To have no worries ... sometimes being a grownup sucked. Liddy followed Marian past a massive play structure—deserted in the swelter of early afternoon—and around brightly painted construction barriers on South Linn. Marian turned into the large public library.
Was that where she worked? Marian the Librarian? Swear to freakin’ god, Liddy thought, this town is small.
It was a long walk to her rented house on North Dodge. Her cotton tank was a second skin by the end of the first block, but the iced mocha was wonderful going down. At least they took their coffee seriously.
The streets were shady and most of the yards brimmed with lush gardens, so as walks went, it didn’t suck. What else would she do with her time?
Dating was out of the question. She was not interested in dating right now, and certainly not any of the predators at the coffeehouse.
It was annoying, being taken for granted. She’d been taken for granted by men before she’d realized she was a lesbian. Liking women did not make her see why she should stop being annoyed.
She was wearing an old top and even older cutoffs. Her hair looked like she’d slept on it wet, which she had. And still the looks, the overt curiosity.
Maybe she screamed “sexy” and “dyke.” She’d been told often that she did, so often it felt like an accusation, not a compliment. But she didn’t think she damn well screamed “available for the asking,” too. Swear to freakin’ god, boobs made even lesbians stupid.
She was halfway home when she realized she’d forgotten to look for a store that sold candles. Telegraph Avenue at home would have offered a half-dozen street vendors, but here she’d have to make a bigger effort, obviously. The furnished house had a funky smell of mice and mothballs. Something with the aroma of the ocean would be relaxing and useful. It was a long, long way to the nearest tide.
The house smelled old and dead and she was not either of those things, even if she felt like it sometimes.
She stopped walking for a moment, letting the waves of anger subside. She’d thought miles and fucking miles of fucking cornfields would be far enough away from the past. Far enough away that she’d stop being mad and hurt and crushed. That she’d start feeling like she could smile and not cry.
She needed to destroy something but lacked a viable target. If Jerry Falwell had appeared in front of her right then she’d have cheerfully dismembered him and then beat his fascist cronies to death with his bones.
What are you doing in Iowa fucking City, Liddy? She pressed one hand over her eyes and took a long, steadying breath. To do a job, she reminded herself. If she did it well it could be a good future.
Swear to freakin’ god, she was not going to be thirty and still wondering what she wanted to be when she grew up.
She trudged up the driveway of her temporary home. The living room of the house was Iowa City rental chic. What matched was broken while the ugliest furniture would survive the apocalypse, forever pristine. Rates were low for summer and the lease was up July 31 when students would flood the town again. By then Liddy hoped to be home in Berkeley, where she belonged, her laptop overflowing with notes and citations.
She snapped on the boombox. Groove Armada oozed over the tick of a single clock and the drone of traffic on the busy street outside. Oatmeal and bananas for dinner?
She dialed up her voicemail out of habit and flinched at the sound of her mother’s amplified voice.
“Daddy and I are just wondering how you are. Have you looked up my cousin Selma yet? Cedar Rapids is only thirty-five miles. You take the interstate—”
She punched ahead thirty seconds.
“Then you turn left onto Runnymede. Daddy can send you the map if you need it. Are you eating something more than oatmeal?
We love you, honey. Call when you get the chance.” It was her first and only message since her arrival four days ago, so she saved it. She could listen again later and pretend she actually had a reason for voice mail.
She was only a few steps from the phone when it chirped. She snatched up the handset.
“This is Faye with University Library Services. I’m calling to let you know that eight of the nine texts you requested have arrived. They’ll be held under your name for the next four days.”
“Oh.” Liddy was at a loss for words. “You actually called.”
“We always do, as you should have been informed—”
“It’s okay. Nobody’s ever called before, that’s all.”
“Really? But it’s our policy. Never?”
“Oh, I’m new. Nobody at home ever called, I mean. In California.”
“Oh, I see.” Incredulity changed to understanding. There was even a nuance of pity in the librarian’s voice.
“How late are you open tonight?”
“Until eight on Wednesdays.”
“Great.” She could grab the books, get some dinner out for a change. Then come home and settle in to read something useful.
The rest of the day no longer seemed so bleak. At least she would get some work done toward claiming that first paycheck. She was here to work.
She’d had her doubts that the in-window air conditioning unit had any effect at all until she stepped outside just after seven. The humidity descended on her shoulders like a blanket and sweat instantly prickled the length of her back.
She stood in the shade of the house for minute, glaring at the Hummer. It had been fun to drive across country. She’d slept in it three nights in Wal-Mart parking lots. She’d cruised past big rigs and RVs on steep grades.
It barely fit in the narrow two-track cement driveway, and there was no street parking. And it got thirteen miles to the gallon, if she was lucky.
Leave it to her absentee biological father to make a gesture like this: lavish, conspicuous, yet undeniably fun. He wanted her to love the outdoors the way he did, routinely ignoring the fact that she was a city girl down to the tips of her pink-tinted toenails. The insurance was astronomical and there were times when she couldn’t afford to fill the thirty-two gallon tank. It was not the vehicle of a Master in History with no firm job prospects.
Her mother, when she’d seen it, had simply said, “How typical of Jim.” Liddy heard every bounced child-support check in her mother’s sigh.
Daddy, her mother’s second husband, had helped her explore all its little gadgets, then advised her to sell it and pay off her student loans.
She steeled herself for the tight squeeze through the fence posts at the base of the driveway. A scratch would probably cost a thousand bucks to repair. Her biological father was there at the major birth-days and events like college graduation, but not around for the little things. He never had been. Jason and Jeanine, being older, were long used to asking him for stuff, but she had never felt enough like his daughter to do that. She’d been two months old when her mother had filed for divorce.
She had the behemoth halfway out of the driveway when the next spate of traffic reached her. Aware she was holding up the busy street, she continued inching out and told herself she could do this every day. She would not sell her car just because it was too big for Iowa fucking City. She was only here for the summer.
Nobody honked, but she felt as if gun sights were focused on her California license plates.
Free at last, she headed toward campus, narrowly avoiding a head-on with a bus. The streets were too narrow.
She managed to find two adjacent parking spaces in the lot next to the university’s main library. She jammed a Cal Bears cap over her hair, pulled her ponytail through the back and welcomed the cool interior.
Her reserved books were located and checked out to her with alacrity. Scanning the bibliography of the first book she saw several items she ought to look for. Wandering through the musty stacks she felt calm again. Libraries had that effect on her.
She was startled when the lights flickered. A glance at her watch told her it was nearly eight. She took her new list of needed texts to the research desk. At least the lines were short. She’d be
spoiled when she got home to Cal again. Stop that, she thought. You’re not a Cal student any longer, remember?
“This one I can’t help you with. It’s out to a professor and they can keep a book indefinitely.” The slightly swishy reference librarian seemed genuinely regretful. “Technically they have to bring it back, but short of us sending a security guard to their office, we can’t really force the issue.”
“Oh, well, dang. I saw in the catalog it’s the only copy.”
“Try the P.L. They have a lot of general medical reference.”
“P.L.?”
“Public library. It’s just off the Ped Mall.”
“Oh, really? Yeah, I guess it’s worth stopping in.” She remembered now Marian the Librarian turning into the sizable building.
“Plus they have fiction and videos.”
“There’s an idea.” Liddy thanked him for the advice, checked out the three additional books she’d decided on, and headed into the sunset swelter.
Parking the Hummer near the Pedestrian Mall was another chore. Maybe she should settle her student loans and buy something more practical. One of those hybrids that would get her home to California on one tank of gas, maybe. Or a nice Jeep. A Jeep could be fun and practical. Of course it would never double as a moving van.
The Hummer had held a ton of crap and left plenty of room for sleeping, even if one morning she’d woken up with the winch in her back.
Standing in the nonfiction area, she realized her reference number for the text was the Library of Congress method and of course the public library used the Dewey Decimal System. There were no terminals free to look it up again and suddenly the rows seemed very long. She could guess roughly where the book ought to be, but sharp hunger pangs were making it hard to think.
She knew closing time had to be fast approaching. Discouraged, she almost left, but her roaming glance caught sight of a sign for the reference desk. The librarians would have their own terminals.
The woman at the desk was huddled over something as Liddy approached, but she abruptly looked up. Oh, Liddy thought in surprise. Marian again.
“May I help you find a resource?”
If Marian recognized her it didn’t show. “I have a Library of Congress number for something I need,” she began hesitantly.
“The title is good enough. Allow me to look up the shelf location for you, if we have it.” Marian took the proffered paper and tapped rapidly on her keyboard. “We do, and I show it on the shelf. And this . . .” She wrote a number series neatly on the paper. “This is your call number.”
Encouraged, Liddy refused the businesslike offer to help her find it, and hurried away after pleased thanks. She thumbed through the book quickly. Yes, it would be useful. Great bibliography on women and medical ethics, too. Her employer was bound to be interested in that topic.
Marian the Librarian smiled pleasantly when Liddy returned.
“Did you find everything you were interested in?”
“Yes, thank you. I don’t have a library card, though.”
“No problem. Do you have a valid driver’s license?”
“Yes, but California.” She dug in her pocket.
“As long as it’s current. You need a local address, even if it’s temporary. Here’s the form. Do you need a pen?”
“Nope.” She flipped open her little billfold that held her license and credit card.
Marian glanced at the license, then said, “Actually, I’m not the one to show that to. When you’ve completed the form you can take it to the circulation desk and they’ll give you the card and check out the book to you. That’s when you’ll need your ID.”
“How long can I have this book for, do you know?”
“Two renewals for four weeks can be completed online as long as it hasn’t been reserved by someone else. And I’m pretty sure this one won’t be in high demand. The total time, therefore, would be twelve weeks, including the initial checkout period.” Liddy blinked, not used to such ready information so clearly provided. “That will cover my stay here, thank you.” She felt awkward, for just a moment, as if she should acknowledge their earlier meeting. Finally, she gestured a wave with the book.
“Happy reading.” Marian looked behind Liddy. “May I help you find a resource?”
“I’m still looking for a phone number in Dallas.” As she walked toward the checkout area Liddy was aware of the measured, patient tone of Marian’s voice, completely at odds with the rude edge of the woman she was helping.
There was not enough money on the planet to make her work with the public, Liddy thought. Swear to freakin’ god.
She was out on the sidewalk before she identified a slight annoy-ance that Marian the Librarian had not shown any sign she’d recognized Liddy. She was tired of being ogled, true. But she was not used to being forgotten.
She didn’t want to go home, not yet. Plus she was starving. She dropped the book at the Hummer and walked down the mall to Prairie Lights Bookstore. They had great muffins in the café and creative protein drinks, too. The boa constrictors seemed to prefer the Java House, so she was likely not going to be accosted at the bookstore. Like libraries, bookstores were places she could lose all track of time. She’d grab a muffin and java, then browse.
To her dismay she hadn’t even reached the top of the first flight of stairs when she heard, “That’s her.”
“God, Amy was right.”
Fuck. Fuck and fuck it, she was not going to be hit on. Not in a bookstore. The first and last time she’d let that happen had turned out badly. It was why she wasn’t in California this summer.
She turned tail and went back out onto the darkening street, nearly knocking into a plump blonde. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay, no harm done.” At least the woman’s smile wasn’t predatory. Nothing like ... “Excuse me.” Liddy realized she was blocking the doorway. “Sorry.”
“Blessed be.” With a nod the blonde went into the store. Liddy let the door swing shut behind her.
When she heard the door reopen and then that woman Ellie’s unmistakable Midwest twang, she accelerated toward the cover of the trees and shops. There had been a candle and perfume store marked in the online tourist map. It might still be open. She bolted the length of one block and skittered around the corner at the fountain.
She was in luck. Sandalwood wafted into the damp night from Soap Opera’s open door. Liddy greeted the clerk and turned her attention to the vast array of candles. Something that smelled like the ocean would be perfect.
After a half-dozen sniffs of different varieties she could no longer tell one from another. She went with “Landward Breeze” because it didn’t make her nose itch, then a bottle of rosemary and ginger body wash seemed exactly what she needed. At the checkout counter, she snagged a bag of lavender potpourri.
The pale teenager at the register abruptly came to life. “We’re having a special on our homemade musk. A free infusion if you spend twenty-five dollars. Would you like to test it?” Liddy shrugged and leaned over the open vial for a sniff. It was too much. She recoiled and shook her head vehemently. “No, not for me.”
The clerk gave her an odd look as she rung up the purchases. Not quickly enough Liddy escaped into the twilight.
That scent ... She had never, ever wanted to smell it again. Not in her hair, her sheets, her pillows. Not in the closet, in a drawer, unexpectedly inside a jacket. That scent ... Holy shit, she hated it.
To her horror, she felt a treacherous throb between her legs, and visions tortured her, reminded her of how she had been with that scent filling her head.
She realized she was nearly running, even though there were no demons here to pursue her. That was why she was two thousand fucking miles from home. Nothing here was supposed to remind her of ... that lying, manipulative bitch.
Nearly blind with anger and heartbreak, she stumbled to a stop in the parking lot near the library. Shaking, she put one hand on a nearby wall. The brick surface was still warm to the touch
.
The night was humid and sticky. Home was so far away.
She wanted to kill something. Someone.
She slapped the brick with her open palm, but it wasn’t enough.
With a gasp, she leapt into self-defense stance, then without hesita-tion twirled into a roundhouse kick. The sole of her Teva made a satisfying thud against the wall. Again.
Again.
That bitch had to get out of her head sometime.
“R,” she said under her breath in time with her next kick. More letters for every kick, trying to obliterate the name that went with the memory of that smell. She wanted to stomp out the image cut into her brain of the woman with the cheap smile and empty soul.
Robyn fucking Vaughn, that bitch.
3
Wide-eyed, Marian stood at the back corner of the library, trans-fixed by the sight of the woman Ellie called Fresh Meat kicking the hell out of the building.
It was mesmerizing.
Such precision and skill, and clearly a great deal of rage. She was chanting something as she kicked, as if it were a ritual of purification.
Careful not to disturb the angry, focused woman, Marian made her way down the Ped Mall toward the Java House. A second coffee would be overindulgent, but today it was medicinal. When the rhythmic thumping abruptly ceased, she turned to check that everything was okay. All she saw was the departing back of the mystery woman disappearing into the falling dark. Wow. Not that she was quite such a mystery any longer, however.
Rounding the corner, she saw the line at the Java House was out the door. Damn, another block to Prairie Lights, then. It was smaller, but often less crowded. She crossed the street, wilting at the heat rising from the asphalt. Perspiring more than she liked, Marian hurried up the stairs to the bookstore’s café, eager for a decaf mocha to end the longest Wednesday of her life.
“Marian!”
She waved to Carrie and Jersey, and realized once she was in the line that Terry was waiting at the counter for her order. Good, she’d have some pleasant conversation to take her mind off her wretched day.
Terry lifted her heavy gray hair off her neck. “Hot enough for ya?”
One Degree of Separation Page 3