The last time Harley Riggs saw his ex-wife she was partying it up in some low-rent slumlord’s apartment, her fat ass hugged by a pair of cheap Faded Glory jeans and a dirty Tom Petty shirt hanging from her chunky shoulders. She was kneeling in front of an old glass coffee table with a straw in her nose. The cocaine her host had procured was cheap, low-grade blow, cut with whatever it is that stingy dealers use to maximize profits. She seemed to be enjoying it enough. Harley knew, as well as he knew his own telephone number, that she couldn’t have cared less about the quality of the drug, as long as it kept flowing throughout the night until the glorious moment arrived when she would suddenly pass out in the middle of whatever it was she happened to be doing at the time.
Her name was Betty. She married Riggs in 1982 on a dare. Her father, in a fit of anger over the possible engagement of his only daughter to man like Harley Riggs had dared her to do it.
“I dare ya,” he said. “Over my dead body, you’ll see. Truth or dare, my little princess. You haven’t been truthful with me. Don’t think I don’t know this. You aren’t half as clever as you think you are, but I think you’re smart enough to know a loser like Harley Riggs when you see one. So I dare you, sweetheart. I dare you to marry that no account scumbag.”
So she did.
Her father made good on his promise, too. He died of a heart attack the day before the nuptials. Betty was upset at the turn of events, but she had resolved not to let her mourning put a damper on the wedding plans. Her mother, a brow-beaten slave to her husband’s every whim, was not entirely displeased with this uncanny attitude of her daughter’s. She sincerely debated the pros and cons of attending her old man’s funeral herself. “If there’s one thing I can’t stand,” she said, “it’s a pack of bozos telling lies about what a great guy he was after he’s kicked it…those same liars who, only a week before, were calling him every name in the book and wishing him smooth passage into hell.”
All this notwithstanding, Harley Riggs was not concerned with it. If you had asked him at the time whether any of it mattered to him, he would have said no. If you asked him today if any of the drama surrounding his first wedding had left an impression on him, positive or negative, he would fix you with a stare that would express infinitely more than mere words could convey.
I don’t suppose it matters, either, insomuch as we began this missive with the day Riggs saw his ex-wife snorting a line at a biker party.
He had other things on his mind that evening, and he damn sure wasn’t at the party because she was there. He sure as hell didn’t know she’d be there. It was a total surprise to him, and not a pleasant one, at that. Yet his eyes were drawn to the spectacle. Greasy, tattooed love boys and grimy hog riders surrounded her. Each and every one of them exhorted her to inhale more and more of the coke. “Free” would not be the right word to use in describing the narcotic, but she wasn’t paying for it with cash.
“Whoopee!” yelped one of the spectators. He was wearing a tattered Hell’s Angels jacket he had picked up at a Salvation Army store for a quarter. It stunk, but not as bad as he did, so it all evened itself out. “You better rock steady, gal! You better rock steady and keep on a-rockin’ until the music is over. Until we turn out the lights, little bitch. I want to see you freak out, I’m GONNA see you freak out, so keep rockin’ steady!”
She had no idea what the fuck he was talking about, but if “rocking steady” meant snorting more and more dope, then she imagined she would do his bidding. “Rock steady, Joe!” she managed to blurt as she straightened up from the table. White snot, only lightly tinged with crimson, dripped from both of her nostrils.
Harley was disgusted by what he saw, but he wasn’t surprised. In all the years he’d known her he’d seen her do a lot of excessive and disgusting things. This was nothing out of the ordinary. He stifled a yawn and tried to remember exactly what the reason for his presence here was.
No comments:
Post a Comment