I watched a Paleyfest for Asylum once and recall Jessica Lange wishing she'd had more opportunity to perform as Judy the Jazz Singer. This story is for her; and for me, because I wished the same thing. Playlist follows and can be found on Spotify as "Limbo Bimbo" if you're interested.

Cutie Named Judy - Jerry McCain and His Upstarts

Judy Blue - Mitchell Rose

It's a Man's World - Etta James

Rehab - Amy Winehouse

Fever - Peggy Lee

Woman's Got Soul - Joe Williams

Valerie - Amy Winehouse

I Remember You - Dinah Washington

Right Down the Line - Jerry Rafferty

God Only Knows - The Beach Boys

Why Judy Why - Billy Joel

Let's Hear it for the Boy - Deniece Williams

Somebody to Love - Jefferson Airplane

What Becomes of the Broken Hearted - Jimmy Ruffin

Timothy Howard scratched surreptitiously at the inside of his arm again. This was not his expectation - this gleaming white...waiting room. He sat in the universe's most uncomfortable chair and took in his surroundings with a baleful countenance. Surrounded by blurring, weeping, smiling, or simply staring faces.

He supposed it was better than Hell, but not by much. He looked again at his ticket number, the tiny scrap nearly rubbed bare by his fretting fingers. 2,737,654,156,417,706,313. He wasn't certain what number that even was. But he knew he had quite a wait before him. Even though the digital display on the too-bright wall read 2,737,654,156,417,706,277. He watched it flick to 2,737,654,156,417,706,278 and sighed heavily. Scratched the inside of his other arm.

Again, he adjusted the plush towel wrapped low on his waist. Apparently, death was a 'come as thou art' experience. He vaguely wished he'd at least put on pajamas before butchering himself into oblivion.

He was plagued by rampant doubts: What if there was no Heaven, after all? What if the heathens were right all along and this was to be eternity? Jumping aimlessly from one interminable waiting room to the next? What if his arms never healed at all and he remained a pale, exsanguinated skeleton of a man forever, never released from limited human form? Or what if he did end up in Hell? (He 90% expected this outcome - the Catholics had ever been staunch on the subject of suicide.) What exactly would his Hell be? He'd read dreadful, terrible things - seen those surreal and grotesque Bosch tryptics. What if he ended up boiling forever upside down in a pit of human milk-fat with a spray of thorny lantana and daffodils sprouting from his ass while a dwarf goat-man marched about dooting a trombone made from sinners' hair?

He cringed.

A set of ornately carved double doors whispered open across from him and four nuns dressed in pure white habits tittered out talking about what they would have for lunch. His own stomach growled in response. Was it possible to be hungry in the afterlife?

Another digital display flared to life beside the first. From the corridor to his left, hundreds more faces drifted in - wandering as lost and confused as he had. Must have been peak time for souls. A second shift was added. He brightened a bit when the second display read 2,737,654,156,417,706,291. Things were looking up.

He was looking down. At the mangled flesh inside his arms. Opened like two gagging grins, his arms displayed their complex internal workings. Tendons. Muscle. Bone. A jagged artery (Or was that a vein? He'd never really studied anatomy.) dangled down his elbow. Self-consciously, he tucked it back into the wound. Didn't feel a thing, really. Bit of a tickle. Or he was imagining that. He absolutely wished he could feel something. Anything. Even if it was pain. A headache, even. Searing spikes up each arm. A charlie horse. Anything but the cold, penetrating numbness that made him feel so densely heavy in this scratchy grey chair.

He supposed there would be more than enough pain in Hell, though; what with the boiling, thorning, poking, sawing, freezing, burning, bruising, scratching, scraping, screaming, and dooting.

Emotions, too. Honestly he'd expected to be a blithering mess of sorrow. Or anger. Impotent rage. Frustration at the interminable wait. Ironic humor at the bitterness of his situation. Regret. Soooo much regret... But so far, he'd felt nothing but the clinical air of Here and Now caressing his bare back.

Perhaps...a touch of gratitude. Yes, there was a little bit of niggling gratitude trying to poke its way through the facade of apathy.

He was grateful not to feel the regret.

At least not yet.

A click as the digital display flicked again: 2,737,654,156,417,706,304. Things were starting to move along rather briskly. He wasn't sure if he should be pleased or filled with dread. Wasn't sure he could really feel either way.

The woman seated beside him coughed. She was a rather bloated thing of unknown origin. He couldn't decipher her origin because her skin was mottled gray and seemed to be peeling. Her plastered hair and cloudy eyes suggested she'd drowned.

On his other side, a young man sucked air through his teeth. AGAIN. A hint of annoyance presented itself. But the fellow couldn't have been more than 16 or 17. There was a small, perfectly rounded hole on the side of his head, and Timothy discovered he could see straight through it to the elderly man with a trachiotomy on the other side.

Timothy regarded his own fingers. They were pruny. He looked down at his pallid toes. Also pruny. Perhaps they would at least give him a blanket or a robe or something. He'd hate to meet St. Peter this way.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Cough.

Click...

When his number finally flashed, he felt a strange sensation tugging him from his seat. He was compelled through the ornate double doors, pruny feet slapping chill tile. And a pristinely clad nun greeted him, clipboard gleaming silver. "Timothy Howard."

"Yes."

"This way." He followed her. No blanket or robe was presented. Doors all the way down, it seemed. No end to this hallway. They stopped at number 19. "In here." She opened the door and he entered a tiny office. Greeted by a plain oak desk and yet another uncomfortable chair. "Sit, please." She gestured to the chair. No smile. No expression at all. She'd not even glanced at him. She pulled papers from her clipboard and dropped them on the desk. "It'll be just a moment."

He waited again. At least there was carpet here. Beige. And...paneling. A painting of Christ smiling behind the desk. In the corner, a ficus. He could reach it and did, touched a trembling leaf to gauge its realness. It was fake. A fake, plastic ficus. Something like sadness started to creep in.

The door opened and a man harried in. A grey-suited man. Tall in stature. Simple wire-rimmed glasses. Black tie. Silver aged hair. "Hello, there." A pleasant, Southern accent.

"Hello." Timothy watched him sit.

Briskly, he shifted papers. "Let's see...Timothy Howell."

"Howard."

"Yes, sorry. Howard." Ahem. "Here we are. Just waiting now for your spokesperson."

"Spokesperson?"

"Yes, yes. Everybody gets representation, you see."

"Ah." Timothy's mouth worked a moment. "Are you...St. Peter?"

"Oh, Heavens no." The man chuckled. "I'm Max Boardman. St. Peter is far too busy. I'm a representative, you see."

"Oh." Slightly disappointing.

"I'm a bit like a...parole officer."

His forehead creased. "I see. So I'm...on probation?"

"Well, we don't know that yet." Max was reading paperwork. "We'll have to see what decision we make with your spokesperson."

And the door opened. Timothy glanced up. A double take. A little nun, clad in black. "Mary Eunice!" He gasped.

She turned beside Max's desk. A graceful curtsy in her familiar habit. "Hello, Timothy!" She seemed almost pleased to see him.

"You..." Words failed him. He was truthfully thrilled to see her - if only the emotion would present itself. "You're -"

"Yes, I made it in." She smirked kindly. "All kinds of loopholes for possession, apparently."

"Sister, I'm - I'm so very pleased for you."

"Well, thank you, Father. Oh!" She covered her mouth. "Sorry. You're not a Father, anymore."

"No, no I suppose I'm not."

Max cleared his throat again. "Lots to go over here, Mr. Howell."

"Howard."

"Mm-hm. Two deaths on your hands?"

"Ah..."

"Direct deaths." Eunice supplied for Max. "Mine, and Shelly's."

"Mm." A page flip. "Looks like a mercy killing for this Shelly." Max nodded. "Oh, nice and complex here, Sister. Pushed off a balcony to release you from a demon's grip?"

"Yes." Eunice nodded. "Ultimately a good outcome for both of us."

"Agreed." Max nodded. Timothy swallowed. "Hm. Not a virgin, I see."

Timothy blushed. Eunice hissed apologetically. "Yeah, that was me. Sorry about that." She leaned over the desk, pointing. "See? Demon again."

"Ohhh, yes. Demon." Max extracted a silver pen from an inside pocket. Scribbled a few notes. "What's this Nazi doctor thing?"

"I -"

Eunice held out a hand, silencing him. "Oh, he smoked everybody." She reassured. "Dr. Arden did. Blackmailer. He's the weirdo who went into the crematorium with me."

Timothy stared at the nun. Why was she covering for him? What was her end game?

Max nodded. "Ah, that one! I remember him. Straight to -"

"Yep, straight to Hell." Eunice tisked. "Not a chance with that one."

Max's lips pursed. "Hmph. Pride...Ambition. Pope, huh?" A bright flush crept up Timothy's neck. Max chuckled. "Well, we get that all the time." He scanned further. Eunice watched patiently, still smiling away. "The uh - the lies get a little concerning, Sister."

She looked squarely at Timothy. "You told a lot of lies."

He nodded. "I know."

"This here..." Max tapped the paper, tilted it to Eunice. "That's not good."

Eunice tisked. "No, that's a pretty big one." She shrugged. "But you know...could be something for him to work on."

Max read on. "Hm. Perhaps." He opened a desk drawer. "Let's see here, where's that file? Sounds familiar...They sent it with your review material and I - ah!" Max extracted another paper-clipped dossier. Flipped a few pages.

Eunice peeked again. "Yes, that's her!" She pointed at the paper.

"Judy Martin." Max read.

Timothy's gut curled. It was the first thing he'd felt since his death. A raw, clenching, scathing punch to his plexus. "Jude..." he whispered.

Max and Eunice watched him double over. "Huh." Max tapped the paper. Compared the two files. Eunice was skimming over his shoulder. Suddenly, she leaned toward Max's ear. Whispered something behind a hiding hand. Max nodded, considering. An occasional grunt.

Timothy's fingers gripped the thin wooden armrests. His throat was starting to burn for some reason. He wished there was water.

"What do you think?" Eunice asked, finally done with her secret conversation.

"I'm willing to give it a go." Max stretched in his chair. "Almost my lunch, anyway." He squared up, looked at Timothy. "This Sister still likes you for some reason, my friend. Personally, I think you'd do well in Hell, but..." He looked up at Eunice fondly. "This one, I trust."

He looked to Mary Eunice, whose smile had suddenly faltered. She crouched before him. "Timothy. This is big. You hear me?" He nodded. "You only get one chance at this. And unfortunately..." She glanced at Max. "It still doesn't guarantee you a spot in Heaven."

He nodded. "What am I -"

"Sh." She put a finger to his lips. "You're going to chill in Purgatory for a while. Understand?"

"Purgatory..." He repeated. Yes, better than Hell. In fact, it felt like a blessing at the moment.

"Right," Eunice continued. "Limbo. How low can you go?" She giggled.

"Sister -"

"Sh." She hushed him again. "You have a thousand questions. We don't have a thousand answers. And even if we did, we wouldn't give them to you. It doesn't work that way. You want to know what you're supposed to do while you're there. You're wondering what it's going to be like. If you'll still be craving fried chicken when you get there." (And he was craving fried chicken. Desperately.) "You're wondering if you'll be alone, or tortured. Doomed to walk a vacuous wasteland for all eternity, driven by some nameless force to build a tower out of pebbles and flog yourself every hour on the hour with a chariot lash. And I admire your creative thinking. But honestly it's so simple the stupidest person can figure it out: you just have to be good. Do good, Timothy. For all the bad stuff you heaped upon your own shoulders as a slightly effeminate mortal man, do enough good to cancel it out." She put her hands on his. They were amazingly warm. "We're sending you to a sort of special Limbo, too. Where there's...a familiar face."

"Jude." He felt moisture in his eyes. "Jude is there."

"I wouldn't call her that." Eunice smiled.

"Jude...killed herself, as well?" Maybe a tear fell.

It did fall, because Eunice touched it with a warm fingertip. "No. No, she didn't. She actually had quite a lovely ending. But...Heaven wasn't for her. And she's...still waiting. For something. Something she waited all her life for. And whether you realize it or not, you've waited for it, too. You just foolishly replaced it with ambitious goals and empty desires."

"What - what is it?" He asked. He was despairing for the answer.

"I can't tell you that." The nun drew away looking sad. "But if you're willing to humble yourself, and open yourself, you'll figure it out relatively quickly."

"Humble myself." He repeated. He was starting to understand. Just starting. "How do I go there?"

"I'll take you." Eunice stood. "If that's okay, Max?"

"I'll leave him in your capable hands, Sister." Max stapled some papers. "I'm gonna need you to sign these, Mr. Howell." Timothy didn't argue this time, simply took the pen. "Mary Eunice here will see to your settling into your new domicile."

"Um." Timothy looked down at himself. "Will I -"

"You'll have clothes." Eunice patted his shoulder a little awkwardly. "You'll have everything you need. I promise."

"Oh." He took her proffered hands. "Do we -"

But he must have blinked before he finished his question, because when he opened his eyes, he was simply somewhere else.

A kitchen? He blinked, looking about. A small kitchen, specifically. Rather dark. Wooden floors creaked under his feet. There was a tiny breakfast style table, formica, with two red vinyl chairs. The stove looked worse for wear, but clean. A plaid sofa. Brown, unassuming recliner. A television. Through a door to his right, he glimpsed a double bed and end tables. Perhaps a chest of drawers? It was...simple. Rugged.

"Is this..."

"Waltham, Massachussetts." Eunice headed for the stove. Above it were several shelves and on one shelf, a coffee can. She took it down. "There's money in here. There always will be. Just what you need." She shook it. He heard the jingle of coin and the rustle of bills. Nodded. "And through here..." He followed her to his bedroom. A closet. She opened the creaky door and pulled a cord. "Clothes. They'll fit." The closet light flickered and a moth fluttered in. "Your bathroom has everything, too." An aside. "The shower leaks, so wrap a rag around it."

"Is this a..." He gestured. "A part of Purgatory?"

"For you, yes. But all showers are leaky in Purgatory." She pulled aside a faded curtain and pointed outside. "That's your car. It runs. Won't need anything." A dark green Nash Cosmopolitan. "Um..." She paused and looked around, thinking. "I believe that's about it. Everything works fine. Phone is in the kitchen by the backdoor. Oh! Your refrigerator. There will always be food in it." As if reading his mind, she leaned toward him. "Not fried chicken. But a chicken. You'll have to learn to cook."

He winced. "And...Jude?"

Eunice chuckled. "Also not in your refrigerator." He followed her back into the kitchen. She leaned against his table, faced him. "You have to live here. A life. You'll find Jude. You'll find everything you need. If you let yourself."

"Yes, I understand that." He rubbed his head. It was a lot to take in, really.

"Why don't you get yourself a shower. Get dressed. Go out. Find yourself that fried chicken. Maybe...grab a drink somewhere?"

"Wine?" That sounded divine, really. What wine paired well with fried chicken? Honestly, didn't matter.

"I don't know about wine." Eunice looked doubtful. "But...maybe."

He looked at his arms, wondered how he would go about covering this particular mistake. Eunice stood before him. "Oh, that." She murmured. "Here." Her hands slipped over his inner arms, not touching him. Warmth spread. His whole body tingled and suddenly - emotions. Suddenly tears, and fear and weakness. He bowed his head and her warm hands took his cheeks. "Timothy." He looked at her, unashamed of his tears. "I forgive you." His tears became heaves. "And it's okay to regret who you were." She let go his face and tilted his arms toward his face. "Not perfect, but...better?"

Two long, raised scars. "Much better," he whispered.

"Just wear sleeves." She patted his cheek. He nodded. "I'm going now. You have any questions?"

"Any you can answer?"

"Probably not."

He smiled falteringly. "I think I'll figure this out."

He'd never realized her eyes were so bright. She smiled softly. "I think you will, too." He closed his eyes in a silent prayer, a prayer of gratitude, and when he looked up - predictably - she was gone.

The little house was quiet. On top of the console television was a silver RCA radio. He flicked a dial experimentally. He was assailed by loud, bluesy, quickstep rock:

Wide wide hips

Sugar coated lips

Long blonde wavy hair

Scrambled for the volume control. It was on the side.

The way she walk

The way she talk

You know I won't lie

He managed to control the wailing, but froze at the lyrics spilling forth.

Got to get that lovin' down

She's my cutie named Judy

A cutie named Judy

I got a thang with

A cutie named Judy

A cutie named Judy

Now she my rock n' roll baby

Cuz she just came to town

Sloppy joe sweater

And a real tight skirt

He found a small smile spreading across his face. It seemed signs were everywhere. He turned the volume back up, and headed for his shower. Exploration was in order. And fried chicken.

The way she walk

You know it leave me hurt

Cuz she's a cutie named Judy

A new little cutie named Judy

Well she locked the doors

And she turned out the light

Ran right to me

And she held me tight

Yes, the shower leaked a bit but the water pressure was wonderful and the heat sparked the new found nerves in his skin. There was soap and a razor on a tray across the clawfoot tub. He regarded the razor for a moment too long, perhaps.

She's my cutie named Judy

A new little cutie named Judy

A fluffy cotton towel hung within arms reach outside the circling shower curtain. He toweled off briskly, still pleased with his repaired arms. The scars were bright pink from the shower but not as unpleasant as the gashes previous. Real second chances...

The clothes were straightforward. Black and khaki trousers. A few oxford shirts. In the tall chest of drawers were underwear and socks. Some soft v-neck tees. A few sets of cotton pajamas. Comfy things.

Judy Blue

Why are you so red?
Is it cause the thoughts in your mind

leave you feelin' sad?

The radio had switched tactics. Slow. Jazzy. He was tempted to snap along to this soulful singer's croon.

And why are you naked underneath my sheets?
You should be happy when you're with me

Judy,blue skies are waiting for you

His brows rose as he settled tugged down a tee. He hadn't listened to secular music in a long time. Seemed it was becoming far more...suggestive than it used to be.

You don't have to draw the curtain

To see the sun shine through

There's a lot of trouble

But you know I'll be holding you

The black trousers fit perfectly. He tucked his tee and slipped into a dove grey Oxford. A belt hung on a tie rack and he buckled it on. Was it cold outside? A black leather coat hung at back of the closet. He grabbed it just in case.

Judy, don't be red

Judy Blue Paris is waiting

And we don't have much time
Before the plane is leaving

He stepped into the black loafers and closed the closet. A full length mirror hung on the door and he cocked his head, staring at himself. When had he grown so old? Or was that regret marring his forehead, darkening beneath his eyes? He sighed. The coffee can held a wad of various bills and random coins. Didn't seem like much, but he trusted it was all he needed, as Eunice said. He stuffed it into his pocket.

Oh, you're so wonderful

Wonderful you are

Leave behind your stress

Just look into my eyes,

and You will find that

I'm I'm those blue skies,
that have been waiting for you

There was a fedora hanging on the coat rack by the door. Timothy cocked it on his head, took the keys from a little gold hook. He glanced back. Left the radio playing, and left his humble home.

You don't have to draw the curtain

To see my love shine through

There's a lot of trouble

But you know I'll be holding you

Judy, don't be red

Judy, blue skies are waiting for you

So the little house was white. A small screened porch with steps that led to a grassy corner lot. To the right, more blocks of houses - mostly darkened. To the left, a glow down the road that suggested civilization. The Nash cranked smoothly. He backed from his drive and turned toward the unknown.

He passed through a town center. Maine Street. He knew he wasn't far from Boston, familiar with the territory, but the big city atmosphere hadn't completely permeated this small town. He saw several restaurants, but they seemed to be as dark as the shopfronts. It wasn't until he'd reached the city limits he saw any sign of life: a sprawling brick building, surrounded by bright lamps and crawling with cars.

People gallivanted about, arm in arm, carousing. Yelling to one another. Some singing. Men. Women. Young. Old. Not a restaurant. Definitely a bar. But they might have food.

Or wine.

He found a parking place beneath a copse of trees at the edge of the crowded lot and made his way to the door. There seemed to be a door check. When he slipped inside, he was greeted by a woman on a tall stool. "It's a buck tonight, fella." She held out her hand. "Live show on Fridays."

He dug in his pocket and extracted the dollar. The woman looked vaguely familiar. Something about the mouth. A long, slim face. Bobbed, straight brown hair. He couldn't quite place the recognition. "You don't look familiar." She rubbed a stamp across the back of his hand.

"I just moved here," he explained.

"Huh." She gestured with her head for him to enter. "Welcome to Hathaway's."

Down a short set of steps to an expansive main floor. The bar was long, mirrored. He spotted three bartenders, nearly full stools. There were tables - at least 40. A band was tuning. Brass. Drums. A cello. Smoke rolled through the dimness. Timothy made his way to the end of the bar near the open dance floor. A tender was quick to spot him. "What'll it be, stranger?"

"Ah. Do you have wine?"

The bartender - pleasantly bald - laughed. "Fraid not, friend. Beer. Liquor. I got sodas and mixer. Tell ya what. I'll do half vodka half grape pop. That's like wine, right?"

Timothy blushed. "I'll take a beer, then."

"I'll grab ya a special."

The tables were filling up. People stood against walls. The bar was full already. This was a busy scene. A frosty beer appeared in front of him. Timothy tried to catch the foam before it dissipated. He hadn't tasted a beer since seminary... "Need a tab, stranger?"

"Please." Timothy nodded. "And...thank you." The bartender waved him off with a laugh. Not accustomed to manners. The beer was good. Cold. Fried chicken would have been better, but... He'd take what he could get.

There was a flourish from the band and a crowd surged forward to the tables. Applause. A cheer. The walls cleared. Every head at the bar turned to the dance floor. Timothy couldn't see over the sea of bouncing, straining heads. But he could hear.

A piano. Just a few introductory notes. Light strums from the cellist. A low, weepy trombone. And a sultry, smoky voice from an angel of lust.

This is a man's world

This is a man's world

But it wouldn't be nothing

Nothing without a woman or a girl

And if he gaped when he glimpsed her through the crowd - if his mouth suddenly salivated for more than fried chicken, if his fingers gripped the beer bottle a little too tightly longing to grip a swaying hip - then he supposed he was not alone. Every man in these four walls was in sync in that moment. Sunk. Like busted battleships in waves of want.

You see man made the cars

To take us over the road

Man made the train

To carry the heavy load

He knew that it was her. Only because his mind recognized her as her: the few glimpses of real her - real Jude. Her blonde hair gleamed now, golden like an angel's, curled over her shoulders. One curl captive in the wide red strap of her satin dress.

Man made the electric light

To take us out of the dark

Man made the boat for the water

Like Noah made the ark

He was reminded of the tale of Odysseus, of the Siren Circe and her song. How she'd lured weary and unwary sailors to their deaths. This woman could do that, he imagined. This Jude could kill with a chorus. As the smoke swirled around her like snakes, he studied her face. Her cheekbones. The strong jaw. The pure pout. Yes, it was Jude. But not his Jude.

This is a man's world

This is a man's world

But it wouldn't be nothing

Nothing without a woman or a girl

Her eyes he recalled were brown. Warm brown. He couldn't tell now, so far from her and with those eyes closed in song. He'd seen them angry, flashing fire. Betrayed, barely witholding tears. He'd seen them worship him once... He knew they hated him now. But he stared anyway.

Man think about a little bit of baby girls

And a baby boys

Man makes them happy

Cause man makes them toys

Her fingers drifted up the shaft of the microphone, caressed the silver and clutched when her voice deepened. She felt the song. He felt it, too. Felt that caress of her fingers. And when her eyes suddenly opened, they met his own.

And after man make everything everything he can

Even though the man makes money

To buy from other man

Cliches. Across crowded bars their eyes met. Love at first sight. Hate at a memory. Fate intervening. Cliches. In truth, she seemed not to recognize him. Even though a smirk spread, a coy flirt. She performed for him. But didn't know him. He felt something cold in his chest that wasn't the beer. Beneath the flirt lurked hurt. Some sadness marring imperfect perfection.

This is a man's world

This is a man's world

But it wouldn't be nothing

Nothing without a woman or a girl

He held her eyes for as long as he could. As long as she would allow before they drifted on, through the dancing couples, the crowded tables, catching other mens' eyes as they moved. He was simply one of them.

The lights dimmed on the stage as the song faded. She became a silver silhouette, hands slipping over hips until they clutched satin. A fall of curls obscured her face and she looked at the floor. Applause swallowed her, and Timothy swallowed pride.

Her voice again, just speaking this time, a lilting promise in darkness. He remembered that voice so well: worshiping, begging, accusing. It was still a husky, breathy unaccepted promise. "Thank you all far coming out tonight." Shouts in response. Whistles. Cat calls. "Who's gonna buy a lady a drink?" A seductive laugh precursed a rampant run on the bar and he braced himself against the wall. "Thanks, fellahs." The light rose again and she looked back at the band, snapping time. "Let's wake 'em up."

Drums upped tempo. Horns danced. And her body became completely visible to him as the crowds parted in dance. He really wished it hadn't.

They tried to make me go to rehab but I said no no no

Yes I've been black but when I come back you'll know know know

I ain't got the time and if my daddy thinks I'm fine

He's tried to make me go to rehab but I won't go go go

Her legs alone had to be sin incarnate. Long and lean and tan. She lifted and shifted the layered skirt as she moved to the beat, Medusan curls shaking.

I'd rather be at home with Ray

I ain't got seventy days

Cause there's nothing

There's nothing you can teach me

That I can't learn from Mr. Hathaway

At first she thought he pointed at him, but no. It was the bartender just behind him. The pleasant bald fellow. The owner? Hathaway's, right? He gave Timothy a wink and dropped another beer before him. He'd not realized the first one was empty.

I didn't get a lot in class

But I know it don't come in a shot glass

When he looked back to the stage, Jude was gone, along with the microphone. He followed her voice and saw her amongst the tables, plucking raised glasses or shots from eager hands. She was a force, downing brown libation between lyrics. He scowled to see those eager hands occasionally taking her own, or worse - brushing a hip.

Yes I've been black but when I come back you'll know know know

I ain't got the time and if my daddy thinks I'm fine

He's tried to make me go to rehab but I won't go go go

But Jude didn't seem bothered by the groping. In fact, she swayed into them. Sat on a few laps. Kissed a few foreheads. Swirled beneath a few arms. She absorbed their ardor and redirected it, let it feed her coveted curves. She worked them, bending suggestively to let them tuck bills into the low cut neckline of that bastard dress or beneath a purposefully exposed garter. He felt predictable jealousy creeping alongside something unpredictable: worry.

He said "I just think you're depressed"

This me "Yeah, baby, and the rest"

Any one of these men - these lecherous beasts - could hurt her. What if there were some sorts of drugs in those drinks? What if one of them simply took a knife to her throat, snapped her neck like a swan's? Who would protect her? He looked around. It did seem there were a couple of toughs here and there, watching closely. And the long-faced familiar from the door watched, too, a knowing smile.

Yes I've been black but when I come back you'll know know know..

Timothy gestured to Hathaway who popped over quickly with another beer. "Doin' alright there, stranger?"

"I'm fine." He hooked a thumb behind. "Does she sing here every night?"

"Judy?" The bartender shrugged. "Nah. Thursday, Friday and Saturday. She's a real crowd-pleaser."

"I can tell."

I don't ever wanna drink again

I just, ohh I just need a friend

I'm not gonna spend ten weeks

Have everyone think I'm on the mend

It's not just my pride

It's just till these tears have dried

He ceased watching Jude. It pained him somehow, to see her so objectified. So debased that she would allow herself to be ogled by their eyes, raped by their incessantly pawing hands. He wondered if she took them as lovers and the beer rose in his throat.

They tried to make me go to rehab but I said no no no

Yes, I've been black but when I come back you'll know know know

I ain't got the time and if my daddy thinks I'm fine

He's tried to make me go to rehab but I won't go go go

The music stopped and the club darkened again. Timothy realized that yes, the second beer was indeed gone. He sought his out-of-practice mind for the buzz of alcohol, but didn't recognize it yet. Not a good sign. He started sipping the third one. Found it highly unlikely he would even be able to see her, let alone speak to her. Worried she didn't even know him. He'd expected more of a reaction when she saw his face - not to simply be another of the lecherous masses. Frankly, it disgusted him. What had become of his rare bird?

Never know how much I love you

Never know how much I care

When you put your arms around me

I get a fever that's so hard to bear

You give me fever when you kiss me

Fever when you hold me tight

Fever in the morning

Fever all through the night

She was singing again. A sticky, sweltering song. He wouldn't look. Didn't turn from the bar. He would finish this beer and leave. Perhaps it wasn't meant to be. Perhaps she was so far gone in this limbo she couldn't be reached. He rubbed at his eyes. And perhaps he was, too. That whatever Eunice had spoken of - that something they were both looking for - was so lost it could never be found.

Sun lights up the daytime

Moon lights up the night

I light up when you call my name

And you know I'm going to treat you right

You give me fever when you kiss me

Fever when you hold me tight

Fever in the morning

Fever all through the night

He felt his hat lifted from his head and turned, a finger raised to accuse thievery and it was - "Jude!" But she didn't hear him. Singing still, she cocked his hat upon her own head, eyes cat creases as she slithered against him. "Uh..." Words failed. Her dress slipped against his knee and he could feel the softness of her curves beneath it. "Um."

Everybody's got the fever

That is something you all know

Fever isn't such a new thing

Fever started long ago

She took hold of his still-raised finger, twirled herself slowly beneath his arm until she was insinuated between his legs. The brim of his fedora cast a shadow on her lovely cheek. He wanted to trace the angle of the darkness to the light on her red, red lips...but she moved so swiftly, so smoothly, wrapping the beer-bereft hand over her shoulder until he loosely embraced her. His fingers itched.

Romeo loved Judy

Judy she felt the same

When he put his arms around her he said

Judy Baby, you're my flame

Thou giveth fever

When we kisseth

She turned to face him, still not a sign of knowledge on her flirting face. Ran hot hands down the inside of his thighs from groin to knee, dipping, undulating Jezebel. "Jude," he whispered, still unheard and she was just as quickly gone - plucked his beer as she sauntered on. "Er..." She still wore his hat.

Fever with thy flaming youth

Fever, I'm afire

Fever, yeah I burn, forsooth

Obscured again by the dimness on stage she breathed into the mic. "Hot in here, ladies and gents." Laughter. "Let's take a break, eh? Let Mr. Hathaway wet those whistles and...whatever else needs ta get wet tonight."

She left the stage. Another run on the bar. Timothy lost sight of her in the crowd again. Turned back to the bar flustered and frustrated. His heart beat fast in his chest and his cheeks burned. She was most certainly a temptress in her element. Was this Jude? Before Sister Jude? He'd known she had a past, but never imagined...this. Although it would explain the drinking, he supposed. And the slip. He closed his eyes tightly against memories of the slip. Red as the dress she wore tonight, red as the blood of Christ. Maybe redder.

The feelings of loss resurfaced as Hathaway slid another beer before him. He had no energy or compunction to refuse. Felt the oppressive spirit of all the surrounding spirits drowning in spirits flowing over him.

And then his hat. Placed back on his head.

"Nice hat." She was beside him. All tallness and red-draped satin creature shiny with sweat. "Clear off," she groused, gesturing to the gent on his neighboring barstool who complied with a gulp and a nod. Her hip cocked onto the stool and brought the rest of her with it. He tried not to stare at the swath of leg and thigh revealed by dress slit but failed. She tilted his chin up to meet her eyes, an amused glimmer dancing there and they were as brown as he recalled. "And thanks far the beer."

"Jude." He spoke clearly. Insistently. Sought Jude in her face.

She laughed, deep and sexy. "Jude? That was a saint." She lit a cigarette. "I ain't." Her lips quirked. Legs crossed. One bumped up against his own suggestively. "It's just Judy."

"Judy," he repeated. "Do you remember me?"

She cocked her head, blew her smoke away from his face. "Hmmm. I'm afraid not, fellah." She leaned toward him. "But I hope we had a good time."

His face burned. "Jude. It's Timothy. Timothy Howard. Monsignor Howard."

"Monsignor?" Her face betrayed surprise. "Well, I'm sorry, Fathah." She started to slide from the stool. "I don't recall ya. But I apologize for stealin' yar hat like that. I'll just -"

"No!" He grabbed her arm, stilling her. "No. I'm not...well, I'm not the Monsignor anymore. I'm not - not even in the church. But we - we knew each other." His soul begged for hers. Pined for her to know him - even if to hate him, rail at him, slap his face and spit fire.

"Been a long time since I've been to church, Timothy. You did say Timothy?"

"Yes."

"Judy, ya need anything?" Hathaway had appeared before them.

"Nah, Johnny. I'm good far now." She slipped the bartender a folded wad of bills. "That should be my tab."

"Thanks, Judy. Couple more nights like this one and you'll be back on the house."

"That'll be a truly blessed day." She grinned. "You agree, Father Timothy?"

"Judy...I need to speak with you."

She regarded him curiously. "Yar a peculiar one, ya know that?" She reached for his face and he watched her pull a long, curly blonde hair from his hat brim. "What we got ta talk about, baby?"

"I've come here to find you. I needed to find you."

"Well." She spread her elbows onto the bar behind her, pushing out a rather glorious pair of breasts. "Here I am."

"Where can we speak in private?"

"In private?" Her brow cocked. She looked him up and down, considering. A wry, knowing smile graced her face. It wasn't exactly a pleasant smile. "How 'bout you take me ta dinner after the show, huh? I haven't had a bite all day. And then maybe we'll see about...talking. In private."

"Of course!" She obviously knew where food could be found. "I would love to. Jude - Judy, it's... it's good to see you. I mean, to meet you."

The peculiar look remained. "Good to meet you, too, Timothy." She stepped down from her seat. "I got another set. Wait here far me? After the show?"

"I will."

"Yeah." She looked back over her shoulder. "I bet you will."

He tried to ignore the wind of excitement in his shoulders. True, she hadn't remembered him, but she'd felt so beautifully familiar. Her skin was warm and soft, warm like Eunice's had been. And her smile - while suspicious - had been familiar, as well. A rare thing that had once been contagious to him. Jude's smiles, shy and idolizing, were not quite the same as Judy's confident seductions, but they were smiles just the same. And he'd missed them.

He watched her again when she took the stage. This time content to linger at the mic stand. Another slow medley.

She may not be the best lookin' woman

I ever did see

Nor have the charms of the ladies

Of high society

But the woman's got soul

Worth all money and gold

And all the love that I have belongs

To the woman with soul

So was Jude's soul salvageable? Was his own? Could he find her again, deep within this vixen in satin? Could he make her see his regret, his sorrow?

Now I'm just a regular fellow

I don't need much

I don't need a Cadillac car

Or diamonds and such

But the woman that I hold

She's got to have soul

And then I'm richer than the richest gold

If the woman's got soul

He supposed, lips pursing in thought, if he couldn't find Jude again... He could do as Eunice suggested. Do good. Good for this woman. Feed her, at least, tonight. Get to know her.

Well, I don't need a woman

That's got a whole lot of class

Because class in a woman

Don't mean she's gonna last

I need a kind of woman

That when I hold, she fits up tight, yeah

Oh, and when she throws it on me

I give in without a fight

He wondered and his mind wandered. Unbidden. Would Judy fit up tight? Was this woman capable of love, of adoration, as his Jude had been? What are we here for if not to save souls? She had asked him once. So he asked now. Was he here to save her soul? Or his own?

Then I know the woman's got soul

Worth all money and gold

And then I'm richer than the richest gold

If the woman's got soul

If the woman's got soul

If the woman's got soul

If the woman's got soul

Or perhaps there was some deeper connection between their two souls. The thing Mary Eunice had spoken of. What was it? What could it be?

"Well, if ya don't have a dancin' partner, now's the time ta grab one!" She was speaking from stage, holding another drink. "And this one goes out to my inconscionable lesbian friend and certified handler. " He followed her point to the familiar long-faced woman near the door. "Valerie. What the hell would I do without ya?"

Well sometimes I go out by myself

And I look across the water

And I think of all the things, what you're doing

And in my head I paint a picture

More upbeat this tune. Couples took the floor in droves. Tables were emptied and pushed back, becoming a cluster.

Since I've come on home

Well my body's been a mess

And I've missed your ginger hair

And the way you like to dress

Won't you come on over

Stop making a fool out of me

Why don't you come on over, Valerie?

She'd taken to the floor again, dancing now with the long-faced woman. Smooth, swing moves in and out, smiling widely. They were obviously familiar. Friendly. And a new, devastating worry descended. Was Jude...gay? The molotov maven who'd earlier stroked his thighs and seemed bent on seducing every man in the room? It was inconceivable.

Valerie

Valerie

Valerie

Did you have to go to jail

Put your house on up for sale, did you get a good lawyer?

I hope you didn't catch a ten

I hope you find the right man who'll fix it for you

And are you shopping anywhere

Changed the color of your hair, are you busy?

And did you have to pay that fine

That you were dodging all the time, are you still dizzy?

Valerie released her, moved on to dance with another woman and a small relief flooded his chest. Friends danced together, didn't they? Women danced with women in Purgatory, it seemed. And outside of it. Strange, he thought, considering Jude's no-nonsense approach to homosexuality at Briarcliff. Had that been but a facade? Was Jude but a facade? Judy in a habit, hiding from herself?

Since I've come on home

Well my body's been a mess

And I've missed your ginger hair

And the way you like to dress

Won't you come on over

Stop making a fool out of me

Why don't you come on over, Valerie?

Valerie

Valerie

Valerie

Valerie

Hell, had Monsignor Timothy Howard been a facade? A great fraudulent fake who'd secretly and painfully enjoyed his forced deflowering? Some fattened phony who'd imagined this siren sister of the church clad in the sanguine trappings of lust, writhing beneath his hypocritical hips? Seething under his pietist lips? Was he truly no better than the lecherous masses? He needed another beer.

But there was no time because his stool spun. He was grabbed. The siren sister took his hands and pulled, pulled him to newborn feet. She smiled at him. Winked. He had no idea how to dance and it showed, so he simply let her take control. A few steps forward. A few steps back. Their old dance. She took the initiative to spin herself and her skirt flared against his thighs. She laughed so freely when he put a hand on her hip, tried to take her arm in a more traditional step. She sang - perhaps to him this time.

Well sometimes I go out by myself

And I look across the water

And I think of all the things, what you're doing

And in my head I paint a picture

She was light and lithe. Mostly light. It reflected off of her hair, her dress. She smelled like smoke and bourbon and sweat. Kissed his hands before smoothly releasing him. He stood a statue as she danced back to stage, stilled by her breathless besieging. She beguiled him.

Since I've come on home

Well my body's been a mess

And I've missed your ginger hair

And the way you like to dress

Won't you come on over

Stop making a fool out of me

Why don't you come on over, Valerie?

Valerie

She bowed. Blew kisses. The crowd loved her. And when she exited the stage, they waited. Whistling, clapping and stamping their feet until she returned moments later. "One last song," she breathed into the mic. "Since you've all been so damn sweet ta me tonight. And it's late, so I'm gonna sing ya ta sleep on this one...if any of ya are sleepin' tonight."

I remember you-ooh

You're the one who made my dreams come true

A few kisses ago

I remember you-ooh

You're the one who said "I love you, too"

Yes, I do, didn'tcha know?

Couples danced slowly this time. Heads on shoulders. Drifting. Her voice was softer, maybe tired. Her eyes softer, maybe tired. And they met his, boldly this time, doubtlessly.

I remember, too, a distant bell and stars that fell

Like the rain out of the blue-ooh-ooh-ooh-hoo-hoo-hoo

When my life is through

And the angels ask me to recall

The thrill of it all

Then I will tell them I remember you-ooh

So...did she remember him? She'd seemed too genuine earlier. There'd been no deceitful bearing in her body, her expression. Just a song, he imagined. Any song to end the evening. He would know soon enough. Over dinner. When he could speak to her as they'd once done in the kitchens of Briarcliff, alone, sharing his empty, vacuous dreams; making futile, irrelevant plans. But now, they could be different.

I remember, too, a distant bell and stars that fell

Just like the rain out of the blue-ooh-ooh-ooh-hoo-hoo-hoo

When my life is through

And the angels ask me to recall

The thrill of it all

Then I will tell them I remember, tell them I remember

Tell them I remember you

If she truly didn't remember...they could be different.

Judy left with a deep bow. The band continued playing and Timothy had no doubt this bar would be open for some time. Swinging like the dancers. Slinging libations to the wee hours.He gestured to Hathaway. Settled his tab. His stomach growled. He waited for Jude. No, Judy. "Judy," he repeated to himself, reminding. "Judy."

"That's my name. Don't wear it out...yet." She was there just suddenly. Had heard him speaking. He blushed hotly. Again. "We still on far dinner, Tim?" That twinkle.

"Yes." He stood. Surprisingly not wobbly from the beers he'd embibed. "I'm...starving."

"Chicken and waffles okay? 'Bout all that's open right now is Nana's." She jerked her head. "Down the road apiece."

"Fried chicken?" He asked.

"What other kinda chicken goes with waffles?" She took his hat again. "Come on. We gotta sneak outta here before I get accosted."

"Accosted?"

She was pulling him through the crowd. "You think yar the only fellah wants ta take me out far dinner tonight?" Laughter. At the door, she paused, threw arms around Valerie. "Val, baby! Thanks far dancing with me!"

"Tryna get me in trouble." Valerie pulled back, held her at arms length. "If Missy finds out -"

"Yeah, tell Missy I said hi, would ya?" Jude kissed Val's cheek wetly, left a significant red stain. "I'll see ya tomorrow."

"Right on, Judy." She took Timothy's arm as they made to exit, stopping him. "Look here, stranger." She cocked her head at Jude. "Be good to her. Or I'll fuckin' end you."

"I - I will." He believed this woman. Her intense green eyes didn't play games.

"Val's just bein' over protective." Jude poked her friend in the ribs. "Ya know they say God watches out far drunks and fools? Well, so does Val. Come on, Tim. I'm gonna pass out from a lack of waffles."

She wasn't lying. A few men called out to her in the parking lot. She laughed, ignoring them. Even the one who shouted 'Marry me!' "Run, Tim! Where'd ya park?"

"This way!" He did run, tugging her along. A light rain had started to fall. He opened the Nash's passenger door for her. Watched her settle inside.

The car started as smoothly as he expected. She put his hat back on his head and shook her curls. "This weather's gonna do a real numbah on my hair." From her red bag she extracted a black and white scarf and tied it on over her hair. For just a flash, he saw his old Jude emerge. It gave him pause. She noticed, turning to him. "You okay?"

"Yes." He pulled around the building at her instruction, occasionally waiting for stumbling drunks or rowdy carousers to cross before them.

"Left on the main highway," she said. A heavy sigh. "Good show tonight."

"You were fantastic." He allowed, not looking at her, but the road.

"Aw, thanks, Tim." She poked his arm. "Yar dancin' could use some work."

"I'll practice." He found the windshield wipers.

"What was yar favorite song?" She asked. She turned on the seat, fully involved in conversing as he drove.

"Um..." He thought a moment. Answered honestly. "I liked the one where we danced."

"Yeah?" She regarded him. "I liked that one, too. Only about four miles up here on the left," she pointed vaguely. "Place called Nana's. You'll see the sign."

"Thank you."

Jude - no, Judy - chuckled. "You sure are a different type of fellah, Tim."

"Oh? How so?"

She shrugged. "I dunno. Polite, far one. And ya haven't felt me up yet. So that's refreshing."

He blushed. "I would never."

"Nevah?" She asked. "That might be disappointing."

"Never against a lady's will," he specified, cracking a smile of his own. He was relaxing. Her joviality seemed to force it.

"Lady?!" She slapped the back of her seat laughing. "Now I know ya aren't from around here!"

"I happen to think you are quite a lady." He glanced at her. "Who just happens to be very beautiful. And talented."

She sobered. Well, not really sobered. He could tell she was tipsy. But she grew serious. "That's sweet, Tim. Ya mean it?"

"I always say what I mean." But he hadn't, had he? "Or...I'm starting to."

"Yeah. Me too." She looked out his window. Cleared her throat. "Thanks far taking me out."

He considered, and asked anyway. "Do...do many men take you out like this?"

"A gal's gotta eat," she replied. She produced a mirror and checked her reflection. Refreshed her lipstick. He ignored it. "But I'll say yar a damn sight nicer company than them." Put the mirror away. "Handsome." Her fingertip brushed his ear and he knew the red flush devoured his entire head. "Oh, there!"

He saw the sign. A big, blinking one. Nana's Eats n' Treats. He wondered what the treats were. Parked the Nash under an awning, conscious of her hair woes. She started to open her door and he stopped her. "Wait."

She whistled lowly when he opened the door for her. "A real gentleman." She took his arm. "I'll try ta live up ta yar ladylike expectations."

Nana's menu was a dream come true. Fried chicken. Salisbury steak. Pork chops. Beef stew. Pancakes. Waffles. Bacon. Eggs of all kinds. And desserts on the back. Chocolate, apple, and strawberry pie. Shakes. Splits. Floats.

A perky, young black waitress took their order. Chicken and waffles all around and two Cokes. Jude extracted a flask from her purse and poured bourbon in hers. Offered it to Timothy, who declined. "You must think I'm a mess," she murmured.

"It's not my place to pass judgment." He'd thought it was once.

"Not gonna throw the first stone, huh?"

"Not I." He smiled.

"You said you were a priest once."

"I was."

"Near here?"

"For a time." He spread a hand on the slightly sticky table. "And then, I was in charge of a mental institution."

"That musta been fun."

"It was not." He grinned.

"That must be where you recognized me from." Judy joked. "I've been told I belong in a few nut huts."

"You...very much reminded me of someone there, yes." At her offended expression, he clarified. "Someone who worked there."

"Ah! I get ya." She unwrapped her silverware. Laid her napkin in her lap. "Somebody ya liked?"

"I liked her very much, yes."

She leaned forward conspiratorially. "Yar girlfriend?"

"No. Not at all." He smiled. "She was a nun."

Judy slapped his hand. "Stop funnin'! I reminded you of a fuckin' nun?!"

"You did! You do, actually."

She ripped the scarf from her head, let curls spill and frizz. "Bettah?"

"Less nun-like now, yes."

"So what happened to her?"

He blinked. Looked to the napkin dispenser. "I...did something horrible to her. I abandoned her in that place. Left her to die. As a patient. She didn't belong there."

"Christ, Tim." Judy exhaled loudly. "That wasn't very gentlemanly of ya."

"No. It wasn't." He met her eyes again. "I regret it very deeply. With...my entire being, actually."

"Why'd ya do that?" She asked softly, looking at her hands in her lap.

"I was...a corrupt man. I allowed myself to be blackmailed. I believed the wrong people. They accused Jude of murder and I...did not fight for her. And even after I suspected - after I knew the truth - I was so deeply tangled in a web of lies I couldn't extract myself or her. I was ambitious. Stupid. I longed for power in the church and when I achieved it...I lost my humanity."

"Jude. That's why you called me that." Judy's brown eyes were miry. "So she died in that place?"

"No." He shook his head. "I'm told she had a lovely ending."

"Who told ya that?"

A curious question. "A mutual friend."

"Oh." Their waitress was back with plates heaped with golden fried chicken and hot buttery waffles. "An angel appears!" Judy grinned.

"This looks...amazing." Timothy stood on no ceremony and bit into a chicken wing. He felt his eyes roll back in his head. Moaned. Spoke with his mouth full. "This is the second best chicken I've ever eaten."

Judy was sopping her waffles with syrup. "Second best?" She laughed.

He nodded. "The best chicken I've ever eaten...was prepared by the nun you remind me of."

Judy winked at him. "Betcha I can top her chicken and this chicken."

"I have no doubt you could." He hedged his bets. "You'll have to prove it to me sometime."

"Well." She wiped her mouth. Avoided his eyes. "I kinda don't have a stove at the moment."

"I have a stove."

A laugh. "Of course you do!"

They ate with hearty appetites. Ordered chocolate pie for dessert. Judy grew quieter as they ate. Seemed thoughtful. She didn't speak again until Timothy paid their bill. He tipped generously. "Thank you," she said quietly.

"My pleasure."

"I hope it will be." She gave him a rather shaky smile, making him wonder.

The rain had started falling in earnest. In the safe confines of the little Nash, Judy cleared her throat. "I'm staying at the Blue Moon. D'you know it?"

"I'm afraid not."

"It's close." She pointed. "Right on the main highway. It's just past Hathaway's."

He drove slower in the rain, windshield wipers struggling against the deluge. Judy mostly stared out the window. Still quiet. Timothy flipped on the car's stereo. A jazzy tune serenaded their drive. Hathaway's was still in full swing when they drove past it. "Impressive," he muttered.

"Yeah. Friday night." She cleared her throat nervously. "Hey. Slow up a bit. Turn down this next right, kay?"

It was a service road, it seemed. Long and dark. They passed a cemetery and Timothy's forehead creased. Surely she didn't stay in someplace so dismal as this? The road ended in a densely treed cul de sac. "Um..." He stopped.

Judy was rifling in her purse. Looked up. "Pull in between those trees over there. See?"

He could barely see. Followed her instructions. She'd extracted a hand-rolled cigarette. He switched off the ignition, allowing the radio to play on. Terribly nervous for some reason. She seemed nervous, too, though. Uncertainty reigned. "Hey." She nudged his elbow. "You smoke?"

"Occasionally." He hadn't had a cigarette in probably a year. Her Zippo flared and she took a drag. "Oh!" He immediately recognized the pungent odor of marijuana. "You meant..."

"Yeah." She was holding her draw, voice strained. Passed him the joint.

"Um..." He held it. Took a tiny, terrified toke. It burned, and he coughed. Couldn't seem to stop coughing. "Christ, that's -"

"Good shit, huh?" She took the joint back, laughing at him. "I take it you don't smoke this occasionally."

"I've never tried it."

"You okay with it?" She attempted respect.

"It's a bit rough."

"What? You don't like it rough?" She laughed again. Seemed much more relaxed now. He blushed. "Here. I'll help you out." She took a deep drag. "Open yar mouth."

"What?"

She gestured for him to lean closer, still holding her breath, and grabbed the back of his head. Her lips were incredibly close to his and she exhaled smoke directly into his mouth. He took it in smoothly once he caught her drift. "Bettah?"

He held his breath - her breath - learning her tricks. He nodded. The stereo supplied a bluesy number.

You know I need your love, you got that hold over me

Long as I got your love, you know that I'll never leave

When I wanted you to share my life, I had no doubt in my mind

And it's been you, woman, right down the line

"That's rather..." He searched for verbiage. Was feeling much less nervous. He reached for the joint. "I think I've got this now."

She chuckled. "Like riding a bicycle."

He took a drag. "I've never done that either." And for some reason, that was hilarious. They laughed easily, hard. "But this seems less dangerous than bike riding."

I know how much I lean on you, only you can see

Changes that I've been through have left their mark on me

You've been as constant as a northern star, the brightest light that shines

It's been you, woman, right down the line

Judy was holding again. "Depends on traffic, I guess."

"Traffic!" He spluttered. That was hilarious, too. His next drag was much smoother.

"Speaking of traffic," she gestured about them. "I like yar car."

"Yes. It has wheels."

"Thank God!" She spluttered on a loud guffaw.

"Although with this weather, perhaps a boat would be more appropriate." The rain was really coming down now. Another drag.

"I like the rain," Judy murmured. "It washes everything nice and clean."

"Except for your mouth." The jab was quick and unplanned. He surprised himself with it. But she laughed until her eyes teared. The laughter was contagious.

I just wanna say this is my way

Of telling you everything I could never say before

Yeah, this is my way

Of telling you that every day I'm loving you so much more

"My fucking filthy mouth!" She took another drag and offered it back. He passed this time. She flipped open the ashtray beneath the stereo and settled the joint inside.

"Judy?"

"Hm?"

"What are we doing here?"

'Cause you believed in me through my darkest night

Put something better inside of me, you brought me into the light

Threw away all those crazy dreams, I put them all behind

And it was you, woman, right down the line

She looked suddenly shy. It was a surprising change. "I can't have men at my motel."

"Ah." He was relieved on the one hand. Frightened on the other. Her familiarity with this place was a bit daunting. How often did she do this? And with who? "You know, we could - woah!" She was on his lap so suddenly he couldn't really process what was happening.

"We could what?" She asked, unbuttoning his oxford.

He grabbed her hands. "We could just - Judy!" She pulled her hands away and attacked his belt. "Stop." He grabbed her hands again.

I just wanna say this is my way

Of telling you everything I could never say before

Yeah, this is my way

Of telling you that every day I'm loving you so much more

"Need me ta slow down?"

"I need you...I need you to..." He looked at her face. Bare wonder. She was so vulnerable. So...broken? He touched her cheek. "Just stop." But she was so beautiful. He touched her other cheek. Held her face. He could feel her quick, warm breaths on his thumbs. "Jude..." He leaned in. He wanted to kiss her.

If I should doubt myself, if I'm losing ground

I won't turn to someone else, they'd only let me down

When I wanted you to share my life, I had no doubt in my mind

And it's been you, woman, right down the line

Her fingers were fast and firm against his mouth. "I don't kiss." She said quickly. "It's nothing personal. It's just...personal."

"You don't kiss." Her hands were back in his lap, working open his trousers. He was finding it hard to resist her. And his traitorous body was giving him away quite clearly. He hissed when her hand stroked his hardness. Bent his head beneath her chin. "Jude."

She did press a soft kiss to the back of his head. "Don't call me that, baby."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, either." She slid her hands up her thighs, hiking red dress. He couldn't resist stroking her legs, fingers finding garters. "Still want me to stop?"

He kissed her neck. She didn't protest. "Want?" He asked against her pulse. She smelled faintly of gardenia - a smell he remembered fondly. "No." A deep, harsh breath. He caught her hands drifting back to his crotch. "But I need you to stop."

"Don't ya want me?" She sounded hurt.

He couldn't look at her. "Of course I do, Judy. You've no idea." He chuffed a frustrated laugh. "But...not like this."

"D'ya wanna jump in the backseat?"

When he looked up, her eyes were very wet. "Judy. Please...tell me this isn't how you thank men for dinner."

"Not all men." She whispered. "But I like ya. A lot. And besides...this is all I got."

"No, it isn't." He felt tears in his own eyes. Felt strangely crushed. "You can have me." He tugged her dress down over her thighs, tempered his desire admirably. He wanted to hug her. Hold her. But something had got in the way now.

She climbed awkwardly off of his lap. Fixed her dress. Touched at her hair.

"Judy."

"Just take me home, please." Her tone brooked no argument.

He buttoned himself up and started the car, feeling completely defeated. The drive was more awkward than he could have imagined and she stared ahead the entire time. Not once looked at him.

I may not always love you

But long as there are stars above you

You never need to doubt it

I'll make you so sure about it

God only knows what I'd be without you

The Blue Moo (the neon 'n' on the sign was burned out) Motel was visible from the highway. It was a sad looking affair. Dark, small rooms with tattered curtains and dirty windows. It didn't look inviting at all. Timothy frowned.

"I'm in 12." Judy pointed. She already had her purse collected. Her scarf re-tied around her hair. She was ready to flee. He pulled into an empty slot near room 12. The '2' hung upside down on her door, a question mark.

If you should ever leave me

Though life would still go on believe me

The world could show nothing to me

So what good would living do me

God only knows what I'd be without you

God only knows what I'd be without you

"Judy-"

"Timothy." She held up a hand, hushing him. "I thank ya far everything tonight. You've been a real gentleman."

He took her raised hand in his. It was still warm. "Judy, I'd like to see you again."

She didn't look at him. In profile, he could see her bitten lip. "I - I don't think that's a good idea."

His throat burned. "Don't say that."

"Tim...you don't belong here." She slid her fingers from his.

"No!" He took her hand again, insistent. Persistent. "It is you who does not belong here, Judy. Please. See me again. I can explain. I want to help you."

If you should ever leave me

Well life would still go on believe me

The world could show nothing to me

So what good would living do me

God only knows what I'd be without you

God only knows what I'd be without you...

"Help me?!" Her brown eyes held bright blue light when she finally looked at him. "Help me what?"

"I - I don't know exactly."

Bitter laughter. "Yeah. That sounds about right." She opened his door, froze when she started to leave the car. "Oh, shit."

"What?" He followed her eyeline. "Who is that?"

She sighed deeply. "The hotel manager."

"What can he possibly want this late?"

"Money." She looked back into the car at him one more time. "Timothy. Do yarself a favah. Get the hell out of town. Ya don't belong here. And whatevah help ya think ya came here ta give me? Farget it. I can't be helped." His door slammed.

He watched her step underneath the hotel awning, accosted by a short balding man who seemed...angry. He watched her shake her head, hands pleading. The manager's head shook, as well. His animated hands were busily counting his fingers.

"Dammit." Timothy muttered. Whether she wanted his help or not... He stepped out of the car, approaching.

"Timothy! I said get outta here!" She insisted.

"No men allowed, Judy!" The manager reminded. "I won't tell ya again!"

"I'm not staying." Timothy raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I'm simply invested in the lady's well-being."

"Oh, far Christ's sake..." Judy turned away, hand to her face.

The manager laughed. "Yeah? You and how many other fellas? Her well-being owes me 12 dollars back rent and another 40 if she wants to stay this week. So just how invested are ya, buddy?"

He trusted Eunice's words and extracted the last of the bills in his pocket. "Here."

"Timothy, don't do this." Judy tried to stop his hand, but the manager was quick to grab the money. "I can't...I can't pay ya back."

The manager had counted quickly. "Well, well, well Judy. Ya finally found the right sugar daddy fer the job, eh?" He chuckled. "I'm almost sad. I was gonna work out a deal with ya could benefit both of us, but -"

"How dare you -" Timothy started toward the man, completely uncertain what his full intention of confrontation was, but completely certain it at least involved punching.

"Don't!" Jude stepped in front of him. "Stop, Tim. Not worth it."

The manager laughed. "I dunno, Judy. Maybe ya are worth it. Must be some kind of ride. This one thinks so. Yer good til next Friday." He was walking back to the dim office. Turned for a final dig. "Tell ya what. Since this one's green, I'll make an exception. He can stay. Maybe ya can make next week's rent on time that way."

Her face cast down, she turned to her door. Hand shook as she tried to insert her key. "Judy." He reached for her face. She pulled away. "Jude, look at me."

"Stop callin' me that!" He heard the tears in her voice.

"I'm sorry!" But he took her chin firmly, turned her eyes to his. It wasn't rain streaking her face. "Judy. You are worth it. You are worth very much to me."

She extracted her face from his grip. "Yeah? You comin' in, then? So I can finally earn my keep?"

"Don't say that."

"Why'd ya do it?" She'd managed to open her door, stood in the jamb. "Ya don't want me as yar whore. I'm not the type of woman men like you have any other way. I'm not yar bird, so I -"

And suddenly tears were on his own face. "You were, once." He interrupted firmly. Stepped into her space. "You were once, Judy." His fingers caressed the white edges of scarf framing her face. Most of her makeup gone, she looked more like his Jude than ever. "You were my rara avis."

She stared at him. Hurt? Lost? "What's that mean?"

He swallowed. "My rare bird."

"Timothy." Now her hand touched his face, traced the tears there as his traced hers. "I don't know who you think I am. But there's nothing rare about me. And I'm not her." Her lips trembled. "Although ya goddamn well make me wish I was."

Kissing her seemed the right thing to do. What she'd told him in the car was forgotten. He took her lips firmly with his own, thrilled to the taste of bourbon and salt on her lips. And they were soft lips. Plump with sorrow. He ached with regret. Regret that she'd forgotten him. Regret that she was so miserably broken now. Regret that he'd broken her.

So there was apology in his kiss. And in hers...he couldn't quite decipher. Something simply empty. No recognition. No desire. Certainly no forgiveness. He pulled away slowly, opening his eyes to see hers staring.

Not staring at him, per se. Just staring. As empty as her kiss had been. Her hand fell limp to her side. "Judy?"

"I think you should go." She stepped over the threshold into blackness. He watched her helplessly. "And Timothy?"

"Yes?"

"Take my advice. Get the fuck out of here." Her door closed in his face, questioning 2 swinging.

His little house felt incredibly empty. Bereft. His little radio was not helping.

Of all the people in the world that I know

You're the best place to go when I cry, when I cry

I never asked for much before, not before

Things are changed: I need more

Tell me why Judy why

He leaned against the television console. Palms flat. "I can't." He closed his eyes and knelt. A prayer before this darkened screen. "I can't reach her." And he was deeply sad. Like he hadn't felt before sadness. He let the sadness generate the weakness and wept. Hard. As hard as he imagined her weeping.

I never thought that she would say, say goodbye

But she did, and now I want to die,

I want to die I never thought that

I would need, need a friend

Oh, but I did in the end

Tell me why Judy why

Oh what a scene

It's wrong for her to hang me up this way

Oh, where've you been?

"Believe it or not, this is a good sign."

He whirled on his knees to the soft voice behind him. "Sister!" Mary Eunice sat on his couch, hands folded primly in her lap.

"Timothy." She offered him a handkerchief. He cleaned up his face, knee-walked to Eunice's lap and put penitent hands on her knees.

"I've already failed."

"Have you?" She asked. "Wow. That might be a record."

"She doesn't want my help. She doesn't even remember who she is. How do I reach her like this?"

'Cause it's so hard to make it through the day

A man my age is very young

So I'm told

Why do I feel so old?

Tell me why Judy why, Judy why

"You've already done more than you think. A lot more, really." She patted his head. "Quite frankly, we're impressed."

"How so?" He asked. "In just the short time now I've been here, I've managed only to make her cry, kick me out of a most probably rat-infested hovel and nearly debase herself in a car for a chicken dinner."

"I know, but those legs, am I right?" Eunice nudged him and he looked up, horrified. "I mean the chicken, Timothy." She patted the couch beside her and he sat, looking and feeling dejected. "You know...you're not being judged by your actions here. Just by your accomplishments. And sometimes... questionable actions lead to surprising accomplishments."

"But I haven't accomplished anything." He insisted. "Or...only negative things."

"It doesn't happen so fast! Purgatory is...kind of like rehab. Get me? It takes time. And it hurts. And somebody takes all the sharp objects away so next thing you know you're prying open a pack of salty nuts with your teeth." Eunice assured. He nodded agreement up to a point, but she ignored his confusion. "Tell me what had you so upset tonight. Other than what happened in the car and at the hotel."

"You know all that?"

"We know everything." He blushed. "It's okay. I thought you did great in the car, by the way. Especially as high as you were. I mean...a hot, desperate, drunk woman straddling you? Good job."

Oh what a scene

It's wrong for her to hang me up this way

Oh, where've you been?

'Cause it's so hard to make it through the day

There's no tomorrow

'Cause my dream did not last

So I live in the past

Tell me why Judy why

Tell me why Judy why

Oh, tell me why Judy why

"I was tempted." He confessed.

"Of course you were."

"Deeply."

"I get that." Eunice sighed. "So what stopped you?"

My baby, he don't talk sweet

He ain't got much to say

But he loves me, loves me, loves me

I know that he loves me anyway

He stood. Needed to pace. "I cannot treat her like that. Like them. All of those other men who...lovelessly use her and -"

"Oooooh, Timothy! I like that word. Lovelessly. That's nice." She grinned. "I guess the opposite of that would be...lovefully?"

"Lovingly."

"Lovingly." She nodded, considered. "I guess to treat someone lovingly, you'd have to feel... love? For them?"

And maybe he don't dress fine

But I don't really mind

'Cause every time he pulls me near

I just wanna cheer

He stopped pacing. "Judy would never love me."

"She did once."

"Not like that." He shook his head. "Jude loved what she thought I was. A concept. A perfection. A lie. I destroyed her, and destroyed myself in her eyes. She lost all love for that concept. For me."

"She did?" Eunice asked.

He was thinking. Hard. "That's why Judy is here, isn't it? After Jude was destroyed, it was Judy who came here to..."

"To what?" He was so close. Eunice could only give him so much, and she couldn't really give him anymore. But he really was so close to the answer.

"To find what you said we were looking for." He rubbed his lips. Chewed at them. "To find something." Eunice made a rolling motion with her hands - a 'keep thinking' gesture. "To find something she wanted when she was Judy. Before Jude."

Let's hear it for the boy

Oh, let's give the boy a hand

Let's hear it for my baby

You know you gotta understand

Oh, maybe he's no Romeo

But he's my lovin' one-man show

Oh, whoa, let's hear it for the boy

My baby may not be rich

He's watchin' every dime

But he loves me, loves me, loves me

We always have a real good time

And maybe he sings off-key

But that's alright by me, yeah

'Cause what he does, he does so well

Makes me wanna yell

She clapped, pointing. "You're super warm now. Like...almost burning."

His forehead was so painfully creased even Eunice could feel it. "What did Judy want?" He asked himself. He paced again. "Fame? No. That wasn't important. She has that, in a way at least. Money? She seems to exist without much money. I mean, I suppose everyone wants money. Root of all evil and all. But men seem relatively willing to throw their money at her on any given evening, so it's not as if she..."

Eunice stared at him so hopefully, tense on his couch. Could it be? She watched him pull out a little chair at his table and sit. He cradled his forehead in one hand. "Timothy?" She prompted softly.

"The men." He murmured. "They're meaningless to her. It's why she doesn't kiss them. She said...it was personal." His head hurt now, just behind his eyes. "It's the meaning she seeks. The depth. That which lives in a kiss."

"Timothy. You're seriously pretty much engulfed in flames right now." Eunice stood behind him, an encouraging hand on his shoulder. "Say it."

"It's love. Isn't it?"

She grabbed his shoulders, shook him violently. Angels possessed a prototypical strength. "Yes! Yes! Yes!"

Let's hear it for the boy

Oh, let's give the boy a hand

Let's hear it for my baby

You know you gotta understand

Oh, maybe he's no Romeo

But he's my lovin' one-man show

Oh, whoa, let's hear it for the boy

Triumphantly, she sang along with the radio's jaunty tune, twirling about the kitchen. "You know. I shouldn't have doubted. You are really owning this challenge. I'm embarrassed that I almost bet against you."

"Bet against me?"

"Focus, Timothy." She slapped his table. "Love!"

When the truth is found

To be lies

And all the joy

Within you dies

Don't you want somebody to love?

Don't you need somebody to love?

Wouldn't you love somebody to love?

You better find somebody to love

Love

"So she wants love!" He shouted. "Who doesn't? Everyone wants some kind of love in their life. I cannot give it to her."

"Why not?"

"She told me tonight. Told me to leave town, even. That I do not belong here." He shook his head. "Judy...will not find love with me."

"And Jude?"

When the garden flowers

Baby, are dead, yes

And your mind, your mind

Is so full of red

Don't you want somebody to love?

Don't you need somebody to love?

Wouldn't you love somebody to love?

You better find somebody to love

"There is no Jude, Mary Eunice!" Timothy insisted, fist hard on the table. "I destroyed Jude! To the point that she chose to never be that person again - even in her afterlife. That's why this is such a lost cause!"

"A lost cause..." Eunice frowned. A rueful laugh. "Nice pun, Timothy." He scowled, and she continued.

Your eyes, I say your eyes

May look like his

Yeah, but in your head, baby

I'm afraid you don't know where it is

Don't you want somebody to love?

Don't you need somebody to love?

Wouldn't you love somebody to love?

"I wonder whom you're referring to as the lost cause? Jude? Or yourself? Because...honestly now. You're the one who offed himself in a bathtub in the most unfashionable way possible. And she's the one who somehow survived our brutal, questionable and often just plain abusive history of psychiatric treatment, earned her redemption, a peaceful, beautifully lit death complete with gorgeous girl on girl kissing action, and had a choice."

You better find somebody to love

Tears are running

They're all running down your breast

And your friends, baby

They treat you like a guest

Don't you want somebody to love?

Don't you need somebody to love?

Wouldn't you love somebody to love?

You better find somebody to love

"A choice?" Timothy blinked. "Yes. She chose to be here. This place? Of all places? Why?"

Eunice shrugged. "Familiarity? She couldn't find what she was looking for in her previous life as a nun, so maybe she thought she'd do better in this one. Where she at least had more freedom."

"And...less chance of ever seeing me again." He frowned.

"You said it - not me."

As I walk this land of broken dreams

I have visions of many things

But happiness is just an illusion

Filled with sadness and confusion

What becomes of the broken hearted

Who had love that's now departed

I know I've got to find

Some kind of peace of mind

Maybe

Timothy nodded, coming to a decision. Eunice gave him a reassuring rub on the back. "Whatcha thinkin'?"

"I'm thinking about my little house." He admitted quietly. "Of what it's missing."

The roots of love grow all around

But for me they come a tumblin' down

Every day heartaches grow a little stronger

I can't stand this pain much longer

She glanced about, ticking off a list in her head. "I thought we had everything pretty well covered."

But he shook his head. "I think it needs...Judy. Jude."

Eunice smiled softly. "The little house? Or you?"

I walk in shadows searching for light

Cold and alone, no comfort in sight

Hoping and praying for someone to care

Always moving and going nowhere

He steepled his fingers beneath his chin. "Perhaps the house and I are one and the same. Small and spare. Lacking." He considered. "Lonely."

"Ah!" The nun grinned. "So maybe focusing on your need rather than hers will bring greater results."

"I can't speak for what she needs. And obviously, she can live this...hard life on her own. Perhaps I underestimate her strength. Her intelligence. As usual." He smiled ruefully. "She always had the finest instincts. And spoke her mind. I simply didn't listen. If I had, she would have saved me."

What becomes of the broken hearted

Who had love that's now departed

I know I've got to find

Some kind of peace of mind

Help me

I'm searching though I don't succeed

But someone look, there's a growing need

All is lost, there's no place for beginning

All that's left is an unhappy ending

"She was a pretty good cook, too." Eunice added.

"She certainly was."

Eunice leaned toward his face, brooching seriousness. "What if she wants...um...you know..."

His forehead creased. "What?"

"You know!" A rather rude gesture. "Intimacy. Like in the car."

"Oh! That." His face reddened and he swallowed heavily. "Well. It's not that I was wholly opposed to that. Even in the car. It was just rather...sudden. And she was a bit inebriated."

"Meh." Eunice shrugged. "I think Judy can handle her liquor." A rough nudge. "By the ears!" She laughed raucously. "That's a naughty joke, Timothy. Get it?"

Now what becomes of the broken hearted

Who had love that's now departed

I know I've got to find

Some kind of peace of mind

I'll be searching everywhere

Just to find someone to care

I'll be looking everyday

I know I'm gonna find a way

Nothing's gonna stop me now

I'll find a way somehow

I'll be searching everywhere...

Timothy rolled his eyes. "I get it, Sister." This Eunice... He thought for a moment. "She wouldn't kiss me," he said. "She said it was personal. I understand that. But what does that mean for her search?"

"That she differentiates between sex and love?"

"Then...how would she know when she found love?"

Eunice laughed. "You think kisses denote love? No, no, no. There's like a giant, encompassing, crazy list of all the insane things that people use to formally diagnose love. Kissing is at the very bottom of that list."

"Do you have a copy of that list?"

She tisked. "Oh, if only it were that easy. Timothy. Use your common sense. What comprises love to you?"

A sigh. He scratched his head. "Trust."

"Good one. What else?"

"Reliability."

"Ok. And?"

"Quality over quantity?"

"Alright, see now you're starting to sound like a radio ad for a used car dealership. But you're on the right track, really."

"Thank you." He sounded sarcastic to his own ears.

Eunice just chuckled. "Can I ask you kind of an important question?"

"Of course."

"You said you felt like Jude was missing. From your house, from you. Is that because you love Jude? Or because you feel horrifying, necrotic, debilitating, explosive guilt over basically erasing everything that made her who she was and leaving her in Briarcliff to rot like leftover coq-au-vin?"

"Oh, God." He bowed his head. "I don't know. Sister. I only ever felt love for God. And...myself. I lusted for Jude, yes. She was...a part of a deeply sinful fantasy I entertained." He blushed and flushed. Purgative, to admit these things to his angelic confessor. Purgative, but still hard as hell.

Eunice could practically feel his burning shame. She knelt in front of him. "Yes, I remember. Rome. I saw it in your head. Jude was your worshipful right hand in the Vatican, wasn't she?" He nodded, eyes closed tightly at the unbidden memories. "But Timothy...some of those things you did to her in those fantasies...I don't think they're allowed in the Vatican."

He sprung from his seat. Away from Mary Eunice. "And I'm being punished for those thoughts now, am I not? And more?"

Eunice raised her hands. "Hey. I'm not here to judge, right? Just to advise. And I told you already it's accomplishments we're looking for, not actions. And maybe part of moving past the guilt to the actions is remembering. Remembering your sins, your failures, your weaknesses. Remembering Jude."

"But I want to forget."

She stood, looking directly into his eyes. "So did she. And if you do, you end up like her. Stuck. Tim, not Timothy. Doomed forever to lust after a slutty lounge singer you can't quite explain your detrimental attraction to, banging on the backseat of a Nash in exchange for nightly chicken dinners and maybe paying extra for a smooch on your birthday, which you may or may not rememb-"

"I get it!" He interrupted her harshly. "Remember my sins and repent for them. Do good." He rubbed his eyes. "Love Judy."

Eunice stepped toward him. Shorter, she pulled his head down to touch hers. "Love Judy." She murmured. "That sounds nice, doesn't it?"

Eyes closed, he smiled at last. It did sound nice. Very simple, and very nice. He could do it. He was already on his way. And when he opened his eyes again, predictably Eunice was gone.