Burn Out

It’s dark outside tonight. It usually is when he asks me to meet up. I’m just another of his women, and it’s fine by me. I’m not looking for commitment or something serious. Or, I wasn’t.

He’s driving a car, which I know is nice only because of the appreciative glances he gets from the townies walking under the streetlights. I take one last drag from my cigarette before dropping it to the brick under my feet and stomping it out.

“Those will kill you, ya know?”

I smile at him. He’s not much taller than me, maybe half an inch. He’s got this shaggy brown hair that most men can’t quite pull off, but he does. If I had to weather a guess, I’d say, he’s got at least two handguns tucked into his jeans and four knives hidden on his person. His whole being screams danger, but I never scare easy.

“Hopefully they don’t take too much longer. Such a pain waiting on the inevitable.” He chuckles a bit at that before grabbing me by the waist.

“Been a while, Francy.”

“Has it?”

“Too long, if you ask me.” He nuzzles into my neck, pressing his lips in a spot that is just- I push him away a bit and inspect his person. Same old leather jacket. Same old boots. Same old him.

“And you never quite learn.” I walk to his car, my heels clicking against the bricks. He’s armed with weapons, and I’m armed with pure charm. What’s the danger?

I wait at the door before looking over my shoulder at him, my long dark hair falling over my shoulder. I only ever wear it down with him, and it drives him wild.

“Are you coming or not?”

“Right.” He walks over, opens the door for me, and watches as I settle into his car. I watch him get in before I lean over, squeeze his bicep just a bit to draw his attention, and plant a kiss on his cheek.

“Show me your world again tonight, love.”

“Only after I get some of yours.”

It’s the same routine with him. We meet up, he takes me around in his fancy car, and then he pulls over by the bridge overlooking the river. He tells me it reminds him of the stars. I smile. He tells me he’s sorry he can’t give me more and I tell him I don’t need more.

He lays the seats back. He holds me in his arms and we kiss- slow at first. His lips almost seem to wake up as we kiss and he slides on top of me, pulling my dress up my thighs.

His tongue works with mine as he pulls off my underwear and I work on getting his jeans off. It’s all practiced and down to a science. I don’t have to guess how good it will be. It’ll be the best I’ll ever have. I’ll moan his name and tell him how fucking good it feels. Then our eyes will meet.

He’ll say “I love you.” I’ll say it back because I’m not a good woman. A good woman would’ve never gotten in his car. A good woman wouldn’t be having sex with a man who didn’t even tell her his name.

He’ll finish inside of me, and hand me a wad of napkins to ‘clean up’. I’ll do it, and then we’ll spend the night looking at the water and how it sparkles so beautifully after midnight. I’ll realize how quiet it is, and how lonely I am. He’ll be asleep when I turn to ask him the question I always ask.

“Do you think we’ll ever be together?” The only response is his snoring. He never gets a peaceful night’s sleep. Some nights I get angry at him for falling asleep, and other nights I just get out of the car and leave before he wakes up.

He always sends me cash the next morning. Usually left on the doorstep of my apartment, all wadded up. In the beginning, it came with flowers and a little note that said “Don’t get pregnant, Francy.”

Now it’s just the wad of cash. Too much for the birth control, but I don’t say anything of it. After our romantic night, my life continues like nothing ever happened. I go to work, rare for women, but the only choice I have. I answer calls and give details about a feminine product.

“Yes, it’s the new thing. It’s environmentally friendly and completely safe to use.” I’ll say about 500 times. I’ll go back home to my empty apartment. I’ll call my mother.

“You seeing anyone Francy?”

“No one, mother.”

“Well, I heard there’s more suitors in upstate Newark.”

“Must be, mother. They don’t seem to like downtown too much.”

At night, I wait for a letter. Or a call. When one doesn’t come, I knock on the door across from mine.

“Francy?” His eyebrows always quirk up when I come over, but it’s endearing. I hold up a bottle of wine and two wine glasses and he silently opens the door further.

“Drink with me, B.”

“Nothing from your mystery man tonight either?” He asks, shutting the door.

“Not a whisper.”

“You oughtta find a proper gentleman, Francy.”

“And what? Pretend my innocence? Lie to him? Why yes, dear, I’ve never so much as heard about making love.”

He chuckles and pours us both a large class of the apple wine I brought.

“Or find a man who doesn’t care about past prolactivities.” I shake my head.

“Like you? But, B,” I gasp, “you’re engaged.”

He playfully hits my arm, “Damn right, I am. And if word got out you were in here right now, I wouldn’t be for much longer. The old folks here love a drama.”

“Do they?”

We clank our glasses together and drink in big gulps. I finish my glass first and pour another.

“Anything interesting in your life, B?”

“Oh, not that I can share with you.” He rubs the back of his head carefully, if not a bit awkward.

“More of that standard classified detective bullshit, then?”

“You know I can’t say.”

“But by not saying you’re telling me quite a bit already. I hope this is your big break. Make that fiance of yours rich.”

“I’m trying.”

I grab his empty glass and pour him another.

“I shouldn’t.”

“Come on, B. I need a little fun.”

The night goes long. Fortunately, B drinks a little too fast and his tongue is loosened.

“We’re gonna catch those mobsters!” He slurs holding up his fist.

I laugh, bringing my cup to my mouth. I catch his eyes and hold eye contact as I finish the glass.

“You’re pretty.” He says, moving closer to me. Typical B, but this is part of the game I play. He’s crawling across the floor, clearly drunk and his hands find my shoulders. He pushes me into the carpet.

“B, I am not your fiance,” I say.

“I know.”

His mouth comes crashing over mine. He tastes of sour wine. His hands are heavy as they roam my body. He’s trying to grab the hem of my nightgown, but I’m holding it down with all the strength I have.

I want information from him- I don’t want to ruin his life.

Except he’s twice my size, and even drunk he’s got three times my strength. I shove him, hard. He teeters a bit, and I take that opportunity to roll out from under him. When I turn to look at him, he’s fast asleep curled in a ball on the floor. I don’t understand how men fall asleep so easily, but it seems to always work in my favor.

I walk into his room and find a beige folder with a big red stamp that says CLASSIFIED.

Then I find him, again. My mystery man, and his full glorious name outlined in red. John Everest Marshall. Potential mobster, maybe a gangster- I don’t know the difference between the two. Both are illegal and now I have the information I need to get on his radar. I set the folder back down exactly as I found it. I leave B’s apartment in a hurry, running to the phone in my apartment.

I call the number he left me for emergencies. When the slight buzz stops I know he’s picked up, even though he doesn’t answer.

“I found something you might want to know about, love.” I hang up before he can say anything.

I suppose, I’ll be seeing my not-so-mysterious man soon, then.

It takes a couple of days for me to hear anything from John. It’s still strange to put a name to the face, a little disconcerting. The name feels all wrong. John Everest Marshall? It can’t be his real name- it doesn’t quite suit him. When I do hear from him, it’s in the typical way. A note, stapled to my door. All it has is a location, time, and date. How fun. I tuck the note into my purse, lock up my door, and turn to walk out when I see B. He looks miserable. He just stands outside his door, holding his hands behind his back.

I take a bit of a step back from him, and his face falls.

“Francy,” He starts and I push my back up against my door.

“Francy, I am so so sorry. I was drunk- I wouldn’t- I don’t, I’m just sorry.”

I nod slowly at him, “I know, B. It’s alright. Nothing happened.”

“Don’t do that- don’t hide from me.”

“I’m not. I just don’t particularly feel well today.”

“Me either,” he sighs “but I want you to know I didn’t mean to do that. I would never do that-”

“I know, B. I know. You were drunk. No harm no foul. You fell right asleep once I pushed you off.”

“So I didn’t-”

“No, you have nothing to worry about. Nothing to tell your fiance about, and certainly no drama for these old leeches to go spreading.”

“Then we’re?”

“We’re good. You have nothing to worry about. Go to work, B. Try not to feel too bad, okay?”

“Alright. I feel better after knowing I didn’t do anything.”

“I’m glad.” I watch as he locks his apartment door, and as he leaves. As much as I consider B a friend, he’s also a man. I always have a certain amount of wariness with any man- B is no exception to that rule.

I go to work, same as always. I deal with annoying male coworkers with superiority complexes. I answer calls happily, despite not feeling it at all.

But today is different. One phone call, in particular, kicks the routine out of the day.

“Good afternoon, Francy.” I would recognize that voice anywhere. John.

“Hello, sir. How can I assist you today?”

“Good girl, pretend this is a normal conversation.”

“Sir, I do have to inform you that every once in a while a supervisor will join the line to ensure I am providing our customers with the best service.”

“Taken care of. You got my note?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good. Then I just have to ask- is your life in danger?”

“No sir, this product is more about how it impacts the world.”

The man next to me looks at me, glaring. “That is not in the script, Francine.”

I cover the bottom of the phone with one hand and respond, “Oh, my bad, sir. I’ll work on that.”

“Am I getting you in trouble at your job?”

“It’s no trouble at all, sir. We thank you for your call, and I’ll have that order placed immediately.”

“Then, I’ll see you tonight.”

“Excellent. Have a beneficial day.” I slam the phone down and glare at the man who interrupted the call.

“Hellman,” I start, and he looks up at me, “For future reference interrupt me after the call is over if you have a problem. Oh, and I’m going home early today.”

“You can’t talk to me like that!”

“Oh, like hell I can’t! I have better sales than you, and I’m just better than you. Grow a pair, and get out of my face.” He yells after me, but I’m halfway out of the building before I’m stopped by the supervisor.

“Francine, where in the world are you going?”

“Home, sir. I’m not feeling well. Feminine issues.” I tell him, clutching my lower abdomen. He pales and quickly moves aside. A man’s world, but I sure know how to use it. I smirk and leave the office before anyone else can stop me.

I make it home well before 5 pm. There’s a process I do before I meet with John. A kind of ritual. I’ve been seeing him long enough that I know what he likes: Sleek black dress, that kind of molds to my body, heels that don’t make me taller than him. Hair combed back, with slightly curled ends, and light makeup. Mascara, nude lipstick, blush, and cat-eye eyeliner. Perfume that smells like wisteria flowers, and some flitter put on my chest- just where the skin is ever so slightly exposed by the heart neckline of the dress.

He always talks about how he prefers blondes, but that sentiment doesn’t seem to stop him from fooling around with me. He prefers women who wear big black boots with a platform and color the area around their eyes in dark rouge. I can’t quite pull that style off, and I’ll be damned if I change that much for a man who wouldn’t even tell me his name. I’ll stick to my heels and black dresses. Funeral attire. The death of the woman I should’ve been. The death of the woman who saves her virtues for her husband and has no secrets. A woman like my mother. Someone I could never be.

By the time I leave my apartment the street lights are on. They paint the dirty streets of Newark a pale yellow and reflect off of the puddles that seem to be littered on the brick sidewalks. As I walk I recognize the eerie feeling that washes over me. My entire body tenses in anxiety, but I continue as normal, only stopping at a pay phone.

I dial the emergency number, the same one I called a couple of days ago.

“Love, it’s me. We have a problem. I’ve got a tail.”

“You said your life wasn’t-”

“It’s not. I think it’s just a worried friend. Who happens to be a detective. I’ll lose him in the square.”

I hear him sigh through the phone, “You keep some interesting company.” He hangs up.

As I turn to go, the eerie feeling only continues, and I make my way to the busiest part of town. It’s bustling, as usual, and I try to disappear in the crowd. I know it doesn’t work, even as I slip into a bakery.

The employee stares at me with wide eyes, and I smile at him, pulling cash out of my purse.

“Show me the back exit, and if you can… Do you have any clothes I could change into, maybe a pair of extra shoes?”

The young boy only grabs the cash and beckons me behind the counter filled with sweet treats. I follow. He opens a locker in what I can only assume is the break room and starts handing me jeans, a plain white t-shirt with a v-neck, and a plain blue cap. Then, he takes out a ratty pair of blue tennis shoes and points towards the exit.

I go into my purse again and hand the kid more cash, “For your silence, and maybe,” I look pointedly at the shoes, “a new pair of shoes.” He nods and leaves me. I change quickly leaving my clothes in the open locker and then slipping out the back door.

I can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief, as the tense feeling of being watched disappears. See, I’m no stranger when it comes to disguise. Right now, I look like any teenage boy. My hair is tucked into the cap, and the shirt is baggy enough to cover any curves that might otherwise give me away. The jeans, while slightly too big, are held up by a belt and cover anything someone might be suspicious about. I walk back into the busy square, and let myself relax.

It’s pretty in Newark, something I don’t often get to enjoy. Not like Oregan pretty where the skies are clear and the stars glitter in the night. It’s just regular pretty. The kind where the skies are slightly fogged over, but the streetlights still reflect off the glass of the buildings and makes everything feel shiny. The cobblestone of the square is dull, sure, but theres hundreds of people in this place. Nothing like that in Oregan.

It might be nice, someday, to take a walk here holding someone’s hand. Maybe a little girl will hold onto my pinky and laugh all happy while we pass the candy store. Maybe she’ll let go of my hand and turn in a spin as she admires the street lights and I’ll smile at the man who stands beside me and know that all I did was for something. Or maybe I’ll sit on a dirty bench and wait on a man who will never give me any of that. Who, even as he sits next to me, doesn’t spare a glance in my direction.

“What was the info?” I pull the cap further down, covering my brows. I’m glad he doesn’t look at me, or he might see the dream I just imagined and leave. I’m glad he stares forwards, and that I have this old blue cap to cover whatever hope might be glimmering in my hazel eyes. None of that is what he wants from me. I know it.

“Detectives are watching you, John.” I say, and even as I say that name I feel him go stiff next to me. The air turns cold, and I can’t help but clutch my arms tight around my stomach.

“That’s not-”

“I know. Not your real name, but they have a whole confidential folder about your business.”

“Well. Thanks for the info.” He stands and starts walking away, but I grab his arm. He turns and I look up at him.

“I want to go for a ride.” I say, and his lips quirk up. He nods at me and continues walking. I follow him.

It’s a new car. Older, I think. He opens my door and I get in, taking the hat off as I do and letting my long black hair fall back.

He gets in and I wait until we’ve been driving a while to speak.

“Got a cigarette?” I ask, and he opens the middle console for me, keeping his eyes forward. I grab a box and his lighter. I offer him one but he shakes his head.

“Don’t smoke.”

“That’s a lot of cigarette’s for a man that doesn’t smoke.” But, I light mine up and lean out the open window.

“Why did you have a tail?”

“Wasn’t careful enough, I suppose.”

His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t speak again until I drop the cigarette out the window and watch it disappear.

“You wanna tell me how you got that information?”

“My friend is a detective.” I shrug.

“And he just tells you whatever you ask?”

“More like he drinks a bit too much passes out, and I have free roam of his apartment.”

“So you stayed the night at his apartment.”

“Hardly. He’s my neighbor.”

“Alright.” But, there’s a hint of anger there. Or maybe jealousy? Either way, what’s done is done. Maybe I helped him, or maybe he already knew. I don’t even know his real name, much less what he does.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Our spot.” The bridge. Never a hotel. Never a bed. Just a car and two bodies. No starlight- just the reflection of lights on water, and silence that grows heavy with the night. He’ll fall asleep long before I do, and I’ll dream of a happy future that I’ll never have.

“Do you remember the first time we met?” I ask him, filling the silence as he parks.

“I do. You were crying outside some bar. Dressed to the nines, but all crumpled up against the side of some building- a distillery, I think. You were smoking a cigarette and yelling at anyone who looked at you just a little too long.”

“And?”

“You didn’t yell at me, though. Even as I crouched in front of you, and took the cigarette out of your mouth. You had this cute puzzled look on your face, but when I grabbed your hand you didn’t argue.”

“I didn’t, did you ever wonder why?”

“Didn’t have to.”

“Why is that?”

“You told me when I got you in my car that you needed a night where nothing mattered. Just one night where life stopped screwing you.”

“Right. Thank you for that. I don’t think I ever told you how much that night meant to me. I-”

“You were going to kill yourself.” He nods at the bridge, looking into the water.

“I don’t know. I was thinking about it. I was thinking how few good people there were in the world. I mean, I was falling apart and people turned me into entertainment. They stopped and stared, brought friends to point and laugh at the girl who was losing it. That’s not the kind of people I want to be around, and it seemed like- I don’t know-”

“Like everybody was bad.” He fills in for me.

“Yes.”

“Including you?”

“Oh, I’m the worst of all. After everything, I took advantage of your kindness. Didn’t even get your name.”

“I wouldn’t have given it to you.”

“I don’t think I deserve it.”

“What do you think you deserve?” He asks, finally looking at me. His eyes are a grey blue and he looks at me with an intentness I’ve never seen before. No one has ever looked at me like that. I look away from him, grabbing another cigarette and lighting it up.

“I deserve whatever I get.” I finally answer, blowing smoke into the wind.

He leans over, knocking the cigarette from my hand. He grabs my chin and looks down his nose at me, a frown dragging the edge of his lips into a downward slope. He slowly brings his face down towards mine and kisses me, long and slow. When he pulls away I smile up at him, but there’s something in his face that just looks sad.

“I think you deserve more than what you’ve gotten.” He tells me before bringing his mouth back to mine. This time it’s intense and his tongue slips against mine. He pulls me on top of him, unbuttoning the jeans I borrowed, and pulling the white shirt over my head. He undoes his own pants, and as I pull my underwear to the side the length of him slips into me. His hands hold onto my thighs leaving indents as he presses into me. This, somehow, feels different. His mouth leaves mine, and he presses kisses to my neck before biting down. I moan as his fingers work the tense ball of nerves near my entrance, and he grabs my hips with his other hand, pulling me down- and forcing himself further into me. I rock my hips back and forth even as he brings his lips to my ear. With a softness I’ve never heard he tells me “I love you.” over and over and over until I almost believe him. Until I’m saying it back, and wrapping my arms around his neck, pushing his forehead against my breasts. When it’s over, he takes his time gently moving me into the passenger seat. He wipes the sweat from my forehead, then presses a butterfly kiss to it. He cleans me up, and dresses me before he worries about fixing his own pants. I watch him, and every dream I’ve had about not being alone fills my mind.

Every dream where it’s him and I runs through my mind. A ring on my finger, and a sweet little girl who has his eyes and my nose. As I watch him I feel those dreams closing in on me, the hope reigniting itself. It could be- if I just keep- But, even as the thoughts come I kill them. He’s not the kind of man to settle down. He probably has another woman to meet with tomorrow night. Probably some blonde who wears black platform boots and dark rouge around her eyes.

After a while of staring at him, he turns to me, “Why do you look at me like that?” he asks.

“Like what?”

“Like I mean something to you.”

“Because, you do.”

“Francy, I-”

“No. I know- you’ve said it enough you can’t give me more. You don’t owe me anything. Just, don’t go disappearing like you do. Even a note every couple days, or a phone call.”

“It’s difficult.”

“I know, but I worry that one day you’ll never come looking for me and I’ll just be the girl who waited on a man that would never come.”

“As long as I’m alive, I’ll keep coming back to you.” Somehow, those words aren’t as relieving to hear as I thought they’d be.

“Are you seeing other women?” I ask him, looking away.

“No.” That startles me, and I whip my head back at him. He’s looking at me, that same sad look on his face from before.

“You’re not?” I ask, again. He shakes his head.

“I couldn’t handle more than one woman, Francy. Plus I got lucky with you, you’re smart and-”

“And I don’t talk. Don’t ask questions.”

“Sure, but I was going to say trustworthy.”

“And other women aren’t?”

“Other women aren’t you.” He says, the corners of his mouth curling up.

“Don’t say that.” I tell him, and his smile falls. He can’t give me anything. Can’t give me the happy life I dream of. Can’t give me answers.

“Sorry. I just mean that- when I say I love you it’s not just a sex thing. It’s real. It’s true.”

“You only say it during sex.” I remind him, leveling a hard look in his direction.

“I- yes, but I love you outside of having sex with you.”

“That might be true, but you know what I think?” He looks at me, his eyebrow quirking up.

“I think you love the idea of me. I think you love the easy access you have to me. I think you love that I don’t ask you questions. You can say you love me, but you barely even know me.”

“That’s not true.”

“Then give me something real.”

“Like?”

“Anything, tell me something real.”

“Alright,” he pauses for a moment and then leans in to whisper, “My real name is Philip.”

“Philip.” I repeat, the words almost silent as they leave my mouth.

“Your turn.” He says, settling back into his seat.

I look at him. He told me his name.

“Francine. That’s what Francy is short for.”

“Francy suits you better.”

“I agree.” I open the door and step out into the cool Newark air. It’s starting to get colder, late october nights bring early winter.

“I’ll see you, Francine.”

“Goodnight, Lip.” I close the door and walk towards the north end of the bridge. My apartment is only two blocks from here. As I walk I feel a familiar sensation wrap itself around me. My heart clenches in my chest as I walk alone back to my empty apartment.

When I get back there’s a note waiting on my door. It sits in a little black envelop on the floor. I pick it up, unlock my door, and walk inside.