by Alle Wells
Jack stirred when I opened the car door. “Jack, do you want something to eat? We still have a couple of hours to go.”
He rolled over without answering. I glanced over the seat and cringed at the ketchup smeared on the backseat. I picked up the trash and emptied the ashtray. I decided to travel on and pretend they weren’t there.
I immediately fell in love with Tennessee’s soft, rolling hills that seemed to go on forever. I thought, I’ll never feel closed in here or tied down here.
***
Eddie stirred in the backseat after I’d passed a sign that said fifty-three miles to Nashville. He looked around and said, “Whoa! We’re almost home.”
“Yeah, the last sign said fifty-three miles to Nashville.”
He folded his arms over the back of the seat. “We ain’t going to Nashville!”
I caught a whiff of his breath and suppressed the retching feeling in my throat. “What do you mean?”
Eddie grabbed a cigarette from Jack’s pack, lying on the front seat. He lit up and blew the smoke at my face. “We’re going to Rickets.”
I coughed and fanned away the smoke. “What’s Rickets?”
“Where we’re goin’! Ain’t that right, Jack?”
Jack’s groggy eyes slowly rolled open. “What’s all the racket?”
My eyes flashed at him. “Rickets! The racket is about Rickets.”
Jack laughed and lit a cigarette. “Well, Babe, you didn’t really think we were going to Nashville, did you?”
The speedometer needle moved toward seventy. I rolled down the window. Jack bolted up. “Whatta ya doin’? Roll up the damn window!”
The blasting air nearly took my breath away, but I enjoyed watching them scramble with the fire at the end of their lit cigarettes. “You’re suffocating me.”
“You’re suffocating me!” Eddie screeched in a high pitched voice.
Jack cupped his hand around the cigarette flame and gritted his teeth.
“Don’t be a bitch.”
I rolled up the window. “Where is this Rickets place?”
Eddie’s breath on my neck gave me the creeps. “Take the next exit, to the left, then thirty-five miles.”
Veering off at the exit, I said, “We need gas.”
Eddie snickered. “Well, you better get it now. This here’s the last station.”
I grabbed my bag and walked toward the open door that led to the outside bathroom. The bathroom light didn’t work. A sliver of light streamed in through the eaves. The room felt like a damp cave. I locked the door and cried.
The crying left me feeling numb inside. I felt a strange detachment from the world when I walked into the store. Jack and Eddie had loaded the counter with two cases of beer, a couple of cartons of cigarettes, and an assortment of canned goods. Eddie looked at me. “We better stock up now. It’s a long haul back here from home.”
I looked at Jack, stunned. “Home?”
Jack shuffled his feet and smiled. “Yeah, Babe! I told you that we’re going to be staying with Eddie for a while.”
I crossed my arms and stood up to him. “Jack, you didn’t tell me that. You said that we had a place to stay.”
He let out a fake and exaggerated laugh. He looked at the old woman behind the counter and said, “Sorry, Ma’am. Don’t mind my wife here—she’s been hittin’ the old hash bowl a little bit too hard lately. ”
Eddie snickered and continued shopping. Jack put his hands on his hips in a slumped, but defiant posture. His voice sounded condescending and mocking. “I told you that we’re going to be staying with Eddie for a while, comprende?”
The woman looked amused as she turned her head from Jack to me. Jack stood less than a foot from me, but his face drifted far away into the distance. Eddie put two cartons of milk and a box of Cocoa Puffs on the counter and went back down the aisle for more.
I looked at the floor and said softly, “Sure, Jack. I’ll go clean out the car and get some gas.”
Jack’s eyes, his face, and everything I’d ever seen in him, continued to drift far away. He patted me on the head. “That’s my lady.”
My feet kept a steady, determined pace as I quickly walked to the car. I threw the trash and the drugs in a garbage can next to the car. I didn’t look back as I sped away from the gas pumps. My heart beat wildly against my chest, knowing that I was leaving behind another piece of Serenity.
Chapter 8 I remember more about the day I left Jack than the two years that I was married to him. Driving away that day, I imagined the looks on Jack and Eddie’s faces as they thumbed a ride in the ninety degree weather. I didn’t feel bad about leaving Jack. I figured that he and Eddie would find someone else to support them. Now I was free to become the person I wanted to be. Jack wasn’t lying when he said that the world was my oyster. It was, just not with him.
No More Hippie Girl
I had planned to buy gas at the next exit on the Interstate. But my plan fell through when I saw the gas station billboards covered in black sheathing because of the gas shortage. Ten miles later, Goldie’s gas needle told me that it was now or never. I drove into Murfreesboro, took a place in the gas line that extended into the street, and waited my turn. By noon, my brain was fried. I paid for one night at a Travel Lodge motel on I-24 outside greater Nashville. I grabbed a handful of Nashville brochures from the lobby. The car was locked. The room door was double-latched. I felt safer than I had in a long time before I passed out.
Nine hours later, I parked the car underneath the street light hanging over the motel dumpster. I sorted through the suitcase and trash bags in the trunk. Everything that belonged to Jack, or reminded me of him, went into the dumpster. I threw away the bellbottomed jeans and tee-shirts. I was left with two pantsuits, a sundress, and a pair of wedge-heeled sandals that I had bought on shopping trips with Wednesday. Pleased with my new wardrobe, I thought, No more hippie-girl!
That night, I listed three goals on the motel stationery: (1) Get a job; (2) Find a place to live; (3) Have Goldie serviced. Wednesday visualized mansions, faraway places, and exotic jewelry. My visualizations would be more immediate and realistic. I never threw away one scrap of paper that held my goals, and my dreams never let me down.
I looked through the brochures advertising tourist attractions in the Music City. Looking through the real estate guide, I decided that South Nashville looked like the place to be.
The next morning, I chose a one-piece yellow and white polyester pantsuit. Thanks to Clairol, my hair color looked good as I pulled it back with a leather clip. I slipped on my wedge-heeled sandals and added a pair of thin, gold hoop earrings. A feeling that I couldn’t describe that day ran through my veins. Over the years, I’ve come to know that feeling well. It’s called adrenalin.
***
I walked into the café next to the motel and realized that I hadn’t eaten anything since the doughnut at the Tennessee border. I picked up a newspaper, ordered pancakes and coffee. The place reminded me of the Waffle Stop, and I had no interest in working there. I flipped The Tennessean to the want ads and found two ads that fit my needs. Waitress wanted for morning shift. Primmosa (615)865-7773. Carriage House apartment for rent. Female only. $75 mo. Includes utilities. (615)865-3777. Thinking that all those sevens had to mean good luck, I rushed back to the motel to make the calls.
My day didn’t pan out exactly like I had planned. My appointment with Mrs. Wilkerson was scheduled for noon, and my job interview wasn’t until two o’clock. I left Goldie at the Lion station for an oil change, tune-up, and wash. Then I walked up the street and opened an account at the First Tennessee Bank. I traced a line on the map from the gas station to the apartment in Forest Hills, and then back to Primmosa next to the Holiday Inn on I-65.
The Carriage House
Mrs. Wilkerson lived in a beautiful old neighborhood, shaded by towering poplar trees and fat elms. I counted twenty windows across the front of the white two-story Colonial-style house. A figurine of a little black boy, wearing a red j
acket and holding a lantern, met me at the front walk. My finger shook as I reached for the doorbell. I nearly jumped out of my skin when the woman answered the door. The tight silver curls framing her plump her face, the violet paisley dress, and ruby brooch resting on her ample bosom reminded me of Grandma Carrie.
I smiled and nodded. My southern manners had taught me to wait for the older person to speak first. Mrs. Wilkerson quickly picked up on my etiquette and opened the door wider.
“You must be Nikky. Come in.”
As I stepped across the threshold, Mrs. Wilkerson peeked outside. “Is that your car?”
I used my quiet, lady-like voice. “Yes, ma’am.”
Mrs. Wilkerson closed the door. “Well, it’s a very nice car. I don’t like old cars sitting around.”
I responded with a slight nod of the head. “Thank you, ma’am.”
The room décor was masculine. Paintings of spotted dogs and people in hunting attire sitting on horses hung on dark paneled walls. Mrs. Wilkerson settled down in a blue upholstered chair adorned with flying ducks. She pointed to a crimson Queen Anne sofa.
“Please, have a seat. Nikky, where are you from?”
“I’m from North Carolina.”
She folded her hands across her lap. “What brings you to our area?”
The personal questions caught me off-guard. I hesitated. “I plan to settle here. I like the area.”
“Do you have family here?”
“No, ma’am. I’m alone.”
She looked me over and cleared her throat. “Well, you certainly have an adventurous spirit. I admire that. What do you do for a living?”
“I’m a waitress.”
She brushed her hand over her skirt while she sized me up. “I guess there’s no harm in an honest day’s work.”
She paused, and then looked back at me. “Well, Nikky, I have an efficiency apartment above the garage. My late husband called it the carriage house. It has one bedroom, a small living room, kitchenette, and bath. It’s furnished, has central heat, and a window air conditioner. The rent is seventy-five dollars, due on the first day of the month, with no grace period. Utilities are included. I let everyone know my expectations from the beginning. No pets. No smoking. No drinking. No men. No loud music. No oil leaks in the driveway. This is a nice, quiet neighborhood, and I must keep up appearances. I’ll show it to you if you think you can pay the rent and live by my rules.”
I nodded. “Yes, ma’am. That sounds fine to me.”
Mrs. Wilkerson led me through her kitchen and out the back door. The driveway curved behind the house. The carriage house sat directly behind the house. I followed her up the stairs attached to the side of the garage.
“The last girl fancied herself an interior decorator. I hope you like what she did to the place.”
My heart flip-flopped when the bright colors jumped at me. The upper walls were painted orange above white wainscoting. A black synthetic leather sofa and matching recliner sat on a rug with a southwestern pattern. A big square coffee table with a glass top sat in front of the sofa. White curtains with big orange circles covered the double window overlooking the driveway. The tiny kitchen was windowless and painted avocado green. A stool sat in front of an eat-in bar and overlooked the living room. The powder blue bedroom was furnished with a twin bed and matching dresser. The bathroom had plenty of room as long as you walked straight in and backed out.
Mrs. Wilkerson pushed back the curtains in the living room. “The furniture belonged to my son when he was in college. You’ll be safe here. No one will even know that you’re back here. It’s a quiet life, if that’s what you’re looking for. The stove is gas, so is the heat. The refrigerator is old, but it works fine. What do you think?”
I pulled out my wallet and grinned from ear to ear. “I love it!
Mrs. Wilkerson smiled, too. “Then it’s yours, dear.”
"How much do I owe you?”
“A hundred, fifty for the first and last months’ rent.”
I gave her the money, and she gave me the key. “I hope you’ll be happy here.”
As she turned to go, Mrs. Wilkerson asked, “Nikky, are you a Christian person?”
I gave her my sweetest smile. “Oh, yes ma’am! My grandfather is a minister.”
Mrs. Wilkerson seemed satisfied with that answer. After that, we got along just fine.
Chapter 9Strolling back toward the Bluebird Café, I thought about my first job in Nashville where I learned to listen.
Primmosa
The excitement of the day sent a current of positive energy flowing through me as I walked through the doors of Primmosa. Muzak played softly in the background of the elegant restaurant, accented with large potted plants and fresh flowers. A short, stout man with a bald noggin and tufts of curly hair growing around his ears met me at the front register. His dark, round eyes sparkled, and seemed to dance when he talked. He skirted around the counter to meet me.
“Hello there. Are you Nikky?”
I felt my face beam as bright as my yellow pantsuit. “Yes, I’m Nikky.”
“I’m Larry. Come on back. It’s nice to see a smiling face around here.”
My knees felt weak as I followed Larry to a secluded table. My heart beat faster as I walked through the luxurious dining room. I thought, This is a far cry from the Waffle Stop or the Bluebird.
Larry opened a notebook in front of him. “How old are you, Nikky?”
“Nineteen.”
Larry shook his head. “Uh, I doubt that you have enough experience for this job. You see, our customers are businessmen. They can be very demanding and difficult to handle. Two girls walked out on me this week. I need someone with thick skin who can hold her own around aggressive people and still keep them happy. What kind of work have you done?”
“I worked the midnight shift at a truck stop on I-95 for two years.”
Larry leaned back in the seat and looked me over. “Geez! You’re kidding!”
I laughed to myself, thinking about how bizarre the last two years had been. “Nope.”
“In that case, you should be able to handle anything!”
I agreed. “Pretty much.”
“Nikky, do you have any references to prove that you worked at that truck stop?”
I reached into my bag and gave him Carlos’s number. “Sure. His name is Carlos Ramirez. He owns the Waffle Stop, where I worked in Daleton, Florida.”
Larry grabbed the piece of paper from my hand and pointed a finger at me. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
I picked up the menu stuck in the front flap of the notebook. I’d never heard of most of the entrees. I didn’t know a caper from a canapé or the difference in an entrée and á la carte.
Larry bustled back to the table, smiling. “Well, Mr. Ramirez assures me that Miss Nikky can tackle anything. Little lady, you have a job!”
I nearly jumped out of my seat. “Oh, my gosh! Thank you! Thank you!”
Larry looked as happy as I felt, as he welcomed me. “Welcome to Primmosa! The morning shift runs from six until two. You can work five days or six. It’s up to you. We’re closed on Sundays. You’ll need white pants, white shoes, and a basic navy blue uniform top. The girls usually make from ten to fifteen dollars a day in tips. It depends on how much the customers like you. Do you have any questions?”
The self-confidence that had carried me through the day faltered, as I gave him a weak smile. I’d never been in a restaurant as fancy as Primmosa and wasn’t sure that I could pull it off. “Wow, that’s twice as much as I made at the truck stop. I was looking at the menu. I have a lot to learn.”
Larry waved his hand. “Oh, don’t worry about that. You’ll catch on in no time.”
Listening
Primmosa, a popular breakfast and lunch spot for businessmen of all ages, was a man’s world. They wore blue suits, starched white shirts with shiny cufflinks, and various styles of red striped ties. The breakfast crowd savored their Maxwell House coffee while reading
The Tennessean or The Wall Street Journal. Many of the same customers returned at lunchtime. They met in pairs, shook hands, and closed deals. Private dining rooms were opened for large luncheons focused on marketing strategies in a struggling economy. I served them unnoticed and listened to their conversations. I’d steal a glance at a lapel pin or a business card and guess which one would have the most influence and come out on top.
I don’t know if Maude and Sue, the other servers on my shift, shared my interest in business. Most of the time, I felt as invisible to them as I was to the customers. My co-workers didn’t cut me any slack. Their eyes dared me to cross the imaginary lines that divided the dining room into separate workstations. Maude was middle-aged. She wore a cold smile like a shield against the world and took care of the older men who gravitated toward her section. Sue was in her thirties, petite, attractive, and flirtatious. She sashayed around the big tippers and drew them in. I took the leftovers who were young collegiate-types, and lousy tippers. I never made fifteen dollars a day, and I wondered if the others did. But working on Saturdays when customers brought in their wives, girlfriends, and mistresses made up for the everyday tips.
One busy Saturday morning, I slipped on the wet terracotta floor as I ran through the kitchen door. Sugar packets flew everywhere as I surfed across the slippery floor. I grabbed onto the edge of a stainless steel table.
Willy, the cook, cracked up. “Oh man, that’s the funniest thing I’ve seen all day!”
I laughed with him. It felt good to connect with someone my age. The big smile that spread across his light brown face told me that he may have felt that way, too. “Hey, I’m Nikky.”
He threw his head back slightly. “Willy.”
“You been working here long?”
Willy talked while slicing tomatoes. “Too long! I’m gettin’ outta here, soon as I finish my education.”
“Are you in college?”
“Gettin’ my G.E.D. right now.”
“Oh, yeah? What’s that?”
“My high school diploma.”
I forgot about the sugar packets I’d dropped on the floor and leaned across the table.