Her Name Is Red

I sat; elbows pressed against the bar letting my eyes trace the rim of my glass. Peering up through my unkempt hair I noticed my reflection in the mirror behind the empty liquor shelves. The mirror was lined with faded green tile, chipped at the edges, aging against the mid-Florida heat. It was late afternoon in this hopeless hotel bar.

I felt every drop of gin cool my lips, as the numb ambient noise of the racetrack escaped the television set suspended in the corner. I turned to the bartender and pushed my glass forward. He knew my order without a word – double shot of gin, light on the tonic, two limes. As he stirred in the background, I pulled my tie away from my neck and unbuttoned my collar. I hated wearing a tie, but I seemed to always have one bound to my neck. It was a part of my fatal façade. As the bartender slid me my glass, I turned, noticing the reflection of a woman in the mirror. I cradled my drink letting my gaze trail for a better look.

She stood; leaning against her stool, eyes glued to the television set. She watched the horses round the long bends, fixated on the outcome of every turn. In her hand, she clutched a small notepad. She was beautiful, but not in an elegant sort of way. She stood with poise yet drifted with an ever-lost melancholy. My eyes followed her jaw, sharp but weightless. Her cheekbones perched high, framed by her long dark hair that whisked against the small of her back. I fought the urge to reach over and touch her, feel my hands along her shoulders and her hips against mine.

I slowly tracked her with my eyes until I found my way back to my drink. The thought of her skin on my hands gave me pause. I looked down at my palms, scared to the point of disgust. I’d often felt my hands did not belong to me. My fingers long and coarse, spread across the bar top pressed into the dark oak. I looked back at myself in the mirror. I despised my reflection. The brutish brow that shadowed my eyes, my thin nose, and chin rough in the wake of 5 o’clock shadow. I felt myself boil, but I didn’t move. Refusing to allow any emotion to escape my shallow frame.

As I cut myself with my eyes, I noticed the woman walk over to a nearby booth. She gently slid her narrow waist into a seat across from an older black fellow. She pushed her notepad over to him, as he grinned with stained yellow teeth. He glanced at her pad and then back to his own aged notebook. He quickly made a tally before handing her a ripped envelope. She pulled the envelop close and retrieved what appeared to be cash. Then she slid the envelope back to him, half full. The two chatted for a moment out of earshot, before exchanging nods as she walked back over to watch the next race.

The man was a bookie. I realized she’d been placing bets on the horse races. I wondered for a moment how much money he had in that booth – probably enough cash to change a life or at least enough to start. I felt rage drip from my forehead like condensation on a glass.

I stood; my legs felt weak as my feet hit the ground. I held the edge of the bar tight until I found my balance. I turned to wade my way over to that disgusting booth. As I approached, I kept my distance until he looked up at me.

“Pardon, sir. May I sit?” I asked with a polite grin.

He stared for a moment before nodding his head in approval. I sat in the same spot directly across from him.

“I’d like to place a bet,” I said with my voice low.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied. His hands covered the worn black notebook as his pale eyes shifted across the table.

“I’d like to bet on a horse,” I insisted.

The man leaned back in his seat, “Don’t come up here and waste my time.”

“Listen,” I said firmly. “I want to place a bet and I know that is something you can do for me. I saw you do it.”

He looked me up and down until his eyes met my own, “I don’t handle anyone’s business unless it is worth my time.”

“Well, I’m not here to waste your time. Give me a horse with four to one odds. I don’t care which horse, but I have five thousand on the under,” I lowered my stare.

“Do you have that kind of cash on you?” he was hesitant but intrigued.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my car keys. “You see through that window there?” I tilted my chin toward the parking lot, “I have a red ’63 Chevy out there that’s sure worth more than five grand.”

He looked out the window and let out a sigh, “Why do you want to bet your car, son?”

Don’t call me son, I thought. Pausing for a moment to gauge his reaction, “I don’t expect you to understand, but I’m not who I am. I look in the mirror and I feel trapped like I’m a different person stuck inside this god damn, useless body. So the way I see it is, I’m not going anywhere, anyways. Might as well bet my ride and maybe make a few bucks.”

He nodded his head, “Alright, I’ll give you a horse.”

He reached over and slipped my keys into his breast pocket – patting his jacket twice. Then he bit the cap off his pen and scribbled something in his notebook. He looked up at me, “Your horse is Brown Betty. She’s in the next heat.”

I nodded my head and left the table to return to my perch at the bar. This time I kept my stool turned to the television. My breath became heavy as I watched the woman check her pad. She seemed so calm, so light. She looked over to me with a faint smile. I softened my eyes before she turned back to the screen. She knew I was in for this race.

Just before gate, I looked back in the mirror. My skin blurred as my own eyes pierced the glass back at me. My insides were screaming with every breath as my hands found the edge of my glass. I tried to steady myself knowing that in a matter of moments I could be free.

Bang!

The race began and the horses were off in a blur. I could barely track what was happening, but in a few short strides, the jockeys weaved into pace. I scanned the lineup but hadn’t the slightest clue which horse was mine until the announcer called her name.

Brown Betty trails the one on the first turn just a few steps behind Merryday Aces. They take the straight as Merryday pulls ahead!

I watched my horse trail a split-second behind first – one step away from the lead.

Brown Betty hits the two and is just a hair behind Merryday. All Merryday needs to do is keep her corner tight and she’ll be able to pull away in the… Oh My God! Brown Betty cut on the inside and is gaining. Merryday seems shaken! She could lose her lead! Brown Betty rounds the corner! Pulls out on the straight, they are neck and neck. This is going to be close! Aaaand… it’s Brown Betty with the upset! Wow, what a race!

I felt my heart leap into my throat as my hand slammed down on the bar. I looked at myself in the mirror and suddenly my impositions could be erased.

“You alright, honey?” asked the women. Her voice was low with a mild rasp.

I let out a breath and collected myself, “I won.”

“Well, then you sure are alright. How much did you win?” She wandered over by me and I felt her presence.

“Twenty-thousand,” I uttered with a tinge of disbelief.

“Well, then you can afford to buy a girl a drink. Can’t you?” she stepped closer, “My name’s Bella, short for Isabella.”

I allowed myself to smile in the mirror, “My name’s Red, but I’m afraid I won’t be buying many drinks anymore.”

- The next day -

I paused, looking across the placard on a pale doorway. The hall was lined with linoleum tile, set under unforgiving fluorescent light. The placard read Dr. Schulfotski, Plastic Surgeon.