Trouble: A Story of Love, Literature and Bittersweet Revenge

By Joel Block

It is the 1960's, love is loose and a co-ed in a Southern University town is assaulted. Hidden behind the incident is a secret that she feels too vulnerable to reveal. Instead, she turns to her lover to help her seek revenge. Her lover, a scholarship student, has lived a life stifled by fear; his memories

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pop Psych Literary, Inc.
• Release date: Jan 4, 2021
• ISBN: 9781087937014

Book preview

-1-

There was more tension than usual between Annie and me this night. I didn’t want to be where we were. As soon as we walked into the Rattlesnake Club and I scanned the stony, sullen-looking crowd, a bad feeling ran through me. That old, familiar, cold cramping fear.

Annie clutched my hand, but knowing her she was not about to admit to being uptight. I remember a line from a long-forgotten author; he gave it to a character who was not going to survive the story, One day you think your pecker is gonna shrivel and drop off; the next day life is one big sex party. This was not shaping up to be a party.

The dimly lit, smoke-filled room was like one of those steam baths I went to as a kid in Coney Island. The cinder block walls reeked with heat, and the August humidity was fierce enough to make a grown man cry. Something by Johnny Cash was playing too loud on a cheap sound system and the American flag stood side-by-side with the Confederate counterpart in a corner of the room.

This place is beat, I whispered to Annie. She had let go of my hand and was looking everywhere at once. Let’s make like we forgot something in the car and scram.

Don’t chicken out, Levine, Annie shot back sharply through the corner of her mouth. Be cool.

Thanks for being so understanding, I muttered sarcastically under my breath. Annie is all heart. I know that; I can see it in her eyes. But she has a ton of armor around that heart.

Take my innocent comment about her hair. It’s dark, thick and straight. She used to wear it short, but she’d been letting it grow out just because she wanted a change. That made sense; only as soon as it got longer, she wore it up, giving her the same form as if it were short.

It was just a couple of weeks back that I had made the point to her and we spent most of the night arguing. She insisted that I was being superficial and it was comments like mine that slyly put women down. All I said was I had liked it better long, why not wear it down? Didn’t get laid that night.

Well, at least we don’t have to worry about running into anyone who knows how to read, I said. "And if we do, we are in for a big treat; we’ll chat about The Adventures of Dick and Jane."

Annie gave me one of her disgusted looks but with a playful glint in her eye. They all have that expression like somebody just tried to explain algebra, she said.

We were definitely the only two university students in this honky-tonk joint. Annie insisted we make this little sociological field trip to mix with real people. This was my second summer as a graduate student here and I had no interest in hanging out with the townies. I shouldn’t have let Annie talk me into it.

The crowd made me think that the real people of Essex, North Carolina, a town filled with tract homes, Confederate nostalgia and drive-ins could populate some future story about Appalachia. There appeared to be lots of let-your-neighbor-do-it-for-you haircuts, no shortage of seriously protruding bellies, and from the occasional showing of teeth it was evident that dentistry hadn’t yet taken hold in Essex. The few women hanging out had angry expressions on their faces and looked like they drove big trucks for a living. The fact that there were no banjos playing was small comfort. If we left without incident, I was ready to declare victory.

What’s it gonna be? the bartender asked.

He was big and very tall. He gave off a scent I could smell from across the bar. It wasn’t cologne. And it was no better than I imagined a whiff from the jar of pickled eggs sitting down the bar would be.

Any beer on tap? I asked.

He didn’t bother to answer, just drew me a pint and slid it over. Fresh barrel, you’ll like it.

I nodded. If I didn’t like it, I’d fake it.

And her? he asked, lifting his chin in Annie’s direction.

Annie had her back to him with her elbows propped on the bartop; she was surveying the room with relish, exchanging curious glances with the townies. She turned and looked straight into the bartender, fluttering her eyelashes. "Her will have bar vodka, straight up," she said, acting demure and fragile, the perfect Southern Belle.

The bartender gave her a puzzled look, but Annie returned it with a wide smile, once more faking sincerity. He responded with a guarded smile of his own. And for that I was grateful. He slid her drink across the bar, and in one motion she picked it up and gulped it down, promptly ordering another.

Annie drank too much. The results were never good. I could feel a grimace forming on my face and tried to pull it back, but it was too late. Make it a double, she blurted after a brief, disdainful glance in my direction. Annie’s disapproval gets to me, but I do my best not to show it.

We were there about a half-hour, keeping to ourselves. I was nursing my first beer and Annie was just beginning her second double when this guy came into the bar. She was still trading ogles with the locals while I was doing exactly the opposite, looking in the mirror-back of the bar, watching the ceiling fans make lazy circles in the air, when I glanced down and spotted him.

He looked angry, one of those permanent scowl types out of a Steinbeck novel; a couple years older than me, maybe twenty-six, twenty-seven, tall with the kind of broad shoulders that could injure shorter people if he turned around too quickly. His features were flat and bland; narrow lips, a high crown of a forehead leading up to a thin crust of hair. His baggy, worn jeans were slung low around his waist and his cap was pushed back on his head. It was at that moment that I became certain something was going to go bad. I just didn’t know yet how bad.

He caught my eye, glanced at Annie and smirked as if he had a salacious notion to take up with her. When he looked back at me, sizing me up, I realized something that he seemed to have already sensed, my nervousness had climbed a couple of rungs higher.

The 1960’s were only beginning and already there’s been more than the usual rash of murders, robberies and riots. Adding to the melee’, Khrushchev is throwing a fit and threatening to bury us. But it all felt far away and impersonal. Now it looks as if trouble has found me. Reality sucks. That’s why I keep to my books and myself. Books are safe, and they give me a reason to live. For a time, they were my only reason.

Annie put her arm around me, stroked my hair and said something distracting that made me laugh. I loved looking into that mischievous sparkle in her eyes. She’s the first one I’ve ever loved and I’m totally clueless about how it’s supposed to go. It’s a frightening feeling. I gobbled up Faulkner’s collected stories, and Salinger’s For Esmé—with Love and Squalor the way other guys might devour a pizza. I’m still clueless and Annie doesn’t make it easy either.

She laughed with me and then we stopped laughing and resumed the serious talk we had been having about one of her summer courses, The Psychopathology of Childhood.

She was studying developmental psychology and was unhappy with the current trend in the field toward minimizing the role of childhood in the problems that adults complain about. Her view made a lot of sense to me and I was listening attentively when she suddenly stopped talking.

An old man with a big face, pockmarked and toothless and flecked with red, the typical drunkard’s complexion, was sitting to my left. A member of the walking dead, he stared at us, much more so than any of the others. I ignored him, but Annie started getting upset. Will you please stop staring, she said leaning around me.

I’m juz tryin’ to figger out who’s prettier, the man said, slurring and accusatory.

We laughed at him. Our laughs, though, were at a slightly higher pitch than before.

That’s when the guy I spotted a few minutes before approached us. His eyes were the kind of blue that would change with the light, or the color of his shirt. They were, at the moment, opaque, and they were undressing Annie.

He’s harmless, he said, gesturing to the drunk beside us. Don’ pay him no mind. He had a characteristic Carolina drawl. He lengthened his vowels, stretching and softening the first vowel so that harmless sounded like haaahmless and mind sounded like maaahnd.

Anne gave him a quick, dismissive glance, stepped down from her barstool and wordlessly made her way toward the ladies room. It was at the back end of the bar. We were sitting at the front end, near the door. He stepped up to the bar and pulled out a stool, dropping down next to me.

Hey, man, I said with a marked absence of enthusiasm, unhappy that he was planting himself next to me.

He gave me a big smile. I imagined it to be the expression a beast of prey would make before tearing his victim into bite-size pieces. He looked around the room. This ain’t your place, he said.

We stopped by, I said. We’re at the university.

He ordered a Coors and put a crumpled twenty-dollar bill on top of the bar. He gave me another of his smiles and picked up his glass of beer. I picked up my glass, too.

I was born in Essex, he said. You know, I never really been out. Not really. I thought about it but I didn’t get too far. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I thought about it. A line of pale beer foam remained on his lip.

Small towns have their advantages, I said, barely looking his way in an effort to discourage him.

Yeah, like what? he challenged, turning his cold blue eyes into me. He gulped some more beer and wiped at his mouth with his forearm. I thought of my growing up years in a part of Brooklyn that didn’t even pretend to be safe.

Well, for one thing, you don’t have the crime that occurs in the big cities, I said. I suppose you’ve grown up with never having to lock your front door.

His eyes widened and he laughed; it was a snide expression rather than an affable, jovial one. Despite his superficial familiarity, there was nothing friendly about him. He seemed too self-assured, someone who got away with things he shouldn’t have. Yeah, that’s what people think, he said. Think big-city crime is far away. Is that what you think?

Well, I never hear about crime around here, I said.

But then again, I really don’t follow the local news very much. My life is centered around the university.

Yeah, well, things that happen in a small town don’ always come out, he said. Come to a small place like Essex, you think you’re safe when you ain’t.

Case may be, I said, turning away from him in another effort to discourage his company.

He didn’t seem to notice or care.

You must be pretty intelligent, goin’ to college and all that. Much smarter than any of us here. He pointed to the local patrons scattered throughout the room. Yeah, we’re juz small town, know nothin’s. I suppose you’re from the city. Some big city, like New York.

I took in a deep breath. Actually, I am from New York, I responded wearily. After spending all afternoon waiting tables at Mostly John’s and the evening studying at the university library for my short story exam, I was fried.

What’s your name?

Hey, you know, we were just going...

I juz asked your name, he said, a tight, irritated look passing over his face. Can at least be friendly.

Kenny, I said forcing a smile.

Kenny, what? he asked. You got a last name don’ you?

Kenny Levine, I said.

He studied me. Kenny Levine, he repeated A chill ran down my back. I looked at him, more regretful than ever that I didn’t listen to my better judgment. I should never have agreed to hang out at a Southern bar that is unfriendly to outsiders. Next worst thing to being black in this place is being Jewish. I took a sip of my beer, tasting the hops, the tingle of the carbonation, all of which were distractions from my attempt to find words. I wondered if I was caught in one of those moments in which a kind of eddy opens up and sucks you in. Then my gaze skipped to Annie.

She was dressed in her to-hell-with-it ensemble of sweat clothes and sneakers, but she looked like she was coming down a runway. She was walking toward us slowly, a deliberation of movement knowing that he and the others were watching her, the slow sway of hip, one hand in her pocket, the other hand running through her hair. Her dark eyes held that steady, mischievous glint and her sharp, strong features stood out as she casually scanned the room and returned the curious glances with a smirk. I wasn’t surprised; she was defiant and loved to flirt despite her bra-burning views, or maybe because of them. Ms. Contradiction in a dark-eyed, curvy, ever confusing package.

She’s a looker, he said, gesturing toward Annie. That’s a fine lookin’ woman. There was a change in his voice. He was very alert. No longer dreamy. His pronunciation became more exact.

I shook my head. I wanted to grab Annie and bolt for the door. He had stepped around me and was facing her before I could say or do anything.

So, how ya been? he suddenly asked her. It’s been awhile.

I thought he was joking. Annie looked confused, like who’s this guy? Then her face softened. You know me? she asked quizzically.

Yeah, I do, he shot back. Name’s Warren.

You think you do? It doesn’t surprise me. I have that kind of face.

It’s not only your face I’m rememberin’, he said with a sly grin and a quick leering glance at me.

Hey, Warren, I said sharply, you’re out of line here. My voice was firm, but my heart did not feel strong.

His back to me, he ignored my remark. Annie cocked her head and gave him an exaggerated wink. Her voice was more light-hearted and playful than it should have been. I could feel resentment building in me. Oh, you’re telling me we shared some kind of intimacy? she said leaning into him. "Is this a new line you’re trying out, seeing if it’s going to work? Like an advanced version of, haven’t we met before?"

Look at you now, he countered. Look how ya leanin’. Leanin’ toward me.

Leaning?

Oh yeah. You’re leanin’. Look at you. Leanin’ involves wantin’. You’re wantin’.

Annie threw back her head and laughed out loud. A throaty, free-spirited howl. That was good, wasn’ it, he said, a grin slowly parting his lips.

It was not funny to me.

He turned to me as he took a cigarette from a pack in his shirt pocket and lit up. She’s lyin’ or I’m dyin’, he whispered as if he were taking me into his confidence, man to man. I don’ make those kinda mistakes. He sat on a stool to Annie’s right. I was on her left. The smoke coming from the cigarette in the corner of his mouth drifted up past his eyes and hung in the thick air. His voice came sifting through the smoke as if he were in another room. Annie apparently hadn’t heard him. I began to feel some doubt and it ramped up my uneasiness. Had they met before?

Excuse us, will you, Warren, I said coldly. You know, we want to be alone. You’ve got to find someone else to drink with. Annie was drinking her vodka. I took her by her free arm and huddled a few feet down the bar.

You know this guy? I said through clenched teeth.

She flashed an angry look at me and in a terse voice threw it back, What do you think? she said. Hey, if you want to believe him, then believe him!

I considered her flirtatiousness, her drinking, and her sexuality. To her sex was like pizza; even if it was bad, it was still good. That worried me. She hadn’t given me a direct answer and she was a direct-answer type of person. That worried me even more. Annie, I said in a softer voice, what’s the deal here? Is this guy simply a lunatic? I’ve been open with you–

Listen, Levine, she interjected, hands firmly planted on her hips, you’re taking this too seriously. I’m just playing with this guy. Lighten up.

Lighten Up? Fine, I said in a huff, let’s get the fuck out of here. It was a really stupid idea in the first place!

Before Annie could respond, I walked back to pick our money off the bartop and looked down at my watch. Hey, Warren, can’t say it’s been great, but we gotta go, I announced sarcastically.

So what didja talk about, he asked, giving us yet another sly smile.

I ignored him.

Come on, he insisted. What’d she say?

She assured me she was monogamous, I said angrily. Warren gave me a momentary blank look and I couldn’t help myself, I pounced on it. M-O-N-O-G-A-M-O-U-S, I spelled out with deliberation. It means she’s true to me, she stays with one guy and you’re not that guy.

Annie looked over at me, she had ordered another double and continued to drink. I glared at her angrily to no avail. A vodka glaze had already formed over her dark eyes. Warren began to laugh and survey the townies scattered around the room with a sly smile. He lifted his foot out in front of us, blocking our way and I saw a black sheath around his ankle. It held a large knife with an animal hide handle. He knew I had seen it.

Sit, he ordered.

The menace in his voice got Annie’s attention. She stiffened. Simultaneously we looked around the room, a sea of unfriendly faces sipping beer looked back through the blue haze. I read Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man and Richard Wright’s Native Son, but it was the first time I really got a glimpse of what a black man might feel like if he wandered into a redneck bar. I imagined he would feel the way I did, a mixture of alienation and dread squeezed my lungs and accelerated my heartbeat. Obediently, we half-sat on one stool facing the front door. I fidgeted momentarily then stood, walked around him and sat on a stool with his back to me.

Yo, he said to Annie, whadya tell a woman with two black eyes?

Annie looked through him. He met her gaze with his own icy gleam. Nothing, he said, she’s already been told twice.

Annie shot a look in my direction; it was just short of wanting to disappear from the present and reappearing in the 21st century. It surprised and pleased me that she let his remark pass. Maybe she was actually experiencing the danger that was obvious to me.

The doc up at Belclair, he said, swinging around to face me, I had to talk to him every Tuesday morning, nine-thirty and then group at four, every damn week, even after he already diagnoses I was without ability to feel remorse. Said I couldn’t put myself in nobody else’s place. He laughed making a dirty sound, I tol’ him I was born to sin. He nodded, agreeing with himself, then he turned back to Annie, Still getting into cars with strange men? She looked at him and quickly averted his glare.

If I had any doubt, it was now obvious she wasn’t taking him lightly any longer. Her face had colored with his words and I spotted a hint of concealed fear in her expression as she started to get off the stool. He put his hand on her and in a quick movement placed her back onto the stool.

It wasn’t as if he pushed or shoved her; it was more as if he willed her to remain seated. I thought I was going to buy you a drink, he said.

I put my hand on his shoulder and swung him around to face me. Hey, I said bristling. Don’t touch! Keep your hands off!

He peered through me once again and said, You ever knowed anybody like that, felt remorseful over what they’d done? I don’ mean if they got caught. I mean just sit aroun’ cryin’ over somethin’ already past?

Before I could answer he turned back to Annie who was talking to him.

Look, she said, I don’t know you. I don’t remember your name or anything about you, and you don’t know me. I just remind you of someone. What is it that you want?

Annie tried hard to appear brazen, but there was something a little pinched in her face, a momentary faltering that he seized upon. I know the feeling all too well. Faltering has been my way of life.

What is it I want? he said, putting down his glass and taking another deep drag from his cigarette. You’re the one wantin’. I can be whatever you want me to be. Remember? I’m good at it. You want me to be your best friend and fuck you? No problem. You want me to romance you, take you to eat and then fuck you? No problem.

He stamped out his cigarette, finished his drink, and added another thought in a voice so flat and devoid of emotion it was like something out of a nightmare. Only thing I won’t do is let you disrespect me.

Annie’s forehead, not usually a creaseless plane of goodwill, scrunched up like a vexed accordion. My stomach suddenly jumped.

Yeah, he said, letting his eyes roam the room. "Just don’ act like nothin’ never happened. That would be dissin’ me.

Listen, Warren, I said with a voice that seemed to plead, despite my efforts to sound cool and in control. We’re not looking for any trouble. We just came in for a drink and now we’re finished drinking and we’re leaving.

He gave me a dismissive look. Well, he said turning to Annie, I guess there’s all kinds of trouble. There’s good trouble and there’s bad trouble.

I gave Annie a look of urgency and motioned to the door. She was intent on one-upping Warren and ignored my gesture. My mouth tasted like I had been licking stamps.

How do you tell the difference? Annie challenged through clenched teeth.

I guess you have to wait awhile, Warren said.

You see that’s the pity of it, Annie said with the expression of someone who had just announced checkmate, "because by