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Lucky Joe

by Jill Moore

Lorraine's 28th birthday was just one more day she might not let me do her... but she might. You never knew with Lorraine. She could get sentimental about anything, and a birthday seemed like a pretty good bet, especially one that came on a Friday. Once she'd even put out on St. Paddy's day when I came home with mint chocolate chip ice cream and a button that said Kiss Me, I'm [not] Irish. She got a kick out of that, and next thing you know, we were going to Hawaii.

That's what we called it. Lorraine wanted to go to Hawaii for our honeymoon, but I was nineteen years old and working for Petey at the garage, and I could just have easily taken her to the moon. So I did the apartment up to look like Hawaii. You know, cardboard palm trees and parrots from the party store, some of those paper flower necklaces, a couple of pineapples, and a bottle of rum. We turned the heat up, put on bathing suits, rubbed each other down with coconut oil, and drank pina coladas for three days, boffing on every flat surface and a couple of rough ones.

So I had a plan for tonight. I stopped at the grocery store, got a dozen carnations, all colors, a bottle of cold duck, some pink bubble bath in a glass bottle, and a card with fancy gold letters over a sort of out-of-focus rose. The letters said, "To my beloved wife on her birthday." The rose, I noticed, had thorns. I'd take her to dinner. She'd probably want to go to Ponderosa; she loved that place. I'd rather go to Scotty's Tavern on the corner where I knew I could get a good burger, have a couple of Millers, and maybe catch some of the Bucks' game. But that'd just piss her off. And I didn't want her pissed of tonight.

If this worked, it would be the first time in months.

Lorraine wasn't always a pain in the ass, tight with the goodies and paying more attention to her deadbeat brother than me. In fact, I gotta tell you, she used to be downright hot. Before we got married, we'd go to the bars down on Holton Street every Saturday night and drink beer and dance. Lorraine always wore high heels, nylons, and short, twirly dresses. She had the body for those dresses, all right. She wore her hair long back then, puffed up in the front and sort of frizzy curled down to her butt. She was all girl, and she wanted everyone to know that. Not like most of the cows she grew up with down on the south side who started getting fat the day after they graduated from high school and couldn't be pried out of their blue jeans and Packer sweatshirts with a crowbar and a whole can of WD40.

Lorraine and I would dance while every man in the place tried to figure out how to get some of her, but there wasn't a chance. She was with me, and that was that. I never even had to hit anybody.

Once in a while we'd do some coke, and then things got really interesting. She'd get this look in her eye that I swear looked like a demon had possessed her. Frankly, it scared me a little. Lorraine's a good Catholic girl, she quotes the Bible at the drop of a pin and is pretty sure God carries her picture in His wallet, but the coke brought out the devil in her. It scared me a little to see her like that, but it excited me, too, cause that's when we'd have the most fun in Hawaii. She'd want whatever I had, and I was happy to give it to her. If we'd had the money, we probably would've done more coke. Maybe it's a good thing we were poor.

So that was ten years ago, which is a long time. Lorraine's hair got shorter, her dresses longer, and she'd pretty much given up any notion of visiting the tropics. Most of the time when I suggested a little trip, she'd tell me she had a migraine headache, pop one of her little pills, and go lay down.

I guess she started to get cold when she found out there wouldn't be any babies. We tried for a couple of years then went to a doctor, who gave me a magazine and a pee cup and sent me off to Hawaii on my own for ten minutes. Turned out the fish weren't swimming. So no babies.

Lorraine wanted to adopt one, but I put my foot down there. We had some mighty fights about it. She threatened to leave me, but she never did. I think maybe she knew I was right. You go taking in strange babies, and anything can happen. You don't know what kind of blood you'll get, and blood is everything. With the wrong blood, you end up with some kid who'll steal from your billfold and take the car when you're sleeping and set the garage on fire smoking pot with his buddies. Blood will tell every time.

Just look at that lowlife brother of hers. Jason couldn't find his asshole if he'd been eating burritos in a gasoline factory. He's been mooching off us as long as we've been married, coming to stay with us every time some Rhonda or Darlene he was living with tossed him out. He's actually Lorraine's half brother, which is what I mean about blood. Lorraine's daddy died in Viet Nam when she was a kid, and her mother married some guy for about fifteen minutes before she discovered he was a lying sonofabitch who didn't have two dimes to rub together and no rich daddy with a horse farm in Kentucky and a manager job waiting for him. He was just some slacker looking for a lady with a house and a few bucks. The only horses he'd ever known had been in the paste he probably ate as a kid. She tossed him, but lo and behold, Jason was on the way.

My lucky day.

Must be why they call me Lucky Joe. Everyone's been calling me that since longer than I can remember, some story about when I was a kid and fell off the dock and was underwater for a long time, but after they dragged me out and pushed the lake water out of my lungs, I was fine. That was the last real piece of luck I can remember, and I can't even remember that.

Back to Jason. The boy is a true piece of work. Kid can't hold a job long enough to memorize the phone number. He's been a carpet layer, a house painter, a short order cook, a bartender, and now has some kind of service mowing lawns and dumping chemicals all over people's yards, probably poisoning their dogs and kids cause he don't have the sense to read the directions. We'll see how long it takes before somebody tosses him in jail for violating OSHA. In the meantime, the little cracker got himself a beater van and covered the damn thing with green astro turf. I mean on the outside, and I am not yanking your chain, I'm real as rain. Says it's an advertisement for the business. But he doesn't have a garage, so every time it rains, the van gets sopping wet. He sloshes around town anyway, water streaming off behind him, and people are always honking and pointing. He thinks it's proof he's a smart business man to get that kind of attention.

I think it's proof he's out of his friggin' mind.

It's just the kind of thing the kid would do. He got the notion somewhere that he's funny, original he says, so he likes to do asinine things. The potato on my tail pipe really tickled me, I can tell you, when my truck died on the way to work and I had to walk to a 7-11 to call Petey and tell him I'd be late and have Lorraine come get me. A real knee slapper, that. Or the time he rigged the barking box under the bed so when Lorraine and I finally did get some action going, it sounded like the hounds from hell were under the bed and pissed off that we woke them up. You never know what hysterical thing the kid will do next.

Yeah, the kid's a stitch. I keep telling Lorraine that she's got to let him grow up, make his own mistakes and learn from them, but she's got this soft spot. She's always there with a twenty or the car keys or letting him stay in the room she was going to fix up for the baby who never came. Maybe that's why she does it. She'd gotta be a mommy to someone.

Anyway, he'd damn well better not be there tonight. I was counting on getting her softened up with the card and flowers and dinner, then cracking open the cold duck and maybe putting a little Randy Travis on. Lorraine used to go wild for Randy Travis. I think she pretended I was him. What the hell. Whatever works.

And if it didn't, I was thinking I might just be tired of trying.

I'm a Catholic too, you know, and I know right from wrong. I haven't been taking any trips to Hawaii with anyone else except my five fine friends, if you get my drift, but now that Cynthia has come along, it 's getting hard.

No pun intended.

Cynthia King is a babe to beat all babes. Petey hired her to do the books, and she bounces in two or three times a week, all smiles and girl giggles, always pushing her hair back from her forehead with both hands and grinning this you-and-me-have-a-secret grin. I kept myself from looking too hard for a while. After all, I'm a married man. But eventually you got to look. And everything you see is prime. She's one of those pink and white blondes, the kind you could never really take to Hawaii cause she'd burn to a crisp. The kind you want to put in a little house and watch her grow flowers and bake pies and cuddle up next to you at night. The kind it'd be okay if she got a little fat someday because there's just so much squeezy stuff it'd even be kind of pretty. The kind you could never imagine would put on sweat pants and a raggedly old tee shirt at night and stay out on the couch reading books with hot babes and guys who look like they're in the WWF on the cover, while you get used to going it alone.

I got to quit thinking like this. I am a married man.

And to be honest, there's no way I could pay Lorraine alimony and have enough money to get a house and all with Cynthia. I been with Petey eleven years now, but it's not like he can pay me that kind of money. Cynthia isn't the kind of girl you can cheap out on. She works part-time because she's going to college to be a television news lady. She wants to make something of her life. I guess it's because her brother is such a lowlife hood. I knew him back in high school, a skinny kid with bad eyes and a pointy chin named Darryl King but everyone called him Weasel. The name fit him. You could tell back then he was going nowhere fast. He's the kind can get you a guy with a gun with one phone call, no questions asked, and he'll do whatever you want for five bills. Cynthia told me that. It 's hard to believe she's from the same blood. I guess she's the exception that proves the rule.

She is something. I can just see her grinning that grin at the camera and telling folks about the house that burned down or the flood that's coming. She'd be great, and everyone would want to watch the news just to see her. She'll be successful some day, and a man has to have more than the woman, or it'll never work. So if I'm going to keep thinking about Cynthia, I also need to think about how to get some money.

Sure. Like I haven't been thinking that for the last ten years.

For once Jason wasn't there when I got home, but there was a blue envelope with Lorraine's name on it on the counter, next to a plate full of crumbs (I was guessing grilled cheese) and a dirty milk glass. He's the only person I know has the balls to come into your house, eat your food, and leave the mess. I put the birthday stuff for Lorraine on the table, popped a beer and took it into the shower.

After I'd cleaned up, I went back to the kitchen and had another beer, then put Lorraine's flowers in water. I signed the card I got her and propped it up in front of the bubble bath and put the cold duck next to it. It looked festive. I sat down to wait, and out of the corner of my eye saw the blue envelope on the counter again. Jason. Here was Lorraine, more of a mother to him than his own mother ever was, and him too cheap to get her a gift. That kid. The beers were starting to get to me a little, so I wobbled when I got up. Used to be I could drink a twelve pack and shoot a perfect game of pool. Now it seems each year I get a little softer. But what the hell. You only go around once.

Jason hadn't even bothered to lick the sticky stuff on the envelope, so why not, I thought. Let's see what the funny boy has to say. I opened it, and I'll be damned if it wasn't the exact same card I'd got her, except instead of "To my beloved wife" it said "To my dear sister." Now that beats all odds. Something dropped out. Lottery ticket with five rows of numbers. Kid had popped for all of five bucks for her. Sure Lorraine'd like that, Jasey my boy. Sure. I laughed. The kid was truly clueless.

I tucked the ticket back in the card and turned on the TV set on the counter next to the microwave. It was almost time for the news, and I'd taken to watching it lately, so I could talk about it with Cynthia. I try to memorize one or two things every day to show her I know what's going on in the world.

Some babe was smiling idiotically, and the Powerball symbol came across the screen. I turned the volume up and opened another beer.

"Wisconsin State Lottery officials are still waiting for someone to come forward to claim Wednesday's seven million dollar lottery." She turned to a monkey faced guy sitting next to her, the same stupid smile on his face. God, Cynthia would blow these goobers out of the water.

"That's right, Janet. We spoke with a representative from the Lottery Commission who said that computer records verify that the winning ticket was purchased within Milwaukee County, but as of today, no one seems to want to claim it. Ha ha."

"Well, Jack, speculation is that the winner either doesn't know they have the ticket, or is waiting until excitement dies down a little bit. Certainly, whoever the lucky winner is will have to face a lot of changes in the future."

"Changes none of us would mind facing, ha ha," the monkey said again.

"Well, again, the winning numbers are 2, 7, 9, 23, and 33. So check those tickets you still have stuffed in your wallet, folks, and we'll keep you informed."

There was no way, but I pulled Jason's envelope over, slid the card out, opened it and looked down the row of numbers anyway. Rows one through four were just numbers, but when my eyes landed on five, it felt like how they do it in old movies, like everything else got dark and that line of numbers was lit up. Everything stopped.

2, 7, 9, 23, 33.

I looked up at the TV to see if Janet and Jack were still talking about it, but some nob in a windbreaker was standing on the weather deck, waving his arm around. I couldn't hear him because of the buzzing in my head.

I wobbled to the phone, called directory assistance, and had them connect me to the TV station. A girl answered, and I asked her if she could get Janet and Jack to repeat the lottery numbers. She laughed, but I told her I was serious, and her voice got very excited.

"Are you holding the winning ticket, sir?" she said. You could almost hear her peeing her pants.

"I...I'm not sure. Can you please just tell me what they are, again?"

"Wait a minute. I've got today's paper here somewhere, and I know they're there. Don't hang up, okay?" There was rustling in the background.

"Okay," I said.

"Got 'em. You listening?"

"Oh yeah."

"2, 7, 9, 23, and 33. Is that what you got?"

I hung up. The ticket in my hand was getting damp from sweat, so I wiped it on my jeans and put it back in the envelope, then put the envelope in my pocket. I sat down again to think.

Seven million dollars. Okay, after taxes about three or four, which was still more money than you could even think about without getting dizzy. And I was plenty dizzy already.

My wife, a millionaire.

My head swam.

My wife. Lorraine. She of the frozen shut thighs.

I heard something at the door. Lorraine. I got up slowly and wobbled over, but it was just the mailman. He handed me the mail, a bunch of junk, and a letter from some Hamish, Famish, Danish, those lawyers who scream at you all the time on tv. It was addressed to Lorraine. Without thinking, I opened it. It said that her appointment was next Wednesday at 4:00 p.m.. That was it.

Suddenly it all became clear. No nookie, Lorraine working late, and talking to a lawyer. If that didn't spell divorce, I don't know what did.

You could have knocked me over. Lorraine, leaving me. And now, with a cool several million, she'd probably be out before the ink dried on the lottery check. She'd probably found some guy who could make babies with her and would be happy to help her spend all that dough.

Just the idea made me want to puke. Here I was, with flowers and champagne, and Lorraine plotting the big D. It was almost more than a man could take.

So if Lorraine was going to screw me over, maybe I just had to move faster than her.

And maybe it's that feeling that made me get my coat and drive down to the south side. In less than an hour, I was back home, pulling up in the driveway again.

Lorraine's car was in the drive. Inside, I heard music coming from the bathroom. She likes to turn the radio on when she's in the tub, so I followed the sound. She was stretched out in bubbles, the bottle of cold duck open on the floor and a half-full glass on the toilet seat.

"Hey. I got your flowers and card. And the bubbles." She lifted one foot, the toe pointed, bubbles dripping off. "And the bubbly." She toasted me with her glass. I noticed half the bottle was gone.

"You like it?" I was having trouble getting enough air into my lungs, and my voice sounded squeaky and weird. Lorraine didn't seem to notice

"It's great, it's all great. I haven't felt this relaxed in months. God, work has been awful."

"Well, don't get too relaxed yet. We're going out to dinner."

"Where you taking me?"

"You're the birthday girl. I was thinking Ponderosa."

"Really? I know you don't like it that much."

"I want you to be happy. You only turn 28 once."

She eyeballed me. "You're being pretty sweet today, Joey."

"I'm a sweet guy."

"You know, sometimes I forget that." She rose up and stepped out of the bathtub, wet, bubbles falling from all sorts of places I hadn't seen in a while. "Sometimes I forget that you're really just a kid who needs a lot of attention." She put her wet arms around my neck. "You want some of that attention now?"

I snuck a look at my watch. It was 6:30. An hour and a half until....

"You know I do, baby. But let's wait until after dinner? It's going to be crowded. I don't want you to have to wait in line on your birthday."

She dropped her arms, picked up a towel and stepped back. "Joey, you have never once said anything like that to me in all the years I've known you. I think that's about the nicest thing I ever heard."

"So go get ready." I had a sudden thought. "You want to wear one of those old dresses? The ones I like?" She should look good. It was going to be a big night.

She scampered down the hall, then turned at the door of our bedroom, dropped her towel and held her arms out. She looked just like she used to, back when we couldn't wait to get to Hawaii every night. "Preview of coming attractions," she said, with a wicked grin.

I went to the kitchen, popped another beer and drank it down fast. I needed it for strength. The envelope with the ticket crinkled in my pocket.

We had steaks with grilled mushrooms, potatoes with sour cream, and chocolate cake. Lorraine's good mood continued through dinner. We'd snuck a pocket sized bottle of peach Schnapps in and mixed it with our coke. She even picked up a piece of cake with her fingers and fed it to me, like at our wedding. I grinned and licked her fingers. But my heart was pounding, and I couldn't taste anything. The place was full, and a line of people waited at the door. I snuck more peeks at my watch. We had to be in the parking lot at 8:00 sharp.

At 7:50 I went up and paid the bill, then helped Lorraine on with her coat. We got into the parking lot a couple of minutes early, so when we got to my truck, instead of unlocking the door, I pushed her up against it, pressed my body close to hers, and kissed her. She giggled. Lorraine giggling.

She had her hair loose, and I hadn't realized that it was pretty long again. And she was wearing a short green dress that swished when she walked and showed off her great legs. When I kissed her, she kissed back hard, opening her mouth and giving me a little tongue. Right there in the parking lot. For a minute I thought we were back in time, back to those Holton Street nights.Suddenly I wondered if I was making a mistake. I squeezed her harder and heard the envelope in my pocket crinkle, thought about the letter from the lawyer, and I knew I was doing right.

The car came wheeling into the lot, the tires screeching, and careened right towards us. I let go of Lorraine and jumped back. She was right there, against the truck, nothing between her and the car. Several shots exploded, and the window next to her head shattered. She fell to the ground. People in the parking lot started screaming and diving to the pavement. One fat man was trying to climb under his truck. The car spun around, pulled out into traffic, and was gone.

Lorraine was lying on the ground. There was blood, but I couldn't see where it was coming from. I knelt down and felt a fire roar up in my thigh, looked down and realized the blood was coming from me.

Lorraine was scrambling to her feet. I sat down.

"God, Joey. You got shot!" She was crying, and people were crowding around.

"I called 911 from my car phone," a guy said. "I got the license plate of that car. And they're sending an ambulance."

"What happened?" somebody asked.

"My husband got shot!" Lorraine cried. She had taken her jacket off and was pressing it gently against my leg. Everything looked dim, unreal. Some police cars pulled in, sirens wailing, lights flashing. I closed my eyes.

Cynthia's friggin lowlife, squinty-eyed brother. Completely missed a clean shot like that and nailed me. What a total stupid imbecile.

I was loaded into the ambulance, taken to the hospital, given a shot, and everything faded away. I woke up late the next morning. My leg was wrapped in bandages, and Lorraine and Jason were sitting in the visitors' chairs, staring at me.

"Hey, baby. You wakin' up?" Lorraine came to the bed and gently took my hand.

"Wha...?

"You're in the hospital. They had to take the bullet out. But you'll be okay in a while."

It all came back to me.

"Sorry I ruined your birthday," I said.

"This is my fault. I jinxed us!" She began to cry.

"Why?"

"I forgot to tell you, but I made an appointment for us to go to a lawyer and get our wills made up. My mom said we should, in case anything ever happened. And now this happened. I gave us the hoodoo, Joey," she wailed.

Jason stood up and came over and put his arm around her. "Hey, dude. Sorry you got popped. It hurt?"

"Uh huh."

"Well, I brought this." He handed me a card, and suddenly the rest of the fog lifted.

"Where's my jacket?" I asked Lorraine, who was wiping her nose.

"Huh? I guess it's here. Why?"

"Get it for me."

She went to the closet and brought me my jacket. The pockets were empty. I looked at her and Jason.

"Where's the card?"

"The what?"

"The birthday card. From him." I nodded to Jason. "I had it at the restaurant."

"Ah, man. Don't bring that up now," Jason groaned.

"Where is it?" I yelled.

Lorraine looked confused. "What are you talking about?"

"It was just one of my goofy things," Jason said. "Meant to give you a laugh on your birthday. I got you some lottery tickets with the winning numbers. You know, that seven million dollars."

"You bought the winning ticket?" Her eyes were wide, and she'd stopped crying.

"Naw. I wish. I heard about it on the news, so I went and bought tickets with the same numbers for next week. I figured you'd see them, think maybe you won that seven mil, before you figured out it was for next week. Thought you'd get a kick out of it."

Lorraine smiled. "Yeah, that's a funny one. You're a good kid."

I closed my eyes. I'd never looked at the date on the ticket.

"So why did Joe have it?" Lorraine asked.

Jason shrugged. I kept my eyes closed and pretended to be sleeping. "He probably didn't want you to be disappointed. He don't really like practical jokes."

"That true, Joey? You were protecting me?"

I nodded slightly. She kissed my forehead. "I don't know how you got so sweet all of a sudden, but I like it. You keep it up, baby."

The door opened, and I opened my eyes. Two cops stood side-by-side. Their eyes said You're in a world of trouble, boy.

"Mr. Joseph Delaney?" one barked.

"Uh huh."

"We need to speak to you privately, Mr. Delaney."

"What's this about?" Lorraine said.

"We need to speak to your husband privately, Mrs. Delaney. Please step out of the room." The taller one did that big shoulder thing that gives people no choice but to move away. The door closed with Lorraine and Jason on the other side of it. The shorter cop looked me dead in the eye. You didn't have to guess at what he thought of me.

"We talked to one of your friends this morning, Mr. Delaney. A Darryl King. Friends call him Weasel. He told us a very interesting story. I guess he was in a pretty talkative mood." His eyes glinted.

The tall one took a card out of his pocket.

"It is my duty to inform you, Joseph James Delaney..." he glanced up. "You go by any other names?"

I closed my eyes again. "Joe. Lucky Joe."

"Not today you ain't," the tall one said with a grin, but the short one was all business.

"You have the right to remain silent...."

NMM

This is Miss Moore's literary debut

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