Things Got a Little Hairy
REMINGTON GRAVES
It was effortless. I took my precious time. She had no idea. I almost envied her.
“Hello, do I know you?” she said with her left hand above her brow to block the sun while her right held the water hose right above her white roses.
“Hi, ” I said walking through her gate pretending not to study her face. “No, I don’t believe we have formerly met. I am detective Truman.” She squinted at me with a long pause trying to place me.
“Nice to meet you.”
“Listen, I know this is a bit forward, doll…but, would you mind terribly if I used your telephone?” I said holding my hat. “I won’t be long.”
“Well, I guess so. You seem all right. Sure, come on in,” she said giving me the once over as she turned off the water.
The house was small but charming: Yellow trim, roses all around it, and a large orange tree in the front lawn. The walk way was a simple concrete slab that led up three white, wooden steps, and to the front door.
“C’mon in,” she said taking her gloves off.
“Don’t mind if I do,” I replied.
The inside was as prim as the outside. Decent, hard-working American home. Lots of pastel colors. You know the way broads decorate. Entire place was carpeted real fancy-like. And a bird to boot somewhere screaming, “Bad dog, bad dog.”
“That’s Jack,” she said. “My Parakeet.”
“The phone.”
“Right,” she said with confusion on her face. “I only have one, It’s in the kitchen next to the fridge. Help yourself.”
“I will, thanks,” I said walking over to the kitchen and unplugging the chord from the wall. I could hear the radio turned up full volume. I closed the kitchen window and drew the blinds. I walked into the hallway to find her shadow standing still coming from the restroom doorway displaying a pair of scissors in her hand. Quietly I walked over to her. Her face was in the reflection of the mirror faintly weeping.
“Are you okay, Toots?” I said.
“Shhh! Listen,” she said as I honed in on the radio next to her medicine cabinet:
“THE PRESIDENT HAS BEEN SHOT! I REPEAT, THE PRESIDENT HAS BEEN SHOT!”
She threw her arms around me with the scissors a couple of inches away from my eyes, shaking like a leaf and mumbling something about a great man.
“It’ll be fine,” I said.
She lifted her head up from my chest and said, “I loved him.”
“Yes, kid, I know. But there are plenty of–”
“You don’t understand,” she said. “Come, let me show you.”
She grabbed me by the hand and took me to her bedroom. She went in her closet and pulled a buried shoebox from underneath a pile of clothes. Very delicately, she opened the lid.
“This is Johnny and I at the beach,” she said slowly handing me a photograph.
She must have lost her mind, I thought looking at the mess her mascara was leaving on her face. Until I looked at the picture. I couldn’t believe my eyes. But it was true, It was her. And there was Kennedy with that mongoloid of a smile, leaning in to kiss her. The trusted bodyguard in the background. She had on a flowing yellow summer dress, white glove gripping a pink rose and the other a cigarette as she sat on a big rock. I had found her.
“And this is us right outside of Jersey. Little pizza place we called our own. They have the best root beer floats there. You ever been?”
“I nodded.”
“Say, what did you say your name was, again?”
“Truman.”
“You married, Truman? Got a girl out there somewhere?”
“No.”
“Just as well, I suppose. People die all the time, leave you, move on to someone else. What the hell’s the point?”
“Gene, right?”
“Yes? Hey, what’s the big idea anyway? How did you know that?”
“I thought you mentioned it. Or maybe I saw it in your kitchen somewhere, envelope maybe.”
“Oh,” she said working her mind over the idea.
“Do you think I could trouble you for a cup of coffee? I was a huge fan of the Pres, myself. Maybe we can talk about it over a hot cup of Joe and a cigarette?”
And with that a smile came over her troubled countenance and said, “Sure…why not?”
The coffee was good and hot, I thought as I sipped and waited for her to return from the “little girl’s room” as she had put it.
“How do I look,” she said twirling into the kitchen.
“You look great,” I said, and boy did she ever. She had applied some tomato-red liptstick, let her hair loose, and changed into a slightly more provocative dress. Black with some lace at the cleavage.
“What, this old thing?” she said and giggled throwing her head back.
“Come and talk with me.”
“Okay, want some candy?” she said throwing a few pills down her throat and chasing it with a stiff one. Then taking a long drag of the cig.
“No, thanks.”
“Oh, you fuddy-duddy.”
“Tell me about John.”
“Oh, John. Yes…he was a riot. You know, between you and me, he loved eating pussy. Especially mine. He said it was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen, next to his kids, of course.”
“You don’t say. What about his wife?”
“Well, what about her? She got him most of the time. She got to spawn his damn kids, didn’t she?”
“And what about Marylin?”
“That talentless ditz had the sense of a hammer, and with enough plastic surgery to kill a small horse. She never was anything to worry about.”
“You don’t think he loved her?”
“I suppose he may have, in his own way, maybe. Like a man loves a dog or a shiny car. A very shiny car.”
“Do you remember me, Gene?”
“Maybe. Should I? Say, don’t you work for John? I thought I saw you at the New Years Eve party. Working the damn door.”
“Yes, you did.”
“You don’t talk much though, do you? You’re the silent type. Mysterious and all that. Bet that crap works wonders with the dames, eh?”
“Not much for women, actually.”
“Oh, you some kind of fruit or something?”
“No,” I said smiling.
“So, what’s the problem?”
“Women are afraid of me.”
“Well, why is that? You seem a nice enough fella to me. You’re handsome. Got manners.”
“Can I show you something?”
“Sure, why not?”
I stood up and took a deep breath. I looked up at her ceiling and started to growl and then to foam at the mouth. It was madness. And it always hurt. But it had to be done. I told myself, It had to be done.
“Hey, fella, you okay?” she asked apprehensively.
“Just relax, Toots. Trust me, you don’t want to move from that chair,” I grunted as my teeth grew into fangs. My eyeballs felt like they were going to explode, they always did during the metamorphosis. My fingernails grew, hair sprouted from my face. My toes ripped through my shoes. I fucking hated that. I let out a long, piercing howl with sweat on my brow and bulging neck veins as she sat motionless with the cup in her hand, and her cigarette hanging from her lower lip. Urine ran down her leg and onto the linoleum floor.
I cackled uncontrollable as I held my gut. When I finally composed myself, I wiped the tears from my eyes and caressed my whiskers, pointed a long, hairy finger at her and said, “You should see the goddamn look on your face!”
Her mouth quivered and her face was white as a sheet. The urine kept coming.
“I did some of Johnny’s work,” I said loosening my tie and walking towards her. “He told me to get rid of you some time ago–said you had a big yapper. He had a myriad of things he always wanted me to do. With his bitches, his politics, that cunt of a wife, and those little bouncing brats, who could remember all the details? Jackie seems like a cadaverous lay, but you…you look like you know things. You reek of the streets. You’re a natural-born slut, no doubt about that. I was told to make it painless and to make it quick. But, sorry, Johnny, no can do. You fucked me for far too long, brother. I don’t owe him a fucking thing. I either, kill you brutally…or…hear me out: you let me move in here for a while. We fuck each other’s brains out from time to time, we fall in love, then we part ways, nobody gets hurt. I need a vacation anyway. So, whaddya say, sweet cheeks?”
The sun was warm and peeking through the blinds and the only sound you could hear was a wind chime outside and Jack saying, “Bad dog. Baaad dog.” And the gentle tap of her piss on the kitchen floor.
Tap, tap, tap…
∞
Dedicated to the Beast Within
