John Rush sits in the slatted sunlight leaking through the window
blinds, guitar in his lap, cigarette forgotten in the ashtray. He’s
working out the bumps to Heart Shaped Box and watching his wife,
who lies supine on the floor in front of him. She’s in sweats and a dago
tee, blonde curls haloing her head. Biceps flex and knot – she lifts
the kettle bell over her head, lowers it again, slowly.
“The Writer Lady’s coming over again today.” Bob O’Neill leans in the
kitchen doorway, tall coffee cradled in his broad hand.
“Ah God.” Nicola lets the weight drop over her head, rattling the
floor, huffing her indignation. “She wants to work on me.”
“Easy, babe.” Rush’s fingers pause over the strings and then find the melody again. “She’s just trying to help.”
“I’m not sure I even want people to like me.” Nicola sits up, pushes
her hair back with the flat of her palm. Sweat glistens on her shoulders
and arms, darkening her firefighter tattoo. “Why do they have to like
me?”
“It’s all about her Amazon and Goodreads
rank.” Bobby flops on the other end of the couch and bats at Rush’s
cigarette smoke. “You’re holding the rest of us back.”
“Bob.” Rush cautions his friend with one word, brows raised minimally. Picks his cigarette up and inhales deliberately.
“Not true!” Nicola pulls an ugly mug, bottom lip thrust out. “And why
the hell am I the main character anyway? I don’t even like talking to
her.”
“Work on it, sugar.” Rush exhales a
nicotine cloud, ragged plume settling just in front of Bobby’s face.
“Might be important, right?”
“Not.” Nicola
scoffs. “Look, the writer lady has a real job when she’s not hanging
with us. Why doesn’t she just stay in her stupid fire station and leave
us alone?”
“I dunno.” Bobby has settled behind
the smoke screen, cobalt eyes half closed behind his glasses. “She
found Sophie for me. That was good.”
“Yup.”
Rush is strumming his guitar again, not looking at his wife. “And she
lets us have all the booze and sex and cigarettes we want. That’s worth
a lot.”
“Fine!” Nicola tugs her hair in frustration. “What do I have to do?”
“Tell her who you are.” Rush’s words flow over the music; in the next
room The Writer Lady catches her breath in anticipation, and fumbles her
Tablet out of her purse. “Just tell her who you are.”
~*~*~
New to Lucy Crowe? Get to know Nicola and Rush in her first novel "Sugar Man's Daughter," and join the mailing list for blog posts and updates on "Maypops in September"
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