by Gill, Bonnie
He gave a stiff nod as if trying to decide whether or not to believe me. “You do good work, and I’m a little backed up. How would you like a job?”
I don’t know if I dazzled him with my repairs, or if he felt sorry for me because my face was black and blue, and my split lip stuck out a half an inch further than it should have. “I’d love it,” I replied, hoping I was far enough away from Chicago.
“Good. Be here at seven tomorrow morning.”
I jumped into my car where Star had patiently waited all day.
“You also got paid?” she asked.
“Yes, and he wants to hire me.” I felt a little flutter in my stomach. Maybe things would finally go my way. At that moment, we needed a place to sleep. “How about we splurge tonight and rent a motel room?”
The next morning, we arrived twenty minutes early.
“Can I clean your reception area and answer your phones?” Star asked.
Dean raised his bushy eyebrows.
“You don’t have to pay me. It’s just that if I have to wait all day in that car again, I’ll go crazy. Honestly, you’ll be doing me a favor.” Star is like that. She’s sweet and doesn’t expect anything from anyone, but she loves doing things for others.
Dean looked around the reception area and at all the dust that had collected in the corners of the floor. He took in the greasy fingerprints on the counter. Just then the phone rang. Star lunged for it.
He held up his hand. “Let it go to the answering machine. We’re not open yet. How old are you? Shouldn’t you be in school?”
“I’m seventeen and yes. I’ll transfer once we get settled.” She looked at me.
“Star is super smart. She’s planning on going to nursing school after she graduates,” I added.
He gave another nod, told her how he wanted the phones answered, and what not to touch. Under his breath, he muttered, “I can’t believe I have Barbie and Skipper working for me.”
“It’s Raven and Star,” I called out over my shoulder as I walked into the garage.
We worked all day. I completed several cars, and he let me do some repairs other than the routine maintenance on the vehicles. At the end of the day, he handed Star forty dollars. He looked at me. “Do you want cash, or can I pay you at the end of the week?”
I thought about it. If I received a check at the end of the week, we’d have to sleep in my car. I bit my sore lip.
He must have caught on to our dilemma. “Cash, then. You girls need a place to stay?”
Star and I looked at each other and nodded.
“I have a trailer I’ve been wanting to rent out. It’s nothing special, but it’s in a safe area, and it’s clean. It’s only four hundred a month plus utilities—and I’ll cover the utilities for the first couple months until you get on your feet.”
That was five years ago. I look at Dean now and know he’s a godsend. He genuinely cares about me and Star. He’s more than just a boss or a friend. He’s like a father figure to us.
I swap out the battery in the BMW and begin cleaning my tools.
"I'm heading out. Can you close the shop? I have one more person picking up tonight." Dean flips through papers on the counter.
"Sure thing, Bossarooni." I close my toolbox and run my hands under the warm water. "I'll be right there. I can clean your tools for you as well." I shoot him a grin.
"You know you’ll polish the chrome right off those wrenches if you keep rubbing the grease off."
"It prolongs their life. You know what they say, a clean tool is a tool that doesn't malfunction." No one has probably ever actually said that, but I like to make up sayings just to bug him.
With a laugh, Dean says, "Whatever," as he walks out the door.
A woman in her forties stands at the counter. She wears a pink tailored suit, and a frown is pasted on her face. From the look of those lines on her forehead, she carries this expression often.
"Can I help you?" I ask.
"I'm here to pick up the BMW." She digs into her designer purse and hands me her credit card. She taps her professionally painted fingernails on the counter.
Impatient enough? I hand her a set of keys. "You should be good for another five years."
She signs her work order. "I need to run. Where’s it parked?"
I point to the left. "On the side. You know you're overdue for an oil change, right?"
She shrugs and walks out the door. I always wonder why some women don't bat an eye at paying fifty dollars for a manicure and pedicure every other week but balk at paying for an oil change. Don’t they know it’s the vehicle’s life-blood?
The woman looks familiar. I just can't place her face. I glance at her customer information sheet, and it dawns on me. She’s some sort of politician. Maybe a senator?
I turn off all the lights and lock the door. My old Chevy pickup sits in the parking lot. It’s starting to get dark. I have just enough time to run to the store and pick up some items before Mrs. Garcia's poker game.
I try calling Star, but she doesn’t answer. Gazing at my watch, I realize she’s gone to work.
Cars fill the grocery store’s parking lot. Honks and yelling surrounds me.
I find a spot in the back of the lot and grab a stray cart. The store is packed with people. Someone bumps into my ankle with their cart and doesn’t even acknowledge me. There’s no water, bread, or toilet paper on the shelves, but there’s a woman with a cart full of wine boxes. If this is truly the apocalypse, she plans on facing it sloshed.
I push my cart down the produce aisle because it’s the least crowded. I place two bags of apples and three bags of oranges inside before making my way to the canned goods. Pickings are slim with only a few cans of green beans and carrots left. I grab them and a few bags of rice and dried peas. Pushing my cart to the front of the store, I notice every register is packed. Over seven people stand in each line at the registers, most texting or talking on their phones. They’re carts are overloaded with food and toilet paper. It takes almost a half hour to get through self-checkout.
I pull into the parking spot in front of my mobile home. All the lights are on in Mrs. Garcia's trailer. In fact, the lights are on in almost every trailer in the park. It looks like all my neighbors took the "Shelter in place" seriously.
Mrs. Garcia opens her door and travels down her front steps. "Oh Raven, I'm so glad you're here."
"What's up?"
“Dorothy can't make it tonight, so we're going to need you to play poker."
"Does she have the flu? I hope she's okay. She’s a fun lady.”
"I'm afraid so. Edith is already here, and Betty should be here soon. How long do you need to get ready?" She wrinkles her nose at me. I must smell like exhaust and gasoline. I replaced a fuel line earlier today and some spilled on me.
"I only need about twenty minutes. I have to shower and call Star." She needs to get her butt home. I worry about her catching this flu with all those people at the bar.
Mrs. Garcia thins her lips. "Edith has already started on the margaritas. You know how quickly she gets tipsy. She's useless once that happens." She shakes her head.
We usually have to walk a giggling Edith home after poker.
I shower and try Star again, but get no answer.
Mrs. Garcia, Edith, and Betty sit around a green felt-covered table in Mrs. Garcia's Florida room. We don’t live in Florida but that's what she calls the enclosed porch. The heat from space heaters chases away the cool April temperatures. Edith and Betty wear sun visors like the poker players on TV shows wear. Rat Pack music plays softly in the background.
"Yay. Raven's here," Edith says as she takes a drink from a half-full glass of margarita. "Do you have your pennies?"
I hold up a blue felt bag containing about fifteen-dollars worth of copper coins. "I sure do."
"Oh good, I plan to take those from you," Betty says. She pushes up her platinum curls and grins at me.
The women cackle as Mrs. Garcia shuffles the cards. "Five card
stud, nothing wild." She deals a card face down and another face up to each person.
My card is a three of hearts the other one is a nine of clubs. Bummer. Everyone throws two pennies in the pot.
“Is your sister still working over at the place on the lake?” Mrs. Garcia asks me as she deals the next card face up.
“Yep.” I look down at my card. A king of spades. I should just fold but instead I put two more pennies in the pot.
“Is she and her sidekick still dancing on the bar?” She smiles a wicked little grin. “I hear they have men throwing money at them.” She deals another card out.
Star and Daria came up with the idea after watching a movie. The owner gave them the go-ahead as long as they brought in more customers. They pack the bar on the nights they work. They make great money, too. "They do okay. Remember, they’re paying for their schooling." My next card is a queen of spades. I put my pennies in the pot.
"Ah, to be young again," Mrs. Garcia says. That sly smile growing across her lips. She leans forward, and in a low voice she says, "Remember when we went to that senior mixer a few years ago?" She deals us our last cards.
Betty adds, "It was more like five years ago."
Edith places her hand on her forehead like she just felt a brain freeze. "Arnold O'Conner asked you for your panties."
"Betty went into the bathroom, slipped them off, and placed them into a brown paper bag. She walked out of the bathroom and shoved the package into Arnold's hands," Maria went on. "He grabbed her underwear out of the bag and brought them up to his nose. He took a big, long sniff, and then he said 'ahhhh' like it was a fine wine or something." She busts out in giggles.
"I never gave my panties away again," Betty says.
"Yeah, like you get asked for them all the time," Edith says.
We laugh so hard tears drip down our cheeks.
"He was a pervert," Betty says. "I heard he died five years ago."
At this revelation, the mood sobers as we’re briefly reminded of our mortality.
Mrs. Garcia makes a sign of the cross over her chest. "God bless his soul. Do you think he’s asking women for their underwear in heaven?"
We laugh again.
These golden girls sure know how to have a good time. I can only hope I have half as much fun as they do when I'm their age.
“Raven, how come you don’t date? You should find yourself a nice young man and settle down,” Mrs. Garcia says.
“I’m too busy with work.” I don’t want to go into how Seth screwed me over. Or how I’m not interested in being hurt again. I haven’t dated since that whole escapade.
“Well, you can at least go out and have some fun,” Betty adds as she deals the next hand. "I heard Dorothy has a fever of a hundred and four." She leans over to me, keeping her cards close to her chest. "She caught that flu going around."
"Is someone with her?" It sucks to be so sick and have no one around to help you. I remember a few years ago, I caught Strep throat. I had a high fever, and my throat felt as though I'd swallowed razor blades. Star stayed home from school to be with me. She took me to the doctor and nursed me back to health. That’s how I knew she'd made the right choice going into nursing. It seemed to be her calling.
"I left her daughter and granddaughter a message letting them know they need to come over and help her." She taps her finger on the table. "Hit me, Maria," she says to Mrs. Garcia.
We play a few more hands, drink, and eat snacks. My pile of pennies dwindles to almost nothing.
Edith coughs a few times. "When I stopped by to see Dorothy, she didn't look too good."
We all stop and look at her with concern.
Mrs. Garcia places her hand on Edith's forearm. "Will she be okay?"
Edith coughs again. "I don't know. I think I might be catching whatever she has." Poor Edith, she is getting the death warmed over look. "Maybe I should go home and get some rest."
Nodding in affirmation, we all agree. She shouldn’t be out if she’s sick.
My phone chimes letting me know I have a text from Star.
PLEASE PICK US UP. THE GOVERNMENT JUST SET A CURFEW FOR TONIGHT.
Star doesn’t own a vehicle. She usually gets a ride from a bouncer or takes the bus home.
I look up from my phone. "Did you guys know there's a curfew tonight?"
The women shake their heads.
"I haven't watched the news since this afternoon," Betty says.
"If they're enforcing a curfew, it must be serious," Mrs. Garcia adds.
I turn to Edith. "Do you want me to walk you home? I’d never forgive myself if something bad happened to you along the way."
She shakes her head no. "Oh, sweet child, it's only three homes over. I’m sure I can make it fine on my own." She coughs again, only this time it sounds deeper in her chest, and she has trouble catching her breath.
"We'll walk her home. You go get your sister," Mrs. Garcia says.
I say my goodbyes as I wave and head toward my truck.
2
The bar sits on one of the many lakes in this town. Several empty boat docks line the shore. Cars, trucks, and SUV's fill the gravel parking lot. A large neon sign reads The Liquor Hole over the entrance. This used to be a dive bar, but the clientele improved since they hired Star. As I open the heavy wooden door and walk inside, I’m greeted by country music and the stench of stale alcohol. The long bar runs across the back, while several round tables fill the floor. A mannequin sits at the end with her elbow on the bar in a provocative pose. Star says she can’t believe how often drunks hit on it.
The place is only half full tonight compared to the usual packed house. It seems, people are staying at home and taking the news reports seriously.
Star, a tall brunette behind the bar, pours drinks. Daria, a shorter Asian woman, is running around handing out beers to thirsty customers.
Star holds up a finger, indicating she's not ready just yet. For once it’s her index finger instead of her usual favorite. Daria, her sidekick, nods.
Daria came to live with us several years ago when her parents moved to Florida. She was in college for performing arts and didn’t want to transfer. Star asked if her best friend could stay with us, and I figured I could pay it forward, just as Dean had done for me. It was my turn to help someone.
Now, I love her like a little sister.
A man in a flannel shirt and cowboy hat waves a five-dollar bill in the air and yells, "Dance. Dance."
Several others join in the chant.
Star and Daria each throw back a shot of brown liquor and shrug. A peppy country song plays over the speakers as they jump up onto the bar wearing tight shorts, tank tops, and cowboy boots.
A burly man places a tip bucket onto the bar and stands with his back to the girls like their hulking protector. He crosses his arms over his chest so his tattoo that says "don’t make me beat you" shows on his forearm. Joey the bouncer.
The smiling bartenders raise their arms, encouraging cheers. The crowd responds with hoots and applause. The girls dance to the music. Looking around, everyone’s attention is on my sister and her friend, as if they're mesmerized.
Star and Daria laugh and dance faster. They clap, bump, and wiggle their hips to the music as men throw their dollar bills into the bucket.
When one man yells, "Kiss!" the girls dance over to each other, leaning in close as if they're going to honor his request.
The men cheer louder.
Star and her friend pull away at the last minute.
"Aw, man," the guy says. Despite the disappointment on his face, he throws a few bucks into the bucket anyway. The girls sure know how to play the crowd.
One woman tries to climb up onto the bar to join them. Joey grabs her arm, and she stumbles and swings at him. She misses by a foot.
The song finally finishes, and they jump back behind the bar. Daria snatches the bucket of money off the top.
"Bar's closing in five minutes, people," Joey announces. He’s rewarded with a choru
s of boos from the patrons, expressing their displeasure at having to leave their favorite watering hole.
Joey holds up his hands. "The government has issued a curfew tonight. You all need to be off the streets by ten o'clock. That gives you an hour to get home."
Two men to the right of me down their beers and head toward the door.
Star and Daria are busy taking money from people who are settling up their bar tabs.
Joey walks over to me with a wide grin. "Raven, I could've brought the ladies home." He and Star dated for a short time. He was military before he became a bouncer.
"It's okay. When did they issue the curfew?" I ask.
"About an hour ago. They said the flu outbreak is spreading faster than they thought it would." He scans the bar constantly as if looking for danger. I still don’t understand why Star broke up with him. He seems nice enough.
I nod. My insides clench. I've never heard of such a thing. A curfew because of the flu?
Star and Daria walk up to me. Both are wearing long coats that cover most of their bare legs. "Ready to go, Sis?" Star asks.
I wave goodbye to Joey.
The three of us walk out to the parking lot and climb into my blue extended cab pickup truck. Star turns on my radio. The emergency broadcast siren is making an obnoxious noise. A voice comes on and says, “This is not a test.”
"Why are they issuing the signal?" Daria asks from the back seat. "Everyone is freaking out over this flu bug."
"It must be worse than we realize. Dorothy is sick, so I want to check on her when we get home. Edith is also coming down with something," I say.
“The hospital was full yesterday when I had clinicals. Only certain nurses were allowed into those wings. We need to make sure they get plenty of fluids and lots of rest,” Star says, her nursing nature kicking in.
The noise on the radio stops, and a robotic male voice comes on. Stay away from all infected with the Gabhart virus. They are extremely violent. Shelter in place, and lock your doors. We are enforcing the curfew starting at ten pm. Anyone caught outdoors after the curfew will be placed into custody.