Alpaca My Bags

by Violet Patton

I took them and puckered at my likeness printed in grainy dots. “Pfft. That’s the ugliest photo I’ve ever seen.” Philly looked debonair in his photo.

  I turned mine over. “Thank you.”

  “I had to get mine to get the cart. I checked on the PODS. Everything looks good inside. In the morning, we’ll ferry things over.”

  I opened my mouth. “There’re things.”

  A golf cart pulled up and parked beside Madonna’s house. Next door, Ann lifted her blinds. A man got out of the cart and spotted us first thing. “Hey, anybody home?”

  I glared and Philly said, “Sure. C’mon over.”

  The man grabbed a packet from the cart’s seat. Climbing the veranda’s steps, he offered his hand. “I’m Jason.” He wasn’t a man, he was a kid, maybe thirty if that old.

  Philly offered his hand. “Howdy.”

  Jason nodded at me. “Ma’am. I’m with Oasis Insurance. I’m calling this evening about your insurance needs.”

  Why didn’t I see that coming? Jason had spotted me reading the window lettering. “We don’t need a burial policy.” Although, this move has pushed me closer to the grave. “We’re going with cremation.” Somebody will scatter our ashes, I’m sure.

  He leaned on the porch railing and shook Philly’s hand.

  Philly asked, “Scotch?”

  “Sorry on the job.” Jason’s voice had a monotone Texas preacher’s drone. It made me have a willie. It was a hypnotizing monotone used to convince their flock of their sins before passing the offering basket, and it kept Daddy from being a steady tither and out of the church.

  “It’s my job to stop by to orientate newcomers.”

  “I’ve already done orientation.”

  Jason did not respond and flipped open the flap on his orientation packet. “There are several new polices the Oasis has enacted in the past year. Things you need to know.” He laid an ink pad and two white cards printed with tiny words on the table. There were ten rectangles marked off on the cards, which I’m assuming were for our fingerprints.

  Philly said, “Start talking.”

  Jason smiled. “Right. I’m sure you heard about the accidental drowning?”

  We nodded, and I blurted. “The man had a weight coat-hangered to his neck. I don’t call that accidental.”

  Jason smiled, keeping cool. “Because of past events, the Oasis has contracted my company to finger print the residents. Since you’re new, we must get your fingerprints on file to match...”

  “Nope. Not gonna happen. Get.” I pointed at his nose.

  Philly put his hand on my shoulder. “Sugar, let’s take it down a notch. They’re looking for evidence. It’s procedure, not an insult.” His hand wasn’t calming, but I dropped my finger.

  “Procedure? Oh. Sorry. I’ve gone persnickety in my old age. Not too trustin’ in strangers.” After listening to David’s tall tale about Wanda, I increased my distrust game.

  Jason flipped open the ink pad. “Perfectly understandable. It’s better than going to Pima County.” Where ever Pima County was, I wasn’t going there soon.

  “I agree,” Philly said. “What do you need?”

  “Driver’s license or passport.” Philly fiddled for his wallet, giving me a look. “Bunny.”

  “Okay.” I went to get my purse. Jason’s untimely interruption had put a bump in the road, but I’d cooperate. The Oasis had taken measures to keep track of their members, living or dead, which felt reassuring—somewhat.

  Inside that silly willie climbed my spine again as I thought about dead Wanda. I found my bag, dug out my license and hurried back outside, shaking off the creepy feeling.

  I flopped down my license. “Here you go.”

  Jason picked it up. “Uh. Sorry, your license expired in June.”

  Philly flashed me a look. “What? It has not?”

  Jason handed it back at me. Sure enough, I’ve been driving unlicensed since June. “Will you look at that?”

  “Guess she overlooked it.” Philly sipped his highball.

  Jason grimaced painfully. “Until you have a current driver’s license, we can’t issue the permit or insurance for you to drive anything.”

  Philly shifted in his patio chair. “I drove it home.”

  “I know that’s okay. The Oasis carries addendum for every golf cart. They cover the first seven days. After that you need proof of insurance. You showed your current drivers’ licenses to security, right?”

  “Uh-uh.” Philly frowned. “Nobody said nothing about insurance and rules.”

  I smirked and almost slapped my leg. At last, Philly grasped the concept—the three-pound binder full of rules constrained our freedom. We were prisoners of our own desires—correction—of Philly’s desire to leave San Fran.

  “That’s why I’m here. I got notice of your golf cart’s delivery. You can drive, but she can’t.” Jason pointed at me. “You’re okay for the next seven days, but then you’ll need full insurance coverage. The state must license and insure all moving vehicles.”

  “What about me?” It’s been forever since I took a driver’s test.

  “I can help with that too.” He dug into his packet. “Here’s a study guide for your Arizona driver’s license. You must take the written and driver’s test.”

  “All because I forgot to renew? I say pooh-pooh.” I turned my thumb down.

  Philly gave me one of those stop it looks.

  The kid’s face flushed. Guess saying pooh was too harsh on his ears. “Mrs. Winters, I don’t make the law, but I sure uphold it at all times.”

  That rankled Philly, he coughed and reared back, almost whinnying, getting ready to kick Jason off our three-foot wide veranda.

  I bumped his shoulder with mine. “Down boy. I’ll take the test.”

  Philly asked, “What about those fingerprints?”

  “Oh right. I can do you, but I can’t do hers until she has an up-to-date license.”

  I grinned. “So that means I can get away with murder until I take the driver’s test?”

  Jason closed his eyes real slow. Philly cleared his throat of scotch phlegm. “I want ever’thing on the up-n-up. No problems later on.”

  Jason gestured for his hand. Philly let him wet his fingers with ink and press them to the card. “There now, Mr. Winters, we’ll get you into the database. You’ll be cleared of any suspicion in a short time.”

  My waggling turkey neck about straggled me, but I croaked. “Suspicion? We’re not suspect.”

  “Ma’am, until they clear everyone in the park, everyone is suspect.” His tone dropped to a new condescending low.

  He and Amelia would make a great judgmental power couple. I should hook them up.

  “Including you. Get your license as soon as possible, so you will be in good standing with the Oasis.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Wayne and Alice

  While Jason chastised us... me for not having the proper paperwork to live in the Oasis, activity increased in the asphalt jungle. Music played in the distance. Voices carried. Golf carts whirred.

  “Wow. Lots of rules.” Every saved-up exasperation Philly owned huffed out in one hot breath after Jason left. One thing about my man he’d never whine, saying he missed San Fran. The doctor told him holding in his emotions would be bad for his heart.

  I think it’s bad for his behind, ‘cause I will whip it for ruining the good life we had in San Fran.

  Over the years, I’ve given him a good tapping up to set him straight. Afterwards, sometimes for months, once for a year, he towed the line and acted nice.

  This time he’s pushed the limit and sighing pitifully won’t help his plight.

  I huffed. “We need a box fan for the veranda.”

  “Anything you say. I’m going to go see a man about a horse.” Philly used code to say he needed to use the toilet. Daddy taught him that saying. He hurried inside, and I withheld any comments about taking his prostate medications.

  I didn’t have time to gather my wits over m
y driver’s license problem, before Wayne climbed the veranda steps saying, “Hey you.”

  What’s this?

  Wayne was clean shaven and smelled of breathtakingly loud aftershave. What’s up with this joker. Dressed in a starched white shirt, turquoise bolo and polished black cowboy boots, he completed his Kenny Rogers dreamboat look. I’m a sucker for a man in a starched white shirt.

  “You guys ready?” He sat in Philly’s still-warm seat.

  “For what?”

  “Why aren’t you dressed?” He ran an eye along my skinny, white legs. Four days wasn’t enough time to develop a deep tan like the rest of the Oasis’ residents had. I can’t stand in the hot sun for over five seconds before I sizzle like bacon, I gotta ease into a tan.

  “Didn’t he tell you about the dance tonight?”

  I cocked my head. “No, he didn’t. We were indisposed.”

  Does Wayne already know about the Caddy’s demise and the tow truck fiasco? Probably. There are no secrets in the Oasis.

  “Tonight’s Two-Step Night. Alice and I are going. Philly said his two-step has gone south. Alice wants to retrain him. You’re my partner. You got jeans and boots?”

  “No. Who’s Alice?” Just what I needed another woman hitting on my man. He’s turned into a regular Casanova. Philly two-steps, he doesn’t need lessons.

  “My wife.” Wayne pulled a cellphone from his pocket. A millisecond later he said, “Hey you, she don’t have no boots... what size boots?” He looked at me.

  “Six and a half.” I wasn’t two-stepping anywhere, unless it was back to San Fran.

  Wayne answered questions into the phone. “Yeah. No. Uh-uh. Okay. See you in a sec.”

  He hung up. “Alice is coming right over. Said she’d get you dolled up.”

  Golf carts whizzed past. Wayne waved. I waved even though the people in the carts were strangers. Madonna’s door opened, closed and then her blinds twirled shut.

  “You know a man named David. Bell. Down there.” I pointed even though Mama taught me not to point because Texans consider pointing rude. Here in the Oasis pointing seemed acceptable and everyone did it.

  “Heck. Stay away from David.” Wayne thumbed his nose. “When did you meet him?”

  “Earlier.” I watched Wayne’s expression. “He said he shot himself, did he?”

  “Yep. Twice. Once wasn’t enough.” Wayne acted matter-of-fact. I didn’t ask where David shot himself the second time—none of my business. Maybe David was a bad egg, a potential goatsucker on a different level—a vampire. Or I stepped onto his broken shell, and he filled me with bogus information.

  A text message pinged Wayne’s cellphone. He looked at it and responded. “You got a number? I can add it to my contacts.”

  I lifted a brow. I might be the only person in the U S of A who doesn’t have a cell phone.

  Alice, a bleached blond beaming ray of sunshine, popped around the corner. “Hey you.”

  She saved me from answering about my lack of communication devices.

  She shrugged and nodded at Wayne. Her shrug meant she thought I looked a mess, his look agreed with her.

  I’m very astute at picking up body language.

  “Hey y’all,” I said, picking up her slight Texas twang.

  “I’m Alice.” She hugged me and pointed. “We’re down that way.”

  Made me glad to see she had no manners either.

  “Nice to meet you.” Her hug softened my hardened exterior. Texas gals are huggers and a welcome breeze of fresh air.

  She carried a pair of pink—heaven forbid—ladies cowboy boots.

  “I think these are your size.” Dressed in ladies Wranglers so tight she couldn’t far... never mind... without splitting her britches, she looked to be an experienced two-stepper. Unless she liked two-timing and had designs on Philly. He is the new catch in town.

  “You wearing jeans?” Alice asked.

  “Yeah, I got a pair. I hope there’s AC in the ballroom?”

  “Philly.” I hollered into the open door. He had had plenty of time to see a man about a horse. “Your date’s here. Get out here.”

  “Comin’.” He hollered back.

  Alice shrugged toward the door. “Let’s fix you up. It’s your debut.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “Originally?” she asked. “Electra, Texas.”

  A feather tickled my insides that made me smile. No wonder they’re two-steppers. “Me and Wayne have been all around. But I graduated high school in Electra. If you can call what I went to a school.”

  Wayne heard his name and added. “Spent most of my life drilling oil wheels in Saudi Arabia. Until they run us off.”

  A stronger soft wind blew through my soul. I reached for the boots. “Looks like we’re birds of a feather. Odessa originally.” Electra sets northwest of Ft. Worth, hundreds of miles from Odessa, but in Texas a hundred miles was like living next door in the suburbs.

  Alice nodded. “Odessa is a charming place.”

  Wayne snickered, knowing it wasn’t true. “With an extra heaping of grit.” In that part of Texas, wind blows grit so fine it’ll sandblast your soul.

  She held out the boots. “Size six?”

  “That’ll work.” I waved for the boots.

  Philly joined the crowd milling on the tiny porch. “Guess you found out the surprise?”

  Dressed in a suitcase wrinkled starched white shirt and a creased pair of faded Wranglers, Philly pranced out onto the veranda He wasn’t a Levi’s guy, but made a pair of worn out Wranglers look good enough to pinch.

  “You could’a told me we were going dancing.” San Fran didn’t have a big dancing community for people like us. Now if you wanted to hunch in a mosh pit, the city would accommodate your wishes.

  Alice grinned at my man. He looked tall, bald and semi-handsome for an old geezer when he dressed up. I would be buying him a turquoise bolo, bigger and gaudier than Wayne’s, first chance I got.

  I grabbed Alice’s hand. “C’mon. Help me get dressed.”

  Chapter Twelve

  A Good Run of Bad Luck

  Over at the clubhouse, we rode with Wayne and Alice; the place hopped with lights, cameras and action. I don’t know how I missed the dance hall, instead of a room. It almost put Gilley’s, Texas’ world-famous redneck dance hall to shame, it felt ginormous by Oasis standards. The flooring was a beautiful slick hardwood gleaming under a mirror ball splashing lights across the room. They strung small Texas flag streamers across the ceiling.

  Folding chairs and hay bales lined the walls. I caught a whiff of Texas barbecue and mustard potato salad. You can’t make decent potato salad without plain old yellow mustard. That Dijon stuff doesn’t work.

  At one end of the hall was a stage, filled with guitars sitting on stands, a nice drum set and speakers along with other music whatnots I didn’t recognize. A banjo lay across a chair—I adore banjo.

  “I’m impressed,” I whispered in Alice’s ear. She doesn’t know now impossible I am to impress.

  “C’mon. I gotta introduce you. There are so many Texans here, we almost outnumber the Canadians.”

  I glanced at Philly, and he nodded to reassure me. He and Wayne headed for the bar at the far end of the room by the restroom signs. A woman must’ve planned this event. For men like Philly, having a place to see a man about a horse conveniently near the beer was a genius.

  Alice looped her hand in the crook of my elbow. “Girl. The Oasis takes a while, but once you get into the groove, it’s not that bad.”

  This Texas hootenanny might sway my opinion of the place. Two-stepping night looked popular.

  She guided me toward a gaggle of women standing like geese with their noses in the air. I’ve seen other groups of Texas women gathered and staring at an unsuspecting victim. They look like woman-eating reptiles who haven’t eaten in a year. Right then, I held tight to Alice’s elbow, scared out of my wits and mustered strength to face all of Texas in one lump.

  “Gals,
this is Bunny Winters.” Alice introduced me.

  “Right fine to meet you. I’m Susie Phillips.” The gal gripped my hand and kissed my cheek. These gals hug and kiss.

  I grabbed hands and kissed cheeks like a professional smoocher. Y’all slipped from our lips like lipstick onto a man’s cheek. There was more sugar passing around the circle than hugs.

  I haven’t ever been a debutant, but going around the semi-circle of geese, they crowned me prom queen for the night.

  Why was I so scared? Texas gals are the friendliest women west of the Mississippi.

  I’m in heaven.

  The dance hall filled. The mirror ball turned romantically. Women formed a line on the dance floor and practiced line dance steps without music, giggling and tossing their ponytails like young fillies when most of them were old gray mares. Even old mares love a good line dance.

  “C’mon, you’re gonna dance,” Alice said, drawing me out onto the dance floor.

  I giggled, practicing dance moves I thought I had forgotten. “It’s been a while.”

  A few minutes later, the band played a slow easy tune for the mares to trot by. I fumbled, turning the wrong way or stumbling in Alice’s borrowed boots. When the song ended, I sweated happy sweat. Grinning more than I had since I left Permian Basin College.

  “You look pretty,” Philly said, sweeping in to grab me. He smelled of good whiskey, not that stinky smoky scotch, and he pulled me into his strong arms. Alice had fixed me up nice. She patted rouge on my cheekbones and insisted on red lipstick, pulling a tube from her jean pocket.

  “There’s no music Sweetie Bastard.”

  “When I’m holding you in my arms, I hear angels sing.”

  He waltzed, and I twirled like a tin ballerina and stepped on his toe.

  We were rusty.

  “You two lovebirds, cut it out.” Wayne swooped in, not to be outdone, scooting Alice along beside us. It’s silly to dance without music. From the mushy-love-struck expression on Alice’s face, admiring Wayne, she didn’t have designs on my man.

  The band struck A Good Run of Bad Luck.

  He whispered in my ear. “Did you make a special request?”