by Sheri Leigh
"Right." She’d worked for a year in vice—the thought that this guy believed she might have any problems handling herself in some rural backwoods bar made her want to laugh, but she bit back all of the sarcastic replies on the tip of her tongue.
"That's about it. Are you still interested?" he asked, his mouth set in a stern line.
"I still want the job," she said firmly. "I don't scare off that easy."
A ghost of a smile flickered over his features and then he sighed, looking at her as she stood up. "Well, you'll fill the outfit real nice." Then he did smile. "Write out this application." He pulled a piece of paper from under the bar and handed her a pen. She started to write and he watched her.
"Well, Dusty," he said when she handed him the completed application. “I'll call and let you know."
"You do that," she said, and left him still smiling.
* * * *
Her life had not been so carefree since grade school. Dusty's days vacillated between watching the soaps and game shows on T.V. and spending time out in the cemetery. She didn’t leave the house much otherwise and she and Julia avoided each other during the day. Sometimes Dusty escaped outside and took long walks when her programs were over.
Now Dusty sat on the steps of the front porch, a tall glass of Kool-Aid beside her, feet braced against the railing, her back against the opposite railing. She was waiting for her father to come home. She hadn’t done that since she was in grade school either, but she had done it every night for a week. Dusty glanced at the sky, visible above the foliage across the road. It was growing darker, the sun snuggling behind the trees.
Must be around seven, she thought, but didn’t have a watch and didn’t feel like getting up to go look. She heard it before she saw it, but she knew it was him. The sound of the Range Rover's big tires on dirt was distinct. She’d been listening for Cody, Mr. Cooper's Irish Setter. Her father passed the Cooper farm on his way home, and Cody always barked when he went by. She remembered, as her father pulled into the driveway, that Cody had run off. It was a strange thing, according to Mr. Cooper, because Cody was always chained and his chain hadn’t been broken, just unhooked. Strange. Like someone had just come in and took him. That’s what he’d said.
Her father pulled the Range Rover past the Jeep and into the garage. Dusty finished her Kool-Aid off in a big gulp and waited for him to come out of the side garage door.
She waited, but he didn’t come.
She debated going in. He was probably just tinkering with the Range Rover’s engine. He did that sometimes when he came home, a once-a-week routine to "check her juices," as he said. He usually went in and changed out of his suit before he started fooling around with oil and that kind of stuff, though.
In fact, he always did.
Dusty got up, brushing her jeans off, and headed for the garage. If he was checking the oil, Julia was going to have a fit. She decided to remind him about his clothes before he got something on them and she had to listen to Julia half the night.
"Dad?" she called softly, putting her hand on the doorknob. Her wrist turned, but the knob didn’t. Her hand just slipped off. She tried it again. Locked. Strange. She moved past the flower bed planted alongside the garage and peeked around the corner. The Range Rover was parked, and she could hear the ticking of the engine as it cooled, but the hood wasn't up and her father wasn't there.
She stepped into the garage, the fading sunlight throwing shadows on the cement floor. The garage was as neat as ever—saws, rakes and tools hung up on nails; screws, nuts and bolts all in baby food jars, tops nailed to the low beams and the jars screwed tightly into them. Two snowmobiles and the ATV Nick and their dad loved to play with during the summer were against the far wall. Everything in its place.
Dusty moved toward the back wall, and she noticed the work room door open when she got to the front of the Range Rover. She breathed a small sigh. Almost had myself scared there, she thought. She was about to call out to him when she heard it.
She pressed herself against the back wall and, from that angle, she could see him sitting on the work bench. He was slumped over, his face buried in his arms, his sobs muffled. In front of him, lined up on the work table, were boxes of ammunition, his .22 and a few, small rectangles of metal that glinted dully in the florescent light. Razor blades? Also in front of him was Nick's hockey uniform, his football helmet, and the basketball that they kept in the workroom.
"Oh my god," she mouthed, unsure of what to do, frozen. Her father, her father was crying, sobs that threatened to tear his heart from his chest. As she watched, he lifted his head, looking at the various articles he had assembled in front of him. Dusty trembled. He touched the gun, the razor blades, a little tentative. He picked one up, watching it glint, playing the light off of it. Dusty opened her mouth to cry out.
Her father beat her to it. His scream was full of rage, and in one motion he knocked everything on the table to the floor. One box of ammunition broke open and shells rolled across the cement. Nick's helmet bounced once, rolled, and was still. The gun still lay in front of him.
"Fuck," he said looking down at it. Terrified, Dusty looked at his face. He looked old, not like her father at all. He also looked scared—as scared as she felt. "Oh, fuck," he said again, his sobs starting all over as he leaned to pick up the helmet. He put it on his head and put his head back on the table.
Dusty left.
She just made it to the garden before she was sick.
* * * *
The phone call came when she was least expecting it.
Dusty had found some Danger Mouse reruns on the T.V. in the family room so, at two o'clock on a Friday afternoon, she sat sideways in the plush green armchair wearing her pink babydoll pajamas, her legs hung over the arm.
She had loaded herself with a bag of Doritos and a Dr. Pepper. She loved Danger Mouse. It had been Nick’s favorite and one of the mainstays of their childhood, along with Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and X-Men. Nick used to think he was Wolverine, and would run around the house pretending to claw the furniture into submission. The thought came too fast for her to cut it off, and she closed her eyes against the familiar dull ache.
Danger Mouse reruns were a rare occurrence, she knew. Then again, she had been so busy with the soaps she hadn’t paid much attention to what else was on in the day time. President Bush was discussing the nation's economy on all the major networks so Dusty had done what most Americans do when the president talks on T.V.—switched stations.
She had not seen a cartoon in years, and watching one now, she found it to be even more ridiculous than she remembered, but still cute. She hadn’t seen Danger Mouse since she was in fifth grade. Not since Nick and I—SNIP
The phone, the only one in the house, shrilled from the kitchen. Dusty sighed, not moving the bag of Doritos from where they lay across her stomach, or the soda pop clutched between her thighs.
"Julia!" she called, waiting while the phone rang twice, three times. "Do you want me to get it?" No answer. Four, five...
Dusty moved the stuff off her lap and headed out to the kitchen. She picked up the light blue phone, colored to match the wallpaper, off the wall. Julia and her father hadn’t moved into the twenty-first century yet where cordless phones were the norm. At least it was a push-button and not a rotary dial, she thought with a smile.
"Hello?"
"Hi there. Can I speak with Dusty Chandler, please?"
"This is she," Dusty replied, recognizing the voice with a small smile. She crossed her fingers and pressed them against her lips.
"Dusty, this is Lee Williams from over at the Starlite. You came in last week about a job?"
"Mmm-hmm."
"Can you start tonight?"
Her exhilaration was almost electric. "What time?"
"Four-thirty."
"I'll be there."
"See you then."
Dusty stared at the receiver until it began to make short, piercing blasts. Then she replaced it on the hook an
d leaned against the wall.
Since the episode with her father, she’d been a little shaky about leaving the house without checking on both of her parents. She’d found no traces of anything when she went back into the work room the next day, and her father was intact and normal—back to business as usual.
I got the job! She smiled at the absurdity of it. Two months ago, if someone had told her she would be ecstatic about getting a job in some bar, she would have laughed her head off. Now things had changed. It wasn’t the most prestigious job in the world, but she didn’t want it for prestige. It certainly didn’t pay the best, but she wasn’t out to make a fortune. She thought the job would suit its purpose very well. She went upstairs to get ready.
Chapter Six
"How're you doing, kid?"
Dusty forced a smile as she sat on one of the stools at the bar, facing Lee.
"Just fine," she told him, relieved to be off her feet. The rest of the stools beside her were filled.
"Bullshit." He laughed. "But you'll get used to it."
"Bullshit." She smiled and wiggled her toes in her black heels. He laughed again, but all she could manage was a rueful smile.
"Well you got twenty minutes." He glanced at the clock before moving down the bar to take an order. "Catch a breath of fresh air if you want, but don't be wandering out there, okay?"
"Sure." She didn’t move from where she was sitting, although it was too warm. She wasn’t moving from this spot for the next twenty minutes if she could help it.
She’d never known the Starlite was so busy. The noise around her was an unbreakable wave of sound. Above her head, a color television blasted out a football game. The Detroit Lions were leading Dallas by seven and that miracle had everyone putting their two cents in.
Those not watching the game had acquired the use of the half a dozen pool tables at the far end of the bar. One guy stood at the old Pac-Man game in the far corner. He’d been there since she’d arrived and, she thought wryly, he was the only one in the place she hadn’t served at least three times.
She’d wondered how it was possible for Lee to turn a profit in a small town like Larkspur, but she had no trouble now seeing how he managed it. There were about fifty people in the bar, and day to day, they were all the same faces. He made his profits in the sheer volume of alcohol consumption.
She’d been working for three nights running, and she was developing a nasty blister on her right heel. It was the shoes. Although the heels were only about two inches, they still pinched, but nothing else went with the "uniform"—a black mini-skirt and a plain white blouse. Over this, she wore a black vest with tiny gold stars on it, the back of which said "Starlite" in gold letters.
A hand came down on her shoulder and she whirled around. Sam Lewis, who was what Lee called his "clean-up man," was smiling at her.
"Hi, Sam." She smiled back, glancing past him toward the door. More arrivals. It was eight o'clock and still early for the partiers. "Have a seat."
He shrugged, pointing to the man sitting in the seat next to her.
“Excuse me,” Dusty said to the guy with a brush cut. She’d never seen him in there before. “Would you mind moving so my friend can sit by me?”
The guy took a look at Sam, did a double-take, and then sneered. “You want to sit next to this feeb?”
Dusty gasped, her eyes flashing. “Listen, I asked you a favor. Nicely. There’s no need to insult my friend.”
The guy snorted, picking up his beer. “Whatever, lady. If your taste in men runs to idiots, what is it to me, right?”
“Dumb hick asshole,” Dusty whispered as he walked by. She knew he heard her, by the way his eyes shifted, but he didn’t turn back.
“I’m sorry, Sam,” she apologized, patting the stool next to her. “He was a jerk.”
He shrugged as he sat down, glancing over his shoulder. “Uh-Uh-I’m yuh-used to it.”
She frowned. “I’m sorry for that, too.”
"So, huh-huh-how is it guh-going?" He leaned forward to rest his elbow on the bar. His eyes were a shocking and beautiful blue as he looked at her.
"All right," she replied with a smile. "I’m getting used to the pace of things." She liked him, in spite of his stutter and the slow, jerky movements that frustrated Lee whenever Sam pulled a keg up front. He was sweet.
“How are you tonight?” she asked, just making conversation.
"I’m pretty guh-guh-good," he replied, looking shyly over at her.
"Good." Dusty kept her eyes on the door. Her twenty minute break would be up sooner than she liked.
"Huh-huh-have you seen Gruh-Grady?" Sam ran a hand through his dark, wiry, short-cropped hair.
"The cat?” Dusty glanced at her feet. “No, I haven't tripped over it yet tonight."
"Are yuh-you looking for someone?" His eyes searched her face.
She looked over at him, startled. "No," she denied. "No one in particular."
"Oh." He stood up, shoving his hands into his pockets. "If you suh-see him, wuh-will you tuh-tell me?"
"Who?" Dusty asked, her eyes narrowing.
"Gruh-Grady," Sam said, looking puzzled.
"Oh, yeah," Dusty said, her face relaxing. "Sure, I will."
"Thuh-thanks," Sam said with a grateful smile.
"Can you get me another keg of Bud out here, Sam?" Lee called. Sam nodded, his motion slightly palsied and spastic, heading toward the back room with his leg dragging behind him.
"He likes you," Lee said when Sam had disappeared through the door next to the women’s’ bathroom.
"What?" Dusty looked at Lee, who was wiping glasses with one of the towels he always had within reach.
"He likes you," Lee repeated. Dusty shrugged. “I’m just saying…I’m glad you’re nice to him.”
She frowned. “You mean, unlike Mr. Brushcut over there?”
“Guys like him are a dime a dozen.” Lee sighed. “Like some kid who talks funny is a threat to their manhood? I don’t get it.”
“I don’t either.” Dusty sighed, still looking towards the door.
“He’s had it rough,” Lee said, following her gaze. “Especially since Roy died.”
"Who?" she asked.
"Sam,” Lee said, filling two glasses of beer for someone out of the nozzle. “His father, Roy—he up and died last month. Sam’s been pretty lost without him.”
“It wasn’t the bobcat, was it?” Dusty’s spine straightened at the thought.
“No.” Lee shook his head. “Heart attack, most likely. He was my age. We were in the army together.”
Dusty raised her eyebrows. “You were in the army?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He winked at her. “Roy and I met when we were stationed in Haiti together.”
“Haiti?” she frowned. “We have troops in Haiti?”
“Troops all over the world, darlin’.” He smiled. “This was back when Papa Doc was some sorta threat.”
Dusty looked him over. “Bet you looked good in a uniform.”
“All the girls thought so.” He grinned, opening the little dishwasher under the bar where he washed glasses. “So Sam’s all by himself now. I keep an eye on him as much as I can.”
“What about his mother?”
Lee shook his head. “She died when he was born.”
“How awful. What happened?”
“The baby came out wrongways. Feet first.” Lee paused to draw another beer for someone. “They had to yank on him hard, Roy said, practically twisted his little head off getting him out.”
They were quiet for a moment. Dusty asked, “So she died during childbirth?”
“No,” Lee replied. “She died a few days after they came home from the hospital.”
“Of what?”
“Embolism,” he said, shaking his head.
Dusty looked at him, horrified. “Oh my god… and the father was left all alone with a newborn?”
“Yeah,” Lee agreed. “They got real close, just the two of them. That’s why Sam’s still p
retty broke up about his dad.”
She nodded, feeling tears stinging her eyes. “I know how he feels.”
“I think he's a little lonely, you know?” Lee went on, not noticing her watery eyes. “And, as I started out to tell you, he really likes you… from what I can see, it's heading for a full-fledge crush.”
“Oh, come on—”
Lee pointed and nodded toward the old Wurlitzer. “If you hadn't noticed, Grady hasn't moved from the juke all night."
Dusty looked, and sure enough, the old Tom was stretched out on top of it, eyes closed, purring and contented.
She smiled, shaking her head. "That's kinda sweet.”
"Yeah," Lee said. "I guess he has to think up topics of conversation, but he's a good kid. A little slow up here." Lee tapped his forehead. "But he's sure not lacking here." Lee’s hand covered his heart.
"I know," she said, smiling. "Well, it's past time for me to get back to work, boss."
"Hey, Dusty," Lee called as she headed toward one of the tables. "I know you’re probably not interested, but…don't be...mean to him."
"I won't," she assured him. "What can I get you?" Dusty directed her question to the guy who had just sat down at the table behind her.
"Dusty!" Jake’s eyes widened when he saw her and widened even further when his gaze met her hemline. “What are you doing here?”
“Working.” She poised her pen above her pad. “What can I get you?”
Jake flipped a strand of long dark hair out of his eyes. “What happened to your job in Chicago?”
She shrugged, trying to ignore the twist in her belly at the mention of her former employer. “It sort of disappeared.”
“Kind of a step down, isn’t it?” Jake looked around the Starlite and then back at her. His hair had fallen over his left eye again, but he didn’t bother with it this time.
“It’s temporary,” she explained. “Keeps my mind off…things.”
“Ah.” He grimaced and nodded. “Hey, listen…about Nick…”