Steve wagging and trying to jump up on him. He pushed the dog away, but gently.
“Hey, Heidi,” he said.
“Did you pick up the new headshots?” Heidi asked.
“Headshots?” Herman said. He leaned over and scraped the coaloff his cigar and then put it back into his pocket for later. “You’re worried about headshots?” he asked. “You got any concept of what time it might be, girl?”
Heidi straightened up, puckered her lips. When she spoke again it was with a bad French accent.
“What is this time? I have no understanding of this time of which you speak.”
Herman shook his head, keeping his face flat and trying not to smile. He looked at his watch. “Well then, Frenchie LaRue,” he said, “let me put it in straight-up boots-on-the-ground all-American speak. It’s half past get your fucking ass in the car.”
Heidi gave a wicked smile, but he could tell from her eyes that she was tired and in no mood for playing around. “Let me just grab my shit,” she said.
“Well, giddyap,” said Herman. “The meter on my chariot is running.”
She could mess around, Herman thought, but when she put her mind to something she got it done in good time. It had only taken her a minute to run Steve in and clamber into his car. He hadn’t even had time to think about the half-smoked cigar in his pocket and light it again.
He flipped a U-ey, ignoring the double yellow line, something sure to scandalize Heidi’s uptight neighbors. Why she wanted to live in the heart of the historical part of Salem, hell if he knew. Once, when she was drunk, she’d talked a little about her heritage, that she was descended from one of the early Salem witch hunters. But hell, that seemed like it might be a reason not to want to live in Salem rather than a reason to live there. And Heidi stuck out like a sore thumb in this neighborhood—nobody else around here under fifty. Not as much as he would have, being black and being a natty dresser, but still…
The crucifix dangling from the rearview mirror was still swinging from the U-turn. It kept catching flashes of sunlight and sending them into his eyes. He reached out and steadied it.
“It always does that,” Heidi said, watching him. “You should just take it down.”
He shook his head. “I’m not taking it down,” he said. “That’s God looking out for me.”
“You know what they would have said about that in Old Salem?” she asked.
“What?” he said.
“They would have called you an idolater,” she said. “Probably they would have burned you as a witch.”
“Yeah, good times,” he said. “But I’m keeping it where it is.”
They drove in silence a moment, until Heidi, remembering, suddenly gave a little jump.
“Okay, so where the photos at?” she asked.
“Again with the photos.” He waited a minute for her to riposte, and when she didn’t he gestured over his shoulder. “Backseat.”
“And… how do they look?” she asked.
“Wrong,” said Herman.
“What do you mean, wrong?”
Herman didn’t answer, preferring to let her see for herself.
She reached over the seat and shuffled aside a pile of clothes. Underneath were several boxes. The one on top was full of books.
“Christ, you need to clean your fucking car,” said Heidi. “You are a hoarder.”
God, she knew how to push his buttons. “Don’t tell me what I need to do,” said Herman. “And I ain’t no hoarder.”
“I’m going to get you an intervention on that show for hoarders,” she said. “ Hoarding Emergency or whatever.”
“I ain’t no hoarder,” he insisted again.
She ignored him. She pushed the box to one side, opened one of the boxes under it. It was the right box, Herman saw with a glance in the rearview mirror as she opened it. She pulled out an 8ʺ by 10ʺ promo photo and then settled back into her seat and examined it.
When they had to stop at a light, Herman snuck a glance,curious to see if it was as bad as he remembered. “Big H Radio Team,” it read
“Hey, Heidi,” he said.
“Did you pick up the new headshots?” Heidi asked.
“Headshots?” Herman said. He leaned over and scraped the coaloff his cigar and then put it back into his pocket for later. “You’re worried about headshots?” he asked. “You got any concept of what time it might be, girl?”
Heidi straightened up, puckered her lips. When she spoke again it was with a bad French accent.
“What is this time? I have no understanding of this time of which you speak.”
Herman shook his head, keeping his face flat and trying not to smile. He looked at his watch. “Well then, Frenchie LaRue,” he said, “let me put it in straight-up boots-on-the-ground all-American speak. It’s half past get your fucking ass in the car.”
Heidi gave a wicked smile, but he could tell from her eyes that she was tired and in no mood for playing around. “Let me just grab my shit,” she said.
“Well, giddyap,” said Herman. “The meter on my chariot is running.”
She could mess around, Herman thought, but when she put her mind to something she got it done in good time. It had only taken her a minute to run Steve in and clamber into his car. He hadn’t even had time to think about the half-smoked cigar in his pocket and light it again.
He flipped a U-ey, ignoring the double yellow line, something sure to scandalize Heidi’s uptight neighbors. Why she wanted to live in the heart of the historical part of Salem, hell if he knew. Once, when she was drunk, she’d talked a little about her heritage, that she was descended from one of the early Salem witch hunters. But hell, that seemed like it might be a reason not to want to live in Salem rather than a reason to live there. And Heidi stuck out like a sore thumb in this neighborhood—nobody else around here under fifty. Not as much as he would have, being black and being a natty dresser, but still…
The crucifix dangling from the rearview mirror was still swinging from the U-turn. It kept catching flashes of sunlight and sending them into his eyes. He reached out and steadied it.
“It always does that,” Heidi said, watching him. “You should just take it down.”
He shook his head. “I’m not taking it down,” he said. “That’s God looking out for me.”
“You know what they would have said about that in Old Salem?” she asked.
“What?” he said.
“They would have called you an idolater,” she said. “Probably they would have burned you as a witch.”
“Yeah, good times,” he said. “But I’m keeping it where it is.”
They drove in silence a moment, until Heidi, remembering, suddenly gave a little jump.
“Okay, so where the photos at?” she asked.
“Again with the photos.” He waited a minute for her to riposte, and when she didn’t he gestured over his shoulder. “Backseat.”
“And… how do they look?” she asked.
“Wrong,” said Herman.
“What do you mean, wrong?”
Herman didn’t answer, preferring to let her see for herself.
She reached over the seat and shuffled aside a pile of clothes. Underneath were several boxes. The one on top was full of books.
“Christ, you need to clean your fucking car,” said Heidi. “You are a hoarder.”
God, she knew how to push his buttons. “Don’t tell me what I need to do,” said Herman. “And I ain’t no hoarder.”
“I’m going to get you an intervention on that show for hoarders,” she said. “ Hoarding Emergency or whatever.”
“I ain’t no hoarder,” he insisted again.
She ignored him. She pushed the box to one side, opened one of the boxes under it. It was the right box, Herman saw with a glance in the rearview mirror as she opened it. She pulled out an 8ʺ by 10ʺ promo photo and then settled back into her seat and examined it.
When they had to stop at a light, Herman snuck a glance,curious to see if it was as bad as he remembered. “Big H Radio Team,” it read
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