The Skin Show (2 page)

Jerry
stopped talking as his focus switched to the darkened windshield, his arms
hugging the large steering wheel.

Miles
could see that Jerry wasn’t being completely honest with him, but he wasn’t
going to pester him about it. Miles faced forward, seeing faded yellow lines in
the truck’s wide stretch of beams. Tarred cracks snaked in all directions over
the blacktop. There were rundown houses spaced far apart on each side of them. It
wasn’t long before Miles didn’t even see that.

He
put the bag of animal crackers in the console and screwed the cap back on the
thermos. He didn’t want them anymore. The crackers didn’t taste quite as good
as they had moments ago, and the coffee was suddenly bitter on his tongue.

Jerry
watched him from the corner of his eye. He looked as if he wanted to ask why
Miles had stopped eating, but he said nothing. They drove the rest of the way
in silence, the only sounds being that of Jerry’s snore-like breathing.

An
hour ticked sluggishly by.

Miles
felt his body relaxing, his mind starting to drift. His eyes became heavy and
droopy, so he blinked a few times, then looked out the window. The moon was
nearly full, hanging above the fields like a washed out island. The blackness
outside looked as if it was swallowing the truck, as if it would bust the glass
to get inside and take him. He knew it was stupid to imagine such a thing, but
it didn’t stop him from scooting away from the door.

The
grumble of the engine dropped a few notches as the truck slowed down. Miles
turned from side to side. There wasn’t anything around that suggested a club
existed. All he saw was darkness and the black smudges of trees beyond the
field. “What are you doing?” he asked Jerry.

“This
is as far as I go, kid.”

Miles
leaned forward, looking past Jerry out his window. More darkness. No flashy
lights, no parking lot packed with cars. Nothing.

“What
is this?” he asked.

Jerry
groaned. “Black Creek is on the other side of that field, a barren town that us
truckers like to avoid.”

“You
can’t leave me here. It’s really dark, and…” Miles realized he didn’t bring
along a flashlight. Some smart tough guy he was. Didn’t even bring what he
needed.

“There’s
a dirt road to my left.” He nodded his head towards his window. “It should lead
you to what you’re looking for. If I was you, I wouldn’t take my time walking on
it, if you know what I mean.”

Miles
didn’t, but nodded as if he did.

The
truck slowed to a halt. There was a loud gusting hiss of the airbrakes. Jerry
flung his seatbelt to the side, then opened his door and jumped down. Leaving
his door open, Miles saw him walk around the front, becoming momentarily
painted in the headlights bright beams. Then he vanished into the shadows.

Miles
was looking for him when the door on his side was suddenly yanked open.
Gasping, he leaned back.

“Didn’t
mean to scare you, kid.” Miles tried a smile. He failed. “Come on. Let me help
you down.”

Miles
could climb down without help, and had done so many times in his dad’s truck.
He didn’t tell Jerry that, though, allowing the man to lower him down to the
road.

Outside
seemed twenty degrees colder than it had been at the truck stop. A sharp squall
of wind threw Miles’s clothes against his body, rustling his hair, as he
followed Jerry around the front of the truck to the other side. He pulled the
hood over his head, only for the wind to blow it right back off.

While
Jerry worked to retrieve the bike, Miles checked both directions for any cars.
There were none. The dark road stretched endlessly on each side like a dead
black tongue. The back of his neck tingled with goose bumps and it wasn’t the
wind’s doing.

He
turned around as Jerry dropped the bike onto its wheels. The man used his boot
to nudge the kickstand down. “There you go.”

“Thanks,”
said Miles. He reached for the handlebars and noticed his hands were shaking.  

Jerry
looked down at Miles, frowning. “I couldn’t talk you out of going there, could
I?”

Miles
shook his head. Scared as he was, he needed to find his dad, even if he might
not like what he saw.

Jerry
sighed. “Don’t hang around that place any longer than you have to. If you don’t
see your daddy, hop on your bike and pedal your ass home and forget about him.
Got me?”

Miles
gulped, nodded.

“Good.
Go on. Best of luck to you, kid. ”

Slowly,
Miles mounted the bike. His legs acted as if they wanted to work against him.
Stiff and difficult, he had trouble getting his feet on the pedals, his butt
planted on the narrow seat. Once he’d mounted the bike, he turned to tell Jerry
bye. The man was no longer standing behind him. The door slammed. He heard the
gears groan as Jerry put the truck into first gear. His eyes started to well
up, making his vision blurry. He blinked away the tears and pedaled across the
asphalt.

The
dirt road was just where Jerry said it would be. There was a small dip as the
bike left the blacktop. The rubber tires crunched over the gravel. Thick trees
on each side choked out the moonlight. It was nearly impossible to see, so
Miles stopped to give his eyes time to adjust to the heavy darkness all around.

Behind
him, the truck groaned as it began to roll. Miles had never felt more alone. He
would have looked back to watch the truck go, but didn’t want to risk the
truck’s bright lights ruining his night vision.

He
began pedaling, taking Jerry’s advice about not wasting any time.

The
trees curved over the road above him in a dome of spindly naked limbs. Streaks
of moonlight pierced through the tight gaps like ghostly daggers. There were no
sounds of wildlife, which Miles chalked up to the late fall temperatures.
Still, he thought he’d have heard something other than rusted squeals of the
chain on his bike, the whirring of his pedals.

He
leaned into a curve, continuing forward. It seemed brighter in this part. As he
continued to pedal, the brightness grew at a rapid rate. Then he heard tires on
gravel, the hum of an engine. Looking over his shoulder, he saw a pair of
headlights behind him through his bangs flapping in his eyes.

Miles
screamed when they honked their horn. He pedaled to the side, meaning to allot
them room to pass. He hadn’t expected the ditch to be so deep. The road vanished
from under him. The front tire struck the slope as the ground started to rise.

And,
he was thrown from the bike.

Miles
wasn’t sure how long he was out cold, or if he ever was. When he stood up, his
head felt swimmy. His ears sounded clogged, as if he’d been under water. He
looked down at his bike and groaned. It was busted. The front spokes were bent,
bowing outward like thin metal noodles. The chain hung in two halves around the
sprocket.

Ruined.

“Dammit,”
muttered Miles. With no adults around, he had no qualms with cursing.

He
would have sulked over his damaged bike longer, but the faint sounds of a party
arrested his attention. He tilted his ear toward the noise. Definitely a party.
He could distinguish laughter, blaring music, hoots and hollers like you’d hear
at a ball game.

I’m
close.

Crawling
out of the ditch, his knees rubbed dew-damp weeds. He ignored the scratchy,
sticky feeling as he got back to the road. He brushed off his pants, only
smearing the clumpy bits of grass across his knees. He checked for more traffic,
and didn’t spot any.

Standing
in the middle of the narrow dirt road, Miles took a deep breath. He held it in
as long as he could before letting it slowly out. It made the inside of his
chest feel stretchy and sore. Then he started walking. The toes of his shoes
scuffed short abrasions in the dirt, kicking up small puffs of dust on his way.

The
subtle noise grew louder, trees thinning, the spaces between them spreading.
The road ended at a clearing: a large flat space, like a landing strip that
carried on ahead. There was no parking lot, just a small field full of cars, motorcycles,
and a couple eighteen wheelers. Miles wondered how they’d gotten back here
without tearing most of the woods down in the process.

On
the far side of the parking area was the building. A small, one level place, it
looked as if it had been assembled by contractors that didn’t know what they
were doing. The walls appeared to be aluminum sheets, like those on an old tin
shed. He could see bars of pink light between the gaps of sections. The roof
was flat, as if the ceiling had been laid across and never secured to the rest.
It sat at a slight angle, crooked. The sign above the front edge of the roof
announced:
The Skin Show
—the three words flashed neon green, then pink, dissolving
to green once again. A porch ran the length of the front, wooden railing and
posts on top that connected to the roof.

He
saw a couple of men hanging around out there. Their skin looked sunburnt in the
pink hues. He could see a small piece of white outside the porch, going one way
and another. It looked like a T-shirt or a white towel on a clothesline how it
wavered here and there.

Miles
started moving, keeping to the far left, hoping there was enough shadow here to
camouflage him. With the dark clothes he had on, and being where the light
didn’t quite reach, he hoped he would be okay.

Stopping
beside an old clunker of a car, he ducked down, keeping his head just above the
door so he could see through the windows. Although the glass was coated in
dust, he could see just fine. It looked as if no one had noticed him, so he
quickly got moving again.

He
had no plan other than getting closer to the people, so he could see if his dad
was among them. If he saw Dad, he would go talk to him, no matter what. He was
pretty sure his dad would drive him home, probably cussing him the entire way.
Miles could deal with that. But, if Dad wasn’t here, that meant he would be
walking all the way home because he wouldn’t ask any of these people for a ride.
He doubted they’d be as nice as Jerry.

Nice?
He bailed on you.

At
least he’d brought Miles this far.

He
approached a line of motorcycles, all leaning to one side. The moonlight
reflected little gleams on their gas tanks. Crouching, Miles faced the front of
the building again. He was much closer than he’d intended to be.

He
could see the club sign clearly, the neon colors changing the tint of his skin
with each dissolve. Below the name were two more words in black blocky letters: 
Live Acts.
 

Though
Miles read the sign, he hardly paid the words any attention. His focus had been
nabbed by the girl in front of the building. She stood in the graveled area
running in front of the porch like a narrow footpath. Her slender, yet tight
arms were slick from sweat and gleamed in a glossy sheen under the oil lamps
hanging from the beams. The lanterns made the girl’s sleek skin glow. 

Her
coal-black hair draped her shoulders, sprigs daubing in her face. She had on a
white tank top that was so thin it was nearly clear. Miles realized the white
smear he’d spotted earlier had been her shirt. Way back there, he couldn’t see
much, but being this close he could see her black bra underneath, the small
points of her nipples prodding it like nails. The shirt was glued to her flat
stomach, her navel a round dot in her midsection. Shin-high boots didn’t quite
reach the purple socks tapping the bottoms of her knees. Her thighs were bare
and milky up to the stringy tips of her denim cut-offs.

Miles
felt himself getting hard. He squirmed, trying to relieve himself of the
pressure between his legs. He could hardly breathe as he watched her wiggle her
hips from side to side, her breasts jiggled while she shouted: “Welcome to The
Skin Show! The show’s already begun! Come inside and partake in the sin!” 

Her
voice made Miles want to see. He wondered if there was an age limit.

Don’t
be an idiot. Of course there is.

Before,
he couldn’t care less what went on here, but now…he
had
to know. His
anger for his dad began to dispel to understanding. If this place was full of
girls who looked like her, he could understand why his dad never wanted to come
home.

Stop!

The
voice of reason which usually ruled his mind was a croaky whine deep in his
skull. It hardly registered to Miles, but it had been brash enough to remind
him why he’d come here. Shaking his head, he looked to the front again and
gasped.

The
girl’s gaze was aimed in Mile’s direction.

His
heart lurched in his chest. It knocked the wind out of his lungs through his
mouth in one quick gust. No way was she actually looking at
him.
There
must be something happening behind him, something else that had her attention. He
glanced over his shoulder to double check and all he found were more parked
vehicles. There was a big oak tree with lazy limbs hanging low to the ground
further back.

Then
he turned back to the girl and saw her stare hadn’t wavered. The corner of her
mouth had curled up into a halfway smile. She put her hands on her hips,
jutting one out to the side with a foot planted in front of her
.
She
gave her hip a little shake. 

Miles
swallowed the lump in his throat. 

Is
she doing that for
me? 

The
girl nodded. 

The
back of his neck felt like someone was poking it with an icy fork.

She
raised a fist, fingers up. Then she beckoned him to come over with a curling
index finger.

Miles’s
hard on pushed painfully against the front of his pants. He trembled. He wanted
to go to her, but couldn’t move.
Wouldn’t
move. Whatever she wanted him
over there for couldn’t be good. He couldn’t help feeling like she was playing
a trick, setting him up for something awful.