The employee lounge was just a closet with lockers and chairs, but it was kind of private, so I took her in there. I stuck the bat and coat in my locker and counted three hundred dollars out of my wallet.
“Thanks for bringing my stuff. This here’s for May’s rent and electric,” I said.
“You were only there for a week.”
“Yeah, well, I still owe you the rent.”
She took the money and put it in her purse. Then she just looked at me, so I knew she was waiting for me to say something.
“Look, I’m sorry about what happened. I know that was a lousy thing to do to you. If I’d been thinking—”
“Is it over? Are you still breaking your parole?” Beth said.
“No. I haven’t seen her again.”
“If it’s over, you could come back. I won’t put up with you breaking your parole, but if you promise it’s over, we could try again.” I guess I didn’t answer soon enough, because she stood up and put her purse over her shoulder. “Jesus Christ. I can’t believe I came here thinking you might be interested in a second chance.”
“I can’t come back, because I can’t promise anything. If Wavy showed up tomorrow, I’d do it all over again. I loved her the first time I saw her and I still do.”
“Love at first sight, huh?” Beth snorted. “How old was she?”
“Eight.”
“That’s creepy.”
She said a bunch of other shitty things, too. “You should’ve stayed in prison if that’s how you’re going to live,” and, “Nothing like flushing the rest of your life down the toilet over some girl you’re never going to be with.” Like I didn’t wish I was dead most of the time. Like I hadn’t spent some time thinking about where I could buy a gun and solve it. Almost as much time as I’d spent thinking about breaking my parole and seeing Wavy.
After Beth got that out of her system, she asked me to move back in with her. I said yes, but only as roommates. She needed help with the rent, and I needed some place to stay that wasn’t gonna get me in trouble with my parole officer.
It woulda been nicer to live alone, but at least now Beth couldn’t lay there at night and talk me half to death when I wanted some quiet. She didn’t have any business complaining about my deodorant or my haircut or my tattoos. She still did, but I didn’t have to pay attention.
The real difference was that Beth couldn’t put her hand on my dick and say, “Turn off the TV and let’s go in the bedroom,” whether I wanted to or not. I don’t think I could have stomached that. Not when I had Wavy burned in my brain. Some nights, when I came home from work and walked into the kitchen, all I could think of was the way she’d stood on the chair and stripped down to her boots. How she’d run her hands over me. No woman had ever looked at me the way she did, or touched me that way. Like she wanted me, like I was worth wanting.
Most times all I could think of was how she’d come there and given herself to me. I didn’t even have the decency to tell her we couldn’t be together until after. Just desperate to be with her. I was still the same guy who let her give me a hand job when she was all of thirteen.
15
RENEE
August 1990
It got to where Wavy wouldn’t even let me check the mailbox. If I went to get the mail, she practically tackled me when I came back, and yanked it out of my hands.
“Good thing I’m not expecting any love letters,” I said, while she rifled through the fliers and bills.
“You don’t need love letters.” She thumped her hand on the kitchen table half-a-dozen times to mimic the sound of my headboard knocking against my bedroom wall, but I knew she didn’t begrudge me the fun I was having with Darrin.
Three weeks later, Wavy’s answer came. Or rather an answer. It was a copy of the form she submitted, with the bottom half filled out by hand. The box next to This matter was not set for hearing had been checked. Below that, where the form said, “After review of the file and evidence, the court orders that the above referenced Protection or No Contact Order, entered on September 9, 1983, shall be modified as follows,” someone had written NO modification. Order remains in force. That same person had signed the form. Judge C. J. Maber.
“The judge said no? He said no? What a fucking asshole!” I was so pissed off, I couldn’t imagine how angry Wavy must have been. It wouldn’t have surprised me if she had torn the form up or thrown her typewriter down the stairs, but she didn’t. She spent maybe a minute glaring at the form and grinding her teeth. Then she sat down, stuck a piece of paper in the typewriter and started typing: Dear Judge Maber.