“Conception stories!” one of the women guffawed. A few more laughed.
Mom turned to Neely and said, “Suffice it to say, her father and I lived in Oregon for a while, when he was in grad school.”
The women giggled as they were expected to do.
My own jaw dropped, though. One time I’d asked my mom where she got my name, and her drinking buddy Susan had hooted and said, “You were named for your mother’s first love — menthol cigarettes!”
For a second my heart thrilled at this new information. I had been conceived in some far-flung (from Lubbock), exotic (to someone from Lubbock) locale to my young mother and her husband the grad student!?!
But of course it was a lie. She’d made up this slightly embarrassing “fact” to cover a more embarrassing one — she used to smoke — and be the kind of person who named her kid after cigarettes.
My first clue should have been the “honey.” She never called me that before. Ever.
I cast a glance at G-Ma to see if she was taking it all in, but she had her chin stuck out and appeared to be mentally calculating the value of the swimming pool and hot tub beside us.
“Do you work, Salem?” someone asked.
For a second, I could only stare. I assumed she was asking if I was sponging off the government. But then I realized that she came from a world where women didn’t necessarily have to work. It was a choice.
“I’m a dog groomer,” I said without thinking. I instantly regretted it. If you’re looking for ways to impress people, well…let’s just say that telling people you’re a dog groomer is iffy at best.
“You’re still doing that? I thought that was just until you…” Mom trailed off. I think she’d been about to say something like “finish your doctorate” or “get that 501c3 charity off the ground” or something equally preposterous. “I thought that was just temporary,” she finished lamely.
“It is. It’s just until I retire.”
A few more dutiful laughs.
“Surely Tony will want you to quit work, though. I mean, you don’t need to.” She turned to Neely. “Her husband is a very successful businessman. Building services. About forty employees.”
So Mom had learned to Google. And she had heard — probably from G-Ma — that Tony and I weren’t as divorced as I’d told her we were. I wondered how many times she’d practiced saying “building services” so she didn’t slip and say “cleaning services.”
Mom was right about it being successful, though, and I got a glimpse of one of the reasons she’d wanted us to get there early. I was undoubtedly supposed to play up the successful husband and play down the dog grooming.
“I’m a successful business owner, too,” G-Ma piped up. Heads swiveled in her direction. We’d all kind of forgotten she was there since she hadn’t done more than grunt a couple of times since we arrived.
What she said next could have been just a thing she let slip, unmindful, or it could have been something specifically designed to throw a wrench in Mom’s little we’re-perfect-too tableau. I’ll never know for sure, but my money was on the latter.
“And I’m not a madam, no matter what the Lubbock police say.”
The group went completely silent. In the background, the fountain splashed. Mom’s mouth fell open.
I looked around contentedly, relieved that G-Ma’s slip had pushed mine far to the background.
“She gets…confused,” Mom said weakly.
“I do not,” G-Ma insisted. “I ought to know if I’m operating a brothel or not.”
“You ought to,” I offered.
“Those girls never told me a thing. I mean, if I was a madam, I’d be getting a cut, wouldn’t I? And I haven’t made a dime off all that nonsense.”
“Well, I mean, aside from the increased traffic.”
“Yes, but…they never gave me a cut of their profits.” Her scowl deepened, and I realized this could be what bothered her most.
“Umm, Virgie, what are you talking about?” Cappy asked, leaning forward, eyes bright.
“It’s just a little misunderstanding this morning,” I said. “No big deal. There were some rumors going around about the motel — ”
“Rumors!” G-Ma cried. “Were those rumors of handcuffs on your wrists? Am I going to be paying my lawyer with rumors?”
The table erupted at once.
“Handcuffs?”
“Were you arrested?”
“Lawyer? Mother, what on earth — ”
“You’re a madam?”
I couldn’t help but notice that this had been said with much more admiration than my career had seemed to elicit.
“I am not a madam, and she — ” She pointed a knobby finger at me. “She is not a prostitute.”
When the din finally died down, I turned to Mom — who, by the way, had given up on the “honey” business and was glaring at me with murder in her eyes.
My heart thudded, and I had to remind myself that we were in a crowd of witnesses, and I was now quite a bit bigger than she was. Actual physical harm was unlikely. I’d grown up knowing what that look meant: Run. Run now, and run fast. So it was kind of hard to keep my own wits about me.
“It was really all just a misunderstanding,” I said. “There has been a gang of armed robbers running around, robbing businesses.”
“I heard about that,” one of the regular-haired women said. “My sister lives in Lubbock and says it’s terrifying. These animals are hitting every business on that side of town.”
“They sure are,” G-Ma said. “They’ll hit mine next, I know they will.”
“That’s why I’m going back tonight instead of staying here. So I can keep an eye on the motel,” I explained.
“That doesn’t explain the handcuffs and the arrests,” Cappy said, her eyes entirely too bright with excitement.
“Well, it’s just that, the entire side of town is going a little crazy and people are getting spooked by all kinds of nonsense. Seriously. It’s crazy. Someone called in a complaint — ” which was the actual truth — “So the police came. But we weren’t arrested.”
“But you were handcuffed?”
I ignored that question because it was kind of hard to reconcile the handcuffs part with the not being arrested part. “We had to discuss things with the police, of course. You can’t just ask them to wait until Monday on something like that, right?” I laughed and shook my head, searching my brain frantically for something to steer the conversation. “I’m telling you, Lubbock is crazy. We don’t even have a Krunchy Kreem yet.”
That did it. The group launched into all the ways Amarillo was superior to Lubbock, and the tension eased as individual conversations sprang up among the group. Then the food was brought out, and I focused on mentally calculating the units value of all the food.
After a few minutes I darted a glance back at Mom.
Her smile was stiff, and I could practically see the wheels spinning behind her eyes. I checked my phone. Only one hour and fifteen minutes to go.
Viv, bless her heart, showed up fifteen minutes early. I said quick goodbyes all around and kissed Mom on the cheek, assuring her I couldn’t wait for our girls weekend the next week.
“How did it go?” Viv asked as we pulled onto Georgia.
“Could not have gone worse,” I said cheerfully. “And your errand? I don’t hear any dinging.”
“They fixed it. But now…”
“Why are we going so slow?” Car were whizzing by us.
“We’re going the speed limit,” Viv said with a frown. “We’re going above the speed limit, actually.”
“The other cars are passing us like we’re standing still.”
“I know!” Viv wailed. She hated for cars to pass her — took it as a personal affront. “But the speed limit is forty and I’m already going forty-five.”
I leaned over and looked at the dash. It said forty-five alright.
“You should at least keep up with the traffic,” I said when we were almost rear-ende
d by a pickup.
“I can’t! I can’t get two speeding tickets in one day. They’ll take my license for sure.”
I started to offer to drive again, but I certainly couldn’t afford a ticket. I leaned back in my seat and decided to enjoy riding with Viv and not feeling like I was taking my life into my own hands.
“You know what I realized, right before you came? I realized I was looking for some clue as to how my mom ended up in that group.”
“Did you meet the guy?”
“No, it was women only. But from everything I heard about him, he seems fairly normal. A little irresponsible, maybe. This will be his fifth marriage.”
“That’s not irresponsible, necessarily,” said the five-times-married Viv. “You don’t really know the story.”
“I’m not judging, I’m just saying that was the only thing…” I stopped because I couldn’t think of anything safe to say next.
I took out my phone and pulled up the Windy app. “I wonder how well this thing works up here,” I said. “They told me the network wasn’t very big.”
“Search for something. Search male strip clubs.”
“Windy, find us some male strip clubs,” I said into the microphone.
Windy hesitated and then beeped. “Are you looking for a den of iniquity where men take off their clothes and women act loose and immoral?”
“Exactly,” Viv crowed.
“I’m sorry, that location is not found.” Windy sniffed sanctimoniously.
“How about Krunchy Kreems, then?” I asked. I had not had the champagne, and I had limited myself to one tiny spoonful of chicken salad because it looked like it was more mayonnaise than chicken. It had been delicious, but thoughts of my next weigh-in at Fat Fighters had me determined to steer clear of it. Doing so had used up my entire store of self-control. Weigh-in or no, it seemed too much to ask for me to be so close to fresh Krunchy Kreems and not get at least one tiny donut.
“Two locations near you,” Windy said helpfully. “Turn left at the next exit, then go down three blocks.”
“You’re very helpful, Windy,” Viv said.
“Thank you. Items often searched with Krunchy Kreems include Fat Fighters. The nearest Fat Fighters location is one block west of the Krunchy Kreems.”
“Never mind,” I said with a sigh. Windy had gone and ruined it for me. “Let’s just go home.”
I leaned back in the seat and closed my eyes. The sight of the mimosas lined up on the counter kept popping into my head. Those berries looked so fresh and juicy. Luxury. Fun. Decadence.
I tried to think of something else. But those glasses kept popping up. The truth was, that lunch would have been a lot more fun if I’d had a couple of those tall fluted glasses. No matter what anyone said about being powerless over alcohol and it being a liar, the truth was, that lunch would have been better. Yes, I would have thrown away a solid year of sobriety. Yes, I would have had to fight my way back out of a huge hole. Who knew how far down I would dig myself this time? Maybe too far to ever get out.
But today would definitely have been better.
“Does it ever freak you out,” I asked, my eyes still closed, “To think you’re never going to drink again? Ever?”
“Of course,” Viv said. “Sometimes.
“I mean, never? Never, ever again can I have a drink?” For some reason I couldn’t fathom, the concept was more frightening to me now than it was a year ago, when I first got sober. It was as if I’d gotten a tiny taste of the long view, and it was longer than I thought.
“That’s why they tell you to focus on one day at a time.”
“Because if we think about it, we’ll realize that we’ll never, ever be relaxed or have fun or get to feel like a normal person again, with a normal life.” Suddenly the one-day-at-a-time mantra seemed more like brainwashing than a way to handle life.
“Tell me who’s normal,” Viv said.
I had to think about that one. Of course, Tony was the first person who came to mind.
But was he? I mean, who stayed married to someone for ten years and didn’t even talk to them? Didn’t even try?
Had Tony ever sat back in his seat, freaked completely out not at the thought of never drinking again, but of never dating again? He couldn’t possibly have known that I would one day sober up and become, prospectively, real marriage material. So he had faced the very real possibility that he would reach the end of his life, and his entire sexual experience had been a six-month period during his seventeenth and eighteenth years. And he’d accepted that. He’d been okay with that.
That was just not right.
“Do you think Tony has…issues?” I asked Viv.
“Oh, heck yeah,” she said without a second of hesitation.
This irritated me more than it probably should have. “What do you mean?”
“Healthy, handsome young man like that? I mean, he’s hot. Women have to be throwing themselves at him right and left? And he stayed married to you?”
“Hey!” I said.
“I’m not saying he shouldn’t be married to you, but you weren’t married to him, right? I mean, you weren’t living like you were married to him. You hadn’t talked to him in years. So, no nookie for the guy for a decade, and he could have. He could have signed the divorce papers and been done with it. But no. That’s not normal.”
“So what do you think it is? Do you think he’s got some emotional issues, seriously? Or…you don’t think he’s gay, do you?”
“You’d have a better idea of that than I would. Did he seem gay to you?”
“Definitely not.” But that kiss. So…chaste. He hadn’t been like that when we were married. He had just turned eighteen then, and I was already pregnant, which took some of the worry out of it. He would have been perfectly fine having sex three times a day. “It’s just…he doesn’t seem all that interested in me.”
“Well, I’m sure it’s weird. Maybe he’s thinking about all the men you said you were with while you two were separated.”
I leaned back again. “Maybe.” I didn’t like to think about that, but there wasn’t a lot I could do about it at this point. I had been with a lot of guys. I’d thought we were divorced. I thought I was free to do whatever I wanted. I kind of resented Tony for not making it more clear to me that we were still married, but at the same time I knew that wasn’t reasonable. He’d sent me a lot of letters. I’d thrown them straight into the trash, figuring if he wanted to talk to me he could be a man and come talk to me.
Tony wasn’t like that, though. He would not force himself on me. He wouldn’t even come close to forcing himself on me. He would wait on me to make the first move.
I had to be the leader, I realized. Me. I had to be the leader, and I had to be sober.
This was doomed.
Chapter Five
Trapped
The two-hour drive back to Lubbock took three and a half hours. I kept looking at the speedometer and it said eighty-five. But every car on that highway passed us. Three separate times Viv had to swerve to the shoulder to avoid being rear-ended.
“There’s something wrong with your speedometer,” I said.
“There is not,” Viv snapped. “It’s just that people drive crazy these days.”
“Whatever. I was supposed to be home by now. I have to pick up Stump and then go back to the motel to spend the night.”
“I’ll swing by there and take you back.”
“Okay, but you’ll have to circle the block until Rosa leaves, then bring Stump back. G-Ma will probably grill Rosa when she gets back. I want Rosa to have plausible deniability.”
So we swung, slowly, so slowly, by Trailertopia and picked Stump up from Frank. I was so tired from our epic journey that I didn’t try to make conversation. This was fine, because all Frank cared about was whether or not I would be making dinner. Upon learning that I was not, he headed cheerfully out to the barbecue rib joint down the street.
“Now, just let me out and drive off,” I told Viv
as we neared the motel. A car horn blared behind us and I braced for impact, but they swerved around us, honking again and screaming out the window at Viv.
“Viv,” I said as I opened the car door. “Seriously, you should call that salesman guy and tell him they did something to the speedometer in Amarillo. They can probably fix it in no time.”
“It’s not broken!” Viv snapped. She looked exhausted. “You know how crazy people are. They’re all crazy, driving around like their hair is on fire.”
“Okay. Just drive around the corner and wait, and I’ll call you as soon as Rosa leaves.”
That took all of ten seconds, probably because I was almost two hours later getting back than I was supposed to be. Rosa didn’t complain, though — she just grabbed her purse as soon as she saw me and headed out the door. “No robbers, no customers.” She gave a bright smile and a wave and was gone.
I stood in the office doorway, pretending to survey the empty parking lot. I waited until Rosa’s car drove out of sight, then pulled my phone from my pocket. “Okay, it’s safe now. Bring Stump.”
She was there within twenty seconds.
“That didn’t take long,” I said as I reached in and pulled Stump out. I had expected to wait half an hour or so for her to make the block.
“I pulled into that used car lot next door.” She patted the dashboard. “Gave those other cars something to aspire to.”
“You want to hang out for a while?”
“Are you kidding? You might be able to fool your grandmother about Stump, but she’ll be able to tell as soon as she opens the door that I’ve been here, and she’ll be in a tizzy.”
That was, sadly, true. G-Ma would be able to detect a hint of Shalimar lingering in the air, even if it were one part in a billion. And she would be in a tizzy.
“See you tomorrow, then, and we’ll go car shopping?”
“It’s a date. I hope you get some rest.”
“Oh, this place is blown, now,” I said, shifting Stump to my other hip. Rosa said there were no customers all day. Now that the prostitution gravy train has ended, Stump and I will watch some TV and go to bed without talking to anyone.”
Caught in the Crotchfire Page 11