meditate. But all she could see was Jody’s husband’s leg floating before her eyes, bloody and ugly. She gave up on clearing her mind, untwisted her limbs, and went into the bathroom to shower. She got dressed for work and pulled her wet hair into a high ponytail in spite of the fact that wearing her hair that way seemed to inspire more catcalling than usual from teenage boys and construction workers, who apparently equated ponytails with slutdom.
Outside, the sky was teal blue and the air smelled salty. Ruby wanted to walk onto the beach and put her feet in the water. She looked at her watch. Seven minutes to eleven. She had time. Sort of.
She crossed Surf and saw Guillotine, the kiddie-park operator, walking his pack of dogs. The Frenchman had three pit bulls, an Australian cattle dog, and a balding Chihuahua.
“Guillotine, hi.” Ruby nodded at him.
Guillotine glanced up and grunted. He had grown a beard over the winter. Long gray and ginger hairs curled and swooped all the way to his collarbone. He was thin and unhealthy looking and his blue eyes were small. Still, Ruby was curious about him and sometimes wished he’d talk to her. Not today.
Ruby walked onto the beach. A few old white guys werewading into the water. A jogger with headphones was running along the shoreline. Some kids were swimming, their mothers sitting on the beach smoking cigarettes. They looked as though they were really enjoying the cigarettes, and it made Ruby want one. She’d been working on a wad of Nicorette gum all morning, aiming at getting through the day without a smoke. But smoking looked so lovely just then. Ruby stared at the pack of Marlboros right there on the beach towel. She hoped one of the women would notice her staring and offer her a smoke. This was a ludicrous fantasy considering the price of a pack of cigarettes.
One of the women felt Ruby’s gaze and glanced up. It wasn’t a friendly look. Ruby moved on. She walked to the water, took off her red sandals, and waded in. The sea was warm and soft. Ruby saw several Styrofoam peanuts floating nearby and it depressed her. She figured trash was like rats. If you saw a little, it meant there was a lot lurking under the surface. Ruby took her feet out of the water and walked barefoot on the sand for a few paces. After narrowly missing stepping on a shard of glass, she put her sandals back on.
The beach at Coney Island had never been clean, but it seemed to be getting dirtier. Since the zealous Republican mayors of New York City had managed to reduce crime and eradicate the overt sale of drugs in neighborhoods where white people lived, surely they could do something about Styrofoam peanuts in the sea.
Ruby glanced at her watch. She was now ten minutes late for work. She didn’t think her boss, Bob, would mind. But she was wrong.
8. WRONG
R uby climbed the stairs to the museum and found Bob standing in the middle of the darkened front room, frowning. At his feet were dozens of boxes filled with books and Coney Island souvenirs.
“Hi. Sorry I’m a little late.”
Bob lifted his frown and aimed it at Ruby.
“Hi,” he said without cheer.
“What’s wrong?”
“Is there something you’re not telling me?” Bob asked. He looked angry. He’d shaved his head recently and his skull was bullet shaped. He usually looked pleasantly deranged, but today he looked frightening.
“Something I’m not telling you about what?”
“You got money problems?”
Ruby squinted. “What? What are you talking about?”
“You know you can be honest with me. I can loan you money if you need it.”
“What? Why are you bringing up money?” Ruby glanced down at her clothing, wondering if she suddenly looked impoverished.
“I’m gonna be all right on my own today,” Bob said then. He’d stopped looking at Ruby.
“On your own what?” Ruby asked, confused.
“Working. You can go home.”
“Go home?” she asked, bewildered. “But we’ve got that shipment to
Outside, the sky was teal blue and the air smelled salty. Ruby wanted to walk onto the beach and put her feet in the water. She looked at her watch. Seven minutes to eleven. She had time. Sort of.
She crossed Surf and saw Guillotine, the kiddie-park operator, walking his pack of dogs. The Frenchman had three pit bulls, an Australian cattle dog, and a balding Chihuahua.
“Guillotine, hi.” Ruby nodded at him.
Guillotine glanced up and grunted. He had grown a beard over the winter. Long gray and ginger hairs curled and swooped all the way to his collarbone. He was thin and unhealthy looking and his blue eyes were small. Still, Ruby was curious about him and sometimes wished he’d talk to her. Not today.
Ruby walked onto the beach. A few old white guys werewading into the water. A jogger with headphones was running along the shoreline. Some kids were swimming, their mothers sitting on the beach smoking cigarettes. They looked as though they were really enjoying the cigarettes, and it made Ruby want one. She’d been working on a wad of Nicorette gum all morning, aiming at getting through the day without a smoke. But smoking looked so lovely just then. Ruby stared at the pack of Marlboros right there on the beach towel. She hoped one of the women would notice her staring and offer her a smoke. This was a ludicrous fantasy considering the price of a pack of cigarettes.
One of the women felt Ruby’s gaze and glanced up. It wasn’t a friendly look. Ruby moved on. She walked to the water, took off her red sandals, and waded in. The sea was warm and soft. Ruby saw several Styrofoam peanuts floating nearby and it depressed her. She figured trash was like rats. If you saw a little, it meant there was a lot lurking under the surface. Ruby took her feet out of the water and walked barefoot on the sand for a few paces. After narrowly missing stepping on a shard of glass, she put her sandals back on.
The beach at Coney Island had never been clean, but it seemed to be getting dirtier. Since the zealous Republican mayors of New York City had managed to reduce crime and eradicate the overt sale of drugs in neighborhoods where white people lived, surely they could do something about Styrofoam peanuts in the sea.
Ruby glanced at her watch. She was now ten minutes late for work. She didn’t think her boss, Bob, would mind. But she was wrong.
8. WRONG
R uby climbed the stairs to the museum and found Bob standing in the middle of the darkened front room, frowning. At his feet were dozens of boxes filled with books and Coney Island souvenirs.
“Hi. Sorry I’m a little late.”
Bob lifted his frown and aimed it at Ruby.
“Hi,” he said without cheer.
“What’s wrong?”
“Is there something you’re not telling me?” Bob asked. He looked angry. He’d shaved his head recently and his skull was bullet shaped. He usually looked pleasantly deranged, but today he looked frightening.
“Something I’m not telling you about what?”
“You got money problems?”
Ruby squinted. “What? What are you talking about?”
“You know you can be honest with me. I can loan you money if you need it.”
“What? Why are you bringing up money?” Ruby glanced down at her clothing, wondering if she suddenly looked impoverished.
“I’m gonna be all right on my own today,” Bob said then. He’d stopped looking at Ruby.
“On your own what?” Ruby asked, confused.
“Working. You can go home.”
“Go home?” she asked, bewildered. “But we’ve got that shipment to
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