Bull Mountain(53)

“No, thanks, I’m okay.”

Florida State tucked the peanuts back into his bag and secured the flap, taking the time to buckle each strap.

Can’t be too careful traveling with whores, she thought, and wished she’d taken the peanuts. She was starving.

“Suit yourself,” he said, “but you look pretty hungry.”

“I’m really not,” she lied. “My stomach’s a little knotted up this morning.”

“You trying to get clean?” he said without skipping a beat, like he was asking about the weather or a local football score. Angel shifted herself toward the window and slowly angled her arms in an attempt to hide the blackened veins that road-mapped them.

“It’s cool,” Florida State said. “I’m not judging or anything. I think it’s great you want to do better for yourself. I’m Hattie, by the way.” Hattie stuck out a pudgy hand for Angel to shake. She handled it like it was carved from dog shit.

“I’m Angel.”

“Nice to meet you, Angel. Are you headed home or leaving home?”

“Going home.”

“Cool. Cool. I got a buddy down in Pensacola getting married in a few days. I’m gonna hang out in the gulf and tan up a little before I hit the wedding.”

Angel wanted to laugh. This guy had about as much of a chance of getting tanned up as she did getting her virginity back. She really didn’t care what Hattie’s plans were. She only wanted to sleep away the last hours of this trip and wake up in a brand-new but slightly less shitty situation. Hattie wasn’t going to let that happen.

“You mind if I ask what happened to your face?”

“Yes,” she said. It came out fast and sharp.

“That’s cool. I’m just being friendly. I’ll shut up.”

Angel felt a twinge of guilt for snapping at the guy. She was all bandaged up, after all, so why wouldn’t he ask? “No. Look, I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be rude. I got into a . . . situation recently, and now I’m just trying to get out—way out.”

“Jeez, sounds rough.”

“It was.”

“What brought you to Jacksonville in the first place?”

She laughed. Here she was, beaten, bandaged, badly dressed, covered in bruises and track marks, hadn’t showered in more than a week, and answering that question embarrassed her. Angel considered Hattie for the first time. If she wasn’t so foul and down on herself, she might have found him cute in a Peter Pan kind of way. She had to admit, though, it was nice talking to a decent guy. “It’s a dumb reason.”

“Can’t be that dumb if you’re gonna up and move to another state. Tell me.”

“I wanted to be a singer.”

“A singer?”

“Yeah. I told you it was dumb.”

“No, it ain’t. That’s cool. I can’t carry a tune in a bucket. What kind of singing?”

“Rock and roll, I guess. A little country, too.”

“Like Linda Ronstadt? I love her.”

“A little,” Angel said. She was brightening up some. No one ever wanted to talk to her about her music. Mostly people just rolled their eyes. “I like Ronstadt, but I wanted a harder edge. More like Janis Joplin, you know?”

“Like her stuff with Big Brother and the Holding Company?”

“Yeah.” Angel was excited now. Not many people she met knew the music she listened to. The smile she wore made the wounds in her face throb. “But my idea was to make it a little more southern, like picture Janis singing for Lynyrd Skynyrd, or something.”

“Ah, that’s why you came to Jacksonville and you didn’t head the other way toward California.”

“Yeah, I thought I’d get inspired if I lived in the same town those guys were from. I thought some of what they had might rub off on me.”

Hattie unstrapped his rucksack and offered his peanuts again. This time she accepted. She popped an entire handful in her mouth but immediately regretted it. It hurt to chew.

“Still could, you know.”

“Still could what?” she said carefully from the side of her full mouth.

“Still could make it big. You got plenty of time to get back out there.”

Angel finished chewing before she responded to that. “No,” she said. “No, I can’t.” She was suddenly cold, and hugged herself close around her midriff. She stared back out the window. “Things have . . . changed.” She closed her eyes and thought about another one of her stupid decisions. In the three months she’d worked johns for Pepé, she’d at least made them wear a rubber. That, or she was slick enough to get one of those stupid sponges in place first. That bastard—Gareth, Pepé had called him—he refused. She was too scared to argue. No, she wasn’t scared. She was into him, so she gave in to him. She was just stupid, and that was nothing new.

“You okay?” Hattie said.

“I’m fine,” she said.

“Well, I sure don’t see why you can’t make another run at the whole singing thing, Angel. I mean, you sure are pretty enough.”

Instantly Angel was hyper-aware of how much of her body was uncovered. She tried not to show it, but shrank up a little in her seat out of instinct. “Thank you,” she said, polite but frigid. He’d gotten her talking. It was her fault. Here it comes.