20 Years 2 Weeks 2 Days Old
Killing Kurtis Day + 1 Day
“What the fuck happened, Daddy?” I whisper urgently into the phone receiver. This time, the guards didn’t allow me to visit Daddy in the Visitor’s Center, but instead told me we’d have to chat through telephone receivers on either side of a thick Plexiglas barrier.
“Aw, Buttercup, I’m sorry about that, honey. I was really looking forward to teaching your husband some manners.”
A quick call yesterday to the Department of Corrections confirmed that Daddy is, indeed, still housed in this Godforsaken place, but nobody would tell me why. So this morning, the minute Kurtis went off to one of his porno sets, or to the club, or to perform some other urgent porno-king business, I hopped into my fancy sports car and drove all the way out here to No Man’s Land on a dime to find out what the hell happened yesterday.
“Why are you still in here, Daddy?” I whisper. “You were supposed to get out a few days ago and come visit me.”
“Well, yeah, I was. But, funny thing about that, honey—my time in here got extended for a spell—”
“What do you mean your time in here got extended? They can’t keep you in prison past your sentence. You’ve done your time.”
“Well, yeah, I’ve done my time for teaching Mr. Moneybags a lesson, that’s for sure. But, a couple months ago, I slashed a fucker in here with a shiv I made out of a glass shard—and he deserved every inch of it, believe me—and the Napoleon-types in here got their rocks off lording over me about it—so you know how that goes.” He chuckles and shakes his head. “I sure gave that disrespecting bastard what he deserved, though.” He flashes a toothy grin. “He didn’t know whether to shit or go blind, so he just closed one eye and farted.” He laughs.
For the first time in my whole life, I have this distinct thought: My daddy’s a dumbass. “Damn it, Daddy,” I whine. “What the hell?”
I can’t believe this is happening. Thanks to Daddy’s utter lack of impulse control, I’ve wasted an entire year of my life waiting for Killing Kurtis Day. And not only that, I wasted years and years before that, waiting for Daddy to come get me. Waiting for a second letter from him. Waiting to find him here in Hollywood. And this is how he repays me? By leaving me stranded and married to a good-for-nothing porno-king? My daddy’s as useful to me as a goddamned ashtray on a motorcycle. I take a deep breath and exhale loudly. Well, now I know for certain—if a girl wants something done, she’s got to do it herself. I’m done looking to any man to take care of my business. I’m gonna take care of things myself.
I feel overcome with a sudden urge to cry, but I swallow my tears. I don’t have time for bellyaching and boohooing. It’s time for me to pick my butt off my shoulders and come up with a new plan. And fast. I’ve just got to use the brains the Lord gave me. All the pieces of the puzzle are already in front of me; I know they are. I just have to reorder them. There’s gotta be more than one way to break a bad dog from sucking eggs here. “Okay, Daddy, now you listen here,” I say evenly. “You just remember the name Kurtis Jackman, okay?”
Daddy nods.
“Kurtis Jackman. You got that?”
Daddy nods again.
“If you can’t pay a visit to Mr. Kurtis Jackman, I reckon he’s just gonna have to pay a visit to you.”