Jus Glaser had long eyes whose outer corners were like the tail of a comet. He could flash those eyes around and make any girl do things she knew she shouldn't even be thinking; they were so wicked. His long wavy hair was Chippewa black and shiny. It hung over the back of his faded denim work overalls and ended in little tails. Those sexy wisps of hair drove Janie Fersia practically crazy with wanting, to the point that she got pregnant fast on too many starry nights up against Cat mountain.
Naturally, she meant to always use condoms, but sometimes she'd run out and Jus would be still be there,---irresistible. Of course, Janie would have liked to be on birth control pills, but she couldn't afford those, still going to high school and with only her babysitting money, and besides, her mom thought she was a virgin. As if any woman old enough to kiss back could be a virgin with Jus Glaser around!
He was the hottest, most gorgeous guy Janie had ever seen, with his loose-hipped, arrogant Indian walk, and when he came to the trailer, waiting for her outside, straddling his Harley-Davidson softail with his muscular legs, her mom gazed at him from behind the chintz curtains, her eyes wide and anxious. To Gladys Jus looked like the Devil himself, dressed in a black motorcycle jacket, a torn white t shirt and black jeans, lighting a joint.
Janie's mom, Gladys, a night waitress at the Trend Diner, had dreams of having Jus arrested for for something, ---anything, if only she could have had him put away in some correctional institution or a prison. But, she couldn't even charge him with statutory rape; Janie was eighteen, put back twice in school because they moved so much, trying to escape Janie's abusive, drunken dad.
Now, Janie, Gladys' only child, was totally alone, the snow-laden wind tearing the black branches of trees outside, and her swollen belly thrusting out hard like she'd swallowed a boulder. Janie was in the last stages of labor and she screamed and screamed, terrified. But, it didn't matter how much of a fuss she made; there was no one to hear and it occurred to her, in moments between her contractions, that she might die in this tiny old cabin.
Finally, she groped with her left hand, knocking her fingers into the rickety yellow table next the the bed. There was an old butter knife on the table. The next push and her the baby slithered out like a long fish. She rose up on her elbows, panting hard, and looked at the infant boy between her trembling legs. When the cord stopped pulsing she tied it in a knot and severed it, sawing at the mess with the old knife. Then, she laid back in the fetid blankets. The baby was making mewing noises, like a newborn kitten, not exactly a lusty cry, but it was obvious he was alive. And, he had a full head of wet black hair; Janie grinned widely and thought of Jus' hair, so dark, so glossy beautiful...
Janie reached down and gathered her son to her, wrapping him in the nasty blanket as best she could. She put him to her breast and was surprised how strongly he sucked, latching on hard. Janie looked at the fireplace. The fire was almost out. She stuck a finger in her baby's mouth to get him to release her nipple and staggered a few steps to put some sticks and small logs on the dying embers. The wood pile was dwindling. She had only the soiled blanket and and a scummy bucket of melted snow water and a couple of loaves of dried bread between her and the storm raging outside the cabin's windows of cracked and moldy glass.
She ran her fingers through her damp blond hair and chewed her lower lip. She knew she couldn't stay here long, and she was so desperate to see Jus again, even though she suspected he wouldn't want her anymore. You never knew with Jus. He was part native American. But, folks called him a wild man, which was exactly why most of the girls at J.K. Baker High School wanted him. They called him "The Savage", and "Crazy Indian", and even "Indian-Jew" because Jus' father was half German Jewish. Jus REALLY WAS wild, though, and reckless, there was no doubt about it. Most of the bad things said about him were absolutely true. He'd take any chances, sometimes seeming even suicidal. Maybe he was.
He always said nobody cared about him but his mom who died when she was in her twenties, just another wasted Indian. Then, Jus' dad went back to his big New York City family. He'd had enough of the adventure with his "Indian Princess". He said he'd given Jus his last name and that was enough. Jus laughed bitterly, young as he was; he'd learned what he thought was a valuable truth. He came to not care what people thought, like he wanted to be as wicked as possible to fulfill people's expectations of him.
Jus had been seen necking with Miss Pertilla in back of the football stadium. Wanda Pertilla was the Pine Hill High School art teacher and she sure didn't look like Jus' type with her severe gray suits and wire-rimmed glasses, but Jus had taken her long, thick hair from it's tight bun and had twisted it all around his throat. Then, Wanda had grasped him to her frantically as if she wanted to absorb him, and she did, out of control, there in the half-dark of a late November afternoon, on the sparse muddy grass, like a common whore. It made Janie shiver with jealousy even to think of it.
Still, no one could prove Miss Pertilla's shameful behavior, even if their little North Dakota town was buzzing with rumors. It was only here-say, and since she was a faithful member of the Unicas Nazarene Church, and even a Sunday school teacher, a visitation and food bank leader, she wasn't even put on suspension. Besides, she was a wonderful and popular teacher, and an award-winning artist, herself. Her paintings were in the Westerfield Free Public Library. She did a painting of Jus, a nude in blacks, blues and browns, and she kept it covered with an old sheet in the back room of her apartment. It wasn't an exact representation of him. It was what she thought he must be inside. It showed Jus free, dangerous and threatening. He was only twenty-one and she was thirty-two and he scared the hell out of her, but he was addicting; she knew she'd never get enough of him.
