He ordered us drinks without asking. “You’re not taking care of yourself, Hilary.”
I knew I looked like hell. I didn’t know what to say. I was falling apart? I wondered how many of those little white pills I’d need to stay oblivious forever? I hadn’t washed my hair in more than a week, and it shone wet with grease. I wore the same pair of jeans because everything else fell off. Evelyn didn’t have a washer so I’d worn them in the shower, scrubbing shampoo into them with my fingernails and hanging them over the curtain rod to dry.
The landlord had started coming around, knocking. He hadn’t heard Evelyn died, but he still needed his rent, cancer or not. I had begun sneaking in and out, looking furtively up and down the hall before darting down the steps and into the street. The bills were stacking up.
This time, he put the pill on the cocktail napkin. I almost didn’t see it.
“What if I want more?”
“You don’t have money, Peach.” He picked something out of his molar. I stared at the envelope between us.
“I need money. I need to bury my mom. Pay her rent. Pay her credit cards.” I licked my pinkie and pressed it to the pill, lifting it to my mouth.
Mick blew out hot, sour breath, leaned back, and dug in his jeans pocket. He came up with a small, white envelope, about the size of a playing card. He slid it under my thigh, his palm resting on my knee for a beat too long. “Unload these for ten each. We’ll split the profit, you can keep one for every ten you get rid of.”
I pulled the envelope out and pinched it open. Inside were ten little white pills. I gave him a look. “No.” But my heart thumped in my chest.
“Okay, then. Got a better idea?” The smirk on his face made me want to slap him. I sealed the envelope back up and stuck it in my back pocket. All those little tickets to oblivion.
“See you in a week, Peach.”
? ? ?
At first we met weekly, but then I started seeking Mick out, calling his phone. I needed more than one of those little tabs. They made me feel like I could solve my problems. I figured out that the stay-at-home moms in Berkeley loved “legal” pills. Oxy, Vicodin, whatever Mick gave me. It didn’t matter. Plus, I didn’t look like a drug dealer: I took a shower, washed my hair. I was “in college.” I took the BART down a few times a week and hung out in Cragmont Park. It was all so fucking civil. I never felt weird or creepy hovering around playgrounds peddling pills to pristine little blonde women. I was one of them.
I’d watch them pay their ten bucks, pulling from stacks of green tucked inside Chanel purses. They parted with it so easily, and then they’d slip the pills between their teeth, swallow once, and kiss their fat, drooly babies, burying their noses in downy soft hair. They’d wander away, pushing Bugaboo prams, holding hands with their skipping six-year-olds, and I’d sit under the gazebo, watching them sway and giggle until I couldn’t see them anymore.
I felt weird about selling to students, that somehow it was less destructive to supply professor’s bored wives with “pep” pills. Besides, the students scared me. Their fresh-faced happiness was so familiar, it gave me a pain right below my breastbone. I couldn’t look them in the eye, couldn’t pull off being “one of them.” No, the moms were easier. At least, if I didn’t think about it too hard.
Sometimes, it was too tempting to take more than I was supposed to for myself. I started charging them double, literally eating the profits. What did they care? A twenty was as easy to hand over as a ten, and then at least they didn’t have to worry about change.
I called Mick, needing almost double the supply, running a game with myself. Meanwhile, I was getting higher and higher every day. Two pills a day. Four. Then two at night. All the while spending my nights at the bar, my nose buried in a tumbler of vodka. I didn’t even bother with the lemon anymore.
“What am I gonna do with my life, Mick?” I was whining.
“Bury your mom. Live in her apartment. Get a job.” He shrugged, a toothpick between his teeth. “It’s what people do, Hilary.”
I didn’t need life lessons from Mick. He was a bigger mess than me. I threw what little money I had on the bar and stood up and wobbled. Mick stuck his arm out and caught me. He led me out the door and we walked the four blocks to Evelyn’s apartment.