by Dan Dowhal
“Sure. Um, where’s Maybelline?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“Just wanted to say goodbye, that’s all.”
“She’s busy. You got everything?”
“Didn’t exactly come with much.”
“Okey dokey, then. Meet me out front. I’ll go bring around the truck.”
Shane turns to address Yolanda. He can think of several sarcastic barbs, but really he bears no grudge toward her, despite her hostile attitude. “I truly appreciate everything you’ve done for me. Adios, señora. Muchos gracias. Buena suerte.” He knows his pronunciation is bad and half expects the kettle, or at least some choice words, to hit him in the back as he exits the kitchen, but Yolanda lets him go unmolested and in silence.
Shane and Tammy climb in, and the pickup truck starts to rattle toward the highway. Shane is surprised and delighted when Tammy rolls down her window and shakes out her hair. Though far shorter than Maybelline’s, it still drapes below her shoulders and has a lovely sheen.
Shane observes that, although Tammy is again wearing jeans and a denim shirt, they are tighter-fitting, more feminine attire, not the loose-fitting men’s clothes she wears around the ranch. The new garb reveals a pleasing, curvy figure. Presumably the change in her appearance is because they’re going into town.
She turns and catches him staring. Instead of resenting it, though, she appears to be assessing his own appearance.
“I’m guessing the first thing you’ll be wanting is a bath.”
“And a change of clothes,” he adds.
“Then what?”
“Good question. I guess I’ll start by finding a Canadian consulate … see what they can do for me. Listen, I really appreciate you helping me out the way you did. You were a lifesaver. And, well, sorry about this morning, you know, sleeping in and all. I hope I didn’t screw up your day too bad.”
“No problemo. It’ll be worth it to have that money, I don’t mind saying. We’ve been cutting it pretty close to the bone lately.”
“Must be hard not having your husband around to help.”
She snorts. “More calluses, fewer bruises.”
“What do you mean?”
“Bobby was one mean son of a bitch, especially when he was all liquored up … which was pretty much all the time once the rattlesnake business didn’t pan out the way he’d hoped.”
“He slapped you around?”
“Mister, slapping weren’t the half of it. I’ve had more than my share of shiners, and he done busted my nose once, too.” She reaches up to touch her face. “That’s why I got this bump on my beak.”
“I noticed that … but I kind of like it.”
She glances at him quickly to see if he’s serious. “Anyway, he ain’t around to hurt anyone no more,” she says.
“How did he end up in Iraq?”
“Volunteered, if you can believe it. He was in the New Mexico National Guard, mostly to get away from me ’n’ the pup on the weekends and play soldier, but then the dumb cuss goes and manages to hook up with a combat unit from Colorado. Said he wanted to see action. Well, he done saw it, all right. Wasn’t over there more than a week when he got himself killed.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Truth is he done more for me and Gracie dead than alive. Left us mortgaged to the hilt, but at least his government death benefit helped us crawl outta our hole a bit.”
“Why didn’t you leave him?”
“I did, once. Took baby Gracie and ran off to a women’s shelter in Santa Fe. That’s where I met Yolanda and Maybelline. But I ain’t one to live on welfare, plus Bobby sobered up — for a while, anyway — and came crying after me, saying he’d change, and couldn’t we try again, that it would be like it was in the beginning, when we first started courting, before he knocked me up. And like the trusting fool I am, I came back.”
“So, Yolanda and Maybelline, they were abused, too?”
“Yup. Different situations, but same kinda story. Well, worse in Yolanda’s case — she spent time in prison because of it.”
“What do you mean? If her husband was beating her, how come she went to prison?”
“Aggravated battery. Her husband tracked her down and tried to lay another beating on her, so she took a hunting knife to the sonabitch. Gashed him around the crotch something good. Said she was trying to cut off his balls … that didn’t do her any favours in court. She done spent two years at the women’s pen in Grants — that’s upstate, Albuquerque way. We kept in touch when she was inside, and when she got out, well, I took her in.”
Shane can’t help but smile. Tammy sees and raises an eyebrow.
“You’re the first feller who ever found that funny. Most guys hear tell of a woman trying to cut off someone’s testicles, they squirm in their seat.”
“Sounds to me like the bastard had it coming, but it does explain her sunny disposition.”
“Yeah, except that he’s the one that got compensation and custody of their kid.”
“I think she needed a better lawyer.”
“Well, you get what you pay for, and she couldn’t pay nothin’. Luckily the kid was pretty near full-grown, anyway. He lit out on his old man once he was of age. Up in Seattle now, working at some factory. He calls Yolanda every month, but she misses him something fierce.”
“And Maybelline?”
Tammy hesitates. “Listen, I don’t want you thinking I’m some kind of Chatty Cathy, gabbing about this kind of personal stuff, but at the shelter they counselled us to get it out into the open … said that if we kept it quiet, ’cause we was ashamed or afraid or something, then we’d only make it easier for the abuse to continue. So I guess I just want you to know what we’ve been through, and where we’re coming from, okay?”
“Sure.”
“Besides, it’s not like we’re gonna see each other again anyway.”
Shane feels a twinge of regret at the statement. It’s not just that his future is dark and uncertain — he’s starting to realize he has an attraction to Tammy. His recent relationships have trended toward self-serving party girls and star-struck hockey groupies. This is the first truly serious woman he’s met since he and his wife parted ways.
“Maybelline’s a different case,” Tammy continues, “in that she was never married to the guy. The abuse really started at home, when she was a little girl, where her daddy used to beat her, and, well … do things to her. She ran away when she was fifteen and ended up in Corpus Christi, living on the streets.”
She glances over at Shane, looking for some kind of reaction.
“Poor kid,” he says.
“I imagine you can guess the rest. She meets up with some guy who gives her a place to stay, and pretty soon they’re sleeping in the same bed. They start partying together and, bingo, she ends up hooked on crack, or smack, or whack, or whatever … I’ve never been into that scene. Before you know it, he’s got her stripping in some sleazy bar, and then after a while, he starts pimping her out. Now, Maybelline don’t want to be no whore, but when she tries to stop and get herself clean, the bastard takes to beating on her, and cutting her, to keep her in line. So, one night, after he’s beaten the crap out of her and then passed out, she takes whatever money she can find in his pockets and starts heading west.”
“And the shelter took her in?”
“Well, not right away. In case you ain’t noticed, nothing’s in a straight line with that gal. Oh, don’t get me wrong, she’s really sweet, but she ain’t the sharpest tool in the shed. Didn’t take her long before she was mixed up with some other no-good who was using and abusing her. But that guy got himself busted right quick, and Maybelline would have gone to jail, too, excepting she was lucky it was Alvarez who arrested her. You remember Deputy Alvarez … she’s the one you talked to at the house.”
Shane nods, recalling the tough little officer who was ready to taser him.
“Well, Alvarez sees the marks and bruises on Maybelline, hears her story, and makes sure s
he goes into detox instead of jail. Afterward, on her own time, she drove her upstate and personally checked her into the shelter. I took a liking to Maybelline. She made me laugh. Weren’t a lot to laugh about in those days. Still ain’t.”
“You said your husband went and brought you back. Did Maybelline come with you to the ranch?”
“No, she came a little later. It was just me, Bobby, and Gracie again, and he stuck to his word for all of a week, and then there he was back into the bottle and beating on me again. I was getting set to take Gracie and light out for a second time, when he got it into his head to go to Iraq. So, before I knew it, I had the spread to take care of by myself, and, well, I heard Maybelline was fixing to leave the shelter, and I knew if someone didn’t look out for her, she’d only end up on the streets again.”
“And Vern came later … after your husband was already dead?”
Tammy nods. “Yeah, about two years ago. Even if he ain’t my blood kin, the rancho does hail from his side of the family, and, well … hell, somebody had to look out for him. Don’t think he likes it much here, though. He was a big shot jock back in Texas, and he’s been knocked down a peg or two since coming here. Well, boo hoo. Nobody said life’s supposed to be fair. Waste of time, if you ask me. Sports, I mean. Bunch of men running around playing a stupid game and pounding on each other.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Women and children play, too. I think sports can be really good for you. Build character, teach you teamwork, that kind of thing.”
“I reckon,” she says, but sounds unconvinced. She stops talking for a while, but Shane wants the conversation to continue, if only so he can keep looking at her.
“You have a big heart, taking in the others like that.”
“A soft spot for strays, you mean. Vern, that’s family business, but Yolanda and Maybelline, I’m glad to help them. I wish I could do more for the rest of those poor women. Don’t get me wrong. That shelter’s a godsend, but we need more of them, and it’s just a Band-Aid … it ain’t no cure. It’s really hard taking that first step and leaving your man — giving up on a marriage and a home — but that ain’t nothing compared to how hard it gets later. A lot of those women have never had to fend for themselves and got no clue how to get by, especially if they got kids to take care of. There’s a reason a lot of women stay home and take the beatings.”
Shane shakes his head. “It’s not right, hitting a woman like that.”
“Yeah, well, a lot of guys somehow figure it’s their God-given right to pound on the missus and lord over her. And if you don’t mind me saying, you look like you’ve been in a scrape or two in your time, Shane.”
“Yeah, but never with a woman. Although Yolanda sure seemed to want to go a couple of rounds with me.”
They both laugh at that one.
“So, you some kind of barroom brawler, then? Like to get a snootful and take on the world?”
Shane realizes just how low an impression of him Tammy has. “Don’t let this face fool you. I’m a lover, not a fighter.” He regrets the hackneyed line the second it leaves his lips.
Tammy snorts. “Is that what your ex would say if I asked her?”
“Who, my ex-wife? I don’t think she’d say anything really bad about me. Sure, we quarrelled some at the end, but never what you’d call a real fight … and I sure as hell never laid a hand on her. Like I told you, we didn’t have kids. That’s why the marriage fell apart in the end, I guess. She had a couple of miscarriages … things were never the same after that. I travelled a fair bit, too, wasn’t there for her to lean on.”
“No kids … that made it easier, I guess. Splittin’ up and all, I mean.”
He shrugs. “I always gave Veronica whatever she wanted, anyway. In the end I gave her the house, the bank account, and the divorce she was asking for. She’s married again, now. Nice guy. He’ll be good for her.”
Tammy swivels her head to study him for a few seconds, then returns her gaze to the road. Despite Shane’s best intentions, the conversation has dried up, so he resigns himself to watching the scrub brush roll by.
They arrive in Columbus and pull up to the Western Union agent. Shane gets out first, intending to open Tammy’s door for her, but she is too quick for him. All business, she slides nimbly out of the truck and heads for the door with long, purposeful strides. She enters first, but waits for Shane to catch up, and they go up to the counter together.
“Howdy, Mr. Gassner,” she greets the older man behind the glass. He is wearing gold-wire-rimmed glasses, has a blotchy bald pate, and carries the sour look of a lifelong clerk.
“Hiya, Mrs. DeWitt.”
“Nice lookin’ day today.”
“They say the wind might pick up later.”
“Is that a fact?”
“Yes, ma’am … that’s what they say.”
“Mr. Gassner, I’m expecting some money to be wired here. From Canada.”
“From Canada? You don’t say. Well, let’s have a look-see.” He starts painstakingly typing into a computer. The monitor is oriented so only the clerk can see it, and he repeatedly stops his typing to stare intently at the screen.
“Don’t see it,” Gassner finally decides. “When would it have been sent?”
“Yesterday.”
“Hmmm. Should be here, then. No, sorry, there’s nothing.”
“Bastard,” Tammy hisses at Shane under her breath. She stomps away, and Shane stands there for a moment, stunned that she’s blaming him. He’s torn between trying to sort things out with the clerk and going after her.
“There must be some mistake,” he tells Gassner.
“No mistake, sir.” There’s enough of an emphasis on the last word for Shane to realize that the clerk is editorializing about his appearance. “I’ve dialed up all the incoming transactions for this location and there’s nothing for Mrs. DeWitt.”
“Look, I can straighten this out …” Shane starts to say, but stops when he hears the pickup truck’s engine rev to life outside the building. He dashes through the doorway, but it is too late, and he helplessly watches Tammy pull away.
“Fuck!” Shane screams after her. It takes him a couple of minutes to regain his composure before returning to the counter inside.
“Hi again.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Listen, you said there was no transaction for Tammy … er, Mrs. DeWitt at this location.”
“That’s correct, sir.”
“Well, is there any way to check the name of the person sending the money? The sender’s name is Peter Bronkovsky … Peel Crossing, Yukon, Canada.”
“Well … I don’t know,” Gassner wavers, but after a few seconds of thought, he begins to painstakingly work the keys again. He glances at the screen and then types some more. “Well, I’ll be,” he finally says.
“What is it?”
“You won’t believe it …” the clerk begins, then hesitates. “Actually, I’m not sure I should be telling you this, given you’re not a party to the transaction.”
“You got to be kidding!” Shane starts to rail, but he stops himself, realizing that a kneejerk angry reaction will torpedo the delicate situation. This is what has been explained to him in the past, that nothing good ever comes from succumbing to blind rage and abandoning control. He teeters on the tipping point, struggling to regain his balance and avoid calamity.
“Look, let me explain,” he resumes, slowly and calmly, forcing his features to relax into a friendly cast. “You saw me come in here with Mrs. DeWitt, right? And I can tell you that Mr. Bronkovsky is my father. That money is meant for me. You see, I was robbed, and since I have no identification, my father wired me some money here, care of Mrs. DeWitt.”
“Oh, sir, he could have wired you the money directly.”
“How? I have no ID.”
“There’s a ten-digit PIN associated with each transaction. All you have to do is know that number. We actually deal with this problem a lot — people losing their wallets and such. In fac
t, even though I know her personally, and even with identification, Mrs. DeWitt would need that PIN in order to retrieve those funds.”
“No kidding?”
“Not at all.” Gassner pauses. “Under the circumstances, I suppose there’s no harm in telling you this. The money transfer was, in fact, sent, but it went to Columbus, Ohio, not Columbus, New Mexico.”
“Huh. How about that? So I guess the best thing would be to change it to my name instead, and for me to get the PIN.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible. There’s actual money in the system, now. What you’re suggesting would require cancelling the original transaction, and our policy is to keep that money on hold before issuing a refund. So the sender would have to wait, or else issue a new transaction with new funds. The simplest thing would be for the sender to simply phone up, revise the transaction destination, and provide Mrs. DeWitt with the PIN.”
Shane marvels at how helpful Gassner has been and cringes to think how close he came to berating the clerk. He actually likes the little old bald guy now.
“Do you have a phone I can use?” Shane asks.
Gassner gestures around the corner. “Yes, sir. There’s a pay telephone next to the washroom.”
Shane goes and picks up the handset. Connecting with the operator, he requests a collect call to his father. The phone at the other end buzzes distantly a dozen times without an answer. His father does not have an answering machine, which is probably a moot point, given that the operator likely wouldn’t allow Shane to leave a message, anyway.
He hangs up the phone and goes into the bathroom, to kill time as much as anything else. When he looks in the mirror, he is shocked by the bedraggled stranger staring back at him. His hair is matted and greasy, his beard scraggly and untrimmed. The shiner he has been sporting under his left eye has progressed to the malignant yellowish stage. Although he knows he will regret it, he opens his mouth and flashes a smile. He has always been self-conscious of his missing teeth, has never even conducted a game interview in the past without wearing dentures, and the gaping black holes only make his appearance even more gruesome. He uses his good hand to splash some water on his face and try to smooth his hair somewhat. Deciding it is hopeless, he sighs and returns to the pay phone.