by Alison Tyler
When Geneva called the next day and invited me to lunch on the pretence of talking about the latest NUDE campaign, I agreed. Over sandwiches at the Daisy Diner, I started to spill things that I never thought I’d share with her. We weren’t close like that. Still, I had to talk to somebody. Somebody besides Mia, who seemed to have made up her mind about everything.
‘It’s rough,’ Geneva agreed.
‘What is?’
‘Breaking up.’
‘Yeah. That’s what all the songs say. If it weren’t rough, there wouldn’t be any need for broken-hearted love songs.’
‘Not just because of the pain of the break-up, but because you have nowhere else to go out here. You’re stuck in this town, and everyone knows your business, and they all know what happened and what you’re going through. In a way, it must be like being one of those celebrities in Hollywood, where everywhere you look you see information about yourself.’
Suddenly, I realised that maybe she wasn’t talking about me and Alden, or Alden and Sheila. ‘Did something happen between you and Alhambra?’
She sighed.
‘I’ve heard a lot about the two of you, but it seems as if you always wind up back together.’
‘Sure we do,’ she said, ‘but she tests me so often. I needed a break. That’s what I told her. So I’m the one who’s doing the pulling back this time, and still it hurts. And I feel as if I just can’t escape.’
‘But you can.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You don’t have to stay here.’
‘I’m not moving because Alhambra kissed some bitch. Again.’
‘No, I mean, you don’t have to wallow in it. You can take off for a week. You can travel. Or you can act like they think they know what happened, but they don’t.’
‘But they do know what happened. Everyone saw it go down. It was election night. Alhambra was fondling Diva at the community centre. In front of everyone. People might have different concepts of what they saw, but they know what their eyes tell them.’
I thought about that. I thought about what break-ups were like in LA. In Los Angeles, there are infinite possibilities. Here, as Alden liked to remind me, resources were limited. Beyond that, everyone knew your history. So if one partner found you too emotional, or overly high maintenance, that brand would be stuck to you forever, and you might have less of a chance of hooking up with someone new.
What would I do in Geneva’s place?
‘Get a makeover,’ I said finally.
‘You’d what?’
‘Go to some fancy salon and have my hair done over, get new make-up, a new outfit or two. You wouldn’t believe how people’s visions of you can change when you make only a few subtle changes to yourself.’
Geneva was quiet for a moment. Then she said, ‘That sounds OK. I’ve never done anything like that. Would you go with me?’
I told her of course and gave her a hug, and at that precise moment, Alden walked into the diner. His eyes widened, and I could tell he thought something more serious was going on in our embrace, and I saw for myself how quickly gossip starts.
‘Rumour has it,’ I could hear, ‘that Geneva and Charlie are a new item.’
‘Rumour has it that Alden’s been fucked over by a girl.’
‘Rumour has it,’ I whispered to Geneva, ‘that it’s about time you and me got the fuck out of Raysville for a little while.’
After the next NUDE meeting, Geneva and I headed off for our scheduled makeover. In the midst of getting our nails done, Geneva tried her best to uncover my past. Or to put together what she believed was my past from the facts she had at her disposal.
‘So you were with a man in LA. The one who played at Halloween.’
‘Johnny.’
‘And you broke up.’
I nodded.
‘Why?’
I’d actually been formulating that answer myself during the months I’d been away. ‘He only really wanted me when I was starting to lose interest. If I were committed to the relationship, he let me know how unimportant it was to him by flirting with other girls, or by blowing off important dates.’
‘And then you came to Raysville and found his double in Alden. Do you always find yourself in relationships like that?’
‘Who are you, my therapist?’
‘Do you?’
I shrugged. ‘I never look for boyfriends, but I generally have one.’
‘I’m the opposite. I’m always on the look-out, and I usually am single.’
‘Until Alhambra.’
‘She was different. She was more trouble than she was worth, and somehow I found that exciting.’
‘In what way?’
‘How she’s always on the go, ready for a new experience. Never one to back down or say no. I guess she’s a little like you in that way; you seem up for anything. But she’s got a wicked streak.’
I knew Alhambra was the ultimate gossip, but I hadn’t seen anything evil about her. I waited for Geneva to continue;
‘You know, Alhambra was the one who called the paper when she saw you half-naked in the phone booth. Sheila had nothing to do with that.’
I shook my head, my cheeks flaming.
‘You don’t believe me?’
‘I believe you,’ I said, my voice softer even though it was clear our pedicurists didn’t speak any English. ‘I just hadn’t known.’
‘She was already jealous of you back then.’
‘But why? She knew I wasn’t interested in girls.’
‘No, Charlie. Think about it. You’d only been here a week or so, and you hadn’t made an appearance in public. Not at The Saloon, anyway. Everyone was still wondering about you. What your intentions were. We draw a fair share of lesbians out here. More than our fair share, maybe.’
I did what Geneva said: I thought about it. There was Diva at the bookstore, and beautiful dark-haired Sage who owned the riding shop, and two of the bank tellers, the multi-tattooed waitress at the Daisy Diner …
‘All right,’ I agreed, ‘but why would she do that?’
‘To embarrass you, and to let you know that somebody was watching, just to keep you on your toes. But at that point she probably also had her eye on you herself.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You never know,’ Geneva said, and now she gave me what I could only describe as a hungry look.
On our way back to town, we drove past a group of ageing hippies staging a political protest. Their signs demanded an Ohio recount, but we all knew that wasn’t going to change the course of events. George Bush was the winner for four more years. At least fifteen grey-haired, tie-dye-wearing senior citizens had banners and peace flags out. Some were in wheelchairs. Others held on to walkers or each other. In Raysville, the political heart never stops beating. I honked my car in support, and they waved in our direction.
As we rounded the corner towards the apartment Geneva rented when not on duty, I saw a familiar turquoise car parked at the fire station. I said nothing to Geneva, who was still waving to the elderly peaceniks. Remaining as calm as I possibly could, I dropped her at her apartment and promised to be in touch.
‘Call me any time,’ I said. ‘I know what it’s like to wake up in the middle of the night feeling lonely.’
‘I have toys that I use to deal with that,’ she said with a laugh. ‘I’m most needy when I can’t find someone to have a cup of coffee with.’
‘You can call me for that, too,’ I told her. Then I swung my car around and cruised by the station again. There, next to Alden’s truck, was Sheila’s unmistakeable peacock-blue convertible. I’d truly become a local, making snap judgements of what people were doing based on where they parked their vehicles. Yet the signs seemed crystal to me. Sheila was visiting Alden at the station, and I could do nothing about it. If I stopped in, too, I’d appear to be checking up on him. If I went home alone, I’d find myself pacing through my tiny cabin, focused on what was going on between the two of them. My mind woul
d play tricks on me, creating imaginary love-scenes of Sheila and Alden doing it in his bed, or against the truck, or outside near the creek. Scenes in which she’d take charge in a way I never could. Never without feeling as if I were roleplaying. Still, I’d relive every moment that Alden and I had shared, putting Sheila in the starring role. She possessed something that I couldn’t ever have with Alden, but something he often liked to remind me of: history.
I knew that Mia felt they were destined to be together. But I hadn’t come to that decision myself. I wanted the right to be involved. If it was over, I shouldn’t have to learn that second-hand.
Instead of bursting in on the two of them like some insane shrew, I headed to The Saloon for a little liquid confidence. For once, I wasn’t interested in the company. I was after the drinks. I pulled the car into a ‘No Barking’ space and headed into the comforting muted atmosphere. The neon glowed, as always, but the faded forest-green pool tables were empty and the usually flashing jukebox was silent. The afternoon bartender had been reading a copy of the Levee Road News, but she pushed it aside as I walked to the bar.
‘What’ll you have?’
‘Tequila,’ I told her. ‘Straight up.’
She quickly poured the drink for me, and I downed it all alone in the bar, standing there in the shadowy afternoon light, not even bothering to hoist myself on to one of the maroon leather stools. I motioned for the bartender to hit me again, and she did so immediately, without a change in her expression. She clearly considered it my business if I wanted to drink myself into a stupor before four o’clock. Cody walked in then, as if he had a homing beacon on me. As if he always knew exactly when to arrive.
‘You’re starting early.’
I shrugged.
‘Bad news?’
I sat on one of the stools at the bar and lifted my drink. Let him think what he wanted. I’d been warned off Cody enough times by now to actually put a mental barrier around him, as if he were wearing an OFF-LIMITS sign on his chest, or an electrical fence around his sleek perimeter.
‘Want company?’
‘All right,’ I said, although I didn’t know if that was the truth. ‘That’d be fine.’
‘Then why don’t you down that one and come with me. You don’t need to kill an afternoon bellied up to a bar.’
I looked at him as I swallowed the fiery liquor. ‘I need another one of these before I go anywhere,’ I said.
‘I’ll wait.’
The bartender hit me a third time, and I drained the glass like a pro, then indicated I was ready for another. Cody disagreed with my assessment.
‘Let’s go,’ he said.
‘I’m not done.’
‘Yeah, Charlie, you are.’
I watched as he put money on the counter over my feeble protests that I could damn well pay for myself. Then he led me by the hand to the front door.
‘I’m not going with you,’ I said, trying to pull my hand free of his iron grip. ‘I’m going to the firestation. I want to have a talk with Mr Alden Daniels.’
He shook his head. ‘I can’t let you.’
‘What do you mean you can’t?
‘I know her car’s there again, Charlie.’
‘You know –’ I stuttered.
‘Everyone knows. So why make a scene?’
‘Why not? All the rest of the Raysville population out here seem to think it’s perfectly OK making scenes. Blowing up in public. Causing commotions. Look at Alhambra and Diva. Look at Mia and Noah and Zeppelin and Willow. Why can’t I join in the fun?’
‘You’re not thinking clearly, Charlie. Trust me.’
‘If he wants to be with her, that’s fine. But he needs to tell me to my face. I don’t want it to come out through the curving grapevine that seems to have grown all over this fucking town. And I don’t want him showing up at my place later on tonight with some half-assed excuse. I’m tired of hearing the watered-down version of fast-breaking news.’ I pulled free of his grip, but Cody got me back into his control easily. He grabbed my wrist this time rather than my hand and pulled me towards his dusty blue pick-up truck. I could tell he didn’t care who saw us or what kind of a scene I made. That message was easy for me to fathom even through my tequila buzz. I shook my head and tried to pull free once again, but this time I couldn’t. His grip was too strong and the tequila had made me off balance.
‘Stop misbehaving, Charlie. You don’t want me to get upset.’
His words chilled me inside and then set me on fire. I looked at him, remembering how he’d stood and watched from the outskirts of the parking lot before Johnny thrashed my bare ass. Looked at me as if he knew what was going to happen and as if he more than approved of the situation. Still, I couldn’t hold my tongue.
‘What do you mean?’ I asked, dying for him to say it out loud.
‘Trust me, young lady,’ he said, his blue eyes burning into me. ‘I have absolutely no qualm about putting you over my knee right here if I have to.’
When I stared at him, my mouth open, he continued in the same vein. ‘Don’t test me, Charlie. I will take down your jeans and give you the spanking that you so desperately deserve right in the middle of Main Street. And I assure you, that’s going to win you more gossip than even you can deal with. You won’t be able to calm the masses by importing a friend from Southern California.’
Suddenly, a whole set of different emotions flooded through me. He knew. He knew everything.
‘If you’re smart,’ he continued, ‘you’ll let me take you home, and we can deal with this situation there. In privacy. But either way, let me tell you, we’re going to get to the bottom of this.’
At his words, I followed meekly to the truck and let him get me inside and buckle me in.
Cody’s ranch was nearly 25 minutes out of town, so close to the beach that the air was filled with the salty scent of ocean spray. One of several historic ranches, it had been a working dairy since the mid-1800s and was still in use today. Cody’s dusty blue pick-up bounced along the dirt road and pulled up in front of a classic old white farmhouse with dark shutters. He cut the engine. Automatically I started to open my door to climb out but he was too quick, moving to my side of the truck and popping the door himself, then offering me a hand to step down on the dried-dirt road. Several other pick-ups were parked in a semi-circle at the bottom of a small hill, and I could see the thistle-filled pastures where the cows grazed during the day.
I followed him into the house, still feeling numb from the tequila, but curious as hell about Cody’s lifestyle and about the way he’d spoken to me in town. He’d threatened me with a spanking, and the threat had worked. Yet, as I entered the place, my thoughts immediately shifted from impending sex to curiosity. The house appeared to be frozen in time. I took in the antique furniture, the lace doilies on the chair arms and the dark-wood floors polished to a high gleam. I half-expected a cheery, grey-haired woman with a frilly white apron tied around her ample waist to come rushing out of the kitchen to greet us, flour coating her hands from making an apple pie from scratch. But the place was eerily quiet.
‘The family home,’ I said, spinning around to take in all of the old-fashioned paraphernalia. There were framed needlepoint designs displayed in the front hall, and floral-printed pitchers perched on top of a wooden breakfront. The rooms looked like display windows from one of the many high-end antique stores lining the streets of San Lorenzo.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘but there’s no family here any more.’
Gently he steered me up the stairs, and once we reached the top landing I found myself in an entirely different world. While the downstairs appeared to be frozen in a museum-like state, missing only the red velvet ropes to hold back the gawking patrons, here he’d clearly taken over. There was an entire room of vinyl records, displayed in shelves like those at a radio station. I peeked in to see a state-of-the-art stereo system, headphones, deep comfortable leather chairs, a chrome-topped bar in the corner. The next room was a library, but not one fi
lled with leather-bound books nobody would ever read. This looked like a reading room at the most hip European-style café I could imagine, with magazines from around the world spread on the coffee table, and books about art, art history and photography lining the shelves. On one table, a black-and-white hardback volume of erotic pictures was opened in the centre. A woman wearing shiny black gloves, black heels and nothing else stared insolently at the camera from beneath a curtain of dark bangs.
I looked over my shoulder at Cody, and he shrugged and led me onwards, still oddly quiet.
The large room at the end of the hall was obviously the master bedroom. Once it must have contained a four-poster bed with a handmade quilt and an old-fashioned rocking chair. Now the space was so bare I felt as if I were walking into a Zen retreat. A tall bed jutted out from one wall, a rectangular pale-blue rug covered the floor, and a modern leather chair took up one corner. Mounted on the wall was a high-tech stereo system that looked like a piece of modern art. As I watched, Cody went forwards and flipped it on. Instantly, the lights on the stereo lit up in reds and greens and the melodic voice of Eric Clapton filled the room.
‘Make yourself comfortable,’ Cody said, his eyes on me. This was easier said than done. My heart was racing now that we were truly alone, and the threatening statement he’d issued outside of The Saloon was fresh in my head. Had he meant what he’d said? Would he really take care of me?
‘Go on,’ Cody instructed. ‘We’re in no hurry here.’
At his words, I slid off my shoes and walked to the rug. It was incredibly soft, and I found myself wanting to lie down and make snow angels on the floor. Cody leaned against the wall, watching me.
‘It’s stunning,’ I said. ‘I’d never have guessed.’ I spun around in a circle. ‘Is this your big secret? What everyone in town has been trying to tell me – you’re a closet interior decorator.’
He laughed, a deep and sexy baritone rumble, then shook his head. Without answering properly, he headed back down the hall and I heard him at the bar in the stereo room, opening a bottle. He came back with two glasses and handed me one.