Love Power

by Martha Reed

  “I’ve seen them.”

  “She forgets that Fancy’s done this before.” Ken tugged his lip. “My bet is that Fancy found herself something extra good.” He nodded resolutely. “She’ll pop back up by the weekend, with another grand story to tell -”

  Ryan Embry stepped out of the darkened doorway wearing jeans and a tight wife-beater tee under a loose flannel shirt. He looked odd out of uniform, but the blue plaid really played up the color of his eyes. Playing hooky today? Called off sick? His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and he had scabby-looking scratches on both wrists.

  Flicking water droplets from his fingers, he started coiling a wire drain snake. As he stepped fully into the sunlight, his face looked different somehow, broader, and not so harshly sharp. He’s shaved off his soul patch and trimmed his sideburns. Jane started. He’s really handsome without that facial scruff.

  Looking up, he caught her staring.

  Jane’s face blossomed with heat. “How are you feeling today?” She stuttered.

  “Embarrassed.” He tossed the drain snake into the van. It clunked against a pile of loose tools and wire cable. Reaching up, he straightened his Make America Great Again ball cap. “Sorry about the other night. Hate thinking that’s your first impression of me and my friends.”

  “It was a crazy night for us all,” she admitted. “You shaved.”

  “Yeah, well.” He rubbed his neck. “I heard that some folks didn’t like it.”

  He’s been talking to his mom about me. I told Cheryl that at Leslie’s party.

  “I’ve done what I can, Ken, with that drain.” Ryan massaged his bicep. “If that doesn’t fix it, you’ll need to hire a pro. Digging up a sewer line takes a ditch witch or a backhoe. I don’t have access to that kind of equipment.”

  “Fuck. That sounds expensive.” Ken dropped his chin to his chest. “Let’s hope we don’t need to do that. God knows how old those pipes really are. Probably original to the house.” He coughed. “Probably still made of lead.”

  “Don’t tell me that.” Jane swallowed. “Those pipes supply my drinking water.”

  “I’d switch to bottled if I was you,” Ryan stated flatly.

  “Hell with that.” Ken thumped his chest with his fist. “Preservatives are keeping me alive. That, and Leslie’s cooking.” Stepping back, he settled his stance. “You kids should see what she feeds me. Apricots, walnuts, almond butter.” Squeezing both eyes shut, he stuck out his tongue. “Supposed to be anti-inflammatory, and everything’s fucking organic. One year, my bad cholesterol was too high. She fed me beans and Brazil nuts. Fuck! I almost exploded. I’m going to live forever with that woman, whether I want to or not.”

  Ryan laughed. It was an easy, mellow sound. “I love you, dude. You’re insane.”

  Walking under the shed, he reached up and started picking at the damp rafters. Long rotten splinters flaked away in his hands. Shouldering a two-by-four support, he gave it a shove. The whole shed cracked, swaying unsteadily as it shifted.

  “You’re not gonna like hearing this, either.” Ryan dusted his palms. “But this framing is shot. We’re gonna need new lumber before we set those shingles. Gonna need new tarpaper, too.”

  “Fuck. I was hoping we didn’t need to spend any money on this.” Ken looked up, hopefully. “Couldn’t we just jigger something? Lay the new shingles over the old ones and call it a day?”

  “I’d rather not do crap work like that.” Ryan pursed his lips. “Tell you what. I have a roll of sticky tin in my garage. Won’t cost you a dime.” He slammed the van’s rear double doors shut. “I’ll go fetch it.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Ken offered. “Give you a hand - ”

  “No.” Ryan snapped. “But thanks. I know exactly where it is. Won’t take me a minute.”

  What’s he so suddenly nervous about? Jane frowned. Listen to him. He’s talking staccato.

  “The real problem is,” Ryan sucked in a long breath, “is that we still need new lumber. I don’t have any extra of that laying around.”

  Ken obviously searched for an idea. “How about using the chicken coop? Some of that wood might still be good.”

  “The length looks about right.” Strolling over, Ryan studied the abandoned coop before giving Ken some serious side eye. “You sure Leslie won’t mind us tearing this down?”

  “Oh, hell no. Why not?” Ken clapped his hands. “She hasn’t kept chickens for years! It’s a great idea.”

  “You sure she won’t mind?” Ryan repeated.

  “Of course not. Let’s recycle it! She’s into that.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “That Ryan is one good fellow.” Ken studied the cloudless sky as the Delta Power van pulled away. “Known him all his life. Not a lot of flash, but pure gold. Loyal as the day is long. Make a great life partner.”

  Subtle, Ken. Popping the Ducati’s kickstand, Jane wheeled the bike out of the shed, parking it on the rough grass in Leslie’s garden. “I’ll take your word for it.”

  He idly swung the hammer. “I like this ‘take down the coop’ idea. It’ll tidy up the yard.”

  “You said Leslie used to keep chickens?”

  “She sure did. All part of that organic thing she does. Said the eggs tasted better when they ate the bugs out of her garden.” He shuddered and stuck out his tongue. “Yes, I think the chicken experiment is definitely over.”

  “Why? Too messy?”

  “No. She freaked out when the hens kept crowing.”

  “Roosters. You mean when the roosters kept crowing.”

  “No, I did not.” He slid the hammer on top of the coop. “Down here, hens crow to predict a death in the family and they kept crowing.” Raising his hands palm up, he shrugged. “Then some damn critter got into the yard and kept killing ‘em. Strangest thing. We’d find the hens outside of the coop, lying around the courtyard, squashed flat, just piles of feathers and guts. Never did figure that one out.” He scratched his whiskery chin. “I think the truth of it was there were too many snakes.”

  “Snakes?” Jane yelped. That’s the bad thing about living in NOLA. Nantucket didn’t have any snakes. “What kind of snakes?”

  “Great big black fuckers. The eggs drew them in. Leslie won’t ever admit it, but that’s the real reason we switched to buying store bought, because Babette won’t let me kill the snakes.” Crooking his fingers into quotation marks, he snorted. “That crazy bitch says snakes are ‘messengers from the spirit world.’ So now, we buy our eggs from Hailey’s Market to avoid setting Babette off and I hafta pay an extra buck and a half for organic to satisfy Leslie. Fuck.” He stretched the word. “S’worth the extra dough just to get a little peace outta those women.”

  “I had tea with them the other day.” Jane recalled the conversation although the days had blended together. “Leslie told me Gigi was adopted.”

  “She said that?” Ken looked surprised. “I suppose it’s a good thing Leslie talks about it, right? Not my finest moment, but she sure stepped up to the plate.”

  “She also said Marianne Tanner was Gigi’s birth mother.”

  “Fuck!” Ken started pacing. “Goddamn women! Why can’t you ever leave things alone? Always got to stir shit up.” Stopping short, he turned. “Why is that?”

  Jane ignored his digression. “What happened to her?”

  “To who? Marianne? Fuck if I know.” Ken pointed his index finger in her face. “You are asking the wrong person. The last time I saw Marianne Tanner was the night she stuck me with Gigi.” White-eyed, he ran his fingers through his hair. “That’s not what I meant; that came out wrong. I wouldn’t trade Gigi for the world, but Christ! That was thirty years ago.”

  “Where did she go?”

  “I have no fucking idea!” Ken shouted. “I don’t remember a goddamned thing about it!” Shaking his head, he stared intently at the ground. “Leslie said we had a fight, but I was still hitting Jim Beam pretty hard.” He looked up, suddenly haggard. “She was gone when I woke up. Stole m
y Fender bass and left the baby. Took off. And that was it.”

  “You never heard from Marianne again since that night?”

  “I just said that, didn’t I?” He snarled.

  “It just seems strange that now, with social media, she’s never reached out to you or to Gigi. It would be easy enough to do.”

  “I’m not on goddamned social media.” Ken splayed his hands. “And if Marianne is as smart as she always said she was, she went back to Kansas City, married some poor schlub from Mission Hills, popped out a couple more kids and spent the rest of her life playing tennis and eating toasted BLTs at the fucking Indian Hills Country Club.” He dropped his hands to his hips. “Fuck, Jane. Leave it alone, will you? It’s not like we ever had a relationship. She was just a girl I was banging, a girl I was banging with the band.”

  Jane felt sick. Is this really how women were treated in the 80’s? Like powerless second-class citizens or worse, like cuts of meat? “Marianne Tanner was a person, Ken, and she had your child. That should mean something.”

  “I know that. I do know that. I know you’re right but you’re too young to remember. It was a different world back then. You’ll never understand the 80’s if you weren’t there. We broke the rules. Hell! There weren’t any rules. We did whatever the fuck we wanted and they let us do it as long as we brought in the big money.” He swiped the corners of his mouth. “Corrupt? Sure, yeah, well hell, maybe. We were all scrambling to make it, and Jesus! We were kids! Kids running loose. Twenty-three, what? Maybe twenty-four years old?” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “But we knew the way the game was played. Oh hell yes, we did. I’m not joking when I said that Leslie saved my life getting me out of The Dakota.”

  The stupid, mulish look returned to his face. “But Marianne Tanner? She was groupie. Don’t scowl at me like that, Jane. Yes, there was such a thing. I can’t whitewash The WarBirds history just to make it pretty for you. Yes, this shit really happened. Marianne lived in Prairie Village with an uncle she hated because her mother died and her dad was in Hutchinson for assault. She practically lived on the street, and she hung out in Mick’s garage every chance she got. So sure,” he shrugged nonchalantly, “she got passed around to whoever wanted her except to Lemonhead because he was queer.” Ken laughed oddly. “I think Lemonhead was the only one who really liked her.”

  Jane’s bone-deep need for fair play and justice spouted like a geyser. “Call her a groupie if you want to, Ken, but Marianne Tanner is credited with singing backup vocals on “Love Power” and it’s her voice that rocks that song. That has to count for something.”

  “What?” His jaw dropped open. “Where did you hear that?”

  “I read it on Wikipedia.” She pointed. “Someone out there is giving Marianne Tanner that kind of credit even if you don’t.”

  “Oh, hell no.” Ken stared, unblinking. “Marianne was never part of the band, not like that. Sure, she might have helped out with a vocal track or two, but she didn’t have the pipes to be a real singer.” He guffawed. “Shit! Are you kidding me? She wanted to be the next Annie Lennox, but she only had one volume, loud.” Wiping his eyes with his thumbs, he laughed even harder. “Marianne Tanner a WarBird? She played clarinet with the SME high school band!”

  The kitchen door creaked open. Aunt Babette stepped onto the porch, clutching her scarlet Japanese kimono tightly around her leathery neck.

  “Ken?” She hissed. “I can hear you hollering from inside the house. What are y’all doing back there?”

  Pushing the screened door open, she grasped the railing and side stepped down to the courtyard, being very careful not to drop her ostrich-feathered slippers. Rolling his eyes, Ken reached for the hammer.

  “We’re fixing to tear down this coop, Babette.”

  “Y’all need to do that now? That’ll make some noise. Wake Leslie up.” Hurrying over, she delicately stepped around clumps of dead grass. “Have you asked Leslie about this crazy idea of yours?”

  Ken swung the hammer. “I don’t need to ask Leslie’s permission for every goddamn thing I do.”

  “You might want to remember this is her property, not yours.” She belligerently stared up into his face. “She might have an opinion on it. I know I don’t like the idea. She’ll want to use this space for growing more vegetables. She has enough beds to manage as it is. I’m not sure it’s even safe, growing food where there used to be chickens. The dirt might be contaminated with germs or parasites.”

  “It’s guano, Babette.” Ken guffawed. “The best organic fertilizer there is! She’ll grow the biggest vegetables in The Bywater next year.”

  “I know I won’t be able to eat them.” Babette shuddered. Hearing a warning beep, she turned as Ryan started to back the Delta Electric van down the driveway.

  “Took him long enough,” Ken grumbled.

  The van rolled to a stop near the shed. Ryan slid out of sight before reappearing to unlatch the van’s rear cargo doors. Hefting the roll of sticky tin, he paused before setting it back down, his forehead creased with wrinkles. Tapping the van’s panels with both fists, he turned quickly and marched over.

  “Jane? Before we get started, I wanted to ask you something.”

  “What about?” A nervous ripple flicked her stomach. She could see the effort the request cost him as he stared at his boots.

  Looking up, he met her eyes. “Do you want to grab supper sometime?” He hurried on. “With me? I hafta carry my mom to a couple of meetings this week, but Wednesday’s free. It’s blues night at The Deuce. We could grab a bite to eat before you report for work.”

  Folding his hands, Ryan stood quietly, looking hopeful. Ken and Aunt Babette gaped as they waited for her reaction. Jane’s face grew too warm.

  “Dammit, Jane!” Ken roared. “Say yes! It’s “Love Power”, baby. “Love Power” in action!”

  Quick, say ‘no.’ Jane’s pulse throbbed. Say ‘no’ and put a stop to this right now before it gets real, before it gets out of hand. ‘No’ is the safest answer because then nothing more needs to change. Digging her nails into her palms, Jane plowed through the decision. Fuck! Of course! Just when my life’s getting comfortable! Do I really want to take the chance and shake things up and toss everything back up in the air again?

  Ryan continued to study her. His crooked, uncertain grin was adorable. He is a nice thoughtful guy. I know he’s generous. He’s always helping out Leslie and Ken. He narrowed his eyes and Jane caught his blink of uncertainty over her hesitation. Not being alone is one of the things I want to change in my life. Her ears popped as she swallowed past the lump in her throat. I’ll never know unless I try, right?

  Jane raised her chin. Time to test out my new theory about a benevolent universe. “Yes,” she agreed. “Let’s do that. Sounds like fun.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Pumping her arms, Jane pushed her heart rate up into the zone as they ran into the rising sun. Feel the burn, baby. When she had clocked out of Guardian Storage at 6:14 a.m., it was fully dark. Now, an hour later, the horizon glowed a pure golden mango and it was a tropical 66 degrees. Sure beats freezing my ass off in New England.

  She felt a whispery kiss of nostalgia. Back on Nantucket, the island’s Main Street shops would be decorated with holly wreaths and red velvet bows as they geared up for Christmas. In NOLA, the stores were draped in metallic green, gold, and purple bunting and pushing iced King Cakes for Mardi Gras. Different cultures, different worlds. How great is it that I get to know both?

  She risked a downward glance. Piddles loped contentedly by her side, his odd blue tongue lolling between his teeth. He was matching her stride for stride and still in the game.

  “Hang tough, Biggy P.” She wheezed. “We’re getting there.”

  Dodging the crosstown traffic, they left Franklin Avenue and turned right on St. Claude. Things are looking up. Got the shed squared away for the Ducati and I have a date, a real date, with Ryan Embry tomorrow night. Butterflies battered her stomach. How long has it been
since I had a real date? Ten, twelve years, maybe? Jesus. Back at the Police Academy with Paulie Burdett? Has it really been that long? The skin between her shoulder blades needled with panic. Don’t forget to shave. Jane flushed with irritation. Stop that! Don’t start acting like an idiot over this. It’s just a date.

  They looped around The Boat, parked cock-eyed and blocking the driveway. Catching her breath, Jane caught the murmur of voices from the porch. 7:20 a.m. is a little early even for Gee. She heard Leslie’s reassuring tone and then a high-pitched nervous giggle. Delilah’s here, too. Bending low, she unsnapped Biggy’s harness and they jogged over.

  Gee saw them coming. She stood and pushed the screened door open. “Morning, Jane. How you doin’ today?”

  Barking delightedly, Piddles ran up the steps.

  “I’m good. Any word on Fancy?”

  “Nothing yet.” Gee pulled a squealing wicker chair across the painted gray floor. “Come say hello to me, Mr. P.” Snapping her fingers, she sat, combing the mop of corkscrew curls between Piddle’s ears before cupping his muzzle in her hands. “Where’s your mother, Mr. P? Where’s Fancy at?” Sitting back, she pulled out her phone, flicking the screen and looking ill. “I’m worried sick. Haven’t slept since Saturday. Just lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.” She tapped her temple. “Can’t turn off my head. Everything just spins.”

  “I know it’s a struggle, Gee.” Delilah stared worriedly over her teacup. “But you have to fight that feeling. It will only attract more negative energy. You can’t let it bring you low.”

  “That’s easy enough to say.” Gee looked haunted. “I can’t fight how I feel. Fancy’s been gone three days. I have a bad feeling about this.”

  “We all need to believe that Fancy’ll be back with us soon.” Reaching over, Leslie patted Gee’s arm. “I know you’re worried, Gigi, and that’s to your credit as a friend, but it does no good to get so worked up when we don’t know where Fancy is or if anything has even happened to her. You’ll make yourself sick if you go on like this and that won’t help anyone.”