A Gentle Rain

by Deborah F. Smith

  He grimaced. "Yeah, I figured Miriam couldn't keep the juicy details to herself"

  "You don't have to discuss your past. I just want to know this much: El Diablo was a top-notch card shark. Are you?"

  "Miriam lu-iows more about him than I thought."

  Oops. "Well ... are you?"

  "Yeah. I wanted him to look like he wasn't fakir' it. Everything about wrestling and acting is fake except for how hard you work to make it look real. I wasn't much of an actor or a wrestler, but I took the jobs serious. Besides, when you're on tour or makin' a show, there's lots of down time. So I spent a lot of hours playing poker with wrestlers and cameramen. Yeah, I got good at the game."

  "Why haven't you played for money here at home? Wouldn't a poker game here and there help pay the bills?"

  He shook his head. "Never play when you can't risk losin'. No matter how good you are, there ain't no such thing as a permanent winnin' streak."

  "I see. Understandable. Yes."

  "Aw right, so you trust me to give this game a try?"

  "Yes.15

  "It's that simple, huh? I tell you to trust me, and you do?"

  c 'Yes."

  "You're a strange gal."

  "You've earned my trust."

  "Aw. Touche."

  "French!" I fluttered a hand over my heart. "More, more!"

  "Sorry. That's all I got." Awkward silence. We smiled at each other. His smile faded. "So you know about El Diablo." His misery was obvious.

  "I'm glad you're an expert card player. Just like him. I'm glad you took El Diablo seriously. True art is dedicated to craftsmanship. You were dedicated."

  "Look, I don't want to talk about El Diablo anymore, awright? You mind?"

  `Ben, if you'd just listen-"

  "Are you up for this poker game, or not?"

  I stared at him for several long seconds. He didn't relent. I gave up. "Just tell me what we need to do next. We'll need ten thousand dollars as a buy-in or `ante' or whatever, correct?"

  GG 77 Yep.

  "You could organize a local game to win that kind of money, couldn't you?"

  "Yeah, but I don't want to pick the pockets of every rancher and cowboy in the county. They ain't got much, and I don't want to skin `em. It wouldn't be fair."

  "You're that good?"

  "Yeah."

  "Then we have to think of some other way to get the money. I suppose asking Phil for a loan is out of the question?"

  "Yep. I ain't borrowing money without puttin' up collateral I can afford to lose. So there's only one way to get it."

  He unbuckled his belt.

  My breath caught as I watched the worn, well-oiled leather slide sensuously from his hips and abdomen. He held up the belt so that it's slightly tarnished silver buckle-an emblem of the Seminole tribe's government seal-dangled before me. "This was my Pa's. He won it in a rodeo on the reservation and wore it 'til the day he died. Tomorrow I'm goin' to Fountain Springs and pawn it. Along with everything else around here that ain't bolted down. You in?"

  He was willing to risk so much to honor his promise to Joey, Mac, Lily, the others, and to me. I was willing to risk everything I could ever give him, even if he never asked. "I'm in," I said.

  "Estrela's our horse, too, and we have to help get the money," Lily explained the next morning, holding out her and Mac's toaster. Behind her, filling the door of Ben's kitchen, Mac carried an armful of other small appliances from their trailer.

  Crowding in behind him, the other ranch hands clutched similar offerings. I saw everything from small television sets and Disney figurines to Miriam's diamond stud earrings and Dale's autographed Billy Graham biography. They had also pooled their piggy banks for a grand total, cashmoney-wise, of five-hundred-twenty-two dollars and seventy-six cents. I almost suffered permanent eye impairment helping Cheech count eighthundred and thirty-two pennies from his penny jar.

  I squinted at Ben. "To quote one of your illustrious Cracker sayings, `I feel as cross-eyed as a squirrel trying to guard two acorns at once."'

  As we sorted the proffered items onto the kitchen table Joey wheeled himself to our side. In his lap was a box of his favorite video games. "I bet SpongeBob SquarePants is worth a lotta lotta money," he announced, his cheeks rosy with excitement. "I can do without it for a little while."

  Ben cleared his throat gruffly. "Okay. All for one and one for all. Let's get going."

  We stood beside Ben amidst the clutter of Shakey Baker's Pawn mid Gold, located on a back street of Fountain Springs. Mr. Darcy clung to the arm of Joey's wheelchair and stared askance at a stuffed hawk on the pawn shop's plywood wall. When not staring at the hawk, Mr. Darcy, like the rest of us, stared at Shakey.

  Shakey Baker was a bearded, three-hundred-pound ex-Marine, originally from New Jersey. Angel tattoos covered the entire length of his beefy arms, both of which were displayed via an Atlanta Falcons football jersey with the sleeves cut out. His right arm ended in a prosthetic hand. An inspired tattoo artist had inked angels on it, too.

  "Two-fifty," Shakey grunted, shoving an electric toothbrush from the pre-assessed to the post-assessed section of his scratched linoleum counter.

  "Two hundred and fifty?" Roy said hopefully.

  "Two bucks and fifty cents," Shakey confirmed.

  Roy stared at him. "But it was a birthday present from my wife and-"

  "It cost over twenty dollars at Wal-Mart," Dale noted.

  Ben patted Roy's shoulder. "Easy, pardner. We'll get your toothbrush back before long." Ben and I traded a look. We hope.

  Next, Shakey examined Mac and Lily's portable TV. "Thirty-five dollars." He wrote the amount on the top in grease pencil.

  "He wrote on our TV," Lily whispered to Mac.

  Mac's mouth flattened. "M-Mister, you ti -wrote on our TV"

  "He wrote on their TV, Benji!" Joey exclaimed.

  "Cool off, little brother, the TV's not hurt."

  I patted Mac's arm then squeezed Lily's hand. "It'll wipe off. I promise."

  The crew's level of agitation was only slightly higher than my own. I watched fervently as Shakey finished sorting the pile of treasures and punched the last bit of information into his calculator. "Comes to fivetwo."

  Five thousand, two hundred. With our piggy-bank cash that brought the total to a bit over five-seven. We needed ten thousand. Ben exhaled wearily. He arched a thumb toward the pawn shop's steel-grilled front door. "I can bring you another four-wheeler like the one out yonder on the trailer."

  Shakey shrugged. "Yeah. So? That'll net you another five Ben Franklins."

  "Why are we nettin' Ben Franklin?" Bigfoot asked. "Is that some ki ida fish?"

  "Ben Franklin's on the hundred dollar bill," Miriam explained. She glared at Shakey. "If Ben Franklin was a fish, he wouldn't stink like a certain greedy Yankee scum-fish. Ben Franklin wouldn't offer two hundred lousy bucks for my diamond studs. I paid five hundred for those studs. They were marked down from nine fifty on QVC."

  Shakey snorted. "Miriam, ifyou got a beef with the way I do business, go tell it to somebody who gives a-"

  "Hey," Ben warned.

  Shakey pursed his lips, glowered, then shrugged again. "This is a pawn shop, okay? I deal in collateral. In return I loan out a top price of ten cents on the dollar. With interest."

  Miriam pointed at me. "Don't you know why we're here? To enter her and Estrela in the Million Dollar Barrel Racing Ride-Off down in Orlando. Haven't you heard about Karen Johnson and Estrela the BarrelRacing Wonder Horse? We need another five-thousand dollars to even have a chance of gettin' the entry fee in the Ride-Off, you one-handed Yankee skinflint."

  Shakey stared at me. "That was you, on YouTube?"

  I sighed. "Yes. The one and only."

  "That ugly little gray mare can sure haul ...

  "Hey," Ben growled.

  He frowned at Ben. "You shoulda told me why you needed to pawn all this sh... this stuff."

  Ben scowled. "I just want a fair deal. Awright?"

 
"Look, I want to help you out, man, but-"

  I held up a hand for silence. "Perhaps this item will be worth considering." I laid a photo on the counter. "This harp is hand-carved of antique cherry wood." I didn't add that the harp had been made by a renowned harp craftsman who created instruments for symphonies around the world. Or that Mother and Dad had given it to me on my twelfth birthday.

  Shakey groaned. "What am I gonna do with a harp? What if I get stuck with a harp to sell?"

  Dale pointed at his arms. "Jesus wouldn't let you put angels all over your arms if you weren't meant to have a harp."

  He shook his head. "Ben. Come on, man. Gimme something useful to work with, here."

  Everyone traded mournful looks. Ben rubbed his forehead. "Let's go. I'll sell some of my breedin' stock."

  "No." I lifted my hands to the back of my neck. Unfastening my necklace, I held the gold pendant out to Shakey. Mother, Dad. Forgive me for pawning a bit of your ashes. I could barely make myself unfurl my fingers.

  The symbolism shook me. Could I let them go? Could I risk losing them, for Mac and Lily's sake? Slowly I opened my hand and laid the necklace on Shakey's paten. "I assure you, Mr. Baker, this is a custom piece. Very high-quality gold. The value is well worth your most generous assessment."

  He examined it through a jeweler's glass. When he lowered the pendant it took all my willpower not to snatch it from him. Let them go. If they come back to you, take it as a sin they approve of what you're doing. "This, I can sell," he said. "It's worth maybe two, three-hundred-"

  "Don't even try to amuse me," I warned.

  "All right, all right." He nodded to Ben. "Throw in another all-terrain vehicle with this necklace and you've got your ten-grand. And I'll give you thirty-day terms with no interest. No interest, you understand? Don't tell m y ma. She thinks she didn't raise any fools."

  Ben looked at me somberly. "You sure about the harp and the necklace?"

  He didn't know I'd just pawned my parents' ashes. A strange thought came over me. But I still have my parents. I looked at Mac and Lily. They're right here. What heartfelt sentiments we barter when life presses us to make choices.

  "I'm sure," I said.

  Shakey pointed a fake finger at me. "You and that scar-faced mare? You're racin' for all of us who are missin' a part or two. You probably won't win, but at least you'll get in the game. You're proof that God needs even the angels who are missin' a wing."

  A profound speech. We were all somewhat stunned.

  I held out a hand. Flesh to faux-flesh.

  Shakey and I shook.

  Showtime.

  I emerged from the hall bathroom into the ranch's kitchen with a faded, Kissme Woomee Mermaid Theater beach towel wrapped around me from neck to knees. Miriam, Lula, Lily and Dale waited impatiently around the table. Rhubarb was sprawled on the plank floor, and Grub was stretched on the counter by the sink. Mr. Darcy wobbled on the back of a chair. "I mean that in a good way," he drawled, apropos of nothing. He'd learned it from Ben.

  "Showtime," Miriam confirmed.

  I whisked the towel off, revealing a low-cut, red gown.

  "Hot damn," Miriam said.

  Lula nodded. "Holy Doris Day. I wouldn't have believed it, but Miss Goody Two Shoes looks positively sinful."

  Dale covered her ears and scowled. But Lily smiled with tears rising in her eyes. "You're the most beautiful girl in the whole world."

  Flattery, yes, but hard to resist. I bowed my head. "Thank you."

  Miriam craned her head and stared down between my breasts. "Awright. `Fess up. What the hell does that little tattoo mean?"

  I hadn't realized the tattoo on my left breast would be visible. It was no larger in dimension than a nickel, a delicate blue etching tucked inside my shallow cleavage. "It's taken from a mother-daughter totem revered by a Brazilian Indian tribe. The totems are called litjocosil their language. The women carve them out of soft wood each time they have a baby. Their children wear the little carvings on strings around their necks. That way, their mother is always watching over them. My mother and I received matching litjocos tattoos when I was a girl."

  Lily crept closer, peeking at the tattoo. "I know your mother's watching over you." Her voice trembled. "That's what mothers do. They never forget their babies."

  But you pretend yours never existed, 1 thought sadly. Why?

  Miriam distracted me by suddenly latching both hands under my armpits. She tugged upward on rivulets of pleated red material and my tender skin. "God bless Velcro. This bodice is stuck to your strapless bra like white on rice. When Lula first wore this dress in nineteen sixty-one she had to use a full-length, strapless, body girdle under it, and we stitched this bodice to her bra cups. Godawmighty, those girdles were like armor. Get those old girdles out of the museums and send `em to our troops. I betcha bullets would bounce off `em."

  I looked down at yards of ruby-red cloth with an empress waistline. The material had aged to a dark patina. "This is an amazing retro style. Very flattering. Timeless."

  "Used to have a bow between the tits," Lula grunted. "I lost the bow one night. Gave it away as a ... memento. Jackie's had a bow."

  "Jackie's?"

  Miriam shrugged. "Everybody was tryin' to look like Jackie Kennedy back then, ya know. Even us hick girls working at the mermaid show. We wanted to look up-town for the college boys on their way to spring break in Fort Lauderdale. We saw a Life Magazine picture of Jackie at some fancy state dinner, wearin' a designer dress with no straps and a empire waist and a cute little bow between her boobs, and we all thought `That's the cat's meow.' Meaning that was the tops in glamour. And it was. She was. Jackie Kennedy. Rest in peace. Anyhow, Lula saw Jackie and said: I want me that dress. In red. I don't care who I have to screw to get it."

  Lula looked up from a squinty assessment of my breasts. She grinned. "Only I didn't say `screw."'

  Miriam grinned, too. "She got plenty of manly attention after Denny made the dress for her."

  I stopped tugging at the bodice and stared at her. "Denny? Denise Thocco? Ben and Joey's mother?"

  "Yep. Denise. We called her Denny. She could sew like a New York designer."

  "Rest in peace, Denny," Lula said quietly.

  Miriam nodded. "In peace."

  We all grew quiet. I ran my hands over the beautiful old garment. I was dressed in the memory of Ben's mother. I thought of a quote from some obscure philosopher. Eternal life can be seen in the simple inheritance of a flower's bloom.

  Or in a beautiful dress.

  "I'll try my best to honor Denise Thocco and her lovely creation." The dress and Ben.

  Lily pulled something from a pocket of her denim jumper. She shyly held out a nickel-sized piece of artist canvas with a tiny daisy she'd painted on it. "Maybe you can carry this. For good luck." Her mysterious fascination for daisies had no bounds. Her eyes filled with more tears. "Would you mind if I help your mother watch over you?"

  My throat knotted. I took a safety pin from a container on the kitchen table and pinned Lily's hand-painted daisy inside my bodice. "There," I said hoarsely, wishing I could look inside Lily and see her memory of me. 1 wish I knew the truth about you and Mac. What happened the night I was born? How could you be so loving, so maternal and paternal toward me, now, and yet not have wanted me, then? Why aren't you willing to admit you once had a baby?

  "I'll wear your daisy over my heart," I promised.

  She nodded happily. "That's where daisies belong."

  Ben

  Mac, Roy, Cheech and Bigfoot stared at me like I was a stranger. Possum squatted behind one of the living room's cane-back chairs. He peered around the woven cane at me.

  "Aw, Benji used to wear a tuxedo in Mexico all the time," Joey said.

  "You look like James Bond," Bigfoot said. "And not just any James Bond. The best James Bond. Roger Moore."

  The others frowned at him. "Por, favor, but it's Sean Connery," Cheech said.

  Bigfoot loomed over him. "Naw. Roger."

/>   "Sean."

  I held up my hands. "Thanks, either way."

  Mac stepped forward shyly, but the set of his jaw said he had serious business to talk about. "Is K-Karen gonna be s-safe at this poker ggame?"

  "You have my word on it."

  "Me and L-Lily, we worry about h-her. We'll m-miss her."

  "It'll only be overnight. She'll be treated like a lady. You have my word."

  He exhaled. "Okay." He held out his hand. On his callused palm was an old but ordinary buffalo nickel. "Glen says this is worth a lot. It belonged to our grandpa. He made lots of money in pine trees." Mac paused, thinking. "I g-guess he got paid in n-nickels."

  By pine trees, Mac meant turpentine. The Tolberts had been big in the turpentine business back at the turn of the century. In those days, poor folic scratched for money in our part of Florida. If they couldn't ranch it, farm it or fish it, they went to work for a Tolbert and spent their days in the steamy pule forests, dodgin' rattlers while scrapin' holes in pine trees to collect the sap. They got paid a nickel a gallon. Maybe that was all Glen thought Mac deserved of the family money.

  "You want me to have your prize nickel?" I asked gently.

  Mac nodded. "So, if you don't w-win the p-poker game, you can still b-buy Karen some s-supper."

  I tucked the nickel inside the tux's breast pocket. "Thank you, Mac."

  "Ifyou lose all the money and the n-nickel, too, it's okay." He looked around at the others, and they nodded. "We 1-love you for trying."

  "I'm gonna do my best, I swear to you."

  "He'll win," Joey said firmly. "He's my Benji. He'll win."

  Godawmighty.

  Chapter 21

  Kara

  I should have guessed Ben had a tuxedo and a pilot's license.

  After all, El Diablo did.

  As curious herons peered from the shallows and Gator slithered away in dismay at the engine noise, Phil Montegras descended from the sky and neatly landed a small seaplane on the marsh. I stood back, protecting my canvas tote from the spray, while Ben, Mac and Bigfoot secured the seaplane to a narrow wooden dock meant for small skiffs, canoes and swamp boats. Phil was loaning us his plane.