Lindsay Hunter - Ugly Girls

A woman came in asking for baby wipes. At the counter she apologized, she only had quarters to pay with. Myra took them, dropped them into the tray, didn’t even try to stack them. She felt something give, right then. It was just easier, not having to pretend like everything was finally wonderful. She threw the rag away, and that felt good, too.

JAMEY THREW THE BAG of doughnuts out the window of his momma’s car. He could still feel the wax coating his mouth from the bite he’d taken earlier. Perry’s momma was a freak. That farty smell coming off her: the beer seeping out her pores. The way she asked him questions that fed him the answers she wanted from him. And to see me? But it had paid off, he knew where Perry was, knew why Dayna hadn’t ever texted him. They were busted, sitting in a holding cell, waiting on Daddy Jim to come save them. Probably watching some nasty hooker on the toilet. He pictured Dayna crying, her face in her shirt, and Perry refusing to meet anyone’s eye, refusing to eat what food they pushed at her.

He felt closer to Perry than ever. It wasn’t just coincidence that he was there when the call came in. He was meant to be there, meant to be staring into her momma’s tired eyes as the news was delivered. They shared something now, he and Perry. He wondered did she feel the same helpless rage at being caged in, the same dedication to showing the guards she wasn’t no idiot, saw right through them, was the smart one in the bunch. He was willing to bet that she did.

But she’d only be in there a few hours. And what with Jim being her daddy she’d probably never face charges, either. Jamey pulled into the parking lot out front of the courthouse. The holding cells were in the basement. He parked his car under a tree, the shade across his windshield, hiding him, so he could watch them come through the door.

And here was Jim now, walking out the doors, his hand on the back of his neck. No Perry, no Dayna. He watched Jim all the way till he was in his truck, all the way till he drove out of the parking lot, signaled, and was gone.

So maybe he did leave them there, after all, like Perry’s momma had said. Left them there to think about what they done, stew in it overnight. Only then did Jamey recognize the relief he felt: He wouldn’t have to decide whether to get out, pull his hat low, walk right past Jim. Dare him. The front of his pants got tight. Pretty soon he’d have to see about that.

BABY GIRL HAD SHAVED the rest of her head. Had taken cloth scissors and a men’s razor in an orange plastic shell off the shelves, had walked into the back, into the employee bathroom, and set to work. What a stupid fucking thing to do. Real dramatic. And she’d even looked right at the lady at the pharmacy counter, saw the lady begin to smile, saw her notice the scissors and the razor, saw her face melt into the tired recognition that something wasn’t right. Knew she’d been seen, kept walking anyway. Stupid.

But in the moment it had felt right, had felt like something that could scare people. Herself, even.

And now she had gotten what she asked for. She was scared. She and Perry were in a cell with three other women. Grown women. One of them was flat on her back, one arm across her eyes, her skirt bunched up so you could see that she wasn’t wearing no underwear. What she had down there was bald also. Swollen and red. Mean.

It hadn’t taken long, that was another shock. Just three chunky snips with the scissors, then a handful of neatly mown rows with the razor. Baby Girl had watched her own face as she worked, but nothing was all that different. Except she could see more of her face, there wasn’t no hiding it. Her lips outlined in brown, like someone had taped a drawing of lips to her face. Like she was mouth first, everything else second. Her phone had gone off, a text coming in. She knew it was probably Perry, impatient as always, ready to go on to the next thing. But there wasn’t no plan, Baby Girl didn’t have no ideas. She’d cashed in her one big idea moments ago, her hair just a pile now, something she could leave behind. And then someone had banged on the door.

“Look,” Perry said. She and Baby Girl were on their asses in the corner, so nothing and no one could get behind them. Perry nudged her, cocked her chin at the lady on her back.

“I fucking saw,” Baby Girl whispered, shaking Perry’s hand off her arm. When she’d gotten into the car next to Perry she’d seen that Perry was heaving, trying to cry, a sight she hadn’t ever seen before. It felt like a gift or something, knowing Perry could feel bad enough to cry. Or at least to want to cry. I texted Jim , she’d said, her voice a screechy whisper.

But now there wasn’t no sign of tears, fake or not. Perry had even managed to clean up all the mascara she’d rubbed into rings around her eyes, and it came to Baby Girl that the crying was just Perry feeling sorry for herself, not nothing deeper than that.

It had been a black cop at the door. “Make yourself decent and open this fucking door,” he’d said. When Baby Girl opened the door she saw that he looked nicer than he sounded, and that he had pinkish bubbles in a cluster on one cheek. Zits. “I was going to clean this shit up,” she told him, but it didn’t matter, he took her by the elbow. Yanked her through the store.

“It fucking smells,” Perry said. A homeless woman was in a lump in the corner, brown all over. The cell smelled like Charles when he forgot to wipe. Earlier a cockroach had come running out from behind her. Perry had smashed it with the heel of her foot, kicked it under the cot.

“You two whores?” This came from the third woman in the cell. She’d been braiding and unbraiding her hair, over and over, leaning against the bars. Bruises all over her legs and arms. “You two seem young, but then again I seen it all. You wouldn’t believe it if I told you.” The strap to her top kept falling down. If it could even be called a top. It was more like a dingy suggestion, an attempt.

“Yeah, we are,” Perry said.

The woman on her back took her arm away from her eyes, propped herself up on her elbows. “No you ain’t,” she said.

“How you know?” Perry asked.

“Yeah, how you know?” Baby Girl said. She felt naked, revealed, sitting in this cell with her bald head. She’d expected it to grant her power, like a crystal ball or some shit. She couldn’t let these women take over.

“You ever put your toe in a guy’s asshole?” the woman on her back asked.

“You ever let a guy twist your arm behind your back while you’re doing it?” the lady at the bars asked. “You ever let a guy use a flashlight on you?”

The woman on her back pushed up into a sitting position. “You ever been stabbed in the thigh and pretend to the next guy that you just on your period?”

“Jesus Christ,” Baby Girl said. She couldn’t help it. The women laughed, even the brown lump.

“How much?” the lady at the bars asked.

“How much what?” Perry asked.

“How much you charge? How much you do?”

“We do everything,” Perry said. “Rates start at twenty-five to touch it.”

The women laughed again. “Y’all must be poor as shit then,” the woman at the bars said. “Ain’t no one going to pay that much just for you to touch it .” Her voice got whiny, imitating Perry.

“They do if you pretend like you twelve,” the lady on the floor said. “That what y’all do? Show up sucking on a lollipop and twirling your hair and calling them Daddy?”

“This one don’t even have no hair,” the lump said.

“She makes more than I do,” Perry said. “Because she’s like a boy-girl. They love that shit.”

“I’ll bet,” the lump answered, and all the women laughed.