Rainbow Gap

by Lee Lynch

  “It was supposed to be a fight between North and South Korea,” Judy said. “Instead, it was the US fighting the cold war with the USSR. We used Korea. It’s the same thing in North and South Vietnam. Can’t we stop the killing? War is a horrible idea. Kids are being brutalized here for objecting and the North Vietnamese are doing worse to our kids over there. Look at us fighting about the fight. My husband and I fought from day one. I thought that was what marriage was like, because my parents fought too. Where’s the sense?”

  “Sense?” said Jaudon. “I can see the civil rights movement, but these so-called revolutionaries taking over colleges, making bombs, having sit-ins at Army recruiting stations? What makes these people tick? Why didn’t their folks take straps to the whole bunch of Commie brats—these kids aren’t going to solve anything. At least our soldiers are protecting us.”

  Judy sat at the picnic table, legs crossed, foot kicking in a rapid rhythm. “I can’t believe the clash of cultures here. We must be mirroring the whole country. Look at the dogs. They know better than we do how to play.”

  Zefer and Kirby tussled over a peanut butter pie tin.

  Mercie played chords on her guitar, and Perfecta, Samantha’s baby in her arms, began a lullaby in Spanish.

  Gran put her arms around Judy and Jaudon. “Let’s make this a Memorial Day we want as a memorial. Come on, Jaudon, once the girls stop playing, hoist that phonograph out here before it’s too buggy for dancing. And I want you and Judy to start the dancing.”

  Jaudon hooted. “Stereo, Gran. Phonographs went out before hi-fi did.” She turned to Judy and bowed. “I’ll return to claim that dance.”

  Gran helped pull and push the stereo speakers to the porch before excusing herself to lie down. Jaudon encouraged her to rejoin them when she was rested. She carried Bat’s whole 45 rpm record collection, plus the swing bands on 33s that she and Berry collected. Cullie started as DJ, spinning fast songs to encourage them to dance. Jaudon jumped in front of Judy, stumbling. This ear business, she thought with a silent swear. She recovered her balance.

  When the song ended, Judy said, “Go on. Dance with your girlfriend.” Jaudon, in turn, handed Judy off to Mercie.

  Cullie chose an old Karen Bliss 33 next, and played one of Berry’s and Jaudon’s favorites, “Always.”

  They hadn’t danced in front of friends since that night at the crowded bar. The others watched their ballroom style, gradually joining them. This generation knew their parents’ dances.

  “Jaudon,” Berry whispered when the dance brought them close, “this is better than the bar. I guess I’m my pa’s daughter. Gran said he loved a party.”

  She held Berry more tightly, both overjoyed and pained for her. Berry was finding a little more of herself today, thanks to Gran Binyon.

  “I could get used to this freedom,” Jaudon said. “Can you imagine being able to dance together anytime?”

  Berry thrust her chin high. “No, I can’t, and it makes me stark raving mad that I can’t. We can’t at weddings or school proms. We need to make some big changes in this world.”

  “I don’t need to, Berry. I’m dancing on top of the world with you this minute.”

  “More!” cried the other women. “Where’s our disc jockey?”

  “Dancin’,” Cullie told them, with Perfecta on one side and Mercie on the other. Berry was glad Cullie didn’t ask her to dance. She continued to be a little too drawn to her and knew from Jaudon’s experience that acting on such a fleeting impulse was plain dumb.

  Donna Skaggs danced by herself, boogie-woogying like a small girl lost in a big dream, while Samantha O’Connell bounced her infant to the music.

  Jaudon did her sailor-on-a-gangplank walk and hurried to the turntable.

  Berry stood with Judy and her friend, who were waiting to dance more, when a blast of disquiet rushed through her chest and abdomen. She turned, searching for its source. A diesel pickup truck started, and she listened to its lingering rumble as it pulled away. She caught sight of brake lights before they were obscured by trees and brush along the road. Who in the world was watching them?

  *

  The rain came, as it did almost daily in summer months, like the bursting of a galactic water balloon. The downpour distracted Berry from the creepy truck. She encouraged everyone toward the house, but Jaudon started a new song, and the women, faces and arms raised to the deluge, danced with the fervor of prisoners freed from life sentences.

  Jaudon played another three peppy numbers before the rain stopped, leaving a sultry heat. The women trooped to the porch, merry, dripping wet, shaking their wet clothing and hair. Cullie was drying her glasses when Berry conscripted her to help carry blankets and towels to them. Lari wiped down Mercie Lewis, then was kissing her. Judy Fish watched them for a moment with her friend, before they turned to hold each other close, swaying. Jaudon played a slow song by The Carpenters.

  All of this was visible to any vehicle on Pineapple Trail, but the rutted sand and gravel road had less than a trickle of traffic when the sun was out, and even less when it turned to muck, so Jaudon wasn’t worried.

  Berry didn’t tell her about the truck, which she’d never seen before. Was it a friend of the people in the single-wide trailer at the end of the Pineapple Trail? Or a service guy for the ranch house that faced Rainbow Lake, the silly people who were trying to keep a lawn alive? It was the same trepidation she’d experienced whenever Eddie Dill was around.

  The mosquitoes massed at twilight. Perfecta and Samantha O’Connor left immediately. Their husbands had gone to other picnics.

  Donna Skaggs sat in the red steel porch chair and cooled herself with the folding fan she always carried. “You can cut this humidity with a knife.”

  Berry thought to ask what she’d wondered for some time. “Donna, are you related to that kid Jimmy Neal Skaggs in the class behind ours?”

  Donna glowered. “My family doesn’t have anything to do with my little brother.”

  Zefer ran by, followed by short-legged Kirby. Cullie swooped in front of Donna and grabbed Kirby. “Your own brother? What the hell?”

  Berry watched Donna. “Because he’s gay?”

  Donna said, “He shamed us.”

  “No.” Cullie shook Kirby at Donna. “Shame on you. He’s your blood.”

  Donna jammed the fan into her pocketbook. They followed her as she made haste to her car. Donna said, “It’s one thing you and your friends being the way you are—and I may quit the group because of it—but Jimmy Neal’s a man. And family.”

  “So you cut him out?” Berry asked.

  Donna set her jaw and got in her car.

  “Mi amiga,” Cullie said, arms wide, “you have this so wrong. Think what your attitude does to Jimmy Neal.”

  “Our whole family hopes it helps straighten him out,” Donna said through her open window.

  Donna needed to give up her prejudice and Jimmy Neal needed to survive it, poor kid. Berry shut her eyes and blessed them both. “I have to admit, we may need our own group, Cullie.”

  “Ah, but this makes me want to stay in the group we have. Donna needs us to educate her.”

  Berry considered that. She gave Cullie’s arm a quick squeeze. “Good idea.”

  The rest of the guests thanked Berry and Jaudon with lavish words as they rearranged transportation. Mercie was following Lari home. Judy and her friend made out in Judy’s car before they drove away. Cullie stretched an arm across the passenger seat of her truck and pulled one of the giggling women inside. The woman blew kisses to her friends as she left, and the friends clapped and waved her on her way. Berry smiled. They considered Cullie a catch.

  This pairing off was entirely unexpected. Berry and Jaudon watched the configurations with a pleased incredulousness as they gathered the damp towels and blankets, the leftover food, and the trash bag of picnic gear. Gran took charge of the kitchen while Berry started the laundry and Jaudon returned the stereo, records, and tables to their normal storage areas.

/>   They were tired, but giddy with the success of the party. Gran finished up and went to bed. Berry was arranging items left behind to return to forgetful guests. Jaudon hugged her from behind, her hands on Berry’s breasts, and burrowed through her hair to nuzzle her neck.

  “Think what some of those women are doing together as we speak.”

  Berry wriggled to face Jaudon. She widened her eyes and lifted her eyebrows. “Tell me, angel. What are they up to?”

  “Come on, I’m going to show you, my dazzling swamp flower. Want to go to Australia with me?”

  With Jaudon’s arm around her waist, Berry realized she did want what Jaudon had in mind. An invisible steam built up with this many women in one place and stirred her too. Jaudon seemed to feel the same as she stood before Berry, bedroom door closed, and insisted on undressing her, one garment at a time, running her hands over Berry’s body, kissing her most vital spots until Berry begged to lie on the bed.

  “Sometime can we try using that goop on me, from your self-help clinic? So I’m wet too?”

  Berry grinned at her, rolled over, and took the tube from the night table. She warmed a big squirt of gel in her hands and applied it.

  That got Jaudon going. She was relentless in her touches, but postponed releasing Berry. Somehow, her imagination had found time to come up with a few tricks. Jaudon had quite a knack for this.

  They moved quietly and made no sounds out of respect for Gran. Jaudon was luxuriating in their prolonged ardor when she became aware that Berry had worked a hand between her thighs and up. Jaudon grabbed the edge of the mattress to hold back. She realized that Berry must be about bursting too. She swiveled around. They quickened their touches and, for the first time, had orgasms at the same time. Jaudon’s love for Berry took her over. They held tight, as if to meld their flesh.

  Berry thought their souls were merging. Making love with Jaudon was a mystical experience; each led the other to greater and greater heights. They fell asleep entangled, in every sense.

  The next morning was cool and luscious with new buds quivering in slight breezes to open and leaves translucent with green light. They prepared for work and school with every expectation that life, success, and endless love awaited them.

  They weren’t able to start the van. This didn’t shake them up. They laughed away such a tiny obstacle.

  “Let me take a look under the hood,” said Jaudon.

  “Okay, but Gran will take us.”

  Jaudon opened her door as Berry picked up a tiny item from the ground. “We don’t need a ride.”

  Jaudon squinted. “Is that a fuse?”

  “It used to be. It’s squashed. Who does such things? And why? I’ll wring his scrawny neck, whoever he is.”

  “How did it get there?”

  “And why is it broken?”

  “We’ll talk about it later—we’re running late. Don’t we have a spare fuse?”

  They kept spares in the glove compartment and Jaudon fit in a new one. As they drove to the Beverage Bay they puzzled about it.

  “It can’t be intentional,” Jaudon said. “We moved the van to make room for guest cars. It was out of sight. Did someone at the party disable it?”

  Berry mentioned the pickup cruising by. “It was scary. I used to have the same reaction to Eddie Dill coming home.”

  “At least that would let the women off the hook. Who but you and me can find the fuse box in this thing, much less know which one to take out? You know it was manufactured practically before fuses were invented.”

  Berry drove up to the store and gave her a light push out of the van. She almost lost her balance, but caught the door frame and held on, trying to hide her stumble and disorientation.

  “I’m so sorry, Jaudon. Are you okay? Call Olive or Rigo to cover for you.”

  “This always passes. You be careful and check the van before you drive it tonight.” She’d worry about Berry but, for now, locked herself inside the store and waved, their signal she was safe.

  Berry, as always, didn’t leave until she saw Jaudon was inside. Her first class wasn’t until eight a.m. She drove unhurried to campus under wispy clouds. Once there, she used a flashlight to check the engine compartment. Nothing looked out of place, though she wasn’t convinced she’d notice the difference. She walked through a gentle drizzle to the automotive department and peered into the chair’s office. Students were already out in the shop yelling over the whirring sounds of hydraulic tools. She showed him the crushed fuse.

  “It’s vandalism,” he concluded, after going outside with her to check the van over. “No question about it. He knew to pull the starter fuse. Has somebody got it in for you, Miss Garland? I don’t believe it. You’re about the nicest person on campus. You better lock your doors from here on.”

  She said with some enmity, “If someone wants the van, they won’t have a problem helping themselves.” She showed him that the cargo doors didn’t lock, at the same time chiding herself for speaking with anger.

  “We can fix that up, Miss Garland. What year is this rig?”

  On the way to class, she thought about how furious she was with whoever hobbled their van. And how furious she was with Donna Skaggs’s family for disowning Jimmy Neal. Why were people cruel? She wished she understood. If she ever did, she could try to turn her anger to usefulness.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  After the picnic, Gran decided she wanted to go out and find some fun of her own. She joined a group of people in their sixties and older who met early each morning to walk before the heat of the day. A luncheon group developed from that and soon she was taking bus trips to various parts of Florida. Gran was full of plans to see museums, state parks, natural wonders, and historic general stores, whetting Berry’s appetite for travel and tempting Jaudon.

  The demands of the store along with frequent bouts of exhaustion since her injury had interrupted school, and Jaudon was behind schedule. She supplemented her accounting and tax classes with management, auditing, business planning, marketing, beginning computers, communications, business psychology, and human resources.

  On top of all that, she was having trouble at her Beverage Bay. A number of young hoodlums had taken to congregating in the sandlot down the street. They walked in to the Bay for soft drinks, candy, and gum, a practice that was discouraged because of vehicle dangers. Her warnings didn’t stop them. She was sweeping glass from bottles smashed against the outside walls almost every morning. The entrance smelled of beer no matter how hard she scrubbed the concrete.

  The hoodlums waited until Jaudon was on her own and had customers. She saw four or five of them at a time raiding the open storage areas. Jaudon needed quick access to the shelving so a blockade was out of the question. She reported the incidents to the police and Momma almost every time.

  “Hey,” Rigo shouted one day after the nearby schools let out. He raced outside to catch a kid of twelve or thirteen who ran with a quart bottle of beer. He snagged the child by his belt and snatched the beer.

  Jaudon wondered how many times she’d missed a theft because they came in on the side of her busted ear. She watched the whole episode from the doorway. Rigo returned out of breath and tossed the beer to her.

  She caught it. “Thanks.”

  “I’m paid time and a half for that, aren’t I?”

  “Haw-haw,” she said. “I’ll talk to Momma about it.”

  “Oh, no, you won’t. Your momma will dock my pay for leaving the store.”

  Momma was inspecting Jaudon’s store on a breezeless, boiling hot Saturday. Even the palms seemed wilted. At least once a month Momma visited each store, giving no warning. Pops no longer came with her as he was too busy arranging shipments and deliveries at the office.

  Two cars waited for service and Rigo wasn’t due for another half hour. Momma often pitched in to help at these times and she was there when a swarm of neighborhood boys burst into the store.

  Jaudon knew their pattern well enough to rush at them. She smash
ed into one of the thieves and tripped another. Their cohorts reversed course and ran for the entrance, to be met by Momma and one of her legendary white straw purses. She used it on the first poor little thug like a Paul Bunyon-sized wood splitter. The kids were trapped between Momma and Jaudon.

  “Jaudon,” Momma shouted. “Bring those two over where I can keep an eye on the thieving vermin. Call the police.”

  Every time one tried to escape, he got a taste of the purse. One had bloody lips, another covered his face with his hands, but his shoulders shuddered as he cried.

  “Tell the police who I am.”

  For once, the police arrived quickly. One of the boys, as he was led away with his hands cuffed behind his back, raised both middle fingers at Jaudon and her mother. Momma didn’t lose any time reporting the gesture to his captor. The police were so deferential to Momma; Jaudon wondered what influence she had with the department.

  Next it was her turn. Momma lit into her for the risk to her inventory and listened to nothing Jaudon said in her own defense.

  “You think everything will be handed to you on a platter, like this job. Well, it won’t, Daughter. I have a mind to turn you out to find your own way. See how you fare if I pull the silver spoon from your mouth.”

  “Why don’t you fire me, Momma?” She wiped her nose with a cleaning rag she always carried at the store. She was, as usual, ashamed of crying, though she knew they were tears of anger. “I do a good job. You know I do. You knew this was a risky area when you built here. Any manager would have her hands full.”

  “You are not any manager, Jaudon Vicker. You are my child. I expect you to do better than a cousin or a stranger off the street.”

  “That’s why I don’t give up on studying for tax preparation and CPA licenses, Momma.”

  “That’s good, child, because one of these days you may need a job. I can’t keep coming in here and rescuing my store. You need to build up your connections so the police come running when you call, as they do for me. You can’t just run a store these days. You need to be a businesswoman, tough as nails and twice as sharp. Put on your Sunday go-to-meeting clothes and head to the Greater Turkey Creek Chamber of Commerce once a month.”