Read Online Gin Palace 01 - The Poisoned Rose by Daniel Judson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Daniel Judson
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fingertips, recalling the woman who had left them there, the fear that had coursed through her body. I had thought I was helping her, preventing her from making a mistake by running.
I had thought wrong.
I’d been told by a woman who lived with me for a month years ago that all things have a right to live. I believed that, I believed her, all evidence to the contrary.
It didn’t take much for me to start looking through my place for unfinished bottles of Beam. I found one under my sink that had a few shots left in it. I emptied the bottle into a glass and settled in. I drank slowly to make what I had last. But it wasn’t enough. Around nine I was out of what I had scrounged together and nowhere near numb enough, so I headed downstairs for a few on George. I didn’t care anymore who was looking for me. I remembered Augie saying something about coming to get me tonight. I wasn’t sure if I was going downstairs to make it easier for him to find me or more difficult. But I didn’t really care about that. The threat of my starting to remember again grew with each minute I went without a drink in my hand.
And anyway, I was hungry, and George served food over the bar.
I don’t remember her face or much of anything about her, really. She sits beside me in the dark corner at the end of the Hansom House bar and we drink together. It is loud, the place is crowed, there is a great hum around us, chatter and music. I lose a lot to this noise—a lot of what she is saying to me—but it doesn’t seem to matter. She smiles a lot and laughs and I nod at things I don’t really understand. It’s the smiling and laughing and long eye contact that tells me what I need to know.
We eat and drink, then go upstairs to my dark apartment. She opens a window and the curtain lifts and blooms like a restless ghost. The air coming in fills the room fast, too fast. It is a rush of cold and dark, a rush of outer space. I begin to shiver. She comes to me, presses her body against mine, wraps her arms around me. I smell her with each breath I take.
And then we are lying down. Her body radiates heat. I pull it close to me out of greed. I can see the vague shape of her by the streetlight coming in from outside. Her hair is shoulder length and straight. I smell it, smell her skin, the Quervo on her cool breath. She is drunk, too. She laughs. It’s a laugh that comes from deep in her gut. She climbs on top of me and straddles me and leans down so her soft hair brushes my face and makes a cozy little cave for us. We kiss that way for a long time. She laughs and smiles as we do this. She is almost giddy. There is warmth in her smile.
We undress each other, clumsily. There is joy in our fumbling. Finally, we’re both naked, and she straddles me again, reaches between her thighs and guides me inside her. She lowers herself down slowly till I am all the way in. We both gasp. Then she begins to rock back and forth, her back straight, her palms on my stomach. I watch her.
Afterward she is standing at my bedroom window, wearing nothing but an old army surplus wool blanket around her shoulders. Her feet are bare. The floor must be cold. I tell her this but she says it’s okay. She stands in that pale light and tells me that I’m a hard man to get to. I’m not sure what she means. Then she says something else, says it several times before I finally hear and understand her. I realize she is asking me if I will help her. I hear myself tell her that I can’t help anyone. She says something about how he’ll think twice about hurting her if he knows we’re together. I don’t know who “he” is, but I don’t ask. I tell her I can’t see her face with her back to the light. I ask her who she is. I have asked that before. She tells me that she is Rose. Don’t I remember? I say nothing.
She tells me that I am drunk. There isn’t any hint of recrimination in her voice. It is just a fact that she for some reason needs then to state. She tells me that
I had thought wrong.
I’d been told by a woman who lived with me for a month years ago that all things have a right to live. I believed that, I believed her, all evidence to the contrary.
It didn’t take much for me to start looking through my place for unfinished bottles of Beam. I found one under my sink that had a few shots left in it. I emptied the bottle into a glass and settled in. I drank slowly to make what I had last. But it wasn’t enough. Around nine I was out of what I had scrounged together and nowhere near numb enough, so I headed downstairs for a few on George. I didn’t care anymore who was looking for me. I remembered Augie saying something about coming to get me tonight. I wasn’t sure if I was going downstairs to make it easier for him to find me or more difficult. But I didn’t really care about that. The threat of my starting to remember again grew with each minute I went without a drink in my hand.
And anyway, I was hungry, and George served food over the bar.
I don’t remember her face or much of anything about her, really. She sits beside me in the dark corner at the end of the Hansom House bar and we drink together. It is loud, the place is crowed, there is a great hum around us, chatter and music. I lose a lot to this noise—a lot of what she is saying to me—but it doesn’t seem to matter. She smiles a lot and laughs and I nod at things I don’t really understand. It’s the smiling and laughing and long eye contact that tells me what I need to know.
We eat and drink, then go upstairs to my dark apartment. She opens a window and the curtain lifts and blooms like a restless ghost. The air coming in fills the room fast, too fast. It is a rush of cold and dark, a rush of outer space. I begin to shiver. She comes to me, presses her body against mine, wraps her arms around me. I smell her with each breath I take.
And then we are lying down. Her body radiates heat. I pull it close to me out of greed. I can see the vague shape of her by the streetlight coming in from outside. Her hair is shoulder length and straight. I smell it, smell her skin, the Quervo on her cool breath. She is drunk, too. She laughs. It’s a laugh that comes from deep in her gut. She climbs on top of me and straddles me and leans down so her soft hair brushes my face and makes a cozy little cave for us. We kiss that way for a long time. She laughs and smiles as we do this. She is almost giddy. There is warmth in her smile.
We undress each other, clumsily. There is joy in our fumbling. Finally, we’re both naked, and she straddles me again, reaches between her thighs and guides me inside her. She lowers herself down slowly till I am all the way in. We both gasp. Then she begins to rock back and forth, her back straight, her palms on my stomach. I watch her.
Afterward she is standing at my bedroom window, wearing nothing but an old army surplus wool blanket around her shoulders. Her feet are bare. The floor must be cold. I tell her this but she says it’s okay. She stands in that pale light and tells me that I’m a hard man to get to. I’m not sure what she means. Then she says something else, says it several times before I finally hear and understand her. I realize she is asking me if I will help her. I hear myself tell her that I can’t help anyone. She says something about how he’ll think twice about hurting her if he knows we’re together. I don’t know who “he” is, but I don’t ask. I tell her I can’t see her face with her back to the light. I ask her who she is. I have asked that before. She tells me that she is Rose. Don’t I remember? I say nothing.
She tells me that I am drunk. There isn’t any hint of recrimination in her voice. It is just a fact that she for some reason needs then to state. She tells me that
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