Alice stepped back from the mirror, smiled, and punched herself in the mouth.
She pulled her lower lip back. Nothing. For a moment, she stood clutching the counter, steadying herself, breathing heavily. Straightening, she delivered another blow to her mouth, harder than the last. She staggered. Her blood spattered on the dirty bathroom tile. She raised her head, admiring the split, swelling lip in the mirror. It bled sluggish red down her chin.
There was a knock at the door. "Alice, what the hell's taking so long?"
"For fuck's sake, Billy. I'm going to the bathroom!"
She wiped at her lip with a rough brown towel from the dispenser, and went through the door.
Outside, Billy grabbed her by the arm. "Don't you talk to me like that, Ali . . ."
She screamed. "Lemme go, Billy! I won't let you hit me no more!"
She flicked her eyes to a trucker, climbing down from his rig across the truck stop's gravel lot. The trucker was young, big across the shoulders under his flannel shirt.
His head snapped toward the sound of her scream, his face shadowed under the brim of his cowboy hat.
Billy's hand tightened around her arm. "Alice! Alice, what are you trying to do, goddamit!"
"Help! Help me! Someone!"
Billy's long lined face twisted in confusion. "Alice!" He grabbed her with his other hand, shaking her. "For Christ's sake, shut the hell up . . . you'll . . ."
A fist slammed into the side of his face. He staggered. Alice looked into his face as his grip slackened and he sagged. He blinked. "What . . ."
A fist crashed into his jaw. He went down hard, his head making a dull 'tunk' on the ground.
The trucker stood over him, his fists still balled up. Two small cuts had opened on his knuckles. He unclenched a hand and swept off his hat.
"You all right, ma'am?"
Alice smiled weakly at him, wiping blood from her mouth with the back of her hand.
"I . . . I guess so."
With his hat off, she could finally get a good look at his face-black hair, big, wide-set blue eyes, a flat nose (broken before?) a heavy, square jaw. He looks like Dick Tracy from the old comics, she thought. Except around the eyes.
"I mean . . . I'm okay now."
She looked down at Billy, sprawled out on his back on the pavement. "Is he . . ."
The trucker fanned his hat over Billy's face. "Just knocked out, is all. What'd he hit you for?"
"I said . . . I said I was gonna leave him." She managed a small sob. "I didn't mean for . . . I mean, what the hell am I supposed to do now?"
The trucker shrugged, running a big hand over his black hair. "Well . . . I'm headed to California-beelining. Be there this time tomorrow. I'll tell you what-you can ride along with me. That is, if you want. If you're headed out that way. Then . . ." he gave her an easy, boy-scout grin-"Then whatever."
"That would be . . ." Alice hesitated. "That would be too much to ask, I mean . . ."
"Hell, it's nothin'. I'd appreciate the company anyhow."
"It's just . . ." Alice toed the gravel. "Oh, who am I kidding. It sure would help me out."
The trucker stuck his hand out. "James. James Dean Dupree."
Alice's hand was enclosed by his. "Alice. James Dean, huh?"
"My mother was a big fan. Go on and get your stuff, now. And wash yourself up a little, if you like." He nudged Billy's with his sharp-toed boot. "This one'll be out a while."
Alice nodded. She bent down and reached into Billy's body, with all the exaggerated caution of a hunter approaching a dead bear. She fished out a key-ring, and went across the parking lot to a white Dodge Dart. She opened the Dart's trunk, taking out a large black duffel bag and a smaller, pink travel case. Although her lip throbbed when she did it, she could not help but smile. She was free.
To
the next section