Page 9

“Right. I’ll spend my time watching cars go by,” I said.

“There’s nothin‘ to stop you from fixin’ this room up any way you want,” she said. “Cory said that would be just fine. He was only usin‘ it to store things and occasionally let someone sleep over when he had too much to drink or somethin’. I’m not sure what shirt to wear. I’ve got that one that sparkles like the Electric Horseman. Bet that would be good, huh?”

I didn’t answer. I just continued to take my things out of my suitcase and put them in the drawers of the rickety, old, chipped, and faded dresser. After I cleaned out the spilled tobacco and gum and other junk, that is. The closet was crowded with Cory’s clothing, cartons of sheet music, six pairs of old boots, and a guitar with broken strings.

“Where am I supposed to hang things?” I asked.

“Oh, hell,” Cory said, overhearing me. He rushed in, scooped up clothes, lifted them off the rack, and threw them in the far left corner of the room. “Don’t matter if this stuff’s hangin‘ or not. The closet is yours completely, Robin Lyn,” he said with an exaggerated stage bow.

“Robin,” I said sharply, and he laughed. He had already opened a bottle of beer. It seemed he didn’t move without one in his hand. I noticed a tattoo on his right forearm. It was a picture of a heart split in two with tears dripping from it and the words My Heart Cries for You underneath. He saw me staring at it.

“You can read it better like this,” he said, turning his arm so I’d have a better view.

“Why would you put that on your arm?” I asked, grimacing.

“Oh, didn’t your mother…”

“Sister,” Mother darling corrected from the bathroom where she was fixing her hair. He laughed.

“Sister, I mean, tell you I once had a song on the charts called ‘Broken Heart’?”

“No, she left out that little detail,” I said.

“Kay Jackson. You never told her the important guy you’re working with?”

“Oh yes, she told me that,” I said. He sucked on his beer bottle and then smiled.

“You want to see the rest of the song?”

I didn’t, but I could see it was important to him.

“Sure.”

He opened his shirt and there were two lines tattooed on his chest with that broken heart between them.

Each time it beats a beat, My heart will cry for you.

He took his shirt off completely and showed me his back, where there were two more lines tattooed.

Each time I see your face, My heart will cry for you.

He turned back to me, undid his jeans, and lowered them and his briefs almost to his private place. Another two lines were on his abdomen.

When I see your hand in someone else’s hand, My heart will cry for you.

Then he turned around and dropped his pants and briefs to his knees. There across his buttocks was tattooed:

Until the very end of time, My heart will cry for you.

He pulled up his clothes and turned around to sing some more of his song.

“So take me back and hold me tight and never let me go.

Please mend a heart that’s torn in two, A heart that loves you so.“

He laughed.

“I couldn’t get the whole first verse on me. Well, what’cha think?”