Moose and Goose

Chapter Seventy-four

"One hotdog, please." The dark-skinned man behind the counter stands from his chair and approaches her. He's tall and slim, and his dark hair is neatly combed and gelled like Elvis'.

"You need condiments," he asks, his southern accent overpowering his Arabic one. Judith hums indecisively, and he taps his fingers against the counter.

"Chili and ketchup would be fine," she finally says. The bell above the door chimes as Jerome walks in with his friends in tow, and she veers her head to watch them make a beeline for the arcade machine.

"Twenty cents." After a pause, he clears his throat, and she looks at him again with her mouth slightly open. His hand is lying on the counter with his palm facing upward, and she stares at the silver ring around his marriage finger.

"Oh, sorry! Um, how much?" She shoves her hands into her pockets, and he huffs his annoyance, gazing at the ceiling. He repeats the amount, and she sits a quarter in his palm, watching his fingers close around it before bringing it to the cash register.

"Seven minutes," he says, turning his back to her after dropping the money with the rest. As he departs to the door beside the lottery tickets and cigarettes behind the register, she turns at an angle with her elbows against the counter.

She watches the screen glow against the strong stream of sunlight pouring through the windows, then walks around the side of the building toward them.

As usual, Jerome's behind the joystick, shifting it and tapping the button with a concentrated stare. Khalíd darts his eyes to her and kisses his teeth. Manuel follows his gaze, but he looks at her from her afro to her black flats.

"Hey, 'Rome. Lolita's back," Manuel says. She stands behind Jerome and crosses her arms, scowling at the back of his head. "And she's fuming."

"Didn't you tell this bug-eyed bitch to leave you alone," Khalíd asks him under his breath, but before Jerome can correct him, Judith shoves between him and Eric.

"Fuck you, Eraserhead," she yells at Khalíd, and Jerome grits his teeth while leaning his head away. Judith turns her anger to Manuel as the Space Jungle music fills the space around them. "And you, Tattoo!"

"What'd she call me," Manuel whispers his question to Khalíd with furrowed eyebrows, and he scoffs.

"I think she's talking about that short guy from Fantasy Island. You know - The plane, the plane," he answers in a grizzly voice, and after narrowing his eyes in thought, Manuel chuckles.

"Oh, so she finally decided to stop bitching and work on her insults. I respect it." He shrugs, pouting his lip, and she blinks toward Jerome.

"I need to talk to you." She waits for a response, and when he clenches his lip between his teeth - not listening to her - she rolls her eyes.

They watch Judith take his left hand and shove the joystick forward. His eyes grow wide as a small asteroid collides onto his aircraft, and he swats her hand away to grab the sides of the box like a face cupped in his palms. She takes a step back as he groans over his loss, then she cracks a smile when he veers his scrunched expression toward her.

"What - is wrong with you," he asks, his nostrils flaring with his huff. His friends watch him approach her, then they share a glance in anticipation of a fight.

"Take a chill pill, 'Rome, it's just a game," Judith taunts him, sitting her hands on her hips. Manuel snickers, and Khalíd glances at the flickering screen, waiting for three letters.

"Give me a quarter," Jerome demands, and she blinks her head back, scanning him from dreads to loafers.

"No." She smiles at him. "Besides, maybe you deserve it. You're a fucking liar."