by Loy Holder
She stood, rubbed her eyes, wrapped her robe around her, and went into the kitchen for some coffee. There was a note by the coffeepot from Lucille, telling her to call the dentist. She poured herself a cup and then found Lucille reading on the patio.
“Good morning. How’d it go last night?” Lucille looked up from her paper.
Liz placed her cup on the table and sat across from Lucille. “It went fine, except George what’s-his-name and Jim Morris got into an argument over a math equation.” Liz scowled and pointed her thumb over her shoulder. “They got a little rowdy, so I told them to take it outside.”
“Did they go?” Lucille finished her coffee.
“Yes, and the rest of the night was a piece of cake. Uh, you left me this note.” Liz waved the note in front of Lucille. “Did the dentist office say what they wanted?”
“No.” Lucille shook her head. “They just said to give them a call.”
“Maybe my bridge is ready!” Liz jumped up, excited.
“That’d be great, and have you looked at your lip lately? I think the sutures are disappearing.” Lucille gave Liz a wide grin and readjusted her red upsweep of curls.
Liz ran a finger over her bottom lip. “Yeah, I’ll take a peek at my lip and then I’m gonna call the dentist.”
Liz examined her lip in her bathroom mirror. Wow. The stitches are gone. I can wear lipstick. She found the dentist’s card in her purse, and dialed the number. A voice answered, “Dr. Garner’s office, Trudy speaking.”
“Hi, Trudy. This is Liz Harmon. I understand your office called this morning.”
“Yes, Mrs. Harmon. Your bridge arrived from the lab. When can you come in?”
“Good. I could come in about one o’clock this afternoon.”
“That’s perfect. We’ll see you then.”
Lucille came in from the patio. “Well, what did they say?”
“I have an appointment at one o’clock today. So can I dance tonight?”
Lucille smiled. “No. tomorrow night. I’ve got to call someone in to work behind the bar. But, let’s celebrate!” She opened a bottle of champagne and poured them each a small flute; they clinked their glasses together in a toast.
* * *
Chapter thirteen
After a week of pounding the pavement with no luck, Ron was frustrated. He passed by a newsstand on his way back to his dad’s car and bought a newspaper. He slid into the passenger side and held it up. “I finally got smart, Dad. I feel like I’ve been flying blind. I’m gonna check the want ads when we get home. Maybe that’ll help.”
“Good idea, son. Man, it’s hot. Let’s call it a day.”
When they got to the house, Ron grabbed a Coke and took the newspaper to his room. He drank some soda and got comfortable. After skimming the front page, he took another drink and flipped through the paper until he came to the help-wanted ads. Several openings piqued his interest and he made a mental note to call on a couple of them later. Then his eyes fell on the legal section and his body froze. The notice said:
Mr. Ronald James Harmon
Consider this as notice that Liz Harmon,
Without force or persuasion
Has filed for an interlocutory decree of Divorce
And a restraining order against you
On Monday, June 12, 1967
In Sacramento, County of Sacramento,
State of California.
Please be advised you must respond by
Wednesday, July 12, 1967 at 5:00 p.m.
if you wish to contest this action. To respond,
please write to Joseph Walton, Attorney at Law
2424 J Street,
Sacramento, California, 95814
Ron read it over three times. His stomach clenched, and rage tore through him. He forgot where he was. He jumped off the bed, and slammed his fist into the wall, causing a picture to crash to the floor. He bellowed, “No-oo!” so loud that his parents dropped what they were doing and ran toward his room.
His mother entered his room first, and he waved the newspaper in her face. She yelled, “Ron, what on earth is the matter? Your face is beet red and you’re acting like a madman. Calm down!”
Then George entered the room. “What in the hell is wrong with you, Ron? Shit, I heard you clear outside. Sounded like someone was killing you.”
“The bitch is divorcing me. Look.” Ron’s face was twisted with anger as he pointed at the page. “Look at this notice. She’s not going to get away with it.”
George folded his arms across his chest, his voice loud and commanding. “Get ahold of yourself, Ron, or pack your shit up and leave. Which is it going to be?”
Ron slumped on the bed, shaking his head. “Dad, OK, I’m sorry. Christ, I can’t believe she’s dumping me.”
“He’s acting like a two-year-old, and I can’t take anymore,” Rita said. “I’m outta here. Dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes.” Rita left the room and slammed the door behind her.
“Damn, Mom doesn’t give a shit about me.”
“Son, we both love you, but you must have done something awful to make Liz want to file for divorce.”
“I told you, Dad. It’s all on her. She wants more than I can give.”
“You sure there isn’t anything you’d like to share with me?”
“Yeah…I’m sure.”
“OK, but you heard your mother. Dinner’s gonna be ready soon.”
After George left the room, Ron smoldered. I’m fucked. I’ll have to cool it here until I get some money coming in, but Liz is gonna pay for what she’s done to me.
A week later, Ron got hired as an auto-parts salesman. On the way home, he frowned. “Any idea how I’m gonna get to work? You said I couldn’t drive your car, and it’s eight miles to Hank’s. Are you planning to drive me every day?”
“I was wondering about that myself.” George frowned. “By the way, you don’t have any reason to sound irritated with me, right?”
Ron muttered, “Yeah, right.”
“OK. Since, there’re no buses on this road, I could take you for a while, until you get yourself a used car.”
“Shit, Dad. That could take a while.” That was not the answer Ron wanted. Damn, I thought the old bastard would change his mind and let me drive the Cadillac, or better yet, buy me a car. The longer he thought, the more he steamed. Fuck, I need a night out, some booze, and a hot bitch underneath me.
On Ron’s first payday, he called George around noon. “Hey, Dad, I got a ride home so you don’t have to come pick me up. I want to talk to you and Mom when I get home.”
“Uh, OK, what about?”
“I’ll tell you when I get home.” Ron hung up in George’s ear.
About five thirty, Ron drove up in an old Plymouth. It was gray and quiet. When he came in the front door, George frowned. “Where’d you get the car?”
Ron seemed pleased with himself. “Come on in the kitchen. I’m thirsty. We can talk in there.” Rita and George sat at the table, looking anxious, and Ron was enjoying their obvious discomfort. He got a bottle of Coke out of the refrigerator and sat down facing them.
“Cut the suspense, Ron. What’s up?” George sounded impatient as Ron popped the top off the bottle.
He took a long drink. “OK. I made friends with this guy at work, Luke Sutherland, and we got to talking. He’s been through a nasty divorce and needs a roommate. He offered me a room for fifty dollars a week plus he sold me that old car out there for two hundred dollars. So, I’m moving out tonight. I need my own place. By the way, here’s some money for gas.” Ron shoved a twenty-dollar bill toward his father.
“Christ, you didn’t have to pay me for driving you around. And that’s just great, you moving out.” George frowned. “If you spend money on rent, that’ll cut into your ability to save money, and aren’t you supposed to respond to the attorney by July twelfth? What about that?”
He laughed in his dad’s face. “I don’t give a shit about the divorce, now. I need a break from Liz, fro
m the pain. Liz wants me out of her life, so she’s going to get her wish. I’ll work by day and play at night. That’s it, Dad.”
“What about your kids. You want to be out of their lives, too? You said you were going to prove to me that you aren’t an alcoholic, but, right now, you’re behaving like one. You could stay here rent free, with food on the table. You got a car, so you could get back and forth on your own.” George shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
Ron stood. His fist hit the table. “Dad, I don’t want to live with your rules. I’m gonna drink when I want, and if that makes me an alcoholic, I don’t give a fuck. I’m cooped up here. I feel smothered. OK, I’m done talking.” He turned to go to his room and ignored the bewilderment and sadness on his parents’ faces. He felt no emotion.
Packing was easy. His clothes fit in three brown-paper bags, and his sundries went back in the case Joe had given him. He loaded his belongings into the trunk of the old Plymouth, told his parents that he’d see them soon, and waved good-bye as they stood on the porch.
* * *
Chapter fourteen
The aroma of fresh banana pancakes and bacon lured Liz into the kitchen the next morning. “Wow, it smells incredible in here. I’m hungry.”
Lucille grinned. “Good morning. I thought I heard you moving around.”
Liz poured herself a cup of coffee and ran her tongue over the new bridge. It felt weird, but it looked good and she’d get used it. “Yeah, I was folding a mound of clothes. It’s never-ending.” Liz frowned at her own complaint and shrugged it off. At least she had clothes to wash.
“Well, let’s eat.” Lucille dished the pancakes onto a plate. “This is round two. The kids wolfed down a few pancakes and went outside to catch bugs. They’re out past the garden.” Lucille pointed toward the sliding-glass door. “See them?”
Liz set the table, and glanced through the glass as she sat down. She could see Ronnie bent over and his hand covering the mouth of a jar; he called to Regina and pointed to his jar as though to show off his prize. Regina squatted as only a small child can do, and clapped her hands as if to marvel at Ronnie’s captive specimen. Regina traced the bug’s movement in the jar with her tiny finger, and a warm delight filled Liz as she watched the peaceful scene of contented children. That’s how I want their lives to be, all the time.
Lucille and Liz chatted affably while they ate. Liz cleared the table and cleaned up the kitchen while Lucille went out to the patio for her morning ritual of reading the news and drinking a last cup of coffee.
Tonight Liz would be back on that large, round stage edged with lights. Lucille had told her at breakfast that she’d hired another woman, Sam Soto, to make pizzas and serve beer. Man, it’ll be a piece of cake. All I have to do is dance, and wait tables. Then a gloomy thought dimmed her excitement. Why hasn’t Bill been in?
She spent most of the day with the children and tried to focus on them. Instead, her mind drifted to Bill. I don’t think my missing tooth scared him off. Maybe he figured I wasn’t interested in him because I wouldn’t talk to him that night, and what if his wife does care? Nope! I think he’s telling the truth, he’s gonna be there tonight, and I’m gonna knock his socks off with my high-octane dance moves. Maybe he’ll tell me why he hasn’t been in.
When it was the children’s nap time, she read them a story. Soon they were sound asleep, and she went to her bedroom to get ready for work. After she showered and dressed, she studied herself in the mirror. Yeah, my face is back to normal. She tucked her dance costume into her duffel bag, and walked to her car.
When Liz walked into the Jet, she made jokes and small talk with the customers on her way to the kitchen. She needed to meet Sam Soto, the new waitress. When she reached the kitchen door, she heard muffled swearing and groans. Liz pushed open the door and peered inside. Sam was wrestling with pizza dough and there was flour and pieces of pepperoni all over the floor. Liz gave a low chuckle. “Hey, Sam, how are you doing?”
Sam looked up like she’d been caught with her hand in the tip jar. “Who are you?”
“I’m Liz Harmon, the dancer. You look like you could use some help.”
Sam blew a stray strand of hair from her eyes. “I can’t seem to get this dough rolled out to fit the pan.”
“Maybe I can give you a hand for a second here.” Liz smiled as she set her bag down, washed her hands, and fingered the powdery blob resting on a pizza pan. “Let’s see. I think you need a little more moisture in the dough. Try adding some water and see if that works. I’ll hang around here while you do it.”
With a determined look shining through the sweat and flour on her face, Sam scooped the mess off the pan, laid it back on the butcher-block counter and added the water. She smiled at Liz with a look of triumph as the blob became a pizza crust that covered the pan.
“Good job.” Liz clapped her hands. “Now, what kind did the customer order?”
“Uh, I think pepperoni.” Sam fumbled for the order slip.
“OK. Sam, have you ever made pizza before?”
“No, not really.” Sam was no longer smiling.
“Don’t worry. It’s pretty simple. Here, I’ll write down some instructions.” Liz grabbed a pad and pencil from the counter. She left the note on the counter and squeezed Sam’s arm saying, “You’ll be fine. Just relax. I need to go change now, but I’ll be around if you have any more questions.”
Bill walked into the Jet, expecting to see Liz and was instantly disappointed. He didn’t see her anywhere. He made his way to the bar and sat on a stool. A new waitress came out of the kitchen and said, “Hi, what can I get you?”
Bill smiled politely. “I just want a beer and a small pepperoni.”
“You want a pitcher or a mug?”
Bill laughed. “Just a mug. I’m not much of a drinker.”
“Got it.” The waitress brought him his beer and disappeared into the kitchen. Bill stood at the bar and slowly sipped his beer, while his eyes scanned the room and the door, looking for Liz.
A few minutes later, the waitress came back, and after she waited on another customer, Bill motioned her over. “Say, you’re a new face. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Sam, Sam Soto. What’s yours?” Her voice sounded dry and scratchy.
“Bill Williams.” He gave her a warm smile, pulled a stool over, and loosened his tie as he sat next to his beer mug. “You know Liz? I was hoping she’d be here tonight.”
Sam shrugged. “I just met her, but she seems nice enough. Right now, she’s changing. This is my first night working here and I’m a little nervous.”
“Ah, no need to be nervous. A pretty girl like you will do just fine here,” Bill assured her with a benevolent look.
“Have you ever met Lucille Frantz?” Sam asked, seeming to relax a bit.
“No, why?” Bill asked.
“She’s the owner here. When she hired me, she made it sound like one screw-up and I’d be outta here. Then Liz came into the kitchen a while ago and caught me struggling with the pizza dough. I really need this job. I’m not sure good looks will help.”
“Well, you pour a good beer.” Bill laughed, and gently patted her hand. “Don’t worry, I think Liz has a kind heart, and she’ll help you out. You’ll see.”
“Actually, you’re right. She helped me with the pizza. Speaking of pizza, I better get started on yours.”
After Sam delivered Bill’s slightly crisp pizza, he heard someone shout, “She’s back!” Bill looked for a table up front. He picked up his food and drink, and moved to the only available table, somewhat back from the stage. At least it provided a better view and more comfort than the hard barstool.
The noise in the dimly lit club stilled as Liz approached the jukebox. She felt calm and energized. Ah…there it is, “Mustang Sally” by Wilson Pickett. She punched the button, and stepped up on the stage, just as the lyrics started: “Mustang Sally, guess you better slow your Mustang down.”
When she moved, the black fringe on h
er two-piece costume accentuated the sensual rhythm of her body. Liz brought any song to life with a sway of her breasts, hips, and backside, and her facial expressions captured the mood as she mouthed the words. Gestures, like her hands on a virtual Mustang steering wheel, turned the lyrics into something like a Broadway play.
When “Mustang Sally” ended, she selected “Devil with a Blue Dress On” and portrayed a devilish female who spun around on one foot and did chorus-girl kicks. Her feet kept the quick rhythm and her fingers snapped to the beat.
After a few more dances, it was time to take orders and collect empty pitchers. When she stepped down from the stage, she saw Bill and almost swallowed her tongue. OK, breathe, Liz. She collected pitchers and pizza platters from several tables, before she stopped at his table near the bar. “Hi there. You haven’t been in for a while.”
A slow, roguish smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Wow, you got your beautiful smile back. Yeah, I had to go out of town on business. Missed you, pretty lady.”
Hah! Mystery solved. Liz smiled more to herself than to Bill. “You want another beer or pizza?”
“No.” He leaned back in his chair with his hands bracing his head. “What I want is for you to dance just for me.”
Oh God, my fantasy. Liz chuckled. “Sure, but you’ll have to wait until I take some orders and clean up around here. I gotta check on Sam, too. How was your pizza, by the way?”
He folded his arms across his chest and smiled. “Sam made me a great pizza, and I’m full, so just bring me a Coke, and I’ll wait right here for my dance. I got plenty of time.”
Liz’s heart skipped another beat. Bill’s white teeth and white shirt were a handsome contrast to his tan skin and curly, dark hair. She said, “I’ll be back in a few minutes after I, uh, take care of business.” Then she gave him a wink and whispered, “You can pick the music.”