Buckskin Cocaine Read online

  “How is school?” He asked, shoveling bite after bite in. He was like a machine that one, and he needed to fuel up because he was huge, and he worked long, hard hours with very few breaks.

  “I’m doing really well. A’s on nearly everything, of course. And I love my French class. It makes me feel like I’m living in a fairy tale when I speak it; it really does.”

  Daddy nodded, but I could tell he was sad, and I felt like tearing up. I knew that he knew me better than anyone else, in fact, no one knew me really except for daddy, and I kept so much from him. I took a sip of my coffee and asked him if he wanted to go to the thrift store today. He smiled.

  The day was nice, the snow had mainly melted into grey and daddy and I took the bus to our favorite thrift store. I wandered the aisles, my hand brushing the dusty shoulders of the shirts I was walking past. I stopped. Looked at a few shirts absentmindedly and moved on. My heart wasn’t in it. Then I thought about my dinner with Tomás and his mother and I thought to get something new, something relatively new at least. I was lucky being so thin, because though I could never afford to clothe myself in the latest, there were often a few nice pieces in my sizes, and I hunted for them. I went over to the dresses and began to go through them, one by one. The majority of what was there was awful; things from the 70’s that looked like they’d spent their lives in a dryer mildewing after too many wears on a woman exhausted from too many chores around the house.

  I didn’t like things that were contemporary. I liked things with a classic look, things that looked good on me. The huge shoulder pads and garish colors so popular in the 80’s were things that I generally avoided. They looked wrong on me anyway. I liked pale colors and clothing that flowed around me, rather than constricted. A girl at school had turned to me in Algebra class once, her large golden hoops swinging slightly and her bright pink lips parting to tell me, “If I was as skinny as you was, I’d wear things as tight as I could find them.” “Thanks,” I had told her and she had turned back to her notebook, which was filled with doodles surrounding a boy’s name.

  I pulled a pink dress out from the rest, but it was too large, and there were too many worn spots. I put it back and continued. There was a spot of yellow up ahead that intrigued me. I pulled that dress out and looked at it, at the label, the size. But it was so short. As much as I hated to admit it, I didn’t want Tomás’ mother to think ill of me. And I generally didn’t like short things anyway, my legs were so thin, they didn’t look very good unless I wore tights, ending in toe shoes. I went through the aisle, all the way up, and found myself disappointed. I went back over to the men’s section, to find daddy, to see if he was ready to go, but he was busily trying on all kinds of shoes, sitting in the aisle like a kid. I laughed and told him I would be in the women’s clothing section. I decided to look in the aisle where all of the skirts were. Sometimes there were a few nice skirts, something from the 50’s or 60’s that was cut in a classic, A-line shape. But there was nothing. A few cheap Madonna pseudo-ballet skirts in neon and black, more horrifying things from the 70’s, their colors like a psychedelic monster of some sort had vomited all over something often in the shape of flowers. I went over to the shirts, and found a few I liked, a few plain tee-shirts in colors I didn’t find too garish. I went back over to see if daddy was done, but he was no longer in the shoe section. I walked around looking for him and found him in the section where all of the kitchen stuff was kept. He was looking at a microwave. It looked old, the brown paint on the dials mainly worn off, but not in bad shape. Daddy had kept saying that he wanted to get one, just to warm things up here and there. He was a good cook, though he cooked mainly basic things, so I had been surprised when he first mentioned it.

  I walked up to him. “What did you find?”

  “This,” he said, opening the door and looking in. “Though I don’t know if it still works. The girl up at the front said that it did but they always say that.”

  “Tell her you want to test it out.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, that’s a good idea. Do you mind waiting?”

  “Of course not. I’ll just go look at the dresses again.”

  I walked back over to the dresses, thinking again about Tomás and his mother. I couldn’t believe that he’d asked me out for a second date with his mother. This really was either a very good or a very bad sign. I sighed and brushed my hand against the dresses. I hated that he made me feel this way, think these kinds of things. And I didn’t need another dress, I just wanted one, because this felt…special. And many of my dresses were very sophisticated, because I bought them to look much older than I was, for all of my interludes at the various expensive bars I went to, looking to find men. I thought then that this might be the solution to my problem. I could tell Tomás about my exploits, and he’d be horrified and let me be. But the very thought turned my stomach. I didn’t want things getting out and maybe even getting to my father. As much as I found the whole good girl/bad girl thing to be preposterous, and frankly, boring, I knew my father would be hurt. And sad. And worried. And disappointed. Additionally, I liked that no one knew about it. I liked that it was part of a private life I had, that no one could touch. And I was very safe, not only had I been on birth control for years, but I always used a condom, and I always carried a small knife my father had given me. I kept it in the leather sheath he’d given it to me in, and I kept that in my bra, which I never ever took off, telling them that I was self-conscious about my breasts. They always begged and whined for me like puppies to remove it but when they kept on, I would start to get out of bed, and they would calm down and stop asking. I laughed a little in the dress aisle, thinking about how easy they were to control. Then I thought about Tomás and went silent.

  I walked over to the section where most of the white dresses were and pulled each one out. Most were frilly, old-fashioned. A few were of course, loaded down with shoulder pads, as if the women wearing them were readying for war. I sighed and looked over at daddy. He had gotten the woman at the front to allow him to take the microwave to a plug in the back and he was plugging it in now. I shook my head and turned back to the dresses. I pulled one after another out, until I found what I was looking for. It was simple, it was my size, and it was in lovely shape. And it wasn’t too short or frilly. I pulled it out and walked over to the overcrowded dressing room and stood in line. When it was finally my turn, I tried the tee-shirts on I’d picked up earlier, and then the dress. I was happy. It worried me that it was white, because not only was the connotation virginal, it was also marital, and I really didn’t want to signify either. But it was nice, simple. And cotton, which I loved. Synthetic material always looked cheap as far as I was concerned and it also wore away quickly in the spots you least wanted it to. Satisfied, I walked up to the cashier and paid and then went up to the front where there were a few old chairs. I sat down on an aging orange and black chair and thought about how I wished daddy would let me have a job like everyone else in school, but he wanted me to focus on school and on ballet. It always made me feel weird when he handed me money, as if I were a child from a middle-class home with an allowance. At least my needs were very few. I went to the coffee shop when I went out at all. And ballet had gotten less expensive for me over the years, as my teacher had lowered the price so that I could afford to take it several times a week. She believed in me. And I still loved to dance, and that was wonderful. Wednesday, in class, we had been practicing a complicated combination with several pirouettes, and though my feet hurt and I was exhausted, I was determined to do it right. My teacher was smart. I knew she favored me but she never let on. She knew that kind of behavior could ruin a dancer. But of course I knew she did, after all, she had lowered the price years ago, and had given me the keys to the studio to practice on my own. There had been a moment, spinning, where I felt almost as if I had transcended my body, I felt like light, like something that lived far away from this earth. I had to catch myself, because I knew that it was making me want to close my eyes, and that was
the last thing that you wanted to do in ballet. I looked up and daddy was standing above me, the microwave in his hands, a gigantic smile on his lips.

  “Five dollars! And it works like a charm. I tested it out,” he said, as I got out of the chair and dusted myself off.

  “That’s great dad.”

  “I’ve been looking for a good one for a year now. I can’t believe someone donated this.”

  We made our way over to the bus station and waited, daddy crading the microwave in his arms like a baby.

  On the way home, I was quiet, but dad hardly noticed, as he was going on about how we could use the microwave. When we got home, I walked to my room and set my new dress down on my bed. It smelled musty and I told daddy that I was going to go down to the Laundromat to do laundry. He barely nodded, as he was busy clearing a space for the new microwave. I smiled and shook my head, told him that I’d see him tomorrow. He mumbled something like, “Love you,” as I walked out the door.

  After I’d washed the clothes, and came home, I got down on my knees by my bed and extended my arm into the darkness underneath, fishing for the little bottle of bourbon I kept for special occasions. I rarely drank, but I liked bourbon, and when I felt like it, when daddy wasn’t home, I sometimes had a finger. I didn’t want to worry him. He’d told me once that mom had liked to drink, a lot. I looked in the mirror and thought about what make-up I should wear.

  I picked up a tube of light pink lipstick from my dresser and sighed. Sometimes I pictured my mom like one of those old-fashioned noir women from a French film. All red lips and red nails and cruelty. A woman who lives in dives, who sings in them, who makes tragic but glamorous decisions about her life. Who tells the men in her life off, even when they’re in love with her. Especially when they’re in love with her. I turned the tape player on, the one I kept on my dresser by my make-up bag. The tape was a copy of something my teacher had played for us one Saturday at the studio. It was something kind of modern and sad. It made me shudder.

  I looked at the clock. It was 5:30. I had thirty minutes. I pulled on some stockings, the white dress and a pair of pink flats. I looked down at them, wondering if the color was too bold and hating myself for caring. They were light pink. Then I thought of course about the snow, and how cold it would be walking from the apartment to the car, and I slipped them off. I went back to the closet and looked through all of the boots I’d found at the thrift store. There was a pair of beige boots, with just a kitten heel that seemed appropriate. And they were decently warm. Of course, they were quite worn in the heel and had been when I’d bought them. But they were passable. And not too bold. I went back over to the mirror to finish my make-up.

  When I was done, I got my purse and jacket from the closet and sat down on my couch, the music from the tape playing out into the living room. I looked over at the new microwave. It had a digital clock set into it and dad had set it. It was 5:50. I settled into my chair and tried to relax. He was a child. He was only a child. A gorgeous sophisticated child…

  There was a knock at the door and I started. He was early. I walked over to the door, peered out through the peep hole and saw that it was Tomás. He was smiling that sly, sarcastic little smile of his and staring directly at the peep hole. I opened the door and he walked in.

  “Well, aren’t you little Mr. Early,” I said and closed the door.

  “Yes, I’m very punctual. You’ll find that it’s one of the many, sexy, sexy things about me. That and I always say thank you.”

  He looked at me and cocked his head. “You look nice,” he said, and though I colored, I tried to act nonchalant. He looked nice as well, and he smelled good.

  He looked into the living room. “Is that a barre affixed to your wall?” He asked, walking over to it and running his hand along the surface.

  “Yes. Daddy…dad, put that up for me, and did the floors as well.”

  He turned to me. “That’s incredibly sweet,” he said, and my heart began to hammer in my chest.

  He walked over to the chair where I’d laid my coat and picked it up, held it open for me. I walked over and let him help me slip into it, his breath on my neck.

  “Well. Should we be off?”

  “Yes,” he said, looking at me.

  “What?”

  “You know,” he said, and I felt a shudder pass through me.

  “I don’t know anything,” I said and he leaned in and kissed me, softly, briefly, his hand on the small of my back for just a moment.

  On the drive to Tomás’ house, we began to laugh, to joke around. I began to relax, but when we pulled into the drive, I became nervous again. His house wasn’t a mansion per se, but it was so much bigger than my place, it was like it was. Sometimes when I went home with different men, they had houses like this. I often tried to imagine what it would be like to live in one.

  Tomás came around and opened the door for me.

  “Hey mom,” he yelled as we walked in. A lovely, thin brown woman came around the corner and smiled.

  “So good to finally meet the girl Tomás has been going on and on about,” she said and came over to me and gave me a brief hug.

  “Not that that isn’t true, but try not to humiliate me right off the bat,” he said and she laughed and led us into the kitchen.

  We sat and talked while she finished dinner. There was a plate of cheese and a bottle of opened wine and Tomás poured me a glass. I was relieved to find that his mother was kind, funny and not snotty at all. We talked and shared stories all throughout dinner, and then went into the living room to talk more and drink more wine.

  “Yes, Tomás always thinks he’s so funny,” his mother said. Her name was Diana, and it was a perfect name for such a woman. She was exactly as I hoped I would be someday, minus the emotionally needy husband.

  “Well, I try,” he said, “and mom always lets me know when I’ve failed.”

  “You have to keep a boy in check,” she said, pouring a bit more for all of us. “They are arrogant so easily. And there is nothing more boring than an arrogant man.”

  I nodded and told her that I agreed. She was wearing a long, expensive looking dress that somehow seemed to look casual and formal all at once, and yet she had not looked askance at my thrift store dress and had even told me how lovely I looked.

  “Oh, mom, you’d keep the whole world in check if you could,” he said, shaking his head. He seemed to not only take her in stride, but enjoy her.

  “The world is too much work. In any case, Tomás, if you are to take this girl home in one piece, you should have a glass of water. I’m getting tired. And I’m sure this one has a curfew,” she said, and looked in my direction.

  ‘Actually…my father doesn’t know I’m here,” I said, awkwardly. I took a sip of wine.

  “No?” Diana asked, looking confused.

  “Well, he doesn’t want me around boys. He just worries for me, you know.” And then I realized what that implied and felt myself coloring deeply.

  “Ahhh, yes. My parents were very strict as well. I understand. You want to dance, and he knows that will help you in this world. Well, I can assure you, my little Tomás is a very good boy. I’m sure he wants you to get everything in this world you deserve. In fact,” she said, standing up, “one more drink to that, to everyone getting what they work for.”

  We clanked glasses and I began to feel better, though when I looked over at Tomás I could see that he had a very strange expression on his face.

  On the way home, he was strangely pensive, silent. I told him that I liked his mother, and he nodded.

  “So, which schools have you applied to?” he asked.

  “Only a few in New York. My teacher assures me that I’ll get into one of them.”

  He was silent again for a moment and then said, “I see.”

  “How about you?” I asked.

  “Oh. Just local schools. Regis. DU. University of Colorado at Boulder.”

  “Those are great schools,” I said and he was silent again.<
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  When he pulled up to my complex and parked, he smiled. “Can I walk you to your door?” He asked. He seemed in a better mood.

  “Sure,” I said, my heart beginning to race, the wine heavy in my head. “Since little Tomás is such a good boy.”

  He groaned and got out, walking around the car and opening the door for me. I had waited for him this time.

  We walked up to my apartment and I let him in.

  “So, my father isn’t getting home until 5:00 in the morning,” I said, and he leaned in and kissed me. I took his hand and led him to my bedroom. I had decided not to fight it anymore.

  After, he asked me if I smoked. “Here and there,” I said, getting up and going to my dresser. I dug far back into my underwear drawer and pulled a pack of Marlboro’s out.

  We got dressed and walked outside. We sat and smoked and it was peaceful and cold, the complex mainly asleep, except for the couple that always argued. They lived on the first floor and were in a near-perpetual state of fury.

  We giggled listening to them and then Tomás sighed, deeply.

  “You know I’m sure one of the schools in Denver has a dance program, a ballet program.”

  “Sure,” I said, exhaling, “but all of the good ones are in New York.”

  He was silent. Then, “I’m already a little attached to you, you know. Being a stalker, that’s part of our job description.”

  A wave of mild shock came over me then. I realized that he wanted me to stay. That he thought we could be together. As in, perhaps permanently.

  “Tomás…”

  “Don’t say it. I know. We’re very young. But I know a good thing when I see it,” he said, taking a drag, exhaling and then leaning over to kiss me.

  “I do like you,” I said, after he’d pulled away.

  “Let me just leave it at that,” he said. “I don’t want to pressure you. I know we’ve just started to get to know one another,” he got up, put his cigarette out and tossed it into the snow-covered ground below. He put his hand on my shoulder and I smiled. I got up, and he was silent, looking out into the night.