The Love of a Bad Man Read online

  THE LOVE OF A BAD MAN

  Laura Elizabeth Woollett is a Perth-born, Melbourne-based author and editor. Her first novel, The Wood of Suicides, was published in the US in early 2014. From 2012 to early 2015 she was a fiction editor for Voiceworks. More recently, she appeared as one of Melbourne Writers Festival’s ‘30 Under 30’. Her work has appeared widely in print and online, including in Kill Your Darlings, The Suburban Review, and Literary Hub.

  Scribe Publications

  18–20 Edward St, Brunswick, Victoria 3056, Australia

  2 John St, Clerkenwell, London, WC1N 2ES, United Kingdom

  First published by Scribe 2016

  Copyright © Laura Elizabeth Woollett 2016

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the publisher of this book.

  These stories first appeared in the following publications: ‘Caril’ and ‘Karla’ (as ‘Sweetheart Deal’) in Voiceworks; ‘Charlie’s Girls’ in The Suburban Review; ‘Wanda’ in Skidrow Penthouse; ‘Eva’ (excerpt) on The Wheeler Centre website.

  A CiP record for this title is available from the National Library of Australia

  9781925321555 (paperback)

  9781925307788 (e-book)

  scribepublications.com.au

  scribepublications.co.uk

  CONTENTS

  Blanche

  Eva

  Martha

  Caril

  Myra

  Charlie’s Girls

  Jan

  Marceline

  Veronica

  Cathy

  Karla

  Wanda

  Appendix

  Bibliography

  Acknowledgements

  What hills, what hills are those, my love

  Those hills so dark and low?

  Those are the hills of hell, my love

  Where you and I must go.

  ‘THE DAEMON LOVER’, CHILD BALLAD 243

  Blanche

  ‘Baby, wake up,’ he says, and he’s kissing my eyelids, my cheeks, trailing his fingers over the bib of my nightgown and it’s so soft it must be a dream. Buck home. Buck home after fifteen months. But the telegram was only this afternoon and his bus won’t be getting to Dallas till morning and there’s the long dusty drive after that. It’s night now. The room is dark and from the window I can feel a cool wind blowing in, bringing smells of flowering pecan and hackberry. Buck kisses me again.

  ‘Wake up, baby,’ he says.

  ‘Daddy?’ My voice sounds strange and syrupy-thick. I’ve been fixing to make him a big breakfast since I heard he was getting out, flapjacks and bacon all drowning in sweetness the way he likes. ‘Is this real, or am I dreaming?’

  Buck laughs and I feel his ribs shaking under my hands. After all his time inside, they’re jutting something awful. That’s how I know he’s really here, and also because he’s touching me, putting his hands all up my nightgown. He kisses me on the lips, so sweet and long and glad it makes my cheeks hurt.

  ‘Daddy …’ I try to say. He smooches my mouth corner. ‘Daddy, how’d you get here so fast?’

  The trunk is packed and I’m wearing a new outfit, white-and-gold check with fresh white gloves and white pumps to match. Buck lets out a low whistle when I come down the porch, holding my straw hat to my head.

  ‘I’ve got me a little yellow songbird,’ he booms out to his ma and sister, both standing with crossed arms under the pecan tree. They don’t laugh or even hardly smile. I know they think me vain for putting money into my appearance in hard times like this, but I’ll be darned if I don’t look my best for Buck his first day of freedom.

  ‘You come back soon as you can, son,’ his ma hugs him tight and pushes her cheek up against his. ‘You hear me?’

  ‘Aw, Ma, you know me and Blanche wanna get settled right away.’

  But Mrs Barrow won’t take no for an answer, and soon he’s stroking her hair, telling her we’ll be back in a week or two at the latest. Then he kisses Marie goodbye and I do the same to his ma, thanking her for her hospitality. ‘It’s nothing,’ she says, but I feel her cheek stiffen under my lips and know she’s only saying it for Buck’s benefit. The truth is, his people have never made me feel too welcome. I guess they can’t forgive me for being the most important person in his life.

  ‘Let’s shake some dust, baby,’ Buck winks at me over Marie’s head.

  Dirt flies up as we pull away from the house and I wave at them through the pale storm of it. I don’t know what sight makes me happier: Mrs Barrow and Marie getting smaller behind us, or the big blue sky ahead of us.

  As we drive through town, Buck puts his hand on my knee. He laughs to himself. ‘What’s funny?’ I ask him. He just shakes his head and laughs some more. Well, I don’t like him making a game of me, so I keep asking, ‘What’s funny, Daddy?’ until he squeezes my knee and shakes his head again. Then he whistles.

  ‘I’m a free man. Oh, lordy. I’m a free man.’

  We’re just passing through town when I pull out my compact. Buck jokes that it’s going to be hard getting used to all my lotions and potions again. I’ve been working at the Cinderella Beauty Shoppe these past months, so I know a thing or two about makeup, but for once I don’t have anything to say about it. The reason being, I’ve just caught sight of the black Oldsmobile that’s tailing us. I snap my mirror shut.

  ‘Daddy?’

  ‘I know, baby. I know.’

  I glance at the gas dial but it’s more empty than full and anyway, we’ve got nothing to run from. Buck is straight as Abel now and when he walked out of prison yesterday it was through the front door. At the nearest gas station, we pull over and, before we can step out, the Oldsmobile swerves in front of us. There’s a smell of exhaust and two plainclothes jump out with drawn shotguns. The attendant boy blinks fast, drops his pail of soapy water, and dips behind the pumps.

  ‘Put your hands up! ’ the bigger of the men barks.

  We do as we’re told and they creep over to Buck’s side of the sedan, opening the door slowly like they’re half expecting him to blow their brains out. Then they tell Buck to get out and they start frisking him, messing up his good suit. After that come the accusations.

  ‘Are you Clyde Barrow and Bonnie Parker?’

  ‘No, sir!’ Buck and me say at the same time.

  ‘Well, you sure look the part.’ The smaller one narrows his eyes at Buck. ‘Got any proof?’

  Buck says his papers are in the trunk and the officers exchange glances. Then the small one goes around while the big one stays with us, looking past Buck’s shoulder at little old me inside the car. ‘Bonnie Parker. With my own eyes.’

  I think, he’s going to be disappointed when he sees our papers, but I don’t say it. A few minutes later, the small one comes back around and he’s shaking his head, laughing to himself like he can’t believe our lucky stars, or their unlucky ones. ‘He’s a Barrow, but he ain’t the one we want.’

  ‘Clyde’s my little brother,’ Buck puffs himself up. If there’s one thing I know about Barrows, it’s that they’re proud of being Barrows.

  We make good time to Dallas, though we sure are rumpled from the road. In the little hotel room, we lie down in our day clothes and get even more rumpled. Then I guess I fall asleep, because the white walls are suddenly blue and I can
see Buck’s hat and shoes are gone. Though I know he wouldn’t go far without me, it still hurts that he’d leave at all without so much as a note. I sit and sulk for a while then get up and do my makeup then go back to sulking when he still isn’t back. He finally tiptoes in some twenty minutes later, slipping his shoes off at the door.

  ‘Daddy, where’d you go?’ I call through the darkness. Buck almost jumps out of his skin.

  ‘Jeepers, baby!’ He laughs. ‘You were sleeping like a baby when I left.’

  He takes off his hat and holds it to his heart, weaving slightly on his feet. Something drops inside me like a seat on a Ferris wheel. Oh no, I think. Oh no, he hasn’t.

  ‘Daddy, where were you?’

  ‘I had to take a phone call, didn’t I?’

  ‘Have you been drinking?’

  Buck looks offended, then starts grinning. ‘Heck, nothing gets past you, baby. Go put on your shoes. I’ve got something to run by you, and I ain’t doing it on an empty stomach.’

  We go to the greasy spoon around the corner and both get the blue-plate special — cornbread and beef hash with two kinds of beans. Buck tries to sweeten me up by getting me to eat first, but as soon as Clyde’s name comes up, I know it’s bad. Dabbing gravy from his lips, Buck starts, ‘You know, Clyde had this swell idea to bust Ray out of Eastham …’

  ‘No, Daddy.’

  ‘That’s what I told him. I said count me out, I ain’t doing nothing that’s gonna put Blanche and me at risk. He was beating his gums so long about it, saying how we know the country better’n them, and I said no. I said no, baby.’

  ‘You did?’

  ‘Sure. I ain’t a complete sap. Thing is, him and Bonnie have had it hard lately, harder’n all of us. So I said we’d help them find a place to rest up …’

  Buck starts painting a picture of how nice it’ll be, the four of us living quietly somewhere for a few weeks. He says it’ll be like a vacation, a family reunion almost, and Bonnie and I can fix the place up however we want. My eyes fill up. I pull my hand away from Buck’s and shake my head, gathering up my white kid purse to go.

  ‘It’s supposed to be us, Daddy. We’re supposed to be getting our own place.’

  ‘Baby, we can do that anytime. I’m a free man, remember? Heck, don’t go so fast! Don’t you want some pudding?’

  He really looks like he believes he’s a free man too, fixing me with those shiny dark eyes. But I know there’s no freedom where Clyde is concerned. The night is big and dirty and my legs too short to carry me far, but it’s the least I can do to make him chase after me. He’s dashing through the doors, setting his hat on crooked, grabbing for my arm.

  ‘You know you mean more to me than anyone on heaven and earth, baby, family included! Why you gotta use that against me? Why you gotta be the only one in my life? Don’t you know what a brother means to a brother?’

  ‘If you meant as much to him, he wouldn’t be asking.’

  ‘You don’t know that, baby. Lord, you don’t know anything!’

  ‘So now I’m stupid?’ I turn around and cross my arms.

  At that moment, another man starts walking up to the greasy spoon. He looks real down-and-out, with holes in his hat and his shirt stained the colour of hot chocolate. Buck hollers at the man.

  ‘Stupid! Now she says I’m calling her stupid! No wonder a man drinks, friend! Say, friend, what say we find us the nearest speakeasy …’

  ‘Hush, Daddy! Do you want to go back to the joint already?’

  ‘What I want, baby, is to get us a nice little bungalow with trees all round and a car shop attached. But a man’s got things he needs to do.’

  They’re staying at a tourist camp in Checotah, Oklahoma: Clyde and Bonnie and their buddy W.D., who’s just a pug-nosed kid of sixteen. I wasn’t expecting the kid, but I wasn’t expecting to arrive so late either, with the sky so orange and dusty over the prairie grass. Clyde limps out to meet us in his shirtsleeves with a pick between his teeth, all smiles and shoulder-claps. ‘Blanche-baby,’ he bends down to kiss me. I don’t want to like him, but as usual, I can’t help it, especially with him looking so much like Buck and using Buck’s pet name on me.

  ‘How long you been here?’ Buck asks Clyde as we’re walking up to their cabin.

  ‘Three nights.’

  ‘And there ain’t any heat?’

  ‘There’s always heat, brother, but it ain’t too bad here. So long as we don’t go to the grocery store. They got my poster up there.’

  It’s a nice brown-brick cabin with pale shutters pulled all the way down. When Clyde opens it up, I see Bonnie and W.D. huddled on the floor over a game of cards. They’re both hardly dressed and the room is so dark and messy it looks like a tornado hit it, clothes and guns and cards scattered everywhere. Bonnie looks up and smiles so big I think her face is going to crack in half. She gets up to greet us, dragging her leg just like Clyde.

  ‘I’m so glad! Bucky, you’re free. And Blanche — it sure is good to see another gal.’ Even though I’m not much over five foot myself, Bonnie has to lift her face way up to kiss me. I can smell the hooch on her breath. I look at her gimp leg and she says, ‘Oh, Clyde crashed some car last year. I was pinned under. At least we both have limps now. If you ask me, he feels more man having me lame as well.’

  ‘Doll, you’ll always find a way to bring me down,’ Clyde smiles. He puts his arm around Buck’s shoulder. ‘Come on, let me pour you something nasty.’

  I don’t much like whiskey, but I take a little and hold on to it while the others knock theirs right back. W.D. starts shuffling the cards, fancy like a magician. Bonnie reaches across the circle and refills everyone’s glasses but mine. ‘I’m always happier when I’ve got something to drink,’ she drawls, giving me this dippy sidelong smile. Up close, I can see the glossy black wing of her eyeliner, the silky flush of her cheeks. Even after a year of working at the Cinderella, I can’t help goggling at how pretty she is.

  ‘Buck, did Clyde tell you about our run-in with the law in Tarrant County? Oh, boy,’ W.D.’s voice cracks on ‘boy’ and he takes a slurp of whiskey. ‘It’s a good ’un, I tell you.’

  ‘Dry up, you sap. We don’t wanna hear it.’ Buck glances at me. I can tell from his face that he wouldn’t mind hearing and is only humouring me. Honest to God, he treats me like I’m two years old sometimes.

  Talk turns to Buck and Clyde’s people after that, then to Bonnie’s kid sister who W.D. is sweet on, then to the guys they know in Eastham. All the while, W.D. is dealing hands for poker and I’m trying to keep up, but I don’t know how to play nor do I care for getting drunk. At last, I stand up and say I’m going to fix us all something to eat. Buck tries to stop me by getting hold of my ankles, but I kick him away.

  As soon as I’m inside the kitchen, running myself a glass of water, I hear Buck asking in a low voice for that story. W.D. starts telling it in a whisper, too quiet for me to hear except for sound effects — Biff! Fwoom! Kablammo! — and their laughing.

  All of them laughing, long into the night.

  One thing I thank my lucky stars for is that Buck never gets violent when he’s drinking. Not like my first husband, who used to bounce me against the walls and other things so awful I can’t have children because of it. But Buck just gets stupid. Stupid, and darn pig-headed. Which I guess is its own special kind of dangerous.

  We decide to set out as early as we can, though none of us have slept more than a wink. If you ask me, they’re all still jazzed from last night. W.D. goes to settle the bill while I keep Bonnie company on the porch and our men pack the cars. When they’re done, Clyde lifts Bonnie right up and carries her to the open roadster. Buck gets it in his head to carry me the same, though I don’t have a limp and feel safer on my own than in the arms of a drunken man.

  ‘Put me down, Daddy! Put me down!’

  ‘Say “giddy-up”, baby! C’mo
n, “giddy-up”!’

  In the end, he sets me down, red in the face, a few feet from the car and slaps me on the rump. Then he walks over to the roadster and asks Clyde which way we’re headed. Clyde looks at the sky. Instead of naming a point on the compass like we expect, he tells us, ‘Joplin, Missouri.’ Buck and me exchange looks.

  ‘Why Joplin?’

  ‘Good a place as any.’ Clyde grins. Something about that grin makes me want to slap it right off his face. Instead, I straighten my dress and sigh myself into the sedan.

  I try to get Buck to tell what might be in Joplin during the drive over, but all I get are grunts till finally he says he’s got enough of a headache without me on his back. I know what he means by headache, bumping along the dirt road with that big Oklahoma sun shining down on us. Buck turns on the radio, but not even Rudy Vallée can make up for the stink we’re both in.

  Around two o’clock, we leave the others in some woods near a rest stop and go apartment hunting. Both of us cheer right up when we find a hideout a little ways outside town, in a near-empty stone block above a garage. Buck squeezes my hand and says, ‘If this is how we feel now, imagine when we get a place of our own!’ Which is just like Buck, making the best of a lousy situation.

  Bonnie and me have some fun looking at linen samples I bring over from the five-and-dime in Joplin. I like gold but she likes green, and eventually talks me over to it, saying how it’s more natural and harmonious. After I purchase some green drapes and pillows and so forth, she makes a big fuss saying how much she loves them, but loses interest when it comes to putting them in place. The same goes for the silverware and dishes, which Bonnie says she likes modern rather than fussy and delicate, yet barely gives a second glance to once they’re inside the drawers.

  I wasn’t expecting Buck to pitch in much, but it’s something else for a slip of a girl no different from myself to prefer polishing guns to silver. And she’s got less taste in food than Buck. Maybe it’s the smoking or maybe it’s the whiskey, but both of them seem just as happy eating pickled trotters as a square meal.