The People v. Eleanor Warwick

Towles’ apartment is nice enough.

For Jessie, it’s a surprisingly comfortable middle ground between the sometimes-annoying opulence of House Warwick and the total rat hole she once called home.

The ride over was a tad awkward. She spent the entire trip seething silently in the passenger seat. Once she calmed down, she started wondering just what the hell she was doing.

Marvin Towles is a complete stranger, and she’s going home with him for drinks. It didn’t take long for her to realize it’s a course of action that can be easily misinterpreted. Towles wasn’t behaving like a man who thinks he’s going to get laid, but it’s always the nervous, shifty ones you have to watch out for.

Her host places an ice-cold bottle of beer on the coffee table and takes a seat in the swivel chair across from her. Jessie takes the beverage and reclines slightly on his couch. After a quick swig, she reaches for her cigarettes. “Mind if I smoke?”

Towles starts to deny her request but hesitates before nodding. “Sure. Whatever you want.”

She notes his reluctance. “If you don’t want me to, I won’t. It’s your place.”

“I’d really prefer if you didn’t,” he answers after a heavy sigh of relief.

“No problem.” Sliding the smokes back into her pocket, she returns to her drinking.

They sit in silence for several moments. Jessie’s fine with it, but Towles shifts uncomfortably in his seat and nervously taps the side of his bottle. She doesn’t care for small talk, but his fidgeting gets on her nerves.

“So,” she begins, not really sure where she’s going, “how do you know Warwick?”

“I don’t, actually. I just met her tonight. I, uh, I’ve known Mr. Willard for a while.”

“Who?”

“Mr. Willard. Uh, Henry Willard.”

“Oh.” Jessie doesn’t bother to keep the sneer from her face. “Him.”

“I take it you don’t like them.”

“That obvious, huh?”

“So, why-?”

“Do I live there?” Towles nods. “It’s complicated.”

“You guys were really going at it.”

Jessie scoffs. “That was nothing. A few days ago I told her I was gonna rip her head off and kick it down the street like a soccer ball.”

After a blank stare, Towles chuckles nervously. “Wow.”

As he brings his beer to his lips, Jessie notices a slight shake in his hand. Normally inspiring such fear is acceptable. Even fun. But in a casual social situation, it only irritates her further. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, will you relax!”

Her sudden outburst nearly makes Marvin do a spit take. “What?”

“You’re acting like I’m gonna come across the room and snap your neck at any second!”

“I’m sorry. It’s just- I’m sorry.”

“It’s just what?” she asks, scooting to the edge of the sofa.

Towles takes another sip of alcohol before even attempting an answer. Even then, he isn’t sure what to say.

For the 100th time since they left House Warwick, he asks himself just what the hell he thinks he’s doing. This is Jessica Blackwell for God’s sake. He’s playing with fire just talking to her, let alone having her over for drinks. He can scarcely believe she accepted.

She’s right, though. He needs to get a grip. After a few deep breaths, he finally answers her. “I know who you are.”

The hellblood raises an eyebrow. “Who am I?”

“You know. You’re...Jessica Blackwell. As in, the Blackwells. Alexander Blackwell’s your dad.”

“Alright, look, Towels.”

“Towles. Like bridge tolls.”

“Whatever. First of all, don’t call me Jessica. Secondly, I don’t even know him. And all I know about him is that he cut me up, drained out my blood, and turned me into a demonic freak. Now don’t get me wrong, I’ve enjoyed it at times. But let’s just say that I don’t get a lot of the warm, fuzzies when I think about my so-called family. Okay?”

Towles relaxes slightly. “Okay. Sorry. I just get a little nervous around…”

Beautiful women is what he was about to say. He’s glad he stopped himself. The last thing he wants is to come off as a middle-aged sleaze hitting on a twenty-something.

“How about a refill?” he asks instead.

“Sure.”

Towles hopped up and took the empties into the kitchen.

Kicking her feet up, Jessie lays out on the couch. The comfort surprises her. “What kind of couch is this?”

Returning with two more bottles a piece, Towles sits them down and returns to his seat. “That’s a sleep-away couch. It’s the kind with a bed in it.”

“Have a lot of guests?”

“No. That’s where I sleep.”

Popping open a fresh bottle, Jessie glances around the apartment. “Isn’t this a one bedroom?”

“Yeah, but I need the room for something else.”

“You got a science lab or something?”

“Nah.” Towles hesitates. “Would you...like to see it?”

The offer isn’t made lightly. Few people have ever been in that room other than him.

As heavy as the offer is, Jessie’s answer is anything but. “Sure,” she replies almost absently. Grabbing her unopened bottle, she carries both with her as Marvin leads the way into the apartment’s single bedroom.

Inside the bedroom, boxes full of vinyl records line nearly every inch of the walls except for the vintage record player that brings the discs to life and the Xbox sitting on the floor, hooked to a small television.

“Damn.”

He smiles proudly. “This is more important to me than a bedroom.”

Jessie slowly steps deeper in and looks over one of the boxes. Dragging her fingers over the top, she feels the edge of each record within. The moment is surprisingly surreal for her. The last time she touched vinyl discs such as those was in the attic. Carefully flipping through a few, Jessie’s stunned at the sheer number of them. “How many are there?”

“218. Everything from Bowie to Dylan. From Johnny Cash to Kiss. From Sir Elton to CCR. and everywhere in between.”

“I’ve never even heard of some of these.” One catches her attention that she has absolutely heard of. She slowly slides Led Zeppelin IV out of its spot in the queue. It’s an album she knows by heart. Every word to every song. One in particular. After everything her brain has been put through, everything she’s forgotten, those songs survive.

“Good choice,” Towles comments, looking over her shoulder. “Want to listen to it?”

“No!” Slamming the album back into its place and spinning to face him, Jessie awkwardly brushes her hair back. “I mean, uh, I just heard it. Earlier.”

“Okay.”

“I mean, I’d like to listen to some, yeah, but just not...not that one.”

“No problem. Any preferences? I’ve got a little of just about everyone.”

“It’s your place,” Jessie answers with a shrug.

“All right.” Towles offers a smirk that Jessie can’t help but find charmingly impish. “Then let me ask you a question: Are you experienced?”

Jessie only raises an eyebrow.

40 minutes, 17 seconds, four beers a piece, and some Crown Royal later, Jessie sits on the floor, eyes closed, gently bobbing to the music.

When the final note ends, her eyes slowly open. “Wow.”

“Hendrix, man.” Marvin staggers slightly as he thumbs through his precious collection. “Hendrix. He was the greatest guitar player to ever pick up the...the...”

“Guitar?”

“Yes! Thank you.” Jessie answers with a halfhearted thumbs up. Ending his search, Towles pulls out a new record. “Here we go. The Who.”

“Aw. The Who is fuckin’ awesome.”

“Hell, yeah.” Attempting to place the vinyl onto the turntable, Towles fumbles with it and drops it. The disc lands on its edge and rolls away.

Both sit there and watch it. Jessie speaks first. “Bye, Who,” she says with a wave.

“I think I’m getting a little drunk,” says Towles as he braces himself against the record player.

“Well, there’s a sure-fire cure for almost being drunk.”

“What’s that?”

Popping the cap on yet another beer, Jessie offers it to him. “Getting completely drunk.”

Towles just stares for a second before grabbing the beverage. “You’re a genius.”

Jessie pops her own and lifts it up to him. Towles takes his and clangs it against her’s and they down them together.

“So this little fucker jus’ thought I was gonna be his bitch or whatever.” Jessie’s words slur slightly as she staggers about, telling her story. “And I was all like...no.”

“You told him,” Towles says approvingly from the floor where he sits nursing more alcohol.

“Shit yeah! So he was all like ‘yes, you are’ and I was like nuh-uh and I took his stupid chains and I straight up fubbin’ killed his ass.”

Towles lets out a childish giggle.

“What?”

“You said fubbin’.”

“Hey! Cut me some slack! I’m fubbin’ hammered over here!”

Towles’ boisterous laughter sends him sprawling on the floor.

“What?”

“Take it!”

Towles pounds out notes on a plastic guitar, following not-so-carefully along with the steaming colors on his television. Jessie screeches into a microphone.

“Take another little piece a’ my heart now, ba-be!”

“You want to hear something fucked up?”

Towles tries to look at Jessie the best he can. It’s difficult with the both of them lying of the floor, her head resting on his pudgy belly. “You’re not really a guy, are you?”

“No,” she answers without looking away from his ceiling. “Why would you think that? Is it my tits? They’re only as big as God made them.”

“No. No. I like smaller...I’m gonna stop myself there.”

The room grows quiet for a moment before Jessie continues. “I don’t hate Warwick.”

“You don’t? What about tearing her head off and playing tether-ball with it?”

“It was soccer and I didn’t mean it.”

“I wouldn’t want to see the way you hate to people you do talk.”

“That didn’t make any sense.”

“You don’t make any sense,” he says with a slight chuckle before quickly straightening up. “Seriously, you don’t. Why do you yell at her if you don’t hate her?”

“Because I should hate her!” Jessie’s eyes water as her voice rises. “I want to hate her! I should hate her forever for what she did to me!”

“What’d she do?”

Anger begins to seethe inside as Jessie thinks about the powerful control Warwick placed over her. The fact that at any moment, Warwick can completely dominate her, forcing her to obey her every whim without question. And then, she had the gall to say it was for Jessie’s own good. When in actuality, it was all about her and her baggage. Regardless of Warwick’s motives, they are bound together forever.

“It doesn’t matter. But it was bad.”

“If it was so bad, why don’t you hate her?”

“I...I don’t know. She goes to these crazy lengths to help people. It’s kind of admirable, you know? I see the shit she does and it’s the shit good guys do.”

“Why don’t you just talk to her about it?”

“Because,” Jessie shakes her head in sorrowful aggravation, “she hates me now.”

“What? You? Impossible.”

“It’s true. I’ve been such a fuckin’ bitch that she’s not even trying to get along anymore. She hates me.”

Admitting aloud that the intense friction between the two of them is likely more her fault than Warwick’s gives Jessie a headache.

“Why don’t- ?”

“We’re done talking now.”

“Okay.”

Jessie’s head pounds as her eyes flutter open. At first, everything is a blur. When things come into focus, she quickly recognizes the inside of Towles’ apartment. She curses herself quietly. Very quietly.

Must have passed out, she thinks.

Braving the pain in her head, she sits up in the bed. Bed? She’s on his weird sofa bed. She doesn’t like where this is going. “Oh, fuck.”

Lifting the sheets, she confirms that her navy blue t-shirt and one sock are the only articles of clothing she’s wearing. “Oh, fuck.”

“Good morning.”

She turns to look at Towles. He smiles weakly, a bathrobe his only garment. “I started some coffee.”

Groaning loudly, Jessie buries her face in her hands.

“Oh, fuck.”