TEN MILE ROAD - Page 4
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“Goddamn it Marcia! Look at this.” A dead chicken with its neck twisted has

been deposited right at my front door. “He wants me to be afraid. Daddy2Cool. I’ll fix

him. Send all these bad vibes right back at him. He shouldn’t mess with me.” The beats

were pounding away again. Snakeskin. Frog legs. Eyes of newt. Chicken leg gonna

tear your suit. Wave your hand, grab your balls. Your face will crack and your voice

will fall. Voodoo gonna get you. Gonna get you soon. Voodoo gonna get you. Make

your life a cartoon. So grab your crotch, what’s in it’s mighty small. Wave your hands,

but I’m the one that’s tall. 6 plus 7 gonna make you fall. Nothin’ save you - You warty

juju man. Nothin’ gonna save you - not even yo’ mama can.

I go inside as Marcia drives off, leaving the mess for later. My answer machine is

flashing red. I push the button. “You have two messages” the voice drones.

They’re both from men. One is from Richard and it’s some mumbled explanation

about why his monthly check will be late. Bimbo probably needed new breast implants.

The second one is an insane cackle. “Yo, yo, you ‘hoe. Don’t bother showin’ up

Sattaday. I’m the man. I am the baddest and the best. I’ve got words to make lips burn

and pussies howl. I gonna beat you with the hippest bop. No way you gonna make me

stop. I’ll throw you to the floor, ‘til you holler ‘no more’. No dried up old lady gonna

shove me out the door. Hey babe – you there? You hear me? Just forget it. Forget I

said. Go back to bed. You ‘most dead.” More cackling. Sounds to me like I’ve got him

worried. Otherwise, he’d be ignoring me instead of going to all this trouble. I feel so

satisfied that its time to bake some cookies. Double Chocolate Chip Chunks, my favorite

kind.

That night I dream I’m taller than the Colossus of Rhodes. I’m standing

straddling several islands – one foot on the north, the other on the south. My electrified

blue hair lights up the night sky. Below me people are scurrying to and fro talking

excited in a language I don’t understand. They point at me and blow kisses, then bow. I

wake up shouting “ Konnichi wa!”

Saturday arrives before I have much time to think about it. The Juke Hall is just

east of Downtown. It’s a neighborhood bar during the week with some of the finest

entertainment around on weekends. Only special shows, like tonight, have any cover

charge so it’s real popular with the young crowd. The Hall’s hard to spot as you drive

down the street. It’s on a block that leads to the river. All the buildings are a dilapidated

gray. Most are abandoned but somehow the Juke Hall survived. You have to know it’s

there. They don’t advertise but you don’t need to in this town. If the music is good,

word of mouth carries it around. Plain Jane decides to run so I’ve got wheels to get me

there.

‘Hey there Mama!” Joe, the bouncer greets me at the door. With a deadpan face

he asks me for my ID. “Gotta keep things legal here.” he says, pretending to scrutinize it.

“Go on upstairs. Marcia’s been here and set up. She’s up there worrying if you’d make

it on time.”

I climb the rickety stairs to what passes for dressing rooms, costume bag slung

over my shoulder. I have to duck at the top of the stairs so as not to bang my head.

Someone said the Juke Hall used to be a stagecoach stop on the Chicago-Detroit line but

it looks more like an old whorehouse with a sink and a toilet in each of the upstairs

rooms. Layers of yellowed mismatched wallpaper are peeling off of the walls. I could

write my name in the grime on the windows. I throw my bag onto a satin couch in the

room Marcia has claimed for us. There’s a thermos of dark roast coffee waiting and I

start to slug it down. The twitching in my head begins. I pace around the room throwing

off my clothes. In my head I picture a scene from the movie “Rocky”. Come out

punching, I remind myself. Swing hard. Hitting below the belt is legal.

Marcia DJFineBody walks into the room. She’s dressed all in black, slinky black

leather. Her entire body is Ninja wrapped. Only her eyes show, thick with black mascara.

“Clothes, Shirley” she reminds me that I am naked. Her voice sounds muffled beneath

her headgear.