Post by Jude Dorrian on Nov 9, 2008 21:38:51 GMT
ooc: I know this is a flashback post, and should probably be outside the Orchid area... but I imagined Jude sort of remembering all of this late at night lying in bed, so I thought it belonged in here...
“Okay, here’s how it’s going down.”
“Me and you, Tommy?”
“Yeah, Shell. Okay guys- gather.”
And the kids clustered, their heads huddling; shoulders hunching; arms linking over each others’ backs to form a human dome shape. It reminded Jude forcibly of a team huddle on a soccer pitch.
‘Cept he couldn’t tell if Tommy was the captain or the coach.
“Where to, Tommy?”
Tommy’s amber eye shone with the spark of adventure. “It’s game time, guys-”
“And girls.”
“Shurrup, Lola! It’s game time- prime time- it’s Saturday, and we all know what that means. No messin’ about. No screwin’ it up. This is our week. I can feel it.”
“And we got Jude today, too!”
“Lola! Goddamit, can’t y’all keep your trap shut for just a few minutes?”
“I dunno’- can you?”
Wisely, Jude felt, Tommy didn’t take the bait.
“Ricki, Ralph-”
“Yessir!”
“Sir, yes, sir!”
“No, ‘sir,’ dudes,” Tommy rolled his eyes at Jude in exasperation, and Jude smiled uneasily back. Those two mismatched irises spinning had a dizzying effect. “Okay, I want you guys set up… ah. Hermann Park. Y’all are raiding the parks today.”
“All 337 of ‘em?”
“You betcha’, Shell. You guys know where the Reflection Pool is, yeah?”
“Indeed-”
“- we do.”
“Near there. Y’all think you’re up to it?”
“Yeah!” They saluted in unison.
“Now me, Tommy?” Shell pressed her chubby hands together eagerly.
“Sure it’s you, cutie,” Tommy gave her that special smile he always reserved for her- that soft, gentle one that looked so incompatible with his sharp features. “You’re coming with me.”
“Oh, Tommy,” her pink lips spread wipe open, “thank you! I love you best, Tommy; we’ll have lots of fun-”
“Ooh, Tommy,” George mimicked cruelly, his thick eyebrows crossing. “I love you, ooh, Tommy-”
“Quit it, ye son of a b*tch,” Tommy hissed, his expression twisting as he turned on George. “Or that dámn dog of yours gets it.”
“Dámn dog,” chuckled Shell.
George looked mutinous; an emotion confirmed by the tensing of his shoulders against Jude’s. The slight flexing of his back sent the slightest of tremors around the circle.
“You’re in one of the parks as well- then you can keep your dog- Tranquility Park. Don’t go right in, mind. Keep more to Smith Street.”
“Yes, Tommy.”
“Jude and me, today, then?” Lola asked brightly, tugging Tommy’s attention straight back to her. “Are we singing?”
“I’m sorry- di’n’cha’ get the horse, Cowboy?”
“Ain’t mine to take.” The pressure of the others’ heads against his was pushing Jude’s Stetson gradually upwards, and he didn’t like it. “‘Sides, can’t keep asking Jill to borrow them. I can only use the ‘Junior Races at the Sam Houston Race Park’ excuse so many times.”
“Fine,” Tommy’s green eye misted however, a sure sign that it was not fine. “If y’all are singing, then where you going?”
“Post Oak Boulevard,” she beamed, “or thereabouts. We’ll catch the crowd going to the Galleria.”
“Mmm,” Tommy approved, but didn’t want to show it. “You okay with that, Cowboy?”
“Of course he is,” Lola’s hand, which rested just on Jude’s shoulder blade, gave him the lightest of squeezes. “We think it’s all going to be lovely- don’t we, Cowboy?”
Jude was obliged to agree.
“His name ain’t Cowboy- it’s Judey!”
“Nah, Shell,” Tommy sighed, “it’s a nickname. And his name’s actually Jude.”
“Cowboy’s a stupid name.”
“Hey!” There it was again, that unnatural smile. “Sea-shell, sea-shell on the sea-shore- that’s what I call a silly nickname.”
“I ain’t no sea-shell!”
“I’m teasing you, Shell,” chuckled Tommy, flashing his teeth as he did so, “don’t fret.”
She smiled slightly. “Weren’t frettin’. Just sayin’.”
“Oh, for God’s sake!” George’s patience had snapped again. “Ralph, let go of me!”
“Don’t do it, Ralph, y’all don’t have to listen to a word he says!” Ricki told her twin sharply.
“7 o’ clock sharp, under the tree, guys,” Tommy was the one to let go, and as he did so, the dome collapsed and the linked children separated. “Don’t be late.” He gave the dried, cracked root a kick for good measure.
Lola, picking her discarded guitar case, skipped on ahead of Jude happily. He, however, could already feel the day’s heat baking the back of his neck. Suddenly grateful for his ridiculous hat, he pushed it down, shielding him from the sun’s vicious attack. It was a hazy October morning. The whole dámn state had turned yellow! Beneath his bare feet, the grass was crackling like hay.
“Cowboy, you know any pretty Western songs?”
“I don’t,” Jude’s reply was amiable enough, “just ones me dad wrote. And I know the Beatles. Dad likes ‘em.”
“The rocking English ones?”
“What, the band?”
“What a funny name,” she stopped, frowning. “D’you know, my daddy met John Lennon. He grew his hair real long, just like him. He was blond, though- like me.”
Her cascade of curls glittered at Jude; more golden than the dead yellow backdrop she stood against.
“Hurry up, Cowboy.”
“Jesus, Lola!”
“Come on, now,” she linked arms with him, and Jude felt his elbow wrenched up to her height. She was mighty tall, for fifteen. “We shall have to walk at the same pace.”
Lola was like the freaking female Flash when she put her mind to it. Apparently immune to the pressure of the sun and its parching effect on the land around them- and Jude too, he had to admit- the golden girl frog-marched him across so fast across that field, he was certain that by the time they reached the dirt track winding towards the bus stop, his feet had fallen off of him- maybe somewhere back near the tree- and that Lola had simply taken to carrying him.
Jesus! Carried like a baby by a girl. It was humiliating- even if she was a good few years older. It was a dámn relief Tameron wasn’t ever gonna’ hear about any of this.
During the day, Jude was obliged by the state to go to school. He, his father and his sister lived in a cluster of terraced houses winding towards the inner-city of Houston. Jude and Tameron went to the local elementary school, and though Tameron excelled in the academic field (her books came home every day dripping with gold stars), Jude Dorrian remained a merely adequate student. He was relieved to be so, too- in school, his aim was to draw as little as possible attention to himself. He played like any other kid; mixed easily and freely with the crowd; and worked just about as hard as required to pass Grade 4.
But in the evenings, Jude donned his Stetson, and ran through the streets of Houston. He was a busker; a street performer; a comedian; a cowboy when Jill could lend him a pony. He never stayed out too late- after 9, things got dodgy- and mostly, Tameron took her brother’s evening pursuits for granted. She didn’t mind at all- just sat around, fetching the odd coffee for her daddy, and listening to him strum lazily on the guitar- waiting patiently for Jude to come home and tuck her in at night.
On Saturdays, Jude was out most of the day with the Beggars, as he came to know Tommy and his gang. He then spent what was left of his evening with Tameron. He took most of Sunday off, too- sometimes he went to visit Jill- and on odd nights scattered throughout the week, Jude paid his visits to the Warehouse Children under Caleb Hoole’s ‘Clinic’. He’d found out about the, ‘Clinic,’ from Tommy, who knowing about Jude’s powers, and also conveniently knowing a couple of Magick addicts, was able to direct him to another source of income.
Gotta’ do whatcha’ gotta’ do. That’s just what Jude had to keep reminding himself.
He just had to.
Tameron- for all her apparent academic ability- didn’t have much cop on. She never questioned the scars the needles left on Jude’s arms, and seemed to accept his absences with next to no complaint. Then again, Jude was forced to reason, why should she ask him anything at all? As far as his little sister was concerned, their lives were the very definition of ‘normality’- and Jude wasn’t about to have it any other way.
After all, she didn’t remember what it’d been like before.
Tameron didn’t remember their mother.
“Hey, Jude! Don’t make it bad! Take a sad song annnd make it bet-ter-er-er! Remember, to let her into your heart- then y’all can start to make it better-”
“So let it out and let it in!”
“Heeeey-”
“- JUDE-”
“Begin! You’re waiting for someone to perform-”
“Fantastic!” Over the sound of Jude and Lola’s voices, applause and the tinkling noises of dropping dimes played the real music of the Boulevard. Jude had lifted Lola’s guitar from her hands (his had snapped a string) and now, he was letting her lead the way. She had a fantastic voice- much better than his- and all she needed was a bit of fancy strumming, and the odd vocal contribution from him to back her up. All eyes were drawn to Lola- who was strangely enchanting, given the jumpy nature of the song. She had a great belt, and the most lyrical interesting way of trailing disjointed syllables together. An open guitar-case glittered with treasure in the sunlight at her feet.
“Judey, Judey, Judey, Judey, Judey- YEAH!”
The abrupt end shocked the crowd into wild cries of laughter. Jude passed a beaming Lola a bottle of water, and she took it gratefully, shaking her head at the calling song requests of the crowd.
“I’m taking a break, folks!” she laughed back. “Y’know- we all gotta take one eventually!”
Amidst the half-amused, half-annoyed mutters of the crowd, Jude could see the interest already beginning to fizzle out. Soon, they’d glance at their watches, freeze, and gasp before hurrying forward and going on with whatever business had called them into the big city in the first place.
Jude dipped his fingers gently into the little tub of petroleum jelly he’d tucked under the shade of the lid of the guitar case. It was refreshingly cool; a soothing comfort to the aching calluses which split their way up and down his joints. Lola sat down beside him, waggling her own fingers’ reflections at him.
“Curse of the guitarist,” she smirked.
He smiled back. “My dad says so all the time.”
“Your daddy, huh?” Lola’s eyes lit up every time Jude mentioned his family. “Hey, Jude… what’s your daddy like?”
“Billy? He’s alright.”
“My daddy was real funny. Does your’s tell jokes?”
“Nome.”
“Ever hear that one about the doctor and the curtains?”
“Pull yourself together?”
She blinked. “Well, Cowboy, you ruined my punch line!”
Jude laughed, and she laughed too, even though it really wasn’t all that funny. When she stopped laughing, an eager smile remained, and Jude braced himself for the questions he knew were coming.
“Did he teach you how to ride?”
“Nome. Jill did.”
“She did, huh? Is she sorta like a mom?”
“Nome.”
“My mom went away; but it didn’t matter. My daddy told me so- said it was me and him against the world- gee! Look! They’ve all gone now!”
So they had. Now, nobody gave the pair a second glance as they rushed towards the looming Gallerina. That mall was the sort of place Jude had spent his toddler years wandering about in a fear of getting lost, for when you were small, everything did seem just that bit… well… enormous. He’d spent most of his shopping trips clinging tightly to his mother’s hand, refusing to let go even when she needed him to. Delilah Dorrian had eventually learned to work around her son’s awkward habit.
“Five more minutes, Cowboy, or we’ll never keep Tommy happy. Gimme that jelly.”
Lola took to smoothing the substance over and across her fingers; pushing it into the cracks that littered her poor, thin digits.
“Guitar, then?” He held it up.
She nodded, wiping the excess jelly down her thighs before lifting the acoustic from his hands. Her eyes glittered as they skimmed the open treasure chest. “Good. Maybe tomorrow, we’ll get the day off!”
They both laughed. This time it was so stupid, it was funny.
They both knew Tommy would never, ever let them go.
“Y’all gonna sing for me, Cowboy?” she asked sweetly, twisting the tuning pegs around.
“Must I?”
She swigged that bottle of water like it was whiskey.
“C’mon, Cowboy, I’m croaking here!”
Jude chuckled. “Yeah. Sure. What’ll I sing?”
“Well,” cocking her head, a fistful of her golden curls toppled across her shoulder as she rested her chin on the cap of her bottle, “what do we both know?”
“The Copa Cabana?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Ain’t funny.”
“Her name was Lola! She was a show-girl-”
“Shut up, kid!”
“- with yellow feathers-”
“Cowboy!”
“- cut down to there-”
“Jude!”
His mouth snapped shut, but he was beaming. Lola looked a little pink. When he looked up, he realised why. A couple of guys were staring at them, their mouths hanging slightly open.
The four stared at each other for a few moments, before the taller of the strangers decided to speak.
“You two performers?”
Lola and Jude nodded dumbly.
“Here,” a dollar lay flat in his palm. “I like that song. Can you start again?”
Jude, a little dumbfounded, scrabbled to his feet, adjusting his hat as he did so. This boy looked around Lola’s age- 15 or so. The peak of Jude’s Stetson only just reached past his chest.
“Sweetie?”
Jude, mid-gulp of water, looked back at Lola. A bright smile was fixed on her face- that friendly, crowd-winning beam- but her eyes were evil slits.
“You bet your bottom dollar on it- one day, I’m gonna kill you for this.”
Jude smirked, looking up at the two kids with the dollar.
“Okay?” Smiling slightly, the taller guy crushed the dollar into a little ball, and tossed it into the open guitar case, to join the rest of their profit.
Lola began to play…
“Her name was…”
“$389!”
“And thirty-two cents.”
“Yeah, but $389-”
“And thirty two cents.”
Tommy gave Lola what was supposed to be a withering look, but he struggled to maintain it. His amber eye kept flitting to the open guitar case she’d dumped in front of him. The others had raked in well over $90 each, but no-one was quite as impressive as Lola and Jude.
Today was a very good day. It was rarely as good as this. This was… like Christmas was supposed to be… that was, if everyone wasn’t so stingy at that time of year. No-one was less willing to give away their money to the local vagrants than a crowd of callous and cold Christmas shoppers.
No-one knew this better than Tommy.
It’s why the kids got Christmas holidays.
Only George had any real complaint to make. He’d come second, scraping a lousy $243, and was not impressed at being outshone by a 10 year old cowboy, and a blondie whose favourite pet name for him was, ‘Peorgie’.
A pet name that was starting to catch on.
“What’s eating Peorgie?” Ralph asked, plonking himself down beside Jude. Jude, still unused to Ralph and Ricki’s odd manners, recoiled slightly from the right of Ralph’s bony finger investigating the inner contents of his left nostril.
Ricki adopted a similar investigation of her ear, favouring her thumb over her index finger. “He’s ragin’, innit?”
“You what?”
“Don’t pick your nose, Gas-Pass.”
“Bugger off, Bum-Phlegm.”
“Ain’t they cute?” Lola beamed at the squabbling twins, and the mortified Jude, who was wedged between them. Jude could only half-grin back, wondering what the hell happened in the five-year age gap between them to make the sight of the twins suddenly seem in any way cute.
Upon meditation, Jude had concluded it was best simply not to ask.
Shell, also watching the show, waved at Jude suddenly. Jude waved back, warming slightly at the grateful smile he received in response.
Tommy, his eyes catching the slight interaction, suddenly snapped the guitar case shut.
“Guys,” he said, and for one insane moment, Jude could have sworn he heard a hint of pride in their leader’s voice. “Good haul today. Tonight, we dine like kings.”
The twins and Shell cheered.
“Won’t you join us, Cowboy?” Lola asked him happily.
“Not like his daddy’ll miss him…”
“Can it, Peorgie,” Tommy snapped, causing Shell to jump. He laid a reassuring hand on her arm before continuing. “Come on, Cowboy. Y’all earned it.”
As always, Jude was forced to smile and shake his head. “I’ll just take my share and be gone, guys.”
Tommy, prepared, handed Jude a fat green wad.
“Don’t choo spend it all at once,” Ralph chuckled.
“Can it, Squash Bull,” Ricki sneered.
“Go,” George groaned, looking round at Jude as he rose to his feet. And Jude… well, he must’ve been wrong, but sometimes, in years to come, Jude couldn’t help but wonder if George really had smiled at him then. “Go on- before it’s too late.”
Yet it was hard to imagine George as ever smiling. In the months that had followed that golden day, there wasn’t much cause for the laughter Jude had almost believed lived in George’s heart.
It was one of the greatest good days they’d ever had.
It was also their last.
“Okay, here’s how it’s going down.”
“Me and you, Tommy?”
“Yeah, Shell. Okay guys- gather.”
And the kids clustered, their heads huddling; shoulders hunching; arms linking over each others’ backs to form a human dome shape. It reminded Jude forcibly of a team huddle on a soccer pitch.
‘Cept he couldn’t tell if Tommy was the captain or the coach.
“Where to, Tommy?”
Tommy’s amber eye shone with the spark of adventure. “It’s game time, guys-”
“And girls.”
“Shurrup, Lola! It’s game time- prime time- it’s Saturday, and we all know what that means. No messin’ about. No screwin’ it up. This is our week. I can feel it.”
“And we got Jude today, too!”
“Lola! Goddamit, can’t y’all keep your trap shut for just a few minutes?”
“I dunno’- can you?”
Wisely, Jude felt, Tommy didn’t take the bait.
“Ricki, Ralph-”
“Yessir!”
“Sir, yes, sir!”
“No, ‘sir,’ dudes,” Tommy rolled his eyes at Jude in exasperation, and Jude smiled uneasily back. Those two mismatched irises spinning had a dizzying effect. “Okay, I want you guys set up… ah. Hermann Park. Y’all are raiding the parks today.”
“All 337 of ‘em?”
“You betcha’, Shell. You guys know where the Reflection Pool is, yeah?”
“Indeed-”
“- we do.”
“Near there. Y’all think you’re up to it?”
“Yeah!” They saluted in unison.
“Now me, Tommy?” Shell pressed her chubby hands together eagerly.
“Sure it’s you, cutie,” Tommy gave her that special smile he always reserved for her- that soft, gentle one that looked so incompatible with his sharp features. “You’re coming with me.”
“Oh, Tommy,” her pink lips spread wipe open, “thank you! I love you best, Tommy; we’ll have lots of fun-”
“Ooh, Tommy,” George mimicked cruelly, his thick eyebrows crossing. “I love you, ooh, Tommy-”
“Quit it, ye son of a b*tch,” Tommy hissed, his expression twisting as he turned on George. “Or that dámn dog of yours gets it.”
“Dámn dog,” chuckled Shell.
George looked mutinous; an emotion confirmed by the tensing of his shoulders against Jude’s. The slight flexing of his back sent the slightest of tremors around the circle.
“You’re in one of the parks as well- then you can keep your dog- Tranquility Park. Don’t go right in, mind. Keep more to Smith Street.”
“Yes, Tommy.”
“Jude and me, today, then?” Lola asked brightly, tugging Tommy’s attention straight back to her. “Are we singing?”
“I’m sorry- di’n’cha’ get the horse, Cowboy?”
“Ain’t mine to take.” The pressure of the others’ heads against his was pushing Jude’s Stetson gradually upwards, and he didn’t like it. “‘Sides, can’t keep asking Jill to borrow them. I can only use the ‘Junior Races at the Sam Houston Race Park’ excuse so many times.”
“Fine,” Tommy’s green eye misted however, a sure sign that it was not fine. “If y’all are singing, then where you going?”
“Post Oak Boulevard,” she beamed, “or thereabouts. We’ll catch the crowd going to the Galleria.”
“Mmm,” Tommy approved, but didn’t want to show it. “You okay with that, Cowboy?”
“Of course he is,” Lola’s hand, which rested just on Jude’s shoulder blade, gave him the lightest of squeezes. “We think it’s all going to be lovely- don’t we, Cowboy?”
Jude was obliged to agree.
“His name ain’t Cowboy- it’s Judey!”
“Nah, Shell,” Tommy sighed, “it’s a nickname. And his name’s actually Jude.”
“Cowboy’s a stupid name.”
“Hey!” There it was again, that unnatural smile. “Sea-shell, sea-shell on the sea-shore- that’s what I call a silly nickname.”
“I ain’t no sea-shell!”
“I’m teasing you, Shell,” chuckled Tommy, flashing his teeth as he did so, “don’t fret.”
She smiled slightly. “Weren’t frettin’. Just sayin’.”
“Oh, for God’s sake!” George’s patience had snapped again. “Ralph, let go of me!”
“Don’t do it, Ralph, y’all don’t have to listen to a word he says!” Ricki told her twin sharply.
“7 o’ clock sharp, under the tree, guys,” Tommy was the one to let go, and as he did so, the dome collapsed and the linked children separated. “Don’t be late.” He gave the dried, cracked root a kick for good measure.
Lola, picking her discarded guitar case, skipped on ahead of Jude happily. He, however, could already feel the day’s heat baking the back of his neck. Suddenly grateful for his ridiculous hat, he pushed it down, shielding him from the sun’s vicious attack. It was a hazy October morning. The whole dámn state had turned yellow! Beneath his bare feet, the grass was crackling like hay.
“Cowboy, you know any pretty Western songs?”
“I don’t,” Jude’s reply was amiable enough, “just ones me dad wrote. And I know the Beatles. Dad likes ‘em.”
“The rocking English ones?”
“What, the band?”
“What a funny name,” she stopped, frowning. “D’you know, my daddy met John Lennon. He grew his hair real long, just like him. He was blond, though- like me.”
Her cascade of curls glittered at Jude; more golden than the dead yellow backdrop she stood against.
“Hurry up, Cowboy.”
“Jesus, Lola!”
“Come on, now,” she linked arms with him, and Jude felt his elbow wrenched up to her height. She was mighty tall, for fifteen. “We shall have to walk at the same pace.”
Lola was like the freaking female Flash when she put her mind to it. Apparently immune to the pressure of the sun and its parching effect on the land around them- and Jude too, he had to admit- the golden girl frog-marched him across so fast across that field, he was certain that by the time they reached the dirt track winding towards the bus stop, his feet had fallen off of him- maybe somewhere back near the tree- and that Lola had simply taken to carrying him.
Jesus! Carried like a baby by a girl. It was humiliating- even if she was a good few years older. It was a dámn relief Tameron wasn’t ever gonna’ hear about any of this.
* * *
During the day, Jude was obliged by the state to go to school. He, his father and his sister lived in a cluster of terraced houses winding towards the inner-city of Houston. Jude and Tameron went to the local elementary school, and though Tameron excelled in the academic field (her books came home every day dripping with gold stars), Jude Dorrian remained a merely adequate student. He was relieved to be so, too- in school, his aim was to draw as little as possible attention to himself. He played like any other kid; mixed easily and freely with the crowd; and worked just about as hard as required to pass Grade 4.
But in the evenings, Jude donned his Stetson, and ran through the streets of Houston. He was a busker; a street performer; a comedian; a cowboy when Jill could lend him a pony. He never stayed out too late- after 9, things got dodgy- and mostly, Tameron took her brother’s evening pursuits for granted. She didn’t mind at all- just sat around, fetching the odd coffee for her daddy, and listening to him strum lazily on the guitar- waiting patiently for Jude to come home and tuck her in at night.
On Saturdays, Jude was out most of the day with the Beggars, as he came to know Tommy and his gang. He then spent what was left of his evening with Tameron. He took most of Sunday off, too- sometimes he went to visit Jill- and on odd nights scattered throughout the week, Jude paid his visits to the Warehouse Children under Caleb Hoole’s ‘Clinic’. He’d found out about the, ‘Clinic,’ from Tommy, who knowing about Jude’s powers, and also conveniently knowing a couple of Magick addicts, was able to direct him to another source of income.
Gotta’ do whatcha’ gotta’ do. That’s just what Jude had to keep reminding himself.
He just had to.
Tameron- for all her apparent academic ability- didn’t have much cop on. She never questioned the scars the needles left on Jude’s arms, and seemed to accept his absences with next to no complaint. Then again, Jude was forced to reason, why should she ask him anything at all? As far as his little sister was concerned, their lives were the very definition of ‘normality’- and Jude wasn’t about to have it any other way.
After all, she didn’t remember what it’d been like before.
Tameron didn’t remember their mother.
* * *
“Hey, Jude! Don’t make it bad! Take a sad song annnd make it bet-ter-er-er! Remember, to let her into your heart- then y’all can start to make it better-”
“So let it out and let it in!”
“Heeeey-”
“- JUDE-”
“Begin! You’re waiting for someone to perform-”
“Fantastic!” Over the sound of Jude and Lola’s voices, applause and the tinkling noises of dropping dimes played the real music of the Boulevard. Jude had lifted Lola’s guitar from her hands (his had snapped a string) and now, he was letting her lead the way. She had a fantastic voice- much better than his- and all she needed was a bit of fancy strumming, and the odd vocal contribution from him to back her up. All eyes were drawn to Lola- who was strangely enchanting, given the jumpy nature of the song. She had a great belt, and the most lyrical interesting way of trailing disjointed syllables together. An open guitar-case glittered with treasure in the sunlight at her feet.
“Judey, Judey, Judey, Judey, Judey- YEAH!”
The abrupt end shocked the crowd into wild cries of laughter. Jude passed a beaming Lola a bottle of water, and she took it gratefully, shaking her head at the calling song requests of the crowd.
“I’m taking a break, folks!” she laughed back. “Y’know- we all gotta take one eventually!”
Amidst the half-amused, half-annoyed mutters of the crowd, Jude could see the interest already beginning to fizzle out. Soon, they’d glance at their watches, freeze, and gasp before hurrying forward and going on with whatever business had called them into the big city in the first place.
Jude dipped his fingers gently into the little tub of petroleum jelly he’d tucked under the shade of the lid of the guitar case. It was refreshingly cool; a soothing comfort to the aching calluses which split their way up and down his joints. Lola sat down beside him, waggling her own fingers’ reflections at him.
“Curse of the guitarist,” she smirked.
He smiled back. “My dad says so all the time.”
“Your daddy, huh?” Lola’s eyes lit up every time Jude mentioned his family. “Hey, Jude… what’s your daddy like?”
“Billy? He’s alright.”
“My daddy was real funny. Does your’s tell jokes?”
“Nome.”
“Ever hear that one about the doctor and the curtains?”
“Pull yourself together?”
She blinked. “Well, Cowboy, you ruined my punch line!”
Jude laughed, and she laughed too, even though it really wasn’t all that funny. When she stopped laughing, an eager smile remained, and Jude braced himself for the questions he knew were coming.
“Did he teach you how to ride?”
“Nome. Jill did.”
“She did, huh? Is she sorta like a mom?”
“Nome.”
“My mom went away; but it didn’t matter. My daddy told me so- said it was me and him against the world- gee! Look! They’ve all gone now!”
So they had. Now, nobody gave the pair a second glance as they rushed towards the looming Gallerina. That mall was the sort of place Jude had spent his toddler years wandering about in a fear of getting lost, for when you were small, everything did seem just that bit… well… enormous. He’d spent most of his shopping trips clinging tightly to his mother’s hand, refusing to let go even when she needed him to. Delilah Dorrian had eventually learned to work around her son’s awkward habit.
“Five more minutes, Cowboy, or we’ll never keep Tommy happy. Gimme that jelly.”
Lola took to smoothing the substance over and across her fingers; pushing it into the cracks that littered her poor, thin digits.
“Guitar, then?” He held it up.
She nodded, wiping the excess jelly down her thighs before lifting the acoustic from his hands. Her eyes glittered as they skimmed the open treasure chest. “Good. Maybe tomorrow, we’ll get the day off!”
They both laughed. This time it was so stupid, it was funny.
They both knew Tommy would never, ever let them go.
“Y’all gonna sing for me, Cowboy?” she asked sweetly, twisting the tuning pegs around.
“Must I?”
She swigged that bottle of water like it was whiskey.
“C’mon, Cowboy, I’m croaking here!”
Jude chuckled. “Yeah. Sure. What’ll I sing?”
“Well,” cocking her head, a fistful of her golden curls toppled across her shoulder as she rested her chin on the cap of her bottle, “what do we both know?”
“The Copa Cabana?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Ain’t funny.”
“Her name was Lola! She was a show-girl-”
“Shut up, kid!”
“- with yellow feathers-”
“Cowboy!”
“- cut down to there-”
“Jude!”
His mouth snapped shut, but he was beaming. Lola looked a little pink. When he looked up, he realised why. A couple of guys were staring at them, their mouths hanging slightly open.
The four stared at each other for a few moments, before the taller of the strangers decided to speak.
“You two performers?”
Lola and Jude nodded dumbly.
“Here,” a dollar lay flat in his palm. “I like that song. Can you start again?”
Jude, a little dumbfounded, scrabbled to his feet, adjusting his hat as he did so. This boy looked around Lola’s age- 15 or so. The peak of Jude’s Stetson only just reached past his chest.
“Sweetie?”
Jude, mid-gulp of water, looked back at Lola. A bright smile was fixed on her face- that friendly, crowd-winning beam- but her eyes were evil slits.
“You bet your bottom dollar on it- one day, I’m gonna kill you for this.”
Jude smirked, looking up at the two kids with the dollar.
“Okay?” Smiling slightly, the taller guy crushed the dollar into a little ball, and tossed it into the open guitar case, to join the rest of their profit.
Lola began to play…
“Her name was…”
* * *
“$389!”
“And thirty-two cents.”
“Yeah, but $389-”
“And thirty two cents.”
Tommy gave Lola what was supposed to be a withering look, but he struggled to maintain it. His amber eye kept flitting to the open guitar case she’d dumped in front of him. The others had raked in well over $90 each, but no-one was quite as impressive as Lola and Jude.
Today was a very good day. It was rarely as good as this. This was… like Christmas was supposed to be… that was, if everyone wasn’t so stingy at that time of year. No-one was less willing to give away their money to the local vagrants than a crowd of callous and cold Christmas shoppers.
No-one knew this better than Tommy.
It’s why the kids got Christmas holidays.
Only George had any real complaint to make. He’d come second, scraping a lousy $243, and was not impressed at being outshone by a 10 year old cowboy, and a blondie whose favourite pet name for him was, ‘Peorgie’.
A pet name that was starting to catch on.
“What’s eating Peorgie?” Ralph asked, plonking himself down beside Jude. Jude, still unused to Ralph and Ricki’s odd manners, recoiled slightly from the right of Ralph’s bony finger investigating the inner contents of his left nostril.
Ricki adopted a similar investigation of her ear, favouring her thumb over her index finger. “He’s ragin’, innit?”
“You what?”
“Don’t pick your nose, Gas-Pass.”
“Bugger off, Bum-Phlegm.”
“Ain’t they cute?” Lola beamed at the squabbling twins, and the mortified Jude, who was wedged between them. Jude could only half-grin back, wondering what the hell happened in the five-year age gap between them to make the sight of the twins suddenly seem in any way cute.
Upon meditation, Jude had concluded it was best simply not to ask.
Shell, also watching the show, waved at Jude suddenly. Jude waved back, warming slightly at the grateful smile he received in response.
Tommy, his eyes catching the slight interaction, suddenly snapped the guitar case shut.
“Guys,” he said, and for one insane moment, Jude could have sworn he heard a hint of pride in their leader’s voice. “Good haul today. Tonight, we dine like kings.”
The twins and Shell cheered.
“Won’t you join us, Cowboy?” Lola asked him happily.
“Not like his daddy’ll miss him…”
“Can it, Peorgie,” Tommy snapped, causing Shell to jump. He laid a reassuring hand on her arm before continuing. “Come on, Cowboy. Y’all earned it.”
As always, Jude was forced to smile and shake his head. “I’ll just take my share and be gone, guys.”
Tommy, prepared, handed Jude a fat green wad.
“Don’t choo spend it all at once,” Ralph chuckled.
“Can it, Squash Bull,” Ricki sneered.
“Go,” George groaned, looking round at Jude as he rose to his feet. And Jude… well, he must’ve been wrong, but sometimes, in years to come, Jude couldn’t help but wonder if George really had smiled at him then. “Go on- before it’s too late.”
Yet it was hard to imagine George as ever smiling. In the months that had followed that golden day, there wasn’t much cause for the laughter Jude had almost believed lived in George’s heart.
It was one of the greatest good days they’d ever had.
It was also their last.
