Trust Read Free

windows of the Dodge, got out of the car, and locked it. He surveyed it from the rear and satisfied himself that he had left as much space as possible on the right side. He made his way through three double rows of angle-parked cars to the liquor store, its windows plastered with posters—red paint on white butcher paper—advertising “ UNBELIEVABLE ” savings on wines, “ PRICEBUSTER SPECIALS ON BEERS FOR YOUR BUSTS ,” and “ EVERYDAY PRICE-SLASHING BONANZAS .”
    There were three aisles of shelved stock inside and a wall-to-wall glass-doored refrigerator across the back. Three middle-aged men in faded plaid shirts peered myopically at the labels of imported wines and stocked their shopping carriages with half-gallons of Ballantine’s scotch, Gilbey’s gin, Jim Beam bourbon, and cases of Löwenbräu. An elderly woman with flying white hair and puffiness around the eyes made quick movements, selecting openly a bottle of domestic sherry, using it and a bag of unsalted potato chips to conceal partially the bottle of blackberry brandy she had furtively picked up first and placed at the bottom of her plastic basket. Her lips moved rapidly in silent speech as she went to the registers at the front.
    Three large young men—gray sweatshirts, the sleeves ripped off at the armholes, Hawaiian-print surfing jams, and sneakers with no socks—carried three cases of Budweiser each from the cold room behind the refrigerator. The one in the lead stopped next to the gin. “I’m telling you, shithead, it’s true,” the first said over his shoulder to the one last in line. “You canask Joanie, don’t believe me, that’s exactly what Patti did. Right after you left, we went down to the cove, and Patti is so fuckin’ drunk she’s got no
idea
where she is. And Tony says: ‘It’s too cold to go swimming. Too cold for that. Patti, show us your tits.’ And she says: ‘All right then, I will.’ And she did. Took off her sweater and did it. And then Philip says: ‘I don’t believe it. Too dark to see if they’re real.’ And she says: ‘Oh yeah?’ and goes over to him, and says: ‘Give ’em a squeeze, and you’ll see.’ So he does, and says: ‘Fuck, what do I know? They sure feel like real tits to me.’ And she says: ‘For punishment, suck ’em,’ and sticks them way out. And, he’s lying down. He says: ‘How?’ And she kneels down, you know, and then sits on his crotch, and sticks them right in his face, and he’s sucking away, and she’s grinding, and then she stands up, rips down his pants there, and of course he’s as hard as a rock. And she jerked him off. He’s lying there, moaning, ‘Blow me, blow me,’ and she’s pulling away at his dick, and then he comes, all over his stomach, and she puts her hand in it and rubs it into his mouth.”
    “What’d he do?” the second one said.
    “Tried to spit it out,” the first one said. “Making all of these kinds of faces, and Patti puts her top back on and says: ‘Well, I don’t like sluck either. Not in my mouth, at least.’ And she went home.” He shifted the cargo of beer in his hands and resumed the march toward the front. The last one in line said, “Shee-it, those Texans’re tough. She prolly blows horses at home. Should send
her
to Vietnam. Few broads like her got over there, war’d end tomorrow. Chinks’d drop their guns.”
    Earl went up the aisle between the second and thirdrows of shelves and found a quart bottle of Cossack vodka on sale for $4.99. He retraced his steps toward the back and went up the last aisle between the fourth row of shelving and the cases of beer and soft drinks stacked high against the wall. He took two six-packs of canned Coca-Cola and headed toward the registers at the front. A tall woman—five nine or so, around thirty-five—in a dark leopard-pattern leotard top, very tight faded jeans, and camel-colored shoes with stubby high heels was in the act of bending over the lower basket of a two-tiered display of