Andrew Vachss - The Weight

She smiled like she could see the trap I was in.

“You trust me ?” she said, real soft.

“I don’t know you.”

“Now you’re getting the picture, Wilson.” She looked at the clock next to the bed, one of those digital ones; 9:19, it said, a little picture of the moon next to it. “You’re not going to find him tonight, anyway. You need new clothes, a clean phone, and-what else?-some protection you can carry around?”

“No.”

“Think that last one over. This isn’t New York. I can ID you up without ever leaving this house. Then you just walk into a gun shop and pick out one you like.”

“They don’t print you for that?”

“Uh, you think any broad with plastic tits, she’s got to be stupid, is that it?”

“I didn’t say-”

“You think I wanted you to walk into a gun shop? All I was saying, that name you’re under, that person would do it. Get printed. And those prints, they’d come up clean as a vultured body after a month in the desert. Your picture, his prints. Jesus!”

“I don’t know what you know, that means I’m calling you stupid?”

“Forget it. Maybe I’m just… super-sensitive since Albie’s been gone. Anyway, travel throws your rhythm off. You don’t want to be working unless you’re sharp, yes?”

“I’m sharp enough.”

“Just sleep on it, okay? We’ll talk tomorrow.”

Just like prison . I couldn’t keep that out of my head. They’re always telling you that you made bad choices. And then they put you in a place where all your choices are bad.

That digital clock said 11:24, with a little blinking picture of the sun next to it. I’d been sleeping a long time. But except for that little clock, there was no way to tell.

I took a quick shower, put on clean clothes, and walked down to where the kitchen was.

She was there. Sitting on one of those padded bar stools, watching another flat-screen. I didn’t know there even was one in there; you had to open a couple of the cabinet doors to see it.

I took some more of her special water out of the refrigerator, sat down, and drank from the bottle, mixing it with bites of three power bars. Chewing real slow, like you’re supposed to.

“You people eat special food?”

“What ‘people’?”

“You know, like weightlifters or bodybuilders or whatever you are.”

“I’m not any of those.”

“That body built itself?” She kind of sneered, as she cupped one of her boobs and jiggled it.

I closed my eyes. Kept chewing and swallowing, chewing and swallowing.

“I hurt your feelings?”

“No,” I told her. “But you’re a bad listener.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you answer your own questions.”

“That’s what happens when nobody else will.”

“You actually want to know? You really give a rat’s ass about me not being a weightlifter or a bodybuilder?”

“I always want to know things. New things, I mean.”

More fucking word games , I thought. But I figured, if I want to ever get a look at Albie’s books, see if the one Solly wants is in there, I have to go along. So I told her: “A weightlifter, he’s trying for the most he can lift. He don’t care how he looks. Could have a belly on him like a wrecking ball, it wouldn’t matter. Power-lifters, they’re pretty much the same, only they do different kinds of lifts. It’s all about how much weight you can rack up, not how many times you can do it. But bodybuilders, all they care about is how they look. Weightlifters, they talk about leverage, position, driving the bar. Bodybuilders, it’s all about definition. The look. How you’re cut. Vascularity.”

“What?”

“The more the veins pop out, the better. That’s why they shave.”

“Everywhere? Like… girls do?”

“Everyplace that shows. They put tan on, too. Not in the booths-that’s bad for you-like a lotion.”

“Are they all fags?”

“I don’t know. I guess it’s the same everywhere. Some are, some aren’t.”

“But you’re not either?”

“What are you-? Wait, you mean, how come I’m not a weightlifter or a bodybuilder, right?”

“Sure,” she said, flashing a big smile. She had perfect teeth.

“They’re both all about… competition, I guess. It’s not about lifting weight; it’s about who can lift the most weight. The bodybuilders, they have contests, too. Those are about how they look. Like beauty contests.”

“And you don’t like to compete?”

“What for?”

“I don’t know. I mean, people compete all the time, don’t they? Women do, anyway. When I walk through the mall, I’ll bet there’s more women checking out my ass than men. Why do you think that is?”

“Men don’t spend that much time in malls?”

She walked over to where I was sitting, stood over me, hands on her hips. “That was very sweet.”

“I wasn’t trying to-”

“That’s what made it sweet, stupid.”

I only had a little of the last power bar left. I chewed it, making it last.

“You need special food?”

“Not special. Just not certain kinds of stuff.”

She walked over to the counter, grabbed a pad and a pen, and sat down next to me.

“Give me a list.”

“Do they have, like, a GNC store around here?”

“They’ve got Florida State University, Wilson.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Don’t follow football, huh?”

“No.”

“What I’m saying, this town is lousy with athletes. Every kind you can think of. Besides, I’m used to tracking down food. Albie, it had to be glatt kosher. You know what that is?”

“Jewish food?”

“Extra- Jewish food, yes. Now, come on, give me that list. I have to go out shopping anyway.”

“I’ll go with-”

“Let me show you something first.”

“This must have cost a fortune,” I told her. The place looked like a Nautilus showroom, a different machine for everything. Plus all kinds of free weights. Jump ropes, pull-up bars. A shower next to a wood-and-stone sauna. Even a lap pool.

“You’re not so far off. After Albie had his first heart attack, I had this built. Not that I could ever get him to really use it or anything-he’d just sit there and watch me work.”

“You-”

“Six days a week, honey. It’s different for women. For us, the competition never stops. You might not always get a medal, but, you come in last too many times, you end up out of the next race.”

“That doesn’t sound fair.”

“Aw, poor baby,” she said, in a sad little voice, making sure I knew it was fake.

“Not fair to Albie, I was saying.”

“What!”

“You’re a gorgeous girl. But there’s no way you look the same as you did twenty years ago, right?”

“Don’t be so sure,” she said, sticking out her chest again, like she was selling implants.

“The man stayed with you twenty years. He didn’t leave you, he died, right?”

“Right.”

“And he had a ton of money.”

“He did.”

“So how are you being fair to him, talking about all this competition stuff?”

She made some sound I couldn’t understand, then just turned around and kind of stomped out.

The machines were incredible. Better than I’d ever used. Took me only a few minutes, and I had it down. Thirty minutes on, ten off. Three times.