Free Wasted Beauty by Eric Bogosian Page A

someone else, but she doesn’t.
    “That’s what they all say. ‘I don’t smoke.’ Listen, you smoke. In your heart, you smoke. I see it in your eyes. So if you’re not smoking yet, you will. Never say never, baby. You know what I’m talking about?”
    “OK. Yes.” Reba turns and searches the vacant streets for Billy and the van. She can feel the lump of underwear in her pocket.
    “You OK?”
    “Yes.” Reba faces the young woman again. She isn’t all raggedy like the bums Reba has seen wandering around in the early morning when she and Billy unload the van. The kind of people Billy ridicules. This one has nice eyes.
    The woman is shaking her head. “You can’t win.” Reba nods. “You know what I’m saying? What are you, nineteen, twenty? It’s just starting, kid. Just starting. And you know what? Once it starts, it doesn’t stop. Like a wheel going round. You think you’re working the system, but the system’s working you. Look at me, I’m twenty-four.”
    The woman looks older than twenty-four.
    As if illustrating what she’s saying, she points across the street. “He just walks out of the bar, you know? Leaves me there, drink in my hand. One minute, he’s got his arms around me, lighting my cigarette, next, he’s gone. So what am I supposed to do? He’s got the keys, he’s got everything. So I wait. I wait until the bar closes. What do you do with somebody like that?”
    “Maybe you shouldn’t go out with him anymore?”
    The girl-woman laughs a raspy, cynical laugh much older than twenty-four years. She’s missing a molar.
    “You got any money on you, kid? Couple a bucks?”
    “Not really.”
    “Oh, I’m not asking you for money, sweetheart. You think I’m asking you for money? Babe, I wouldn’t do that to you! We’re in this together. No. I’m just saying, if you had a buck or two, we could split a pint.”
    “Pint?”
    “Wine. And not that Mad Dog. None a that shit. Good wine. Half bottle. Nice.”
    “I don’t think the liquor stores are open this late.”
    “When there’s a will there’s a way. Look, we each throw in two bucks, we can have a little warmup. Whaddya say? Unless you’re in a rush.”
    “I’m not in a rush.”
    The woman smiles warmly at Reba and Reba thinks, Billy will find me sooner or later, what else can I do? She takes out two dollars from her jeans pocket and hands it over. “I didn’t get your name.”
    “Jean.”
    “I’m Reba.”
    “Reba, if you have another buck I can get a much nicer vintage.”
    “Well, let me see,” Reba counts her cash. Jean snatches a dollar and makes off into the gloom. She approaches a man at the far end of the park who reaches under some shrubs and passes a package. Jean begs a cigarette off the guy and he lights it for her. Returning, she unwraps the brown paper twisted around a pint of Wild Irish Rose. She sits and smiles again. “I even have little paper cups. How’s that for living?” She blows a stream of smoke up into the black underside of an overhanging branch.
    “Great.” Reba thinks, I can do this. They drink the wine.
    Reba’s head is heavy, she wants to lie down on the bench. But that would be so rude. Overhead the sky is turning brighter, even though here in the park, a mosaic of bright synthetic glow and pitch-black darkness covers everything. A chilly breeze flows through the shrubs and benches. The wine salesman at the other end of the park has left.
    Jean’s eyes are closed, young under all the makeup. But not as pretty as Reba had first thought. Her lips are thin and her nose is too thick. She looks like she’s dressed to go to a party. Her perfume smells like something Maureen would wear to work. This woman is a complete stranger to me, but here I am sitting next to her, like we’re best friends.
    Jean’s eyes flicker open and register displacement. She asks Reba, “What time is it?”
    Reba checks her watch. “Five thirty.”
    “Fuck. Better get back to work. He’ll kill me if he