No Story to Tell

by K J Steele

  She ignored his words as if they hadn’t a hope of penetrating her ears and entering her mind. Ignored him as if he did not exist. And why not? Billy Bassman was a pig. Handed his welfare check over to Pearl each month in exchange for her squalid room and cheap whiskey, pretty much taking over where his older brother left off. His brother had lived for seven years in the hotel and died there as well, three days short of his twenty-fourth birthday.

  A black stain on the burgundy carpet still marked the spot where he’d lain bleeding to death, passersby just assuming he was out cold again. No one was ever quite sure why he’d been stabbed, and no one was fool enough to venture who’d done it, but the town had its theories. Seemed most likely it’d been the result of a misunderstanding.

  She’d have never guessed back in high school that Billy Bassman would follow in the infamous, staggering footsteps of his brother. He was a couple of years older than her, but they’d been in the same class at school, he having failed grade three twice. Good-looking, with an almost comical over confidence, she’d thought he was the type who’d really go places. And he had gone places. Spent a few years traveling with a circus and a couple in jail then returned back to Hinckly, his desire for adventure apparently satiated while his desire for whiskey was not. Her stomach twisted to think he’d ever touched her.

  The restaurant’s solid wood tables still reflected some of their original charm, but the cloth booths were either stained or split, and Bud Bentley had dutifully solved both problems with a liberal application of silver duct tape. Rose sat alone in the corner by the window. She stood apart in Hinckly, a rose planted among thistles, some things in common but not at all the same. Hers was an exotically attractive face, and over the years she’d developed a penchant for wrapping herself in layers of brightly colored, flowing garments. Victoria had watched Rose’s face with the curiosity of a child, trying to discern which features she possessed that so elevated her in the ranks of beauty. But it wasn’t as simple as any one feature—like say, beautiful eyes or a brilliant smile against swarthy skin, although she boasted these and more. It was perhaps the intensity of the life lived through them. A smile from Rose lit the day and erased storm clouds from the skies, whereas her fury could erupt unforgiving as lava, raging black eyes smiting her foe from the earth. But it was a rare thing to see Rose mad. Chronically cheerful, she made the best of what came her way, although by all accounts much of that had been hard.

  “There you are. I was starting to worry.”

  “I’m sorry, Rose. My stupid car again. Quit completely this time. Just after Patterson’s place. Have you been waiting long?”

  “I was a little early.”

  Of course you were, Victoria thought but kept the comment to herself. Rose was always early. Irritatingly so. Still, Victoria had never felt particularly close to anyone before she’d met Rose, with the exception perhaps of a childish bond with Auntie May. Dance had been her devoted partner until she’d married, and if it had been friendship she desired then, she certainly didn’t find much of it with Bobby.

  “Have you ordered?”

  “No. Pearl came by once with coffee and I haven’t seen her since. Do you want me to get you one?”

  “Sure. If you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all.”

  Nobody was allowed behind Pearl’s counter, including Bud, unless there was something that needed patching up. Rose was the first one audacious enough to even try it, and for some incomprehensible reason Pearl would grudgingly allow her. But any other nitwit guileless enough to attempt it got hollered back into his seat with a velocity that threatened the windows.

  Although Rose definitely had her detractors, the general feeling held around town was that anyone who could move beyond the wall of suspicion grating out from Pearl Bentley must be a bit of an enigma. Rose’s ability to do so had magnified her in some of their eyes almost to sainthood.

  Pearl came in from the kitchen just as Rose set the coffee on the table and sat down. She scurried over, her ratty head bobbing tightly, her manner prickly.

  “I could have gut ya that. Ya could’a just hollered, ya know.”

  “Yes, I know, Pearl. But you seemed awfully busy today and I thought I’d save you the bother.”

  “Ain’t no bother. Jus’ holler next time, eh?” Pearl stood fidgeting like a moose tormented with black flies, scratching first one arm then the other, twitching her shoulders and flinging her head to the side as she talked. Clearly she would have liked to unleash a tirade that would fly to hell and back, but she bit her lip, literally, narrow yellow rodent teeth all askew.

  “You gun’na wan’na eat, too?” She eyed them thinly.

  “Give us a few minutes, okay?” Rose said.

  Pearl shrugged, grumbled and left.

  They spent a few seconds in silence as they attempted to decipher the deletions and additions scribbled across the menu, prices adjusted with a strip of masking tape and a red pen. But Victoria couldn’t focus on the words, her mind dissolving into fragmentary images of Elliot’s face, his free-flowing voice and voluptuous hands. Yearning filled her, contractions of discontentment gripping her like hunger pangs, and yet the menu in front of her held nothing that even remotely interested her. She wanted to sit, quiet and alone, and walk back through every moment they had shared. She wanted to remember each word that had slid from his tongue and roll it gently through her mind, savoring it like the tenderest of morsels.

  “Know what you’re having yet?” Rose’s voice broke in.

  “No. I’m not really that hungry. Maybe I’ll just have some soup.”

  “Soup! Vic, you have to have more than that. You don’t start taking care of yourself you’ll end up sick. Look at you . . . a good strong wind comes up and it’ll blow you right out of here.”

  “I wish.” Victoria smiled quietly. She had to admit she enjoyed the fuss Rose made over her, clucking at her with concerned admonishments about her sporadic eating habits and diminishing weight. “Maybe if I was lucky it’d blow me all the way to Europe.”

  “Europe?” Rose offered her a questioning glance. It was not like Victoria to dream beyond her expectations.

  “Yeah. This morning when my car broke down I got—”

  “I thought Bobby was going to fix that car for you,” Rose said, concern clouding her face.

  “He is.”

  “Hmm.”

  “He is, Rose. He’s just really busy right now and—”

  “Well, I’m sure he is busy, Vic,” Rose said softly. “But I’m also pretty sure I saw him over at JJ’s this morning, tinkering on that old car they’re always playing with.”

  “He was?” She hated it when the conversation turned on her like this. She’d stood embarrassed in front of the town many times over the years when Bobby had gotten busy helping his friends, leaving her waiting to be picked up after grocery shopping or various appointments. But, for reasons she couldn’t explain even to herself, whenever Bobby’s irresponsibility came up, she was the first and only one to rise to his defense.

  “Oh ya. Well, that makes sense ‘cause I saw the tractor was broke down and he probably had to come in and get some parts to fix it.”

  “Okay, Vic. Whatever. I just wish he’d take a few minutes to spend some time on your car for once and make sure you’re safe—”

  “Rose, that’s a bit much. I was just fine. It was broad daylight, for crying out loud.” Irritation burst out through her words like starlings from a thicket.

  “Hah!” Rose slapped long manicured hands together. “Broad daylight. So what? I guess I don’t have to remind you that perverts have no problem performing in the full light of day. Yuck, forget it. I don’t even want to think about it. I’ll wreck my lunch. Just be careful, Vic. I worry about you. You have no idea . . . no idea.” And with that she closed her eyes and gave her head and hands a dainty little shake as if she was trying to fling off bad memories. And in all likelihood she probably was.

  The whole town had been amazed when
Rose had started dating Steve six months after she arrived, but no one more so than Steve himself. A spindly, bookish bachelor, he was an amazingly nice and proper guy. Which of course proved an ongoing detriment to his love life. But Rose had obviously found in him assets no one else had bothered to uncover and, much to the dismay of the town’s male population, she married him. When it became apparent that a baby was growing long before the sanctified date, the boys had spent many melancholy nights at the bar discussing their poor luck, slack jawed and feeling cheated.

  They were delighted then, six years later when the truth finally came out, and they embraced it open-armed, their wounded prides redeemed. Details slipped out slowly at first. Rose later admitted that, so devastated and shocked herself by the extent of Steve’s betrayal, she was hesitant to expose him lest no one else would believe such vile things about such a seemingly sweet and innocent man. She needn’t have worried. The town had always thought Steve a bit odd, and now they had the facts to prove it. Finding a receptive audience, Rose broke the dam and spilled a torrent of horrible, descriptive stories of Steve’s demented abuse, complete with graphic details that would stick in the mind, causing a person to look at everyone through fearful, suspicious eyes. After all, if such a pit of deviant decay could secretly possess such a kind and, to all observances, peaceful man like Steve, how could anyone really know what prowled unseen in the banished thoughts of those around them? Sadistic fantasies might well be waiting to be unleashed on some unsuspecting, trustful soul.

  The town had gone ballistic. Ignited by hatred and inspired by fear, it would not rest until he was punished. Some even talked of putting an anonymous bullet through his head. Some had refused to believe it without proof of course—his pastor, his kindergarten teacher, a few others—but after the phone calls began, even they had had to concede. The calls came during the day when dads and husbands were sure to be at work and, although the line was bad and his voice muffled in a vain attempt to disguise it, he had given so many obvious clues as to his identity that people thought he must have been drunk or insane or probably both.

  One day he was just gone. Left Rose with three kids, house, car and bills. Fortunately he’d also left a bit of money, and she managed okay with the town’s help and the added bit she brought in from her job as a seamstress. And the town did help her, felt protective over her and perhaps a little guilty for what had happened; after all Steve had grown up out of their loins. Where he had gone no one knew, no one cared. They were just glad to be rid of him and prayed he wouldn’t come back. Some prayed he was dead.

  Victoria felt a little annoyed that their lunch conversation had got off to such a bad start. She felt like she had a special delicacy to offer Rose, but all the negativity was souring it.

  “Well, I guess I got lucky today.” She tried to start again. “I got a ride right away with—”

  A bustle of wrinkled cotton invaded their space.

  “More coffee,” announced Pearl, already spilling it into their cups, not waiting for an answer.

  “What can I git’cha to eat?” Her guarded brown eyes slid toward Rose.

  “I’ll have the tossed salad with a turkey sandwich.”

  “It ain’t tossed, it’s jus’ salad . . . dressing?”

  “Italian, please.”

  “Ain’t got none.”

  “French?”

  Pearl shook her head defiantly.

  “Ranch?”

  “Nope.”

  “Well . . . what do you have?” Rose countered, raising her eyebrows and rolling her eyes surreptitiously at Victoria.

  “Thousan’ islands.”

  “That’s all?”

  “Yep. You want it or not?” Pearl was known to have the patience of a gnat.

  “Okay, sure. That would be lovely,” Rose smiled.

  “You?” Pearl dropped her head in Victoria’s direction. Victoria had no idea what she wanted, hadn’t even seen the menu, but Pearl’s tapping pencil gave the feeling expediency was crucial.

  “Same. I’ll just have the same, if that’s okay,” she blurted, although she disliked turkey sandwiches.

  “Okay with me. I don’t give a damn what’cha eat,” Pearl grumbled as she walked back to the kitchen.

  Victoria blotted up the coffee that had spilled over the edge of her cup and filled her saucer. Messiness annoyed her. She rearranged the cutlery into a precise row: bottoms even, a finger’s-width space separating the knife and spoon. She felt heavy hands pressing her shoulders down toward the seat, and she let her head fall with a silent sigh, too weary to sit tall. Rose had no idea of the effort it took for her to try and retain some dignity in this town with Bobby’s actions constantly driving her down. Sometimes she wished she could just open up and let the truth of it all fall free. Release all the lies and half-truths and closeted secrets that had slowly woven themselves into the fabric of her life. But there were some things not talked about even in a small town. And Hinckly was a small town in every conceivable way.

  “I got a ride with someone interesting today.”

  “Oh. Who’s that? Someone get lost?” They both laughed, but she could see she had Rose’s attention.

  “Elliot Spencer.” To her alarm his name came out singsong, an infatuated schoolgirl grin skipping across her face. She blushed, dropping her eyes to avoid Rose’s curious and somewhat startled stare.

  “Oh my. Tell me more.”

  “Nothing to tell, Rose. He gave me a ride, that’s all.”

  “Must have been quite the ride.” Rose fluttered her lashes teasingly.

  “Rose. It was nothing like that. It was just a ride.”

  “Hmm. Bet once Bobby dear knows who’s giving you rides to town he’ll find time to fix your car, hey?”

  “Rose—”

  “Maybe you should just let him know if he doesn’t take care of you maybe someone else will.”

  “Bobby doesn’t do well with stuff like that, Rose. You know that. Just leave it alone, okay? Elliot was just nice to talk to, that’s all.”

  “Oh, I know. I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t harp on it all the time, but it worries me, you being stranded like that. So, what’ll happen when he does find out who gave you a ride into town?”

  Victoria’s eyes flashed Rose’s mouth shut. Their eyes locked.

  “He’ll be mad.”

  “How mad?”

  “Rose, look. Bobby’s got his things, I know that. But he works hard, he comes home most nights . . . I’m not unhappy.” The words came out thin, tinny as she searched for more to bolster them up.

  “You’re not unhappy?” Rose looked at Victoria. Victoria looked out the window. A spider, black and agile, labored in the corner creating a meticulous invisible web.

  “But can you say that you’re happy? Honestly? Can you, Vic?”

  “Rose, what the hell’s the difference? It’s the same bloody thing!”

  “No it’s not, Vic. It’s not at all the same.”

  “Okay, then. All right! I’m happy, okay? I’m fine. See?” Victoria gave Rose a comical, fake smile and Rose smiled back quietly.

  Dishes clattered onto the table between them, and Victoria was glad for the distraction even though the racket jolted her nerves like an unpleasant encounter with the electric fence.

  “What this gunk is supposed to be is anyone’s guess,” Rose said, and Victoria looked up to see her push her salad aside—it was drowned under a mutated concoction of unrecognizable brown dressing. Victoria followed suit, took a bite of her sandwich and chewed it dryly. Lunch at Pearl’s could sometimes be a bit of an ordeal, but Hinckly only offered two other options and in comparison Pearl’s was the boast of the town.

  “Okay, so you’re happy.”

  “Well, of course there’s room for improvement,” Victoria conceded. “But really things aren’t so bad. Just different maybe than what I’d thought.”

  Pearl appeared beside them, splashed more coffee at their cups.

  “What’s the mad’der wit’
yer salad? It’s what ya ordered,” she accused.

  Victoria looked at Rose. Pearl was cantankerous at the best of times and having someone reject her food was definitely not the best of times. Ice set across her sour face, shiny pebble eyes fixed straight ahead, her receding chin quivered slightly in its effort to contain a mouthful of words. She drew her stooped 5’ 2” up full and put a hand on each hip, scrawny elbows sticking outward like weapons. Given a helmet and gun, she would have looked ready to march into war. Victoria ducked her head and shuffled her napkins. One thing about Pearl’s place you could count on: no matter how slow the service, how mixed up the order, or how lousy the food, the customer was always wrong.

  But not Rose. For a time, Pearl and Rose had almost become close, but eventually and perhaps inevitably, a misunderstanding had come between them. Now, they lived in a troubled truce, Pearl being her disagreeable self while Rose slowly wound her way through the maze of insecurities and pride.

  “It’s a lovely salad, Pearl. But we’d ordered Thousand Islands dressing and I’m not sure that’s what we got.” Rose crooned the words, watching Pearl’s belligerent face.

  “Is so.”

  “Well, you must have a different brand than I do then because this definitely doesn’t look like any Thousand Islands I’ve ever seen. Is it a new brand, Pearl?”

  “Naw, not really. I just added some other stuff to it ‘cause there wasn’t much left.”

  “Kind of created your own dressing then, hey?”

  “Yeah. Sometimes ya git little bits left over in the bottles. I just mixed the ones you ordered though . . . mostly. There ain’t no sense throwing it out. Ya gotta be careful in the res’rant business. You wouldn’t know ‘bout that, but ya do. Least ways if’fin’ ya want to be successful. Everyone does it. Ya don’t know it. . . but they does.” Pearl struggled to hang on to her anger, but she withered as she talked, Rose not interrupting just letting her talk herself empty.

  “Well, that was very kind of you to make that dressing up for us Pearl, but we’d prefer just Thousand Islands all by itself.”

  “But I only got one bottle left.”