Chapter 65
Soda Girl
Tom Atari watching Leah lick her lips, awkward, her eyebrows bunching ugly under black-rim glasses, her face register new flavor, her head shiver involuntarily. She stepped back against the wall, her breast overflow against the lace of her uniform, knock the baseball signed by Stan Musial, rolling lonely on the shelf above her midnight locks while Leah’s tongue came out to make yuck. These were the moments.
This is why Tom drinks ginger ale.
The boy, the idiot, Stevie... Tom watched him watch Leah’s reaction and smile. Stevie, teenaged, her age, wanting on Leah so hard that even Atari had to smile. He remembered adolescence: one thing on your mind and no clue how to get it. Leah knew- women are born with it- and Tom could see from five miles that Stevie would never have it, would never know the joy and release of knowing her close, the fabulous guilt of making her moan, the surprise of her shiver against his skin...
“That’s disgusting!” She handed the cup back to Stevie, his latest experiment in soda, his attempt to find the recipe. Stevie smiled empty as she walked away: something had happened, or maybe not, but most likely he was closer to her heart and hole than he had been before, right?
Right?
“Can I get you another ginger ale, Tom?” Leah leaned against the counter, different from talking to Stevie, different from other customers even. “You look like you had a hard day, did you?” She backed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, momentarily bold, familiar if only to let Stevie see that some men might be worthy of her time. She looked over at the boy, still clutching his cup of rejected nectar.
On most nights Tom would have taken the compliment and run, gone on about his business and let the ginger settle his stomach, but tonight...
Tonight.
Tonight Tom was tired of running- out of energy for building bridges and asking questions and solving mysteries that were only mysterious because most people walked through their days with their eyes wide shut. He was bored with the tough guys, or of cowardly guys acting tough so they could see if he was a coward. Or however that went.
He looked around the soda shop, at the kid with a fever waiting for his momma to come back with the medicine.
He looked at the lesbian truck driver drinking coffee black and chewing on a steak.
The cash register said ching and Tom couldn’t deny it: he wanted Leah. Here. Now. Tonight. Her red lips meeting and mouthing, her uniform a glorified apron, the musical valley of her voice, sensing how much there was inside... don’t believe it. Get skeptical.
He folded the paper: “Police Arrest Lipstick Killer” and one of the june bugs that found its way inside lit up, cast a bouncing glow from beneath the brim of his hat.
Tom smiled at Leah.
Leah smiled back, afraid for the first time in her life.
Stevie called her over to scoop ice cream for two teenage girls in love with love, and Tom, through the bottom of his glass, saw the milk flesh of her inner thigh as she stood up to reach for the cones.
.
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