'Candy Apple Red' - A Woman Scorned

'CANDY APPLE RED'

VALERIE

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I waited in that hotel room for three hours.

Waiting for my man to come back.

Just going out for some ice, you said.

“Just going out for some ice, hon’. Back in five…”

Except you didn’t bring back no ice, did you, Molloy?  All you brought back was a half empty bottle of Jim Beam and another woman’s lipstick on your collar.

Candy Apple Red.

Christ, a brand that cheap, she couldn’t have been more than eighteen.

What was that you used to call me? Your “Boardwalk Babe”?

Did you tell Ms. Candy Apple about your Boardwalk Babe in those tender moments before that bathroom or broom-cupboard? Did you tell her about me when you teased the straps from her shoulders; whisper to her, as you eased the zip down her back?

Did you promise her the same things you promised me?

The future.

All the pretty things.

Did you leave her the same way you left me, Molloy?

Smiling. Naked.

Carrying your kid?

Maybe, someday, I’ll find your pretty distraction.

And I’ll tell her the kind of man you are.

I hope she’ll weep, like I did.

But, if there is a God, she won’t have a child to bury.

You still think it’s my fault, don’t you?

You still believe it’s my fault our little girl didn’t leave that hospital ward.

That, somehow, I wasn’t strong enough to make a life outside of my own?

Fuck you.

I never wanted our little girl to have a father like you, Molloy.

I never wanted her to look in those eyes of yours and see that you were always somewhere else.

Maybe that was why she never opened hers.

Maybe that was why she refused to see the ruin of a life we had to offer her.

And she didn’t think taking that first breath was worth the trouble.

It was your fault, Molloy.

You put baby Alice in that little white coffin.

And you’re gonna pay.

Believe it, you bastard.

You’re gonna pay big.

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18^th January, 1998

‘Big Bob’s House O’ Guns’, Bay Village, Boston, USA.

17:47pm

“Well, you know what they say about Neanderthal man…”

I knew. 

Three years of Applied History in MIT.

Believe me, I knew.

But, I also knew he wanted to tell me.

So I let the wrinkled bastard sing his song.

And I smiled when I was supposed to.

Like a good girl.

Just another dumb chick who wanted something to keep her ex from breakin’ her windows on weekends.

Another tattered woman who believed packing a piece would level the playing field.

Something that would make the world sit up and take notice.

“The earliest bones they found got teeth marks on ‘em. You know what that means, baby?”

“No clue, mister.”

“It means homo sapiens ate Neanderthal man. Ate him all up, ‘cos the only purpose he had left was food for the masses. Wheel or no wheel, they chawed his ass up. Right to the bone...”

Maybe he expected me to flinch.

Recoil a little. 

Scare the little lady.

I gave him what he wanted.

‘Cos I needed the discount.

            “That’s disgusting, mister. Wow, where’d you learn this stuff?”

He smiled.

“Lotta people read the papers, watch the news.  Me? I read between the lines. What they ain’t tellin’ us, y’know? Maybe this’s all over your head, baby…”

And, right then, I knew I’d get the bullets for free.

“So what’s a pretty little thing like you need a gun for, anyway? The bad men on 42^ndStreet got you worried about your purse? Flash one of these .22’s and they’ll be halfway to Harlem ‘fore you even gotta pull the trigger. Here’s a nice semiauto, Swiss made, I’ll cut you a deal since you’re so pretty…”

It’s a difficult thing to fake a blush. Ten years ago, I wouldn’t have been able to do it.

But you don’t stay married to a shark without learning how to swim.

“Gosh, mister. You’re makin’ me blush. Those ones over there look cool. What do you call ‘em, revolvers?”

He moved to the cabinet, running his fingertips lovingly across the glass and a sigh escaped his lips, something akin to pleasure. I wondered if he ever touched his wife that way.

No wedding band, but the lighter skin on his finger gave me his history.

Her decision to leave this punk made me respect her.

This woman I’d never met.

I only hope she got out in time.

“You don’t want one of these, lady. Too pricy. Better to buy a semi, one of these little ones over here. They’re a whole lot slimmer, fit right in your purse. Very little recoil, too. Less chance of you ruining those nails…”

I giggled.

Like I was supposed to.

            “But they look so cool, mister. Can I hold one? Pretty please?”

            “Sure, honey. Try this one for size. Don’t drop it, it’s kinda heavy.”

A Ruger GP100.

Lighter than the Python, fixed sights, cylinder large enough for .357’s.

The perfect gun.

I wanted to shoot him.

Just to test the recoil.

            “Golly, it is heavy. You weren’t kiddin’, mister. Wow.”

He laughs, showing three of his four teeth.

“These semi’s are lighter, baby. Plus, they got a safety, so you don’t gotta worry about it goin’ off in your pocket at the shoe store…”

Dumb prick.

“I’ll take the Ruger here. Put two boxes of .357’s with it and I’ll give you five hundred right now. The holster you’ll throw in for free.”

“I...uh…okay…”

Surprise in his eyes.

Nothing but certainty in mine.

            “Make the sale, old man. Then you can forget all about me.”

He did.

        And I won.       '