The Favor

Margot enjoys her job and knows that most people wouldn’t like carrying pitchers of beer and the occasional whiskey to the drunken and tired townies. When Roger’s father died and left him the Inn he thought by working, Margot might finally take care of herself. She might want to buy some new clothes, cut her ratty hair, or maybe even join one of those diet centers to lose that tire around her waist he didn’t remember marrying.

Last week Roger, her husband, fired the bartender that had been working at the Inn for the past four years because he caught him stealing dinner rolls in the kitchen. So he has hired Phil, who is considerably younger than Margot and Roger. Phil’s hair is dark with natural oils and his eyes haven’t seen sleep for days. Margot can’t tell if he is tanned or just dirty. She feels safer assuming he is dirty. She doesn’t mind pretending he might have lost all of his belongings in a fire and is starting over again in a small town at her small Inn.

It is snowing outside and Roger is sitting in the last booth near the entrance to the Inn’s kitchen. He takes a break from his fried cod sandwich, wipes away the smeared tartar on his chin, and glances up at Margot. She is carrying two pitchers in each of her chubby hands and is weaving in and out of bar tables and swaying customers. He notices her movement. Instead of hunching over with her eyes to the floor she is looks straight ahead thinning out her double chin. He wonders if her night off of doing laundry last night has elevated her mood.

Phil watches Roger’s face as he observes Margot. Phil remembers how Roger spoke of Margot two days ago when he walked into the Inn looking for a work. Roger wanted to share a laugh at Margot’s expense, calling her his cheapest investment to date. Phil faked a good chuckle. He figured he would compromise and listen to Roger’s idiotic comments and Roger would allow him to polish his skills and just stay out of his business.

During closing time, the broken jukebox is playing “Free Bird” on repeat. Margot doesn’t mind because the few locals that remain love Lynard Skynard. As the few stragglers leave the Inn and stumble home, Margot watches Phil move smoothly behind the bar. She begins wiping up pools of beer on the high tops and hears Phil hum along. She smiles because his voice sounds much better than Roger’s. Phil starts mumbling the words softer then louder until she can’t hear Ronnie Van Zant’s anymore. Margot blushes. She turns around; wiping her hands on her apron and meets his eyes. She can’t help but focus on the scar running from the top of his eyelid up through his eyebrow. He blankly stares back as his hands shine one of the dusty highballs.

Phil catches himself staring as well. Social situations with women were never his strong suit. He tries to imagine what she must have looked like before having kids. All he sees now is an old empty vessel that’s been hollowed out. She doesn’t have the personality of a woman with kids but he figures she must have popped out some big screaming babies over the years. So, he decides to place her in the category of unattractive but something you’d like to have anyway.

He begins noticing her English features and thinks of his first wife. He remembers her pale skin with splashes of freckles here and there. Over time those freckles that initially perked his curiosity became too much of a distraction for him. He had lost control of the other part of him. The part that made him crave darkness. He convinced himself that he needed those freckles more than she did. They were his. He wanted to rub them between his fingers like soft swatches of velvet.

Margot stands by the high tops fidgeting with her apron strings unsure of what to say. She hasn’t talked to a young man in what seems like decades but she can still recognize an awkward silence. All she can do is stare at his scar, even if it is impolite.

“It’s from a skiing accident, took a pole right through my goggles,” he explains while his dirty hands rub the scar.

“It doesn’t look that bad, you’re lucky the hair grew back,” she says with hesitation.

Phil licks his thumb and starts to smooth out the hairs on his eyebrow.

“But you could use some Vitamin E to help the scar,” she adds while trying to untie her apron.

Phil watches her struggle with the strings on her apron and he likes the way her lips purse together. He assumes it was something she did out of frustration. He thought it was probably one of those little ticks that only her husband began noticing a year into their marriage.

Phil slowly walks up to Margot and places his brown, callused hand on her warm forearm.

“Let me help you with that,” he says looking down at the knot.

“Thank you. This darned thing always gets knotted up,” she huffs. “I used to be a lot stronger when I was your age,” she smiles at him.

“My father taught me how to tie and untie square knots as a little boy. Probably the only useful thing the son of a bitch did,” he responds with a chuckle.

Margot can’t help but notice his perfectly white, symmetrical teeth. She finds it strange that he would have a mouth like wealth and the body of a vagabond. However it was one more thing they have in common. She too, takes pride in a clean mouth. She starts to think of always having to remind Roger to brush and floss. Her thoughts are interrupted as her apron falls to the floor. It give the sensation of clothing being yanked off. A feeling she has never had before.

Phil bends down and picks the apron up off the old bar floor.

“I am so sorry I startled you,” he says with a friendly smile.

Watching her chest rise in shock and face fill up with the color of a sweet rosé sends warmth into Phil’s groin. He wants to know what it would feel like to see his thick hands wrapped around her wrinkly neck. He wants to feel her body beneath him fighting, squirming, and then silence. He would relish the sweet sound.

Margot grabs her apron and begins walking to the back of the bar towards the kitchen. As she reaches to turn the lights out, Phil calls out to her.

“Hey—Margot is there any place close by to grab a haircut and shave at this time of night?” He asks with an innocence.

“Oh no—no that at this hour but I can see you do need one.”

“You bet,” Phil says acting embarrassed and pulling on his beard with a smirk.

“Why don’t we just fix you up back here,” Margot says pointing to the kitchen behind her, “I can grab some scissors and one of the knives. Let me just get some soap from the bathroom.” She thinks it’s the least she can do for a newcomer in this unforgiving town.

“Margot, I would be forever indebted to you,” Phil says while jokingly bowing his head.

Margot grabs a tattered bar rag that was draped over the huge sink. She places it over Phil’s chest and tucks it into the top of his t-shirt. She re-ties her apron and Phil drags one of the tall bar chairs into the kitchen. Phil sits down and leans back underneath the industrial kitchen lights.

He closes his eyes and asks, “You have done this before correct?”

“Oh of course. I used to shave my father as a small girl when mother drank too much. Her hands weren’t steady enough.”

Margot takes large chunks of his beard in her hand and slowly begins to cut. She can feel his warm breath funneling out his nostrils and spreading across her cheeks. She hadn’t been this close to anyone in years; not even her husband. She takes a cooking brush, used to apply marinade, and begins to dab the soap and water mixture all around his jaw. Phil flinches at the cold temperature against his skin. He doesn’t open his eyes, but instead smiles a bit while goose bumps cover his arms. Margot paints the soap on his scruffy skin like it is a landscape.

With the knife in her right hand, she slowly tilts his chin with her left. She applies the tiniest bit of pressure and then begins grazing his right cheek. With every stroke she wipes the blade on her apron and steadies his face again. She moves from his right cheek to his left with stable and steady hands. Phil loves the slight sting he feels with every stroke of the blade.

Margot places her hand on Phil’s forehead, her pointer finger touching his scar, and slowly pushes his head back further. She then applies the soap to his neck. During her second stroke the blade catches and nicks Phil above his adam’s apple. Blood begins to flow down his neck and onto her hand. His eyes remain closed and his body tingles. Her hands start to shake while she places pressure on the cut. Her breathing starts to accelerate and his adrenaline begins to pump. The air in the kitchen seems to spin and whirl around the two like a tornado. Margot starts to feel dizzy.

Phil opens his eyes slightly while his hand reaches underneath her floor length skirt and begins to graze up her calf. An electric current runs up Margot’s leg following the path laid out by Phil’s hand. She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes while her hand continues to apply pressure to the cut on his neck. Phil imagines a balloon inside himself where he keeps his dark secrets. It begins to grow at an uncontrollable rate. He knows while his hand reaches higher and higher up Margot’s leg that the balloon will burst like it always does. His heartbeat quickens and little drops of sweat accumulate above his lip.

Margot stands frozen. No one has touched her leg like this. His touch is slow and filled with mystery; there is no predictability in his movements. Her mind is drenched in excitement. She doesn’t even think about the dirt under his finger nails or the calluses that are lightly scraping her smooth skin. Higher and higher his hand rises and the blood begins to fill up her face. She can feel herself becoming moist underneath her skirt. She remembers feeling this way as a young woman reading dirty romance novels underneath her covers while Roger was passed out from having one too many scotches.

Phil runs the tips of his fingers inside the waistband of Margot’s underwear and she sucks in a great deep breath, but Phil’s hands just move faster. He can feel her body begin to fight off his touch and his desire builds. Phil stands up quickly and kicks the tall bar chair over with his leg. The noise startles Margot and before she can open her eyes Phil grabs the fat around her hips and pushes her into the stainless steel counter behind them. As Margot’s body gets shoved against the counter a stifled moan exits her mouth. The hairs on her brow shuffle together in a look of pain as her eyes squint shut. A smile spreads across Phil’s mouth and he reveals an entirely different one than Margot had seen before. His teeth that looked once inviting now look predatory and his eyes that looked tired now look dead.

As Phil slams Margot’s body into the counter a milky taste seeps into her mouth from the pain. The blood begins to slide slowly from Phil’s cut on his neck. She cannot make sense of the throbbing ache and yet the slight pleasure she feels from a man’s hands on her curves. As his hand reaches for her ponytail, she remembers standing naked in front of the mirror as a young girl. She would take off her clothes slowly after watching her parents drive down the tree-lined driveway towards the main road. She felt embarrassed and naughty looking at her parts. She felt like one day they had just appeared, ready for exploration. She had lumps and bumps and dark hair beginning to take over. Getting married at nineteen, Roger was the only other person that had seen her naked. On their wedding night, he was drunk and covered Margot’s face with his hand as his body twitched and spasmed over her.

She knew, as Phil forcefully lowered her body to the floor by pulling her hair, he felt her curves and appreciated them. She felt at ease thinking someone saw her the way she wanted to be seen. This is the day she had been waiting for her. God finally had answered her pleas and delivered Phil. He wasn’t what she pictured in her fantasies over the years, but if this is what God had designed this is what she was willing to accept.

Beads of sweat form across Phil’s forehead as he straddles Margot. The bar stool is lying on the concrete floor next to them. Margot’s back aches from her body being slammed into the counter and now pushed into the unforgiving concrete floor. Phil looks down at her and realizes she is more of a mystery than he anticipated. The last dumpy old lady he took out put up quite a good fight, she had managed to grab a picture off her night stand and smash it across Phil’s face causing the scar down his face. He applauded himself for being so quick on his feet with the skiing story. He wasn’t surprised she had fallen for it and in the morning someone would find her body and he would be on his way north.

He leans down towards Margot and a drop of sweat rolls off of his nose and softlyShe realized he was probably nervous as well. He grabs her blouse and starts pulling on it. Her fake pearl buttons bounce and clatter all over the floor. She begins to smile thinking about the naughty cover art of her forbidden books. It was just like she imagined except without the ruggedly handsome man and the ripped bodice. Phil still fit the criteria of her predatory lover.

Phil stares down at her. His eyes take it all in. Her torn blouse, gaping open, revealing what seemed like cascading flesh. Falling and falling. He felt blinded yet tantalized by her blazing white skin and liked the red line across her belly from her wool skirt. He notices her missing stretch marks and realizes she has been untouched by the curse of children. She was a curse to her own body, an untouched woman. Anger began to rise in Phil, this kill was not going as planned. Who would miss this old woman, he though. He realizes he isn’t even holding her down anymore. He thinks he even notices a slight smile on her wrinkled face. He winds up his hand and slaps her hard across her bloated cheek. She doesn’t yelp or shutter. Her eyes are closed and her face remains expressionless.

He doesn’t like misleading women. His intuition is wrong for the first time. She fooled him and punishment would be given harder this time. He pulls down her skirt and her underwear in a fever. Margot’s eyes are still closed and half of her head resting on the concrete floor. She doesn’t want to move or make him angry again. She couldn’t make sense of his sudden frustration with her. She was complying with every move he made. She thought maybe he wanted a struggle. She can remember her mother telling her, ‘boys always wanted a chase.’

Margot lifted her head up a bit and watched Phil as he struggled with her underwear around her clunky winter boots. She began reaching towards the turned over bar stool that she was shaving him in only moment ago. She looks at the scissors lying on the ground with his curly hair clinging to the long metallic shears. She lays still but reaches her arm out. Margot’s finger reaches and curls underneath one of the scissor loops (what are they really called?).

Phil climbs on top of her and hits her again. This time was harder than the last, he cut her lip. Blood starts seeping into her mouth. The taste of iron makes her gag a little and she wishes they could move to a vacant room upstairs where at least her back wouldn’t hurt so much. Phil called her numerous names that Margot recalls Roger saying when she doesn’t iron his pants right or his dinner isn’t on time. As Phil begins to undo his zipper Margot slowly raises the scissors up in the air.

“Hey!” Margot yells.

The only thing that can be heard is the buzzing fluorescent kitchen lights above them. A pearl from Margot’s shirt rolls into the stainless steel structure across from them. Phil is naked from the waist down and is staring at Margot as she holds one of the shears of the open scissors up to her own neck. He looks puzzled and almost frightened of her. She is shaking and there are tears rolling down her face. He knew that this kill was going to be pathetic and all wrong.

Margot slowly moves the shear an inch across her neck and blood slowly begins to drip down like dark oil. “I want you too,” she says out of breath.

It takes everything in Margot’s power not to climax. The rush from his body on top of hers, her nakedness, the warm blood running down her neck and then curving off and blotting her hair on the floor.

Phil’s stomach plummets all the way down to his scrotum. He felt as though someone were draining all the blood from him. Margot noticed his expression slowly growing blank with a hint of what seemed to be sadness. The thick lines on his forehead were folding and contorting into different shapes as he stood and pulled his pants up with great speed. Margot sat up and tried to cover her breasts with her ripped shirt as best she could.

“Is everything ok?” She asks in her soft voice as blood starts to flow a bit faster down her neck creating some stains on her shirt.

“I’m gettin’ the fuck outta here lady,”

Margot noticed his sudden thick southern accent and the way his mouth changed movements when he spoke. He wasn’t from the north as she had pictured earlier. Phil grabbed his shoes and Margot could still see a faint bulge in his pants. This made her feel more at ease.

Phil turned to Margot and pointed his big finger in her face. Margot noticed the excessive amount of dirt underneath his nails that needed a good cutting.

“You are fuckin’ crazy. Ya here me?” He said talking close and sort of louder than before. “You get me? You here me in there? You’re a fuckin’ pig” he asked.

Phil was talking to Margot like she was stupid. He thought the only reason anyone would act the she had was if they were mentally deranged. He couldn’t take advantage of a woman that was plain crazy. Phil turned around and bolted out of the Inn into the summer night air. Margot heard the door slam and the ‘Closed’ sign hit the door five or six times and then sat in the silence of the kitchen. She stood up and felt her back spasm and she steadied herself by grabbing onto the counter and catching herself. She reached for a clean bar rag and held it to her neck applying pressure. Her breathing started to calm down and she began to cry. She only let it last for a couple minutes and then she dressed herself as best she could. She walked to the back entrance of the Inn. She couldn’t risk walking through the lobby with blood all over her ripped shirt, bleeding from the neck and cuts on her face. She looked like she had been through war.

She climbed up the backstairs until she reached the fourth floor where she hoped Roger was half in the bag. She opened the screen door slowly so it wouldn’t creek and then quietly turned the brass knob. It wasn’t locked which meant Roger was still awake. Slowly closing the two doors behind her and tiptoeing through the dark kitchen she could see the TV flickering in the den. Roger coughed and she could hear him moving around in his recliner. She stopped and hid where the den’s entrance met the hallway to their bedroom. For the last couple months Roger had been sleeping in his recliner, usually too drunk to stumble to bed.

Margot peeks her head around the wall and sees Roger sprawled out in his stained undershirt, pants unbuttoned and whiskey in hand watching and old western. He starts sucking his teeth and making noises Margot figures Phil would never have made. She looks at Roger and feels disgusted. She closes her eyes and thinks about Phil’s eyes and teeth as they stared down at her. Chills went through her and a smile began to spread across her wrinkled face. She opened her eyes and lost her balance while the floor creaked beneath her.

“Margot?” Roger yelled from his recliner.

“Yes, it’s me,” Margot responded while turning into the kitchen to hide her tattered appearance and bleeding neck.

“For Christ’s sake, you trying to scare me or something. I’ve never heard you this quiet before in my life.”

“I was just going to make your late night snack but I wanted to shower first, if that is ok.”

“Do what you need to do but I want a snack at some point. It would be better if it wasn’t an hour from now,” he said and took another sip of whiskey.

She could only imagine how disgusting his breath smelled. Margot hated the smell of alcohol that sprayed off his lips when he would get mad and yell close to her face. She would put money on it that Phil didn’t drink. She closed her eyes and lifted the collar of her ripped shirt and took in the scent still lingering. Phil’s rustic sweaty aroma left a warm feeling deep in her chest. She wanted to cry but knew if she began she may never stop. She felt like a small girl again, listening to her mother and father scream, bottles smashing and hateful words echoing throughout their small ranch. She knew back then trouble was sure to follow if she cried as well. So she would bury her face deep within the blankets and pray for God to bring her a man that would protect her from these things. Protect her from ever wanting to cry again.

Margot turns and peers around the wall to look at Roger. He is sitting in his recliner with his feet crossed and the bottom of his socks stained brown from his boots. He laughs at the TV and Margot pictures Roger sitting there instead. She begins to walk down the hallway replaying the interaction that had occurred just moments ago and she wonders to herself as she runs the hot bathwater what she will wear tomorrow night for her second date with Roger.