Authors: Charles de Lint
The Onion Girl (12 page)
Anywise, we had the dope, and got us the Dragon riled up. Can you see where this is going?
Next stop was Haven's place, but that was going to have to wait for another night. We went to school the next day like the good students we were. In algebra, Pinky stopped by the desk to ask Haven a question, bending down real low so that them bug eyes of his was locked tight on her cleavage. Meanwhile, I sidled over and slipped a little folded-paper packet of dope in the front chest pocket of his jacket which was hanging on the back of his chair. There was a chance he'd up and find it, throw it out afore it had a chance to do us any goodâ'less he had him some other urges we didn't know aboutâbut it was worth a try. How often does a guy look in that pocket, anyways?
That night we snuck 'round his house, but he was playing hard-to-get and never went out. The same thing happened Thursday. But Friday, hell, even cradle-robbing sons a bitches got to have them some fun, and he drove off, all spruced up like he had him a hot date. I had to smile, seeing's how he was wearing that same sports jacket that I left my little surprise in.
I went in through the back. He had him a summer kitchen that he was using as a shed and the door weren't even locked. The one inside it, leading into the house, was, but it was a cheap lock and I made short work of it. I didn't have me the tools of the burglar's trade, but you'd be surprised what you can do with a couple of stiff wires.
Inside, I made straight for the crapper and taped three of them bags of dope to the back of the toilet. I had me another handful of paper packets like I left in his jacket, and them I put in the drawer of the night table by his bed, along with a nice little mirror and some cut-down straws that Pinky had used the night before. She sure enough was enjoying that crap.
After that it was just a matter of waiting till he got home. When he did, Pinky drove off to the closest pay phone and called the Dragons' clubhouse with a little hot tip 'cause she could fake a man's voice better'n
me. She got back and we waited some more till them motorcycles showed up. When they was pounding on his door, we went back to that phone booth and called the cops.
me. She got back and we waited some more till them motorcycles showed up. When they was pounding on his door, we went back to that phone booth and called the cops.
Either the bikers'd get him, or the cops. We didn't much nevermind which it was. We heard later that the cops showed up while the Dragons was beating the crap outta him. The bikers took off and the cops went in. I woulda liked to have been there, seeing Haven's relief turn on him when the cops beelined for that dope we pointed 'em to.
Just to finish everything off, make it all nice and tidy, I put the word outâsoft and easylike, mind, so it wouldn't come back on meâhow it was Bobby Marshall who'd been putting the bone to Sherry. I was just trying to confuse matters, but it shows you how stupid some people can be. That rumor got 'round to Bobby and he'd just wink and grin, like it was all true. Which was funny, I guess, until Sherry's old man come up to him outside the donut shop and gut shot him with his squirrel gun.
I woulda felt bad, but it weren't like Bobby was some choir boy. He maybe didn't do Sherry, but there's a lotta other meanness could be laid at his door. I just wished I'd knowed what Sherry's old man had planned. I woulda give up Del's name if I had.
“Raylene,” Pinky told me. “You got yourself an evil mind in that pretty little head of yours.”
“Evil?” I said, pretending to be hurt.
“I mean that in the best possible way.”
When it was all over, Haven got off on some technicality, but he lost his job and then moved away. The Dragon never recovered their dope. I heard they tracked Haven down, but not the details of what they done to him. Still, I got me a good imagination. Sherry's old man went to the pen. Bobby had him a nice funeral. Sherry had her a baby girl that she and her mama raised in that double-wide. And me and Pinky? Well, we kept up our wicked ways.
Autumn turned into winter. Spring followed on its heels. And then we was both seventeen, finished school, and ready to make our own way in the world. That summer of '72, we got us a room in a rundown boardinghouse off of Jefferson Street, right on the edge of Stokesvilleâa move up in the world for a couple of gals from Hillbilly Hollerâand figured we
was set until our rent come due. Neither of us was much willing to work, but it ain't anybody's idea of a party without any cash.
was set until our rent come due. Neither of us was much willing to work, but it ain't anybody's idea of a party without any cash.
We get the landlady to give us a couple of days and put our heads together, see what we can come up with.
Naw, that ain't true. Pinky sits on the front porch, drinking the last of our beer, and I'm the one figures things out.
We could find us jobs, but who wants to work? Trouble is, pretty much everything else needs a stake. Deal dope? First you needed some product and that blow of Pinky's was long gone by now. Get us a gun and we could hold up a liquor store or one of them gas bars out on the highway, but I don't like the idea of putting my ass on the line, though I do like the thought of that gun. Still they cost money, too, and they don't come cheap.
“We could always peddle our asses,” Pinky offers.
I shook my head. “I'm drawing the line at certain things,” I tell her.
“Like what?”
“Like whoring. Or stripping. Or lap-dancing.”
“It comes to that,” she says, “I'll do it. I ain't 'shamed of my body.”
“It ain't a matter of being 'shamed or not.”
She just laughs. Ever since I stopped Del's nighttime visits, I'm a lot more choosy who I do it with. And it's got to be when I'm in the mood. Pinky's not near' so discriminating.
“Maybe we should move out west,” Pinky says. “Get ourselves to L.A. It's always warm there.” She has another swig a beer and grins at me. “We can become movie stars.”
“I ain't gonna be in no porn flick, neither,” I tell her.
“So when are you gonna have some fun?” she asks.
I ignore that. “We go anywhere,” I say, “we need us a stake. But first we got to make it through the week.”
“So we're back to peddling our asses,” she says.
I shake my head, firm. I won't be swayed on this. “No one's doing any whoring,” I tell her.
But she's got me thinking. There's ways to make money in the sex trade without ever putting out. That's the beauty of a scam. It ain't what you actually give, it's what the mark thinks he's gonna get. You manage to rip him off, what's he gonna do? Once he's offered you cash for favors, he's gone and broke the law his own self, so he won't be crying to the
cops. The only real consideration you got at that point is he don't beat the crap out a you.
cops. The only real consideration you got at that point is he don't beat the crap out a you.
“Go make yourself sexy,” I tell Pinky. “But classy, mind you. Not cheap. You and me is going downtown.”
Now, downtown Tyler ain't exactly a social whirl, but we got us a convention center and a buncha hotels, and we got the out-a-towners hitting the bars and making their way down to the Ramble, looking for action. Most of 'em are married and married's best for what I got in mind.
Pinky's done a bang-up job on our makeup. She coulda been a beautician, and she was somewhat seriously thinking on it till she found out it meant more schooling and you were spending most of your day trying to make old bags look halfways reasonable, which was a lost cause in the first place. But she had quality goods to work with when it come to us. She was done and I didn't much recognize either of us, we was so gussied up. We coulda been a pair of models, 'cept for me being so short, or movie stars, and I ain't saying we looked old, but we didn't look like no jailbait neither.
We took us to a bar cozied up near the convention center and ordered some drinks. Pinky woulda had a wallbanger, and probably more'n one, but I convinced her to have a ginger ale like me. I had no thoughts on how this was going to go, or how long it'd take, but quicker'n you can spit, we had us a couple of middle-aged men asking could they sit at our table and next thing you know, we're going up to their rooms. I'm a little awkward on the dollar amount, so I let him do the talking, make the offer. We settle on a yard for the night, no rough stuff.
The whole thing's easier'n you'd think. He's already half-cut afore we go up and first thing I do we get to his room, I open the little wet bar under the TV and fix us a couple of drinks. He's so busy fondling my tits, he don't see me filling his glass with three a them little bottles of vodka afore I top it off with some orange juice. Me, I'm just having the juice, but he don't know that.
“Whew,” I say when I slug it back, all in one go. Like the liquor's going right to my head.
I stand up and pretend the room's going all dizzy on me while I try to get my dress off. He just sits there, smiling big and watching the show,
tosses back his own drink. I hide a grin when I see his eyes tear up and he starts to cough.
tosses back his own drink. I hide a grin when I see his eyes tear up and he starts to cough.
I got the top of my dress down, hanging at my waist, the bra off. I figure I'm going to have to fix him another drink, but when I walk over to the bed to get his glass, I see his eyes're glazing over.
“What's the matter, honey?” I ask.
I give him a little push, playfullike, and he just falls back onto the bed. Out like a light. I study him a moment, sit beside him on the bed, and run my hands over his chest, but he's gone.
I don't horse around none then. I get dressed, then go around the room and collect all his clothes, stuff 'em in his suitcase. It's harder rolling him around on the bed, but I get them clothes, too, and I don't forget the complimentary terry-cloth robes provided by the hotel. He's got him 'near three hundred dollars in his wallet which goes direct in my purse, along with his credit cards. Then I heft that suitcase and get me outta there. See, the thing is, I don't want them clothes. I just want it to be a little hard on him, case he comes 'round quicker'n I'd like and tries to follow.
I bring the suitcase into the elevator and take it down to the lobby. I thought this might be the tricky part, walking across the lobby with that suitcase of his and all. What if the hotel gets it into their heads that I'm one of their clients, trying to skip out on paying for my room? But no one pays me no mind and I'm out a side door and walking along the alley till I get to the Dumpster. I fling that case up over the side and I keep on a-walking straight on to the train station where me and Pinky planned to meet up.
After a while, I start to get me worried. It's been over an hour I'm waiting here on her, and I'm thinking the worst, when in she comes a-sauntering, smiling easy as can be.
“Where the hell were you?” I ask.
She gives me a confused look. “With Beau.”
“Who's Beau?”
“The guy who asked me up to his room.”
I never even asked mine what his name was.
“Did you take his clothes and stuff?” I ask.
“Sure did. Tossed the case up the Dumpster like you told me to.”
“So what took you so long?” I ask. “We was supposed to be in and out.”
“Well, come on, Raylene,” she says. “I had to give him a little fun for all that money.”
“You didn't get him drunk?”
“Well, he was pretty near' drunk anyways,” she says, “but I just wore him out instead. It was fun and he was still sleeping when I left.”
All I can do is shake my head.
“How much did you get?” I ask.
“A hundred and thirty and change. I took his cards, too, but what're we gonna do with 'em? I sure as hell don't look like no cornfed shoes salesman from Iowa so I cain't use 'em.”
“I'm gonna swap 'em for a gun,” I tell her.
There's places on the Ramble where you can pretty much trade anything.
Pinky gives me a look of pure admiration. “That's what I like about you, Raylene,” she says. “You're always thinking.”
TYLER, EARLY SPRING, 1973
First couple of times we do it, I'm a little uneasy. It ain't that I'm scared, exactly. Hell, I got me a little .38 straight off, swapped them credit cards for it in a pawnshop on Division Street that I knew was willing to turn a blind eye, the goods were right. Them cards was so fresh, Fat Jack was extra pleased and threw in a box of cartridges for free. It ain't the best or the newest pistol in the world, but it fits right snug in my handbag, case anything goes wrong.
I don't want to be remembered neither and soon as we can, I get us wigs and such, but that come later. Cash we got that first day went to our rent, some food, and a case of beer.
But by the time winter's done and the spring melt's turning the hills outside of town all green, we got us a routine worked out and afore you know it, we've moved outta that boardinghouse and into a proper apartment closer to downtown, but not too close. I like to keep our real lives separate from our wicked ways. That was just coming up on the ass end of January.
When we're working, we leave the apartment looking pretty much the way we always do, which is Ts and jeans for me, tube tops and halters with her jeans for Pinky. Once we get downtown, we go into the Devary
Hotel on Church Street, carrying a couple of bags. We like the Devary 'cause the washroom there's got it two doors, one on either side of the building. We go in one door, gussy ourselves up with our wigs and working clothes, and come out the other looking like a pair of ladies, and I don't mean no cheap hookers. We look classy.
Hotel on Church Street, carrying a couple of bags. We like the Devary 'cause the washroom there's got it two doors, one on either side of the building. We go in one door, gussy ourselves up with our wigs and working clothes, and come out the other looking like a pair of ladies, and I don't mean no cheap hookers. We look classy.
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