by Sue Grafton
Face burning, he started the load again, adding this week's clothing to the one before, hoping that a strong dose of soap powder would eliminate the rank odor of wet cotton gone sour. He went into the bedroom and opened Mary Hairl's dresser drawer, relieved to see she had plenty of other nighties. Everything was neatly folded, a plain virginal white. He pulled out four nightgowns and piled six pairs of step-ins on top. He hesitated and then laid the pile on top of the dresser.
He went through the remaining drawers, searching her belongings, something he'd never dreamed of doing before this moment. He wasn't sure what compelled him to forage among her things. Perhaps some morbid curiosity about the personal effects it would soon be his job to pack up and give away. What did he hope to find? A dildo, evidence of some hidden vice — drink, kleptomania, pornography? He knew, without having to look, that the dresses hanging in her closet were washed colorless, starched and fastidiously ironed. Why did this generate such anger in him? Why was his life filled with degradation while hers was so barren and apologetic?
In the second drawer from the bottom, hidden under her cotton slips, he saw the corner of a bright yellow box. He moved the slips aside. The drawer was lined with unopened gift sets of Jean Nate After Bath Splash and Cologne. He couldn't remember the last time he'd thought of giving her anything else. Why would he? Birthdays, she always asked for Jean Nate. He thought she loved it. Opening his gift, which he inevitably prevailed on the clerk to wrap, she'd seemed pleased and surprised, her appreciation sounding so heartfelt that he hadn't thought to question her sincerity. Christmas meant nothing to him. They gave gifts to the children, but the exchanging of gifts between the two of them felt awkward so now they skipped the practice on mutual agreement. Or so he'd assumed.
Seeing the Jean Nate, he was deeply ashamed. He'd been complacent about her, so oblivious that it hadn't occurred to him to give her anything more personal, lavish, or spontaneous. He was embarrassed that she hadn't felt comfortable telling him the truth, that she'd thought so little of herself she hadn't been able to ask for what she wanted. She probably didn't even know what that was. By her birthday, which would fall on September 12, she'd be gone, and in a flash it occurred to him that if he'd betrayed the marriage, so had she. The difference was that she'd die being thought of as saintly and good, and he'd be forced to live on without her, burdened by rage, corruption, and guilt. He might be a man without character, but she was a woman without courage. Of the two, which was worse?
Once the laundry was done, he left the house and drove to Serena Station. It was only 10:35 in the morning, but BW opened the Blue Moon at 9:00. There was no explanation for the absurdity of the hour. The place sat empty most of the day, half dark, door open, as cool and welcoming as a church. He parked and went in. At a table to one side, Winston Smith sat by himself, his back to the bar, his expression withdrawn. He had a Miller beer in front of him, though Jake knew for a fact he wasn't legally of age. Given his dark mood, maybe BW had taken pity on the boy, figuring he'd take his chances with the ABC agent, who'd been in the week before.
Jake took a seat at the bar and BW set a Blatz in front of him. Jake knew Violet stopped by two and three times a week after Foley left for work. He hadn't seen her since Sunday, but he needed to talk to her before he lost his resolve. Sure enough, she walked in twenty minutes later. Winston, in the process of ordering another beer, turned and stared at her sullenly. "I need to talk to you."
Violet paused by his table. "So talk."
"Please join me," he said. He was speaking with care, but Jake noticed that his consonants had turned soft around the edges. Violet sat down. Whatever Winston had to say to her, he kept his voice low, and Violet's expression never registered more than bemusement. Finally, she leaned forward. Her reply was inaudible, but whatever she'd said, Winston seemed taken aback. She got up and moved to the far end of the bar.
Winston said, "Bitch," to himself.
Jake looked from the boy to BW. "What's his deal?"
BW glanced at Winston. "Kid lost his job."
BW moved to Violet's end of the bar. She ordered and Jake watched while BW poured her a glass of red wine. Jake picked up his beer, .walked the length of the bar, and took the stool next to hers. He waited until BW put the wineglass in front of her.
"I'll take care of it," Jake said. BW went to the cash register and punched in the charge, adding it to his tab, then disappeared into the back room to leave the two of them alone. Jake had thought he'd feel anxious about what he had to do, but he found himself regarding her with fondness. "I thought I'd see you yesterday afternoon."
"Something came up. I had business to take care of."
"I wasn't complaining."
"It sure sounded like that to me. If you're here to whine, don't bother. I already had a big dose of self-pity from Winston."
"Why's he so mad?"
"Because he's a jerk. Know what he said? He wanted me to lend him the money for his college tuition. Can you picture it? The nerve! I said, 'Why would I do that? What do I look like, a damn bank manager? I wouldn't lend you a dime if my life depended on it, you little creep.'"
"You're always talking about your money. Maybe he thought you'd be willing to help."
"Yeah, well, any money I have is mine and I'm not giving it away. So what are you doing here?"
"We need to talk."
"That's what he said. About what?"
Jake lowered his voice. "I know you've been pulling away. It's been going on for weeks and it's okay. I don't want you to feel bad. That's all I want to say. It's probably for the best and so be it."
Violet's tone was flat. "I don't have a clue what you're talking about."
"Feels to me like you've gone and found someone else."
"What if I have? I can't count on you, that's for damn sure. You've got Mary Hairl and I'm out here in the cold trying to look after myself. I need to get the hell out of Dodge and what do you have to offer? Nothing. A big fat zero."
"I'm not blaming you, I swear. I know I don't have anything to offer and I'm sorry about that because I'd help if I could. I guess the best we can say is we never made each other any promises."
She turned and squinted at him. "Wait a minute, what is this? Are you breaking it off?"
He motioned a palm flat against the air, trying to get her to lower her voice. "I'd just like to be a good husband to Mary Hairl in whatever time she has left. You think I want to do this? You're all I've thought about for months. For a while, I didn't see how I could live without you. Even now, I'm not sure how I'll make it. As much as you've meant..."
"As much as I've meant? I couldn't have meant much if you're chucking me aside like a piece of garbage. What's the problem, wasn't I good enough? You sure took advantage while it suited you, you dumb fuck, and now that you're tired of me —"
"Don't say things like that. You know how it was. Both of us were hurting so we helped each other out. I'm grateful for that, but you need something better and it seems like you found it. I just want you to know that I'm happy for you and wishing you the best."
"Well, that's damn generous. You're wishing me the best. Wonder what you'll wish for when Foley finds out."
He could feel his heart skip and all the warm feelings drained away. "Let's hope that never happens for your sake as well as mine."
"Oh, it'll happen all right. You know how I know?" She glanced at her watch. "Because about six o'clock tonight, minute he gets home, I'll have an attack of conscience and 'fess right up. I'll tell him how shocked and appalled I was when you forced your unwanted sexual attentions on me and how poor Mary Hairl has no idea you're strutting around with a big old hard-on, rubbing up against every woman who walks by."
"Oh, don't do that." His tone sounded plaintive, even to his own ears.
"Why not? I gotta protect myself."
"He's not going to believe you. Why would he take your word for anything? God only knows how many guys you've screwed —"
Violet picked up her wine
and flung it in his face, then tossed the glass aside. It hit the floor, bounced once, and smashed. She took up her purse and walked out without looking back. Winston turned his head, watching her departure, and then his gaze traveled back to the bar, where Jake sat as though shot, his heart pounding at the shock. The jolt of lukewarm red wine had drenched his face and soaked into the front of his shirt. BW appeared from the back room. He took one look at Jake, reached for a towel, and passed it across the bar. Jake pressed the towel against his face, wishing he could disappear. Thank god only BW and Winston were there to bear witness.
Outside he could hear the engine turn over in Foley's rattle-trap truck. Violet took off with a squeal, throwing up gravel against the underside with a rapid rata-tat-tat. He could feel the panic mount his frame. Surely she wouldn't do anything so dangerous as to tell Foley about him. He knew she was furious, but she'd taken it the wrong way. He wasn't rejecting her, he was setting her free.
He looked up as Tom Padgett appeared in the door. Tom was staring back over his shoulder, the light glinting off his glasses. He brought his gaze around to the scene in front of him: Jake's shirt soaked, Winston drunk, BW behind the bar, looking rooted in place. "What the hell is going on?"
* * *
Jake tried calling Violet twice on Thursday afternoon, but the phone rang and rang, apparently to an empty house. The third time he called, Foley Sullivan picked up and Jake returned the handset to the cradle without saying a word. He spent Thursday evening at the hospital with Mary Hairl, which he hadn't meant to do, but she seemed so pleased and grateful to see him, he nearly convinced himself that he'd done it for her. In truth, he was too anxious to stay home. A whisper of fear had settled in his gut. Violet was reckless, and he wouldn't put it past her to bring the roof down around her head if she thought she was getting even with him. He felt safe in Mary Hairl's company, as though in looking after her, he could look after himself. Or maybe it was more accurate to say that by staying at her side, he hoped to ward off the disaster that was heading his way.
He called Friday at lunchtime, but again there was no answer. He drove through Serena Station, looking for any sign of her. He ran an errand in Silas and then swung back through town and parked across the street from the post office so he could pick up his mail. Miraculously he spotted her, driving the brand-new Chevrolet he'd seen in Chet Cramer's showroom. He was just crossing the street when she slowed to a stop. She leaned over and waited until he was even with the open window. "So what do you think?"
She looked radiant. Gone was the dark rage and in its place was a Violet Sullivan as tickled as a kid with a shiny new bike. He found himself smiling. "Where'd you get that? It's pretty slick."
"It's mine. Foley bought it for me."
"Bought it? I thought Foley was broke."
"Oh, he has his little ways. He must have pulled a fast one on Chet because he went off this morning before nine, came home an hour later, and parked this little beauty at the curb."
"What's the occasion?"
"Who needs an occasion? He's nuts about me. Of course it doesn't hurt that he went berserk last night and tore the house apart. My brand-new lace curtains ended up in the trash. Where're you off to? You want a ride around the block?"
"Nah, I got things to take care of. Maybe another time," he said. He noticed a pair of white cardboard glasses sitting on the front seat. "Those your sunglasses?"
She glanced down. "No, what these?" She picked them up and put them on. "I took Daisy and Liza Mellincamp to that 3-D movie this afternoon. Bwana Devil. Daisy's going to have nightmares for a month."
"Kids will do that," he said mildly.
"Anyway, I gotta be some place so I better let you go. Tah-tah," she said. She put her foot on the gas and took off.
He'd never seen her so cheerful or so full of goodwill. He returned to his car with an overwhelming sense of relief. Maybe everything was okay and he could breathe again.
* * *
He went back to the hospital late that afternoon, feeling lighter than he had in months. It was not quite 5:00, but the dinner carts were already in the hall. He'd sit with her through dinner and spend the evening with her until she was settled in for the night. He'd bought Mary Hairl a little houseplant to keep beside her bed. The gal at the florist's shop had wrapped it in a high cone of green tissue paper with a bright purple bow. Jake thought she'd be pleased to have something colorful to look at. He got on the elevator and went up to the second floor. As the doors opened, he stopped in his tracks. Mary Hairl's father was standing in the hall, his face stony. Something had happened to Mary Hairl. Maybe she'd taken a turn for the worse; maybe she was dead. Cold seeped up from the floor and climbed his frame.
Hairl held a Bible in one hand, and in the other he clutched a piece of pink notepaper, covered with a slanting scrawl of black ink. "You son of a bitch. Tell me on this Bible you never lusted in your heart. Tell me you never lain with Violet Sullivan and don't you lie. My poor girl, my only girl, she's in there dying as we speak. She probably doesn't have but a week to live. So you tell me you didn't put that pecker of yours in that vile whore's mouth! Swear on this book! This isn't the first time you've done this, Son. You think I don't know that? Word gets around and I heard about every single one of your affairs. You thought you were being sly, but you never fooled me. I could barely stand to look you in the eye, but I kept hush for Mary Hairl's sake. I should have said something years ago, but she worshiped you. Worshiped the ground you walked on. You're a failure. You're worthless. You can't even manage to earn a decent wage. Weren't for me, you'd be on welfare. And now there you are, off in some bar making a public display of yourself."
Hairl lost his momentum. His voice broke and the pink notepaper shook in his trembling hand. He sobbed once and then gathered himself again. "If I had the strength, I would choke the life out of you. My beautiful girl. She's the soul of goodness and what of you, sir? You are low-down, stinking trash. You've made her an object of pity in this town, and she'll go to her grave looking like a fool, but there's worse in store for you. I can promise you that."
Jake's mind went blank. He was speechless with horror. What had she done? What in god's name had Violet Sullivan gone and done?
Chapter 22
* * *
The three of us drove to Daisy's in separate cars, like a very short motorcade. Having warned them, I peeled off at Broadway and made a stop at JC Penney, where I bought a cotton nightie, two T-shirts, and cheap underwear. I made a second stop at a nearby drugstore and bought three paperback novels, shampoo, conditioner, and deodorant, figuring if I was in town for any length of time I might as well smell good. Even if the Bel Air was magically unearthed and I went home the next day, the purchases would be useful. It's not like the underpants were stamped with a sell-by date.
I reached Daisy's house at 8:00, when the autumn dark had fully settled and the streetlights had come on. She'd left the garage door open, so I pulled my car in, locked it, and triggered the automatic-door device as I emerged. Once in the house, I found Tannie stretched out on the living room floor, trying to get the kinks out of her back after a morning of hacking brush and an afternoon watching cops dig a car out of her lawn. Daisy was in the kitchen brewing a fresh pot of tea. She'd changed out of her work clothes and into her sweats, but she looked just as stressed as she had at the site. Her face had the pinched look of someone in the throes of a migraine, though she claimed she was fine. The discovery of the car had generated tension in each of us, but our remedies were different. Daisy longed for a bath and Tannie wanted a drink. For my part, I'd have given anything to be by myself, an impossible desire as things currently stood. I couldn't even take to my bed because Daisy'd brought her cup of tea into the living room and now sat on the couch, where I would ultimately sleep. From the floor, Tannie said, "Hey, gang. I don't remember eating dinner, unless I missed an episode. Is anybody else hungry? I'm about to eat my own arm."
After a brief negotiation, Daisy picked up the phone
and ordered a large pizza, which was delivered thirty minutes later. We ate with enthusiasm, though Tannie declined any portion of the pizza that butted up against the anchovies Daisy and I had voted for. Just when I assumed we were done for the day, free to read or watch mindless TV, the telephone rang. Daisy picked up. "Oh, hi, BW. What's up?"
As she listened I watched her expression change. The color rose in her cheeks as though controlled by a dimmer switch. "How did that happen?" She closed her eyes, shaking her head at the nature of his response. "I see. No, no. It's not your fault. I understand. I'll be right there."
She hung up.
"What is it?" I asked.
"My father's over at the Blue Moon and he's drunk on his ass. BW wants me to get him out of there before a fight breaks out."
"Foley's drunk?"
"That's what he says. I'll take care of it. Why don't you two stay here?"
"Don't be silly. I'll go. You can't manage by yourself if he's that far gone."
Daisy turned to Tannie. "What about you? It's entirely optional." "Count me out. I'll go if you need me, but I'm beat. I gotta get up early and hit the road. We get over to the Moon, I'll end up having a drink and that'll be it. I'm tempted, but trying to behave myself."
"Don't worry about it. We'll be back as soon as we figure out what to do with him."
Daisy found her purse and car keys. She said she'd be warm enough in her sweats, but she found a spare jacket for me. The evening was already chilly, and neither of us was sure how long we'd be out. On the fifteen-mile drive from Santa Maria to Serena Station, she kept shaking her head. "I can't believe it. He's been sober for thirty-four years and here we go again."
"He must have heard about the car."