blood porn
act two
The rain has stopped. From the bathroom comes the porcelain echo of the tub filling. Jesse can be heard, singing softly to herself. The words are below the surface, too far away to make out, swallowed by the falling water. Charlie sits in the armchair. Pete remains in the rocker, which creaks irregularly beneath his weight.
That girl. She’s got a mouth on her, says Charlie.
Pete stares. Yeah, she does.
I like a woman that’s got spirit. How long you been with her?
About a year, I guess.
What the matter boy? Charlie grins. Sound a little bit blue.
Nothing, says Pete.
She seems unhappy with you, says Charlie.
Yeah, says Pete. I think she is.
Easy as cake, says Charlie.
What is?
To make a female happy. Bring her some chocolate. Ask her what she’s thinking and rub her damn feet.
Pete laughs. You don’t have a fucking clue. This is not some girl on TV. She’s not stupid.
Charlie stands and moves to the window, sipping his coffee. What does she want, then?
I don’t know, says Pete. Sometimes I think she wants me to kill her.
Nah. That’s your own daydream.
Maybe, says Pete.
Did you ever kill anyone?
No, says Pete.
Messy business.
Silence. Pete stares at the slash of light from the bathroom door.
How would you do her? says Charlie. I’m curious.
I never thought about it.
Of course you did, says Charlie.
Pete turns his gaze to the shattered television.
Come on, says Charlie. It’s the middle of the night. She’s asleep and you’re in the toilet pulling your dick cause she won’t fuck you. And you think to yourself, if only she was gone everything would be peachy.
I would kill her in her sleep, says Pete.
With your hands or what?
I don’t know. Make it look like suicide.
Charlie slips the end of his gun in his mouth and raises his eyebrows.
No, says Pete. She would cut herself. Take a straight razor and open up her arms. The cops are pretty sharp, though. They look at all the angles. The wounds would have to appear self-inflicted. It’s not an easy thing.
You have thought about it, says Charlie.
Yeah. I’ve thought about it. Funny thing is, she’s tried to kill herself twice and I stopped her.
That a fact, says Charlie. What did she do?
Last Tuesday she stuck her head in the oven and went to sleep.
She wanted you to find her, says Charlie.
I woke her with a kiss, says Pete. She said she hated me.
Why do you stay with her? says Charlie.
Listen. Were you ever married?
No. I never had the pleasure.
You don’t know shit. Do you?
Enlighten me, says Charlie.
I stay because one day bleeds into the next.
Charlie puts down his coffee cup. Well. Tell me how you got them shiners.
I was in the drunk tank last night.
No, shit. Cops done that?
Not the cops. Pete looks at his empty cup.
Pass the bottle, he says.
Did some old boy get hard on you?
Three guys. They wanted these boots.
Pete lifts one leg to show a scuffed black cowboy boot.
Nice, says Charlie. Look like genuine leather.
Shit. They cost me a hundred bucks.
That right?
Pete drinks, rocking slightly. Back and forth.
What happened? says Charlie.
They jumped me. I wouldn't give up the boots and they beat me. One of them I fucked up.
That's a kind of funny story.
I'm not laughing.
Well, I wonder, says Charlie. What are three fellas going to do with one pair of boots?
What do you mean? says Pete.
I mean maybe there’s some more to that story.
Like what? Pete stops rocking abruptly.
I'm sure I don't know. I wasn't there.
Long silence.
You do have a pretty face, says Charlie.
What? What did you say?
Nice white skin, says Charlie. Sharp, fine bones.
It wasn’t like that.
A man gets lonely, says Charlie. He wants to be touched. He’s living in purgatory and he can’t be choosy.
Three guys, says Pete. They wanted my boots.
Charlie closes his eyes. Dark inside and cold. I’ve been inside, I know. A man’s eyes grow weak without the sun. His blood is thin as milk. Then he sees you. Bright blue eyes and flesh still warm from the outside. He wants you. He wants to touch you.
Listen to me, says Pete. I’m not your fucking friend. Don’t talk to me like you know me.
But you don’t want to be touched, says Charlie. The man is clumsy and violent. He sucks your breath, stops your heartbeat. And then you know how it feels to be a woman.
I know how it feels, says Pete.
Do you think so? says Charlie. Do you really?
Pete blows smoke rings.
Let me tell you how it feels, says Charlie. Look at your wife. She’s a tiny little thing. She’s like somebody’s sister, scared out of her pants. And you’re supposed to take care of her. To protect her from me.
Pete whistles through his teeth. He laughs, a short barking sound.
What’s the matter with you? says Charlie.
I think you’re talking about someone else’s sister, says Pete. I promise you, Jesse isn’t afraid of you. She’s tough, she’s a fucking razorblade. We had a sick bird once, on the windowsill. It had a broken wing. It was a pretty little thing. A little blackbird, with wings like gasoline puddles. Its eyes were huge and sad. I offered to put it in a box and feed it sugar water with a syringe. I thought she would like the idea. You know. Give it a name and play house. And Jesse says, no. That bird’s not gonna make it, she says. It’s already dead. Then she picked it up and snapped its neck, dropped it out the window.
Silence.
She scares you, says Charlie.
Oh yeah, says Pete. She scares me. She scares the shit out of me.
Pete gets up, goes to the sink. The water is a slow trickle and he refills the ice trays. Charlie stares at the television. The cat is still asleep. Charlie begins to talk.
I been in the joint, like I said. Runs in the family. My pa was public drunk the night I was born. The doctor pulled on me too hard broke my collarbone. I got soft bones ever since. My ma swore it was because doctor was a fundamental Christian and he didn't abide the modern technique. She would get drunk and cuss his sorry name then like as not she would start to beating on me. And steady crying, she's crying the entire time, crying real quiet like she's watching a movie on the TV and a potato chip in her hand she forgot wasthere. Her face turning black from tears running through her make up. And her hands smelled like rubbing alcohol, she was always washing her feet with it when they cramped up. Now I always wonder what a woman's hands smell like. Soon as I meet her I'm wanting to smell her hands.
And what do Jesse’s hands smell like?
Like an ashtray.
Pete sighs. Fascinating. What’s your point?
I can start a woman to crying, says Charlie. Like nobody's business. Reckon I could make your wife cry just looking at her.
Pete laughs, scornful.
Okay, says Charlie. Let’s make it interesting. I got five dollars says I can make her cry. What do you say?
I say you’re going to lose five dollars
Charlie grins. Let's go, boy. She’s been back there too long as is. Must be lonely.
The bathroom is a narrow box of trapped air. An exposed light bulb flickers over the sink and the mirror is cracked. The floor is white and sloped. The bathtub is long and deep with claw feet. Pete is slouched against the wall beside the tub. Charlie sits on the toilet, his legs crossed and the gun in his hand. The cat is awake now, crouching in the doorway. Jesse is underwater. Her hair floats in a swarm at her shoulders. Arms and legs distorted in bent light. Black hairs rise and coil between her legs.
She can hold her breath forever, says Pete.
We got time. Plenty of it, says Charlie.
Then silence.
Jesse comes up for air, water breaking over her face. She opens her eyes and stares at Pete. She doesn't speak.
Sorry about this, says Charlie. Wanted to talk with you.
Jesse touches the nipple of one breast. Her arm hides the other.
I masturbated just now, she says. It was amazing. Deadly in fact.
Pete's face is blank.
Don't talk nasty, says Charlie. He don't mind it but I do.
What did you want to talk about? She reaches for a washcloth.
Charlie looks at his gun.
I believe we should get to know each other better. The three of us.
Jesse smiles as if amused. Why? she says.
It’s gonna be a long night if we don’t trust each other.
Are you serious, says Pete. You have a gun and you want us to trust you?
Jesse looks at Charlie. Why don’t you tell us something about yourself?
No, he says. My life is my own.
Okay, she says. Let’s play a game. Twenty questions yes or no.
Pete smiles. I like this game.
It’s a familiar story, says Jesse. Even boring. You were born in Mississippi.
No, says Charlie. I was born in Louisiana. The bayou.
A little shack and a few pitiful chickens, says Jesse. Dogs eating trash. Half naked kids and dirt.
A trailer park, says Charlie.
Your grandfather was a sharecropper, she says. Your daddy a Baptist preacher.
Something like that.
But your mother, says Jesse. She was a fallen woman. She drank. She couldn’t keep her pants on for two minutes and the preacher left you.
Charlie is shaking. No, he says. Not my mother.
And you were a mama’s boy. You walked to town and traded food stamps for money to buy her liquor. You were ashamed. The other kids laughed at you. The girls wouldn’t talk to you. They wouldn’t kiss you. The only sex you ever had was with your neighbor’s retarded sister.
You evil bitch, whispers Charlie.
Does that sound about right? she says.
Pete coughs. Jesse, please. Do you want him to shoot you?
I wouldn’t touch no retarded kid, says Charlie.
Tell us something good, says Jesse.
It was a sheep, says Charlie. When I was fourteen my cousin got me drunk and made me have intercourse with a sheep. The beast shit on me. My good clothes were covered in sheep shit.
This is fun, says Jesse. Now. What do you want to know?
How did you all meet? says Charlie.
I wasn't normal when Pete found me, says Jesse. I couldn't talk. He took me home. He fucked me on the floor and it was nasty. He made noises then he went to sleep. I was naked and awake. The door was locked and the cat was following me around in circles. I was afraid of it. I couldn't sleep. I watched Pete sleep. I didn't know his name. He was beautiful I thought. But his face kept changing shapes. He was dream traveling. Visiting the dead. Then the cat was on the bed with me. I heard it growling. I couldn't move and sat like that for hours.
It was jazz fest a year ago, says Pete. Down on the river. The sun was a nightmare and she was freaking. I almost tripped over her. Spilled my beer. Her clothes were half off and her eyes swollen up. Cooking in her skull. She was trying to crunch herself into a puddle of shadow the size of your head. She was a tangle of black hair and brown shoulders. And skinny but vicious as hell. Like I had found a dog. I tried to help her up and she fucking bit me. I should have known better. But I gave her some water and talked her down. The sex was brilliant.
Then I don't remember, says Jesse. All of a sudden it was morning. I was sitting against the wall. Pete woke up blinking. It was bright. He rolled over and reached out to touch me. Oh fuck, he said. He moved away from me and I saw what he saw. Blood and cat shit on the bed and on me. On my thighs and stomach. Then I was in the bathroom throwing up. Pete followed me. He put me in the bathtub and cleaned my body. Soap and hot water like drugs to my skin. He held me and said it was okay. He was sweet to me. He gave me clothes and fed me. He asked me what my name was.
But none of it was real, says Pete. I woke up and her arms were scratched open, red and raw. The sheets were fucked with blood. She was rocking back and forth and chewing on her lips. The cat was under the bed. It didn't come out for two days and she thought it was dead. I thought it was bad acid and she would be normal if I gave her time. Like a girlfriend. But she isn't. We don't have missionary sex. We do things to each other. She masturbates all the time, in bed beside me. The only time she comes. She says I should try to humiliate her. I should rape her in her sleep. I should fuck her in the ass, in the face.
Charlie wipes his mouth. Do you love her? he says.
Pete looks at his hands. Sometimes, he says.
Jesse. What about you, Charlie says. Do you love him?
Silence but for the sound of water. Jesse swishes the washcloth along her thigh.
I want to know do you love him? says Charlie.
Do I love him? says Jesse. She looks at Pete. She moves the washcloth to her crotch.
Pete lights a cigarette. The smoke is blue.
Yes, she says.
If a woman is in love, says Charlie. She ought not need to satisfy herself.
Jesse doesn't look at him. She reaches for the soap, bored.
Every woman does it sometime, she says. Little girls and little old ladies. Mothers and daughters.
Charlie raises the gun. Put that damn soap in your mouth.
She laughs. I don't think so.
I’ll shoot you. Here and now.
Jesse hesitates. Then rubs the soap across her lips.
Charlie points the gun at Pete. Kiss him, now. On the mouth.
What for? she says.
I said to kiss him. If you love him.
I have soap on my mouth.
Fuck that. I want him to taste it.
Jesse moves to a crouch. Strings of water run from her hair. Pete doesn't move. She leans to kiss him. He opens his mouth to bite her lip, softly. He lifts one hand to wipe the soap from her mouth. She kisses him again and he moves his hand to touch her breast.
That's enough, now. Turn him loose. Charlie stands and moves toward them.
Pete leans back against the wall.
Charlie puts the gun between Jesse's eyes. I want you to kiss me now.
She looks at Pete.
I don’t care, he says.
Jesse stands up, her skin shining yellow and wet. Hip bones like knots of rope. Shadow of ribs. She has thin white scars across her thighs and arms, puckered and swollen from the water. Charlie hesitates and she grabs for his throat. She kisses him, violently, and he pulls away. Jesse sinks back into the water and wraps her arms around herself. She glares at Pete.
Did you like that? she says.
Like giving blood, he says. It only hurts if you watch them put the needle in.
Then get the fuck out, she says. Both of you.
Charlie's upper lip is bleeding.
Scars on her, he says. Looking at Pete. What are them scars from?
Pete takes a towel from the shelf, gives it to Jesse. Her eyes are wild and bright.
Scars on her arms and legs, says Charlie. I seen them.
Charlie. Charlie, says Pete. Leave her alone.
Silence except for the drip of water. Pete drops his cigarette in the toilet.
I told you, he says to Charlie. She doesn't cry easy.
Charlie turns. Blood on his chin.
No, he says. I guess not.
Jesse looks up. Did you ever kiss a white girl before? she says.
No. Charlie shakes his head. I never did.
Nothing to write home about, is it?