “First, do not ever go and try to get money from New Horizons again. That money is for Tommy. Your son. He needs it more than you and me put together. That’s why I’m working so much. Please don’t ever do that again. Promise me.”
She nodded. I wasn’t sure if I could believe her, but there wasn’t anything I could do about that right now.
“Second, you can’t ever go to my office again. My boss would have fired me today, except I’m on a job.”
She snorted and lit another cigarette. “That boss of yours thinks her shit doesn’t stink. I had a mind today to tell that beaver chomper—”
“Please don’t call her a beaver chomper,” I interrupted, “and just don’t ever go there again. She said she’d fire me if you do. She meant it. If you want to keep crashing your cars up, getting bailed out of jail, and borrowing money for the rest of your life, I sort of need a job, okay? So lay off.”
“Fine.” She blew out a cloud of smoke in my direction.
I didn’t know what I’d ever done to her to make her hate me, but she did. She didn’t hate Tommy—she didn’t take good care of him, but she at least ruffled his hair occasionally. But not me. Maybe it was just a complete and utter lack of love that I felt from her.
She was like the sun on a sub-zero day: she was there, but she gave no warmth. It was as if I’d come along and ruined her party just by being born, and now I had to pay. And pay. And pay. I took out my wallet and handed her the cash. It was the only money I’d kept from the advance. It was supposed to go toward rent, but there was nothing I could do about that right now.
Except go back to work.
“Bye, Ma,” I said.
She stuffed the money into her pocket and nodded at me. “See ya. Have fun in that fancy outfit.” The way she said it made me feel dirty.
I couldn’t wait to flee the smoke and everything else. I threw the door open, eager to breathe in the fresh air.
And there stood James Preston on the landing, just standing there, waiting for me.
James
I caught a glimpse of the mother. She was about Audrey’s height, but that was where the resemblance ended. I saw a barrel chest, stringy bleached hair, and a face that had seen too many Tequila Sunrises.
“Hey,” Audrey said, closing the door behind her quickly. “I told you not to come up.”
“I wanted to be here if you needed me,” I said. I pulled her to me protectively as we headed down the stairs.
“Did that go okay?” I asked. I had no idea what “okay” meant in this circumstance, but it was the only thing I could think of to say.
She shrugged. “It was typical. It was fine.”
“What does that mean, Audrey?”
She slid into the car and sighed. “Can I please have some bourbon?”
“Of course.” I poured her a glass and watched her take a shaky sip.
“You know, I thought I’d never drink. After growing up with my mom the way she was.” She shrugged. “But my mother taught me what it actually means to need a drink.”
I poured myself one and clinked her glass. “Cheers to that.” We watched the city lights as we sped from East Boston back through the Financial District. “Audrey. I know you don’t want to tell me what your mother wanted, but I wish you would.”