by Loy Holder
“Hell, no. She’s friends with Liz.”
Rita was still frowning. “OK, you’ve given me your side. What’s Liz’s story?”
“Fuck, Ma, I’m not a mind reader.” Ma’s a suspicious bitch.
Rita gave Ron a sharp sideways glance. “Well, I’d like to hear it from Liz, and watch your mouth. I have a feeling you’re leaving a few things out, but we can talk later after you’re rested.”
They rode in silence for a few miles until Rita pulled into the driveway. “Well, son, here we are. Let’s go in.” He saw his father standing in the open doorway. It had been a few years since he’d last been home.
George Harmon said, “It so good to see ya, son. It’s been too long. Are you hungry? We got some biscuits and gravy and hot coffee. Come on in.”
“Sounds good, Dad.” Ron followed his parents into the kitchen, and sat at the old, familiar, oak table. He watched his father move between the stove and the table. Rita brought plates, forks, and cups, and George dished up the food and poured Ron a large cup of coffee.
When they were all seated, Rita grabbed Ron’s arm as he was about to eat a bite off his fork. “Ron, we say Grace before a meal.” She folded her hands. “Heavenly Father, bless this food about to nourish our bodies, and thank you for the many blessings we enjoy. Thank you for bringing our son home. In Jesus’s name, amen.”
George repeated, “Amen,” after Rita and then turned to Ron. “Son?”
Shit, he wants me to say it, too. Ron mumbled, “Amen.”
While they ate breakfast, George told Ron about his garden and how he missed the horses but not the work. When their plates were empty, George paused and cleared his throat. “Son, you’ve been real quiet. What brings you here without your family?”
Ron swallowed hard, and the last bite of biscuit caught in his throat. Damn, Dad, too? Ron repeated the story he’d told his mother and then said, “Liz and I can’t talk, so I thought a little separation might clear the air.”
George frowned. “Any idea why she left? And how come you look so uncomfortable?”
“This subject makes me uncomfortable.” Ron felt the heat rise in his face, and his voice rose. “Well, she probably left because she thinks I drink too much. Dad, you know how good a beer is when you’re wound up.”
“Yeah, I remember what that was like. But I grew up.” Then George smiled at Rita and took her hand. “Thank God. Your mother stuck with me through those difficult years.” He looked at Ron. “Son, I see those telltale broken blood vessels in your cheeks and your nose. Are you abusing alcohol?”
Ron glared at his dad and stood up, his voice ominous. “Fuck, Dad, I didn’t expect you to ask me that. I remember you used to drink a lot. I was sure you would understand. I need it to sleep and to feel, well, like a man.”
George stood and placed a hand on Ron’s shoulder. “OK, son. You look beat. Let’s get you some rest now, and maybe later you and I can have another talk.”
The bed looked inviting, but first, Ron needed beer. Through his bedroom window, he could see George out in the garden, and he heard Rita’s sewing machine running. He snuck into the kitchen, took a few bottles of Pabst Blue Ribbon from the icebox, grabbed a bottle opener from the drawer, and went back to his room. He smiled and then swilled a beer while he stood in the middle of the floor. He remembered how he’d crawled through the window, drunk, to outsmart his mother. He guzzled another beer, stretched out on his bed, and dozed off.
Ron woke when he felt his dad shake him, an hour later. “Hey wake up, or you won’t sleep good tonight.”
Ron groaned. “I’m dead. Give me few more minutes.” Through half-closed eyes, Ron watched his dad start to move away from the bed and almost trip over the two bottles on the floor. Fuck, he sees the beer. Ron sat up on the bed, eyes wide open.
George backed up and looked around the room. Then he bellowed, “Shit, what are you doing with my beer? I didn’t think we’d have to lay down rules, but you stay away from my Pabst Blue Ribbon and don’t bring any booze home either. You got that?”
“Fuck, you gotta be kidding, Dad. Rules?” Ron glared at George.
“It looks like you need them, and watch your language.” In an even voice, George continued, “While you’re living under my roof, no drinking, no borrowing the car, no coming home drunk, and no staying out late. You treat us and our home with respect. If you need a ride to look for a job, I’ll be happy to drive you around. If you break the rules, I’ll ask you to leave. Is all that clear?” George folded his arms across his chest, his eyebrows raised.
Ron didn’t want to get kicked out so soon. He needed the free room and board until he could come up with a better plan. He cleared his throat and changed his tone. “OK, Dad. I get it.” He brushed his dark hair out of his eyes. “Maybe you could drive me downtown tomorrow to look for work?”
“Yeah, I’ll take you downtown tomorrow, but the first stop is a barbershop. You need a haircut.” George sat down on the bed.
Ron moved to the edge of the bed and cradled his head in his hands. Fuck, here comes the lecture.
“Listen to me.” George nudged Ron’s shoulder. “If you want your family back, you have to get yourself right first. That means stop the drinking, save up some money, then go back home, and show Liz you’re serious about being a real husband and father. Right now she probably believes you like the drinking more than her. Is there anything else you’d like to share? Did you hit her or one of the kids? You’ve always had a temper.”
Ron rubbed his face with both hands, and shook his head. “Christ, no. I didn’t hit anybody. It’s all on her, Dad. She flaunts her half-naked butt at a bunch of strange jerk-offs in that joint, and it drives me crazy. No wonder I drink, but I’m not an alcoholic. I’ll prove it to you while I’m here. Now, can we stop talking? I’m dead tired.”
“OK.” George stood to leave. “Maybe later today we can get you a haircut and buy you a few clothes. Get all that out of the way. Then tomorrow, I’ll drive you to look for work.”
“Sure Dad. Just let me crash for a while.” George left the room, and Ron laid his head down on the pillow.
* * *
Chapter twelve
Liz stared at her reflection in the mirror. She was uneasy about her first night back to work. How are the customers gonna react to this broken face? She applied heavier makeup to her eyes, hoping it would draw attention away from her lip. Damn, I can’t even put on lipstick. She stepped back from the mirror to survey the results. Not good, but it’ll have to do.
When she pulled into the Jet’s parking lot, she noticed, for the first time, how nondescript the white, oblong building was. Yet inside, the atmosphere made her come alive. She took a deep breath and walked through the door. Much to her relief, everyone welcomed her as usual, with appreciative whistles and catcalls.
She loved the attention and had become an outrageous flirt, but because of Ron, she’d grown wary of most men, especially ones who drank. If a customer got handsy, she’d push him away with a wink and say, “Look, but don’t touch.” The customers seemed to respect that.
In spite of what she’d told her attorney, she wanted love in her life, even marriage again someday. She’d spotted someone intriguing her first night of dancing at the Jet. The one time she’d waited on him, she’d noticed he stood a head taller than she did.
She’d asked Gail, the waitress, about him. Gail told her his name was Bill Williams and that he was different from the other customers because he’d only drink one beer, not a pitcher or two. The few times he’d come in, Liz had felt a zap when his dark, sexy eyes had focused on her as she danced, but she’d never had an opportunity to actually talk to him. Will he be here tonight? What could it hurt to talk to him?
She walked into the kitchen, and Gail grinned. “Whoa! There you are! You look great in spite of your, uh, injuries.” She gripped Liz’s shoulders. “I’m so glad you’re back. I’m exhausted pulling double shifts. Since you’re here, can I take off?”
&n
bsp; “Sure.” Liz smiled and watched Gail take a pizza out of the oven and set the pan down on the counter.
“OK, I’m outta here.” Gail wiped the perspiration from her forehead with her apron. “This pizza goes to Mark and Carl over there near the stage. I’ll deliver it on my way out.”
Once Gail had walked out the door, Liz stored her purse in a kitchen drawer and went out on the floor to circulate with the customers. Before she knew it, she was making pizzas, serving large pitchers of brew, and joking easily with several men who were either on their dinner break or off work. No one asked, so she forgot about her lip and missing tooth and even played some pool. She was good at the game, and it kept the customers entertained and buying beer. That was critical for business, since she wouldn’t be dancing for a while.
Later in the shift, Liz went behind the bar to wash some mugs. She sensed someone watching her from the other end of the bar and gave him a huge smile. “Hello, Bill.” Ah, here’s my chance to talk to him, and I’m taking it.
His flailing hand sent his tie askew when he jumped back a step. “Jesus Christ. What the hell happened to you?”
Uh oh, did I scare him off? She frowned and studied him for a second. “You mean this?” she asked, pointing to her mouth. “It’s going to be fixed soon. What can I get you?”
“First, tell me what happened. I hope he’s in jail for messing with your pretty face.”
Liz was moved by his look of concern and shook her head. “It’s a long story.”
“I got time. So Liz Harmon, pour me a beer, and I’m all ears.”
“How’d you know my name?”
“I was interested, and I asked Gail. How’d you know my name?”
“Gail told me.” Liz giggled. “I was…interested. I’ll be right back with your beer. Liz caught his eyes following her and relished the heat from his stare as she poured him a brew. She set the mug and some napkins in front of him, her expression serious. “OK, the abridged version is…my husband did it.” She raised her eyebrows. “The good news is I’m getting a new tooth, and he’ll be my ex soon. You want a pizza to go with that beer?”
“Hey, not so fast. There’s more to it than that, and when are you going to dance again?”
Liz laughed. “Whoa. You’re just full of questions. Yeah, there’s more to it. You may have time, but”—Liz glanced toward the door—“it looks like I just got more customers. I’ll be dancing again when I get the tooth.”
“OK.” Bill smiled and placed his hand over his heart. “I’m a patient man. I can wait and yes, I’d like a pizza, the one with lots of cheese, tomatoes, and anchovies.” He pointed to the menu on the wall behind her. “Gail made one of those the other day, and it was great.”
Liz delivered Bill’s pizza, and by the time she took care of the other customers, he’d left. She shrugged off her disappointment and joined a customer for a game of pool. Around one thirty, she washed the glassware and empty pizza platters. The last customer left before two, and she locked the door. She counted the cash and locked it in the safe. Then she cleaned the bar, kitchen, and tables. When she was done, she grabbed her purse, glanced around to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything, and stepped outside to lock the door.
She heard footsteps behind her and whirled around with one arm extended as if to protect herself from a blow, the other tight against her chest. She heard a voice say, “Easy, pretty lady.”
Relieved that it was a familiar voice, she relaxed a bit. “Hi, Bill. Did you work late tonight?”
“Yeah, I just got off. I didn’t mean to scare you. You’re white as a sheet. Can I walk you to your car?” He stepped closer, ran his finger over her sutures and caressed the side of her face. He whispered, “Since the first time I saw you dance, I’ve been drawn to you like a magnet. I want to learn everything about you.”
A smooth gold band on his ring finger shimmered in the overhead security light when he’d moved his hand from her face. She stared at it and backed away from him. “Did you have that ring on your finger earlier?”
He twisted his ring with his right hand, and his jaw was tight. “Yes, I’m married. I wear this ring for my children. My wife and I share a roof but not a bed.”
“What would your wife say if she knew you were here with me?”
He shook his head and shrugged. “She doesn’t care what I do, but it upsets my children when I don’t wear it.”
The wedding ring was a red flag for Liz. She turned away from Bill and locked the club door. In a dismissive tone, she said, “I need to get home to my children. Maybe we could talk another time.”
He smiled and looked hopeful. “I’d like that.”
As Liz drove home, her mind swirled with confusion. I was a little cold to him. What if he’s telling the truth? Ah, so what if he’s married. I am too, right now. I wonder what it would be like to kiss him?
Two days later, Marcy Kellogg from the attorney’s office called. Liz answered, “Frantz residence, Liz Harmon speaking.”
“Hello, Mrs. Harmon. If you have a minute, Mr. Walton would like to speak to you.”
“Oh, sure.” What does he want?
After a short pause, Joseph Walton came on the line. “Hi, Liz, how are you?”
“I’m fine, Mr. Walton. What can I do for you?” Her voice held a hint of concern.
“Well, we’ve run into a bit of a snag. My process server tried to serve the divorce papers to Mr. Harmon, first at his house and then at his job at Ames Auto Shop. The manager said he’d fired him over a week ago, and he hasn’t seen him since. Is there anyone who might know where he is?”
Liz thought for a moment. “Well, there’s his sister Charlie, but Ron and his sister aren’t close. She’d let me know if he was there, and he only has one close friend, Joe Mahoney. We used to socialize with Joe and his wife before they got a divorce. He might be staying with Joe. Can I call you back? I need to find my address book. I might have Joe’s phone number and address, and I can give you Charlie’s number too.”
“Sure. If you find the information, just leave it with Marcy.”
“OK. I’ll call right back.”
Liz hung up the phone and dug through her purse. At the bottom, she found her tattered, red address book. She thumbed through it, and there was Joe’s phone number. Should she call him? What if Ron was hiding out there and he answered the phone?
She looked at the clock and it was close to four in the afternoon. She needed to get ready for work. I’m not gonna risk it. She phoned the attorney’s office and left the information with Marcy.
Later that day, Lucille went to the grocery store, and Liz had just put the children down for a nap when the phone rang. She answered softly so as not to wake the children.
“Hi, Liz, Joseph Walton here. Sorry to disturb you again. My processor spoke to Joe Mahoney. It seems Mr. Harmon has left town. According to Mr. Mahoney, Ron got on a bus Sunday afternoon and headed for Nashville to see his parents. So here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to have Marcy work up an announcement regarding your divorce filing and post it in the local Nashville paper, legal notices section. By law, this legal notice must run once a week for thirty days. This will serve as notice to Mr. Harmon and allow him time to contest the action. Do you have any questions?” He paused to give her a moment to answer.
Tension tightened the muscles in her neck, and she took a deep breath. “Yes. I’m actually glad he’s left, but what happens if you don’t hear from him? Does that stop the divorce?”
“No, Liz. This happens once in a while.” The warmth in his voice made her relax. “Frequently, divorces are uncontested and the plaintiff receives the final decree without a word from the respondent. If you don’t have any objections to the legal notice, I’ll have Marcy take care of that first thing tomorrow morning.”
“No objections, but just one more question. What if he does contest it, then what?” Liz rubbed her forehead, not sure she wanted to hear the answer.
“Well, if he chooses to contest i
t, he’ll need to appear in court, where he could be arrested on the spot for the attempted-breaking-and-entering charge. Don’t worry about that now. Let’s see what happens in the next month.”
“You’re right. I don’t need to borrow trouble.”
“OK, Liz, if you don’t have any more questions, I need to get going. I have to be in court in a half hour. I would caution you that Ron could come back, just to cause you grief. Don’t relax too much.”
“I won’t, and thanks for calling.”
A while later, Liz heard Lucille come in. “Geez, did you buy out the store? Let me help.”
“Yeah.” Lucille motioned toward the kitchen table. The stuff over there goes in the pantry. I’ll put the rest of it away. It’s quiet. Are the kids asleep?”
“Yes, and guess what?” Liz said as she started stacking the canned goods.
“What?” Lucille asked, wrinkling her nose and frowning. “That ‘guess what’ sounds ominous.”
She told Lucille what she’d learned from her attorney, and Lucille said, “Well, it sounds like there’s nothing to worry about, except maybe Ron coming back and raising more hell. But I’m pretty sure he’s not going to contest it. He doesn’t have any money, and, besides, he will be arrested if he comes back.” Lucille put the last items in the refrigerator.
Liz straightened from the bottom shelf of the pantry. “I wonder if he could borrow money from his parents and contest it long-distance.”
“Let’s not worry about that unless it happens. Besides, you have lots of proof that you are entitled to a divorce, like medical and dental receipts and the police report. In the meantime, I want you to consider getting your own gun and going to the shooting range with me in case he comes back full of thunder and lightning.”
“I’ll consider it.” Liz frowned. “But give me a little time. Ron’s gone now.”
“OK, but don’t take too long. In the meantime, watch your back.”
Two weeks later, Liz rolled over on her side to the sound of her children laughing outside her bedroom window. Even before she looked at the clock, she knew it was time to get up. Was it the late hours that made the mornings so difficult, or the nagging disappointment that she hadn’t seen Bill? She wondered why and hated to admit that he’d already gotten under her skin.