Both Ways

by Edward Goble

  Chapter 8

  The reservation was for 8:00 pm, and Jill left herself plenty of time to get ready. Puccini & Pinetti was the Enright’s special place, reserved only for extra special occasions. She spent a little extra time getting her hair and make up just right, and, since it was going to be a warm evening, decided on the green Shelli Segal cocktail dress Madison insisted she buy on their last vacation, but that she hadn’t yet had an opportunity to wear. He said, at the time, it brought the color out in her eyes, and she just had to have it.

  When her unsuspecting husband stepped in the door at 6:15 pm, Jill was standing in the kitchen, turned toward the stove, stirring the mac and cheese she’d made for Billy and the sitter. She hadn’t seen him come in. Seeing her there, with the apron tied around her narrow waist, long, beautiful legs spread just slightly apart, calf muscles casting a small shadow, curled like a smile on the back of her legs from the high-heeled pumps she was wearing. He just stopped in his tracks. All the self-congratulatory daydreams of the family conference fled his mind, replaced with this stunning image of his amazing wife. He quietly stepped up behind her and gently wrapped his arms around her waist.

  “Ooh! You scared me!” She tensed and then relaxed. “Mmmm.”

  He leaned down, gently touching her hair and the nape of her neck with his nose and lips, and, inhaling deeply, he whispered, “You’re a goddess.”

  “That’s me, Venus in an apron,” she drawled, sabotaging the moment.

  “Love the heels.”

  “Good thing. You almost caught one between the legs a minute ago - sneaking up on a girl like that,” she said, wielding the gooey mac and cheese spoon like a weapon.

  The ride to the city was quiet. The sun was setting over the Bay, leaving an explosion of color in the evening sky. The lights of the city were gradually assuming the night shift, reflecting the famous San Francisco skyline in the waters of Oakland Bay. The dim dining room was enhanced by candles at each table, providing a soft auburn glow to Jill’s deep brown hair. The earrings Madison had given her for their third anniversary complimented her mother’s strand of heirloom pearls that lay gently on her neck.

  “J, that dress... you... you look amazing tonight,” Madison said as Jill smiled through the candlelight.

  “Even without the apron?”

  “Well, that was nice, too. But really, you’re reminding me of that Eric Clapton song, ‘My darling, you look wonderful tonight,’” Madison sang, causing Jill to glance around self-consciously.

  “Honey, this isn’t a karaoke bar - get a grip,” she whispered, smiling. “You clean up pretty good yourself, sir. Tall, blond and handsome. My my,” Jill teased. Which always sounded to Madison like ‘Maa maa.’ Dinner was magical. They ate course after course of the house favorites, shared a bottle and a half of fine merlot, solved all of the world’s problems and talked about Madison’s blossoming career.

  “What I’ve got to do is get my messages ready early, see, and preach them here, see how they flow, see how people respond. That way I’ll be able to tweak them, spice them up before Dallas.” He was Sunday morning animated, gesturing with his hands, his eyes lit up, his mind spinning.

  “After Dallas, if it goes well, maybe I’ll go national. There’ll be people there from all over the country, you know, probably from around the world.”

  “Do I get to come with you? Are they bringing both of us?” Jill had always secretly wished that if Madison ever achieved what he was striving for that maybe she would finally get more of what she had always longed for. Him. “Maybe this is it,” she thought, “maybe this is where we turn the corner and become Madison and Jill again.” It was the hope of blind love.

  “Oh, absolutely. The invitation is for both of us. They’re putting us up at the Hyatt downtown and providing airfare and the whole nine. Are you kidding,” he said reaching across the table and taking her hand. “I wouldn’t have said yes unless my best girl was part of the package.”

  “That’s sweet,” she smiled. “I know it’s a lie, but it’s nice to hear anyway.”

  “Hey, I’m serious.”

  “Well, okay... I can’t wait! Maybe mom and dad can drive down and have dinner, sit in on your session. I’m calling mama tomorrow.” She was nearly giddy.

  Madison pushed back a bit from the table. Looking around, he was suddenly conscious of the fact that there were other people in the restaurant, even though it had felt like their own private party. He laughed at his tunnel vision and said, “Jill, don’t look now, but everyone in the room is watching every move you make, and I just realized that we’re getting the best service in the house from the waiters.” He leaned in a little further and smiled, “They must think you’re a celebrity or a movie star - who’s that actress Green used to say you looked like?”

  Jill glanced around, as well. She, too, had been in a sort of dreamland through the meal and conversation and hadn’t really noticed the other diners. “I think it was Kathy Bates,” she deadpanned. “Paul Shelton,” she mimicked, “I’m your number one fan.”

  “No. That wasn’t it, and you know it.”

  She just shook her head. Madison had been right about the color of the dress, her eyes fairly blazed in emerald grandeur. Jill had strong, high cheek bones and smooth skin that may have hinted at some Indian blood in the Oklahoma Boyles’ ancestry. And the way her ruby lips presided over a perfect, beauty pageant smile, she was truly a sight to behold. Tonight she would have not only made the finals, she would have won the whole pageant. “Well them fellers can look, but this little Okie’s done taken,” she said, exaggerating her drawl for effect - her smile lighting up the room.

  “I’m happy, Mad,” she said, ignoring the word play. “I’m happy for us, and I’m happy for you. You know, momma just wanted me to find a man I could be with forever. She said that might happen at high school, like it did for her. But it didn’t happen for me there. Them boys was just fools, probably never grew up. Then she said I might find him at college, but I didn’t think so. When I met you, I asked the Lord, ‘Is he the one?’ And I thought, No, not Madison, he’s - number one, he’s too dad-gummed full of himself to ever notice anybody else, especially me.” Which brought a shrug of agreement from across the table. “And number two, he’s too perfect, he probably wants something I could never be. And then you said, ‘Jill Boyles, are you interested in changing the world?’ And, you know, I thought about that for days before I could honestly say yes. Yes. I want to change the world. I’d never thought about it. All I wanted to do was win the next contest, or find a man, or get good grades. Changing the world never crossed my mind. But that’s how you think. It’s the way you’re wired. And, I’ll tell you, son, it’s made me have to grow up, and I love it. I’m just so grateful to God...” She stopped and sat back in her chair, “Oh, look at me, just a rattling on, must be the wine.” She smiled and excused herself to powder her nose. And he was right. Every available eye in the place followed her to the ladies room.

  It had been the perfect evening. They didn’t get home till after midnight, but neither was overly tired, still caught up in the magic of the date. Madison paid the sitter and locked up for the night and met Jill in the master bedroom where they fell into each other’s arms and made love like they hadn’t done in years.

  Chapter 9

  To Dawn Neilson, a girl who had grown up in the central California town of Bakersfield and migrated north to the Bay area like a farm worker in search of the next crop, working at Starbucks beat the cheese out of other jobs she’d held or living off the likes of that jackass, Brad Spires. She left Bakersfield at seventeen, dropping out of her senior year three months before graduation, running away from a step-dad that came on to her, more than once, and a mother that was more resentful than protective. She was cursed with looks that brought out the worst in men and an unwarranted jealous hatred from women. “I should have been a nun,” she would say to herself in her loneliness, “at least they have other nuns to talk to... I guess.”


  She met Terry and Greg at the apartments where the cokehead had his place. Terry, a pediatric nurse, was eight years older than Dawn and, although they were raised in the same state, their lives couldn’t have been more different. Terry married the only boyfriend she’d ever had, her childhood sweetheart, Greg Page, who had actually sat down with her father and formally asked for his daughter’s hand in marriage. They had been married six years now and were finally looking to buy their first house and have some babies “as soon as humanly possible.” Terry and Greg were different from the people Dawn normally associated with. They were strong and funny and secure with each other, which was something completely new to Dawn. After a few months, it seemed like she might actually be able to have some married friends and not worry about becoming the unwitting cause of tension or worse. Terry and Greg knew the kind of low-life Dawn lived with and felt it was their Christian duty to provide a safe haven across the courtyard whenever it was needed. She liked being with the Pages and even visited church with them a couple of times.

  The Page’s moved out of the apartments about six months ago and into their first house, a small ranch-style three-bedroom in Madras, about twenty miles from Almond Grove, on the outskirts of suburbia where the commute times were doubled but the houses were still relatively affordable. Dawn helped them pack the U-Haul and cried as they drove away. For the next few months, she tried to meet them for Saturday night church and go for coffee afterwards as often as possible.

  Terry and Greg had been there for her when Brad kicked her out, putting her up for the night in their spare room. The next day Brad called her cell phone a dozen times begging forgiveness. She went back, against the advice of her friends, and it had been better for awhile. But then, last week, right after she completed barista training, she got home late, and Brad went ballistic. He was high and started pushing her around. She was scared but stood up to him. His eyes were glazed and beady, kicking at the air, throwing half-empty cans of beer and threatening to beat the hell out of her if he found out she was going out on him. He kicked her in the stomach with his knee, and, as she bent forward and gasped, he caught her with a wicked hook in the face that sent her sprawling across the room where she lay doubled over, pain coursing through her body. He slumped into a chair and sat glaring at her convulsing heap. The only sounds were muffled sobbing and Brad’s heavy, labored breathing as he regained his senses. Slowly, anger and resolve providing strength, she gathered herself to her feet and staggered out the door. She sat in her car for twenty minutes, watching as her eye swelled shut, trying to decide whether to drive herself to the hospital or go back in the house and kick his ass.

  Terry got a call from the hospital where Dawn had driven herself and drove over immediately from her office at the Children’s Clinic. She pulled back the curtain to find Dawn sitting on the edge of an emergency room gurney, one of her beautiful brown eyes swollen shut, her left cheek bruised a dark purple and twice the size of the other one. Terry held Dawn for a long time before insisting she come back to Madras and stay with them. “Greg can get your car and all your things tomorrow,” she’d said. The next day Greg recruited a few thugs from the trucking company he ran and went to Brad’s apartment to explain that he was no longer welcome within ten miles of Dawn Neilson. Without the blow, Brad was as compliant as a whipped spaniel. Greg gathered Dawn’s things in a suitcase and a few boxes and encouraged Brad to get help with his addiction. He added that his friends would be less than charitable with Spires if they ever saw him again.

  Dawn made it to her next shift at work, her first day as an official barista, but wanted to talk to the boss first since her appearance had been temporarily, what, “altered” was a word that came to mind. The doctor said there had been no permanent damage, and the bruises would clear up completely in a few weeks. He had given her a prescription for Vicadin, which she filled, although she switched to Motrin after discovering how Vicadin knocked her out, which she hated worse than the pain. She stepped inside the door of the Springfield Starbucks before her shift, wearing sunglasses, her green visor pulled down low over her forehead. “Hey Dan. Could you ask Sherry to meet me out here for a minute? I need to talk to her.”

  “Is that you, Dawn? Hi, uh sure,” said big Dan Baxter, one of Dawn’s newest suitors.

  “What happened to your eye?” the Starbucks manager said as she approached the outdoor table where Dawn was waiting.

  “I know it looks bad. It’s nothing, really. I just wanted you to, uh, you know, to tell you I’d gotten in an accident, but I still want to work.” Dawn said.

  “Dawn, I can’t let you wait on customers like that,” Sherry said, concerned. “Are you okay?”

  “It’s fine. It’s not as bad as it looks. I really need this job, Sherry. I can’t blow this.”

  “Oh, Dawn,” she said, leaning forward, sympathetically. “Look. Your job is not at risk, okay? I don’t know what happened, but listen, take a few days and heal up. I’ll hold your job, okay? You have my word on that,” she smiled. “We’re kind of like family around here. You’re new, but, you know, we like to take care of our own. So, no, you take the rest of the week and then let me know how you’re doing.”

  Dawn’s eyes were damp with tears, “Thank you, Sherry. Thanks a lot.”

  “Okay. Want some coffee before you go?”

  “No, I’m just going to go get some rest, I guess.”

  They both stood and Sherry stepped forward to give Dawn a gentle hug and said softly, “Dawn, you’ve got to get away from this guy, whoever he is.” She pulled back and looked Dawn in the eyes, maternally, hands gently grasping both shoulders.

  “I did. I already did.”

  “Okay then.” Sherry went back into the store and dispatched Dan from staring out the window. The big guy wanted to know what was happening and if it required the services of the Valley College football team. Sherry assured him that Dawn had some kind of accident, and she would be back in a couple of days.

  Chapter 10

  Madison’s Sunday morning ritual had been honed to a fine edge. He was up without the need of an alarm clock at 5:00 am, out the door by 5:45 am and sitting at Starbucks, usually the first customer in the place, by 6:05 am, where he read through his sermon notes while he sipped a hot coffee and nibbled on a bagel. By 6:45 am, he was out the door, and, by 7:00 am sharp, he was locking up the Range Rover and walking into the Chapel.

  Pre-service hysteria usually started about ninety minutes before “show time,” which was the best way to describe the three, finely tuned, seventy-minute worship services held each weekend at Community Chapel. Every second was choreographed. For each of the dozen or so people that were actually scripted and cued for the stage, there were ten others behind the scenes helping deliver each dramatic moment and every seamless segue. There were hundreds of others working as ushers, greeters, nursery workers, children’s teachers, parking attendants and hospitality coordinators.

  The genius behind the technological minefield of Community Chapel was Terry Fields, an audiophile with a degree in computer science from Cal Berkley. Under Terry’s watchful eye, the sound, video, lights and production of the Chapel services were as flawless as anything Hollywood might produce. To be in the congregation at Community Chapel was like being in the audience at the Tonight Show. Madison and Terry wanted the experience to be just as slick, just as professional and every bit as flawless as someone might enjoy at a Broadway show or Hollywood set. And they were getting closer to perfection every week.

  “Morning, Pastor. Here’s the run sheet. Bass player’s late again, but we’re starting without him. I’ve called back up. If he’s not here in five, we’ll go with the alternate,” Terry started in as Madison approached the production booth. “Video feed is in place, we’ve got the extra camera online, trying out the remote track and dolly this week, I’ve got it rigged out of sight lines so it should be non-obtrusive,” he continued.

  “Sounds like you’ve had plenty of coffee thi
s morning, Terr’,” Madison injected.

  “Maybe. So here’s your mic, batteries good, sound checked positive, good to go,” Terry said handing Madison his Invisi-line headset microphone. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go light a fire under these guys.” And he was off, jogging down the center aisle toward the stage.

  Madison paused long enough to put on the microphone. Looking out over the Chapel sanctuary, the band was tuning up. Harvey, former bass player for Paul McCartney, made his entrance - a brilliant musician - but a perpetual thorn in the side of the anal production manager. “I wonder if that’s why he got booted from Wings or whatever iteration of McCartney’s band he played for,” Madison thought. Madison wasn’t even completely sure that his production buzz saw, Terry Fields, was saved. They’d never really talked about it, but, man, was he great with gadgets. He made Pastor Madison Enright look like a million bucks every week.

  Both Sunday morning services filled the Chapel to near capacity, and the production flowed without a hitch. Madison, for his part, was right on the money.

  “...When things are going well, and you look around and find yourself enjoying the fruit of your labor. When you realize that all the hard work has paid off and you can finally let down your guard a little bit and relax - then you have a decision to make. And it’s the same decision that King David had to make when he rolled out of bed on the morning of that fateful day. Will you go ahead and do what you are supposed to do, what you are called and equipped to do? Or will you take the day off, take some down time, and stay in your robe and slippers all day?