by Ed Helenski
Everyone was standing and shouting when Susie stepped into the doorway and screamed. Motion ceased and the men in the room all looked sheepish. I finally spoke up. “Bobby, you really know how to throw a poker party.” Laughter erupted, and with that the tension flew from the room. I could tell that Solereski and Tastler were not going to forget what had been said very quickly, but for now the fists were put away.
Things broke up pretty quickly at that point. I came away from the game down six dollars and forty cents, but wiser about some facts. One, it seemed Jeremy Solereski had a more than passing interest in Sarah Jacobs, who it also appeared was a professional at more than waiting table. In addition, he seemed to be a deeply intolerant young man. Two, a nerve had been struck by Jeremy’s comments to Tastler. Maybe our doctor really did play for the other team. And third, Bobby seemed to have an irrational response to the subject of diddling little boys. That one puzzled me. I didn’t really know how to pursue getting an answer. I walked home a little buzzed and very much intrigued.
I have condensed the events of the game a bit, and never even mentioned a single hand of poker. I will perhaps do better in describing my date with Maggie. I suggested we go to the Red Lobster down in Clearfield. There were several reasons for my choice. I figured Red Lobster was a nice middle of the road choice, an improvement over any of the more local roadhouses without being a “fancy” restaurant. I had grown accustomed to dining at places with linen, silver, and a snooty maitre’d so I found the Red Lobster to be about as informal as a place could get.
My other reasons were more personal. The Dinor was out, not just for culinary reasons, but because of Sarah. She called me on Saturday, wanting to know why I hadn’t been in to eat. I told her that I had been busy. She suggested that she might cook me dinner. I replied I had other plans. When she pressed for another date I came out and said I didn’t think it would be such a good idea. She responded, “Oh, so now that you have had what you wanted you are all through with Sarah Jacobs, is that it? Too good for the likes of me?”
I replied with words that were both foolish and hurtful, but sometimes my mouth has a mind of its own. “Not at all” I said, “I’m just not sure I can afford you. Was that first one a freebie or are you going to bill me?” Even now I can’t believe what a bastard I was. And a fool. I had made an enemy for sure.
She returned with the most typical of responses in such cases, “Fuck you!” and a sharp hang-up. So the Dinor was out, possibly forever.
I also thought the long drive to Clearfield and back would be a good opportunity for Maggie and I to talk, and about that I was right. I picked her up at her house (not realizing she lived next door to Sarah) and she looked lovely. She was wearing a light wool coat, and under it a lovely rust colored dress that fit her very nicely indeed. She was a looker, that was for sure. We got into my car and drove off into the night.
At first we talked about her library project, and she thanked me again for helping out. “I want you to know I am not going out with you because of your help” she told me.
“It’s my rugged good looks and irresistible charm, is it?” I replied.
“No silly, it’s your Mercedes” she said and snuggled down into the leather seat, making a sigh of contentment. I was immediately aroused. She certainly was unaware of how good she looked. Or maybe she wasn’t. “I can’t help it. I am a sucker for a foreign car.” Her voice turned conspiratorial. “Actually, I kind of think you are the only one in town who might actually read. I have loved living in Squid Corners but one thing I have missed is being able to talk books. You know what I mean?”
“I sure do.” I replied, still glancing over as often as the road allowed. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. “It’s nice to know my mind is attractive. A man hates to be thought of as a sex object”.
“Gee, that’s refreshing. The men I have dated here in town all wanted to be just that. In fact, I was unceremoniously dumped twice because I wouldn’t, ummmm, put out”
I wasn’t sure if she was just sharing with me, or if she was sending me a message. “Is that so? The cads.”
“Oh, I don’t really blame them. Well, not Reggie anyway. He was very up front about not wanting more than a physical relationship.”
“Reggie? Our Reggie? The constable?” I was having trouble picturing that great huge fellow with petite little Maggie, and perhaps felt a pang of jealousy.
“The very same. I can’t say that Jeremy was quite so nice. That is one possessive boy.”
I admitted to have noticed the same thing. I told her about my date with Sarah, and his response. She didn’t seem surprised by either bit of news.
Our conversation turned to books. We both agreed that Umberto Eco was vastly overrated. “He can take a fascinating plot and make it as dull as cheddar cheese” she told me. “Want to know a dirty little secret?”
I raised my eyebrows in mock shock. “Sure”.
“I think history is going to judge twentieth century literature a bit differently than the critics do now. Our critics are stuck in the nineteenth century, and so some areas of subject matter are never going to be taken seriously. They are wrong. I think the greatest author we have had is…Promise not to laugh?”
I promised.
“I think Stephen King is our Dickens.” I tried hard to not laugh and managed to only grunt. “I’m serious. His story lines can be a bit silly at times, but look at his prose, at his characters. He captures the essence of America. Eastern America, anyway.”
“I am sure he would be gratified to know his place in history is assured. You don’t teach that to your students do you?”
“No,” she replied poking at me with her finger, “I teach them the stodgy old crap guys like you want to hear.”
By the time we reached the restaurant we had agreed that while our opinions differed on some points, we were bound to have some lively discussions. In truth, it was the nicest time I had spent since coming home. Maggie had a rich, melodic voice I felt I could listen to forever. Sound like someone bewitched?
We lingered long over our dinner. I was entirely captivated by her. She seemed amused by me, and enjoyed taunting me with the most outrageous assertions. I could tell there was a sharp and insightful mind wrapped in that most luscious package. I had grilled trout; she had the Chesapeake Bake. We both had some white wine, she had two glasses, while I only had one since I was going to drive. After dinner we shared a dessert, some sort of chocolate explosion, and had coffee. Occasionally our fingers touched. It was heaven.
On the way back home Maggie was more quiet. She talked just as much, but without the edge of our earlier conversation. She told me about herself. She had come from Apollo, a small town in the southwest part of the state. Apollo, PA, it’s a palindrome, she told me. They had fireworks every year on the anniversary of Apollo 11’s landing on the moon. She went to Penn State at State College, where she got her degree and teaching certificate. She wanted to work in a small town, but the jobs were all in the cities. After teaching for ten years in high school in Erie, she found the substitute job for our district and came here. She was 34, had plenty of money put away, was frugal, and had not yet found someone she wanted to settle down with. She loved children, and knew she would have to have some soon if she wanted to at all. The big drawback to living in a small town, she said, was the population of eligible men was minute. By the same token, she had been a decade in a city and hadn’t found one either.
Inwardly I laughed at the idea of Erie as a city, but when I looked it up later I discovered there were nearly a quarter million people in the area. I was definitely a geographic snob. She had opened up a great deal to me and I felt I had to do the same.
I told her of my reasons for coming back to The Corners. I told her about my empty life in Hartford. I told her about Jana. I told her everything. She sat and quietly listened, her blue eyes never leaving me. It felt good to tell her these things. It felt right.
When we got back to town I took her to her house.
I waited, hoping she would ask me in. She sat looking at me. So I offered to walk her to her door. I got out and let her out. As we walked to her house I could hear a shuffling coming from the porch next door. I was about to comment when she took my hand. “I had a really wonderful time Tom. I mean it. Thanks for asking me. I would ask you in, but, then you would think I was after your body.” She leaned in and gave my cheek a peck. “Call me. I want to see you again.” And with that she was gone, leaving me standing on her steps feeling like a high school boy.
I started back to the car, and did a little jig. “She likes me!” I shouted. I was just getting into the driver seat when a splatter startled the hell out of me. Something wet oozed all over me. A moment later another explosion. Eggs. Hitting me and the car. Coming from the house next door. I got in and drove down the block to my house. When I got home I got a bucket and washed off the egg. It is very bad on paint.
Around the Corner Wednesday, October 11
October can be such a romantic time in a small town. The Corners is no exception. The leaves are all orange and gold and red. The streets are already lined with corn stalks and pumpkins. The wind swirls around in the most intricate patterns that just bring delight to a lover’s heart. For a man or woman in love, autumn in a small town is the best time of year. It is a time made for drives through the woods. It is a time for cider and baking and warm houses and crisp nights. The stars seem close enough to touch, the moon a huge and benign king of the night. The air is scented with aromas; spicy, almost exotic smells.
Yes, a place like Squid Corners in October is a place hand made for lovers. There is a mysterious side to a town as well. Just under the surface a million secrets swirl. The cold October air uncovers some of them, while the leaves blowing about cover others. It is a time when men’s hearts might be laid bare. When the truth of their deeds is written plainly.
In the time I have been here, I have learned a lot about the people in this town. But not nearly enough to avoid stepping on toes, making mistakes, causing pain. In a town like this, insular and self-contained, the people all know the business of everyone else. The result is a code of behavior more complex than anything “polite society” could devise. But an outsider doesn’t know the rules. Doesn’t know what subject is taboo to what person, whose heart has been broken by whom, what should never be spoken of again.
I am an outsider. I hate to admit it, I wanted to come back and be part of this town. And I will be one day. But that day is not yet come. I have much more to learn. And in learning I make mistakes. I step on toes, I say the wrong things, I rile up the folk. It is just my clumsiness. So if I speak of someone in a way that rankles, if I ask the wrong person out to coffee, if I invite two sworn enemies to the same dinner, please forgive me. I am just learning.
Yesterday I asked my father about these things. I said I had inadvertently made some mistakes here in town. He laughed. “No kidding,” he said. Well, kidding is a polite substitution. “But at least you are aware you did it. First time you spoke here in town you made a lot of folks mad and you didn’t even know it. Now you see it when it happens. Guess you are learning. Maybe there is hope for you yet.” That was nice to hear. There is hope for me yet.
It is with the past that an outsider can get into the worst trouble, so it behooves me to learn all I can about the history of The Corners. The official history, while not the most useful, is a good place to start.
Outsiders always ask how a town in the middle of nowhere got a name like Squid Corners. When I was a boy they taught this to us in school, maybe they still do. But in any case I did a bit of research and here is the story as near as my memory and the history books can recollect:
In 1796 a patch of farmland, some 800 acres, was granted to a man from Philadelphia. He was moving his family west because he was tired of being mistreated in the city. He had been on the side of the British during the war, and had never lived down this reputation. A baker by trade, Jonathan “Tory” Squid sold his business and packed his family over the Appalachians to this valley. His farm lay some miles north of the old trader's path. Eventually he built a new farmhouse right near the path, and sold corn whiskey to the traders as they passed. The path eventually was crossed with another road, the one that leads to the nearest town, Siegly. By that time the farmhouse was owned by a man named Cleveland, and most of the farm had been broken into smaller parcels.
The crossroads became a place for trade. A blacksmith, a baker, even a tavern opened here. The crossroads were still remembered as the location of the Squid farm and so became known as Tory Squid Corners. Eventually the Tory disappeared. The road that ran behind the farmhouse became knows as Cleveland’s road. Today it is Cleveland Street. The old trader path is State Road 144, and the road to Siegly is Main Street. And that, my friends, is how a squid ended up on dry land.
Tom Tharon
Chapter 7
Sometimes events are so surprising and unsettling that they take on an air of unreality. This week has been like that. But I had better start at the beginning. Or maybe before the beginning. Seeing how things went, I might just start with something nice and normal.
On Sunday I went to church, where I met Maggie waiting outside. She said she was waiting for me. What a thrill that was! She is so matter of fact in her affection, but I can’t believe that I could have stumbled upon someone so genuine. Meg tells me that Maggie has been very picky, as if she were waiting for just the right person. But more about Meg later.
Services went swiftly. We sang, we heard two passages from Leviticus read by Bertram Barker. Something about if a father lies with his daughter they should both be killed. Cheerful stuff. Then a sermon by the good Rev about the importance of honesty and truth in the holy bond between man and wife. I had a hard time not laughing during that one.
After church Maggie invited me over for brunch, which I accepted, hoping to not have any more troubles from the house next door. All that happened was Maggie and I enjoyed several hours together devouring eggs, sausage, toast, fruit salad and gallons of juice. It was the best food I have had in a long time. She sent me on my way at one, saying she had things to do, and besides, we didn’t want to wear out our friendship too quickly. Another peck on the cheek and I was on my way home, more floating than walking.
On Monday I was fairly busy, since that is the day I have to put the paper to bed by noon. Fortunately in this modern age I can just upload my copy to the server at the press in Meadville, so I can finish things right up to the last minute. Of course, whatever is wrong goes right onto the pages of the paper wrong, being the editor is not as easy as being a reporter. I have no one to blame when things are not right.
I was proofing the final draft when I heard the door open. I looked up from my desk to find two teenage girls giggling their way to me. One of them I recognized as Sioban Mistick, as usual more undressed than dressed. The other was a bit less openly sexual, but her manner was about the same. They came around the desk to either side of me and draped themselves around my shoulders.
When a man finds himself in this sort of situation it is usually the case that he lets himself be manipulated. Despite being angry or upset I couldn’t really push them away, getting violent seemed like a dangerous choice. I tried to extricate myself, while they kept twining themselves around me and giggling.
Sioban said “Hi there, MISTER Tharon. Do you mind if I call you Tom? I call all the handsome men in town by their first names. Helps to get to know them better. Know what I mean?” She was running her fingers at my ear as she spoke.
The other girl was a good deal less practiced at this, and came off more like a little girl playacting at the harlot. “You don’t mind if I call you DADDY do you? I think my Mom would like for you to be my daddy, at least while my real daddy is at work. Know what I mean?”
“Girls” I said, “I don’t know what kind of games you are playing but I want you to get out of here right now” As I spoke Sioban leapt up and threw her arms and legs around me. I did the nat
ural thing and caught her. The other girl giggled and said “Hey now, don’t you go spoiling my Mom’s fun. You remember my Mom, don’t you? Rhonda? She still likes you, did you know that? Got your picture in her dresser. I seen her looking at it.” The girl giggled as if this were the funniest thing she had ever heard.
I was trying to pry Sioban loose when I heard the door open. I turned, taking the girl with me, to see Meg in the doorway. Realizing she had an audience, the other girl hurried out past Meg, but Sioban hung tight. An audience was apparently just what she liked. She pulled herself close to me and pressed her lips to mine. I turned my face away in time to have her tongue leave a wet trail across my cheek. With that she released me, and stood. She slowly walked away, running a finger over her lips as she went. She stopped at the door to leer at me, shrug as if in apology to Meg, and said “Your turn. I guess he REALLY does like ‘em young.” With that she was gone.
Meg came in and sat at my desk. “Meg” I began, “It’s not what it looks like. I….that is she…ah shit.” I sat down in the chair alongside the desk and buried my face in my hands.
“You should watch out for her.” Meg said. At times like this she seemed much older than 12, heck she seemed older than me, giving advice to a child. “That girl is pure poison. Everyone at school knows she does more than dance with Mr. Taylor. But that’s not all. She brags. You aren’t the first one she has tried that on. And not everyone has said no like you did. A girl like that knows how to get power. I would watch out if I were you, Mr. Tharon.”