We Begin at the End(12)

“He was looking out for his own. His men, like family.” She put a hand on his chest. “That’s our blood right there. We’re outlaws.”

“Maybe you are.”

“We’re the same.”

“But my daddy and yours, they’re not the same—”

“Hey.” She gripped his face lightly. “Radley blood, we’re the same. Just because our fathers were no good at all … we’re the same. Tell me.”

“We’re the same.”

When it was time the light dropped a little and Star sat up front on a stool and played a set of covers, a couple of her own. One of the men she drank with whistled and hollered and catcalled after each number.

“Assholes,” Duchess said.

“Assholes,” Robin agreed.

“Don’t say that word.”

And then the man stood, gestured toward Star and grabbed his crotch. He said something else, like there was history there. Called her a cocktease. Said maybe she was a dyke.

Duchess got to her feet, picked up her soda and launched the glass across the bar. It fell short and smashed by his foot. He stared at her open-mouthed, she stared back, arms out wide, telling him to bring whatever he could, that she wouldn’t turn away.

“Sit down,” Robin tugged her hand. “Please.”

She blinked down at him, saw the fear there, then turned to her mother, who mouthed the same words.

The man glared. Duchess flipped him off and sat.

Robin finished his soda as Star called for her daughter. Duchess, come up here. My baby can sing better than her momma.

Duchess sank into the bench, stared at her mother and shook her head no matter how many turned and beckoned and clapped. There was a time when she would sing, when she was smaller, before she knew about the world. She would sing at home, in the shower, in the yard.

Star declared her daughter no fun at all and moved on to the last song, the song that saw Robin set his pens down and watch their mother like she was the last of the blessed. “I love this one.”

“I know.”

When Star was done she slipped from the stage, collected her money and stuffed the envelope in her purse, maybe fifty bucks. And then the man was back, and this time he grabbed a handful of her ass.

Duchess was on her feet before Robin could plead no. She moved fast, across the floor where she knelt and picked up a shard of the glass.

Star pushed the man back but he reared, clenched a fist till he caught the eyes, not on him but beyond. He turned, and there she stood small and ready. She held it high, the jagged edge aimed at his throat.

“I am the outlaw, Duchess Day Radley. And you are the barstool pussy, and I’ll cut your head clean off.”

She heard the faint cries of her brother. Star grabbed her wrist and shook it hard till she dropped the glass. Other men came, stepped between and made things calm. Drinks were poured without charge.

Star shoved her out the door, scooped up Robin and followed.

The lot was dark as they climbed into the truck.

Star laid into her, yelled and told her she was dumb, that the man could’ve hurt her, that she knew what she was doing and didn’t need a thirteen-year-old looking out for her. Duchess sat still, waiting for it to end.

When it did Star moved to start the engine.

“You shouldn’t drive now.”

“I’m straight.” Star looked in the mirror and fixed her hair.

“You don’t drive my brother when you’re like this.”

“I said I’m straight now.”

“Straight like Vincent King was?”

Duchess saw the hand coming, didn’t turn from it, just took the slap to her cheek like it was nothing.

In the back Robin cried.

Duchess leaned over, took the key from the ignition and crawled back there with him. She smoothed his hair and tears and helped him change into his pajamas.

Duchess slept an hour, then climbed up front and handed Star the keys. They left the lot and drove toward home, mother and daughter side by side.

“You know it’s his birthday this weekend,” Duchess said, quiet.

A beat before Star answered. “Course I know. He’s my prince.”

It made Duchess’s stomach hurt. She had no money of her own. She worked a paper route, she pedaled and sweated each weekend, it did not pay well.

“If you can give me some money I’ll take care of it.”

“I’ll sort it.”

“But—”

“Shit, Duchess, I said I’ll sort it. Have a little faith.”

She might’ve said she lost her faith each time her own birthday passed by without mention.

The car bumped along till they turned onto the highway.

“You hungry?” Star said.

“I fixed hotdogs.”

“Did you pick up any sauce? You know Robin likes it.”

Duchess looked at her mother with tired eyes. Star reached across and stroked her cheek. “You should’ve come up there tonight.”

“Singing for a bunch of drunks. I’ll leave that to the professionals.”

Star pulled a cigarette from her bag and gripped it between her teeth while she fumbled with her lighter. “If I put the radio on will you sing something for me?”

“Robin is sleeping.”