Henrietta

There was a light powdering of snow covering the ground as Pepper drove up to the small, squat rancher. He parked his car at the foot of the driveway, checking his tire prints in the snow behind him and smiling. It wasn’t an unfamiliar action in the least – it was one he repeated several times a day.

For Pepper, there wasn’t much to look forward to anymore. Every day, it was the same thing in and out, in and out, thank you ma’am and don’t come again. Last call, last drink, lemme wipe down the bar and you can lock up, Ted, and when the sun comes up, we’ll do it all again with a big **** eating grin on our face.

Working the bar wasn’t a job that held much joy or hope for advancement. All Pepper could do was smile and nod at the idiots that stumbled in through the door in hopes that he would get a bigger tip when the time came to pay the check, but it never worked. Pepper hadn’t hit his stride in years – back in his prime, he would make double his standard wage in a night. Back before the beer bottle scars and worry lines pocked his face, before he stepped in during a stupid argument and got glass as a prize.

Now he was lucky to get paid on time. Ted wasn’t a bad guy in the least, just a little slow in his age. Sometimes he needed to be reminded, but he always paid. Just a little slow up top, like the Royal Family. Nothing to be ashamed of.

There were so few joys left in Pepper’s life, that coming home was something he began to look forward to rather than rue. There was a time that coming home and lying down next to the same woman night after night seemed like death rather than comfort, but now death was a comfort, a luxury he could afford. Lying down next to the same woman every night, lying down next to Henrietta, was something.

Henrietta wasn’t an especially special gal. She was as ugly as Pepper and had the sex drive of a sixty year old woman who hadn’t had a good dusting in a few years. But her soft scent – Chanel still, after all these years – and her touch, still downy soft, were a comfort. A blanket that Pepper could wrap himself around in.

Pepper stared at the rancher with almost envious eyes. He got out of his car and moved up the drive, stopping at the front door. He tried the handle, but it was locked. Oh, how many times he had told Henrietta not to lock the door, that they were in a safe area, but how often did Henrietta listen?

He dug into his jean pocket pulling out a heavy key ring, going through each one before finding the door’s mate. He slid it firmly into place and smiled again as the lock clicked. There would be dogs – Berry and Terry, the stupid terriers that Henrietta had bought one day while Pepper was at work.

They barked and Pepper reached into the treat jar, feeding them each before stepping into the hallway and closing the door behind him. He slowly tiptoed down the darkened hall, stopping when he reached the kitchen. He opened the fridge and pulled the milk out, downing some straight from the carton before moving back down an adjoining hall towards the bedroom.

He opened the door and moved over to the bed. He stood, standing over Henrietta –

Mary, that’s not Henrietta, that’s Mary

- admiring her glow in the soft light.

She rolled over, opening her eyes, staring at the shadow standing over her.

“Brian?”

Pepper nodded. “Yeah baby, I’m home.”

He leaned forward and drank in the terror from Henrietta –

That’s not Henrietta, Pepper, she’s dead, cancer

- From Henrietta’s eyes.

“You’re not Brian. How did you get in here!”

“What are you talking about, Henrietta?”

“I’m not Henrietta!” she cried out, pulling backwards, wrapping the blankets around her.

Pepper was confused. No, no, this was Henrietta –

was it, or was it Brian’s wife Mary

“Oh, quiet down, Henrietta! You’ll wake the whole damned neighborhood up!”

Mary -

or was it Henrietta

- was crying now. No, crying isn’t a good word for it. Her throat was thick with phlegm and her voice trembled every time she would inhale.

“Dammit, Henrietta, if you don’t pipe down…”

He reached forward, to the pillow, pulling it from behind her head, which slammed violently against the back board.

“Please, please, don’t do this, I’m not Henrietta, you can take whatever you want, but please just leave me alone.”

“The whole damn neighborhood will hear, baby, so just quiet,” he said, as he pressed the pillow firmly against her face.

She began to kick, but Pepper was careful. He straddled her, making sure she couldn’t reach his hands or kick his genitals, and smiled. Henrietta was finally settling down. Henrietta was finally becoming his blanket again.

-

Pepper walked back out to his car, taking off down the street. He drove very carefully – it was snowy out and he didn’t want to get into an accident, until he reached his apartment. He pulled out his keys, moving into his bedroom, and staring at the spot where Henrietta used.

Pepper’s reached into his wallet and pulled out a driver’s license. “Brian Malloy, 1432 Englewood Drive, Boston Mass.”

He turned it over and opened his bedside table, dropping it onto a small but growing pile of similar pieces, a small pile of plastic. People who would never visit the bar again.

He laid down in the bed, reaching over and feeling the cold spot where Henrietta used to lie.

Maybe one of these nights, Pepper would find her again.