Lindsay Hunter - Ugly Girls

Anyway , she told herself.

The Denny’s smelled like syrup and bacon and bleach. The same waitress, Pam, moving from table to table. Perry sat at the counter.

“What you got a taste for, hon?” Pam asked. It didn’t seem like she remembered Perry. It was likely people came in at all hours and gave her shit, their faces all blurred together, a tapestry of assholes. Perry felt grateful that she could drop her guard.

“Coffee,” she said.

“Mm-hmm, and?”

“And that’s it,” Perry said.

“You still got to tip at least fifteen percent,” Pam told her. “Sometimes you young kids don’t seem to know that.” She put a cup and saucer in front of Perry, poured coffee into the cup so quick that it sloshed over the side. “Cream and sugar right there,” she said, pointing.

Perry knew the thug code meant she should say something back, something that’d stop Pam in her tracks, something that might even get herself tossed out, but it felt like a lot, coming up with the right thing to say and then delivering it with just enough acid. Without Baby Girl there, it didn’t seem worth it.

“Whatever,” she said, but the waitress was already at the other end of the counter, helping an old man choose between waffles and pancakes. Perry decided now was the time, got up and walked around the counter and through the metal double doors into the kitchen.

Travis was leaning up against the sink, holding his math book with both hands, staring at it like he was watching a horror movie play out. A fat man with white hair trapped under a hairnet was at the stove moving eggs around. “Hey,” he said, pointing his spatula at Perry. “This is definitely not the ladies’ room. You ain’t supposed to be back here.”

Travis looked up. At first it was like he didn’t recognize her, but then he closed his book and walked quickly over. “Hey,” he said. “You really shouldn’t be back here.”

“I know,” Perry said. “I wanted to see you.”

Travis looked back at the man in the hairnet, now with his hands on his hips, the spatula held tight at his waist. His apron looked diseased, pocked with brown flecks. “I’ll walk you out,” Travis said. He held one of the metal doors open, waiting for her to follow. She followed him back through the dining room — Pam helping a couple with a baby now — and out through the front doors. She tried to check her reflection in the glass of one of those claw vending machines, but he was holding the door, watching.

In the parking lot they stood facing each other, he in the circle of light from one of the old-timey streetlamps and Perry in the dark just outside of it.

“What are you saving money for?” Perry asked. Her voice felt muffled by the traffic, the endless hum of the traffic and the lights and her own heart in her ears.

“Huh?”

“The first time I saw you here you said you were saving money.”

“Oh,” Travis said, and was quiet, considering his answer. “Actually, my mom lost her job, and all she could get was part-time work, so I got this job to help out.”

Myra had never asked Perry to get a job. Jim had mentioned it once or twice but more as a way for Perry to grow up a little, not because they needed the money. She felt sorry for Travis, but not in the same way she felt sorry for Matt, with his plump, sweaty back and his eager eyes and his cheeks full of zits. She felt sorry that Travis had to do shit he didn’t want to do, that his back was against the wall. She wanted more than ever to put her hands on him, make him feel like something was worth it.

“Did you hear what I said, earlier?” Perry asked him.

“You said you wanted to see me,” he said.

“Oh.”

“For what?”

Perry wasn’t prepared for that. Usually if you told a boy you wanted to see him the rest just fell into place, like dominoes. Just had to tip that one piece, no more effort than the flick of a finger.

So instead of answering, Perry asked him, “Are you bad at math?”

“What? I don’t know, it ain’t my best subject, I guess.” He edged aside, out of the light.

“Me, too.”

In the dark his face seemed kinder. Perry wondered what he thought of her face, if he thought of her face. “You think I’m pretty?” she asked.

“Of course,” he said, quickly. He took a step back, to get into the light, but he only made it halfway. He’d definitely thought of her face.

“Good,” she told him. She walked forward, fast, so he wouldn’t have the chance to get away. Kissed him, or tried to, her lips landing on the side of his mouth. She kept her face close to his. He smelled like bleach, and like he’d had a soda not too long prior. She wasn’t looking to start something with him, right there in the parking lot, she now saw that as clear as crystal. But what was it, then? She couldn’t straighten it out, just knew she wanted to be near him.

“Thank you for saying I’m pretty,” she whispered. She hoped her breath was all right, wished she carried gum or mints with her like Baby Girl always did.

“You know you are,” he said. He put his hands on her shoulders, and for a second Perry almost thanked him for that, too, here it was, here was the giving in. But instead of drawing her nearer he pushed off, backed up. “I got to get back inside,” he said. “Nice seeing you.” He jogged backward, turned when he got to the door. Perry watched him, his white shirt and black pants against all that yellow light, until he rounded the corner to the kitchen and was gone.

Two men in paint-splattered coveralls came out of the Denny’s, the taller man picking his teeth. Perry guessed theirs was the green truck in the parking lot. The highway sounded like rain when it came down hard on the roof of the trailer. So many cars. The thought of walking back seemed like an eternity Perry didn’t have to spend. She leaned up against the truck. They’d surely give her a ride, she wouldn’t even have to ask. She hated asking.

PERRY IS SIGNED OFF.

Jamey hoped it was a mistake, Perry being unavailable to him for so long, hoped her Internet had just fritzed. He checked and he checked again. Still no Perry. He knew it was Dayna’s fault, knew she couldn’t keep those big nasty lips closed.

His momma lolled, he could see the rumpled white flesh at the tops of her thighs. He felt like Fuck her , only which her he meant he wasn’t sure. Both. His momma would be waking soon, and damned if he could find it in himself to be there to answer when she asked did she look pretty, not for a momma but for a woman. He couldn’t say, Of course, Momma , not one more time. He texted Dayna, Why u letting your freinds read ur texts? because fuck her, he let the door slam behind him on his way out because fuck her, he walked over to Perry’s trailer because fuck her, fuck her, fuck her.

Her momma was drinking a beer, flicking from site to site on the computer. Her sandal dangled from her toe. Jamey could tell she had once been a beautiful woman, the delicate way she rolled her ankle, the way she held her back so straight and sure. He might have turned his attentions to her if she’d been younger. Now her skin, though pale and without the veins that inched along his own momma’s legs like the legs of some insect, looked worked over. Like dough that hadn’t been kneaded, like her flesh might lose its hold, become a pile. Perry was perfect. The right age, the right look, so beautiful and mean. Jamey wanted to hold it in his hands, whatever it was. Sometimes he wanted to crush it in his hands. That couldn’t be helped.

And there was Perry’s picture. Myra was on her Facebook page. She scrolled a bit. Perry always had tons of new shit on her wall. If Myra looked at his Facebook page there wouldn’t be nothing to see. Other people had new stuff happening all the time, new photos at least, but that was too dangerous for him. The only good photo of himself he had was the one he used, and it was of the back of his head. Choosing that photo felt like a sign of good luck now, something he finally did right.