Hector held the woman in a dancer's embrace, his smile dignified while she giggled and tried to follow.
Ester made a theatrically confused face. "Sure. Why now?"
He could imagine the conversation later: Ester, Linda, and Rayanne, trying to figure out what happened by unpacking his question about a haircut.
"I don't know, something should be different." He put his empty glass on the bar. "Should we tip Fran?"
Ester polished off her drink, too. "She'll give it back if you try."
Hector finished the dance and gave a small bow to the group before heading to the door.
"Do you think a person can help people with things that he's bad at?" he said.
Ester didn't hide her confusion. "What are we talking about?"
"Being a counselor, or teacher, or something."
"Are you interested in that?"
"I don't know. Thinking about how I could do more but no idea what skills I have."
Ester's phone vibrated. She slid off the bar stool and waved to Fran. She grabbed his wrist and headed for the door. "You could be good at lots of things. I like the idea. We'll investigate."
When they got to the door, Theo looked him over. "You're leaving?" he said, feigning surprise.
"I need to keep an eye on my cousin," Tommy said, "but thanks for inviting me. It was nice to get out of the house."
Theo nodded. Tommy waited while Ester and Theo said goodbye. The way they looked at each other made him ache for Elizabeth. He shifted his gaze to the ground as if something interesting could be found there.
He walked Ester to the restaurant. Before she went inside, she asked, "Do you still have your magic rock?"
"Hate to break it to you, but there's no such thing as a magic rock."
"There should be," she said.
Elizabeth carried the box down a long hallway in stocking feet. She'd slipped the heels off when she'd arrived. The gown was stiff and itchy, but the weight of it felt glamorous and she liked the way her bare leg popped out of the long slit in the side. One of the straps refused to stay up and she found herself repeatedly yanking it back over her shoulder. She'd thought about and discarded the idea of sending a picture of herself in it to Tommy.
She stopped at the narrow room where they kept the copier, the shredder, and a long narrow table that might have been useful in another location but in here served as a place to deposit broken monitors, lost and found, extra extension cords, or any item with no obvious home. She made room and set the box down, and began removing clips and then shredding the pile of job applications. The little room was always hot and smelled like coffee and whatever people were microwaving in the lunchroom.
Somewhere a door opened and slammed shut. The business part of the casino was as locked down as the money-handling parts. If you wanted a door to stay open, you had to prop it open, and that wasn't allowed.
The shredder made a high-pitched metallic gnashing sound that ramped up to another octave. She reduced the number of pages she fed in. A week ago at this time, she'd been coaxing Tommy into the back seat of Linda's car. She smiled at the memory of the thoughtful way his hands had lost their timidity, and his hand covering her mouth, afraid her enthusiasm might draw unwanted attention. The sense of his body against hers, and her arms hooked around him, hanging on.
He never called.
She didn't call, either.
She couldn't forget the stunned look of betrayal on Tommy's face when George had come out of the house, being George, all familiar and protective. It was supposed to be a bittersweet goodbye with promise, and instead, it was like they’d chased him off. She should have tried harder to get him to stay.
The sadness cut through her icy and sharp, but she stuffed it down.
She heard her name. "Back here," she called, unable to hide her annoyance. George's familiar figure sauntered down the hall.
"You're not supposed to be back here." She flipped through the rest of the box, now grateful for the excuse to be stuck there for a little longer.
"Applying for a job in security," he said.
"Everything is closed back here."
"Damn," George said, taking his time to admire her, "what's with the outfit?"
"Super Salmon Wheel promotion. Kora's taking some promotional photos." She yanked the strap back over her shoulder.
"You're supposed to wear that?"
"Why not? It's fun. I like dressing up."
"I suppose. Why are you back here?"
"Putting in some hours to make up for the day I missed," she said. "Grunt work no one ever has time for." George reached for the box, but she slapped his hand away. "Why are you back here?"
George pretended to be hurt. "Looking for you."
"Better not get me in trouble." The dress had felt gloriously sexy moments earlier but now she felt overexposed. She didn't want to be like this with George. The time with Tommy had clarified the confusing jumble of feelings about George. He was not where she wanted to end up.
"Steak dinner night," he said.
"Enjoy," she said.
"You coming?"
"I'm working."
A disappointed look crossed George's face. "How late?"
While the week with Tommy had removed her further from George, the moment of George seeing her with Tommy had woken up something in him. He barely left her alone. He picked her up for work and dropped her off at night. He brought over pizza—for Granny, he said, but spent the entire evening with them. He hung around the house like he didn't want to leave. Now here he was, tracking her down to take her to steak dinner.
"I'm not sure," she said. "It's my first time doing it."
"I don't mind waiting," he said.
"I do. I'm beat," Elizabeth said, dreading the conversation they needed to have. She picked up the box and shook it as if shredding paperwork was a monumentally draining task. "First week of work and then all that exhausting stuff over the weekend."
"It's just dinner," George said. He stood there a long time, looking like he was about to say something she didn't want to hear. She fed paper into the machine, the high-pitched whine turning into the sound of screaming in her head. Before he'd arrived, she wanted to be done. Now she was afraid of running out of paper before she could get him to leave.
George said, "We should make plans to do something like we used to. Remember?"
Her heart went cold. Before she met Tommy, she might have signed on for this. He was a good guy. She knew his family. The only reason they hadn't worked before was they were too young. But they weren't right for each other, they were familiar to each other. No words would come. She didn't want to give him hope. She didn't want to reject him.
The shredder made a grinding squeal. She unplugged it and opened it up, but before she could clear the teeth, George was doing it. "Watch out," he said. When a guy you liked watched out for your safety, it was cute; when a guy you didn't like did it, it was annoying. He put the machine back together and plugged it back in. She fed more pages into the shredder.
"I need to start driving myself," is what finally came out.
George nodded as if trying to follow the conversation, his face carefully neutral. "Leo's truck? I can drive with you if you want."
"No," she said, realizing this was another excuse for him to spend time with her, for her to be beholden to him. "I can figure it out."
She fed the last few sheets of paper in and watched as the teeth ground them up and sucked them into the bin.
"Sorry,” she said. “I like you as a friend but nothing more."
"It's not like that," he said quickly, but dejection radiated off of him and maybe a bit of anger. Relying on him for rides had been a mistake, and she regretted it now.
She waved the empty box. "I'm going to put this away and then go out for the promotion. You sticking around?"
"Why? You need a ride?" he said sourly.
Kora's big voice boomed down the hallway. "Wheel time!"
"Kora's taking me home." She wi
shed she knew what to say.
Kora gave a shocked look when they walked out together.
Elizabeth eased the shoulder strap back up again. Kora gave her a stealthy eyebrow wiggle. "You two need a minute?"
Great, let the rumors begin.
George's face curved into a sneaky half-smile. "We're done." He went back into the casino, the jangle of the machines floating in and then muting again when the door slammed shut.
"You two again?" Kora asked.
Elizabeth shook her head. "I like Tommy."
"That guy from the trip?"
"Yeah."
"Doesn't he live up north? When are you going to see him?"
It was too much to explain.
"I don't know. Let's get this over with."
They met the manager out on the casino floor. He explained the procedures while guiding her through the mob of patrons, most of them seniors. A low wooden platform supported a giant spinning wheel, its highest point reaching her forehead. A tribal artist had painted a spiral of salmon starting at the center of the wheel so when it spun they gradually grew larger and then leapt off.
"Take your time," Kora said, moving in to snap photos.
A giant fishbowl rested on a wooden stand. She climbed a step stool and sank her arm as far as she could reach and stirred around before grabbing a ticket. She pulled it out and gave it to the casino manager with a dramatic flourish. She smiled at the crowd while she casually pulled her dress strap up and left her hand on her shoulder to keep it there.
A gray-haired lady shrieked and jumped up and made her way to the platform. Both she and the casino manager checked that the numbers matched before Elizabeth led her to the wheel. The lady grabbed the wheel and gave it a spin.
Most of the prizes were modest. Free meal coupons, discount coupons for rooms, and the gift shop. There was a hundred-dollar cash prize. Then, there was the salmon. If you caught the salmon, you could go to the bigger drawing where the top prize was five thousand dollars. The wheel spun and spun. The salmon grew bigger and bigger before leaping off the wheel. The wheel turned for so long, Elizabeth thought something was wrong. Kora approached the platform and winked while she took photos. The wheel finally slowed, and the final prizes clicked by, teasing a stop before finally settling. The lady had won a steak dinner. You'd think it was ten steak dinners by her reaction.
The casino manager gave the woman her coupon and the three of them posed for a photo before Elizabeth returned to the bowl to draw the next ticket.
28
Linda stood next to Arnie. "Are they serious with this?"
"Maybe?" Arnie replied, his voice uncertain.
They were in a quasi-industrial part of town, on a block that could be best characterized as gray. The lot was a slab of cracked and crumbling asphalt, pocked with gaping holes. Even the chain-link fence looked like it didn't want to be there, sagging between the poles.
"Is that a barn?" A single building sat in one corner of the lot. It had a funny shape like a log sliced lengthwise and set flat-side down. It was mottled gray, and the windows that weren't boarded up were opaque with dust.
"I believe that is called a Quonset hut," Arnie said. "We had one on the rez, but it was demolished because of an environmental hazard."
"Someone thought this was a good place for an urban Indian center? I'm not even sure how to categorize my outrage. Are they racist, ignorant, or plain old mean?"
"Let's hear what they have to say," Arnie said, playing the reasonable one.
"At least it's not raining," she said, stepping over a spray of broken glass.
The city had sent young people, maybe fifteen minutes out of college, fresh-faced and smiling like they couldn't wait to help. The city didn't even have the decency to send someone they'd already met.
"You here about the property?" The young man introduced himself as Jess. He was as clean-cut as they come, somehow earnest and phony at the same time.
"I don't know how to answer that question," Linda replied. The air had a whiff of an industrial scent, like burning tires or a chemical process that made the air thick, every inhale feeling unfiltered. The loud blast of a train engine sounded from somewhere close by.
The young woman, Clare, shared his enthusiasm. She shook both their hands and flashed a smile at Arnie. "You're buying?"
"You weren't briefed at all?" Arnie said, not hiding his irritation.
Neither of them flinched. Linda admired their confidence, as if the city's position was superior and they were thrilled to be entrusted to continue this mean-spirited game.
Clare waved a file folder in the air. "Interested in city surplus."
"We are an urban Indian organization that has been in the process of buying a property from the city for over a year now." Linda gestured at the building, feeling as if they'd been punched in the face. "This is an insult."
Jess held up both hands. "If this doesn't work, maybe there's a site that's a better fit."
They walked to the door of the Quonset hut. Linda dreaded going inside, picturing spiders pouring from the ceiling and an undiscovered body in a corner. Jess had a handful of keys that he tried and retried until he found the one that fit. He had to kick the door to get it to open. Stale air drifted out, smelling like sawdust and old trash. Better than expected.
"The materials say it's been weatherized," Jess said, sweeping his hand back and inviting her to enter.
She peeked in first. For some reason it made her think of a roller-skating rink. The floor was swept concrete and, other than a half dozen folding chairs on the floor, the place was empty. She stepped inside.
"What does an urban Indian organization do?" Clare asked. Linda wanted to scream but in the back of her mind she could hear Margie and Aunt Dottie and every other native woman leader before her explaining that describing the work and talking about the mission kept Indian people from being invisible.
"We provide services to Natives who live in the city. Things like help with medical care. Host cultural gatherings. Teach classes. This—whatever this is—is inappropriate."
Clare's face remained frozen with happy confidence. "Now you have an idea of what's out there." As if by wasting their time with inappropriate sites, the city was doing them a favor.
Jess urged them to follow him around inside the building as if there was something they were missing. "You could tear this down. I think the property itself is where the interest would be. It's a good size. Decent location. You could put whatever you wanted here."
"If we had the funding to do whatever we wanted, we wouldn't be stuck having this conversation," Linda said. Arnie touched her lower back, guiding or shushing, she couldn't be certain. She kept her mouth shut while they dutifully walked across the empty space, the idea of conducting activities or even inviting tribal people to come out and look around growing more remote. They could try to cozy it up but it would always look like a place no one else wanted.
Now was the time to storm off, make phone calls, and bring Audra in with lawyerly threats.
Instead, Arnie said, "Interesting." He sounded like he meant it. She held back a steamy retort. He touched her back again. "Why don't you and I take a lap around the lot? Keep an open mind."
Linda had known him long enough to recognize what he was doing. She followed him outside and they walked to the fence line and started around the perimeter. For a half-second, she imagined this was an entirely different kind of outing, like they were out to enjoy the day. This was how it was when she was with him, always aware of him, more than just a colleague or an old friend. He was someone who could make her feel self-conscious and giddy as a school girl.
There was a clear view of the freeway from where they walked. A big rig thundered by, its compression brakes stuttering. There was nothing but blocky buildings and concrete as far as the eye could see.
"This is worthless," she said, "but there's something here you want me to see. What is it?"
"Several of the tribes are getting together to talk abo
ut the consortium for urban issues," he said.
Great, another meeting. "They want us there?"
"You, for sure," he said. "If the Chief Building deal is truly unsalvageable, you want to tell them you're looking at alternatives and doing everything you can to make it work."
He was right. No one wanted to hear her rant about how unfair everything was. She took another careful look around the property.
"There's plenty of parking," she said.
"That's a start," Arnie said. He felt like he should say something more but wasn't sure what. Since he'd joined the organization, their entire relationship was a series of strange meetings and disagreements. High highs and low lows.
"You going to be at that consortium meeting, too?" she asked.
"I'll do my best," he said.
The wind gusted up and she bundled her sweater more tightly around her. "Is it supposed to rain?"
"Not until tonight," he said. Across the parking lot, Jess and Clare had gotten back in their car. "Think they're plotting out our next grim destination?"
"I bet they think they're doing great work here today. They'll go to happy hour after work and tell their friends how interesting it is working with Native Americans." Linda pushed her hair out of her face.
Once again, he was confused by this strange pull, the attraction that would not fade. Even when she made him angry, he always wanted to come back to her. She caught him staring.
"How's Tommy doing?" he asked.
"Who knows? He gets through the day exactly like he used to, but he looks…I don't know, abandoned. He's so secretive and he doesn't want to talk."
"Sometimes people need to find their own way," Arnie said.
"People need a support system. That's the whole reason we do this. It's like he has a system but rejects it."
Arnie put his hand on her elbow and they stopped. Any reason to touch her, to stand close. All those days finding excuses to work at her office to keep her close by.
From where they stood, they could survey the entire lot. The structure had a small footprint. The kids were right, the lot was good-sized if they had the resources to develop it, but there was no getting around the terrible location.
Sweetheart Braves Page 20