God isnt here today, p.12
God Isn't Here Today, page 12
He laughs and slams a twenty on the counter. “Keep the change.” He winks and staggers out of the store.
Crimson pockets the change. Normally she would insist he take it back, but she’s starving. She’ll run to the Macs across the street after she’s finished with the displays, but before the strippers drop in, and grab some pop and Hot Pockets. The guy who works graveyard there always throws in a bag of chips when she stops in to buy dinner—she assumes it’s in solidarity with a fellow night worker. She would do the same for him but he never ventures into her store, at least not during her shift.
* * *
Crimson settles onto the stool behind the counter. Behind her, a screen flashes porn. She’s begged her boss to get rid of the TV, but he says it drives sales. She once responded that if someone made it that far into the store they were already going to buy something. He laughed and walked back to his office, slamming the door. Crimson knows when to pick her battles, so she let it go. All she has to do is not look behind her. The volume is low, so all that’s audible is soft moaning. She can live with soft moaning.
* * *
Crimson rips into the Hot Pocket. The thick cheese and ham burn her mouth, so she takes a swig of cold Coke. She grabs her sketchbook and a pencil and flips the book open, starts to draw a face. The night before, she’d dreamed of a man with brown hair and green eyes. She’d reached out to trace the stubble on his chin with her fingers, but her hand bumped into the sweaty wall of her trailer. Dark reality. She awoke alone in her single bed, trapped in a town that devours people. But now, at work, she reaches into her memory and draws line after line to capture that fleeting hope, that dream, of someone to love, someone to be with.
* * *
Country music floats through the store, blending with the soft moaning from the screen behind her. She ignores the throbbing rock and dance music from next door and settles into stillness. She forgets the porn and dildos that need shelving and focuses all of her attention on drawing.
* * *
The door opens, letting in a rush of hot air. Crimson looks up from her sketchbook. A woman painted to look sexy surveys the store. She smells like lemons, and her hair is held in a huge hairspray poof on top of her head. Damp tendrils stick to the side of her face.
“Hey,” Crimson says.
“I hear this is the best place in town to get clothes,” the woman rasps.
Crimson sets her sketchbook on the counter. “Depends what you mean by clothes.”
The woman laughs, then starts to cough. She beats on her chest before speaking again. “Something to wear to work, to make all the little boys part with their money.”
“You work next door?”
“Got in this afternoon. Just finished my first shift.”
“I’m Crimson.”
“Michelle, or—I guess—Candy, if we’re being formal.”
Crimson blushes. People always think her name is fake, but her mom had just been really stoned when she’d filled in the birth certificate.
“Can I smoke in here?” Michelle asks.
Crimson glances at the security camera pointed at the till, nods, and drags her stool to the side of the long counter. Her boss was too cheap to install more than one camera and she knows the boundaries of its sight.
Michelle follows Crimson’s gaze and smiles as she walks to the end of the counter. She hops up and faces Crimson, shimmying back until she can cross her legs. She digs into her oversized purse and pulls out a squished pack of cigarettes. “You got a light?”
“Behind you.”
When Michelle swivels around, her legs uncross, giving Crimson a view of tiny hot-pink panties.
“Dick lights. Haven’t seen these before,” Michelle says, flicking the lighter on. Fire shoots up through the top of the cock and she wheezes out a laugh.
“People buy them for stagettes,” Crimson says.
“Can you imagine pulling this out at a bus stop? Excuse me while I light my cigarette with a dick.” Michelle laughs at her own joke. The rawness in her lungs makes Crimson wince. Michelle holds out her squished pack of cigarettes. “Want one?”
“No, I don’t smoke.”
Michelle shrugs before taking a long draw. Crimson grabs the empty Coke can and hands it over. Michelle flicks the ash into it before leaning back against the top of the counter. Her legs are still open.
“So, whattaya do when you’re not working at the Pornorama, Crimson?”
“I like to walk around town, read, sketch. Just usual stuff.”
“You got a boyfriend? Girlfriend?”
“No, my ex was a bastard.”
“Gotcha. What’d he do? Fuck another pussy?”
Crimson blushes. “And moved out, leaving me with high rent and a shitty apartment.”
“Aren’t all the places here shitty?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“You from around here?” Michelle takes another long draw from the cigarette. She holds the smoke in her lungs before it starts to escape through her nose.
“No, I moved from Edmonton with him when he got a job up at site. I thought we’d be together forever and all that shit, but now I’m stuck here, renting a room in a trailer barely big enough for me to stand in.”
“Why don’t you leave?”
“Too broke.”
“You could dance. You have nice tits.”
Crimson crosses her arms over her chest and stares at Michelle’s legs. The skin around her knees is wrinkled, and a bead of sweat trickles down her calf.
“No, I wouldn’t be any good at that.”
“Sure you would, you just”—Michelle drops her cigarette into the can and jumps off the counter—“shimmy, bend over, and wiggle your ass. Then, just get naked and spin around the pole a few times. But the real money-maker is when you sit on your blanket. You ever seen that? I do a good one. I had all these posters made up, real classy and shit, you know? I had a professional take the pictures, I’m in a red thong, like that one”—Michelle points to a mannequin behind Crimson—“and it’s all smoky and the lights are dimmed. Anyway, guys love it. So the blanket, I sit on the edge of the stage, open my legs, and I make a show of rolling up the poster. Then I shove it up my pussy. The guys take turns trying to toss money in. If it goes in they get the poster. Trust me, it makes me loads of cash, and the guys love it because of the smell. They like to think they’re getting a piece of you.” Michelle hops back on the stool. “Anyway, you could do it, I bet. Once I saw one girl do the same thing but in her ass.”
Crimson could never do that.
Michelle lights up another cigarette. “You mind if I keep this?” she says before she tosses the lighter in her purse. “It’s too funny.”
Crimson shrinks back, and as she does, Michelle notices the sketchbook open beside her. She extends her whole body to reach it.
“What’s this?”
“Nothing—just something to pass the time, I guess.”
“Who is this guy?”
“I don’t know. Just someone from a dream.”
“He’s hot,” Michelle says.
“I guess.”
“Wow, fuck, these are good, girl. Why aren’t you in school or something?”
Crimson shrugs. “It’s too much money.”
Michelle keeps flipping through the book.
The door opens again. Both women turn to look.
A young guy stands at the entrance wearing a white T-shirt and jeans. His hair is slicked back and hangs to his shoulders.
“Welcome to the Pornorama,” Michelle says, “where all your dreams come true.”
The guy smiles and walks toward them. His feet catch on the dirty carpet, and he falls against the far end of the counter.
“Whoa, buddy, you been out having fun tonight?” Michelle asks.
“Only a bit,” he says with a smile.
Crimson can feel her face flushing. Unlike most of the regulars, this guy is young and good-looking. Young guys usually get their porn from the internet.
“Do you need any help?” Crimson asks.
“Maybe,” he says, looking at her with a shy smile.
“Okay.”
He looks around. “I’m, uh, looking for something. As a gift.”
Crimson suppresses a smile. She’s heard this before.
“Come on, honey, just pony up. We’re all adults here,” Michelle wheezes.
“No, really, it’s for my sister.”
Crimson glances at Michelle and they both laugh.
“No, what I mean is, she’s getting married,” he says. “Fuck, this is awkward. I swear I’m normal.”
Crimson walks over to the young man. “Toy, movie, or clothing?” she asks.
“Oh God. Clothing, clothing, I don’t want to know anything else. Something nice, though, I guess. I don’t know. You’re a girl. What would you like?”
“I’d like a fat rubber cock, one with enough girth to get the job done,” Michelle yells.
Crimson giggles.
The guy just smiles. “I was talking to her,” he says, pointing to Crimson.
“I guess, from my brother, I’d like something simple, nothing racy.”
“That sounds great,” he says, stumbling again.
Crimson catches him by his forearms. They are solid. She leans in a bit and notices he smells like beer, cigarettes, site, dirt, and Old Spice. It has been a long time since she has touched a man.
“You should get her a dick lighter,” Michelle says, a new cigarette dangling from her lips. She picks up a small tube of pink gel beside the lighters. “Or some nipple nibbler.” She screws off the cap and sniffs. “Mmm, this actually smells good.”
“It tingles,” Crimson says. “Most women use it as lip gloss.”
Michelle squeezes the tube until a glob catches on her finger. She wipes it across her mouth. “Yummy. How about a kiss, ah…?”
“Danny.”
“How about a kiss, Danny? Free of charge.” Michelle leans forward, her slinky tank top billowing open to show a pink lacy bra cupping impressive tits.
“No, that’s cool. I’m not into tingly stuff,” he says, his eyes on Crimson.
Crimson smiles. She notices his eyes are green. Her heart hammers in her chest.
“Fine, I guess I’ll just have to entertain myself,” Michelle says, turning to the TV.
Danny steps in close to Crimson. “What was your name again?”
Crimson looks up at him through her eyelashes and says her name.
He smiles. The lines around his eyes make him more handsome.
“Well, Crimson,” he says, his face hovering above hers, “let’s find something you’d like.”
She shivers. She doesn’t want to be attracted to him, but the way his hair catches on the scruff on his chin makes her legs weak. He licks his lips and her breath comes in a shallow gasp.
“Uh, we, um.” She steps back. “We have some nice stuff over here, on this rack.” She turns and walks away from him. He follows her, humming along with the radio.
When she gets to the rack, she pulls out a pair of pale yellow panties with white bows.
“You like those?” he asks.
“They’re nice,” Crimson says, meeting his eyes.
“Okay, I’ll get them.”
She smiles as he takes the hanger from her. He leans in, pinning her in place, and reaches past her. His face grazes her cheek for a second before he leans back, and she sees him holding the matching bra.
“You gotta get the set, right?” he says.
“Yeah, I guess you do, if you’re that kind of brother.” She exhales.
“I am.”
“Oh, man, look at that guy’s dick,” Michelle yells, “it’s like a toddler’s arm.”
Crimson slips past Danny and walks to the front of the store, avoiding Michelle’s swinging legs to get to the till. Danny follows her again, puts the lingerie down on the counter, and stares at her. She wishes they were alone.
“When are you off?” he asks.
“I, uh, seven a.m.”
“Wanna go for breakfast?”
Crimson checks her watch. “That’s in four and a half hours. Aren’t you tired?”
“I’ll go home for a nap.”
“Okay. Seven sharp, though, or I’m going home.”
“Deal.”
She wraps the lingerie in tissue and places it in the store’s usual black bag. As she hands over his purchase, he places his hands, warm and rough, over hers.
“See you at seven, Crimson,” he says, heading out of the store. The pavement outside the door is bathed in green neon light.
When the door shuts, Crimson turns around to find Michelle leaning forward with a huge smile.
“He is fucking hot, babe.”
“He is, right?”
“Yeah, and he looks like the guy in your fucking book here,” she says.
“It’s weird, right? Getting picked up in a porn store?”
“Nah, I found my last boyfriend at my last strip club. When you meet someone, you just gotta go for it.”
“I guess.”
“Hey, look, I gotta go. I’ll be back tomorrow. You can help me find stuff that’ll make a guy cum in his pants.” Michelle hops off the counter. She hoists her big purse, then pulls out another cigarette and slides it between her lips. “Maybe your luck is changing. Maybe this guy’ll take you far away from this hole and you’ll become a famous artist.”
“Maybe.”
“Everything’ll work out. I’m sure of it. See you tomorrow—I’ll bring you a poster.”
Michelle pushes the door open and walks out. Before it closes all the way, Crimson sees her cupping the cigarette with one hand and flicking the dick lighter with the other.
* * *
Crimson is filling in the details of her sketch when the door opens.
Danny stands in the entrance. His smile is sloppy as he lurches into the store.
Crimson looks at her watch: it’s only 5:19 a.m.
“Hiya, honey,” Danny says.
“Hey, it’s only twenty after five. I’m not off for a while still,” Crimson says.
“I just wanted to surprise you.”
“Okay,” Crimson says, standing.
Danny walks to the middle of store. “Come here. I gotta show you something.”
Crimson frowns. “You been drinking?”
“I went home and had a few beers. I only live a few blocks away. But I was still wired so I thought I’d just come back and say hey.”
Crimson doesn’t want to leave the emergency button so she stays in place.
Danny’s smile widens. He takes a few lumbering steps toward her. At the counter he leans over and grabs her hair to drag her in for a kiss. Their teeth smash together, his tongue presses against hers, and she gags. She pulls away from him, afraid.
“You’re so pretty, Crimson. And your name is like fire.”
“Thanks.”
“I mean it. You’re like the prettiest girl in Fort Mac. You could totally be a stripper.”
Crimson’s heart is racing, but not from desire. The reek of beer wafts over her and makes her stomach churn.
Danny backs up a few paces before swivelling his hips. “I want to show you something.” He fumbles with his belt. Crimson presses the emergency button, but finds it is jammed. His pants drop around his ankles. “Do you like them?”
He is wearing the panties. His dick is squished in and his balls are falling out the sides. His pubic hair curls around the lace.
Crimson hits the emergency button again, but it doesn’t give. She backs away, bumping the TV.
Danny pulls up his shirt to reveal the matching bra.
“You said you liked these ones, right?” He wiggles around.
“Oh my God.”
Danny turns, stumbling and falling to his knees. The panties ride up his ass crack. He laughs, then pulls down a rack of movies to the floor as he stands back up. He grunts from the effort.
“Come on, babe, why don’t you come over here? They’re soft, you can feel.”
Crimson is in shock. Everything is wrong. She lunges for the phone. He lurches to the counter before she can get to it. The shirt hides the bra, but his pants are still pooled around his ankles. He smiles at her, but everything handsome in his face is gone. All she sees is paste-white, clammy skin, unfocused eyes, movements that are too exaggerated.
“Please, you have to go,” she whispers.
“What?” he says, leaning his elbows on the counter.
“You have to go,” she says louder.
“Why? Don’t you like me anymore?” There’s an edge to his voice.
“It’s just my boss—there are cameras and he’ll get mad,” she says.
Danny almost falls again. “Oh, okay, I get it, babe. I’ll come back at seven, we can have breakfast at your place.” He winks.
“Sure,” Crimson says.
He bends over and pulls up his pants, which keep falling back down as he tries to walk. He smiles again and waddles to the door before pushing against it.
“See you at seven,” he mumbles.
* * *
Crimson tries to take a deep breath. Her legs feel weak but she forces herself to walk to the front door. She latches the door shut and leans against it, trembling. She can hear Danny out on the road singing.
When his voice fades, she leaves the door. She steps over the movies he scattered. Her vision is blurry. She walks behind the counter, grabs her sketchbook, and rips the picture out, then tears it into pieces. A scream escapes her. She throws the book at the lighter display. Miniature penises fly through air and land on the floor with the movie cases.
Crimson sinks down and holds her arms close to her body. Why does everything lovely transform into a black, churning disaster?
Crimson pockets the change. Normally she would insist he take it back, but she’s starving. She’ll run to the Macs across the street after she’s finished with the displays, but before the strippers drop in, and grab some pop and Hot Pockets. The guy who works graveyard there always throws in a bag of chips when she stops in to buy dinner—she assumes it’s in solidarity with a fellow night worker. She would do the same for him but he never ventures into her store, at least not during her shift.
* * *
Crimson settles onto the stool behind the counter. Behind her, a screen flashes porn. She’s begged her boss to get rid of the TV, but he says it drives sales. She once responded that if someone made it that far into the store they were already going to buy something. He laughed and walked back to his office, slamming the door. Crimson knows when to pick her battles, so she let it go. All she has to do is not look behind her. The volume is low, so all that’s audible is soft moaning. She can live with soft moaning.
* * *
Crimson rips into the Hot Pocket. The thick cheese and ham burn her mouth, so she takes a swig of cold Coke. She grabs her sketchbook and a pencil and flips the book open, starts to draw a face. The night before, she’d dreamed of a man with brown hair and green eyes. She’d reached out to trace the stubble on his chin with her fingers, but her hand bumped into the sweaty wall of her trailer. Dark reality. She awoke alone in her single bed, trapped in a town that devours people. But now, at work, she reaches into her memory and draws line after line to capture that fleeting hope, that dream, of someone to love, someone to be with.
* * *
Country music floats through the store, blending with the soft moaning from the screen behind her. She ignores the throbbing rock and dance music from next door and settles into stillness. She forgets the porn and dildos that need shelving and focuses all of her attention on drawing.
* * *
The door opens, letting in a rush of hot air. Crimson looks up from her sketchbook. A woman painted to look sexy surveys the store. She smells like lemons, and her hair is held in a huge hairspray poof on top of her head. Damp tendrils stick to the side of her face.
“Hey,” Crimson says.
“I hear this is the best place in town to get clothes,” the woman rasps.
Crimson sets her sketchbook on the counter. “Depends what you mean by clothes.”
The woman laughs, then starts to cough. She beats on her chest before speaking again. “Something to wear to work, to make all the little boys part with their money.”
“You work next door?”
“Got in this afternoon. Just finished my first shift.”
“I’m Crimson.”
“Michelle, or—I guess—Candy, if we’re being formal.”
Crimson blushes. People always think her name is fake, but her mom had just been really stoned when she’d filled in the birth certificate.
“Can I smoke in here?” Michelle asks.
Crimson glances at the security camera pointed at the till, nods, and drags her stool to the side of the long counter. Her boss was too cheap to install more than one camera and she knows the boundaries of its sight.
Michelle follows Crimson’s gaze and smiles as she walks to the end of the counter. She hops up and faces Crimson, shimmying back until she can cross her legs. She digs into her oversized purse and pulls out a squished pack of cigarettes. “You got a light?”
“Behind you.”
When Michelle swivels around, her legs uncross, giving Crimson a view of tiny hot-pink panties.
“Dick lights. Haven’t seen these before,” Michelle says, flicking the lighter on. Fire shoots up through the top of the cock and she wheezes out a laugh.
“People buy them for stagettes,” Crimson says.
“Can you imagine pulling this out at a bus stop? Excuse me while I light my cigarette with a dick.” Michelle laughs at her own joke. The rawness in her lungs makes Crimson wince. Michelle holds out her squished pack of cigarettes. “Want one?”
“No, I don’t smoke.”
Michelle shrugs before taking a long draw. Crimson grabs the empty Coke can and hands it over. Michelle flicks the ash into it before leaning back against the top of the counter. Her legs are still open.
“So, whattaya do when you’re not working at the Pornorama, Crimson?”
“I like to walk around town, read, sketch. Just usual stuff.”
“You got a boyfriend? Girlfriend?”
“No, my ex was a bastard.”
“Gotcha. What’d he do? Fuck another pussy?”
Crimson blushes. “And moved out, leaving me with high rent and a shitty apartment.”
“Aren’t all the places here shitty?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“You from around here?” Michelle takes another long draw from the cigarette. She holds the smoke in her lungs before it starts to escape through her nose.
“No, I moved from Edmonton with him when he got a job up at site. I thought we’d be together forever and all that shit, but now I’m stuck here, renting a room in a trailer barely big enough for me to stand in.”
“Why don’t you leave?”
“Too broke.”
“You could dance. You have nice tits.”
Crimson crosses her arms over her chest and stares at Michelle’s legs. The skin around her knees is wrinkled, and a bead of sweat trickles down her calf.
“No, I wouldn’t be any good at that.”
“Sure you would, you just”—Michelle drops her cigarette into the can and jumps off the counter—“shimmy, bend over, and wiggle your ass. Then, just get naked and spin around the pole a few times. But the real money-maker is when you sit on your blanket. You ever seen that? I do a good one. I had all these posters made up, real classy and shit, you know? I had a professional take the pictures, I’m in a red thong, like that one”—Michelle points to a mannequin behind Crimson—“and it’s all smoky and the lights are dimmed. Anyway, guys love it. So the blanket, I sit on the edge of the stage, open my legs, and I make a show of rolling up the poster. Then I shove it up my pussy. The guys take turns trying to toss money in. If it goes in they get the poster. Trust me, it makes me loads of cash, and the guys love it because of the smell. They like to think they’re getting a piece of you.” Michelle hops back on the stool. “Anyway, you could do it, I bet. Once I saw one girl do the same thing but in her ass.”
Crimson could never do that.
Michelle lights up another cigarette. “You mind if I keep this?” she says before she tosses the lighter in her purse. “It’s too funny.”
Crimson shrinks back, and as she does, Michelle notices the sketchbook open beside her. She extends her whole body to reach it.
“What’s this?”
“Nothing—just something to pass the time, I guess.”
“Who is this guy?”
“I don’t know. Just someone from a dream.”
“He’s hot,” Michelle says.
“I guess.”
“Wow, fuck, these are good, girl. Why aren’t you in school or something?”
Crimson shrugs. “It’s too much money.”
Michelle keeps flipping through the book.
The door opens again. Both women turn to look.
A young guy stands at the entrance wearing a white T-shirt and jeans. His hair is slicked back and hangs to his shoulders.
“Welcome to the Pornorama,” Michelle says, “where all your dreams come true.”
The guy smiles and walks toward them. His feet catch on the dirty carpet, and he falls against the far end of the counter.
“Whoa, buddy, you been out having fun tonight?” Michelle asks.
“Only a bit,” he says with a smile.
Crimson can feel her face flushing. Unlike most of the regulars, this guy is young and good-looking. Young guys usually get their porn from the internet.
“Do you need any help?” Crimson asks.
“Maybe,” he says, looking at her with a shy smile.
“Okay.”
He looks around. “I’m, uh, looking for something. As a gift.”
Crimson suppresses a smile. She’s heard this before.
“Come on, honey, just pony up. We’re all adults here,” Michelle wheezes.
“No, really, it’s for my sister.”
Crimson glances at Michelle and they both laugh.
“No, what I mean is, she’s getting married,” he says. “Fuck, this is awkward. I swear I’m normal.”
Crimson walks over to the young man. “Toy, movie, or clothing?” she asks.
“Oh God. Clothing, clothing, I don’t want to know anything else. Something nice, though, I guess. I don’t know. You’re a girl. What would you like?”
“I’d like a fat rubber cock, one with enough girth to get the job done,” Michelle yells.
Crimson giggles.
The guy just smiles. “I was talking to her,” he says, pointing to Crimson.
“I guess, from my brother, I’d like something simple, nothing racy.”
“That sounds great,” he says, stumbling again.
Crimson catches him by his forearms. They are solid. She leans in a bit and notices he smells like beer, cigarettes, site, dirt, and Old Spice. It has been a long time since she has touched a man.
“You should get her a dick lighter,” Michelle says, a new cigarette dangling from her lips. She picks up a small tube of pink gel beside the lighters. “Or some nipple nibbler.” She screws off the cap and sniffs. “Mmm, this actually smells good.”
“It tingles,” Crimson says. “Most women use it as lip gloss.”
Michelle squeezes the tube until a glob catches on her finger. She wipes it across her mouth. “Yummy. How about a kiss, ah…?”
“Danny.”
“How about a kiss, Danny? Free of charge.” Michelle leans forward, her slinky tank top billowing open to show a pink lacy bra cupping impressive tits.
“No, that’s cool. I’m not into tingly stuff,” he says, his eyes on Crimson.
Crimson smiles. She notices his eyes are green. Her heart hammers in her chest.
“Fine, I guess I’ll just have to entertain myself,” Michelle says, turning to the TV.
Danny steps in close to Crimson. “What was your name again?”
Crimson looks up at him through her eyelashes and says her name.
He smiles. The lines around his eyes make him more handsome.
“Well, Crimson,” he says, his face hovering above hers, “let’s find something you’d like.”
She shivers. She doesn’t want to be attracted to him, but the way his hair catches on the scruff on his chin makes her legs weak. He licks his lips and her breath comes in a shallow gasp.
“Uh, we, um.” She steps back. “We have some nice stuff over here, on this rack.” She turns and walks away from him. He follows her, humming along with the radio.
When she gets to the rack, she pulls out a pair of pale yellow panties with white bows.
“You like those?” he asks.
“They’re nice,” Crimson says, meeting his eyes.
“Okay, I’ll get them.”
She smiles as he takes the hanger from her. He leans in, pinning her in place, and reaches past her. His face grazes her cheek for a second before he leans back, and she sees him holding the matching bra.
“You gotta get the set, right?” he says.
“Yeah, I guess you do, if you’re that kind of brother.” She exhales.
“I am.”
“Oh, man, look at that guy’s dick,” Michelle yells, “it’s like a toddler’s arm.”
Crimson slips past Danny and walks to the front of the store, avoiding Michelle’s swinging legs to get to the till. Danny follows her again, puts the lingerie down on the counter, and stares at her. She wishes they were alone.
“When are you off?” he asks.
“I, uh, seven a.m.”
“Wanna go for breakfast?”
Crimson checks her watch. “That’s in four and a half hours. Aren’t you tired?”
“I’ll go home for a nap.”
“Okay. Seven sharp, though, or I’m going home.”
“Deal.”
She wraps the lingerie in tissue and places it in the store’s usual black bag. As she hands over his purchase, he places his hands, warm and rough, over hers.
“See you at seven, Crimson,” he says, heading out of the store. The pavement outside the door is bathed in green neon light.
When the door shuts, Crimson turns around to find Michelle leaning forward with a huge smile.
“He is fucking hot, babe.”
“He is, right?”
“Yeah, and he looks like the guy in your fucking book here,” she says.
“It’s weird, right? Getting picked up in a porn store?”
“Nah, I found my last boyfriend at my last strip club. When you meet someone, you just gotta go for it.”
“I guess.”
“Hey, look, I gotta go. I’ll be back tomorrow. You can help me find stuff that’ll make a guy cum in his pants.” Michelle hops off the counter. She hoists her big purse, then pulls out another cigarette and slides it between her lips. “Maybe your luck is changing. Maybe this guy’ll take you far away from this hole and you’ll become a famous artist.”
“Maybe.”
“Everything’ll work out. I’m sure of it. See you tomorrow—I’ll bring you a poster.”
Michelle pushes the door open and walks out. Before it closes all the way, Crimson sees her cupping the cigarette with one hand and flicking the dick lighter with the other.
* * *
Crimson is filling in the details of her sketch when the door opens.
Danny stands in the entrance. His smile is sloppy as he lurches into the store.
Crimson looks at her watch: it’s only 5:19 a.m.
“Hiya, honey,” Danny says.
“Hey, it’s only twenty after five. I’m not off for a while still,” Crimson says.
“I just wanted to surprise you.”
“Okay,” Crimson says, standing.
Danny walks to the middle of store. “Come here. I gotta show you something.”
Crimson frowns. “You been drinking?”
“I went home and had a few beers. I only live a few blocks away. But I was still wired so I thought I’d just come back and say hey.”
Crimson doesn’t want to leave the emergency button so she stays in place.
Danny’s smile widens. He takes a few lumbering steps toward her. At the counter he leans over and grabs her hair to drag her in for a kiss. Their teeth smash together, his tongue presses against hers, and she gags. She pulls away from him, afraid.
“You’re so pretty, Crimson. And your name is like fire.”
“Thanks.”
“I mean it. You’re like the prettiest girl in Fort Mac. You could totally be a stripper.”
Crimson’s heart is racing, but not from desire. The reek of beer wafts over her and makes her stomach churn.
Danny backs up a few paces before swivelling his hips. “I want to show you something.” He fumbles with his belt. Crimson presses the emergency button, but finds it is jammed. His pants drop around his ankles. “Do you like them?”
He is wearing the panties. His dick is squished in and his balls are falling out the sides. His pubic hair curls around the lace.
Crimson hits the emergency button again, but it doesn’t give. She backs away, bumping the TV.
Danny pulls up his shirt to reveal the matching bra.
“You said you liked these ones, right?” He wiggles around.
“Oh my God.”
Danny turns, stumbling and falling to his knees. The panties ride up his ass crack. He laughs, then pulls down a rack of movies to the floor as he stands back up. He grunts from the effort.
“Come on, babe, why don’t you come over here? They’re soft, you can feel.”
Crimson is in shock. Everything is wrong. She lunges for the phone. He lurches to the counter before she can get to it. The shirt hides the bra, but his pants are still pooled around his ankles. He smiles at her, but everything handsome in his face is gone. All she sees is paste-white, clammy skin, unfocused eyes, movements that are too exaggerated.
“Please, you have to go,” she whispers.
“What?” he says, leaning his elbows on the counter.
“You have to go,” she says louder.
“Why? Don’t you like me anymore?” There’s an edge to his voice.
“It’s just my boss—there are cameras and he’ll get mad,” she says.
Danny almost falls again. “Oh, okay, I get it, babe. I’ll come back at seven, we can have breakfast at your place.” He winks.
“Sure,” Crimson says.
He bends over and pulls up his pants, which keep falling back down as he tries to walk. He smiles again and waddles to the door before pushing against it.
“See you at seven,” he mumbles.
* * *
Crimson tries to take a deep breath. Her legs feel weak but she forces herself to walk to the front door. She latches the door shut and leans against it, trembling. She can hear Danny out on the road singing.
When his voice fades, she leaves the door. She steps over the movies he scattered. Her vision is blurry. She walks behind the counter, grabs her sketchbook, and rips the picture out, then tears it into pieces. A scream escapes her. She throws the book at the lighter display. Miniature penises fly through air and land on the floor with the movie cases.
Crimson sinks down and holds her arms close to her body. Why does everything lovely transform into a black, churning disaster?
