Free One Good Hustle by Billie Livingston Page A

cheek with a loud smack. “Jesus Christ, you’re cute,” she said.
    “You too,” he told her. “I think we should put you to bed.”
    “Are you coming?” she asked.
    “No,” he said with a jittery laugh. “I have to go home.”
    “You can take off now,” I said. “We’re good.” Drew stared at me and I looked away. “I mean it’s late. You don’t have to stick around.”
    Drew let Marlene’s arm go as I pulled her toward her bedroom.
    “Why is everybody leaving?” she said.
    I didn’t answer.
    Her room smelled of stale booze. I didn’t bother to turn the lights on as I shouldered her to the bed. I pulled the rumpled covers back and what sounded like a glass hit the rug, along with a few other bits of junk. I gave her a light shove and she squealed as she hit the mattress.
    “ Show me the way to go home ,” she sang, “ I’m tired and I want to go to bed .” She interrupted herself with, “I’m hungry.”
    “Tough.” I took off her shoes, hauled her legs onto the bed and yanked the covers over her.
    After closing her door behind me, I went back into the hall to where Drew stood waiting.
    “Do you want me to—?”
    “Okay, well, thanks,” I said, cutting him off as I headed for the front door.
    “Are you going to be all right?” He glanced back at my mother’s room and followed me.
    “Yup. I’ll talk to you later.” Opening the door, I kept my eyes on the rug.
    He paused, stuttering a little before he said, “Do you have, like, a social worker type thing? Because of the welfare?”
    “No,” I snapped. I forgot I’d told him about us being on welfare. But how else could I explain how we paid the rent? “I mean, some chick comes nosing around once a year to make sure we’re not rich. But I’m not calling her.”
    “Maybe you should,” he said. “I’m scared if you don’t—” His eyes flicked away. “I’ll talk to my mom. She—” Drew stuttered till his words went straight again. “Maybe you could sleep in my brother’s old bed.”
    “That’s very um—No, I’m—” I could feel my face getting hot. Drew came from people who were clean and good and right. I held the door open farther and kept my eyes away from his. “I’m okay. I’ll talk to you later.”
    He stepped into the hallway, turned and looked at me. I should have said something more, but I just closed the door. Flicking off the light I leaned against the wall until I heard him moving down the hallway.
    I haven’t talked to Drew since. I can’t look at him and I don’t want him looking at me. I wish to hell I’d just left her in the drunk tank that night.

NINE
    I WALKED AND walked, staring at the sidewalk, thinking of Drew. Plus what a fuck-up Marlene is these days. And when I look around me, I realize that after twenty minutes of walking, all I’ve done is get closer to her. I try to picture Ruby and Lou standing in my mother’s living room. Mind your own business, you tubby little dyke .
    When I get to Willingdon Avenue, I look across the street to the Old Orchard strip mall. The sun is breaking through the clouds and I’m beginning to sweat. I could really go for a drink. Maybe an Orange Crush. Ice cold. But the most immediate problem is money. That’s frequently the most immediate problem. I’m only about five blocks from Marlene now.
    It’s not smart working close to home but sometimes you have to.
    In the strip mall, outside the drugstore, I hang around thegarbage can till I can discreetly fish out a few cash-register receipts. My dad told me about this one—he used to do this when he was young and broke. You have to act normal, you can’t make a big deal out of hunting for receipts or some uptight tool might notice and go squealing to a cop or something. The best one I find lists a pregnancy test, mascara, foundation, lipstick and blush. Total: $43.50. Nice . For appearance’s sake, I snag an empty store bag too.
    Inside the store, I lift the items off the shelves. Marlene would