by Vicky Jones
“Can’t help but feel sorry for Junior. Not easy to grow up without his father around all this time,” George said as Gloria nodded her agreement.
“I know. I’ll never forget seein’ Junior wait by the front window every day after we got the news that the war in Europe was finally over in ’45. Every time a car pulled up, he’d run to the door, big smile on his face.” Gloria rose up out of her chair and walked over to the liquor cabinet. She poured herself a large bourbon from the decanter. “I had to watch that disappointment flash over his face every day. It was the worst pain a mother could feel, seein’ their son so upset. I wish I could have given him some hope that his father hadn’t just decided to stay with his military platoon rather than come home, which is exactly what he’d done. He was never much of a family man anyway. Not like you, honey.” Gloria paused and smiled at George. “But then one day Frank junior himself finally had enough of waitin’ around and he just changed.” She took a huge swig from her glass. “He became bitter. Got himself a shotgun and went to rob the grocery store with that imbecile friend of his. Heaven knows why. He was just angry with the world that day, I think.” She drained her glass. “I just wish you’d come along sooner, honey. Your influence on him when he was younger might have made the difference.”
George perched his weight on the edge of the couch. “I remember you telling me about that robbery. He was sixteen years old, honey. There was no way the judge was going to be lenient with him after what they did to Jake,” George reflected. “He and Chuck were lucky to only get four years’ jail. It should have been a lot longer.”
“Broke his heart, though, when the military didn’t want him because of it,” Gloria replied. “That was more punishment to him. He couldn’t be like his ‘hero’ father. Still, he had the bar his grandpappy left him. As soon as Junior turned twenty-one, I signed it over to him. Old Norm Taylor wasn’t too happy, but he couldn’t have expected to have been my bar manager forever. Not after Frank junior came of age. I was hopin’ that place would straighten him out, give him a purpose. But…”
“You know I’ve tried to be a father figure to him. I even tried to teach him about bookkeeping once, thinking it would help him with the business, but he doesn’t wanna know.” George looked down at his navy blue slippers and took in a deep breath. “Honey, I need to know. If he ever did come back… where would that leave us?”
Gloria put her glass down on the cabinet and stared at the bureau drawer before walking over to throw her arms around her boyfriend.
“Trust me. He’s not comin’ back,” she asserted. She softened her expression. “But if he did, I would tell him that the last two years of my life, since you came along, have never been happier. Now, you go get dressed. I’ve ironed your favorite shirt. It’s hangin’ up on the dresser. I’ll go see what I can fix us for breakfast.” She smiled, kissed him on the cheek and headed into the kitchen.
“You got any of that bacon left?” George called after her, turning his head back to the locked bureau drawer.
Chapter 11
Lucy stood up and unhooked her red-and-black sequined dress from the hanger. Pulling it over her legs carefully so as not to snag her silk stockings, she fed the straps over her thin shoulders, then looked back at herself in the mirror. Hating what she saw, she put one final coat of bright red lipstick on and slipped on her stiletto heels. As she passed the window looking out onto the garage parking lot, she sneaked another glance to see Shona chatting to a group of mechanics, laughing heartily as one of them made a joke. She watched as Shona had an oily rag thrown at her by Jonny, then gave him a menacing look before grinning and throwing it back. Lucy, swallowing the lump in her throat, let the drape fall back into place and turned to leave the room, wishing for one tiny ounce of the freedom that Shona was enjoying that same moment.
“Harry, I’ve been thinking,” Marcie began as she strode up behind her husband, who was lying on a set of creepers tinkering away at a tailpipe. Hearing the clump of her heels on the concrete, he rolled out from underneath the truck.
“Let me guess, you’ve been trying to decide who you’re running off with, Marlon Brando or James Dean?” He paused to wave his wrench at her. “I’d go for Brando, Jimmy drives way too fast.”
“Oh honey, I'd pick you every time.” She smiled down then added with a wink, “If we broke down, you’d know how to fix the car. I’m smart, you see.”
“That’s my girl,” Harry chuckled.
“I know.” Marcie straightened her cat-eye glasses. “Listen, I was thinking about how hard the guys are working for us and the other day I saw how little food Kenny had in his tin…” She paused as Harry sat upright. “I don’t feel they’re eating a proper meal at lunch, Harry.”
“What’s your plan? ‘Cos I know there’ll be a plan. There always is with you, darling,” Harry said, narrowing his eyes and pointing at her with his wrench.
“Well…” she began. “You know that branch of Howard Johnson’s that’s just opened up in Birchfield? Well, I called them up and asked them if there was any way we could arrange for them to bring hot food into a workplace. They said they could arrange a lunch delivery if I give them a few hours’ notice each morning. It’s only a couple of miles away so…”
Harry’s bushy eyebrows arched. “What is it, some kinda hot dog cart they got?”
“Not quite a ‘hot dog cart’, but… the point is, they can get a nutritious hot meal to keep them going all day, instead of sandwiches. I had a look at the menu and they do chowder bowls, buttermilk chicken, collard greens, you name it.” Marcie tapped her notepad with the end of her pencil. “I worked it out, and we can afford it. And think of the morale boost it’ll give everyone.”
“OK, we’ll give it a try. You’re right, they deserve it; they work damn hard for us.” Harry nodded as he spoke.
Marcie bent down to kiss her husband on the cheek.
“Mom, I gotta get to work. You sure you don’t need anything else before I go?" Trish called up to the ceiling, then tasted the soup she was heating up for her mother’s supper. Nodding, she replaced the lid on the pot, then reached across the counter to collect her purse. As she did so, her eyes drifted over the cupboards and units around the small kitchen and, knowing that not looking through them would play on her mind all evening, she opened each door and rifled through them, reaching as far as she could towards the back. To her relief, all she found in the glass bottles was drain cleaner.
“I may move as slow as molasses, but I can manage a few hours without you, y’know. I’m a big girl.” Doria shuffled into the kitchen, then stopped in her tracks, looking down at her daughter’s startled face. “If I was back on the drink, I’d have found a smarter place to hide it than behind the bottles of poison,” she said.
“I’m sorry, Mom. It’s not that I don’t trust you—”
“I’ve given Tommy his bath. I think the steam has done him some good tonight. He don’t sound as bad. I put a few lavender oil drops in the water. He’s all tucked in and ready for his story,” her mother interrupted.
“Thank you. I really do apprec—”
“I know. I can’t blame you for thinking the way you do about me. Now get up there and kiss your son goodnight. Oh, he said he wanted Harold and the Purple Crayon for his story tonight.”
“Again?” She chuckled.
“Again. He’s only had it a week, but I think he knows it by heart now. I swear one day there will be drawings all over these walls.”
“Thanks, Mom. You know I love you, don’t you?” Trish whispered as she climbed the stairs.
“Just remember to do the voices. He won’t go to sleep until you do the voices,” her mother said, ladling out a portion of soup and sitting at the kitchen table.
Tapping on Tommy’s bedroom door, Trish walked in to find him propped up with three pillows behind his tiny torso.
“Hey Momma. I smell like flowers.”
“Hey baby, I know. You smell like a meadow in June.” She giggled and per
ched on the edge of the bed as her son passed his reading book to her.
“You have to do the voices.”
“So I’m told,” Trish replied. “On one condition. You look after Grandma for me, OK? You pick up that phone, like I taught you, if anything happens. You promise?” Her eyes widened as she implored her five-year-old son.
“I promise, Momma.”
“Right. Well now, let’s get started.”
Trish opened the already worn cover of her son’s new favorite book and began to read until his eyes became too heavy to keep open. She closed the book and rose off the bed, praying it wouldn’t creak.
“Why don’t I have a daddy?” Tommy’s tiny voice piped up just as Trish managed to make it to the doorway. She paused, her finger poised on the light switch.
“You do. But… well, it’s his loss. Now, go to sleep, honey. Mommy loves you. Goodnight.”
“How was it today?” Dorothy asked as Shona returned home later than usual. It was just after eight o’clock. Smiling, she set a large bag of groceries down on the kitchen counter.
“It was good. Harry took me out on some deliveries this morning, then afterwards taught me how to fix a starter motor. Seems pretty easy, just pull a few wires, flick a few switches,” Shona replied, unpacking the groceries.
“That’s good. You eaten?” Dorothy asked as she busied herself putting tin cans in the cupboard above the little stove.
“Yeah, me and Harry went across the street to the diner for dinner with him, Jonny and Marcie. The catfish is delicious. Oh, but not as good as your pie, ma’am. I’m sure I could force down a slice or two,” Shona added, seeing Dorothy’s stern eyes narrow. She handed Dorothy the few coins from her top pocket to change the subject.
“Here’s your change. Jake gave me two-for-one on the Tide. We’re going through it fast me coming home covered in oil every night, I think he took pity on me. I never washed my clothes so much in my damn life,” Shona joked, leaning on the counter.
“I’ve told you before; I don’t mind doing them in the daytime when I do my own, while you’re out at work. You pay more than your way around here,” Dorothy replied, putting the change in her canister on the shelf.
“Now, Dorothy, we’ve already had this conversation. We’re a team, you and me. We help each other. But I’d never expect you to clean my clothes as well as cooking for me and giving me a bed. I can do that myself, have done all my life. Well, since my momma passed.” Shona stopped talking when she saw the look of sympathy on Dorothy’s kindly features. “I really like it here,” she continued, gazing out of the kitchen window. “It’s so quiet and out of the way. But I guess that’s why you like it here too, huh?” she asked, turning to face Dorothy.
“Yeah. Most days I just sit out there on the porch swing just listening to the birdsong. I can’t be bothered with all the drama that goes on in town. Oh, that reminds me, I nearly forgot. I gotta go vote soon, the election’s coming up, so I’ll need you to take me into town one day next week.”
“Who you gon’ vote for?” Shona asked, only vaguely knowing who the candidates were.
“Not sure. They’re probably all criminals. I know there’s one guy from outta state trying his luck, but people in this town aren’t too trusting of outsiders even if they are flashing the greenbacks to buy their way into office,” Dorothy replied.
Shona half-smiled at Dorothy’s all too close to home opinion on strangers in town. It had been six months since she came to Riverside, but the questions about her background still rattled around Wreckers on a daily basis.
“But I heard that this one guy,” Dorothy said, “Max something or other, is really keen to do something about that monstrosity of a bar. It’s an eyesore. I might not go into town that often, but I still care what happens down there. He wants to ‘clean up this town’ so he’s got my vote.”
“Mine too, I guess. Not so keen on strangers coming to town myself. For obvious reasons.” She looked at Dorothy, who responded with a knowing smile. “I’ve only just gotten used to the faces I see there already.” Shona grinned and started laying the cutlery on the table for dinner as Dorothy paused from lighting the stove and stared at her.
“Shona, your father? And those other people, back in Louisiana? Well, I can’t be sure but I reckon they will have stopped looking for you by now…”
“Ouch. Goddamn,” Shona exclaimed, her bleeding thumb dropping red dots on the white tablecloth. The knife she’d run over her skin without realizing it clattered to the floor.
“What happened?” Dorothy asked as she left the stove and scuttled over with a wet dishcloth. She dabbed the wound gently and looked up at Shona, whose face was now pale.
“Nothing. It’s fine. Listen, I gotta go. I’ll be back later. Sorry,” she mumbled, wriggling clear of Dorothy’s grip on her bleeding thumb.
“You’ll need a Band-Aid for that…” Dorothy called after her, but it was too late. Shona had already slammed the front door, almost off its hinges, behind her.
It didn’t feel right to take the truck. Shona hadn’t meant to run out on Dorothy, but the thought of being found by her father cut deeper into her than the knife had to her still-bleeding thumb. Pressing it to her lips, she sucked the blood away and carried on walking along the edge of the field next to the highway.
Before long, she reached town. Not really feeling like company, she found a bench at the end of the street outside Wreckers and sat cross-legged on the seat. Some the mechanics had chosen to return to their families for dinner and bedtime stories, but some had opted to take a liquid meal in the bar instead. Watching people go about their business was a favorite pastime of hers but always from a distance. She’d often wondered where they were going, what their lives were like. Who they were going home to? Were they in love? Did they have a dream? People fascinated and terrified her in equal measure.
At the opposite end of the street to the bar, a dark green Toyota pulled over under a streetlight and the passenger side door opened. Moments later, Lucy swung her long legs clear, stood up and straightened her black-and-red sequined dress. Smoothing her hair down on one side, she stuffed a folded wad of dollar bills in her purse. Not even saying goodbye to her ride, she slammed the door and watched as the car pulled away. Her face was expressionless, her demeanor vacant.
Looking up, Lucy saw a familiar face watching her from the bench outside Wreckers. Feeling the fizz of panic race through her veins, she put her head down and desperately tried to avoid being recognized. In her urgency, Lucy’s heel caught on the grid by the curb, sending her crashing to the ground and landing in a shiny sequined heap. Shona jumped up from the bench and raced over.
“You alright?” she asked, crouching down. She put her arms around Lucy’s shoulders and helped her to her feet.
“Got my damn heel caught. Thanks,” Lucy mumbled, trying not to let Shona see her properly, but the streetlight above her was enough for Shona to notice the tears that had left their mascara-stained streaks down Lucy’s face.
“Where are you heading?” Shona asked.
“Home. I’ll be alright now, you can go,” Lucy insisted, still trying to wriggle free of Shona’s embrace.
“OK. But you might wanna take those shoes off before you tackle that fire escape. That’s a helluva height to fall from,” Shona replied, half smiling as Lucy swayed away from her.
"I don't need you telling me what to do," Lucy snapped.
Looking up at the steps and realizing Shona was most probably right, she bent down to slip off her heels, holding them limply at the end of her index finger.
“Well, alright then. I’ll leave you to it,” Shona said, flicking her hand to wave goodbye.
“How many of those damn things did you take? They were only supposed to make you relax, goddamn it. You’d better not have fucked this up for me. Did you do what he wanted?”
Frank’s questions all went unanswered as he waved the bottle of smelling salts underneath Lucy’s nose until she snapped back into the here
and now. It was way after nine o’clock.
“Wha-aa-at?” she croaked, her mouth dry.
“You heard. I got a lot ridin’ on this so you’d better not have let me down, girl,” he mumbled as he began searching through Lucy’s purse. He pulled out the wad of money and began counting it. Smiling, he bent over the bed and kissed her on the cheek. “Good girl, you must have really satisfied him. I only expected $20; there’s $25 here. Say, why don’t you take the night off? I can’t have you walkin’ around the bar in that state. Sleep it off, will ya.” He wrapped the bedsheet around her messily and stroked her hair. “You’re my best girl, you remember that. You know I love you, don’t you? I just want you to have the best ones. Not the pieces of shit I give the other girls. You’re different, Lucy. You’re special.” He watched her for a moment as she appeared to fall fast asleep, then left to head back down to the bar.
As soon as she heard his footsteps become fainter, Lucy dragged her heavy body up from the bed and headed to the shower.
She had an apology to make.
“Who is it?” the old lady called from behind the door.
“It’s Lucy, Mrs. Clark. Could I please talk to Shona?”
The door opened a crack. Spotting the old lady’s wrinkly blue eyes, Lucy implored her silently to let her in.
“Alright, hold on a minute. You stay there,” Dorothy ordered, leaving Lucy standing on the porch.
Moments later, after hearing hushed tones, then silence, Shona appeared. “Hi,” she said, half hidden by the door. “Shit, you OK?” she added, noticing Lucy swaying slightly, her forehead clammy.