Pushing Her Buttons

An apathetic young man finds a terrible day can become a much worse night when the woman who loved him retaliates with an expected vengeance.

I FELT ABOUT AS WELCOME as the cold rain falling outside my boss's window that Monday morning. Steve slid my final paycheck across his desk. "Sorry, Melvin. We're over-staffed, over the budget."

   I picked up the check and raised an eyebrow at the amount of severance. "And under-paid," I said.

   Steve smiled, said, "Aren't we all."

   I smiled back, but would rather have put my fist through Steve's pearly whites. I didn't though, because I was comfortable enough in the moment thinking of Steve as something remnant, useless, like the pile I'd flushed away that morning. Yeah, that's the vision I had of him--the ultimate piece of crap.

   "Tried to leave a voicemail Friday after work..." Steve said. He cleared his throat. "...so you wouldn't come in today. Your girlfriend, Jenny, picked up as I finished leaving you a message. I didn't repeat myself or tell her anymore. I just asked her to have you call back and that was it."

   "Steve, how can you do this and blind-side me, toss me out like garbage?" Steve wasn't interested in my pity party or telling me the real reason why he had fired me. He just sat there quietly with a glazed glare in his eyes, looking at me as if I was yesterday's newspaper.

   After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, he finally said, "Business is business."

   "But I've been here for five years. Any chance for a transfer to Atlanta..." I held up the check. "...before I cash this?"

   Steve avoided my question. He leaned back in his chair, looked through the glass wall of his office and smiled at Melanie, the young receptionist he'd been seeing for the past month...the same young lady I'd had a great time seducing at last year's Christmas party (and many times afterward)--on top of the very desk where Steve and I sat.

   She was the real reason Steve was canning me. I was sure of it. Said she'd "do me in" if I didn't keep seeing her because our time together was "real love".

   I told her it wasn't real and it was over.

   She cried and when she could cry no more, she said to me, "Sleep with one eye open". I called her bluff that day.

   She called my girlfriend that night.

   Steve winked at Melanie. She blushed and looked my way. I blew her a mock kiss and followed it with the finger. Steve didn't see my raised finger, but he did see the evil grin smeared across my face. And I was grinning big because like I said, it was my moment and I was thinking how great it would be, to be back on top of Melanie at that very moment, thrusting, looking down wild-eyed into her serpent-green eyes, saying real loud, maybe even screaming out in front of the whole office, "Take that, Boss. Yeah, take it all and enjoy it, you jerk."

   Daydreaming over, I turned to Steve, said, "Well, Boss, how 'bout that transfer?"

   Steve soured his face and gave me a pissed-off look. I knew my career was over without a doubt when he said, "Let's stop, now," and then pointed at the office door. "Atlanta's out. You gotta go." I was half-out that door when I heard him say, "By the way, Jenny called this morning looking for you."

   "For what?"

   "She said to stay out of the bars, don't forget to pick-up her friend Becka at the airport, and the condo rent is due."

  

I called my sister. "How about a place for me to stay, Sis?"

 "Times are tough, little brother," she said on the phone. Her words trailed to silence, then she yelled, "Get the heck outside and don't come back in!" Silence again, she laughed, said, "Sorry 'bout that. My kids are driving me crazy."

   "Well, how about it, Sis? You got room, right?"

   My sister's voice dropped an octave. "Let me talk with Joel."

   I said, "Joel? But, it's your house." I knew my sister loved me without question, but her boyfriend, Joel, was like the day I was having--screwed-up. I knew the answer he'd give so I told her, "Don't worry 'bout it, Sis."

   "You sure? Not a problem for me to ask him."

   "Yeah, I'm sure. Sorry to have bothered you. Talk to you later." I started to hang-up, but my sister yelled again. Not at her kids. At me. "Yeah, Sis?"

   "She called this morning. Said you didn't pick up her friend Becka at the airport. Wants her car back, the rent money, and her condo key."

   "Sorry she's bothering you, Sis."

   "Don't apologize. Just give her what she's owed."

   "The car maybe. That's hers. But noth'n outta my pocket"

   "Take care then 'cause that girl, Jenny, don't get mad--she gets even."

   "I'll be careful, promise. And I'll drop by soon."

   "No, don't. Don't dare came 'round here. Not 'til you make good with her."

   "I can't. She's acting crazy right now."

   "I know. Something scary in her voice. She's gonna hurt you, Melvin, real bad-like. Don't want her 'round my kids. Ever."

I thought about my sister's last words as I drove in a daze for hours, wandering, meandering my way down the city streets until just before sunset. The rain had stopped, the sun was low but bright, and the streets were mean with hungry traffic as I sat at a red light. Ahead and to my left a familiar neon sign, in the shape of a martini glass, flashed pink and blue, a beacon for a private bar known as Zelma's. I knew I'd be safe there...at least for awhile

   I was a card-carrying regular at Zelma's place. Her outside windows were silvered, offering privacy, but reflecting, doubling the view of cars, buses, and pedestrians. I was admiring my reflection on the mirrored wall, amused that the traffic I was sitting in looked more like Manhattan's rather than a small Southern city's, when I spotted an unwelcome face. It was Parnell, Jenny's brother. He was to my front right, leaning against a light pole, hands in his pockets, cigarette dangling from the side of his mouth. He eyeballed me behind the wheel of Jenny's car, tossed the smoke and dashed for the crosswalk leading right to Zelma's front door, just as she was busting the balls on some riff-raff and having him tossed out on his ear.

   "Membership's revoked. No soliciting. Rules are posted!" Zelma yelled from the club's open door. The guy picked himself up from the sidewalk and ran past Parnell in the middle of the traffic-filled intersection. The light turned green. I popped the gas pedal, did a quick left then hard right turn and pulled Jenny's black Continental into Zelma's back parking lot.

   I wasn't worried about an encounter with Jenny or Parnell at Zelma's as I walked toward her back door. Jenny hated bars. It was the one place you'd never find her. And as far as Parnell, well, he might weasel his way into Zelma's, but he wouldn't be staying. If he wanted a membership he'd have to be sponsored. I was the only person he knew in the place, and I wasn't about sponsoring any guy who wanted to stomp my guts out. Besides, he had to be OK'd by the bartender on-duty and it was Brien who was behind the bar that day. Brien didn't appreciate a dimwit, a poor one at that, and given Parnell had a reputation for having the likeability of a vulture, he was already doomed. Plain and simple. Done deal.

   The back door and bright day closed behind me as I walked into Zelma's. It was dark inside so I blinked repeatedly to get rid of bright sun still trapped behind my eyeballs and ended up blindly bumping an old guy named Norm playing a wall-mount computer poker machine. He recognized me, said, "Hey, I overheard Brien tell Zelma your girlfriend called earlier looking for you."

   "Oh, yeah? Can't imagine why."

   Norm raised an eyebrow. "Don't play coy with me, Melvin. I heard you didn't pick-up her friend at the airport and you have her car. She wants it back plus the month's rent and the chump change you didn't bring back last night when she sent you out for the kitty food you never came back with." Norm leaned away as if I was contagious with bad luck and might contaminate his mojo, ruin his odds at the poker machine. He scrunched his face until it looked like a fist and then shook his head in disgust. "She's right, you know."

   "About what?"

   "About taking care of business."

   "And what's it matter to you, Old Man?" Norm turned on his stool, narrowed his eyes at me, gave me this piercing look like I was the biggest dip he'd ever squared eyes on. In the poker machine's hazy light, I could see my reflection bounce off his glasses, the ones with lenses thick enough to sight some distant galaxy. Seeing my double bothered me for just a second, as if the guy looking back might come to life, jump out, make my life twice as miserable. Norm didn't answer my question. He just shrugged his shoulders, turned back to his crack machine, taking his addiction and my twin with him. "No answer, Norm?"

   Norm didn't lift his eyes from the flashing screen, just mumbled, "Don't matter to me, but it should to you."

   "Wa'cha you mean by that?"

   "You don't have to be no Scout to have honor, you putz. Just take care of the women in your life and they'll take care of you. That's what being a real man is about--taking care of business. Get it, Jerk?"

   "Got it. Take care of the booty. Uh-huh, yeah. Right."

   "We'll see," Norm said. He tapped a fingertip to the poker screen. His digital cards lined up perfect-as-you-please. Royal Flush. It was a zodiac day, a payday for the old guy. He smiled, said to me, "Hey, tell Zelma she owes me a hundred bucks."

   Norm may as well have been talking to the wall because I wasn't about to mention money to any woman I owed and I owed Zelma. Big time. Big tab. From last week.

   I greeted Brien with a wave as I sat down at the bar. He came over and shook a finger at me. "You're a wanted man. Somebody's looking for you."

   "I know, I heard. Jenny, right?"

   "No." Brien pointed to his right. "Him." Parnell was sitting in a booth near the front door, busy penning a membership application, evidently too busy to even look up and see me.

   "You gonna let him stay, Brien?"

   "You sponsoring him?"

    I shook my head no. Brien nodded, moved to the other end of the bar, began talking to Zelma when she saw my smiling mug. She waved, smiled back, but it was a smile that disappeared quickly when Brien mentioned my past-due tab. I didn't like being put on the spot and in that moment, I didn't like Brien. But, I knew my embarrassment would soon pass and Brien would again be what he'd always been to me: a southern gentleman who gave a decent pour of whiskey, made mundane talk seem interesting and loved his Pit Bull more than people.

   I fished for the paycheck in my shirt pocket, held it out to Brien. "Can I settle-up with this?" He didn't answer or even look me in the eye. He was staring over my shoulder at something behind me.

   "Sure you can," I heard a familiar voice say. Parnell was at my back, less than an arms-length away. "I'll take that check and the car keys," he said. I bit my lower lip because it was all I could do to not slam my right elbow backward into Parnell's face, but I had an option and he was behind the bar.

   "Brien, I gotta a problem."

   Brien had turned away and had his apron pulled up, twisting it into a shot glass. "Yeah, Melvin, what is it?"

   I hooked my thumb backward over my shoulder. "This bandit is out to rob me. I'm a member, he's not, and he's gotta go."

   I breathed a sigh of relief as the door closed behind Parnell and the other two boys waiting outside for him--and me. I knew I'd be safe for a while-that is, until Parnell and my old friends the Haley twins, Lonnie and Wendell, got a hold of me. They'd wait me out, come day or night, and when they cornered me, they'd take me someplace real quiet-like...

...and kick the crap out of me.

   And all because they could. My demise at their hands would have nothing to do with owing Jenny money or having her car, forgetting Becka at the airport, or those felines I let starve. No, it was all about the pleasure those boys would get seeing me piss my pants as they repeatedly slammed something like a two-by-four upside my skull and then leave me bleeding in a sewer-filled ditch. I grew up with those three thugs and Jenny, knowing not only would they come for me, without fail, if I ever did them dirty, but they'd also have no sense of guilt or mercy when blood other than their own was flowing in the streets or a back alley.

   I knew I'd sinned and would end up, sure as hell, paying a terrible price. Justice sometimes fails in other parts of the world, but not here. Not in the South 

 Brien cashed my check, handed me change. "Zelma's closed your tab privileges, Melvin. Cash only, up front, as you drink. Sorry."

   "I understand. And thanks for covering my backside."

   Brien pointed at the tip jar. "My pleasure. Just thank me there."

   The sleepy-eyed woman sitting to my right, I thought I remembered her name. Began with a--? D? Debra? Deidra? Delilah? No, it was Diana. I was sure of it. "How's it going, Diana?"

   The woman swirled ice cubes in her glass, looked sideways at me. "It's Deana, you moron," she said.

   "How's it going, Deana?" She gave me a blank stare as if I were the smoke trailing off the end of her cigarette.

   "Blow off," she said. Deana turned her back to me, but when I refused to move to another seat, she looked back over her shoulder at me and told me, "All you guys make chit-chat so you can get a piece of me and after you jump my bones, you can't even remember my name--the one my mama gave me." She turned her back to me again, her attention fixed on the overhead TV, a depressing yellow banner trailing its bottom with a message informative yet without humanity or emotion, simply the play-by-play scorecard of a thankless world.

   I tried to speak, maybe even give a less-than-heartfelt apology for bothering Deana, but my words were cut short by her lecturing me about sizing her up with just my eyes, taking in only the measurements of her hips and breasts and not the intelligence she carried higher up. I tried to tune her out, thinking to myself that bars are just about the only place (other than airport terminals) where people will sit and stare, entranced at a TV screen with no sound-sometimes for hours-at all the bullshit and chaos of a world tearing itself apart. And I thought, too, Deana was probably some poor helpless soul who changed bedpans for a living, wiped the butts of the infirmed and near-dead, and who preferred only the company of other women. "My mistake, Deana," I said, as I stood and headed for the front door to take a peek outside at the three-ring circus awaiting my audition.

   Parnell and those Haley boys stood across the street, smoking, joking, and leering at people, particularly the ladies, as they walked past. Lonnie caught a glimpse of me, elbowed Parnell, yelled across the street at me, "Come on over here, Melvin, so we can have a word of prayer and hold hands with you, you coward."

   I didn't dare step outside and let the security door to Zelma's close and lock behind me. I knew the code to get back in, but those three boys could streak across in a flash, be all over me like a pack of hungry lions--well before I could punch in the last number to freedom. Yeah, those boys brains combined might have no more intelligence than that of a fence post, but they were all mean-a*s fast and the kind who'd leave you a drooling, brain-wacked mess for somebody else to spoon feed the rest of your crippled-for-life days. Some folks might've said they were sociopaths, maybe even psychopaths while others might've said they were simply delinquents, but I knew in my heart they were boys you couldn't diagnose--couldn't cure; mean is mean, and that's all those boys had ever known. If somebody needed to be beat up, cut up, ripped up, tore up, pissed on, crapped on, stomped, hammered, or kicked, they were there, ready and willing to make their life a living hell. That's what they lived for. Goddamn animals was about the simplest way to describe them. No Sir, no Ma'am. I wasn't about to step out that door. I liked breathing.

   I closed the door and headed back to my seat. The young woman sitting to my left, the one I'd yet to talk with, held up an empty wine glass to Brien. "'Noth'a one, Honey." She pointed at me. "And give this good looking guy a drink, too. On me."

   I walked over, thanked her, started small talk with her. Told her my name. She gave a polite smile, told me how much she loved red wine. "Closest thing to the color and taste of blood," she said, swirling the last bit of Merlot in a glass rimmed with lipstick. She quickly downed the refill--and the next one as well--never taking her eyes from mine. She licked her lips seductively, told me to not move a muscle and put a fingertip to my left lower eyelid, pulled it down, and got in real close, face to face. "Karma," she said.

   "Bad?" I asked.

   "No, worse than that."

   "What could be worse than bad karma?" I asked her.

   "Having none," she said. "Nothing there. Empty. Dead space behind those eyeballs. But I can fix you," she added.

   My smile dropped away. Her words alarmed me and suddenly I felt as If I would've been safer humping Brien's Pit Bull. But I was lonely--and horny.

   "Fix me, huh?"

   "Yeah," she said. "First order of business is your name. No more Melvin. Understand?" I nodded yes and she called me Ricardo, told me that she loved men with names that exude power. So, I was Ricardo for the moment, maybe for the night--until I got what I wanted. All men at some point in their lives are no more than big, selfish babies and I was no exception, and I knew if I wanted to get past her underwear I had to play by her rules.

   I leaned in real close to her, looked deep in her eyes. She started to laugh, said to me, "Ricardo, you already think I'm a tramp. I can see it in your eyes. You're dreaming about how delicious I'd be as your midnight snack."

   I lied. "No. I'm really not that kind of a guy. Just wanted to scan your peepers. See what the hell is back there. By the way, what's your name?

   "Cleopatra," she said. I felt her hand slide between my legs. "Let's have some fun tonight, Ricardo. But, you gotta feed me first, OK?"

   I was ready to leave, but Cleopatra wanted to talk more before eating. She said she'd lived several past lives. In one, she was the wife of a barbarian king, but ended up executed, beheaded alongside her husband for all the treachery and havoc he had wreaked. In another, she was a soldier, killed at eighteen during the First World War-on the German side. And in the last life she was a young Spanish virgin, abducted from a convent and sexually violated by her kidnapper, a wealthy drug lord. She fell madly in love with her abductor and in the end, married him, forsaking her vows, her love of God. And that last life was the most important to her because she'd finally accepted that her very existence was all about her vagina and the pleasure it gave.

   I rolled my eyes and was just one move short of sitting back near Deana (her reality was preferable to the wack job I was with) when Cleopatra pulled me close, purred in my ear, telling me I was guy who was to whip her into submission with an all-night love-making session. I felt the stiffness in my pants (even after five shots of Jack Daniels), decided it was time for us to go and came clean about the goon trio waiting outside for me. Cleopatra didn't seem worried and asked for my car keys. She told me we'd leave through the back and she'd drive us to a restaurant called The Smelly Cat.

   I handed her the keys and peeked back out the front door one last time to make sure the Three Amigos were still across the street and not waiting for us out back. We waved Brien a farewell, left out the back door and hopped into Jenny's car. As we pulled out, I told Cleopatra to make a right at the intersection.

   She wrinkled her face to a frown, said, "No, we're turning left--Melvin.

   "But, but, I thought I was, well...Ricardo. And the Smelly Cat is to our right."

   "Yeah, right...Ricardo, you retard. Do I really look like a Cleopatra to you?"

   "Oh, no! You are crazy! Those thugs will see us, see me. Don't turn left. Please, don't turn left!"

   My words fell on deaf ears as the woman known only to me as Cleopatra blew the red light, turned left and screeched to a halt--right next to where Jerry and the Haley twins stood waiting to get their paws on me. I couldn't believe my eyes when I looked past the woman driving, the one I'd wanted so bad just moments ago, and saw Jenny across the street, standing at Zelma's front door with Brien peeking out from behind it. I turned to the sound of the front passenger door opening. Parnell didn't waste a second plopping himself next to me. He gave me a toothless smile, said, "Well, hello there, Melvin. Now, what was it you called me--bandit?" and then slammed his fist into my front teeth. My head spun hard to the left. I caught sight of Cleopatra sliding out quickly as Jenny was taking her place behind the wheel.

   "Oh, Baby, I was gonna bring the car back, I promise!" I said, my speech sounding garbled through swollen, bloodied lips.

   "It's not the car I want back," Jenny said, holding her right hand up, signaling Parnell to hold-off on another blow to my face. "It's a piece of your sorry a*s I really want. I'm gonna make you pay dearly, Melvin--in blood."

   I looked up to the rear view mirror, its reflection filled with Cleopatra sandwiched between the Haley twins, all sitting shoulder to shoulder, staring back at me. Cleopatra smiled. "And these boys want a piece of his rump, too," she said.

   Jenny pulled away from the curb and kicked the Lincoln into high gear. Even above the whine of the transmission, I heard her say, "You got it, Sister. Mess him up real good. He's already bled all over my front seat and dash." She turned to look at me. "But that doesn't mean I don't want him to bleed a lot more--elsewhere." I started to beg for my life, but Jenny didn't want to hear my whining. She held a finger to her lip, signaling for me to be silent. As usual, I didn't listen and kept talking, kept pleading, hoping to get out of the beating I'd worked so hard to get. "Enough, Melvin, please. You're not getting out of this a*s kicking. Understand?" I shook my head yes and began to weep. Jenny lifted one corner of her mouth to form an evil smile, and said, almost in a whisper, "You better take it like a man, Baby, or I'm gonna let these animals kill you. Got it?" I nodded yes again and could only hope and pray a cop would stop us.

   I turned and looked back at Cleopatra, as if she was my only salvation, my only hope of surviving the night. Her expression was without emotion, a deadpan stare, lifeless. "Don't look at me like some pouting baby," she said. She turned to look at Jenny. "He doesn't even know who I am, does he?"

   Jenny looked up to the rearview mirror. "No, no he doesn't, girlfriend. Won't matter anyway." She stopped the Lincoln on an unlit back road, reached up and stroked my hair softly, and with a sense of calm in her voice, said, "Baby, it's time for your punishment. I'm gonna let you suffer, let you live through all the horrible pain, even if you beg mercy for me to let them kill you--because I want you to feel it all and hurt real bad." She looked to the back seat and locked eyes with Cleopatra. "And thanks, Becka, for all your help.

   Those were the last words I heard her say as I was pulled from the car and my first scream of terror and pain pierced the darkness of a vengeful southern night.

Author's Note

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