Aphrodite: A Huck's Place Story

Her smile seems to tell me that I've made the right choice, for some reason, although I'm not so sure myself. "That's all right, baby. But come back again, o.k.? We can have a lot of fun."

I nod. "Oh, yeah." Hey, maybe I will.

Chris, Angelina, Star, and I sit in stoned silence for a few minutes as the girls wordlessly finish their drinks. Then they get up, thank us for the champagne, and move on to the bar, leaving Vegas behind with Lit.

The blonde, Diamond, leaves the stage and the DJ enthusiastically heralds the news that Mer-ceeyyydeeeessss is taking her place. Mercedes is dressed in pseudo-Goth attire -- waist-high black boots, a bra with metal studs, and a black leather mini-skirt. Her eye makeup and lipstick are a glossy black.

I get up a little unsteadily and head for the washroom, gripping the rail as I go down the stairs. Across from the washrooms is a folding partition, much like you would see in a banquet hall or overlarge classroom. I stagger over toward an inch-wide crack next to the wall. Through the opening I can make out the row of loveseats, each in its own little cubicle, lined up in army-hospital perfect order. From somewhere in the room, out of my line of sight, I can hear the sharp noise of springs squeaking with accompanying overdramatic female moans. I make a hundred eighty degree turn and step into the washroom.

By the time I get back to the table Chris is sitting by himself smoking a cigarette and idly watching the show. There's a fresh bottle of beer at my place. The club has emptied out a little. The guys at the table near us have left and most of the bar is empty.

"Lit?" I ask.

Chris points to the stairs. "I'm surprised you missed him."

I smile, shake my head, and take two big swigs from the bottle. The thick black woman with the dyed blond hair is on stage now, twisting, her full breasts lagging about a second behind the rest of her body.

"What do you think?" I ask. "Do you think he and Laurie will get married after all?"

Chris has finally switched to Coke, which he sips before he answers. "Oh, yeah. He's an asshole, but she loves him. You know."

We sit and watch a whole contingent of dancers -- Crystal, Alexandra, Sapphire, Star -- I give her a ten dollar bill as she's dancing, for her trouble -- and Diamond again, before Lit and Vegas appear at the top of the stairs. Vegas turns, hugs him, grabs his ass, and laughs. I am almost convinced that she's had a good time. As she turns to the bar, Lit tucks in his shirt, grins, and heads over to us. His face is a deep Irish Setter red.

"Let's get out of here," he says, passing us and going to the door.

# # # # #

Lit drops us off at our cars. Huck's is still open -- there's a little bit of time before last call -- but I decide to head home, more or less. I glance through Hucks' window as I back up. Chuck is still hunched over the bar, in deep conversation with the redhead. I pull out of the gravel parking lot and make a right turn.

There's a convenience store about a mile down the road and I make a stop there to get bread and milk. On impulse, just after I've paid for it all, I ask for a pint of Jack Daniels' from the shelf behind the counter. The clerk, a fifty-something woman with big, big, white hair, sighs and takes an obvious glance at the clock -- technically it is after the legal time to sell booze -- but takes pity on me and lets me buy it. I pop it open in the car and take an enormous throat-burning pull before I drive on.

I pass my street and drive on about a mile. Two or three blocks down is the apartment complex where Ray McKay lives. I pull slowly through its parking lot until I spot Lynn's Impala parked in a corner. I pull to a stop and glance up at Ray's third-floor apartment. The lights are off. I sit there for a few minutes, drinking the whiskey and staring off into space. Finally I put the car in gear and head home.

# # # # #

When I turn on the living room light, the room seems to be spinning around, so I turn it back off and stumble blindly into the kitchen to put away the groceries. As I open the refrigerator, I'm startled by a voice, unintelligible but female, coming from somewhere beyond the open back window.

I move slowly and silently, clutching the bottle in my hand, to a position a couple of feet from the window so I can see outside without being seen myself. The alley behind my house, like I said, is only a few feet away -- one of the prices you pay for having a deep front yard -- and in the glow of the yellow streetlight I can see a brown Escort parked directly behind my house. I recognize the car; it belongs to the neighbor's boyfriend.

I can make out two bodies in the back seat and a white blouse -- Jenny's, I assume -- hanging over the front. There's nothing specific to see, really, just a general impression of flesh.

The guy mumbles something to her and she answers, hesitant, frightened. I step back a little more to keep out of their sight. There's a little more movement and I see her white bra tossed into the front seat, followed by something else white -- her panties, most likely.

I see Jenny's right leg hook up over the seat as the blurred white figure of the guy positions himself between them. I can make out the movement of his first thrust and hear Jenny gasp and cry out a little.

The room shifts under my feet and I trip backward into the wall and slide down to the floor. I bring the bottle to my lips and take another shot.

I listen to the squeaking of the car and the sound of shifting bodies. Soft sighs and moans waft in through the open window. There is a pause; she says something unintelligible in a low, semi-pleading voice. He mumbles something in return. After a moment the sounds continue.

As I sit there drinking, I let the sounds come in with the warm breeze that gently stirs the curtains. The squeaking becomes a little louder, faster; I can hear breathing, rhythmic, becoming heavier, more intense. Then I hear a male grunt, and all becomes silent. For what seems to be a long time in my altered state things remain still.

Then drifting in with the wet air, thunder rumbling in the distance, I hear Jenny's words, her voice small, trembling, "Do you love me? Do you love me?"

And I hear him reply, "Yes. Yes. I do."

And in the dark, sitting on the kitchen floor, bottle of Jack Daniels' between my legs, I begin to cry.