The Flood Girls

by Richard Fifield

  Jake left the library with two Stephen King books, and skidded his way up the snow-packed streets to the Sinclair. He knew that Martha Man Hands was working. One of the Sinclairs mopped the beer aisle. He wasn’t sure which one it was. All he could see was a long braid and an even longer jean skirt.

  He had written Misty five letters, and bundled them with a rubber band. He had found a half-used box of cream-colored stationery at the thrift store—the paper was thick, and flecked with dots of lavender. Misty would hate it, but Jake didn’t care. He asked his mother for stamps and carefully wrote his return address on the envelopes, even though he and Misty grew up in the same trailer court. The doctors at the detention center could be giving Misty electroshock therapy like Frances Farmer, so he didn’t want to risk it. He was concerned about the weight of the paper, so he used two stamps for each envelope.

  He handed the stack to Martha. As usual, she was preoccupied by the police scanner. It was chimney-fire season, and Martha, like all the other residents of Quinn, listened for her own address.

  “You know where the post office is, kid.” She pushed the envelopes back across the counter with her giant hands.

  “I don’t have an address for her,” he said. “I know we got in some trouble, but I would greatly appreciate it if you could send these to her. She must be lonely.”

  “They’ve called me four times already,” said Martha. “Sounds like she’s already running the joint. She lit some girl on fire.”

  “That sounds about right,” said Jake.

  “I’ll send them,” said Martha. “But just this once.”

  “Thank you,” said Jake. “Have you been sending her care packages?”

  At this, Martha cackled, and when he left the Sinclair, she was still laughing.

  The Calling

  Laverna insisted that Red Mabel dress her in layers. Dressed in a pantsuit and a mock turtleneck and a scarf, she was ready to cause chaos among the patrons at the Dirty Shame. It was officially the first day of spring.

  Ginger and Martha sat at poker machines, drinking wine coolers.

  Laverna waited until Ginger cashed out, and Martha lost whatever she had put in, then gestured to a table with her casts.

  Tabby approached the four women at the table, bearing baskets of peanuts.

  “I’ve decided that this is a team meeting,” said Laverna.

  “There are only five of us,” pointed out Ginger.

  “We’re the most important five,” said Laverna. “Your drinks are on the house.”

  “I guess that means I’ll be right back,” said Tabby, and she returned with more wine coolers and another pint of beer for Red Mabel. Tabby sat backward on a chair and reached over to touch Laverna on the shoulder.

  “She’s useless,” said Tabby.

  “She’s worse than Krystal,” said Ginger.

  “We don’t have any other options,” said Laverna, as Red Mabel lit a cigarette and stuck it in her mouth. She exhaled, and Red Mabel plucked it out and set it in an ashtray. “We are stuck with her.”

  “Are you sure?” Ginger took a deep swallow.

  “Yes,” said Laverna. “Patty said no, thanks; she’s joined a book club. Maggie joined another team, or so she says. Maybe we have a bad reputation.”

  “Excellent,” said Red Mabel.

  “Can we make Ronda move faster?” Ginger was being serious.

  “I pay the lady,” said Laverna. “I can’t get her to move fast at her regular job.”

  “Why is Rachel so afraid of the ball?” Tabby took a drink out of Ginger’s bottle.

  “She has a pretty face,” said Martha. “She takes after her mother.”

  At this, they all laughed, even Laverna.

  “I think she’s afraid of life,” said Ginger.

  “When did you get so profound?” Laverna asked the question and nodded at Red Mabel for another drag.

  “She used to not be afraid of anything,” said Tabby. “I watched her pierce her ear in the middle of algebra class.”

  “I remember that,” said Laverna. “She put a goddamn fishing tackle in the hole.”

  The door opened, and in came the silver miners, off shift, covered in the powder of vermiculite. The women had somehow captured a baby mountain lion, leashed to a length of clothesline. Laverna did not allow animals at the bar, but she was too intrigued to argue.

  “When did she get so scared?” This question came from Red Mabel, of all people. The silver miners took their customary spot beside the jukebox. Tabby excused herself to pour some pitchers.

  “Dunno,” said Laverna. “I don’t care if she doesn’t catch the ball. I just don’t want her covering her face like that. The other teams will die of laughter.”

  “Take her glove away,” offered Martha.

  “Against the rules,” said Red Mabel. Laverna watched as the silver miners fed the mountain lion pieces of beef jerky from their pockets. She watched as the dirtiest silver miner reached into her heavy coat and removed a can of Fancy Feast.

  “We need to get her drunk,” said Ginger.

  “She doesn’t do that anymore,” said Laverna. “Or so she claims.” The lid was removed from the Fancy Feast, and the silver miners whistled when the cat hissed out and swiped a paw at the can, which they kept out of reach.

  “Crazy bitches,” said Red Mabel, as they all turned to watch the silver miners and the cub. The tiny mountain lion looked as tough as the silver miners. They were ferocious, desperate, and wild-eyed women. They drank too much, and had too little to do.

  “She’s sober,” said Laverna. “I think it’s a good thing. You all have heard what she’s capable of.”

  “She fucked the entire volunteer fire department,” said Red Mabel.

  “Not all of them,” said Laverna. “That’s a lie.” Red Mabel put the cigarette back in Laverna’s mouth, as Tabby deposited the pitchers of beer in front of the silver miners, making a wide berth around the mountain lion.

  Tabby returned to their table, shaking her head. “They’d better tip extra tonight,” she said.

  “Let’s find her a man,” said Martha. “Some dude who will help her take the edge off. Somebody to distract her.”

  “She has one,” said Red Mabel. “He’s a twelve-year-old little pansy.”

  “I don’t like that word,” said Ginger. “It’s not appropriate. They like to be called gay now. I know these things.”

  “How?” Red Mabel demanded. “How do you know these things?”

  “I can afford cable, you bitch.” Ginger’s tone had an edge to it, and Laverna couldn’t help but wonder about Ginger’s son, who had fled to California after graduation, never married. The silver miners were clapping now, as the cat sat up on her hind paws, balanced on her tail, coiled in a tough little spring.

  “Enough,” said Laverna. “Do we know any eligible bachelors?”

  “Bucky,” said Martha.

  “Bucky,” said Tabby.

  “What?” said Bucky, who, unbeknownst to them, had entered the bar, in the sneaky way he always did. Bucky was underage and had an irrational fear the cops would bust him, even though volunteer firemen of any age were always absolved, and he only drank soda anyway. “Can I get a drink?”

  “Have a seat,” said Laverna. “Tabby, get him whatever he wants.”

  “Diet Coke,” he said.

  “Diet Coke?” asked Red Mabel. “What the fuck is happening to this town?”

  Bucky sat down next to Laverna. He looked more nervous than usual, surrounded by women who were obviously scheming.

  “We need your help,” said Laverna.

  “Look,” said Bucky. “I can’t help you with any more practices. The other teams are gonna think I’m partial to you, and an ump can’t be partial. It’s called a . . .” He paused.

  “Conflict of interest,” said Ginger. “You can’t hit for shit anyway.”

  “Hey,” protested Bucky. “I’m a volunteer. Respect that.”

  “I need to ask you something
,” said Laverna. “And I need you to not run your mouth.”

  Bucky gulped. “Okay,” he said.

  “How do you feel about my daughter?”

  Bucky examined the faces of the other women and carefully considered his response. “She’s nice enough. And smart. She’s got me thinking about giving up red meat.”

  At this, Red Mabel spat on the ground.

  “Not like that, Bucky,” said Laverna. “I need to know if you find my daughter attractive.”

  “Shit yes,” said Bucky. “I ain’t blind. Just concerned about my cholesterol. I definitely am going to stop eating so many hamburgers. And do you know where hot dogs come from?”

  “Shut the fuck up,” said Red Mabel. “Do you wanna screw her or not?”

  “Jesus,” said Bucky. “She doesn’t like me like that.”

  “How do you know that?” asked Ginger.

  “Because she flat out told me so,” said Bucky. “The first five minutes I ever met her.”

  “Sounds about right,” said Martha. “She really does take after her mother.”

  “Quiet,” said Laverna. “Are you sure she still feels that way?”

  “Yep,” said Bucky. “I spend a lot of time at her house. She would’ve jumped me by now.”

  “Because you’re so irresistible?” said Ginger, who chortled and drained the rest of her wine cooler.

  Bucky blushed. “I’m young and single and I’m a volunteer fireman. I’m a catch. Everybody says so.”

  “I’m thankful you have such high self-esteem,” said Laverna. “You just keep thinking that way.”

  “Thanks,” said Bucky. “I will.”

  Tabby brought him the Diet Coke, and he began to drink it greedily.

  “Does she ever talk about any man?” Laverna leaned in close. “Is there anybody she’s interested in?”

  “Nope,” said Bucky. “She only hangs out with Jake and the Chief.”

  “The Chief?” Red Mabel was incredulous. “She’s already fucking a married man!”

  “No,” said Bucky. “They’re buddies. He gives her advice about life.”

  “I was not aware of this,” said Laverna. She felt her blood pressure begin to spike, and lifted up her arm to smash her fist on the table. This is what she usually did to accentuate her point, to let people know she had enough. Unfortunately, she still had her casts, and her arms barely budged. Angrily, she kicked at Bucky’s leg, missed.

  “You’re not supposed to,” he said, frightened.

  “Oh,” said Laverna, instantly calming. “This is some sort of sober-people thing.”

  “Not telling,” Bucky said, and finished his soda.

  “So she listens to him?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Bucky, do you think you could get the Chief to teach her to not be afraid of the ball?”

  “No guarantees,” said Bucky. “But it won’t hurt to ask.”

  * * *

  Laverna wanted to keep drinking, but Red Mabel insisted that she take her home first, to change back into a sweat suit. Red Mabel was going on a mission, and as usual, it was top secret. She would not let Laverna sit at the bar by herself in clothing that could restrict her movement. There could be another assassination attempt.

  When Red Mabel returned her to the Dirty Shame, Tabby helped Laverna take a few more pain pills. Laverna sipped at a shot of tequila, bending like a bird each time, using the embarrassing pink straws.

  Jim Number Three came in, just as the silver miners were gathering up their coats and their wild animal. He sat down next to Laverna and watched their procession as they paraded out the door.

  “Don’t ask,” said Laverna. “Can you light me a cigarette?”

  Jim Number Three obliged. Laverna was fond of him—he continued to stop by the house most days and read to her. They were up to the chapter in Roots where Chicken George was gambling on chicken fights while courting Mathilda. Laverna remarked that this was everyday behavior among the men of Quinn.

  Jim Number Three had been ice fishing all day, and was already drunk. He described the fish at length. He told Laverna that he was born in Alaska, and then his family relocated to Chinook, where the weather was pretty much the same. He told Laverna that he grew up hoping to become a seismologist but settled for being an electrician instead.

  “Seismology is not really a science,” said Jim Number Three. “Earthquakes are an art.” He whispered, “Earthquakes make my heart beat fast.”

  “They do that,” Laverna said, and leaned forward so he could remove the cigarette from her mouth.

  “Chinook’s main industry is sugar beets,” continued Jim Number Three. “The high school football team is called the Sugarbeeters.”

  “That’s pathetic.”

  “I really like you,” said Jim Number Three. “I’d like to get to know you better.”

  “Don’t say that,” said Laverna.

  “Why?” Jim Number Three ordered another round, ashed Laverna’s cigarette.

  “Because I’m a miserable person,” she said.

  “It’s this town,” said Jim Number Three, as Tabby slid another shot of tequila in front of Laverna and a pint of beer in front of him. “I think you all have vitamin deficiencies, or maybe the water is poisoned.” He raised his glass to her. “Cheers!”

  Laverna stared at him. Apparently, he forgot she did not have use of her arms.

  The pills and the booze made her feel brazen. “Take me to your house.”

  Jim Number Three grabbed his keys without a word, and then he was helping her off the barstool and out the door.

  * * *

  He lived in Rachel’s trailer court, and Laverna was thankful his house was at the end by the gravel pit, far away from her daughter.

  She plopped down next to him on the couch, her casts stuck straight out in front of her. She tried to figure out a way to kiss him. He brought her a beer, and a straw, and she leaned down to the coffee table and sipped slowly. Laverna pressed her body into his side. He smiled at her, touched her face with a callused hand.

  “I don’t feel so miserable right now,” said Laverna, and then Jim Number Three placed his own beer down on the coffee table and took her face in both hands, kissed her open mouth. He tasted like cigarettes and beer, and she loved it.

  “I don’t date volunteer firemen,” said Laverna. “That well has been poisoned.”

  “I’m an electrician,” he said.

  “Can you build me a robot?”

  “No,” he said. He kissed her neck, and she shivered.

  “You don’t even know me,” said Laverna.

  “I asked around,” said Jim Number Three.

  “I don’t like the sound of that,” she said.

  “I wanted to know what I was getting myself into.”

  “I’ve lived here all my life,” said Laverna. “That’s what you really need to know.”

  “Yes,” he admitted. “I guess it is.”

  “I need to use your bathroom,” she said. He helped her from the couch and escorted her to the rear of the trailer house, while opening the second button of his regulation polo shirt. He was a consummate gentleman. He flicked on the bathroom light and left the door slightly open. She did have to pee, but her arms prevented her from wiping. She could not ask for his assistance, but she didn’t really care.

  When she was done, she shook herself dry and used the edge of the countertop to push her sweatpants back into place. She stared into the bathroom mirror and checked her teeth, even though she hadn’t eaten anything but peanuts and pills for the last six hours. She used her casts to push the door open wide enough for an exit. It was hard to flirt without hands, and she had long ago stopped wearing her hair long enough to toss. She growled at him when she returned to the living room.

  He grinned at this, patted the empty cushion beside him.

  “Your daughter is awfully nice,” he said. “It’s hard to raise kids with manners, I suppose.”

  “My daughter is an animal,” sai
d Laverna. “I’d prefer not to discuss her.”

  “Okay,” said Jim Number Three. He leaned over and kissed her on the lips. “You might be the prettiest woman in this whole town. I think I’ve met most of them.”

  “Have you ever been electrocuted?”

  “Not really,” he said. “A couple of shocks, but that’s to be expected.”

  “Sure,” she said. “I’ve never really known an electrician before. I’ve always relied on Red Mabel when it comes to fuse boxes and shit like that.”

  “I went to school for it,” he said. “I had a calling, I guess.”

  “My mother had a calling,” she said. “She made the mistake of listening.”

  “I have a license and certification and everything.” He kissed her again, and she felt her body swell with the pills, rise up to meet him. It had been a long time since this had happened to her.

  “You could spend the night,” he said.

  “I sleep late,” she said. “And I’m terrible when I wake up. Mouthy.”

  “Fine,” he said. “I’ll be gone when you get up.”

  An ax leaned in one corner of his bedroom. It was the regulation ax, the wooden handle inscribed with QVFD. She asked why he kept it at home, if it was a prop to impress the ladies. He nodded his head and undressed. He removed her panties, hung them from her cast.

  He was careful as he lowered himself on top of her. To maneuver around her injuries, he placed his hands underneath the plaster that cut into her armpits, raised himself back up slowly. She was thankful he was in excellent shape. Jim Number Three did push-ups for the next twenty minutes.

  His penis was a neat curve of flesh, slightly crooked. Her doctor would be pleased; they were being so cautious. He kissed her breasts in between every push-up. She felt top-heavy with pills, and wanted to ask him his last name. Instead, she watched his muscles bulge, and she found herself counting. At one hundred and fifty, she became his cheerleader. Excitedly, she counted out loud, delighted by his physical prowess. He was drunk but accurate, every push up truly impressive.