by Amy Briant
“Oh, come on!” Maggie protested, always ready to defend her beloved hometown.
Over the years, she had seen how the town treated Dorsey with her own eyes, of course, but Maggie always found some excuse, some reason to explain away what Dorsey knew to be homophobia, pure and simple. It was important to Mags to see the good in people—even when it wasn’t always there, Dorsey thought. She loved Maggie with all her heart and cherished their friendship, but that didn’t stop her from sometimes wanting to rip off those rose-colored spectacles her friend was so fond of.
“Remember?” Maggie was saying to her. “You sold that beautiful armoire to the Sizzle Sisters last fall, right?”
“That’s true,” Dorsey admitted. “And a rolltop desk to a couple in a Winnebago passing through from Wichita. And I’ve given Maggie a few pieces over the years.”
“She won’t let me buy any,” Maggie pouted to Sarah.
“And that’s it,” Dorsey said, ignoring Maggie. “It’s not to everyone’s taste, I guess. Especially around here.”
“Well, I like it,” said Sarah firmly. “A lot.”
“So do I,” pronounced the doctor, having finished her photo shoot. Her phone buzzed at her. She checked the screen. “And so does my friend in Chicago! She wants me to get your business card for her.”
Dorsey laughed. “I don’t have a business card, but you’re welcome to give her the hardware store’s number if you like.”
“Don’t laugh,” Melba admonished, brandishing her phone emphatically. “If she likes your stuff enough to buy it, this could be very lucrative for you.”
Dorsey shook her head wonderingly, not believing a word of it. Still, it was nice to hear. Maggie looked like she was about to bust her buttons, like she’d invented Dorsey herself. Even Shaw was sidling over, curious as to what all the commotion was about.
Sarah said, “Cool phone, Dr. Porter—is that the new one?”
The two of them compared technologies for a moment.
Dr. Melba said, “I was worried about the service when I first moved here, but the signal’s very strong here in town. Now if we could just get Wi-Fi!”
The two urbanites laughed a little about that. “And a decent cup of coffee,” Dr. Melba added.
“We’ve got some nice coffee machines in stock, Doctor, if you’re in the market for one of those,” Dorsey said.
“It might come to that,” Dr. Melba replied, “but when it comes to fancy coffee, it’s so nice to have someone else make it for you. You know, somewhere where I could sit down with my laptop, do a little work, check my e-mail and sip my coffee. That’s one thing I miss about Chicago.”
They all thought about that for a moment, Sarah nodding in agreement and Maggie apparently in fierce concentration.
“You know,” Mags said slowly, “it wouldn’t be hard at all to set up Wi-Fi in here.”
“In here? In the hardware store?” Dorsey asked her, in astonishment. “What on earth for?”
“To bring in more customers, of course,” Maggie said with a smile. “I am an MBA, remember?”
“But how would that work?”
“Well, you’ve got this empty space here. You could set up some chairs and tables—I know you’ve got plenty of those, Dorsey,” Maggie said wryly. “If you had a Wi-Fi hub, people could bring in their laptops and take advantage of that. And once you’ve got them in the store, you’ve got a chance to make a sale, right?”
“Well, yeah, I guess,” Dorsey said, still skeptical. “But aside from Dr. Porter here and some of the other tech-savvy young adults, wouldn’t that draw in mostly teenagers?”
“Teenagers with disposable cash,” Maggie said persuasively. “And it won’t be long before the rest of Romeo Falls joins the twenty-first century and has their smart phones and tablets, as well. Trust me—I see it happening with the next generation already. You and Goodman could really get a jump on things if y’all were the first to offer Wi-Fi in town.”
“I don’t know, Mags,” Dorsey said dubiously. “I don’t think Good will want to deal with a bunch of unruly teenagers. I mean, who’s going to keep them in line?”
“Well, I could,” Maggie said. “I mean, obviously, I’m a high school teacher, so I could. But my point is, it’s a learnable skill, like anything else. Like lion-taming, as we say in the teacher’s lounge!”
They all chuckled at that image.
“And if you could sell some good coffee too,” Dr. Melba said plaintively.
“Whoa!” Dorsey laughed. “We’re getting kind of far afield from hardware here. First Wi-Fi and now mocha lattes!”
“Well, think about it,” Maggie said. She was in her persuasive MBA mode again, her brain clearly calculating all the potential profit to be made. “You could make the coffee free at first to draw them in, then you charge a reasonable price per cup after that. You could use one of the machines you already have in stock. And you could give them a card entitling them to free Wi-Fi for a year if they make a big-ticket purchase—like a single item over three hundred dollars, or five hundred or whatever. That way, the teenagers pester their parents into buying that big-ticket item here, instead of in Grover. You know, most people hate making that drive into GC anyway, especially when it’s raining or snowing. Give them an excuse to buy here and they might just do it.” Maggie looked dreamy-eyed with possibility.
Sarah chimed in, “That sounds pretty brilliant to me, Mags. If I lived here, I’d be wanting my Wi-Fi card and coffee.”
“Me too,” said Dr. Melba firmly. “Sign me up.”
They all turned and looked at Dorsey expectantly, who held up her hands in surrender. “Sounds brilliant to me too, Mags, but I just work here, you know. You should run it past Good, though. You can explain it a lot better than I can.”
Maggie smiled with satisfaction. “I might just do that.”
Dr. Melba said to Dorsey, “Now about that rocking chair—is it an antique, by the way?”
“I guess you could call it that.”
She didn’t want to tell her she’d rescued it from the county dump. They settled on a price that seemed to please Dr. Melba. It certainly pleased Dorsey—it would buy her groceries for the next month.
“I’m on foot here,” the doctor told her. “Can your staff deliver this to my home?”
The “staff,” in the form of Shaw, cheerfully assured her he could. Since her house was only about a quarter of a mile away, just a block off the town square, Shaw left with her a few minutes later, toting the chair upside down on his head. They seemed to be chatting easily as they walked off down Main, although heaven only knew about what.
“Well,” Maggie exclaimed with satisfaction. “Wasn’t that just great!” She smiled happily at all of them—Dorsey, Sarah and Good, who had resurfaced to man the register in Shaw’s absence—impartially. They all smiled back. Maggie’s enthusiasm was always infectious. She reached down into the display window to pick up George, who actually started purring as she cuddled him.
“Unbelievable,” Sarah said into Dorsey’s ear. She turned her head to find the city girl mere inches away. They exchanged a long look as Maggie took George over to his owner, saying “Gosh almighty, Goodman, what are you feeding this creature? I think he’s gained more weight this year than I have.” Having Sarah so close to her was both exciting and uncomfortable at the same time. She thought it prudent to put some distance between the two of them, walking as casually as she could over to the counter where she set her backpack down and fiddled with it, so she wouldn’t have to make eye contact with any of them.
“Ready to go, Sarah?” Maggie said.
“Oh, um, actually, is it okay if I use the restroom?”
Good hated it when Dorsey let customers use the tiny employee bathroom, except (maybe) for Maggie who got the “best friend” pass. But his uncharacteristic behavior was still in effect, apparently.
“Of course,” he told Sarah graciously. “Dorsey, do you want to show her where it is?”
So Sarah foll
owed Dorsey behind the counter, through the doorway and down the hall toward the little restroom. Behind them, they heard Maggie telling Goodman about her Wi-Fi idea.
“It’s right here,” Dorsey said to Sarah, indicating the open door of the restroom.
“What’s this? The office?” Sarah said, stopping short at another opening. She peered in with interest.
“Yeah, that’s the office,” Dorsey said, walking back to her side. Whereupon Sarah grabbed her hand, pulled her into the office and pressed her up against the wall for a long, intense, no-holds-barred kiss.
All of Dorsey’s good intentions melted away. It felt so good—so right—kissing Sarah. There was a couch in the small office, covered as always with piles of paperwork. Somehow she found herself on that couch, underneath Sarah, papers slithering and crackling underneath, urgent lips locked together and her hands on Sarah’s back underneath her shirt.
“I was thinking about you all night,” Sarah murmured as she kissed Dorsey’s neck, her hands on Dorsey’s breasts. Time was passing all too quickly. Dorsey pulled Sarah back up to taste her lips once again.
They heard Goodman’s voice from the far end of the hall.
“Dorse?” he called inquiringly. She pulled out of another brain-melting kiss just long enough to call back a semi-strangled “We’ll be right there, Good.” During that brief moment Sarah managed to get the top button of Dorsey’s jeans undone and the zipper halfway down.
“Stop,” she hissed at Sarah while her brother answered with an “Okay.” Sarah hooked the tip of her index finger under the waistband of Dorsey’s panties and fixed her with a penetrating gaze.
“Stop?” she whispered. They both were breathing heavily.
“We have to stop,” Dorsey gasped. “This has to stop. They’re right out there, for God’s sake.”
Did she want to get caught, Dorsey wondered. Sarah seemed to consider her words for a moment, then sighed. She leaned in to trace Dorsey’s lower lip with the tip of her tongue, then kissed her softly and quickly one last time.
“Fine,” she said and reluctantly peeled herself off Dorsey. She pulled Dorsey to her feet, where she just naturally seemed to fit into Sarah’s arms.
“Don’t you have to pee?” Dorsey asked, her hands not missing the opportunity to cup Sarah’s tight ass.
“Nah, that was just an excuse to get you alone and put my hand down your pants.”
“Your hand’s not down—oh, oh my God…no, stop, Sarah. Stop.”
Dorsey was halfway laughing and all the way turned on, but she had to make Sarah stop. Getting caught was not an option. Even if that was what Sarah consciously or subconsciously wanted, Dorsey could think of several less embarrassing ways to break the news to Maggie. She determinedly pulled away and got her jeans zipped up.
She ran her hands through her hair and hoped it wasn’t looking too crazy. Sarah, smiling to herself, stepped into the restroom to check hers in the mirror. Dorsey would have liked to go in there and splash some cold water on her face, but she didn’t dare delay any longer. She quickly straightened out the papers on the couch, then did several deep inhales, trying to regain her composure.
She followed a still grinning Sarah down the hall back into the store where Maggie and Good awaited them. The four of them said their goodbyes, then the other two women left in Sarah’s VW, while Dorsey drove slowly to the community center.
Remembering all the while that she had meant to break it off with Sarah. End it before things got messy. Before she got hurt. Or Maggie… Instead, things seemed to be escalating at a dizzying pace.
She could still feel Sarah’s lips on hers. Feel Sarah’s hands on her skin—and her hands on Sarah’s. At a red light, she looked at herself in her rearview mirror. Her reflection bit its lip and looked confused.
* * *
With the kids out of school, the indoor pool at the community center was pretty packed, but luckily they had a few lanes roped off for adult lap swimmers. Dorsey tuned out the noise and the other people and concentrated on getting into the Zen of her mile-long swim. Afterward, feeling tired but contented from the workout, she pulled herself from the pool and headed for the women’s locker room to change back into street clothes. She would shower at home, as usual. Showering in the locker room was simply too tiresome. The reaction to her even using a locker in there had ranged from a glacial chill to “righteous” outrage. The last time she’d attempted a shower, a young mother who’d been a year behind her in school had actually clapped her hands over the eyes of her six-year-old daughter when Dorsey had stepped out, modestly wrapped in a beach towel. Apparently, even just seeing a lesbian in the locker room was enough to scar the child forever.
Well, she told herself, they might have run her out of the showers, but she would not let them run her out of the pool. Goddammit, she was as much a part of this town as they were. Larue’s Swingtime Hardware had helped raise the money that had built the community center and had contributed some of the building materials.
As usual, when she entered the locker room, all conversation stopped for a second, then resumed. At the end of her row of lockers, three young girls were chattering like birds—Wild Child Mariah, the preacher’s daughter, and two of her high school buddies, Jimalene White the reigning Fair Queen (daughter of proud parents Jim and—you guessed it—Alene White) and Kelly Blankenship, the bank manager’s daughter.
“I know,” she heard Mariah say to the other two, apparently picking up where their conversation had left off. “My dad’s an asshole like that too. He made me do a bunch of yard work this morning, can you believe it? Check this out—I scratched the shit out of my arm picking up brush in the backyard.”
Dorsey ignored them as she finished toweling off, then threw on her jeans and T-shirt over her wet bathing suit. Their talk died to whispers, though, as she pulled out her flip-flops and backpack, then closed her locker door. With an inward sigh, she hoped the whispering and giggles did not mean their teenage venom was about to be directed at her.
“Hey, Dorsey, how’s it going?” a voice asked over snickering in the background.
Dorsey turned to see the Wild Child standing there buck naked, dripping wet, hand on hip, her perfect seventeen-year-old body looking taut and perky except for a nasty scratch on her arm. She was halfway down the row of lockers, still a safe six feet from Dorsey, who coolly met her gaze and held it for a very long five seconds. Then, ignoring her completely, Dorsey glanced over at the other two, now silent.
“Hey, Kelly,” she said pleasantly, “how’s your dad?”
The hardware store and the Larue family were longtime customers of Mr. Blankenship’s bank. The whole town knew he was currently in the hospital in Grover having gall bladder surgery.
“Oh, uh, fine,” the girl said, coloring slightly and blinking in confusion at this unexpected turn of events.
Dorsey stuck her feet in her flip-flops, taking her time, then spoke to the third teenager, who’d been in the store with her mother not long ago buying a fancy coffeemaker. Jimalene gruffly affirmed the purchase was still satisfactory while failing to make eye contact and fidgeting with the handle on the door of her locker. Mariah was having a hard time holding her pose but didn’t know what else to do. Dorsey picked up her backpack and walked out slowly, back ramrod straight. As the locker room door closed behind her, a gale of recriminations and bitchiness erupted from within as the Wild Child yelled at the other two for failing to support her. Score one for dignity and maturity, Dorsey thought, smiling to herself.
Great tits, though.
Chapter Seven
Ragged white clouds sailed through the midnight sky, alternately obscuring and revealing the moon. The promised rain had arrived late in the afternoon with violent thundershowers soaking the fields and the town. Dorsey emerged from her workshop to discover the rain had finally stopped. She’d made good progress on the dining room table she was building from scratch. An idea for the table had blossomed in her brain on the way home from the poo
l. She’d been so inspired she’d gone straight to the workshop without even bothering to shower off the chlorine. The table wasn’t done yet, but she was already thinking ahead to the chairs that would accompany it. The dilapidated set of six matching chairs she’d picked up cheap at an estate sale would eventually form a cohesive unit with the table—each piece similar, but subtly different in such a way that a person’s eye would be led from one to another only to come full circle and start the pattern again. This was one of her more ambitious projects, both in size and concept. She had no idea where the table and chairs would go once she finished the project, but that day’s sale of the rocking chair to Dr. Melba was encouraging. Maybe her friend with the design store in Chicago would call.
And maybe not, she thought realistically. Still, she felt happy with the progress she’d made on the table that night. Seeing her artistic vision emerge from the wood was the most fulfilling thing she knew. She always felt refreshed and renewed after working in the shop, which technically belonged to all three of the Larue siblings. But she was the only one who really used the space and the tools. As much as she sometimes detested her life in Romeo Falls, she knew she could never leave the shop behind. Even if she could physically move the big heavy tools somewhere, where could she possibly keep them when she could barely afford an apartment for herself, let alone workshop space? It was a puzzle without an answer and a never-ending source of frustration.
She stretched, taking a deep breath of the rain-cleansed air and took a moment to admire the few stars that were visible amongst the clouds rushing above. Except for the breeze rustling the treetops and the dripping of rainwater from the leaves, all was quiet. The house was dark too, except for the kitchen light Goodman had left on for her. He was generally in bed by ten and back at the store no later than six. Shaw must have gone to bed too, she thought as she locked up the workshop and walked through the wet backyard toward the side door of the house, trying her best to avoid the bigger puddles.