by Laura Briggs
“You know,” said Tonni, scraping the remains of pot roast into a slop bucket, “there’s a dress in the shop downtown that would be just perfect for you. It’s just about your size, I think. I saw it hanging on the front rack yesterday. Yellow. Just the perfect color for you.” She shoved the plate into one of the dishwasher racks.
Drew blushed. “I don’t know if I’m up for the dance,” she said. “I don’t even know if I’ll still be here in a few days. And a long evening with strangers — even friendly ones —”
Tonni pursed her lips, a look of disappointment on her face. “That’s too bad,” she said. Nothing else followed this statement as she scraped the remains of the rice into the same pail.
“Still,” she said, “I’d think about that dress if I were you. Pretty style, even if you don’t wear it until you get home.” She placed the pan in the racks as well.
The thought of home left a cold feeling in the pit of Drew’s stomach. After all, ‘home’ as she had known it was now rented to someone else. A podiatrist with two kids, her former landlord had mentioned when she dropped off the keys.
“I should be going,” she said. “Thank you for dinner,” she continued. “It was delicious. Really delicious.”
Tonni patted her arm. “You just remember that your mama has a good heart,” she said. “Don’t be listening to everything everyone tells you.” With a final smile, she turned back to the stack of dishes as Drew moved towards the front door.
When she stepped outside, the first stars were visible on the horizon as the sunset colors faded into dusk. A rare sight for Drew in a lifetime of Boston’s city haze; for a moment she stood there staring as if mesmerized by the sight.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” J.P. was climbing up the steps. He leaned against the rail beside her.
“Pretty,” she agreed. “I guess I forget there are places in the world where you see this all the time. For me, it was just in the summer. When I went to the lake where my grandparents had this cabin...” She realized she was rambling, cutting the story short as a result.
“Don’t stop,” he said. “Where was it? Down on the coast?” His tone reminded her of the friendly, helpful one from when she first walked into the restaurant, a confused figure in search of a stranger.
“The wilderness of Virginia, actually,” she answered. She wrapped her hand around the rail, prepared to slip down the steps and towards her car.
“About the dance,” he said. “I think you should go. This morning, in the restaurant, I was going to tell you that. To ask you, actually.”
“Ask me what?” The full meaning of his words struck her, as well as her own reasons for lingering so long at the counter at lunchtime. She was blushing wildly now, grateful that he couldn’t see it in the gloom.
“Ask you to come with me.” He spoke the words naturally, without any hesitation.
After a moment, she answered, “Sure. I would like that.” A pleasant little shiver traveled through her frame at the picture of herself dancing with someone, in a dress other than the everyday one packed in her luggage.
A celebration; a holiday spent with fun and happiness instead of the depressing realization that life was falling apart. The thought of a New Year’s dance seemed more magical than last year’s holiday spent sorting through her parents’ old tax papers and the winter clothes stored in the guest room closet.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d say yes. I know that I’m a little rough compared to the Boston crowd. Not exactly the same customs down here in Texas.”
“Nobody said that was bad,” said Drew, defensively, feeling the flush in her cheeks deepen. She rubbed her neck with one hand. “It just — takes some adjustment for me.”
“You ever been to a dance like this?” he asked. “I don’t mean one of those hip-hop raves or club scenes —”
“I was enrolled in cotillion when I was thirteen,” she answered. “Does that help?”
He laughed. A warm, friendly sound that was accompanied by one hand slapping against the rails. “I guess we’ll make do,” he said.
She lingered there, her arm around the post. Aware that he was watching her in the same gaze as the stars; aware that she was fixed on him from the corner of her eye as the horizon became a blur.
“If something happens,” he said, in the silence, “you know you can come out here. If you get lonely if — well, if you wind up there by yourself.”
She glanced at him. “What are you saying?” she said. “Are you saying if Arlene and I have a — a falling out or something?”
“No, that’s not exactly what I meant,” he began.
“Then are you saying we can’t get along?” She pictured Arlene slinging her from the trailer, tossing her bag after her. The flush in her cheeks became one of indignation over the ludicrous picture.
“No, I’m not,” he insisted. “I’m just saying — if you want somebody —”
“I have somebody, all right?” she answered. “Why does everybody keep thinking this is going to fail? There is nothing wrong with the relationship I have with Arlene. We’re fine.” As she spoke, she climbed down the steps and crossed swiftly towards her car, aware that J.P. was following.
“Nobody said there was!” A note of irritation had crept into his voice. He sounded surprised by her reaction, although she couldn’t imagine why. Wouldn’t he be offended if a stranger criticized his relationship with — well, with someone he was supposed to be getting to know?
“Thanks for the lovely evening,” she called back, pressing the button to unlock her car door. In the mirror, she could see J.P.’s scowl reflected, a look of frustration on his face. Or exasperation — not that it mattered to her.
He was watching her as she climbed into the car, slamming the door. Through the partly rolled-down window, she could hear the sound of Tonni’s voice from inside the ranch house as J.P. turned towards it again.
“She seems like a real nice girl, J.P.” The cheerful words were lost to Drew’s ears as she rumbled down the ranch driveway towards home.
Chapter Fourteen.
“Damn that phone!” Arlene unhooked it from the base on the third ring, letting the receiver clatter to the floor. She pressed the button, relegating the harassed voice on the other end to a dial tone.
Bills were littered across the table — most stamped ‘overdue’ — along with coffee rings from Arlene’s pot of black brew. This was the sight that greeted Drew when she appeared from her morning shower.
“What happened?” she gasped. Stumbling over a pile of clothes in the hallway, facing the ransacked appearance of the cabinets and shelves in the living room and the overturned metal box on the kitchen table.
“I’m looking for something,” Arlene answered. She was crouched down, poking around under the fridge with a broom. “I dropped a credit card around here somewhere. It’s the only one not maxed out right now.”
Drew lifted one of the bills, scanning its lines with a swift glance. “Arlene,” she said, “this is two months old. How do you even still have power at this point?”
“They’re forgiving at the local co-op,” she answered, dusting off her knees.
“And the phone?” Drew glanced over her shoulder at the cord snaking towards the floor, where the protesting beep of disconnect could be heard.
“Just some bill collector who thinks being in the credit business is the end-all, next to the Grim Reaper,” answered Arlene, frustration evident in her tone as she blew a strand of red hair from her face.
The night before, Drew had returned to find the lights in the trailer dark at nine o’ clock. She had stumbled over Arlene’s boots in the hallway and her purse on the living room floor. She was beginning to feel the way she knew Priscilla must have felt in her trying teenage years, when jackets and book bags littered the floor of their apartment.
“It’s time for a spring cleaning anyway,” said Arlene, reflectively. She eased herself into a kitchen chair, poking the broom’s bristles at the nearest dust bunnies rolling f
rom the disturbed surface beneath the fridge.
Drew sat down across from her. “Tell me a little about the Midnight Stroll,” she said. “It’s tonight. And I was thinking about going —”
“You were ever thinking about not going?” Arlene asked. “Now that’s not healthy. Not for a girl of your age to be skipping out on an event like this one. Half the boys from three counties wide will be asking you to take a turn on the floor. And a little more if you don’t watch.” This with a subtle wink as she gathered up the bills and stuffed them in an old cookie tin again.
Drew started to mention J.P. then decided against it. She would see them there and see that it was an innocent-enough invitation in itself. “So you think I should go buy something pretty and step out on the town?” she asked, drawing her feet onto the chair as she wrapped her arms around her knees.
“I’ll even do your hair,” said Arlene.
*****
Arlene was true to her word and kept the hairspray to a minimum in deference to Drew’s taste. Soft waves of hair were swept up in a French knot of multiple curls and twists which Drew admired in a double reflection from Arlene’s bedroom mirror to a hand mirror.
“Perfect,” said Arlene, tucking a stray curl out of sight. “Nothing big, since you’ve got such a little face. Wouldn’t do to pile it on.” She gave her can of hairspray a vigorous shake, then applied it liberally to the updo as Drew grimaced.
Arlene’s own hair was fluffed into a wild array of reddish curls, a sequined maroon skirt and blouse ensemble offset by loads of silver jewelry embedded with large blue rhinestones. Her wildly embellished “dance boots” protruded from beneath the flounce trim, in contrast to Drew’s much-maligned brown pair.
She had taken Tonni’s advice and wandered downtown to the dress shop in search of something to wear. Sliding the hangers along the rack, she examined a filmy pink cocktail gown and a sequined turquoise before she saw the yellow one J.P.’s mother had mentioned. A brilliant shade of warm yellow, a wraparound waist and halter neckline. Studying it for a moment, she lifted it and held it up to her body before the shop’s mirror.
It was her size. And surprisingly enough, her shade of yellow, too.
Now, adjusting the skirt before Arlene’s mirror, she was pleased with the effect as the fabric swished in soft layers with her movement. Definitely better than the semi-casual velvet one packed in the bottom of her travel bag. Although she still wasn’t certain about the choice of boots instead of heels, something which Arlene assured her was appropriate. Expected was the term she used.
“What about jewelry?” Arlene inspected her critically. “You need a little somethin’ there. Maybe I got one you could wear.” She rummaged through a little cardboard box open on the dresser as bulky pieces of turquoise and onyx spilled onto the surface.
“I have something,” said Drew, remembering the box in her travel bag. She dug around beneath the folded clothes until her hand touched Priscilla’s jewelry box.
She opened it, glancing at the small pieces inside, mostly earrings and pendants on chains, gifts from Willis and a few cheap gifts from Drew as a child. She lifted a chain with a clear plastic orb dangling from it, a little yellow bird of resin suspended in the center as if in flight.
A Mother’s Day gift, she remembered. She had picked it out with her father’s help one afternoon in a department store. The memory of wrapping it in colored tissue paper and coloring Priscilla a card with crayons floated to the surface as she held it in her hand.
“This one,” she said. Arlene glanced at it and sniffed.
“Awfully puny, isn’t it?” she commented. “You need something bigger — but I see you don’t have much in that box.”
Drew shook her head. “This one is fine,” she said. “Would you fasten it for me?”
She turned around as Arlene slipped the chain around her neck and looped the clasp in place. The plastic ornament settled just below the hollow of Drew’s throat, the bird an almost identical shade of yellow as the dress.
In the mirror’s reflection, she and Arlene were both visible for a moment. Her dark blond hair like honey, Arlene’s flame of red curls and features softened by time. Not a sign of resemblance between them at this moment; Drew stifled a laugh at the thought that they were truly mother and daughter despite the differences between them. One might say that Priscilla bore a stronger resemblance to her at this moment, her straight, thin frame and formal hairstyle.
“Let’s go knock ‘em out,” said Arlene, patting Drew’s shoulders as if those words were a pep talk preceding the conquering battle.
The feed barn was strung with clear lights resembling stars, extending from peak to eaves, traveling around the windows and open double doors revealing the glow of lights and dance floor within. It was startlingly lovely to Drew’s eyes as Arlene’s Cadillac pulled into an empty space in the crowded lot outside. Strains of music were carried on the breeze, something lively played on a high fiddle note.
She climbed out of the passenger’s seat and followed Arlene towards the sound, offering a friendly smile to the guests who cast a curious glance her way as they lingered just outside the light.
“Now, remember, you don’t need a wingman,” said Arlene, in a firm tone. Before Drew’s confused mind could make sense of this statement, Arlene disappeared into the main body of the crowd, her red hair bobbing in the distance amidst cowboy hats and hairspray styles.
Wingman? Was she being abandoned at a party — by her own mother? Drew’s mouth fell open slightly, but there was no need for sounds of dismay since no one who cared could hear her.
“Well, hey there — if it isn’t Arlene’s girl from the diner.” A man conversing in a group outside the ring of dancers noticed Drew. “You look just like your mama in her younger days. Just the same image.” His voice took on a soft and sentimental tone.
“Thanks,” said Drew, a trifle hesitant. She recognized him as one of the customers in the Dry Street Barbecue the day she and Arlene had lunch there. Blushing slightly in response to his admiring glance, she hurried onwards into the pressing crowd near the lighted dance floor.
Couples were swinging apart and drifting together again, moving to and fro to the sound of a Texas swing orchestra. Boots thudding against the board floor, the shuffling sound of sand beneath the glow of yellow bulbs strung above the room like chains of vast glowing fireflies.
She didn’t see J.P. among them — he was supposed to meet her here, given Drew’s reluctance to have him pick her up and explain it to Arlene. She felt a twinge of disappointment as she stood there watching the dancers. On the other side of the room, Arlene was visibly engaged in flirtation with a mustached stranger in a large cowboy hat.
With a sigh, Drew turned away and moved in the direction of the folding chairs which served for “out of turn” dancers. She passed a man in a feed cap, who dipped its brim as she passed by.
“Evening. You new around these parts?” He inquired in genial tones.
“Yeah,” she answered, still edging away. “I’m ... just visiting.” There was no real desire on her part to retell the story of her connection with Arlene again and again.
“Well, ain’t it nice that you could come out here for the dance,” he said, his smile becoming a little too interested for Drew’s taste as he moved closer.
“Care to dance?”
This inquiry wasn’t from the stranger, but from J.P.’s familiar voice. He approached from behind her, visible as she turned around.
“Yes,” she answered. “I’d love to.” She accepted the hand he held out and let him draw her towards the dance floor as the stranger’s smile flattened.
The lively floor scene had become slower as the band switched to a waltz, making Drew grateful for her cotillion experience in the past. J.P., apparently, had at least some instruction in the art of formal dance; his fingers curved naturally around her hand, the other five sliding into position along her back. Guiding her forward into the midst of other couples swaying beneat
h the lights.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said. “Fence was down on the side forty. Had to get cleaned up before I came here, so I lost a little time.”
His shirt was white, his jeans almost spotless in appearance, despite the frayed seams and worn patches — she assumed this was the closest J.P. came to dressing up for Cactus Flats events.
“That’s fine,” she answered. “Anyway, I made it on time.”
“Only because you wouldn’t let me give you a ride,” he said. “That’s not usually how things are done around here, you know. Maybe in Boston, a guy’s okay with his date driving herself somewhere and picking up the check —”
“I kind of guessed it wasn’t Texas’s style,” she said. “I’m sorry. Forgive me?”
She could tell he was hiding a smile as he turned his face in the direction of the band. “I guess so,” he answered. “Just don’t repeat the offense. Twice, and they can fine you for that around these parts.”
She didn’t reply, resisting the urge to snort with laughter. The couples around them were taking notice with the lazy glances of people too absorbed in their moment to care too deeply about the rest of the crowd. On the platform near the rear of the barn, the band seemed to sway to their own music, a row of middle-age men in white shirts and bolo ties.
“I like that dress.” J.P.’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Pretty color. Yellow happens to be my favorite.”
He turned her hand for a twirl at this moment, so he missed the look of astonishment on her face in response to this. So that’s why Tonni had recommended this dress so heavily the other night — Drew’s cheeks were blushing as she found herself in J.P.’s hold again.
“Thank you,” she answered, doing her best to sound natural. “I was lucky to find it, since I didn’t exactly bring my formal gowns from Boston with me.”
“Ah, Boston,” he answered. “You miss it?” His eyes moved from the dance floor to hers as he waited for the response.