The Girl in the Flaming Dress

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The Girl in the Flaming Dress Page 13

by Michael J Vaughn


  “You are the best girlfriend ever.”

  “I try.”

  They stop by the lobby for five minutes of tongue wrestling, and then she dives into the apocalypse. The woman is fearless, a Brünnhilde. Gerry dials up some Led Zeppelin and gets to mopping with a goofy grin on his face. He’s halfway across the floor when he hears another tapping. This time, he peers outside to see an unknown personage under a gray hoodie. It’s probably a serial killer, but he can’t possibly leave someone out in this weather. He goes to the lobby and unlocks the door.

  “I’m sorry, we closed at eight.”

  “Are you Gerry?”

  “Um, yes?”

  The face emerges from the hood, showing familiar features: wet blond hair, a crooked nose, gray-blue eyes.

  “Gerry, it’s Peter. Peter Matthews.”

  Gerry stands there, frozen in surprise. Peter coughs into his hand. His clothes are leaving a circle of drips on the tiles.

  “I’m sorry,” says Gerry. “Come on in. Have a seat.”

  They settle at a small table in the first bay.

  “Hey, um, I think we still have a little coffee in one of our urns…”

  “God yes,” says Peter, chuckling.

  Gerry wrangles a cup of French roast, two packs of sugar and a carton of cream. Peter takes a sip and seems pleased. He sets his mouth.

  “I hope I’m not disrupting anything.”

  “No, but… I am surprised.”

  Peter chuckles. “I was at my dentist’s office, reading a Rolling Stone. Came across this beautiful woman in black leather, and there was your name. Brought back some memories.”

  “I’m… sorry.”

  “I think you need to stop apologizing.”

  “I’m… not sure I follow.”

  He folds his hands on the table. “From the beginning, the police confirmed your account. Deer tracks, skid marks, the way she, um, fell. By all indications, Gerry, you were driving much more cautiously than most of the yahoos who live up there. Plus, you suffered. And even though it was clearly painful to you, you were there anytime they needed you.”

  A roll of thunder shakes the walls. Peter laughs.

  “So now you’re punishing yourself by living at the gates of hell?”

  Gerry laughs, too. “You caught us at a bad time. It’s often quite nice.”

  “I’ll take your word for it. But here’s the thing, Gerry. I always knew that the accident was the result of random events coming together in the most horrible way possible. Call it the engineer’s brain. Compartmentalization. My wife did not have this ability. She held you responsible for everything. Truth be told, she hated you, Gerry. She let that anger take hold, and it became a permanent part of her personality. At times, I thought of the beautiful, kind woman I married, and I could not imagine that this other woman, this hateful mess, was even related to her. She had always enjoyed wine – trips to Napa, tasting parties – but she turned it into a very civilized way to be constantly drunk. She got fat, ugly, fragile. Last year, she had a heart attack. She didn’t survive.”

  Peter is an old school guy, and rather than give in to tears he stops talking. Gerry gives him his time. A minute later, Peter tries to continue.

  “If I have any of that anger left, Gerry, I want it gone. I forgave you a long time ago, but I wanted more than that. I wanted to come here, to see you in the flesh, and make sure you’re doing okay. In a weird way, you’re all I’ve got left.”

  He takes a sip from his coffee and lets Gerry consider his answer.

  “I’ll do you the favor of giving you the hard stuff first. For a long time, the particulars of guilt and innocence did not matter to me. I took a life, Peter. If you have any kind of soul at all, there’s a price to be paid for that. It took years, and a lot of hard work, and still I wasn’t there. But you came at a good time. The lady who started this coffeehouse had similar issues, and we sort of tied our guilts together into a flotation device. And then she introduced me to another lovely woman, who has given me all the affection I have avoided for so many years. Right now, in fact, I would say I’m one of the luckiest men I know. And then I got a photo credit in the Rolling Stone.”

  Peter chuckles. “Quite a coup.”

  “I still have my moments.” I talk to your daughter’s ghost. “But you know how it is. It never goes away completely.”

  “Yes, I know. But if a lingering pain is the price for never forgetting her, I think I’ll take that.”

  After a thoughtful silence, Peter gets up.

  “Well! I better get going.”

  “I hope you’re not… driving in this stuff.”

  “Oh! No. I’ve got a room at Barton’s, up the road. In fact, the lady at the desk is the one who told me you might be here. She said you took the pictures for her Christmas card. You’re quite the star in this town.”

  “I think I’ve taken three pictures of every person who lives here. Peter, could I buy you lunch tomorrow? Or breakfast?”

  “No.” He rubs a hand on his shirt to make sure it’s dry. “From you, I want only a handshake.”

  It’s an old-school shake, deep, firm, a single pump. Peter releases his grip.

  “We’ll never really be friends, Gerry. It would be a little too painful. But I like to think, in a different life, we could have. Promise me you’ll live a good life.”

  “I will certainly try.”

  “Good. Take care.”

  And he’s gone. Gerry stands at the door a long time, sprays of water gusting in, thinking he may never meet a more impressive man. He sets the music stream to a Handel opera and takes in the long, strange vocal lines as he gets back to his mopping.

  Forty One

  Everybody’s busy. People from other states take over the little town, and Gerry and his friends offer them photographs, gambling, coffee and golf. Gerry spends his Saturday on an unusual assignment: a pontoon party on the reservoir for a retiring CEO. It’s a long, hot outing, but the pay is good and it’s a helluva bash. The main dish is grilled salmon with capers. He’s just home and ready to take Sophie for a walk when his phone goes off. It’s Karen.

  “Hi sweetie.”

  “Hello, gorgeous woman.”

  “Hey, do you have time to meet me at Cactus Pete’s? Like the bar at the sports book?”

  “Sure. They’re letting you out of the coffeehouse?”

  “The Bond Girls. They practically kicked me out.”

  “You don’t argue with Amazons. How about an hour? Gotta take the Sophster for a stroll.”

  “Sounds good.”

  He takes Sophie on the minimum route around the complex, runs through the shower and takes the cart to Pete’s. He finds Karen watching a golf tournament.

  “Thinking of taking it up?”

  “Oh hi honey.” She kisses him on the lips and holds his hand. This is becoming a thing, ever since Harry’s death. “I guess I’m trying to figure out why y’all are so hooked on this stuff.”

  “It helps to be very good at it. Well, that explains Kerry, not so much me.”

  She squeezes his hand. “I’ve seen you play. You look good to me.”

  “I guess that’s the hook. Golf always makes you think you can be just a little better at it.”

  Sofia, an ash blonde with kind eyes, comes over to take his drink order, a tequila sunrise.

  “Would you like a Bonanza bar?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Oh!” says Karen. “Such fun. They’re selling five thousand chocolate bars, and one of them has a golden ticket for a car.”

  Gerry laughs. “You realize this has been done before.”

  “Yes, Mr. Wonka. Come on, get one. Besides, I ate mine already, so you can give me some of yours.”

  “Fine. A tequila sunrise and a Bonanza bar.”

  “Right away,” says Sofia.

  “So,” says Gerry. “What’s the occasion?”

  Karen lets go of his hand so she can gesticulate. “I have always made fun of people who talk
about the price of success. I always said, ‘I hope someday I’ll have the chance to see if you’re right.’ And, okay, here I am, madly successful – and they may have been right. But I have an idea. There’s a total eclipse running through Oregon next month. I would love it if you, me and Kerry went there to see it.”

  “Wow. That actually sounds pretty great. It’s certainly a notch on the old photographer’s bucket list. Am I mixing metaphors?”

  “I think you are.” Sofia delivers his sunrise along with a gourmet-looking chocolate bar in an orange wrapper. Gerry hands her a twenty. “So where would we stay?”

  “An old friend of mine runs a riverside campground in Spray, Oregon. If we could just…”

  She’s going to ramble for a while, so Gerry tears the top of the wrapper and takes a bite of the chocolate bar. It’s quite good. Karen stops.

  “Gerry?”

  “Mawgguph?”

  “You’ve got something stuck in your teeth there.”

  He locates the intruder with a finger and tugs it free. It’s a scrap of gold foil.

  “Gerry?”

  He undoes the wrapper from the chocolate bar and finds a sheet of gold foil bearing the Cactus Pete’s logo.

  “Ai-eeh!” Karen squeaks. “Sofia! Sofia!”

  Sofia sets down a drink and trots over. “What? What’s the… Oh my god!”

  “What do we do?” asks Karen.

  Sofia grins. “We do this.” She picks up a phone, hits a button and is suddenly talking through the casino PA. “Ladies and gentlemen, the man at the bar has just won a 2019 Ford Explorer in the Bonanza bar chocolate giveaway!”

  The dozen people in the sport book yell and clap. Within seconds, Dr. Al rolls in with a squad of employees blowing noisemakers and tossing confetti.

  “We have a winner?” he asks. “We have a winner?”

  Sofia points him to the bar.

  “Gerry?” says Al. “Gerry won the car?”

  “I… guess so?” says Gerry.

  Dr. Al takes the golden ticket and studies it. “That’s the one. Holy shit. Come on, kids. Let’s show him what he’s won!”

  The workers form a spontaneous parade and march through the casino, still making noise and tossing confetti. Karen and Gerry follow them into the parking lot. A space at front and center holds a sleek SUV, royal blue with hints of green.

  “Ain’t it purty?” asks Al. “And it’s all yours.” He hands him a key and walks him toward the car. But then he says, “But did you really believe that there was such a thing as a Bonanza chocolate bar giveaway?”

  Gerry turns at the car door and finds the whole crowd laughing. Karen comes to give Al a high five and Gerry a hug.

  “The look on your face!” She turns to the gathering. “Thanks, everyone! You were amazing!”

  They scatter back to the casino. Al grins.

  “That was a great idea, Karen.”

  “But…” says Gerry. “I didn’t win? It’s not mine?”

  “You didn’t win,” says Dr. Al. “But it is yours.”

  “I bought it for you,” says Karen. “But I didn’t want to just give it to you. How boring is that?”

  Gerry’s back to staring at the SUV, whose newmade splendor seems otherworldly.

  “But… but why?”

  “Because I just inherited a buttload of money. And don’t tell me you don’t deserve it, because that’s beside the point.”

  Gerry flashes on Peter Matthews, telling him to live a good life.

  “No,” he says. “I do deserve it. But thank you!”

  He gives Karen a hug. Karen says, “All right! Let’s take this sucker for a spin.”

  Forty Two

  He’s been hitting fat, divoty irons all morning, and it’s pissing him off. He eyes a 140-yard approach on the eleventh and tries a quick fix, straightening his left arm. He carries the club back, swings through and gets a skyhunter that plops onto the green twenty feet from the cup.

  “Finally got one right,” says his partner, who’s been taking little pot-shots all morning. What doesn’t help is the heat, which has Kerry looking even sexier than usual: neat pink shorts and a halter top that could come off with one errant swing.

  Swish. Click.

  Not that she would ever make one. Her ball disappears into the baked blue ceiling and reappears five feet from the flag.

  “Holy shit.”

  “Nothing holy about it,” says Kerry. “I derive my power from Satan.”

  They’re playing without a cart, thanks to the jockette, who’s always after a good workout. Gerry pulls on his bag and catches up to her purposeful stride, feeling the sweat at the back of his shirt.

  “How’s the new car?” she asks.

  “It’s amazing. I don’t think I ever had a car that didn’t have some shitty little thing wrong with it.”

  “Well, maybe one shitty little thing,” she mutters.

  “Yeah. What?”

  “Isn’t it peculiar that someone not your girlfriend gave you a twenty-thousand-dollar car?”

  “She’s celebrating her success.”

  “What, living off her dead famous husband?”

  “Who put her through hell.”

  “Before she abandoned him.”

  Gerry stops next to an oak tree. If he’s going to fight, it’s going to be in the shade.

  “Isn’t this your best friend we’re talking about?”

  “My best friend who wants my boyfriend’s dick.”

  “That is such bullshit. And what about that golf cart you gave me?”

  She drops her bag so she can wave her hands around.

  “That thing was headed for the junkyard. Even there she had to outdo me. I’m sick of feeling like a third wheel in my own so-called relationship. You two are like some weird incestuous brother and sister. And why do you deserve that Explorer? What did you do to earn it?”

  He stops for a moment to slow the back and forth, the growing volume.

  “Last week, I spoke to the father of the girl that I killed, and he told me to enjoy my life. So that’s what I’m doing. I don’t care if I deserve it or not.”

  “That’s your fucking answer for everything. ‘Oh I killed a girl and now I feel bad.’ Boo fucking hoo. Get over it!”

  Gerry paces away, thinking of abandoning ship, but decides that he wants this fight, so he charges back.

  “So let me get this straight. You want me to turn down a twenty-thousand-dollar SUV because it makes you feel uncomfortable?”

  Kerry strikes the classic hands-on-hips pose. He can see the steam rising to her strawberry hair.

  “Keep the car, man-whore. And forget about me. And don’t ever come back to my golf course.”

  She lifts her bag and storms away. Gerry watches her go then walks to the green, because he’s had only one good shot today and he’s damned if he’s going to waste it.

  Gerry is grateful for his cleaning job, but he decides that using his chill session to vent about Kerry would be a mistake. Naturally, Karen keeps looking at him like she knows something’s up. Maybe Kerry’s right about that. They do have a strong connection.

  After he’s done with his mopping, he heads outside to their memorial bench, engraved with the birth and death dates of Harry Optic. The payoff for the hot day is a beautiful warm night. The flats and hills are covered with grass fried to a golden crisp, and a full moon has come out to paint them platinum.

  His other psychic friend, Dr. Al, saw him in the casino and handed him a Dominican cigar, as if he knew that he would need it. He lights it up and aims his exhale at the moon. The cloud sizzles and sparks and then rearranges itself into Angela, wearing a white suit and a straw boater. She smiles and sits next to him.

  “Hi Ger.”

  “Hi Ang.”

  “There’s not much you can do.”

  He chuckles. “Generally, or in this specific circumstance?”

  “Kerry. You and Karen will always have this strong connection. Therefore, Kerry either has t
o develop some trust, or you have to let her go. But don’t worry! Either way, you’ll be fine.”

  He looks at the way her white pants pour over her knee, like vanilla ice cream woven into fabric.

  “You were an Angel, weren’t you?”

  She gives him a broad smile, her teeth glimmering in the moonlight.

  “Yes. For the most part. I had my teenage moments.”

  He takes another drag and lets it loose. It drifts up the street toward the Horseshu Saloon.

  “I guess the good news is, the ball is completely in her court. I sure would miss the sex, though.”

  Angela rolls her golden eyes.

  “Kind of a cold way to put it. You would miss the sex. Like it’s some kind of consumer product.”

  “Oh, this isn’t just sex, young lady. Someday when I’m an old man I will talk of the golfing lady and the best sex I ever had, and I will use every adjective in my thesaurus. She is a gift to mankind. But then, I guess you wouldn’t…”

  He catches the copper smile in Angela’s eyes.

  “Angela!”

  She sighs. “Matthew Espinoza. A talented boy.”

  Angela’s suit turns a scarlet red

  “Really, Gerry? Red? Just because I screwed a boy?”

  “Sorry.” He turns her back to white. “I’m glad you got to have sex.”

  Angela grabs his cigar and takes a puff.

  “How’s my dad?”

  “Doing well. I think he was better equipped to handle this than… your mom.”

  “Mom was a kind person, but all nerve endings. She felt everything, and I can only imagine how this hit her. Life is brutal, Ger, and right now I’d say you’re one of the lucky ones.”

  “I am.”

  Angela’s eyes go silver. She smiles.

  “Gotta go.”

  He’s alone. He takes a drag, watching the tip turn orange. He lets out an exhale like a train leaving the station. Out of the smoke comes Kerry, in blue jeans and a crisp white blouse. You can tell she wanted to look good for him; you can tell it’s not working. Her eyes are raw from crying. As they look at each other, she starts to shake, and crumble, and she lands next to him on the bench. He lifts her onto his lap, the Pietá, and cradles her until she’s able to squeeze out words.

 

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