Free One Safe Place by Alvin L. A. Horn Page B

bad-ass, but I’m not, so I give them the best ‘That’s fucked-up’ stare I can give.”
    â€œBubble, I wish I was more ladylike, but after living that hard life, being a lady is something I always have to work at. It’s not my first nature, or maybe even my second. My mom was so docile that I despised her dainty, gracious ways. I somewhat regret that now, but then again I don’t. My father beat her like a heavy bag, and he slapped me around like a speed bag. It’s one of the reasons I have PB teach basic self-defense to every child who has ever come through the program.”
    â€œI suppose he taught you to defend yourself?”
    â€œYes, he did, but trust me, I learned a lot on my own. But if I get high or drunk with the wrong person, it might not make a difference. I could have beaten the shit out of the man who cut me up, if only I had thought better of myself.”
    Jamie smiled, and reached for Evita’s hand, observing her unflawed, long fingers. Evita’s hands were the rare place on her body that had no tattoos covering scars. Her nails were painted a frosted neutral with black, knife-like, pointed French tips.
    â€œEvita Rivers,” Jamie took a deep breath, “I’ve been in love, butit always ends up hurting in the end…so far. I wish…I dream, of having what you have with PB. He gives you your freedom to do as you please. That makes me want to join a church just to shout, ‘Hallelujah.’ He supports your causes, and you actually never have or have had sex. You have sex with whomever you choose, and he never raises his hand to you…Hallelujah! It makes me want to plot your death so I can see if he’ll like me a tenth of how he loves you. There is only one man I have ever loved…still love. We love defiantly against what others wanted for us. But…but, time and space got in the way, and we let a few people add distractions,” Jamie’s voice trailed off.
    â€œUntil your last breath you have time. And Bubble Butt, please don’t kill me anytime soon, I have some shopping to do first, okay? Let’s talk about something good.”
    â€œEvita, you don’t shop all that much, but I’ll let you live. You’re my friend, and if I need to see any woman happy and live through her, it might as well be you.”
    The conversation switched to topics easier on the soul for a while, until a news report flashed on the TV. The police in Seattle had killed an innocent Native American man. The man had carved small totem poles with a pocket knife, and the police had shot him for not putting it away fast enough. The man was hard of hearing. It had happened some time ago, but Jamie had Native American blood running through her, and it ran with boiling, busting heat seeing the news. She went outside and smoked another joint.
    At the corner of the bar, a man sat staring at Evita. She didn’t know him, but maybe their lives had crossed. She gave him a nickname, Pretty Boy, and chuckled. He saw her laughing alone and looking back at him. She was thinking of leaving when Jamie came back, but knew Pretty Boy would approach her table, and he did.
    Pretty Boy, a man most women would call fine, stood at her table and they role played. Evita savored the last of her drink with her face pointed downward, but her pupils lifted high and scanned. She smiled at him, but only because she knew she wouldn’t be stomping her boot on this man. Well, maybe—possibly. She let her mind go into freak zone. Pretty Boy, a man manicured five times more than Prince, was deep in to his metrosexual appearance. He slipped his body into the seat across from Evita.
    â€œSo, Pretty Boy, did you pay to sit across from me?” Evita made sure she beat him to the punch and spoke before he had a chance to roll out some bullshit. “You must buy every woman in the bar a drink first in order to sit across from me. That’s an