Baby Huey: A Cautionary Tale of Addiction (32 page)

Not really.
“If you want to.”

She lay on the bed. “I sure do.”

Mid-grind, we both fell asleep.

It was Friday afternoon when I woke up. Blew had the pillow over her head. I smoked the remaining crack on the dresser, then tried to wake Blue when I discovered I was broke.
Shit!
She gave me the same catatonic stare as before: her eyes open but not registering a damn thing. I shook her.

“Blue, you okay?” She didn’t respond.
Here we go again!

Friday night no change, Blue still lying there, my high and the craving to get high all gone, replaced with a dreaded fear that I was sitting there doing nothing while she was dying.

Saturday morning I shook her again, asked her if she wanted me to call somebody.

Nothing.

Her heartbeat was steady, pulse was pulsing, and she was breathing normal. Maybe she wasn’t dying. Maybe she was just tired, needed some rest. Maybe? But who can go days without visiting the pot?

Monday morning I hopped on the back of David’s truck and decided if Blue wasn’t up when I got back I would call 911 again.

David got out and said, “Looks like you’re the only one today. Hop up front.” I hadn’t noticed.

Inside the heat blew out the vents smelling of the pine tree air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror, the radio on an oldie rock station, AC/DC wailing
Back In Black,
ankle-deep trash on the floor.

David, drinking coffee and chewing tobacco, said, “Your first day I didn’t think you’d work out. Thought I’d have to kick your ass, run you off, call the police. Winter the work slows down, but spring and summer there’s more work than people wanting to.”

I was thinking Blue wouldn’t have started back getting high if I hadn’t.

David said, “Spring I plan to run a second truck. Two crews. I’ll need a man to oversee the second crew, weed out those who won’t work. You interested?”

Wow, a lawn mower straw boss.
“Yeah, I’m interested.”

In the freezing cold David and I laid sod in front of a newly built mansion in Lees Summit, Missouri. By day’s end my fingers and toes had lost all feeling.

Nearing the room I heard music. Heard Donny Hathaway and Roberta Flack singing
The Closer I Get To You
and knew that Blue had gotten up. She was in the shower when I walked in, the room cleaned up a bit, the smell of brown beans coming from the crock-pot.

When she came out I planned to tell her that we were going back on the wagon, this time for good. Presently the bathroom door opened and my mind went blank.

Blue stood in the doorway stark naked, water darkening her hair a velvet red, water dripping down her firm breasts, water dripping down her taut stomach, water dripping down into the light-brown silk patch between her legs.

My God, she’s wet!

Not looking at me, she crossed to the dresser, took a towel out of the top drawer and started drying herself off.

I cleared my dry throat and said, “Blue?” Man, was she beautiful. “Are you okay?”

Blue looked in the mirror and caught me staring at her butt, not that big but perfectly shaped. She nodded and then moved to the bed and lay on her back, arms folded across her stomach, legs crossed, eyes closed.

“I’m ready,” she said, almost a whisper.

This was so unexpected it took a long moment to determine what she was offering.

I started snatching off my clothes, forgetting to take my shoes off before removing my pants.
Shit!
Hopped to the chair, sat down and tried to kick the pants free.
Shit!
Pulled the pants up, kicked off the right shoe, watched it sail over the bed, hit the wall, and then tried to kick off the left.
Shit!
It wouldn’t give. Stepped on it with my right foot…still wouldn’t give.

Slow down, what’s the rush?

I yanked the shoelace and the damn thing pulled into a knot.
Shit, shit, shit!

Blue might change her mind, put her clothes on and insist we grind--that’s the rush. To hell with it, I thought, limping to the bed with my underwear and pants wrapped around one leg. I stood over her, her eyes clenched shut, admiring her body.

When I reached to touch her thigh she said, “Do you think you need a condom?”

“Yeah. Do you have one?”

Blue shook her head.

Shit!
“Okay. I’ll go get one, okay? Don’t move, okay?” She didn’t respond. “Just stay right there, okay? I’ll be right back. Don’t move!”

One shoe untied, the other the shoelace in a knot, shirt unbuttoned, pants unzipped, I casually stepped outside and then started running, took the steps four at a time and slid to a stop before Squeaky’s door.

“You got a rubber?” I said the second he opened up.

Squeaky, sweating, looked both ways and said, “Naw. I can’t go in bareback, I don’t go.”

“What?” I heard people inside. “Ask your company if one of em got a rubber.”

Squeaky closed the door and took a long time before returning. “Naw, nobody got a rubber. Try a drugstore.”

There was a gas station two blocks away. I started running, making sure not to step on the shoelace that kept whipping out in front. Not yet six and it was already dark, getting colder.

The gas station man was talking to a customer, an attractive brunette in a mink coat, chatting it up, taking too damn long.

When she left I told him I wanted to buy a condom and he gave me a funny look and said, “In the bathroom.”

What?

He handed me a key welded to a tire iron. People in Missouri don’t take chances with their keys. Above the commode in a dirty bathroom was a condom machine that dispensed two brands of condoms and a Love Kit. I put three quarters in the Rough Rider slot and turned the knob. Nothing. Came back after getting change from the man and tried the French Tickler slot. Same thing. Nothing.

I went and told the man. He said, “I guess it’s out.”

No shit.
“Don’t you stock it?”

“Nope. Vendor’s machine. You know your fly open?”

In my mind I could see Blue stepping into a pair of faded jeans, her favorite, the ones she liked to grind in.

The gas station man said, “There’s a QuickTrip on Highway Two-Ten. They got condoms.”

“Where’s it at.”

“Two miles north the street over.”

I considered walking back to the room, asking Blue to use her car to go to the QuickTrip. That was risky: she might say, “John, that’s too much trouble. Let’s grind.”

I started walking, past blocks of warehouses, open fields, railroad tracks, and a large hill with caves that eighteen-wheelers entered and exited.

The QuickTrip had condoms, all kinds of condoms. Ribbed. Ultra Ribbed. Large. Extra Large. Spermicidal. Lubricated. Ultra Lubricated. Thin. Extra Thin.

Sheer vanity, I chose Extra Large.

Almost two hours later I arrived at the room and hesitated before opening the door, wondering if praying for Blue to be naked in bed was blasphemous. God, I hoped she was.

The room was pitch black. Unusual; Blue kept the bathroom light on day and night.

I locked the door. “Blue?”

“Yes.”

You still naked?
“You okay?” She said yes. “I got the condom.” Silence. “I had to go to the QuickTrip.”

“You walked? You could’ve driven the car. You didn’t have to walk.”

Put the condom on now or wait till I get in bed?
“No problem, I needed the exercise.”

This time I took my time taking my clothes off, though I had to break the shoelace to remove my left shoe. As quietly as possible I opened the box and took out one condom, for some reason not wanting Blue to hear it.

I crossed to the bed and said, “Blue, where are you?”

“Right here.”

I reached out and,
shit,
touched cloth. I moaned, and Blue said, “What’s the matter, John?”

“I should’ve told you this day one. Blue, grinding ain’t…it ain’t natural. It’s not unnatural, but you know, it’s not the real thing. It’s like going to a fancy restaurant and only licking the spoon. It’s like--”

“John--”

“--stopping short of the finish line when you’re in the lead. You know what I’m saying?”

“John, I’m--”

“It’s frustrating. That’s what I’m trying to say. It’s painful too.”

“John--”

“See, a man’s body not designed for revving up and not taking off. Grinding cranks the engine, but that’s it, nothing else. The engine and the transmission need to hook up, grind some gears…Not
grind,
I mean interlock, interlock smoothly. Get the wheels rolling and let off some steam. You know what I’m saying?”

“John--”

“Bottom line, grinding makes my testicles hurt, tender and sore the next day when I’m at work. Everyone can tell I’ve been grinding the way I pick up stuff--legs spread like a damn giraffe, not bending down all the way so I don’t put pressure on--”

Blue slapped my arm. “John!”

“What?”

“I’m bare under the sheet.”

Chapter 29

Johnny Cash’s
Man In Black
played loudly from the room upstairs, the ceiling vibrating. An aggravating combination: rednecks and high fidelity speakers.

I was kissing Blue’s ankle, taking my time.

Blue said, “John, promise me you won’t hate me tomorrow.”

Her skin tasted like a Payday candy bar, sweet and salty. “I won’t.”

“You promise?”

I licked the inside of her thigh. “Trust me, Blue, I’ll never hate you.”

He scent was fresh, the smell of coconut. Her silky pubic hair brushing my forehead, I considered the oral proposition.
Uh-uh, it ain’t that serious!
I skipped to her stomach.

Blue said, “Things will be different tomorrow, John.”

Johnny Cash was singing
Folsom Prison Blues
, the prison audience sounding as if they were in the room. I moved to a breast, sucked on it. The condom was in my hand and very much on my mind. When was the right time to put it on?

“It’s important to me that when everything is over you don’t think of me as a weak person.”

I grunted uh-uh. Putting the condom on before getting started seemed tacky.

“I’m not weak, John.”

Stopping the flow--“Holdup a minute, let me put this condom on!”--seemed uncool.

“I’m not weak, John. I’m tired.”

“Blue, you sure you want to do this?”

“I’m sure,” she said, not sounding enthusiastic at all.

If she’d said no, I would have been physically unable to work a month.

I rolled to her left, opened the condom and put it on, in the dark, not sure if I’d done it right.

The second I got on top of Blue she said, “Don’t hurt me, John. Please!” She sounded scared.

I kissed her, and could tell she was grimacing…then tried to enter her. She was too tense.

“Blue, baby, you act like this is your first time. I’m not going to hurt you.” I kissed her again. “Promise.”

With my hand I found entrance, guided my way in a bit…Blue gasped, started moaning. I kissed her, this time finding her tongue, sucking on it. And pushed halfway in. Blue started shaking her head side to side, but I held on. She bit my tongue and I still held on, tasting blood in my mouth. Another push and I was all the way in, started rocking.

Johnny started
Ring of Fire
and I rocked faster, focused on the electricity coursing through my body, faster and faster, tingling my toes, faster and faster, shocking my brain…Blue screamed and I kept rocking, faster and faster…Then we screamed together, drool dripping out of my mouth, and I collapsed down on her. Electrocuted.
Shit!

I caught my breath…whispered her name, but she didn’t respond.

“Blue, baby, that was electrifying. I’m not lying. I’ve never experienced anything quite like it.”

Blue started crying.

* * * * *

The hayseeds upstairs had finally given Johnny a much needed rest. A sex scent in the air, the room was dead quiet. I was utterly confused. If Blue had cried for a few minutes, no big deal: some women cry after sex. But Blue had cried a long time, fifteen minutes or more, not responding to my asking, “What’s the matter, baby?” again and again.

I had to ask the question: “Blue, was it that bad?”

She didn’t respond, got up and turned the CD player on, Donny Hathaway, who I was almost as sick of hearing as Johnny Cash.

When she got back in bed I said, “The first time, Blue…I’ve been wanting you a long time. I was anxious, too anxious. It’ll get better, I promise you that.”

Blue said, “January thirteenth, nineteen-seventy-nine, Donny jumped from the fifteenth floor of the Essex House hotel in New York. Did you know that?”

“No, I didn’t.” Nor did I care.

“Two years later I was born, same day and almost the same time Donny did his swan dive. The same year, in July, my father along with a hundred-something people fell to their death from a catwalk at the hotel.”

“Are you serious? Same hotel?”

“No, this was at the Hyatt hotel here in Kansas City. My father worked at the Ralston Purina plant, a forklift driver; he had no business being there. That’s what hurt my mother more than anything else. She thought he was cheating.”

The room went silent again.

I pulled her close and kissed her shoulder.

Blue said, “The insurance money and the lawsuit made Mother a rich woman. We had it all, new house, new cars. The roof fell in when I was nine, when Mother met Cecil. He was younger than she. Tall, dark, baby-faced, long jet-black hair down his back. He acted the gentleman, but he was a smackhead. Everything changed. Mother started sniffing smack, stopped taking me places, started leaving me alone days at a time.

“Two years later we were flat broke, living in the projects. Cecil left when the money ran out and moved in with another man in the same building.” She paused. “I wonder did Cecil know his status. I understand it’s a virus,
anyone
can catch it, and there shouldn’t be the stigma attached to it. But if you
know
and carry on business as usual, don’t inform those who should rightfully know…that makes you one degenerate piece a shit!”