After a shift everything turned jelly. The rum and Cokes had kicked in too, and for a moment Denny thought about falling asleep. Just leaning the seat back a bit . . .
The Bible Man was on. Luke Lanko. A woman was trying to argue the biblical significance of vegetarianism. Ol’ Luke was pissed. He got pissed at stupid questions. You have it all wrong, he boomed. The next caller knew better. Bless you, Luke, I have your books.
By the time Denny saw the new girl it was too late.
Or it was almost too late: if he really tried, he could leave. If he was fast about it. There she was, though, coming at him, red-faced and breathing clouds, her dark hair flopping in her eyes. Now, he thought. If he gunned it, he could scoot around her and make a straight shot of it.
“Denny?!” She slapped an open palm on his window.
He rolled it down.
“Oh. Good. Wow. Hi, it’s you,” the girl said, out of breath. “You’re still here.”
He snapped off the radio, ground out his cigarette. Unlocked the passenger-side door. “Get in,” he said.
“No, that’s not what I mean. I have a car.” She rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. It made a squishing noise and she sniffed.
“Get in, will you?”
She hesitated but ran around and did, then almost fell back out closing the door. “Yikes. Cold,” she said, wriggling to show it. Thirty degrees out and she was wearing shorts. Denny watched her fasten her seatbelt.
“Going somewhere?” he asked.
“Oops! Sorry. Habit. Hey, um, it’s really busy in there. Do you think—”
“Nope.”
“But if—”
“Nope.” He imagined what they’d told her inside: No matter what he says, make him come in. He’ll come in. He always comes in.
“I don’t think it would be for long, Denny, honestly. The bartender will be back soon, anyway. I mean, right?”
“Not if she’s smart.”
She waited. Rubbed her nose. Went at it with a knuckle, made that wet sound. “So . . . okay?”
He shrugged, grabbed another cigarette, thought about lighting it. Thought about going home to his new apartment. Steph had quit answering his calls weeks ago. She let them ring and ring until the machine would come on, and for a while there, before she changed the outgoing message, Denny was hearing his own voice coming back at him. The dog yapping in the background, some snippet of TV. An afternoon. Sometimes he called just so she’d see his name pop up on the caller ID. Other times he punched in the code to make it read unavailable, but mostly he just let it pop up. Either way, he didn’t get her.
“Listen, Denny, Lena—” The new girl stopped herself and took a breath, like here was a place for courage. “I think they’re having some sort of crisis in there. I think we should go in. Now. Seriously.”
He didn’t say anything.
“Lena—”
“That’s really sick.”
“What?”
“That thing you do. With your nose.”
She froze. He could make her cry if he wanted to.
They were all the same, the girls Bill hired. She was just like the rest of them, guessing when to laugh, apologizing like crazy, complimenting shit for no reason. Oh those are cool straws. She’d ask for a ton of shifts and then a few months’d go by and she’d have finals or papers or something and she’d be freaking out, expecting time off. Expecting everyone to cover for her. Colleen’s fourteen-year-old had more sense than this girl.
He stuck the unlit cigarette behind his ear and fished around on the seat beneath him for his pack of rolling papers. “You smoke?”
“No.” She paused. “Sometimes, when I feel like it. I like Marlboros.”
“I mean weed.” He held up the papers, like Exhibit A, then reached across her legs and got the ziplock out of the glove compartment.
“Oh sure. I’ve tried that too.” She rubbed her thigh where he’d brushed it. “I think we should be getting in, though. Seriously. It’s my first day and all.”
“Relax, will you?” He had to give her credit, she was persistent. “So you’re a student, huh.”
“Graduated.”
“Same difference,” Denny said. He spread out a rolling paper on one knee, balanced the bag on the other and began picking through the buds, separating them. “Whatcha study?”
“Poli-sci. Studied. I’m finished.” She added, “Actually, first I was a music major, I played piano. I played piano for a long time. I switched at the last minute to poli-sci.”
“Poli-sci. Sounds like a disease.” She was cute, he decided. There was a softness about her—not fat really, just young, like her edges hadn’t settled yet.
“It’s short for political science,” she said. “It’s a popular degree.”
“What do you do with a degree in poli-sci?”
“Run for office. Ha.” It came out more as a burp. “I don’t know. Watch people’s kids. Cashier at Putt-Putt. Work in bars.”
Denny nodded. “Hell. I got that degree.” He felt her attention as he deposited the weed onto the paper. Sprinkled it like a taco. He rolled the joint with a few deft twists, then licked the seam to seal it. “Wanna start?”
“No, you.”
It tasted good. Like camping. Denny sighed and let it out, watched the smoke curl into blue loops and then fade away. He handed her the joint. She took it between her index and middle finger and clamped it there. Held it like a zeppelin, like it might take off. She brought it to her lips and sucked until the fire glowed. “Wow,” she said and smoke fell from her mouth.
“Hey, you didn’t inhale it.” He liked watching her. There was something Generation X-y about her mouth. It was round, maybe a little lopsided. He took the joint. “Like this. You have to suck it in, all the way, like something sudden.” He showed her. “Like a surprise. Like Lena’s coming after you,” he said, smiling.
She glanced out the window and took the joint. She did it right this time and coughed. “It hurts,” she said.
“It hurts so good.”
“Yeah.”
“That means it’s working.”
“I don’t think I’m high.”
“That means you probably are.”
“I’ve never been high before.”
He looked at her. Her nose was red from all the rubbing. “Well,” he said.
“Are we going back in?” she asked, blowing out hard.
“Relax, will you?”
The windows were fogged up now. She made a fist and pressed the side of it to the pane, then used a finger to top the shape with dots. “A baby foot,” she said and giggled. She looked at him, her finger still on the glass, the last toe spreading, getting bigger from her heat. “You have great eyes,” she said. “Newscaster eyes.”
“Thanks, but they’re contacts.” He popped one out to show her, then wet it in his mouth and put it back in. “Look natural, huh?” He turned down the vent, leaving them in silence.
“JJ,” she said finally.
“Huh?”
“You forgot my name, I think.”
“Is