Marge stood naked as a jaybird at the kitchen sink. The air was so hot, she had peeled her thin dress off and thrown it on the floor. She wasn’t an especially attractive woman. She was tall, lanky, and flat-chested. And she was almost forty, unmarried, and poor as the floor her dusty feet stood upon. The floor caved under her pressure, and where she stood, the linoleum squares slanted downward into a depression. She shoved her head in the icebox to cool off, then laid on the yellow floor like a cat.
Her grandmother’s voice rang in her ear. ‘Heat rises. Lay down on that darn floor. You’ll cool off ‘enuff.’
A knock came at the door and Marge hurled herself up, slapping her dress back on. “I’m here. Give me a sec.”
It was the other Margaret—known as Margaret— her neighbor. Because they both had the same name, and they both sat outside the apartment’s community pool together, playing cards, people called them Margaret and Marge.
Marge couldn’t help but notice that Margaret got to keep her full name. The thought was brief, like a small notation in her bible. Margaret was her friend. She was younger, prettier, and happy—and had a full name, but she was Marge’s friend.
“Are we in purgatory, yet?” Margaret groaned, but her skin was fresh. Her dress was clean. Marge knew she had probably just woken from a long nap.
“Where’s the baby?”
“With Mom,” Margaret whistled in, grabbing Marge’s last cold soda from the fridge.
Marge practically fell in her chair, “My back hurts. I can’t do that factory much longer.”
Margaret handed Marge half the soda in a glass stacked with ice and sat across from her at the small breakfast table. Yellow curtains with white flowers danced in the breeze coming through the window above the sink.
Marge smiled. “Want me to get everything ready on the terrace?”
Margaret jumped up. “No. You stay put. I will get everything set!” And she did. She sat plates on the too-small terrace’s wrought iron tabletop, then ran to her apartment to grab salsa and chips. This was their new craze. Salsa and chips with beer.
Marge eventually stood up and began peeling potatoes for potato salad. She pulled cold meatloaf from the icebox and stuck it in the oven to warm up.
Margaret went back home to grab the baby, and brought back her husband, Ricky; The baby hung on his hip bone. And Marge didn’t know why, but the room seemed to cool, and the breeze seemed to grow in the room. She grabbed the baby’s toes. “How about some sweet carrots!?”
“Yes!” Margaret squeaked.
Ricky smiled, kindly. “Marge, you don’t have to go out of your way for us.”
Marge was already pulling the carrots out of the fridge, and her last bit of sugar from the cupboard. “No trouble.”
They sat, huddled all together on the too-small terrace andwhen the mosquitoes were too much, they gathered around the wobbly kitchen table, but it didn’t feel small or rickety. Nor did they hear the static from Marge’s half-beat radio, on high volume. To them, the music poured like perpetual honey inside their ears.
They danced, and Marge watched Ricky kiss Margaret on the nose, and wiggle Suzie’s toes. Ricky pointed out the stars, and planets for Margaret but she waved him off. Marge remembered their names.
Saturn
Vega
Arcturus
#
Marge and Margaret sat at the bottom of the apartment complex, at the community pool, playing cards under a big umbrella, as was usual. Rummy, they always played rummy, and made a habit of drinking Rum with it.
‘Hey, let’s rum!” they would say to each other, laughing and that meant they would play rummy and drink rum. Marge had never drunk in her life until she met Margaret and she liked the warm way it made her feet feel, and the soreness gone in her back. Sometimes they even smoked reefer.
“I feel jelly,” Marge said, leaning back in the sun chair, forgetting it was her turn to lay down a card. Her eyes affixed on a big, white cloud with gray on its fingertips.
“I gotta go soon.”
“Where you got to go on a Sunday afternoon?”
Margaret clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, winking. “He’s waiting for me.”
“Ricky’s working late, no?”
Margaret pursed her full lips. “He is. I got someone else to go see.”
“Who?”
Margaret laughed, then leaned towards Marge. She whispered in a heavy breath. “Remember me telling you about the new guy that moved in? How cute he is? His name is Thomas—Tom for short.”
“But Ricky’s cute, too. You can’t mess around on him. He’s good to you. What about the baby?”
Margaret stood up, her face blank as stone. “You—You—keep your nose out of my business. You hear me!”
Marge felt her throat close. Her cheeks flushed. “What are you talking about?”
“I do what I want. You hear. And if you say a word to Ricky, I’ll have this whole town talking about you. You hear me?”
Marge didn’t need a mirror. She knew she looked stupid. She stuffed her lips into her face, and sat down, clasping her hands. “Well…I just…I just—”
“—Look, you’re my friend. And I need to be able to trust you. Can I trust you?”
“Yes. Yes, you can.”
Margaret smiled a breezy smile, as if nothing had happened. As if the tension between hadn’t begun, slowly, like mold under the kitchen sink. “Okay. Be ready for the juicy, juicy details tomorrow, love.”
“Okay.”
#
Marge had paced her cramped flat for an hour, and finally with her rage quaffed, she sat plum exhausted. A soft knock came at the door. Marge looked at the cracked yellow clock that hung above the kitchen window. It was a bit past nine-o-clock, the sun long ago put down for bed. She stood up, her tan skin still glowing from rage.
“Ricky?” she barely spoke, but the way she said his name.
Ricky shuffled his feet as black curly hair fell over his puppy-dog eyes.“I’m really sorry to bother you. I know you have work.”
“Margaret isn’t here,” Marge said quickly, stuffing her hands into the big pocket of her apron.
“Oh…well have you seen her?”
Marge wanted to speak. The words were right there, rolling up from her gut. The anger she had forced down. “You’re a really good man.”
Ricky tipped his hat, humbly. “Well, thank you. I—so you haven’t seen Margar—”
“—Not since we sat by the pool earlier.”
“Well…okay, then. You sleep well, okay?”
“Yes. Yes, Sir. Will do.”
Marge shut the door, biting her lip so hard, blood dripped down her chin. “Why you call him sir, dummy? Why you didn’t tell him?”
#
Marge was asleep on the sleek shine of the floor, the blood dried to her face, when Margaret banged on the door. Marge sat up, wiping her face. The door opened, and Marge could see Margaret’s lipstick was a deep red, her hair styled, and she was covered in perfume so thick Marge coughed. “What time is it?”
Margaret barreled inside, giddy in a panic. “Almost eleven. Marge, you gotta help me! I can’t go home like this. I need to use your bath. I gotta wash up.”
“Okay. Okay. You know where the tub is. I’ll bring you a wash-cloth.”
Margaret was naked in the tub when Marge walked in with a clean rag, some soap, and a towel. Marge stared at her full breast, and thick legs. Margaret shimmered her chest with a wide smile. “He drove me wild!”
“He did.” Marge managed to say, sitting the toiletries on the sink.
Margaret frowned like a baby. “Please, please make me a bit of food.”
Marge’s head hung like a dying plant. “I got work in a few hours.”
Margaret exaggerated her lips into a pout. “Please. Please. With my tummy full, I can tell you what we did.”
Marge went in the kitchen, pulling out her last bit of dinner. Peas, a biscuit, and a slice of ham. She warmed it up, listening as Margaret sang loudly in the tub.
Out of the tub, overflowing in Marge’s clean robe, Margaret recounted the neighbor’s hands over her body. Marge’s ears rang, and she couldn’t make out Margaret’s words, only hearing the passion drip from each word, and she felt she might drown in the want of just one drop of what Margaret had.
“Ricky came by looking for you,” Marge said, quickly adding. “I didn’t tell him nothing.”
Margaret winked. “He’s such a fool!”
“He was worried bout’ you.”
Margaret’s dimples dipped in her cheeks as her eyelids fluttered. She stuffed a biscuit in her mouth and spoke with a mouth full. “Well, I was perfectly fine. Perfectly fine.”
#
Margaret leaned back with her new swimsuit that Ricky had surprised her with. A red suit with black dots. Her cheeks were flushed with liquor. She laughed heartedly. “Tom’s falling in love with me.”
“He is. The neighbor?”
Margaret laughed again, feeling herself. “Tom wants me to leave Ricky and marry him. Can you imagine that?”
Marge pulled a fresh cigarette from their shared pack. “You gonna leave Ricky?”
Margaret winked. “No. Why leave Ricky when I can have both?”
“Someone gonna get hurt, Margaret.”
“It’s their own fault if they do. If Ricky hadn’t been such a louse in bed, I wouldn’t have had to find another man, and if Tom wasn’t such a fool, he would know I’m just screwing him.” At the last part of this, Margaret nearly fell over laughing.
“But Ricky sittin’ up with the baby every night while you gone and having to work, too.”
Margaret’s face hardened. “And what? I’m supposed to be stuck with a baby all day while he’s off on break all day?
“He’s not on break. He’s working.”
Margaret stood up, yanking the cigarettes off the table. “I’m going inside. You’re trying to make me feel bad for nothing!”
Marge held her head down, seething. Words hit the back of her front teeth. After too long, she let her breath go and words spilled out, like hot irons. “You scare me, woman.”
Margaret felt something primal mixing in the gut of her stomach and she threw up, coughing the sickness unto the cracked concrete. Kids screamed in the pool. When she looked down, all she could see was her feet, hard from standing, her long toe sticking out of sandals too small.
#
Walking down California Ave, Marge looked past the store fronts. She didn’t stop and stare into the windows anymore as she had done as a child with a mind fuzzy in daydreams. And she knew where she was going. She was finally going to disobey her grandmother and see about the Magic Shop. Margaret had gone in there a week ago, and had her cards read.
She had made fun of Marge, saying, “It’s just cards. Gosh, you’re so scared to do anything.”
“Well, what they do to you in there?” Marge had asked.
“You get your cards read is all,” Margaret had answered her.
She stood outside; the window was blacked out. A neon sign blinked: MAGIC SHOP. A small pot of daisies sat on top of a picnic table. Flies hovered on the sidewalk.
“Lord Jesus, forgive me,” Marge said, opening the door, half-expecting to walk into another dimension but her feet stepped onto pink carpet, and a small room aglow in soft lamps of yellows, and reds.
A tall, blonde woman, older than her with crystal blue eyes smiled from a sofa. “Hello, baby.”
“I come here to get my cards read.”
“Come, sit.”
Marge felt every awkward bone in her body, as if watching herself walk funny towards the woman with blue eyes.
“What brings you here?” The woman asked, peering deep into her eyes. The woman took Marge’s hands, and gently turned them palm-up. “What troubles you, baby?”
“I…I…I have a friend who is doing real bad to her husband. And she talks crazy to me, too. I think she might be evil.”
“Why do you call her friend, then?” The woman asked, still lightly holding Marge’s hands.
“We play cards. Sit by the pool. I thought she was my friend, but when I look back, she ain’t been no kind of friend. Anyone can drink with you. But she never asks me about my day or anything. She always talking about her and these men she cheatin’ on her husband with.”
“Maybe she’s a free woman?”
“Free but everything has a price and her husband and her baby payin.”
“Tell me about your family.”
Marge looked down, sucking her bottom lip into her face. “I left my husband when I was pregnant cuz’ he beat me and after I ran off, I lost the baby a week later.On the kitchen floor. That was fifteen years ago.”
Marge looked up with her face long, feeling the woman’s warm hands on hers. “I haven’t told nobody that.”
“I see,” the woman said, smiling warmly.
Marge went to stand. “Thank you.”
“You came here to have your cards read. Let me get my deck.”
Marge watched the heavy-set woman stand up, walk out of sight, and return. She wore net stockings, and black boots with a knee-length skirt and a pink top. She sat the cards on a small table in front of them. Marge looked at the front door, afraid someone would walk in on them.
“If someone comes in, I will have them wait outside. That’s why I have the patio furniture there.
“Oh.”
The woman took Marge’s hands in her hands again, and Marge cringed at her own bony knuckles, the wrinkles on her hands. The woman’s hands were soft.
“I want you to close your eyes, Margaret.”
“You know…you know my—?”
“—Of course, I do. Now, close your eyes.”
Marge felt the deck of cards slide into her rough palms.
“Now, what question do you have for the cards? What do you want answered?”
“I’m scared of my friend. Don’t know why. Is she evil?”
“You’re going to pick your cards. I’m going to spread the deck open and I want you to pick three. Pick the answer to your question.”
Marge felt a twinge of fear, and of being caught in something spooky. Those feelings ran up her spine like cat claws. She handed the woman three cards chosen. The woman laid them down in front of them, and under the glow of candles and soft lamps, the faces of the cards glowed.
The first card was a three of hearts with a man holding a bowl on the front. The woman tapped the card. “The first one is what you already know.”
Marge stared at the card, wondering if she knew anything but her backache.
“It’s a card about love. Someone in this situation you speak of has your heart,” the woman said.
Marge felt her throat catch like a clutch.
“This is what you don’t know,” the woman said, tapping the second card. It wasa ten of clubs with a woman cloaked in black. “It’s the death card. Someone in all this will soon die.”
Marge felt her eye twitch.
The woman glanced at the third card; a three of diamonds with a large cup tipping over. “This is what you need to know. This situation will bear joy for you.”
Marge grabbed her throat. And she was afraid to look at the woman. The woman shuffled the cards back, as if nothing had happened, as if they were just paper and pictures. No story, no fortune, no fate. “It can be hard at first, I know.” The woman said, resting her hand on Marge’s shoulder.
“What they mean?”
“You tell me.”
#
Marge had just got off work and had not time to get her feet up good when Margaret knocked on the door. Marge knew it was Margaret because she had always said, “Hey, it’s me,” when she knocked and she usually just opened the door after this announcement, but when she wiggled the door handle it was locked. It had never been locked before.
“Marge?”
Marge froze. She would pretend to not be home. It worked for some time, but Margaret was back at the door an hour later. “Marge, please open up. I ain’t mad at ya’ anymore. I got some drink—and pot, too.”
Marge stood at the door, a thick oak door separating the two women. “I don’t want you to come around anymore. It’s better we don’t talk.”
Marge listened as she heard Margaret step away, open the door across the hall, and then slam it hard. Marge opened her own door, slowly, to see with satisfaction that Margaret was gone—out of her life. But before Marge knew it, her door flew open, and she was shoved to the ground. Her back hit hard, and the breath knocked out of her.
Margaret slammed Marge’s door shut and stood over her with a wicked grin. “I thought you’d be different. But you’re just like the rest of ‘em. Always pushing me.”
Marge’s eyes grew big as saucers, and she screamed with such force, it felt like her rib cage rattled. But she barely made a sound. “Leave me alone! You crazy!”
Margaret went to swing, snarling like a wolf, spit flying from her mouth, but Marge jerked up, grabbing Margaret’s arms with the grip of a snake bit, forcing her to the ground. She lurched her lanky body over Margaret’s, sitting on her hands with her knees, and then wrapped her hands around Margaret’s neck.
Marge kept pressing, kept squeezing until Margaret’s body let go, and even then, Marge held on a moment more, thinking it was like peeking out of the door—if she were to let go, Margaret would pop up again.
Standing up, finally, her fingers ached; she wiped them on her apron. She then moved a small coffee table into the hallway. She rolled Margaret into the center of the sitting room, center of a large rug, then rolled the dead body into the rug like a dumpling, rolling ittowards the wall. She pushed the coffee table against the rolled rug and put a vase of fresh Tick-Seed flowers on the tabletop.
#
Marge stood at the stove with baby Suzie on her hip. Her cheeks were blushed, and her lips painted a light purple. She stirred a pot of greens, then checked on the chicken roasting in the stove. She topped a casserole of rice with butter. A pecan pie cooled off on the countertop. A cup of applesauce freshly blended with cinnamon sat in a baby cup.
“Let’s sit you down in the high-chair to eat,” she cooed to the baby, who smiled with a wide-open mouth.
Ricky walked in the door, covered in car grease, in blue a cover-all. Marge pulled a cool glass from the fridge and poured him some tea. “Here you are, sweetheart.”
He took the glass, smiling. “Where’s Margaret?”
“I am Margaret.”
