by C. N. Nevets, (c) 2010
Jimmy was so thin and pale I thought his veins might just fall out, but when we sat down at the little round table, he was the one who was bursting with smiles and energy.
“I don't know how you do it, man,” I admitted, idly glancing at the grease-smeared menu in front of me. “You're forty-five and you're grinning like you're nineteen.”
“Lovin' life, brother, that's all it is. Lovin' life.” His voice was strong, but hoarse. He'd had three shows this week, and his style of singing would have strained anyone's vocal chords. He glanced over at the girl behind bar. “I'm thirstier than hell, hon, just gimme a couple glasses of water with a pinch of salt and a teaspoon of sugar, and then keep 'em coming 'till I say no more.”
“Sure thing, Mr. Heroine.”
I rolled my eyes. Jimmy Heroine. His stage name. Used to just be something people called him because he was so stretched out and empty looking. Now the young ones thought it was his real name. What a world.
I gave her my order. “I'll have a scotch with a pinch of scotch and a teaspoon of scotch. Keep 'em coming 'till I say no more.”
Jimmy eyeballed me, his eyes popping out of their sunken sockets. “You doin' okay there, brother?”
“Yeah, not bad,” I assured him, shrugging my upper arms and laughing a couple times through my nose.
“Whatcha painting right now?”
Where was that damn scotch? I looked at the menu again, a little more intently. I thought the word behind the thick smear of dried ketchup was hamburger, but it could have been ham sandwich. “Just painting little things here and there, you know? Stuff for family mostly.”
“Working a lot?”
“Feels like all the time.” I looked at the girl behind the bar. She was fixing his waters. There wasn't a bottle of scotch anywhere near her. “Gotta pay the bills, you know? It's good job, too. I like the people I work with and I'm in quality assurance now, in management, so it's really good. But definitely a lot of hours.”
“You're gonna go insane, bro bro.” Jimmy tapped out drum rolls on the table surface with his nail-like fingers. “You're a painter, not some retail guy. Your stuff's good. That one you did with the face, and the blue background, and it was like you could feel what it must be like to be God when you looked at it – I still have dreams about that painting.”
The girl set his waters down and then asked me, “What was it you said you wanted? Beer?”
“Scotch.” I tried not to snarl.
“Right, scotch.” She turned back to Jimmy. “Anything else, Mr. Heroine? You want some fries or something? My treat.”
“Sure, honey, that'd be great, thanks.”
I meant to swear under my breath, but I just swore. They both gave me looks of surprise and reproach. Grimacing, I picked up the menu to hide behind. Didn't last long. I smacked it down on the table. “You living off your music these days?”
“Hell no,” Jimmy laughed, grinning. As if the laugh pained him, he winced and then applied gentle pressure to his side. “We have a lot of shows, but we play for drinks and a hundred bucks to split. Stuff like that. It's about the love, brother. The art.”
“You can't live on art.”
“Hell no,” Jimmy agreed, laughing again. “But I get by.”
“Still selling your blood?”
“Yep.”
“And your sperm?”
“Yep.”
“You look like death, man.” I meant it as a judgment against his lifestyle.
He brushed it off. “That's the operation, that's all.”
“Operation?”
As the girl brought me what looked and smelled like an amaretto sour, Jimmy lifted his t-shirt. In addition to the sharp relief of his ribs, I could see a scar on his left side. “Kidney,” he said.
“Cancer?” I asked.
“Not sure.” He lowered the shirt and drained one of the glasses of water. “Not mine, whatever it was. I donated it, brother.”
“Donated? How are you healthy enough to donate a kidney?”
“The kinda guys who pay you in cash for your kidney don't do a physical first, know what I mean?”
I stared at the drink that had been placed in front of me. My voice was distant. “You sold your kindey? Sold? Your kidney?”
“Gotta pay the bills, ya know?” Again, Jimmy laughed. His laugh was warm and convivial, even when it was hoarse like it was.
“You're insane.”
“Hey, it lets me make money and still sing, I'm cool with it.”
I shook my head and crossed my arms across my chest, sitting in stiff condescension. “It's a slippery slope. Where's it going to stop, Jimmy? Blood, sperm, kidneys -- pieces of your liver?”
“I dunno.” He was grinning, but his his were sharp and shadowed. “You tell me.”
“What do you mean?”
“I'm just selling my body for my art, brother, you're selling your soul.”
I gulped at the amaretto sour and my eyes searched the room for anything to look at other than Jimmy's grin.
FIN
.Nevets.
Haha, I like that last line! Very "cutting," you might say. ;) It reminds me of a short piece I wrote in a class about a prostitute arguing with an evangelist.
ReplyDeleteLast line of dialogue, I meant.
ReplyDeletehaha "Cutting." Thanks, Genie. The piece you wrote for class sounds like it was probably fun.
ReplyDeleteWow, quite a story and told entirely through dialogues which in my opinion is no easy task. Love the punchy ending too.
ReplyDeleteXie xie, Shopgirl. I'm glad it worked. As much as I used to mock the stereotypical "literary stories are about two people sitting, drinking coffee and doing nothing" . . . I've come to believe you can really do something that that sort of set-up. I'm glad it worked!
ReplyDeleteNice one, Nevets.
ReplyDeleteGood piece. I like the word "convivial" I'm going to have to share that one.
ReplyDeleteI agree with shopgirl: to execute a plot through dialog is not easy. I think I'll have to try that next Flash Fiction. Jimmy's last line of dialog makes me think of another line: "Right now, somewhere an artist just sold out." Selling out could be integrity or giving up.
Great short! It said a lot in very few words, and there was a great balance between the dialogue and narrative.
ReplyDeleteCheers!
Jimmy Heroine is one fascinating dude. I got a really good sense of him through the dialogue -- no easy feat. Great work, Nevets!
ReplyDeleteAaahhhh, the old art/work dichotomy. I most certainly feel this one. Nicely presented, Nevets.
ReplyDelete@Michael - Thanks! I'm glad you enjoyed it!
ReplyDelete@Scott - I definitely have a particular read on this scenario, but I'm glad you caught onto the ambiguity. I didn't want this to be something that had a moral at the end.
@Cheryl - Thanks so much! I'm glad I managed to pack it in1
@Jennifer - Thanks. I like the story as it stands, but the downside to writing something like this is that, when it's all said and done, I think, "Dang, what a fun character that would be to explore at length." haha
@Loren - Yeah, there's not quite like old artwork. Oh. Wait. :)
I hope I dealt with the dichotomy appropriately, even if in extremes!
Great story, Nevets! Do you mind a suggestion? I think it would be even better without the last line. That final bit of dialogue is briliant, and says it all :o)
ReplyDelete@Frances - Thanks! And suggestions are always welcome! I love it when people read my stories closely enough to make suggestions.
ReplyDeleteIn this case, I'm torn. I wasn't 100% thrilled with the last line either. Symbolically, I thought it was important that I end with the main character bathing his tonsils in the amaretto, but I can also see how (a) the rest of that sentence might be dead weight, and (b) the preceding line of dialogue acts like a closer, so having something after it might feel arrhythmic.
What do you think, Frances? Anyone else?
I think 'the less is more' thing applies. It's an excellent line (the penultimate one). I don't think you need to say any more - it merely adds something the reader can imagine for him/her self. Without that last line, you have a much punchier ending.
ReplyDeleteI definitely see what you mean about the punchiness, Frances. Perhaps I fell in love with my own symbolism too much. haha
ReplyDelete