Raspberry Beret

You get out of the reformatory just in time for St. Patrick's Day. Tim makes a half-assed "luck-o'-the-Irish" joke when he picks you up, and you don't even try to make yourself laugh. But you figure it's about goddamn time for your luck to change. You were stuck in that place for all the good holidays, and they've got a new crop of guards just out of the Academy. Tim always said those guys were the fucking worst, and he was right. They think they've gotta prove themselves, and the new authority makes them a little nuts. And brutal, god damn. Your ribs still hurt.

Your folks aren't home when you get there; not that you would've said hi to them, anyway. There's a couple things you want to get tonight, and the first one is a fucking shower. Tim hollers at you through the closed door to "hurry the fuck up", but you know he'll wait for you. He's been in your shoes so many times before, after all.

The scalding water pounds down on your back and shoulders, and you let your eyes fall closed. You can do that now. You can close your eyes, let your guard down, and enjoy the water that's actually hot. You lean forward so your forehead is resting against the tile wall, and sigh. Christ, you could fall asleep on your feet. You have the brief thought that maybe you ought to stay in and sleep, but you put that out of mind pretty quick. You're dyin' to get laid, and you're not gonna miss out on a night at a bar full of drunk and easy chicks. That, and you're not about to face your mother and Dick without Tim around. After six months of being locked up, you just want one fucking night of not being slapped around, screamed at, or both. And you're sure as shit not going to get that if you stay here.

XXX

By 11:30, you're in a foul fucking mood. Everyone at Buck's has been drinking since early in the morning, and the crowd is quickly thinning out as more and more people either pass out or head home. And you haven't even gotten to talk to a single broad. Your buddies were on you the second you walked in the door. They were so fucking happy to see you. They kept feeding you drinks, which is a plus, you guess. You've got a hell of a buzz going. But you'd rather be stone cold sober and headed to bed with a girl than drunk off your ass and turning in with some lotion and an old playboy.

The sudden sound of laughter behind you nearly makes you jump out of your skin.

"Holy shit, Tim?! The hell happened to your hair, baldy? You lose a bet? Oh, this is beautiful!"

You look the girl up and down. She knows Tim, so you figure you've gotta know her from somewhere. But she doesn't look familiar. God damn, though, she's cute as hell.

You realize that she's giving you the same dumb, confused stare that you have to be giving her.

"Well, shit, I'm sorry. You're not Tim. God, you could be his twin, though."

"I'm his brother," you say.

Realization dawns on her. "The one who's been locked up? Shit, I was starting to think that you didn't really exist!"

"And you're…?" you start. You have to stop mid sentence and swallow hard. Suddenly, all those green beers aren't seeming like such a good idea…

"I'm Faye. Faye Glass."

"You know Walt?"

"Unfortunately," she says. She takes a sip of her drink. Is that a fucking Red Vine that she's using as a straw…? "I'm his sister."

"Walter never said he had a sister," you reply. You hiccup and swallow hard again.

She rolls her eyes. "I'm a closer-guarded secret than the Coca-Cola formula, it seems."

You start to laugh, but quickly stop yourself and put a hand over your mouth. Shit. Shit shit shit. You're gonna lose your lunch.

Your lunch.

Fuck.

You would forget to eat anything before going out drinking. Not to mention that you just went six months without booze, except for some toilet hooch. And that was one time. Jesus Christ, this is a whole new kind of stupid. Tim's never gonna' let you hear the end of this one.

Your only saving grace is that you're close enough to a trashcan that you're able to get sick in that, instead of on yourself or her shoes.

You're still heaving, fucking sure that she's run off in disgust, when you feel a hand on your back.

"Holy shit! Are you ok?"

You look up at her, this cute fuckin' girl who you just met, and then made a total ass of yourself in front of. You're not gettin' laid tonight, that's for damn sure. But it's hard to care about that right now. You just want to disappear and then to get some fucking sleep.

"You want me to take you home?" she asks.

"Fuck, no. Not home," you groan.

She nods and holds her hand out to you. "C'mon."

"Where we goin'?"

"Gonna' find you a place to crash."

You could crash right here, right now, with your head in this disgusting trash can and the legs of your jeans soaked with what you hope is old, spilled beer.

"'C'mon. Walt's not home. A bed is gonna be a hell of a lot more comfortable than the floor."

You slowly stand up. The room spins and tilts a little, and then rights itself. You blink a couple times, and then manage to focus on Faye. She's still holding her hand out to you, and you take it. But it's only because you're not sure if you're steady enough on your feet to walk alone.

It's not until you're at her house - her and Walt's house - that you realize something.

"You always this nice to people?" You ask.

She flips off the light. "When I wanna be."

"This town's gonna eat you alive," you say. You can't figure out if you're more asleep or awake.

And you don't know if she really says it, or if you're dreaming. But she laughs and says, "it can try. But I'm damn hard to swallow."

XXX

You wake up in the morning just as nauseous as you were last night, and with one hell of a headache. You slowly open your eyes and take in your surroundings. You have no fucking idea where you are. But holy shit this place smells like pot.

You roll out of bed and stumble out the door. Your balance was already shit, and the second you step out into the hallway, someone immediately tackles you and knocks you over. You're too tired to fight, and you instinctively cover your face with your arms and say, "uncle".

Whoever it is doesn't quit, and you groan, "uncle", again, slightly louder this time.

Then laughter that sounds vaguely familiar. "Aww, Jake! Come on, buddy. Leave him alone."

The weight is suddenly off of you. You uncover your face and open your eyes again. You're looking into the face of Walter Glass's pit bull, and a girl who you swear you've seen before. But maybe it's just that she has the same nose and dimples as Walt. Fuck, maybe you're still asleep.

"You look like you could use a joint and some coffee," the vaguely familiar girl says. "And about a gallon of water."

You nod. "Christ, yes."

"Make yourself comfortable," she says. "Couch is right ahead, bed's back where you came from."

She walks off, the way her feet pound on the floor sending waves of pain through your already-aching head. You sigh heavily and close your eyes. You're not gonna be moving any time soon.

Think, Curly! Where the hell are you? Where's the last place you remember being? Who was there?

A fuzzy memory comes to you. You spent St. Patrick's Day at Buck's. Your buddies must've had you drink an entire keg of green beer. But why are you at Walter Glass's house? Who's this broad who looks like him, but better? Did you get laid? With her?

Footsteps again, and then the smell of coffee. The scent of pot gets even stronger.

You slowly sit up, take a few sips of the coffee, and a hit off of the joint.

"You know where you are? You remember who I am?"

You just shake your head. Last night is too blurry, and your head hurts too much for you to think. Maybe if you play totally dumb, she'll fill you in on what you don't remember.

"You know Walter Glass, yeah?"

"… Uh-huh…"

"This is his house … Our house. I'm his sister, Faye Louise."

"I slept here?" you ask. You take a long hit off the joint and drain your mug of coffee.

"Slept here, yes," she says. Then she winks, "but don't worry, honey. I didn't take advantage of you."

You want to say something like, "almost wish you would have." But what comes out is, "you know Tim?"

Faye cocks an eyebrow at you. "Y'all two don't talk much, huh?"

You have no fucking idea… "Not when I'm locked up."

"Walt and his boys aren't moonshining any more," she says. "They still got the partnership with Tim and all, but we're selling pot now."

"Which one of the boys is growin'?" you ask. To hear Tim talk, the Kings are all too dumb to manage something like growing weed.

Faye Louise laughs long and hard about that. "You're looking at him."

XXX

You see her again just a couple days later, at the rodeo. Saddle Bronc and Bull Riding are your thing. You don't care much for barrel racing. You figure she must feel the same, because it's just the two of you getting beer from the keg. She gives you a smile and a nod when she sees you, and you return the nod.

"That's a hell of a shiner," she says as she reaches up and gently touches the bruise around your eye. "Recon Tim would've done the same to me a hundred times over if I weren't a girl."

"From my Stepdad," you say. You chug your beer as fast as you can, and then start refilling your cup.

"Got my fair share of war wounds from my Grandpa's razor strap," she finally says. "We should compare battle scars sometime."

"Yeah? That mean I get to see you naked?"

Her figure isn't much to look at. She's not busting out of her top like the girls in the skin mags. She's just skinny all over, like that Twiggy. But she's still wearing a barely-there sundress that must be making her mighty cold in the March weather. You'd warm her up in a heartbeat.

"Depends. You feel lucky?"

"Haven't gotten lucky since I got out," you reply. "Recon that's gotta change sometime."

Her mouth is dangerously close to your ear, and you're glad that you're wearing some of Tim's hand-me-downs and not the jeans that got too small while you were in the reformatory.

"You come find me at the end of the night," she says. "Maybe you'll find yourself a good luck charm before then."

x-x-x

She's leaning against the rusty front door of the Studebaker Something-or-Another that you know is Walt's when she catches your eye. She smirks, cocks an eyebrow, and nods her head over her right shoulder.

"You find that good luck charm?" she asks once you're standing next to her.

"Depends. You got a light?"

She wordlessly hands you a book of matches, and you use two of them to light your cigarette. You normally would've just needed the one, but this cigarette and these matches both must be older than time itself. And it don't help that your hands are shaking from the cold…

"Pretty half-assed good luck charm," she says, eyeing the smoke between your fingers.

You grin at her and reach into your back pocket for your wallet. The condom that you take out is probably even older than the stale cigarette you're smoking. But if you can fake being confident well enough, maybe she won't notice.

She does, though, and she laughs right in your face. She may be Walt's sister, but she's smarter and pays closer attention than he ever did. The thought that you might be in over your head briefly crosses your mind.

"You were better off with the cigarette," she scoffs.

"Tried to get you a rabbit's foot, but them bunnies ain't too keen on givin' up one of their paws."

"Gee, too bad there's not a clover patch right in front of this fuckin' place," she says. She rolls her eyes. "Could've found yourself a couple Shamrocks in about ten seconds."

You mentally cuss yourself out.

"I'll keep that in mind," you say. You drop your cigarette on the pavement and grind it out with your shoe.

"Better find yourself a couple four-leaved clovers right quick," Faye Louise says. She nods toward the cigarette butt on the ground, "'cause this good luck charm's not any good no more."

You laugh, and then you realize that she's looking at you, not even close to smiling.

"You're serious?" you ask.

"You got five minutes," she says. "Take it or leave it."

You swear under your breath as you walk the 20 or so feet to the clover patch. You don't need this. You don't need her. This is bullshit. There's plenty of other chicks out there who'd sleep with you. You're Tim Shepard's little brother. Maybe they can't sleep with him, but you're just as good. Close enough. You could pick one of them up in a heartbeat.

But here's Faye Louise Glass, seeming like she doesn't care about Tim at all. Like she doesn't even like him. Fuck, she's almost acting like she wants to sleep with you. So that's why you keep sifting through the clovers, staining the knees of your jeans green, still swearing a blue streak.

You stand up and head toward the passenger side of the car once the headlights start to blind you. You wordlessly hold the plants out to her.

"Nine" she says. "Three's my lucky number, and that's three threes."

She opens the door. "Get in."

You wonder if you should just slam the door in her face. Let her go home alone while you pick up one of the faceless girls always hanging around Tim. Bet they wouldn't make you find a goddamn good luck charm before they fuck you.

But instead, you slide into the front seat next to her, and then you're rolling. At the first red light you hit, she leans over and starts nibbling on your neck.

You try to stay in control of yourself. But, Christ, it's been so fucking long. And your neck has always been your sweet spot. You let your eyes roll back in your head, and you sigh contentedly.

You groan in frustration when she leaves your neck and pulls away from the stoplight. At the next red light you hit, you're immediately ready to go. You catch her bottom lip between your teeth, kiss her hard, and buck your hips into her hand when it wanders into your lap.

But then she's driving again. She leaves her hand resting on your crotch, and it's about enough to drive you crazy. You start wiggling around in spite of yourself, desperate for more. God, you're gonna come in your pants like a fucking kid before you even make it to her house…

But you do make it somehow. You use the few seconds that you're outside in the crisp air to try and clear your head, but it's all undone once you walk through the front door. Your mind clouds with lust and pot smoke, and all you can think about is sex. Fuck everything that Tim ever taught you. Fuck trying not to act like you're enjoying it too much, fuck taking the lead, and fuck being quiet. Everything Faye is doing is blowing your mind, and right now, you're perfectly content to just lie there and take it. Especially after the half-a-year you've just had…

Once it's over, you're vaguely aware that you're snuggled up as close to her as you can get, mumbling, "thank you," over and over.

X-X-X

It's almost ten-thirty when you wake up. Too late. Too fucking late. Tim's told you about a thousand times that you need to be up early and out of the house before the girl wakes up. Then again, he also told you that chicks don't like it when guys make too much noise in the sack, and that you should never ever tell them "thank you". And god knows you blew it there…

You still try your best to hustle out of the house, but you didn't stand a chance. Jake growls and barks at you, and you freeze. Faye Louise pops her head out of the kitchen and smiles at you.

"Mornin'!" she says.

"Morning," you rumble in response. Shit, now that you're caught, you might as well go back to bed and sleep some more…

"You leaving?" she asks. She doesn't seem angry or hurt; just curious.

You nod. "I recon."

"Just made some coffee," she says. "You want some before you go?"

You know that you should say no, but your head is still foggy and you can hardly keep your eyes open. You've got a hell of a walk ahead of you, too. So you nod and sink down onto the couch.

"Cream and sugar?" she asks.

"Black," you reply. Fuck, you're already nodding off…

You down your mug of coffee in two big gulps, not even caring how it burns your tongue and throat. You just need to wake up, and fast.

"Didn't mean to wear you out so bad last night," Faye Louise teases. She takes a pack of cigarettes off of the coffee table and lights one.

"'S'alright," you mumble. It's the only thing you can think of. "Can I bum a smoke?"

She holds the pack out to you. "You want more coffee, too?"

You nod and light your cigarette. You're fighting so fucking hard just to keep your eyes open…

You jump at the feeling of a hand on your shoulder.

"Hey, don't go falling asleep and dropping that cigarette on me," Faye Louise says. She sits down next to you on the couch. "There's at least a grand worth of pot down in the basement, and it's not just me who's gonna be mad at you if you catch the house on fire and burn it all up."

You resist the urge to drink right from the coffee pot and refill your mug instead. When you go to set the coffee pot back down, something catches your eye.

"Why the hell'd you need a good luck charm, anyway?"

"Sales been down this past month or so. Figured I might as well try anything I can to get 'em back up."

She laughs to herself and winks at you. "But I guess I got you up pretty good instead, huh?"

You scowl, ready to defend yourself. You've been locked up. It'd been so fucking long. You were kind of drunk. She's clearly been around the block a couple of times…

"Hey, hey, I'm sorry," she says. She puts a hand on your shoulder. "I shoulda known better. Tim don't take too kind to teasin', either."

"But, then again, he also wouldn't go lookin' for a good luck charm for me," she says after a short pause.

You don't know why you say it. You're still trying to wake up and not thinking straight. "You ever fuck him?"

You think she'll spit out her coffee. "God, no! Christ, what do you think of me?"

You don't respond, and she takes that as permission to continue.

"Shit, can you even imagine what a terrible lay he'd be? He's such a fuckin' control freak. I'd be like, 'I do twenty thrusts, and then you do the same…'"

Now it's your turn to narrowly avoid spitting out your coffee.

She continues her Tim impression. " 'You know I said we were allowed three moans each. That's four for you. Now I've gotta' stop pulling your hair…' "

"Ok, ok! Jesus, stop," you say. You're wide-awake now, and more than a little nauseous. But you're also equal parts amused and disgusted. "I was just fine without an image of what my brother is like in bed in my head."

"Well, then you shouldn't have asked if I fucked him!" Faye Louise laughs.

You can't help cracking a smile as you reach for the pack of cigarettes on the coffee table. She's the only girl you know besides Angel who hasn't fucked Tim, and also doesn't seem to want to fuck him.

You smoke your cigarette in silence. But it's a fine silence. It's not the weird, heavy silence that falls over the house when your ma and Dick are about to have one of their screaming matches. And it's not the unnatural, forced silence that falls over the cellblocks after Lights Out in the reformatory. It reminds you of those few times you went to mass as a kid, and everyone was supposed to be silently praying. It's strange for sure. But you could get used to this…

"Guess I should be goin," you say. You stand up slowly, your knees and back popping.

Faye Louise stands up and stretches too. Her shoulders pop so loud that Jake wakes up and barks at her.

"It's a long way to walk," she says. "I'll drive you."

X_X_X

You flop down on your bed and sigh heavily.

"Welcome back," Tim says flatly. He doesn't even look up from his notebook. You know well enough what he's doing. He's trying to redraw the territory so that you have a couple blocks to yourself that you can use to sell.

Part of you wants to tell him not to bother. You'll share with someone. You and whoever the newest member is or somethin'. That combined with Tim's share ought to be enough to keep the family afloat…

But you don't say anything. You just roll your eyes and take a stale stick of bubblegum out from under your mattress.

"Hey, what do you think of Faye Louise?" you ask after a minute.

"Glass?" Tim asks.

"Yeah. Walt's kid sister," you reply.

"Shit, I try not to think of her much at all," Tim replies absently. He scribbles something down in his notebook and then looks up at you. "Why?"

You shrug, trying to keep your cool. "Met her at Buck's the night I got out of the Reformatory, and then again at the Slash J last night," you reply. "Never knew Walter had a sister."

"No one did," Tim says. He reaches under his own mattress for his pack of cigarettes and book of matches. "But you…"

He opens his eyes wide and suddenly sits bolt upright. "No. No. No. I swear to God, Curly. No!"

You throw your hands up in surrender and sit up yourself. "What? I didn't do nothin'!"

Tim leans in toward you and narrows his eyes. "Whatever it is you're thinkin' about, Curly… Don't… Just… fuckin' don't."

You have a feeling you've already done whatever it is that Tim is trying to tell you not to do.

"Don't do what?" you ask.

Tim shakes his head and rubs his eyes with his palms.

"Just leave her alone," he replies. "She's way too much woman for you. Just…"

"'Too much woman' for me?" you reply. "The hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It. Means. What. I. Said. It. Means," he bites. "You're not ready for a girl like Faye Louise. Hell, you're hardly ready to sell to a section of the territory by yourself."

"Fuck you," you grumble. You flop onto your back and close your eyes.

"You wanna try that again?" Tim asks.

But you're annoyed and sleepy and you know that the girl Tim thinks is "too much woman" for you would have sex with you before she'd have sex with him.

So you just shrug and say, "do your worst."

Maybe he pities you, or maybe it's just that he's as tired as you are. Hell, maybe he's cutting you a break since you got out of the reformatory and immediately had to jump into a new situation. Any way you slice it, he doesn't hit you, and you drift off to sleep dreaming about a topless Faye Louise Glass sitting on your lap.