I stayed silent. Not being a bitch, mainly because I didn’t know what to say.
“Do you know Slick?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“Vance says he was after your Dad.”
I nodded my head.
“Do you know what this is about?”
I shook my head again but then I said, “Slick told me Dad owed him something.”
I could tel by the look on Eddie’s face that this was not good news and my heart started beating even faster.
“I know Slick,” Eddie said, “and Slick is not a nice guy.”
“I got that impression when I met him,” I agreed.
At that answer, there was more teeth clenching.
“Where’s your Dad?” Eddie asked.
“He’s coming in this morning for donuts.” Eddie’s free hand came up and he dragged his fingers through his hair. He did this occasional y, pul ing his hand through his hair. At close range, it was fascinating. But then again, at deep range it was fascinating too; it was just that I’d never seen him do it close up.
Eddie started talking again, shaking me out of the moment. “I gotta tel ya, I’m not getting a happy feeling about this.”
“I’l take care of it,” I told him.
That made Eddie’s face change. I couldn’t read what it meant but I saw the change.
“How’re you gonna do that?” he asked.
I shrugged.
“Do you have any idea what’s going on?”
I shook my head.
“So how’re you gonna take care of it?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’l figure something out.” His eyes flashed.
“Something that requires another trip to the bank machine?”
I winced because I felt the question in my gut. I felt it for two reasons. One: Eddie asked it and it hurt that his asking it, and this whole conversation, meant he knew my Dad was a bum. Two: because there was nothing left in the machine.
Whatever it was I did to fix this mess would probably require me taking a trip to the Stripper Boutique and buying a g-string and pasties, which truly was not a happy thought.
“Jet,” Eddie said and I stopped thinking my unhappy thoughts and looked at him.
His face wasn’t pissed off anymore. His eyes were different. That difference communicated itself to me in physical ways, reminding me of his proximity and also reminding me that he was hot.
“That wasn’t fair,” I told him.
He didn’t answer.
I carried on, “It’s none of your business. None of this is any of your business.”
“I’m making it my business.” He told me, “Fair warning, Jet, I’m making you my business.” I felt a flutter in several areas of my body simultaneously.
I felt a flutter in several areas of my body simultaneously.
I wasn’t sure what he meant by that but I was sure it scared the heck out of me.
“Don’t worry about it, Eddie,” I said, wanting to make a move, get away from Eddie (far away from Eddie) and find my Dad and sort this out. “I’l take care of it.”
“What if you can’t?” he asked.
“I can.”
“What do you do if you can’t?” he repeated.
“I can.”
I mean, I did have years of sorting out al my family members’ problems. It wasn’t just Mom’s breakdown after Dad left. It wasn’t just her stroke. It wasn’t just giving Dad cash and a place to crash every time he rol ed into town. It wasn’t just letting Lottie cry on my shoulder, both close up and long distance, when some guy walked al over her heart. It was everything. In my life, “Who you gonna cal ?” was not answered with, “Ghostbusters”. It was answered with, “Jet”.
Eddie didn’t know that, of course, and I wasn’t going to tel him; but stil .
“I’m guessing any problem with Slick is a problem you can’t take care of,” Eddie said.
“I’l deal with it.”
“Jet.”
“I’l deal with it! It’s what I do! Okay? I deal with things. I’l find some way to deal with this too!” I shouted.
Yeesh.
After my outburst, he watched me for a beat and I saw his eyes change again. This time, they grew warm. I was finding I wasn’t real y very good with Eddie’s warm eyes on me. It did funny things to my thought processes.
His hand came up and he ran his knuckles down my jaw.
“Don’t do that,” I said, pul ing my face away.
“Chiquita, when you get done this afternoon, I’m picking you up and taking you to my house. I’m making a pitcher of margaritas, getting you shit-faced and you’re final y gonna talk to me.”
I stared at him in total shock.
“About what?” I asked, trying not to sound terrified.
“About anything.”
It was panic time. How it didn’t kick in earlier, I’d never know. I was beginning to feel weak in the knees and funny in the bel y.
Eddie went on. “We can start with why you’re workin’ at Smithie’s and we’l move on to why you wanted me to think you didn’t like Mexicans.”
Um, no way in hell.
“I can’t,” I said.
“Why not?” he asked.
“I just can’t. I have things to do.”
“What things?”
I stared at him for a second. “Just… things.” He ignored me.
“I’l be here at three to pick you up.”