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Authors: Allie Boniface
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the subject.
“Better. Vet gave it
some antibiotics.”
“You keeping it?”
He shrugged. “Haven't
decided yet.”
J.T. adjusted the
volume, turning it up as the final highlights from the eleven o’clock
news flashed across the screen.
“Tomorrow at six,”
the chipper blonde anchor announced, “tune in for the latest
chapter in the Senator Kirk arrest.”
Ash’s throat closed.
“We’ll hear from
the woman who used to work as the Kirks’ personal housekeeper, as
well as tell you what’s in store for this sullied senator from
Boston…”
Ash set her glass down
on the bar, too hard. A crack splintered all the way up one side.
J.T. frowned. “Geez,
take it easy. You okay?”
“Sorry. Wasn’t
paying attention, I guess.”
He swept it into the
trash. “No biggie. It happens.”
Ash buried her hands
between her legs so Eddie wouldn’t see them tremble.
“Can you believe that
guy?” he said, still staring at the TV. “You’d think we could
find one honest politician somewhere in the whole damn country. But
no. Even the ones who come across as Mr. Family Man, who tell us
they’re gonna change things for the better—”
“Yep,” J.T. agreed,
cutting him off. “Even they wind up bein’ like all the rest.
Making decisions from between their legs. Kirk’s no better. Another
John fuckin’ Kennedy.” He pulled on the tap and poured Eddie
another beer.
Ash cleared her throat.
“You know, some people say maybe he’s innocent. That he was set
up by someone who didn’t want him to get the vice-presidential
nomination.”
Eddie chuckled. “Yeah,
sure. They’re all innocent. Like JFK. And Jefferson, sleeping with
his slaves.”
“Don’t forget Bill
Clinton,” J.T. added.
Eddie laughed out loud.
“Oh, yeah. Especially Clinton. He was the most innocent of all. He
and Kirk are probably buddies. Probably sit around over stogies and
talk about the best blow jobs they ever got.”
Ash stiffened. “It
could be true,” she said. “The setup, I mean.”
Eddie turned. “Kirk
was busted DUI. Caught with coke and a hooker. How the hell does
someone set that up?”
She didn’t know.
She’d been asking herself the same question every night since the
arrest. But if her father said he was framed, then part of her, the
little-girl part that still remembered the way he’d sung her to
sleep every night as a child, had to hold out hope.
“Maybe the
Republicans held him down and poured whiskey down his throat,” J.T.
offered and snorted as he laughed at his own joke.
“Yeah, and maybe they
forced him into the car at gunpoint with that hot little piece of
tail,” Eddie continued. He tipped his head back and took a long
drink.
“Did they ever say
whether his zipper was up or down when the cops pulled him over?”
Ash slid off her stool.
“You ready to go?”
“Hang on. Let me
finish my beer.”
“I’m ready now.”
Eddie’s jaw twitched.
“Can’t you give me five minutes? What’s wrong with you?”
She crossed her arms
and shifted from foot to foot. “I’m tired, okay? That’s what’s
wrong with me. My feet feel like they’re going to fall off, I smell
like ketchup, and I’m about sick to death of listening to the two
of you rip apart some guy you don’t even know. Half of what the
media reports isn’t even true. More than half.”
She stopped to draw a
breath, and silence echoed through the bar. J.T. whistled, long and
low. Eddie frowned, and something dark slid across his face.
“You know, I think
I’ll walk after all,” he said after a long minute of staring at
her. “Could use some fresh air.” He shoved some bills across the
bar, scraped his stool out of the way, and headed for the door.
“Thanks, J.T.,” he said. The door slammed shut behind him.
Ash watched Eddie’s
shadow disappear down the block. Well, fine. She hadn’t wanted to
drive home with him, anyway. She tried to believe her own lie as she
walked to her car in silence a few minutes later. One
“Better. Vet gave it
some antibiotics.”
“You keeping it?”
He shrugged. “Haven't
decided yet.”
J.T. adjusted the
volume, turning it up as the final highlights from the eleven o’clock
news flashed across the screen.
“Tomorrow at six,”
the chipper blonde anchor announced, “tune in for the latest
chapter in the Senator Kirk arrest.”
Ash’s throat closed.
“We’ll hear from
the woman who used to work as the Kirks’ personal housekeeper, as
well as tell you what’s in store for this sullied senator from
Boston…”
Ash set her glass down
on the bar, too hard. A crack splintered all the way up one side.
J.T. frowned. “Geez,
take it easy. You okay?”
“Sorry. Wasn’t
paying attention, I guess.”
He swept it into the
trash. “No biggie. It happens.”
Ash buried her hands
between her legs so Eddie wouldn’t see them tremble.
“Can you believe that
guy?” he said, still staring at the TV. “You’d think we could
find one honest politician somewhere in the whole damn country. But
no. Even the ones who come across as Mr. Family Man, who tell us
they’re gonna change things for the better—”
“Yep,” J.T. agreed,
cutting him off. “Even they wind up bein’ like all the rest.
Making decisions from between their legs. Kirk’s no better. Another
John fuckin’ Kennedy.” He pulled on the tap and poured Eddie
another beer.
Ash cleared her throat.
“You know, some people say maybe he’s innocent. That he was set
up by someone who didn’t want him to get the vice-presidential
nomination.”
Eddie chuckled. “Yeah,
sure. They’re all innocent. Like JFK. And Jefferson, sleeping with
his slaves.”
“Don’t forget Bill
Clinton,” J.T. added.
Eddie laughed out loud.
“Oh, yeah. Especially Clinton. He was the most innocent of all. He
and Kirk are probably buddies. Probably sit around over stogies and
talk about the best blow jobs they ever got.”
Ash stiffened. “It
could be true,” she said. “The setup, I mean.”
Eddie turned. “Kirk
was busted DUI. Caught with coke and a hooker. How the hell does
someone set that up?”
She didn’t know.
She’d been asking herself the same question every night since the
arrest. But if her father said he was framed, then part of her, the
little-girl part that still remembered the way he’d sung her to
sleep every night as a child, had to hold out hope.
“Maybe the
Republicans held him down and poured whiskey down his throat,” J.T.
offered and snorted as he laughed at his own joke.
“Yeah, and maybe they
forced him into the car at gunpoint with that hot little piece of
tail,” Eddie continued. He tipped his head back and took a long
drink.
“Did they ever say
whether his zipper was up or down when the cops pulled him over?”
Ash slid off her stool.
“You ready to go?”
“Hang on. Let me
finish my beer.”
“I’m ready now.”
Eddie’s jaw twitched.
“Can’t you give me five minutes? What’s wrong with you?”
She crossed her arms
and shifted from foot to foot. “I’m tired, okay? That’s what’s
wrong with me. My feet feel like they’re going to fall off, I smell
like ketchup, and I’m about sick to death of listening to the two
of you rip apart some guy you don’t even know. Half of what the
media reports isn’t even true. More than half.”
She stopped to draw a
breath, and silence echoed through the bar. J.T. whistled, long and
low. Eddie frowned, and something dark slid across his face.
“You know, I think
I’ll walk after all,” he said after a long minute of staring at
her. “Could use some fresh air.” He shoved some bills across the
bar, scraped his stool out of the way, and headed for the door.
“Thanks, J.T.,” he said. The door slammed shut behind him.
Ash watched Eddie’s
shadow disappear down the block. Well, fine. She hadn’t wanted to
drive home with him, anyway. She tried to believe her own lie as she
walked to her car in silence a few minutes later. One
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