Page 33 of Notorious

I glance over at him. He’s wearing a tight T-shirt and jeans with a thick belt, his big biceps naturally bulging as he drives. Fuck, he’s sexy.

But he’s also misguided. I’m so upset that he thought that ending his life was a good idea. And for what? To buy his mom a black market kidney? He didn’t say that, but I don’t know how else she’d jump a donor line. Are there places that arrange organ donations for the right price?

I don’t know the character of Johnny’s mental issues, or whatever it is that’s making him act this way, and I don’t want to trigger him. I probably should be careful with my words around him.

Except I also want to say what’s on my mind. I clear my throat.

“What’s up, precious?” Johnny says.

“You said we should be honest with each other.”

“I think that’s a good idea. Don’t you?”

“Sure.” I do my best to say my next words as gently as possible. “But then we have to talk about some tough stuff.”

My attempt at a soft touch doesn’t totally work, since Johnny seems to need to steel himself before eventually saying, “Fine.”

“If you did kill yourself, don’t you think that would hurt your mom more than the disease she’s suffering from now?”

I watch Johnny bite his lower lip. “She can’t die, though.”

“Babe, everyone dies. That’s a fact of life. And mostly, unless there’s some kind of accident or other tragedy, parents die before their kids do.” Maybe it shouldn’t be so easy for me to call him babe, but every time I look at him, I get a rush of warm affection.

“Shucks. That’s harsh.”

“You don’t have to like it, but it’s true. It’s the natural order of things.”

“I don’t feel like it’s natural for her to have a body that don’t work.”

“Has she struggled a long time?”

“She’s been sick since I was a kid. Got diagnosed when I was eleven.”

Maybe I shouldn’t press, but that hasn’t stopped me yet. “What was your childhood like?”

He sighs. “Like I told ya, I grew up on a ranch in the middle of nowhere, Texas, where my folks worked. That’s where I learned to take care of horses, rope cattle, all that. When I was fourteen, my mama couldn’t work there no more. Owners kept her on as long as they could, but eventually, they had to let her go. They were gonna sell the ranch to some developers anyway. Times were tough all around. The ranch foreman had a friend with a line on some work she could do at a packing house in Fresno, so we headed out. Drove west. Lived in her car for months. I was in school and doing the best I could to scrounge up a few dollars here and there. But my baby sister plays the violin like a virtuoso—she started with the fiddle back in Texas. In Fresno, if you’re a street musician, there ain’t no subway to play in, like in New York City, say, so she’d just go stand in front of an auto parts store in a strip mall, pull out her beat-up amp and her too-small electric violin, and put up a cardboard sign that asked for help for our mama—for rent, food, medicine.”

My heart seizes at the image.

“She’d play ‘All of Me’ or some Disney princess song, but this haunting violin version. People would stop to see her. Young girl, not yet a teenager. Brown hair parted down the middle.” He gets a wistful smile. “But she was a violin prodigy. She still plays for fun, but most of the time, she’s managing a Taco Bell.”

“Why didn’t she stick with the violin as a career?”

“Stuff like that costs money. Lessons, private schools, I don’t even know.” He sighs. “Anyway, she’d play, and we’d be able to get some food or whatever. I did whatever jobs I could, but I ain’t very good at reading or writing.” He pauses. “I just have a little trouble reading fast, that’s all. When I turned eighteen, I left so Mama wouldn’t have to pay for me no more. I figured I’d go make some money in Los Angeles and send money to them, since the jobs in Fresno sucked. I walked into town, and a porn producer found me in a coffee shop. I coulda said no, of course, but”—he shrugs—“I like having sex. I said yes, because the money he offered was more than I could make at any other job I was likely to get. And I guess the rest is history. I’m not ashamed.”

“So you’ve been doing porn since you were eighteen?”

He nods.

“How old are you now?” His date of birth was on our marriage certificate, but I didn’t study it closely.

“Thirty-five. You?”

“Thirty-two.”

We fall quiet for a while. Johnny drives in a sure, confident manner. And, unlike some of my friends who get all distracted when they drive, his eyes stay on the road, paying attention to the drivers around him. I like that. I exhale and settle more comfortably in my seat.

Holy fuck, the past day has been … unreal.

---