I looked to her.
“Hank doesn’t see shades of gray,” she continued.
I blinked at her. “What?” I asked.
“You think he doesn’t see shades of gray. You think he sees black and white. Good and bad. Crime and justice.
He doesn’t see shades of gray. You’re gray.” I swal owed.
That was so it.
“Jet, Sugar Bunch, I don’t think Roxie’s gray,” Daisy put in gently.
“She’s gray. And you’re gray too,” Jet replied, just as gently.
Daisy was silent because Daisy was definitely gray.
I felt my nostrils start to burn, bit my lip and looked out the window. I was trying hard but I felt tears leak out the sides of my eyes.
“Roxie, you’re about as fucking gray as the fucking sun.
I’m sorry, Jet, but I’ve known Roxie for years and she isn’t fucking gray,” Annette said.
“I’m not saying gray is bad or that Roxie’s gray. Just that I understand how she’s feeling and that she thinks Hank’l think she’s gray.”
“She isn’t gray,” Annette repeated.
“I know that but she thinks Hank’l think she is,” Jet
“I know that but she thinks Hank’l think she is,” Jet returned.
“She isn’t fuckin’ gray,” Annette was getting heated.
“I know that!” Jet was getting heated right back.
“I’m going to have a talk with Hank,” Jason cut in and I could tel by his tone he meant to do it, and soon.
“Don’t you dare,” I said to Jason, my head swiveling to him.
“Are you crying, Sugar Bunch?” Daisy asked.
I shook my head even though I was.
“Oh God, I’m sorry. I just wanted you to know I understood,” Jet grabbed my hand again.
I wiped away my tears with my other hand. “It’s okay. I know you didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Roxie, look at me,” Jet urged.
I turned to her and tried to give her a smile, but it was weak. “It’s okay,” I repeated.
“I’m not very pretty,” she said suddenly.
I blinked at her. “Excuse me?” I asked.
“At least, that’s what I thought,” she carried on like I hadn’t said anything.
How could she think that? She was flat out pretty.
“Don’t you look in the mirror?” I asked, not meaning to be a bitch but… seriously.
“I thought, once Eddie saved me he’d lose interest in me because he’s so good-looking and I’m… not.”
“You’re loopy,” Annette told her.
I kept staring at her and her hand squeezed mine.
“Eddie saved me awhile ago,” she whispered.
I felt my throat close.
I felt my throat close.
“Jet…” my voice was barely audible.
“Hank sees gray. You may think he doesn’t, he may act like he doesn’t, he may even say he doesn’t. But he does. I promise,” her voice was just as low.
“I’m stil leaving,” I said.
She nodded, “I understand that too.”
“Thank you.”
“Though, you aren’t leaving,” she said.
“I am,” I said back.
“You think you are, but you aren’t.”
“I am!” I said, kinda loud.
She just shook her head.
I glanced between Jet and Daisy. They were both grinning at me.
“Denver people are nuts,” I told Annette and Jason.
“I know. Don’t cha love it?” Annette replied.
*
We were at the front of the line to the haunted trail, the doors to the trail in front of us, each side of the door held a flaming torch. A man wearing ful ghoul makeup and a big, hooded black cloak was standing in front of the door, glaring at us, completely “in character”. It was dark, it was cold and I was already scared out of my mind.
*
We’d had troubles from the start. First, the haunted house was out in the middle of nowhere, the night was dark; only the haze of Denver lights could be seen in the distance. This total y freaked me out.
Then Daisy’s limo caused a sensation when we pul ed into the parking lot. Then Daisy caused a sensation when she alighted from the limo. It wasn’t the thing to wear a skintight, rhinestone-encrusted jumpsuit with high-heeled, platform boots to a haunted house in the middle of the country. People stared. They didn’t know if she was Dol y Parton, if she was a Dol y Parton impersonator or of she was some other important personage. Someone even approached her and asked her for her autograph.
“Wel , aren’t you sweet?” Daisy squealed on a tinkly bel laugh and signed the piece of paper and then, before handing it back she kissed it with her frosty pink lipstick.
Then, we found out there were no weapons al owed.
They tried to confiscate not only the stun guns but also the ful -blown gun Carl wore on his belt.
Then, when Carl flashed his badge—Carl was a police officer too—the big guy who seemed to be head of security got al policy on him. Carl got a hard look on his face, took him aside and they had words. Carl came back and said the worst eight words, for me, at that moment, in the English language. “We’re goin’ to the front of the line.” We walked in front of everyone to the front of the line.