by Kym Roberts
“It’s just my dog—”
“Dog?” She interrupted. “I thought you put him outside!” On her feet faster than I could say, he’s just a big baby, she started for the back door, watching the hallway like a manic Big Foot would descend down the steps at any moment.
“He won’t hurt you,” I tried to comfort her, but her fear was unreasonable. Nothing would soothe it while Bogart was present, and if he came in the room, I’d lose my chance of getting back my bride. “I’ll lock him up.”
I immediately cut Bogart off at the pass, his rear end wiggling in a lazy, sleepy greeting. I grabbed his collar and led him to the bathroom. “Be good,” I told him. Eyes half open, he didn’t quite comprehend that he was getting locked up a second time, until the last moment before the latch clicked shut. He howled a low protest to his predicament.
I quickly returned to Brandy Kay and found her in the corner of the couch, shaking uncontrollably.
“Would you mind starting a fire?” She asked with her arms wrapped around her body.
“I’m sorry...” How do you say you haven’t been able to look at fire, feel its heat or light a single match since your husband disintegrated into ash along with everything else around him?
“It would make me feel like I was back home.” Her eyes begged.
But I couldn’t do it. Not for her, not for Bogart, not for anyone. I grabbed my space heater and offered her an afghan. Then I bared my soul.
“The truth is my husband — my fiancé, that is…” I corrected my error, forcing myself to face the truth in front of this virtual stranger. “…he died in a forest fire, and I haven’t been able to burn anything in the fireplace since. The logs are just for show.”
It was her turn to comfort me as she let me wrap a blanket around her shoulders. “I’m sorry. Here I am crying because Tommy yelled at me, and I’d bet you’d give anything to have your husband yell at you.”
With my grandmother’s handiwork warming her, I saw the woman Tommy had fallen in love with. She was completely different from the stripper in the bar who had rubbed all over me for a buck — or more. Brandy Kay was genuinely capable of sharing emotion on a deep visceral level.
“When did you lose your husband?” Her voice softened, and her eyes showed true interest as she scooted up to the edge of the cushion to wait for my reply.
“Two years, nine months and twenty-six days ago.”
Her eyes widened, as she absorbed how much I grieved.
“I had no idea someone could mourn that long.”
I laughed mirthlessly. “Me neither, until it happened to me.” And that was the second open door I faced, so I walked on through. “That’s one of the reasons I wanted to talk to you.”
Suspicion clouded the camaraderie we’d felt, forcing me to forge forward before she got up and left. “The man who died last week on the railroad tracks...” and just like that she shot up off the couch, the afghan falling to the floor.
“I need to go.”
I grabbed her arm and stopped her in her tracks. “Please, Brandy Kay.” I pleaded. “He has a widow who’s grieving just like me. Only she doesn’t have any parents to help her through it.” I paused, not knowing if she’d really listen to me, but she did. “Her parents died the same day as my Jacob did — at the same place, in the same fire.”
For a second I thought she was going to leave no matter what I said, then she surprised me by dropping down and picking up the afghan. She wrapped herself up a second time and sat down. When she finally looked up, resignation was the only word that would describe her expression.
I sat down with her. Relief. Elation. Fear. All rolled into one big ball of nerves in the pit of my stomach. I clenched my hands together, praying she didn’t change her mind.
“I know you met Ryan,” I began, “but what I really need to know is, do you still have the carving I made for him?”
“The bride.” Her tone lost all the emotion she’d shown up until that point.
I nodded, afraid to hope too much. I wasn’t going to give her the chance to turn me down. “That was the last thing Ryan bought for his fiancée. I don’t need to know what happened, but I’d really like to be able to give Missy the set.”
I left out – ‘then I need you to spill your guts, because I think Ryan was murdered.’ No need to scare the crap out of her too soon.
“Ryan gave it to me. He was the first guy to treat me … nice.”
Was she saying Tommy didn’t treat her nice? Granted he’d yelled at her and his comment was demeaning, but he was a gentleman with a broken heart. Right?
“He said I needed to recognize my real value. That I deserved to wear white and have a big wedding someday. That’s when he told me to keep it. So that I knew my worth.” Her voice sounded desperate.
I could see Ryan trying to convince Brandy Kay she could be more than a stripper. From what Steve and Missy had said, that rang true with his character. But I had a hard time believing he’d give up the carving. It looked like his fiancée, not Brandy. “Yet you turned Tommy down.”
“You don’t understand. Once upon a time, Tommy and I had it all. But now? We have nothing. No big wedding. No house in the suburbs. Just a bunch of kids running around in squalor. All the money we’ve saved Tommy just spent on a shack on the mountain. A shack! How am I going to live in that? Ryan said I could be like his bride. That’s what I want.”
“And you can still have it, but Ryan’s fiancée has lost her chance. In four days, Missy would have been Ryan’s wife. Now she considers herself his widow. She knows about the cake toppers. She knows the police have the groom. Steve and I have been trying to keep her from searching for the bride.”
“Steve? Are you talking about that jerk who demanded I give it to him?” Apparently Steve hadn’t scored as many points with Brandy Kay as Ryan had.
“Steve is —” I corrected myself, “was Ryan’s best friend, and he was supposed to be his best man. No matter what you think of him, he’s desperate to get the carving for Missy. And for Ryan.” Not wanting to challenge her claim of ownership I added, “He believes Ryan would want Missy to have it, and he’s willing to pay for it.”
“It’s not about the money.” She threw out her response daring me to say otherwise.
I grabbed her hand — locking her into the conversation as tight as I could. “You’re right. It’s not about the money. It’s about a heartbroken woman clinging to the memory of the man she loves.”
“Why couldn’t you carve another one?” She suggested.
“It took me several months to carve the set. Granted, I worked on other projects during that time, but it would take me at least a couple more weeks to get it right. The set was made from the same block of wood, the curve of their bodies follow the curve in the wood grain. I separated them toward the end, but duplicating that will be difficult.”
“It doesn’t have to be as nice as the groom.” Her argument was lame and by the look on her face, she knew it. She tried to withdraw her hand, to escape this uncomfortable topic.
But I held on tight.
“Look, Brandy, you don’t know me, but from the other items in my store, do you honestly think I’d give Missy a piece that wasn’t made of the same quality?” She met my question with silence, and she refused to meet my gaze. She just studied my back door, longing to escape.
I pushed further. “You had one night with Ryan —”
Too far. Brandy Kay jumped off my couch for a second time, sending tissues across the floor. “It wasn’t like that. Ryan was nice to me. I’m sorry...” I caught a glimpse of tear-type number two, angry and unwanted. Brandy Kay swiped it away as she turned toward my back door and I realized angry tears worked just as well in person too as it did on the pages of a book.
“I appreciate what you’re doing. I know it seems stupid, but that one night — it meant everything to me. If it hadn’t been for Ryan, I would have thought this was all I could have.” She paused to wipe another errant tear. “I’ll think about it. And I’ll
get back to you.” She grabbed for the handle on the back door.
I couldn’t let her leave, not without one last try. “I had hoped to give it to Missy on Friday. It was to be her rehearsal dinner.”
We both heard it at the same time. The door to the bathroom popped open and big canine toenails were clicking down the hallway.
Brandy Kay hesitated, “I’ll let you know by Friday,” and she whisked out the door without another word. We both knew Tommy had treated her poorly today, but after learning the truth, I suspected it was because he was having a hard time dealing with her rejection. Was that what her decision hinged on? Whether or not Tommy could live up to the dream Ryan had created?
I’d been so close to getting the carving back, and the failure loomed over my head. Tear-type number one slipped down my cheek as Mr. Bogart jumped up and put his paws on my shoulders. The salty warmth of my emotions hit my lips — an acrid warning that I’d allowed myself to be as emotionally drawn into possessing the bride as much as Missy and Brandy Kay.
Luckily, I had a huge dog hugging me, licking my tears away, and letting me know everything was going to be okay.
***
The day progressed slowly after class. Tommy’s seat had remained empty, and I’d missed all but the last few minutes. I hadn’t felt much like painting or carving after Brandy Kay left me empty-handed and soul-fractured. Bogart forgave me for his imprisonment and stuck by my side the entire day, giving comfort and companionship when I needed it most.
Sitting at the register with a knife in one hand and a piece of wood in the other, I wondered how one carving could represent so much to three different women, in three completely different kinds of relationships with the deceased? He was a fiancé, a lover and a once-respected customer. Now the art he’d commissioned represented what Missy remembered from the past, what Brandy Kay dreamed of for the future, and the one thing I hoped would set me free of my grief.
Could the replica in my hands really take its place? I sure hoped so.
Outside, the sun had failed to come out all day and the looming clouds weighed heavily on my psyche. It wasn’t a rare weather event, but like the rain-saturated sky, my mood darkened with every passing minute.
When it was finally time to lock up, the register held very little capital gain, and my new carving looked like the bridezilla I’d feared Missy would turn into. Maybe I should just let this Bride of Frankenstein develop the way she wanted to, since she was obviously speaking to me through my hands.
The neon double OO’s flashed across the lot as the Tuesday night special crowd started to arrive. A group of young men, obviously celebrating something, arrived in a long black limo with tinted windows. Two open sunroofs sported several guys toasting each other and spilling alcohol all over themselves and the limo’s roof. Just last week I would have smiled and thought nothing of it, too wrapped up in my protective shell to allow myself to feel anything.
Now I wondered, which one was in love with the bride? Would the groom be faithful? How long would he live before he left his wife to a solitary life?
Bogart nuzzled my hand and we headed back to our house — together. I threw a frozen fettuccini Alfredo with garlic bread into the microwave, wanting something to leave a good taste in my mouth. (Yes, I know it was full of fat and carbs, but I needed the comfort)
As the scent of the white sauce filled the room, I gave Bogart his bowl of dry dog food and he looked at me. He looked at the metal bowl I placed down in front of him and then back at me. Clearly he thought, ‘You must be joking. You get that and I get this?’
I gave in. “You get to lick the bowl when I’m done.”
The timer on the microwave rescued me from my dog-induced guilt trip. I grabbed my dinner, along with the soda that would complete my dietary disaster, and headed to the living room to watch the nightly news. (Imagine that, I was watching the news.)
Bogart nosed his dinner bowl around the kitchen floor, either picking out the best pieces or just irritating me on purpose. I ignored him and dug into the pasta while the local news anchor caught my attention with a tantalizing teaser before the commercial break. “Who really visits strip bars? You may be shocked by the clientele.” A picture of the neon “Woody’s” sign filled my TV screen. Just like it filled my storefront window.
The clip was followed by a toilet paper commercial talking about dirty bums, a paper towel product claiming to pick up dirt much faster than the other brands, and then a condom commercial claiming manly performances better than any actual man could possibly hope to achieve. My interest was completely piqued by whoever set up that sequence. Then apprehension for the individual who was about to have his identity blared out all over town made my fork drop, my appetite suddenly extinguished.
When the news returned, I pushed the dinner aside. Portland had loved this friendly reporter for many years. Her hard hitting social commentary was delivered with such finesse that a target rarely recognized the bull’s-eye on his back (or hers — She did not choose her targets discriminately by their sex) until it was too late. And here she was with a story that would undoubtedly cast a different light on my town. Of course, I wasn’t sure what that view should actually be at this point.
“A local village at the base of Mt. Hood has found itself the unlikely home of Woody’s Gentleman’s Club, started by an eccentric elderly man who lived a reclusive lifestyle on Tom Dick and Harry Mountain. The town, previously known for its quaint shops, craftsmanship and bed and breakfasts is now known for this...”
The video feed left the reporter’s pleasant face to zoom in on Woody’s neon boobs.
“...and despite the town’s best efforts to get rid of the bar, it seems the establishment is backed by a man with power that reaches beyond the grave. So this reporter, with the assistance of an unnamed source, wanted to see just who has visited Woody’s and maybe lent support at times when the laws would have otherwise supported local business owners.”
A video clip showed two men still dressed in suits, walking into the front doors of Woody’s, past the bouncer I’d come to know.
“A local congressman and a lobbyist visited Woody’s just last month and spent a couple hours inside. The congressman seemed a little worse for wear as one of the bouncers helped him to a vehicle driven by the lobbyist.”
Oh, jeeze. Poor Tommy.
His face was plastered all over the damn place. I recognized the congressman as one who had run a conservative platform. And whether I agreed with his politics or not, I pitied the man who’d shown the kind of poor judgment that put his reputation and career on the line.
“Of course the congressman isn’t the only official to visit Woody’s. Other prominent civic leaders have frequented the strip club, an establishment that appears to have brought all kinds of vice to the town. From an increase in property damage to allegations of prostitution, crime is definitely on the rise in Tickle Creek.”
Another video clip showed a tall, muscular man handing something to a scantily dressed woman as they leaned in close together. The petite blond shoved what appeared to be dollar bills in between her large breasts. And they were the same breasts that had sat on my couch a few hours earlier.
My stomach dropped like a tree falling in the woods. In my head, a gradual creaking noise gave way to a thunderous bounce that passed through the earth. Dust and debris flying in all directions, my nerves shattered.
The man turned toward the camera, and there was no mistaking Stone. The man who’d slipped under the barrier I’d had in place for two years, nine months and twenty-six days had paid Brandy Kay for — something. And from the look on his face as he rounded the corner of the building, Tommy knew exactly what Brandy Kay and Stone had been up to.
“Tomorrow night, a high school principal and a football coach. Just who is teaching your kids, and what are they teaching? And a local pharmacist who likes to get wild at Woody’s before work. Can you trust the drugs he’s giving you? Check out our website, where you can find out if your l
oved ones are visiting the club without your knowledge.”
The story ended for the night.
For them. For me it was just beginning. I got up and threw away my dinner. I needed answers that I didn’t think Stone or Brandy Kay would give me.
I began reviewing more video footage from Bob’s, poring over the days before I met Stone. Just when I was about to give up, I actually found the day he had visited Brandy Kay. A week before I met him. He walked into Woody’s establishment all alone. A couple hours later he’d exited alone, then disappeared on the opposite side of the bar. But the view of the parking lot showed Brandy Kay coming out the back door about ten minutes later and heading to the same side of the building, the side Bob couldn’t video tape, and in a direction Tommy wouldn’t see her leave. When another bouncer exited the bar and spoke in Tommy’s ear, Tommy’s body language changed as he searched the lot for her. The timing was rather perfect, Stone and Brandy Kay rounding the rear of the build with a money exchange occurring, and Tommy stopped dead in his tracks, watching her flirtatious lean toward Stone, right before he disappeared into the woods.
The scene was heartbreaking in several ways. For me. For Stone, who apparently didn’t see his own worth that he felt he had to cavort with a stripper. (Hell, I’d nearly stripped for him for free. Granted my chest didn’t inspire Woody’s sign, but sex was sex. Right?) And for Tommy, who watched the event from the parking lot and stumbled over his feet, before becoming angry enough to stalk after Stone.
The two shared words, Tommy visibly upset. Stone stood his ground, never backing down. I thought fists would fly, but neither man seemed willing to throw the first punch. At least not in front of Brandy Kay.
Today Tommy had left my shop, fed up with Brandy Kay’s cavalier attitude toward sex and his feelings. But now I wondered if he hadn’t lost his temper in a much different way, when Brandy Kay was nowhere to be found and Ryan made the mistake of spending time alone with Tommy’s girl.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Tommy stood at the front door of Woody’s, his friendly disposition replaced by a stern draw to his brow. I imagined my own forehead looked just as troubled. When he saw me approaching, he spoke to his partner and met me in the middle of the lot.