by Paddy Eger
The swaying bus made Marta’s stomach queasy. She set aside her Seventeen magazine and closed her eyes. First thing she’d do with her first paycheck would be to start saving for a ticket home, by train.
All night, the bus twisted through the Rockies, following its headlights along deserted roads. In the early morning, Marta’s head jerked off her purse she’d used as a pillow against the window. She stretched her torso from side to side to loosen the kinks. Outside, brown prairie grasslands and scrub brush slid past in a blur. Her seat companion snored on.
The bus meandered through the tiny towns of Drummond, Deer Lodge, and Opportunity, making brief stops in each before descending into a wide valley. The bus slowed and turned off the highway. Sun streamed through the gritty window, blinding her view of the town. “Billings,” announced the driver. “All travelers going beyond Billings check inside the depot for connections.”
People rustled in their seats, collecting their belongings. Her seatmate moved slower than syrup. So far she’d not attempted to retrieve her oversized bag from the shelf overhead.
While Marta waited for her seatmate to pack up, she reorganized her questions for the greeter. She needed to locate her overnight accommodations and the ballet company, find housing in town, and learn to navigate Billings. Her hands began to tremble as she thought about all she had to do. Thank heavens for the greeter.
Marta stepped off the bus and into intense midday heat that hit her like an oven on broil. She began to sweat. Her mouth felt dry as a cotton ball. She moved to the side of the bus with the other passengers, watching the driver unpack the baggage compartment.
Bag after bag formed a pile beside the bus. People grabbed their bags and walked away. Now the pavement was empty. The driver closed the baggage compartment and walked toward the depot.
Marta looked around. “Excuse me, sir. Are there more bags stored on the other side?”
“No, Miss. That’s all I had. If yours isn’t here, it must not have made a transfer along the way. Check inside at baggage claim.”
Marta closed her eyes and let out a calming breath. Okay. It would work out. She’d ask her greeter what to do when she called her, after she got a drink of water.
The drinking fountain dribbled water; she couldn’t get a sip. She moved to the pay phone booth to call the greeter.
Her dime slid into the coin slot and dropped down inside the telephone. After she heard a dial tone, she placed her finger in the first slot and pulled it to the small, curved metal stop. She listened to the clicks as the dial rotated back to its starting position before she stuck her finger in the next slot. Number by number she waited as the dial clicked back to its original position.
The phone rang and rang. No answer. She gave up and moved to the baggage counter. A tired worker hefted a large box to the counter where a shaggy-haired man signed for it and walked away. The worker turned his attention to Marta. “Help you?”
After she filled out her information, the attendant handed Marta two missing baggage claim tickets and disappeared through a dingy door. She stared at the tickets, too depressed to move. There’d be no chance of changing out of her wrinkled, smelly traveling clothes now.
She called the greeter again. Still no answer. Next she called the ballet company. The man she spoke with said the ballet office was closed for meetings until Tuesday morning.
She retrieved her overworked dime and placed a call to her mom.
“Mom? I’m in Billings. The greeter hasn’t come, my bags are lost, the dance company office is closed until Tuesday, and I’m so thirsty I could drink cold coffee.”
“Don’t fret, Marta. I’ll mail out pointe shoes and dance clothes right away. In the meantime keep calling your greeter. Maybe the person had an emergency.”
“Okay, Mom. I love you.”
Marta gave up on phoning the greeter and exited the depot. The Montana heat blasted her again. Her head ached from the bus trip, and her stomach growled from lack of food. Thirst became a focus, but she pushed it away. She’d wait and use the inn fountain so she’d have money for meals with enough left over to buy clothes and shoes before her first day.
At the curb she checked the map. The inn looked to be a couple of blocks north along Twenty-seventh Street. Thank heavens downtown Billings streets lay flat as a pancake.
Downtown appeared larger than Bremerton, but smaller than Seattle or Tacoma. Block after block of three and five story buildings hovered over small businesses. The pavement sizzled with heat. Marta took advantage of the recessed entries to look at merchandise as she cooled down. Clothing shops, jewelers, a dry cleaner, a department store, two cafes, and a drug store filled in spaces between hotels and office buildings. Across Twenty-seventh she spotted a five and dime, a bank, and a pet shop.
She continued through town, heading toward a long, high wall of rock. At the Rimview Inn she went directly to the drinking fountain in the foyer and took in a dozen swallows of tepid water. At the check-in counter she paid for an extra night to allow time to find a place to live, then dragged herself up a flight of stairs, briefly glad she didn’t have extra bags in tow.
The room smelled antiseptic and looked spartan. Marta flopped on the orange bedspread and faded into a dreamless sleep. She woke to darkness. Her stomach growled and grumbled as she headed to the reception desk.
After a few minutes a plump woman with brown hair and a warm smile appeared from the back room. “Hello. May I help you?”
“Hi. Is there a cafe nearby where I can get something to eat?”
The woman sized her up. “If you’re twenty-one you can go in the bar.”
“I’m not. I’m seventeen.”
“Well then, I’ll order you a sandwich to eat out here.” The woman called the sandwich order into the bar, then turned back to Marta. “Are you in Billings for long?”
“I hope so. I’m joining the local ballet company.”
“That’s exciting.” The woman’s eyebrows raised, and a wide smile brightened her face. “Do you wear those fluffy short dresses?”
“Sometimes. Have you been to a ballet?”
“Not yet,” the woman said. “Every year I plan to go. I like the music, so I’d probably like the dancing.”
Marta smiled. “I hope you will come this year.”
A thick ham sandwich with a fat dill pickle, a pile of potato chips, and a bottle of Coke arrived on the counter. Marta started to protest.
“I know you didn’t order the Coke; I added that. The chips and the pickle come with our sandwiches.”
Marta opened her purse and drew out her wallet.
The woman waved her hand at Marta. “Put your money away. I’ll come see you dance one of these days. I’d be proud to say that I bought you dinner.”
“Thanks,” Marta said. She took her food to one of the faded overstuffed lobby chairs and devoured half of the sandwich and the pickle before taking a few sips of the Coke. The uneaten half sandwich and the chips she wrapped in a paper napkin and slipped into her pocket. She sat back and drank the rest of the Coke, feeling the bubbles erupt in her mouth and nose. Tomorrow she’d return to her usual much smaller and healthier meal portions.
Marta found the pay phone in a small alcove off the lobby and called the greeter again. Still no answer. Next she called her Mom, collect.
“Hi, darling. Feeling calmer?”
Marta paused. “A little. I crashed when I got to the hotel. I didn’t sleep very well with the bus twisting and turning. We made so many stops between Tacoma and Billings that I lost count.”
“Well, at least you‘re rested now. How’s the inn? Is your greeter helpful?”
“It’s an old inn. Reminds me of the beach lodge at Kalaloch.” Marta paused, expelling a slow breath. “I haven’t reached the greeter. It’s strange not knowing anyone or where anything
is located.”
“It will all work out; you’ll see.”
Marta ran her fingers up and down the metal phone cord. “Did you do anything like this when you were my age?”
“No. When I left high school, I married your dad. We were busy working and saving money for a house. Then you came along. You were my adventure, and my blessing.”
Marta smiled to herself. “I won’t disappoint you.”
“You could never disappoint me, honey. Now, get some rest. Call me whenever; remember it’s cheaper after nine. Laugh when things get too crazy; it helps.”
After her mother hung up, Marta listened to the dial tone drone on and on before she hung up, feeling a break in connection to her mom. She roamed the lobby, waiting to thank the night clerk for the food. When she didn’t appear, Marta returned to her room and went to bed.
Morning sunlight slipped in along the side of the window shade, warming Marta’s back. The clock registered six o’clock. She stood, stretched, and peered out the window. Not a person or an evergreen tree in sight.
She curled up on the bed for a moment. When she next scanned the clock, it read nine-thirty. She sat up, shaking her head to clear away the sleep. Outside she heard cars and trucks rumbling along the avenue and voices moving along the sidewalks. Saturday looked to be a busy day in town. She’d better get moving. Too much needed to be done for her to sleep late.
She showered and rolled her worn clothes in the damp towel to soften the wrinkles. After she ate the leftover half sandwich and chips, she hurried down the stairs and out onto the sidewalk. She stood under the entry awning, attempting to orient herself to the town. The map the ballet company sent looked like chicken scratches. It didn’t make sense. She stepped back inside the inn to check the telephone book for a better map.
The woman from last night spoke when she saw Marta. “Good Morning! Nice day isn’t it?”
“Yes. Thanks for last night’s food. That sandwich tasted great. I was starving.”
“Nothing like a little food to make you feel better.” The woman eyed Marta’s rumpled handful of papers. “New task today?”
“I need to find a ballet shop and a place to live,” Marta said, “but this map is useless.”
The night clerk stepped from behind the check-in counter. “Let me have a look-see. I’ve lived here seven years. My name is Trudy, and you’re Marta, right?”
“Yes, I am.”
Trudy scanned the list. “The dance shop is down the block. We can start there. You have a wide variety of apartments and rooms to consider. Here are my suggestions.” She circled places she considered acceptable, handed the list back to Marta, and picked up her purse and lunch bag. “Let’s get going. It will take a couple of hours to visit all of them. I need to be home by twelve-thirty. I assume you’ll accept a ride?”
“I’d love a ride,” Marta said, “but I can’t pay you much.”
“Pish, posh, Marta. I know how it feels to be new in a strange town.”
Trudy’s car interior was super-heated from the early morning sun. Marta’s blouse stuck to her back. The hot air burned her throat. Trudy started the car. “They say today will be a scorcher. Already is.”
The Dance Shoppe sign said, “Closed until September 6.” Way too late to help Marta.
Trudy drove Marta around the city looking for housing. The first apartment complex sign said, “No Vacancy.” The second turned out to be too expensive. Marta ruled out the third, fourth, and fifth because they were dingy or too far out of town for walking to the ballet company.
At a quarter to twelve, they stopped at the Belvern Boarding House on the east side of Yellowstone Avenue. Its freshly painted exterior and overflowing planter boxes invited a second look. A man in bib overalls pushed a rotary mower in the side yard, tossing up the scent of dry grass. Marta approached the front door.
“There’s no one home right now,” the man shouted. “Aggie gets home about five o’clock. Come back then.”
“Thanks, I will.”
When she climbed back in the car, Trudy started the engine. “I have a friend who knows Aggie. She’s got a great reputation. If she has a room, take it.”
Trudy drove Marta back to the inn and left with a wave. The smell of cinnamon, hot dough, and chocolate chip cookies floated out the door of the nearby bakery. Marta stepped inside and bought an inexpensive cheese bun for her dinner. She took it back to the inn and sat eating it in one of the foyer’s cushy chairs while she planned her next move.
Marta placed several calls. No other shops in town carried dancewear. They all suggested calling the Intermountain Ballet Company. She already knew that wouldn’t work.
3
At a quarter to six, Marta rang the Belvern boarding house doorbell. As she waited, she brushed back her damp hair and finger-pressed her wrinkled clothes.
A chunky woman about Marta’s height came to the screen door. She wore a pinstriped summer dress covered by a white apron. “Yes?” she said, as she wiped her hands on a kitchen towel.
“Hi. My name is Marta Selbryth. I came about the room. Is it still available?”
“Yes. Please, come in.” The woman opened the screen door. “I’m Mrs. Belvern. Two rooms are available. Follow me.”
The upstairs room above the entry hall smelled of lemon furniture polish. The room faced the street and the side yard. A faint breeze fluttered the white lace curtains, creating wavy patterns on the hardwood floor.
Marta surveyed the furnishings: a bleached maple bed, two mismatched dressers, and a rocking chair, all well-used. One of the blue and white flowered wallpaper walls had a small sink with a mirror. The closet appeared spacious for such an old home. Although the room was twice the size of her bedroom back home, it felt cozy.
Mrs. Belvern pointed toward the hall. “The shared baths are next door. You’d need to work out a schedule with the other upstairs tenants.”
Marta entered the bathroom. The large room split into two spaces each with locking doors. One room had a claw foot bathtub, a sink, a toilet, and a mirror. The other was similar but with a small shower. The linen closet in the entry area had four shelves. Two held personal items; one held a pile of towels, extra toilet paper, and tissues; the last shelf was empty.
“Each tenant has a personal shelf,” Mrs. Belvern said. “Extra towels and supplies are stocked here as well. You’ll need to launder any towels you use. The wash machine is in the furnace room in the basement. Check the schedule for available tenant wash times. You’ll need to purchase your own laundry detergent once you settle in. Clotheslines are available out back and in the furnace room.”
Mrs. Belvern pointed to a phone hanging on the wall in a tiny alcove. “Upstairs tenants make local or collect calls from here. Incoming calls ring up here as well as downstairs. I prefer they be answered downstairs when possible.”
Marta nodded.
The second room, on the main floor, looked north onto a large backyard where neighboring houses and fruit trees blocked direct sunlight. With flocked forest green wallpaper, dark maple furniture, and one tall sash window, the room felt too dark for Marta’s taste.
“Two boarders share the bath next door. There’s a small closet to store personal items. Boarding house guests also use this bath, so I provide a basket of hand towels intended for their use.”
“Are the rooms the same price?” Marta asked.
“Yes, seventy-five dollars a month, which includes breakfast as well as weekday and Sunday suppers.”
“I’d like to rent the upstairs room,” Marta said. “I like the view of the street and having a breeze. Could I move in tomorrow, Mrs. Belvern?”
“Certainly,” the landlady said. “That gives me time to dust and check things over.” She extended her hand to Marta. “Welcome, Marta. Call me Mrs. B.” She gestured toward the
street. “I’m sorry I don’t have parking spaces.”
“I don’t have a car. That’s why I need to be in town. How far is the bus depot from here? My bags are lost. This morning they said to expect them tomorrow.”
“Oh my. That’s unfortunate. You can walk there, but it’s quite a distance. But, in this heat, how about I meet you there at noon tomorrow? We’ll pick up your bags and get you here in nothing flat. Take my phone number in case you think of any questions.”
“Thanks, Mrs. B. Getting help with the bags would be great.”
The sidewalk sizzled as hot as stove burners as Marta retraced her route back to the Rimview Inn. Her sandals stuck to her feet and sweat coated her body, but she congratulated herself on finding a room. When she got her bags tomorrow, she’d be set.
Marta took a cool shower and wrapped herself in the two small bath towels provided by the inn. She rinsed out her clothes and hung them over the shower rod to dry while she stretched out on the orange bedspread. She awoke near sunset. Her clothes felt damp to her touch, but she put them on so she could walk through town in hopes of catching a breeze.
The huge mercury thermometer on the bank wall read eighty-five degrees well after eight, much warmer than the warmest days back home. She stopped in a small park to sit in the shade of a droopy willow and eat the remains of a second cheese bun she’d purchased earlier.
A thought startled her: she was totally alone. She had no one to talk to, no one to laugh with, and no one to tell her everything would be okay. But this chance to dance was what she wanted, and that meant handling her own life day after day. She stood, straightened, and looked around. She could do this.
When she returned to her room, she thumbed through the Seventeen magazine her mom had tucked in the toiletries case. At nine-thirty she called home collect to report her day’s progress: the heat bothered her, she’d not found a place to buy dance clothes, yes she ate, and best of all, she loved the boarding house room she’d found.