Bobbie sat up blinking in her bed. The TV was still on and the curtains were open enough to admit spikes of sunlight from an unwelcome morning. She swept two empty peanut butter fudge ice cream tubs onto the floor and sank back down as the sickening feelings of the day before returned. It was a while before she realized that the nausea was being accompanied by the repeated ringing of her doorbell. Peering through the window, she spotted a Santa Monica PD cruiser parked in front and heard voices outside the door.
“I’d suggest you zip it, young man. If Ms. Burnette doesn’t assume responsibility for you, very little is going to seem amusing.”
“Ah, hell, officer, I was just funnin’ about borrowin’ your spare uniform. Besides, hillbilly funk don’t last but a month or two.”
Bobbie opened the door a crack against all her better judgment, but after all, it was the law leaning on the buzzer.
“Ms. Bobbie Jean Burnette?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Jeez, Bobbie, you look like you got dragged by a mule down forty miles of bad road, what the …”
The officer shot Delray a silencing glance. “I’m Officer Farina, Santa Monica PD. After receiving a complaint from an elderly patron, Mr. Jackson was apprehended at the Pico Kwik Kleen Laundromat this morning … in his underwear.”
Delray, wrapped in a police blanket, his skinny white legs sticking out of a pair of cowboy boots, flashed Bobbie his best homegrown “you know me” smile, but quickly straightened up as Officer Farina continued. “I’ve taken possession of a hunting knife that Mr. Jackson admits is his. That can be claimed by someone fully dressed at a later date, but for the moment, I understand that this is Mr. Jackson’s temporary residence while he vacations in California.”
Despite this last statement sounding more like a question, Bobbie opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Delray pretended to be distracted by the neighbour starting his lawnmower as the officer handed Bobbie a form. “Okay, Ms. Burnette, just sign here and I’ll be on my way. I’ll leave it to you to explain the difference in wardrobe standards between California and Alabama.” Unwrapping the blanket from an unrepentant Delray, the officer headed for his car. “Good day.”
Waving feebly at her now-curious neighbour, Bobbie allowed Delray to slide past her into the apartment. “Man, that cop made me leave my favourite Wranglers and that brand new Fruit of the Loom v-neck at the damn washeteria. What kinda hospitality is that?” He made for the bathroom while pulling his wedgie back into place. “I mean, who knows where that blanket’s been, right, honey?”
Bobbie glared at Delray as he ceremoniously wrapped a towel around his waist. “Wouldn’t want to frighten you, baby, you look a little wrung out.” He smirked and headed for the kitchen. “What’s on the menu? I need a little something for the old breadbasket, and it’s been slim pickins in that dumpster. I had to bum change ’fore I had enough for a box of Lone Stars.”
“Don’t call me ‘baby,’ you no count lowlife peckerwood. As soon as that cop is outta sight, you’re gonna vaporize and never come back, you hear! Just for the record, what were you doing hangin’ around the washeteria in your skivvies and boots? And what were you thinkin’ tellin’ him you lived here ‘temporarily’? I think your brain is on permanent vacation, you deep-fried lummox.”
“Hmm. Grolsch, what’s that, health food beer, hon?” Delray stood in front of the now-open fridge while Bobbie leaned on the doorframe and tried to collect her thoughts. “Funny-lookin’ beef jerky you got.” He pointed warily at a package of sun-dried tomatoes and winced as he tore a strip of skin off of his finger trying to twist open the beer. “You got any baggy pants I could loan for a bit? I only had but the one pair. ’S why I was half naked at the Kwik Kleen. I wouldn’ve bothered washin’ them, but I fell into the dumpster tryna reach this big ole taco.” He leered at Bobbie and nodded. “Those might do, they look a little generous. I’ll turn th’other way while you slip ’em off, all right, junebug? Just kiddin’.” Delray leered in the direction of Bobbie’s midriff. “Hey, you getting’ a little pooch on you, sweetheart?”
“Delray Jackson, they sure drained the gene pool when you jumped in. Of all days for you to show up at my door. I’ve met pitchforks with more sensitivity.” She closed her eyes and put a hand on her forehead, rubbing slowly.
Genuinely stumped, Delray did his best. “Is it Zippy, that little pet rabbit of yours’ birthday? If it is, I’m sorry, I plum forgot.”
Bobbie hardly knew where to begin. “His name was Flippy, and, no, that’s not it. Have you been sleeping under a truck for the last day?” Delray shrugged guiltily as she stared, seeming to wish to turn him to stone.
“Listen, honey bunny, uh, sorry, I was gonna tell you about my bunkin’ in the ga-rage, but you didn’t give me much of a chance and …”
Her voice came out like a broken whisper. “It’s Roc … he’s dead … and I didn’t say goodbye, I was angry … oh sweet lord, Delray, I don’t know what to do, I …”
“I swear to you on Floppy’s grave, Bobbie Jean Burnette, I did not do it. I was only tryna throw a bit of a scare into him with that little old knife of mine, you gotta believe me. There wasn’t much blood. I wouldn’t …”
“What are you on about, Delray?” she sobbed. “He died in a helicopter accident. It was on the TV and everything.”
Barely managing to hide his delight at this news, Delray tried a little awkward humour. “Sorry, mine’s been on the fritz, baby.” He put his arm around her shoulder while she explained through her tears.
“He was promoting his new record, and it all went wrong. At first, I thought it was part of the stunt, but … oh I just know he wrote that there song for me …” At this point, words wouldn’t come, and Delray did his best to comfort her while he grinned over her shoulder.
“Well, what do you say we step out for a bite of something, june bug? Eating something hot and greasy always picks me right up.” Delray let the towel slip to the floor. “Of course, I’ve always got other ways to make you feel better.”
Bobbie stood back in disgust and disbelief before slugging Delray square in the nose and pushing him out the door with surprising strength. He stayed on the porch moaning for a while and ringing the bell until he saw Officer Farina’s car rounding the corner. Bobbie ran her hand over her tummy before closing the curtains and climbing back into bed.