The Speed Queen

by Stewart O'Nan

  I remember the first night I was there. There were four of us in this motel room; Natalie hadn’t come yet. We had our own bathroom and an air conditioner we could set any way we liked. The door wasn’t locked. We were on the second floor, and you stepped out onto the balcony and there was a guard. Before lights-out they didn’t even say anything to you, you could stand there and smoke. Down the highway was Frontier City, this big amusement park, and you could see the lights of the Ferris wheel through the trees. It was a big double one, the kind that flips over. You could almost hear the music. It made you think of fried dough stands and kids sticky with cotton candy. That first night I stood there and watched that Ferris wheel going around and thought of Gainey and I swore that this would never happen to me again.

  After the first month, we were allowed out on work release. Your counselor gave you a day pass, and you went out and tried to find a job. If you got one, you could go out every day—seven days a week if you could prove you were working. But only during the day; at night you had to be back. And you had to tell your boss you were doing work release, you couldn’t just not mention it.

  My first day out I applied to three jobs and made love to Lamont five times. I applied to crummy places, thinking I could get something quick. I wanted a job I wouldn’t want when I got out, something I could just dump. I’d worked enough crummy jobs to recognize one. I tried the chains first—Grandy’s and Shoney’s and the Waffle House—knowing they had high turnover.

  I went out looking for a week, spending the afternoons at Mia Casa like everything was normal. Lamont was getting better at diapering Gainey. I liked having both of them in bed, the whole family close like that so I could smell them, touch their skin. It was hard to leave.

  I applied to Hometown Buffet and Luby’s and Furr’s Cafeteria. I applied to Church’s Chicken and Cocina de Mino. Burger King had a sign on the door that said, Come in for your Whoppertunity. I kept waiting for my counselor Mrs. Langer to call me into her office and tell me that someone had called, but no one did.

  The problem was it was June and all the high schools were letting out, Mrs. Langer said. She reminded me of my old guidance counselor Mrs. Drake; she had plants in her office and all kinds of advice. Possibly my cast was scaring away potential employers. I just had to be tenacious. I might try applying to more places. I would, I said. You just nod and say yes to someone like that even though what they say never works.

  Friday Lamont drove me around all day and waited for me in the parking lot. We didn’t even make love. Dropping me off, he said something would turn up, and we got in a big argument. Weekends were the worst because I didn’t get to see him, and I’d had enough. We both said some unnecessary things, and we didn’t make it up. I just walked away from the car. Gainey was screaming in the backseat, and I thought, fine, let him deal with him.

  Monday, Mrs. Langer gave me a card that said Coit’s Root Beer Drive-In called. It was funny cause I even liked them. They were right across Northwest Expressway from Charcoal Oven. It was a real old-time drive-in with a fiberglass canopy and a speaker box on a pole at every stall. The main building was shaped like a keg and had things like TOASTED SANDWICHES and MALTS and SOFT DRINKS written around it in red and green neon. The carhops dressed like majorettes, in satin tops and two-toned skirts and white vinyl knee boots. The shakes came with whipped cream and a cherry. They even served Pepsi. It made me feel bad for yelling at Lamont.

  My schedule worked out good. I had to be there at ten, so I’d get forty-five minutes with Lamont before work. He’d come in after lunch and park in one of the far stalls, and I’d take my break with him. The windows were so dark no one could see in. We’d put Gainey in the front seat and hop in back.

  It was a fun job. I kind of missed working, all the talk. They called an order of fries a bag of rags. A yellow steak was a burger with mustard. “Walk a dog sideways,” they’d say. “Float me a skinny Joe.” The coffeemaker was a Bunn-O-Matic, so they called coffee Bunn mud. “Bunn me,” they’d say, “Bunn me two.” Inside, you could hear the people in their cars. Once they buzzed for an order, the line stayed open. You’d hear them singing with the radio or fighting. That was the funniest, the mothers who buzzed. They’d be screaming at their kids, calling them all kinds of names, and you’d come on and all of a sudden their voices would get all nice. It was even better after I got Natalie a job there.

  Sorry I’m going all over the place. I guess Darcy’s stuff must be kicking in. You wanted me to describe Clara Waters.

  Compared to here, Clara Waters was easy, but that was my first time in and I was a little frightened. There were some gals in there I thought were hard, though I don’t think that now. They seemed that way to me because my life was easy then. I wouldn’t put any of them up against Lucinda or even Darcy. They were headed in the right direction, the ones who’d been here or in Eddie Warrior. They were going home. I think that’s why the state put us in with them; it was hoping they might teach us something that would keep us from ever getting here.

  I remember going into the room for the first time. It was dumb but I was afraid I’d be the only white gal. It turned out I was, except the other three weren’t black, they were Chinese. Two of them were cousins from this gang down around Mustang; the other was a hooker with only a month to go. One of cousins’ names was Emily, which I thought was weird. They both had jean jackets and listened to their Walkmans constantly. Their English wasn’t very good, and all the hooker did was read magazines. None of them paid any attention to me. I got the cot closest to the door, and when the hooker left we all moved down one.

  There was everyone in there—black gals, Indians, Mexican gals, a lot of trailer trash. We all pretty much kept to ourselves in little groups; you could see it in the cafeteria. There weren’t a lot of fights like you might think. I think with guys it’s different.

  If you have to have a fight, there was this tall gal named Barbara Something everyone was afraid of. She had something wrong with her; her head was too big, like a puppet. She knocked out a guard with a can of Cherry Crush and got sent here. But mostly it was quiet. People liked to sleep.

  The food wasn’t bad there, I remember that. It’s not bad here either. They make two things here that are great—southern fried chicken and chicken-fried steak. I guess you can’t go too far wrong with those anywhere in Oklahoma.

  I don’t know what else you want. They tore the place down in ’92. Before that it went coed for a while, with the gals in one wing and the guys in the other two. I wish I’d been there for that. Maybe me and Natalie wouldn’t have gotten together then. But I can’t complain. I’d much rather be there than here.

  42

  Right, this is where I first met Natalie Kramer. She was my roommate for the last two months along with Emily and the other cousin. She was in for passing bad checks. You could see why people would take them from her. She looked nice—long cinnamon hair, brown eyes, medium all over. Pretty but not beautiful. Her teeth were straight and she kept her shoulders back, even when she was sitting. An Audrey Hepburn neck, nice shoes. She looked like someone I might have grown up with on Kickingbird Circle, someone who’d gone to college and gotten married.

  That first day she walked into the room, Emily and her cousin didn’t bother to take off their headphones. Natalie took one step in and stopped like she might not be allowed. She had jeans and a T-shirt on, but they looked too neat, like she wasn’t used to them. Her earrings were just gold studs; she didn’t wear any rings and her nails were perfect. She made a point of shaking my hand. She waved to the cousins; they looked at each other like she was nuts.

  “Is this one mine?” she asked, then sat down with her bag across her lap, hugging it like a dog. “I can’t believe I’m here,” she said, and started to cry. The cousins giggled.

  “It’s okay,” I said, “I know how it is.”

  She had a mini pack of tissues with her and she wiped her eyes. “Is there a bathroom?”

  I pointed to the door. />
  She locked it behind her. When she finally came out, the cousins had gone to supper. Natalie apologized and thanked me for being so kind. “I was afraid there wouldn’t be anyone nice here,” she said. “I’m afraid I’m just a big baby.”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “So am I.”

  I took her to supper and sat with her, but she couldn’t eat. It was her boyfriend, an older guy; he’d left and cleared out their account. She’d just been laid off and her landlord wouldn’t let her out of the lease. Looking back, it was probably all lies. It didn’t matter. She was already my friend.

  She went to take a bite of mashed potatoes, then put it down again. She just sat there looking at her tray. It was like the kind for a TV dinner except there was no square for your dessert.

  “Come on,” I said, “try some of the chicken.” I even speared a piece for her.

  That night when the cousins were asleep, Natalie thanked me. She reached across the gap between our cots and squeezed my hand.

  “What are you in for?” she asked, and I told her some of it, not the whole thing. Her mother was just like that, she said, and told me about her boyfriend coming to Easter supper drunk and knocking the ham onto the carpet. We laughed and one of the cousins shifted and we quieted down. His name was Don and he was in auto parts. He was fine when he wasn’t drinking, but this was the last time. It was too crazy, it was like a roller coaster. One time he shoved her head in the microwave and tried to turn it on. Another time he turned the hose on her while she was sleeping.

  “You’re married,” she said, and pointed to my ring. “You don’t have to deal with that garbage.”

  “Thank God,” I said.

  She was from Yukon. She’d come to the city to go to school and ended up dropping out after a few semesters.

  “Same here,” I said, and we talked about college. It turned out she’d worked at a Conoco. We traded drive-off stories. She remembered sprinkling the measuring stick with Comet before dipping it in the tanks so you could read the level better.

  “This is so funny,” she said.

  It was two-thirty. “Better save some for tomorrow,” I said.

  “Marjorie,” she said, and took my hand again. “Thank you.”

  “It’s no big thing,” I said. “The first day’s always the hardest.”

  She took her hand back and we lay there quiet for a while. You could hear the trucks going by on 35, headed south to Dallas and San Antone, north to Wichita and Kansas City. Even then I liked to drive in my mind. North of the city there was nothing for three or four exits. At night all you could see were the big radio antennas, the lights blinking to keep the planes away.

  “Hey,” Natalie whispered. “What’s the other one’s name?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I can’t pronounce it.”

  “And why Emily?”

  We started to talk again, and suddenly it was four o’clock. We had to get up in three hours. Still, we didn’t stop, and as I drifted off to her voice I thought that this was what it must be like to have a sister.

  That morning she unpacked her bathroom stuff in front of the mirror. She’d brought everything—conditioner, perfume, razors. She had a makeup case full of lipsticks, foundation, an eyelash curler. She had a purple velour jewelry roll full of gold chains. I closed the door so the cousins wouldn’t see it all.

  “I wouldn’t flash that stuff around,” I said.

  “They said I could keep it.”

  “That’s the kind of stuff that disappears around here.”

  “Oh,” she said, and packed it up again.

  “Why did you bring so much stuff anyway?”

  “I didn’t have anywhere to leave it,” she said. “I don’t think it’s a lot.”

  “What about your mom and dad?”

  She laughed, just a single “Ha!” It was the first time I’d seen her angry.

  “If you want, I can keep it at my place. I can stick it in my purse when I leave for work.”

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  “If that’s all I had in the world, I definitely wouldn’t leave it in this room.”

  “You’re right,” she said. And she didn’t have to trust me then, but she did. She just handed me the whole thing.

  At work, I unrolled the purple velour in the storeroom to see what there was. It wasn’t much: a few chains, some freshwater pearls, a bunch of cheap earrings—nothing really worth stealing.

  “What’s all this?” Lamont said when I showed him. I had all of it on under my uniform. He broke one of the chains while we made love, and I felt bad. I’d get it fixed.

  “What kind of idiot is she?” he asked when we were done.

  “Don’t talk like that,” I said. “She’s my friend.”

  Back at Clara Waters, Natalie was waiting for me. She’d sneaked a piece of pecan pie out of the cafeteria for me. She wanted to know how everything went, if it was okay with Lamont. Her day had been bad. She’d tried to sleep but she could hear the drums from the cousins’ Walkmans. We shared a cigarette out on the balcony. The Ferris wheel swung above the trees.

  “I don’t see how I’m going to do this for three months,” she said.

  “It’s not so bad once you start your work release. I’ll put in a good word for you if you want.”

  “I do,” she said. “Thanks.”

  She gave me the butt back for the last hit.

  “He thought you were crazy,” I said, “trusting me.”

  “I’d rather trust you than anybody else here.”

  “Is that good?” I said.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “It’s something.”

  In prison, you make friends quick or not at all. When I wasn’t at work, I was with her. Even the cousins were jealous of us. She saved me when I ran out of tampons. When my hairbrush died, she let me use hers. We both took a size 8, so we could borrow each other’s tops. I gave her my rice pudding and she gave me her canned pears. I envied her legs; she wanted my waist. Nights we talked on the balcony until lights-out, then went inside and passed a butt, an ashtray on the floor between our cots. She had no man, no baby, no plans. I think I wanted her life, or my old life back. Maybe I just wanted to start over, go.

  I helped fill out her application for Coit’s. It was the only place we were going to apply. She could skate but she’d never been a waitress.

  “What’s your favorite restaurant?” I said.

  “Interurban.”

  “That’s good,” I said like Mrs. Langer.

  “You’re not putting that down?”

  “You want the job, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “They’ll never check,” I said.

  At work I made sure her application was on top of Ned’s clipboard. He called me into the storeroom to discuss it. It was short. Ned liked me too much to argue. I could make him do anything.

  “And she skates,” I said.

  “Don’t beg,” Ned said. “I was going to hire her all along. We don’t have to pay you gals minimum wage.”

  When I told Natalie, she hugged me. We were out on the balcony, and the guard turned away from us. I’d been borrowing Nat’s shampoo, and she smelled like me. “Thank you,” she said, “thank you so much,” and her body started to shake against mine. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “It’s okay,” I said, but she wouldn’t stop.

  The lights on the far wing went out, and then around the balcony toward us until we were standing in the dark.

  “It’s time,” I said. “Come on, let’s go to bed.”

  43

  Describe Natalie.

  A liar.

  That pretty much says it. I could say worse but it wouldn’t be Christian.

  She was prettier than she looked at first, and smarter. She always kept a little in reserve. She was always acting, always trying to get something from you. She was like one of those kids in school who cause all the trouble and then act all innocent when the teacher shows up. B
ut she was pretty and she could get away with it. You always felt sorry for her. She always had some sort of story.

  44

  It’s true. I never said it was or wasn’t because I don’t think it’s that important. It’s personal anyway. And it didn’t happen the way Natalie says in her book. There was no dope and no candle; I don’t know where she got that from. And I wasn’t the one who started it, that should be clear.

  That would have been in August, because Natalie had been there for more than a month. We were both working at Coit’s by then. She’d cover for me when I was late coming back from break with Lamont. She could really skate; people would ask special for her. Her skates laced up above the ankle and made her calves look like she was wearing heels. You could see the people in their cars watch her as she rolled past.

  We came back on the van that night. You always felt gross from all the grease in the air there. The first thing you wanted to do was take a shower. We took turns going first, and tonight was my night. I got undressed and turned on the water and let it get hot. Natalie came in to use the john. We were talking about tomorrow, getting paid or something, just talk. The water was hot, so I pulled the knob for the shower and got in. We talked over the water.

  “Don’t flush,” I said.

  “I won’t,” she said.

  She kept talking but I couldn’t hear anything while I was doing my hair, and I said so. It was the best time of the day because the water was hot; if you tried it in the morning you got about a minute and then it was freezing. I leaned back to rinse and felt a cool breeze on my front. My eyes were closed, and all I could think of was the Psycho thing.

  “Nat?” I said.

  “I’m right here,” she said, from like two inches away.

  I opened my eyes and she was right in front of me in the steam. She was looking at me like I might yell at her, like it might be wrong. Her hair was down and she still had her lipstick on. She put a hand on my chest and then turned her head so I’d hold her against me, and I did.