Red Hot Bikers, Rock Stars and Bad Boys
Page 42
His anxiety rose until his face felt like it would pop from the pressure. Another inmate, Carter, one of the real jackasses and seriously dangerous, strolled up to the phone booths and rapped on the door. “Out, motherfucker,” he said to the guy inside. The man shook his head, and Carter yanked open the door and jerked him out.
Dane glanced over at the guard who watched not fifteen feet away. Another plain Jane, nobody who would get all puffed up and overreact. Carter had already known this, which was why he’d risk it.
The door slid shut, and Dane continued to wait. The ejected inmate cursed to himself and wandered off. None of the others seemed to be ready to go anytime soon. He had to stay cool. The numbers were easy, straightforward, and comforting to simply recite in his mind. He laid them out backward, then rolled them out from the outside in, rearranged them numerically, categorized them by odd and even, added them up. And finally, the man on the end left his booth.
Dane didn’t even let the glass close but rushed inside. The small room was rank, airless, and hot. Nothing like the one with Stella at the truck stop, a lifetime ago. He picked up the black receiver, strung on a metal coil too short to wrap around someone’s neck, and thus not long enough to allow you to stand up straight, or sit on the floor. Dane leaned in as he punched the numbers on the worn gray keypad.
“Your name?” an operator with a whiny voice asked.
“Dane Scoffield.”
After a couple of clicks, he could hear the phone ringing, distantly, like it was in another booth. Once. Twice. Three times. Could be no one home.
Then another click. “You’ve got the good sense to call Good Scents. Please leave a message at the tone.”
“Sowwwy,” the operator said. “Can’t do collect on an answering machine.”
But then, they heard a series of beeps, and a muffled “Crap!” Then “Hello? Hello?”
“I have a collect call from the Missouri State Penitentiary. A Dane Scuffield. Do you accept the charges?”
Scoffield! She’d gotten it wrong.
“Yes! Yes!”
Dane recognized Beatrice’s voice. With another click, the sounds all got louder, and Dane realized the operator was gone.
“Dane, is that you?”
“Yes. Hello, Beatrice.”
“Are you all right? How are you? Are you okay?”
Dane felt himself smiling into the mouthpiece. “As good as can be expected. How is Stella?”
“She’s fine. She’s, crap, let me get her. Just hold on!”
The receiver thunked in his ear. He pictured the phone resting on the glass cabinet, and the register, hiding Stella’s dream book, and the cushioned seats, the rows of bottles, the heavy air laden with mingling perfumes.
The receiver moved, something rubbed on it, then she was there, Stella. “Dane? Dane? Is that you?”
“It’s me, Stell.”
He thought she might have sobbed, or something. Maybe she was having a hard time thinking what to say. “They told me you came to visit.”
“I didn’t have the forms!”
“I know. I didn’t know.” He should have done it different.
“You didn’t know I needed them? Don’t they tell you anything?” Her voice was high, strident.
“No, I mean, I didn’t know if you’d want to come. I wanted to write you first.”
“Oh. But, yes. Of course. And I came.”
“Thank you.”
He could hear her breathing and squeezed his eyes closed, trying to blot out the marked-up wall of the booth, the stench, the noise outside, and the fear that he’d be ripped from the conversation. “Listen, these calls end suddenly sometimes. But I wanted to talk to you. To hear you.”
“Dane, I’ve been so worried.”
“I’m fine in here. It’s not that bad. Really. Sort of boring.”
She forced a laugh. “Boring?”
“Sure, not much to do. Bunch of angry boys all trying to get the best corner of the sandbox.”
“You be careful. I’ve heard such terrible stories.”
He sensed a movement by the door but refused to look. “Don’t believe them. It’s dull as dishwater, and I’m going to get fat.”
She laughed again. “More of you to love.”
He swallowed. “I don’t deserve any of that.”
The silence was long and hard, but finally she said, “So you going to send me that damn form?”
“I’ll send you all twenty.”
“But you only get twenty.”
“Then you get them all.”
She laughed again. “I don’t know what to do without you.”
He had no idea how to answer that. “I’ll get the form to you.” The air changed as the door came open. Still, he didn’t look. “Rec time is over. I’ll call again. Okay? You can write me, make sure I have your numbers. This is the time of day I can call.” A hand gripped his shoulder. He still wouldn’t look.
“Bye, Dane,” she said.
“Bye.” He pushed down on the hook to disconnect and set the receiver into place. Then, and only then, did he turn.
It was the guard. “Time’s up. To the yard.”
Dane exhaled slowly. He kept a grip on the paper he hadn’t needed and whistled lightly as he lined up with the other gray pants and white shirts. This had been the best day in over a month.
***
35: Farewell, Holly
STELLA set the phone back down slowly even though the dial tone had buzzed in her ear for several seconds. He’d sounded so normal. He could have been calling from anywhere. Joe’s. Or his duplex.
Beatrice stepped back through the curtain. “How is he?”
“He sounds fine. Totally normal.”
“That’s good, isn’t it?” Beatrice set a box on the counter. “We want him to be fine.”
“I’m not fine!”
Beatrice went around the cash register to envelop Stella in a hug. “What would make you fine?”
Stella felt swallowed by the cushy embrace and the overpowering smell of Chanel No. 19. “I need to see him. It’s like he isn’t real.”
“Is that what you want? To be near him?”
Stella paced the shop, stopping to straighten a bottle or tuck a bit of tissue paper back into a basket. “Yes, I do. I’m too far.” She’d been too far from Grandma. She wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. Who else in this world did she love?
Crap. Love. She’d thought it. She aligned a bottle of bath splash with the row. Hell of a time to figure that out.
Beatrice was following her. “It’ll be hard, not being around anybody who cares for you, starting over with your man in prison.”
Stella plunked down onto the cushioned bench. “I understand that. And maybe I’ll hate it and leave again. But I have to do something.”
“Well, I’d agree with that. You’re going stir-crazy.”
Stella dropped her forehead into her hands. “And as much as I love Janine, her wedding...it’s awful. I can’t…do anything more. I’ll be her maid of honor, I will. And I’ll be there. But day in and day out. Colors and flowers and picking out doilies.”
“I know. It seems so silly to you with what you have to deal with.”
“It’s important to her, I know. But I can’t do it. It’s so far from what I get.”
“She’ll understand.”
But Janine wouldn’t. She’d be upset, just like in Jefferson, when Stella had shown up at the dress shop and not been completely focused on the twenty gowns that all looked the same. They were all beautiful. Why did anyone have to spend so much energy deciding between necklines?
Stella walked back to Beatrice. “I know it seems like I’ve left a dozen times already and didn’t get out the door. But I think this one is really it. I’m moving to Jefferson. Get a job. A little apartment. I’ll be all right for a while, with the savings.”
“I’ll help in any way I can.”
“I know you will. You’ve been great.” Like the mom she never had.
“Not what you expected.”
“Nothing ever is.” Stella looked around the shop. “I think I’m leaving you in pretty good shape.”
Beatrice sniffed, her eyes red. “You aren’t, and you know it.”
Stella hugged her this time. “I do know. You would have been a great mom, Bea. You should have had kids.”
“Tell that to the men who never married me,” Beatrice sniffed. “But I got you to carry on about. You better call me. And invite me up when you get all settled so I can see your place.”
“I will.” Stella pulled away. “It won’t take me a couple hours to get everything back in the car. Most of it is still in boxes.”
“I’ll write you a letter of recommendation. I’ll go type it right now.”
Beatrice hurried to the back room again, and Stella circled the shop slowly. She’d seen Dane for the first time right there. And this was where they’d agreed to meet on the tower. No place would ever mean more to her. It wasn’t going to work out with Dane, she could see that. Twelve years was just too much. But for now, she might as well go. Play it out for a bit longer. She did love him, though she’d never said it. And that would carry her through, until it couldn’t anymore.
*
Stella roared out of Holly early the next morning, Beatrice waving from the porch, instructed to tell Dane how to find Stella if he called Good Scents again. She’d already written him a letter and left it in the mailbox, saying the same thing. She felt confident now that they’d be in contact more often, even if the paperwork meant it would be a while before she could visit him.
The three hours passed slowly, though she did take time to walk through the truck stop outside Branson where they’d cleaned up that last day together. She bought another one of the green “Show-Me State” shirts and kept it in her lap the rest of the drive. She only had one set of pictures of them together, taken that same day in a photo booth at a restaurant, a strip of four shots in black and white. Now she clipped it to the rear-view mirror. She looked frightful in them, hair loose and down, no makeup, but happy. Her head rested against Dane’s shoulder as he stared straight into the camera in one. In another, they kissed. One was blurry as he pretended to attack her. In the last, you could only see his head and back as he grabbed her.
Stella pulled off at a dime store on the outskirts of Jefferson City around lunchtime, hoping to pick up a newspaper for help-wanted ads and maybe a place to rent. The city wasn’t huge like normal state capitals, not that she’d been to many, but it was large enough to get lost in. She didn’t know what areas to look in, what might be expensive or unsafe.
Inside she spotted a simple black frame, long and skinny like her strip of pictures, so she took it to the counter. A teenager just out of high school, or a dropout maybe, sat on a stool blowing big pink bubbles. Her hair was teased, held in place by a lace headband. Stella had never seen anything like it. “Your hair,” she said. “Wow.”
The girl grasped a chunk of it and crunched it with her hand. “Madonna style. Didn’t you see her on MTV? The Music Awards?”
At Stella’s confused stare, she pulled out a magazine. “Last month. ‘Like a Virgin.’” On the cover was a woman in white underwear, a big poofy skirt, and her hair was just like this girl’s—full of stiff waves.
“Huh.” She’d been dealing with Dane’s arrest and waiting for the hearing. Holly didn’t have MTV anyway. They didn’t even have cable yet.
“That’ll be three dollars,” she said, sticking the frame in the bag. “Iff’n you want the magazine too, it’ll be five.”
“That’s okay.” She passed over the bills, taking one more glance at the cover. She didn’t have time for music or scrunched-up hair. She needed a place to live, and a job. “So where are there apartments? Or some place to rent?”
The girl cracked her gum. “I dunno. All over. Cheap near the university, but kind of ratty. Southside is nice.”
Stella picked up the bag. “Okay, thanks.” Not much, but it was something.
She drove to the center of town, slowing as she passed the walls of the prison. A different guard was at the visitor gate. Hopefully no one would remember her by the time she went back. She paused at the stop sign, staring up at the guard tower. That man could see her Dane, but she couldn’t. He took for granted, maybe even hated, the very view she longed for.
***
36: Sinners’ Cafe
STELLA plopped down on the hotel bed, the newspaper spread in front of her. She’d passed a couple of Help Wanted signs on the drive through town but still wasn’t sure how to find a place. That probably needed to come first, as it wasn’t safe to leave her life’s possessions in her car. She’d chosen a fancier hotel in hopes the parking garage would be safer than some motel lot, even though the sixty dollars a night would cut through her fund in a hurry.
Maybe the job was a priority. She rolled onto her back. Beatrice hadn’t heard from Dane that day. Stella left the number of her hotel and told her to ask how often he got a chance to call. It might only be once a week.
She was anxious to get somewhere permanent and to get into some routine where she could predictably be home when he could call, and that she would be off during visiting hours.
Stella turned back to the newspaper. Not many duplexes in her price range. She’d just have to call and go looking. She flipped back to the jobs. Not much she was qualified for. She’d hoped for another small shop. One small classified ad caught her attention. “Sinners’ Cafe. Need waitress. Will train. Night hours. Flexible weekends.”
Stella had waited tables a time or two. Not her favorite thing, but she could manage until something else came up. Plus, she was starving. Might as well go check out the place.
She asked the front desk for directions and took off again through town, driving slowly to learn the names of streets and to spot any signs for rentals. She almost missed the cafe, a sprawling glass building with a cracked unpainted parking lot.
A giant wooden sign, painted garishly red, formed a heart. A neon arrow flashed in alternating colors to cross the surface. “Sinners’ Cafe” crackled in bright white on a rectangle below. Stella parked the car and glanced back at the boxes stuffed in her backseat. This place made her nervous. Maybe she should just drive away.
But her stomach rumbled, and a pair of men walking out the door didn’t seem too scary, just blue-collar types like she’d seen every day in Holly. So she carefully locked all the doors and crossed the lot to the door.
As soon as she stepped inside, she knew she was overdressed. Her black skirt and heels did not fit in whatsoever. The diners all wore work shirts and jeans, or overalls. Even the women were dressed way down, sweats and T-shirts. The waitresses were mostly older, in navy-blue skirts with white aprons and silly caps. A sixty-something woman with a puff of white hair and a badge that proclaimed her name as “Rennie” gestured to an empty booth along the windows. “Take that one, lovey,” she said, her accent clearly not Missouri, almost Irish.
Stella slid onto the cold red vinyl, shiny and cracked. The tables were all bright blue with embedded sparkles. The place looked like it coughed glitter, although seriously worn around the edges. She half expected girls to come out in roller skates, but whoever owned the Sinners’ Cafe seemed to want the help to be matronly. Stella didn’t stand much of a chance.
She spread the paper on the table, ready to cross out the circled classified. Rennie approached with her pad, spotting the marks before Stella could close it. “You here about the job?” She whirled around. “Corgie! You got an applicant!”
“Wait, I’m not sure,” Stella sputtered. “I might be wrong.” She acutely felt her ill-chosen outfit, and she flooded hot with anxiety.
Another waitress stopped to stare, a pitcher in each hand. This one was younger, late twenties, her eyebrows shaved and penciled back in
for a dramatic arch that made her look angry. “What is it, then? You applying or not?”
Stella wanted to sink into the red vinyl. Were the waitresses always all up in everything?
“Corgie!” Rennie called again. “You comin’?”
A man in a white cook’s hat stuck his head through the opening between the bar and the kitchen. “Woman, I’m about to burn some burgers.” He disappeared again.
“He’ll be out shortly. You want a drink while you wait?”
Stella shook her head. “I’m fine.” Her stomach rumbled again. She wouldn’t be eating now, it seemed.
“I’ll bring you some water. You look like you’re about to faint clean away.” She stuck her pad into a pocket of her apron. “Don’t worry about Corgie. He don’t bite, despite the name.” She burst out laughing, and Stella wondered what sort of freak show she had just entered. Maybe she should run for it.
A man in the booth in front of her turned around in his seat. “Whooeee, I hope he hires this one!” he said.
The younger waitress strolled back by and acted like she might dump the pitcher on his head from behind. “Say that around Corgie, and he’ll throw your sorry ass out.”
“Touchy, touchy,” the man said.
Obviously the place had a core of regulars. Stella hadn’t expected such familiarity, something you’d see in Holly, in a big city. Maybe things really were the same everywhere.