Page 19 of Lady Sings the Blues

“Don’t care.” I call back at him over my shoulder while flipping him the bird high in the air. With my mighty salute, I keep walking.

He follows.

“Woman, you better stop.” His command causes me to pause. But then I remember he’s nothing to me and continue moving. “Get back inside.” He warns through what sounds like clenched teeth.

“That’s really not going to work for me. Luckily, I’m not beholden to you or any man, so I’ll carry on my way. Knowing what you are, it’s for the best.”

“What I am, huh?” From the anger in his voice, maybe that wasn’t the best choice of words. “Where will you go?”

“The bus station.”

“So you’re gonna bail on Maryanne again? Ditch your father’s funeral?”

“Maryanne is just as much of a liar as you are and Hadley can handle things. It’s her day to shine anyway. My dad was a respectable man. He’d understand.”

“Your dad was a respectable man. And he was one of us.”

That went too far. “You liar! Ihateyou.”

“Wouldn’t letmyold lady get away with this shit,” some man not Chaos calls out to Mark, and that’s when I realize our entire exchange has been witnessed by a gang of bikers.

“That’s it.” Mark fishes out what look like keys from his front pocket and starts for me. I, in turn, take off running away from him. Yet with the way my luck has gone these past five years, he easily overtakes me. First kissing me, and then he flips me up over his shoulder, walking toward his truck to the shouts and cat calls of our audience.

“We’re not what you think,” he says.

“Mmm…says the asshole carrying me caveman style.”

“Looks like someone’s old lady’s about to be punished,” another not Chaos calls out.

“I’m not his old lady,” I call back to the congregated mass. “I’m not your old lady,” I repeat to Mark directly.

“You are.” Then he slaps my bottom. Actually slaps my bottom to the tune of more biker cat calls, then drops me inside the front seat of his truck. “Get out of this car, and you will be sorry.”

What happened to my nice, sensitive Mark who understood me? I think about jumping out when he rounds the truck but the unpredictability of scary biker Mark keeps my stinging bottom planted where he dropped me.

And then he has the nerve to reach for my hand as he drives toward two streets over from my dad’s house. I pull away, scooting as far from him and his stupid hand as I can in the small cab. He doesn’t talk to me, just laughing and shakes his head. As if any of this is funny?

We pull into his driveway, and he cuts the engine.

“Listen, Elise.” Listen? I refuse to listen to anything he has to say, turning my head away from him to look out the window instead. “Fine.”

When Mark climbs out of the truck, I hastily lock the doors on him. He hits the unlock on his key fob. I lock it again. We go through this game three more times before he smartens up, putting one hand to the door handle and pressing the unlock with the other, opening the door before I have the chance to lock it again.

I wish he hadn’t.

Tossed over his shoulder again, he slams the truck door harder than necessary, walking us up onto his front porch. The Neanderthal still refuses to put me down while unlocking the door. Or once we’re inside. My shoes come off as he walks us toward his bedroom. Hisbedroom.

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