Lindsay Hunter: Ugly Girls

They looked at each other. Myra saw how his cleft lip made it difficult to keep his lips shut all the way, how his eyes moved quick, taking everything in, green but for a big brown spot in the right one. Finally he looked away.

“Well,” he said. “I better get going.”

Myra almost shouted Aha! , she was so pleased with herself for calling it.

“Thanks for the beers.” He got up, smoothed down his jeans, straightened his shirt. Such pride, Myra thought, in his rags. It felt good to think it.

“Stop by anytime,” she told him, tipped her beer. She felt surprised to realize that she meant it.

At the door he turned and said, “You think about those twinkle lights.”

“I will,” Myra said, the screen door snapping to.

She listened to see if he remembered to take his gun. Only now did she realize she’d been aware of it out there the whole time, keeping her mind tuned to it like she would if it was a feral cat that could speak her name. Like it might grow legs and walk in, right up to her, and spit in her face.

THEY ROLLED THE RED MAZDA out of the gravel driveway. The owner had left the keys balanced nice and sweet on the back left tire. A gift. Baby Girl listened to the same GBE song again and again, like she was trying to convince herself she was as bold as the hard thumping beats rattling the windows, like her tank was empty and she was filling it right back up. The bass was so loud it made the car feel like a vise, squeezing tighter with each beat. What Perry wouldn’t give for a song featuring an actual instrument.

They stopped for French fries at Denny’s. Baby Girl went to the bathroom, came back with her lip liner refreshed, looking to Perry like a batty old lady who forgot to fill her lips in. It had started a few months ago, this outlining, and Perry never got the nerve to tell her. Baby Girl had pale red hair, orange really, the same color freckles, no eyelashes to speak of, and blue eyes set against a lightningscape of red. A body best described as solid . Baby Girl showing evidence of any kind of vanity was a miracle and so Perry left it be.

“Yo, can we get some menus?” Baby Girl called out.

A waitress in a short brown wig wheeled around from where she was taking a man’s order. Two penciled brows looking like wobbly cartoon frowns above her eyes. “In a minute ,” she snapped. The man had a mesh hat balanced atop his head, dark tinted glasses. Thin frowning mouth like his was penciled in too.

Baby Girl had her mouth open like she was about to say something back, but Perry didn’t feel like starting. “Shoot, try me?” Baby Girl muttered. She had decided it wasn’t worth it, was letting it go, and Perry felt her body sag a little in relief. Her eyes felt dry as rocks. She was starting to long for her bed earlier and earlier lately.

A boy with a mop and bucket appeared, pushing through the doors from the kitchen. Perry recognized him from her math class. Short blond hair, strong arms, brown eyes. A boy her momma would call real clean-cut the same way someone else would say This steak is nice and juicy. Perry had once dreamed about him. She was chasing him through a forest, holding a spear. Myra would have liked that. She put a lot of faith in what dreams could tell a person about her life, but Perry had always felt that dreams were just random collections of stuff that bored you plus stuff that quaked your soul with desire or shame.

“Travis,” she called to him, before she even realized she knew his name.

Baby Girl turned around to see who she was talking to. “Oh shit ,” she said under her breath. “You think he saw the Mazda?”

Perry ignored her. She had to peel her thighs off the vinyl booth seat, and as she walked over to talk to him she wondered if they were red, if they looked like she had sat on the toilet for too long. She wished she hadn’t had the thought, knew she must look bright red as well as sweaty to him. Did she care? That was the question.

“Oh, hey,” Travis said. He looked at her like it took all he had to allow his eyes a glance.

“I didn’t know you worked here,” she said.

“Oh yeah,” he said, looking around, like he’d just remembered where he was. “Trying to make some money.” He stared at his shoes, black plastic clogs.

“Nice shoes,” Perry told him.

“I have to wear these,” he said quietly, like she had accused him of something. But Perry had just wanted to make him laugh. “No,” she said, “they really are nice.” It came out sounding even meaner. She had that thing where the sweeter she tried to sound, the more it came off like bullshit.

“Nice seeing you,” he said, and pushed his mop into a roped-off part of the dining room. He had a bleach stain on the back of his shirt the shape of a splattered kidney.

Perry walked back to the table. Baby Girl had been watching the whole thing, her face split in two, dead eyes, wide grin.

“Damn,” Baby Girl said, “that guy thinks you’re a bitch.”

Perry watched Travis push the mop, back and forth, truly cleaning. He was a hard worker, it was clear. She knew if it was her with the mop she’d push it back and forth a couple times and call it a day. But if he was watching her she’d try harder, if only to make him think she could work hard like him. She cared what he’d think of her, suddenly there it was, put in front of her like a plate of pancakes. She could feel the spear in her hand, the warmth heading south. She wondered did her lips look dry, did she have sleep crusted in her eyes, did she look ugly to him?

He never once turned to look at her, just pushed the mop right through the swinging doors to the kitchen.

The waitress came over, staring at her pad instead of at them. They ordered without menus because all they wanted was French fries, and because the waitress wasn’t offering menus anyway. Baby Girl made a point to use her name. “And some ranch for dipping, Pam .” She always went the extra mile to give someone shit. Which, Perry realized, made her the Travis of assholes, only instead of a mop she had her mouth.

Denny’s was always where it all caught up with her. She could feel exhaustion closing over her like a heavy drape. It was the sitting still, the eating, the bright lights. Travis still hadn’t come back out from the kitchen. Perry wondered if he was the one doing the cooking. Did he spit in the fryer, like she would have done? She found herself hoping he had.

They left the waitress two quarters for a tip. Baby Girl fixed them to the table with a wad of gum that had been chewed colorless. In the parking lot she was chewing again, always obsessed with the smell of her breath. Perry didn’t know how she could be so concerned with her breath and so unconcerned with the goblin she kept drawing on her face.

The Denny’s was just a short coast off the highway, and they had to talk loud to hear each other over the roaring inhale and exhale of traffic. “One more?” Baby Girl asked. Already her lip was beaded with sweat, and it made her look like a child who’d just taken a sloppy drink of something. Perry shook her head so she wouldn’t have to yell. She wanted to go home but knew Baby Girl wasn’t ready, knew they’d need to drive the Mazda up the highway, back down it, like two dummies trying to get a screeching baby to sleep. A screeching Baby Girl.

They drove over to the Walmart to do doughnuts in the employee parking lot. Baby Girl had once filled out an application to work there. They’d gone in to check on the status later that week and Baby Girl told the greeter to suck her dick. Now her applying for the job had become a joke, something she laughed at when telling the story, like she never really meant it. But Perry knew she had meant it, had worn nice black pants and a white blouse to apply. With Baby Girl it was two steps forward and a day’s worth of walking backward.