Semi-Gloss by Joe Barrett

Author:Joe Barrett [Barrett, Joe]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Black Rose Writing
Published: 2023-04-20T00:00:00+00:00

PENNY

“Alright, guys! We’re breaking down. Roofie takes it!” Beer, top of the stairs.

“Roofie takes what?” I focus on finishing up the base of the day’s last spindle.

“The day,” Mealy monotones, painting his own spindle. “Little Saint Nick in June. That’s one for the books.”

We finish up our spindles at the same time, mostly because I just tool around with mine until Mealy’s done. Roofie’s doing that “happy fella dance” in the living room, but there’s no ceremony tonight. Maybe because he already celebrated when it happened? We spill and wipe our buckets back into the big tub, take turns washing our brushes in the slop sink.

Beer is paying-out Carlos and Juan, so I step in line behind them and take my hundred-twenty. Tells us we’ve got work tomorrow if we want it and all three of us nod that we do indeed want it. Carlos and Juan walk out to the truck, wait for Roofie.

“Best crew they ever worked.” Sammy smiles as the door closes.

“Still trying to figure us out, I think.” Mealy scopes the staircase. “Cutting through these spindles, though. With Canada here, I’d say they’re knocked out by next Wednesday. Thursday, latest.”

My heart drops, realizing the day-work might dry up so soon. Mealy picks up my expression, smiles, tells me there’s stuff I can do when the spindle work’s done. Sigh.

“Thanks. I mean, I can really use the cash.” And the place to stay. The fun. The friends. The feeling that I belong somewhere. Mealy. I wonder if this painting company could ever legally adopt me?

“So, what’s dinner about?” Beer asks the group at large.

“Westshore. I’m way too banged up from last night for anything big. Plus, I spent probably a thousand dollars on booze yesterday so I could use some well-priced beer.”

“Fine by me.” Beer exits.

“You in?” Mealy asks me. “Westshore Pizza is, like, right down the road.”

I wish I could be in. Go out with these guys instead of walking around the neighborhood, sneaking back into this same house. Spending all night alone. But the responsible part of me says it’s too risky. I’m a fifteen-year-old runaway pretending to be a Canadian university grad, illegally squatting in the house where somehow, I also illegally work. There are limits. I need to keep a low-profile, wherever I can, at this point. So, no. I’m out.

“Hell, yeah. I’m in,” my sister says, with my mouth. Goddammit, Catelyn!

“Cool, ride with us. We’ll drop you back at your aunt’s place when we’re done.”

Jeff is driving Roofie’s motorcycle, while Roofie drops off Juan and Carlos in the company pickup. I don’t ask why Jeff doesn’t just drop the guys off so Roofie can ride the bike himself. Political spider webs of the paint trade, I guess.

“Ride with us” turns out to be all four of us – Beer, Sammy, Mealy and me – in the front seat of Beer’s pickup. A pickup that has one of those thin back cabs. I offer to sit in back, plenty of room for little me, and Beer asks if I’m a dog.

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