Peach (2)
by Claire King
I don't see him all day, he's up in his office with the air-con cranked up, working on his papers. But then around 5.25 he starts up like a teenager - sprays on cologne, brushes his teeth, so when she gets in from Kroger he'll be fresh for all the PDAs. He brushes his teeth with hot water; I've seen him. What is that?
Ugh, whatever. She's, like, eight years older than me, and he's getting ready to retire. It's disgusting. Way to go, Dad, Mom would be so proud of you.
They love it when I ‘stay over at my girlfriends'. Petting in privacy in the den, eating take-out, watching her belly grow round. He bought me the car when they found out she was knocked up. My consolation prize.
Today it's the gas station guy. He was a way down the list but he's easy-pickings. I'm early parking up, so I get a soda and stand out front looking like some kind of hooker. But the night's warm and there's a stand of gardenia right by me. Smells like heaven.
He's here at last and playing Springsteen. His eyes light up like a kid on Christmas day when I slide in beside him. He's pleased to see me, all right. Damn it, though, he's taking me to Joe's bar on Lafayette and Tenth. Shit, Joe's seen me here before with the biology teacher that gave me herpes. Nice twist on sex education, you asshole. But Joe's OK. He looks at me funny, then turns away, shaking his head a little, and pours the beers.
I'm a virgin, I tell Gas Station Guy. They love that shit. He holds my hand. He has stubby, rough little fingers. Good. Then I drink my beer and shut up. Gas Station Guy can talk for both of us. I guess not many people listen to him.
Tomorrow morning I'll tell him I'm feeling sick. Headache. He'll give me Tylenol. I'll tell him I don't remember a thing. Then he'll tell me nothing happened, that I was a little drunk, couldn't say where I lived, passed out. The usual. I'll thank him. Then he'll leave for work early, tell me to make myself breakfast, close the door behind me. I won't eat a thing in his crumby kitchen. Gross. But I'll help myself to a little souvenir. I'm a collector.
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Author's Note
Michelle Elvy suggested Peach should have a voice too. Here she is.
This story published on Metazen July '10 (thanks Julie)
Other stories by Claire King
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Great voice, Claire, and I like the way you've turned the story round. I almost feel sorry for the guy now!
Short fiction is so great. It's like going to the zoo. I agree with David: great voice. Fav.
Good story, good lines, bad girl! fav
I like the voice here, the neutral tone that belies the anger perhaps. Nice.
Very nice voice here. And I agree with what Susan wrote: the underlying anger, the early knowledge that manipulating the men around her (who take advantage, or took advantage early on) is the way she gets one over on them, unaware that, ultimately, it will do more damage to her; they will remain unaffected.
Loved the use of Joe the bartender - that's she a regular there. That the bio teacher gave her herpes! Seeing the gas station guy from the reverse perspective - really nice.
Nice job with the voice and consistent point of view, the details are rich, reveal so much with so little, spare and tight prose. Feels like there is a lot going on underneath and I like that. Great job!
What a great spunky character you've made here! She's real and modern and funny and also sad
Peach lives!! Love this, Claire. Such vivid details here, such a portrait in a tiny space. And the even tone -- SG is right, very well played with that tone and all that is happening here. Wonderful!! Fav.
Yes! The give and the get. I read them both. Peach's last line kills and opens the story wider.
Thanks everyone for taking the time to read and comment. You're very kind.
agree with Pia...that last line, perfect!...actually last 2 lines, "But I'll help myself to a little souvenir. I'm a collector." like you flipped a switch, and we get multi-dimensions...what she knows of herself, and what she doesn't.