“Thanks a lot, boys. I couldn’t have done it without you all.” she said somewhat coyly, as if to humor these silly men.
“They insist on helping,” Vicky said to Allison barely above a whisper, as if she could read her thoughts. “Well, c’mon in, you know where the beer is,” she hollered out to the men.
The room was suddenly alive with testosterone as the men rushed to the small kitchen and hovered by the light of the open refrigerator door, handing cans of cold beer out to each other. The men avoided eye contact with Allison and walked around her as if she wasn’t there.
As one of them walked by, he wolf-whistled at her and said, “Hey blondie.” Then he said “Hey Vicky, ain’t you gonna introduce us to your new friend?” He smiled a grimy smile, while some of the other bikers chuckled.
“C’mon Trash, be nice,” Vicky reprimanded him.
“I am being nice. I’m just asking who your new friend is?”
“This here’s my new neighbor, Allison Brinkmeyer.”
Allison was taken aback. The woman actually caught her name, not only her first name, but her last as well.
“Very good, Vicky Dooley. You remembered my name.”
“And you remembered mine. I never forget a name or a face, though I might forget just how I know them.”
“That’s our Vicky, all right,” Trash chuckled as he popped open his beer and took a slug.
“I never forget a face either, but I’m terrible with names,” Allison said. “I had to take a class to teach me how to remember names.”
“A class to learn you to remember names? I ain’t ever heard of a class to teach you how to remember names.”
“Oh, yes! You can take a class for just about anything these days.”
“I fuckin’ guess. Pardon my French.”
“Don’t worry, my French is worse than that.” Allison chuckled at her own joke.
“You? No way. Now me, I got me a foul mouth. Bad habit. Suppose I could take a class to learn me to quit cussing?”
Though she was trying to be facetious, there was something half-way serious in the way she posed this question. Allison thought she recognized something of herself in the way the woman broke eye contact for just a moment, her eyes darting downward so that no one could see what was there for that heartbeat of a second. It was the same lack of satisfaction with herself that Allison saw every time she looked in the mirror. It was a desire for someone or something to come along and lift her out of herself and refine her, a miracle that might make her acceptable.
Chief Bobby was standing like a statue with his arms folded. He didn’t seem to belong to the biker gang. His role appeared to be protector or bodyguard for Vicky.
“So, how did you remember my name?” Vicky asked Allison, taking another long draw off her cigarette, unaware of the long ash that drove Allison crazy with the desire to flick it.
“I thought of Queen Victoria.”
“No shit?” Vicky laughed a sensual husky laugh that sounded as if it strained to break free from her lungs. A wheezy congested cough followed the laughter, which caused the ash to fall off Vicky’s cigarette and onto the carpet.
“Are you all right?” Allison asked.
“Fuckin’ bronchitis! Yeah, I’m fine. Need to quit smoking. I believe I could give up cussing easier. So what made you think of Queen Victoria? “
“Because you look like a queen sitting there on that box.”
“Yeah, that’s me all right! Queen of strong drinks, fast boys, and big talkin’ bullshit,” Vicky said as straight faced as can be. Allison laughed out loud. “So what are you queen of, Miss Allison?”
“I don’t know about the strong drinks and fast boys part. Fast cars, maybe. And big talkin’ bullshit most certainly. I could give you a run for your money on that one.” Vicky smiled her crooked smile at Allison. “But still, you’re the one with the queenly name.”
“My name ain’t Victoria though. Just plain ol’ Vicky. Vicky with a ‘y’. Vicky Lee to be exact. That’s what’s on my birth certificate. So how did you remember my last name?”
“I thought of that old song. ‘Hang down your head Tom Dooley’,” Allison half-sang, half-spoke the first line of the song.
“Hang down your head Tom Dooley. Hang down your head and cry,” Vicky sang.
“Hang down your head Tom Dooley. Poor boy you’re gonna die.” Allison and Vicky sang together in unison.
“Yeah, I heard that one a time or two,” Vicky said.
Chief Bobby had disappeared momentarily, but reappeared again with a brown glass ashtray which he stuck under Vicky’s chin at the precise moment she was ready to scrunch out her cigarette.
“So what’s your secret?” Allison asked. “How do you remember names so well?”
“I listen.”
There was a brief silence between the two women, finally broken by the voice of one of the big bikers putting on his black leather jacket. “Hey Vicky. We’re gonna take off.”
“Thanks a heap, Jimmy.” Vicky stood up for the first time. She was about six feet tall, all legs.
Vicky said her goodbyes to the bikers, and they all left with the same noisy burst of adrenaline with which they’d moved her things. After the last of the bikers was out the door, Vicky looked at Bobby, who looked back at her while he put on his jean jacket preparing to go. There was a definite kinship between these two as they seemed to communicate without words.
“Thanks Bobby. You didn’t have to come, you know.”
“Had to check out your new home,” Bobby said.
“So does it pass the inspection?”
Chief Bobby gave a quick nod in response. Vicky embraced the strong man with the long braid. He was about as tall as her.
“Love you, bro,” she said as she hugged him. Bobby’s stone face showed a crack of tenderness though he spoke no words. “Bobby’s my bro, you know. Only one I got,” Vicky said to Allison as she slapped Bobby on the back. Bobby looked at Allison then back at Vicky as if to make sure everything was okay and that Vicky was comfortable being left with this stranger. Vicky gave him a nod. Unlike the bikers, Chief Bobby parted without a sound. The two women watched as he silently slipped out the door, giving only a slight wave of his big hand to signal his final farewell.
Allison knew she should go too, but she didn’t want to go. She didn’t want to be all alone in her apartment with nothing but her own self-pity.
“I need to get going myself,” Allison said looking at her watch for no reason whatsoever, except that it was a habit of hers to check her watch upon arrival or departure from any given place. “It was nice meeting you Vicky Dooley.”
“Nice meeting you too, Allison Brinkmeyer.”
“Let me know if you need anything. I’m just upstairs in apartment 5.”
Allison headed for the door and Vicky called after her. “Hey, you don’t have to run off.” Underneath the strong unwavering tones of Vicky’s loud raspy voice was an almost desperate plea for companionship. Allison turned around.
“I know how it is living alone. Folks don’t get to know their neighbors no more. Ain’t no front porches in apartments.”
“Nor even houses anymore for that matter,” Allison added.
“Ain’t it the truth,” Vicky said, lighting another cigarette and walking over to the kitchen. “You look tired, girl. Have a seat. Can I fix you a drink?” she called out from the kitchen.
“No, thanks,” Allison called back, taking a seat on the old beat up sofa.
“Mind if I fix myself a drink?”
“Not at all. It’s your home.”
“Yeah, it is, ain’t it? Nicest home I ever had. Always wanted to live in a castle,” said Vicky, emerging from the kitchen with a black coffee mug. She breathed out a stream of cigarette smoke and proudly surveyed the place with a broad smile and bright brown eyes. She grabbed hold of the rocking chair, and dragging it behind her, pulled it right up to the sofa next to Allison. She plopped in the rocker with all the grace and finesse of a
n adolescent boy. Allison got a strong whiff of whiskey as Vicky lifted the black coffee mug to her lips.
“Is that straight whiskey you’re drinking?” Allison asked.
“Jack Daniels. Tennessee’s finest. You sure you don’t want some?”
“Brrrr. No, thank you! Way too strong for me. I’m getting a buzz just off the fumes. I’m a hopeless lightweight.”
Vicky laughed her hoarse wheezy laugh. “I kinda figured you was. You like them sweet frozen, Easter egg colored drinks with the little umbrellas in ‘em. Don’t you? You’ll drink a beer every so often. And you’re trying hard to acquire a taste for fine wine, though secretly you’d just as soon have the cheap sweet stuff. But when you go out partying, it’s a daiquiri or margarita every time.”
“That’s amazing! How did you know that about me.”
“I’m a bartender. It’s my job to know.” Vicky took another gulp from her mug.
“Where do you work?”
“The lounge at Lamasco’s River Inn. Been working there going on four months now. Nicest place I ever tended bar. Believe me I’ve worked some real dives in my time.”
“That place has become quite the hot spot lately. I keep hearing about it.” Allison said, recalling how the River Inn lounge had become the yuppie hangout of Lamasco. She tried to envision this hillbilly motorcycle mama from Kentucky in the midst of all those yuppies. “They have jazz bands there on the weekend.”
“Yeah, that’s the only down side of the job. I’m trying hard to acquire a taste for jazz. Same way you’re trying to acquire a taste for fine wine. But like you, I still prefer the cheap stuff. Hell, I’m just an ol’ country girl. Give me Elvis or Hank Williams Jr. any day. ‘Course I like rock too. Janis Joplin. The Who. The Stones. All them ol’ greats.” Vicky rocked in her chair, and smoked and drank her whiskey contentedly.
“I’m talking your ear off. Ain’t I?”
“I don’t mind,” said Allison. “Honestly.”
“I do a lot of listening with my job. It’s nice just to be able to talk.”
“I do a lot of talking with my job, so it’s nice just to be able to listen for a change.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m in advertising.”
“I could tell you some stories, girl. I seen it all. I heard it all. Bartenders are kinda like low rent psychiatrists. We listen to people’s problems, advise them as best we can, and prescribe medication.”
“I never thought of it like that. What an original outlook. Let me know next time you work. My fiancé and I’ll stop by for a drink and some free counseling.”
“Oh? You need it?”
“I was just kidding.”
“I figured you was getting hitched.” Allison gave Vicky a questioning look. “The ring,” Vicky said in response, pointing to Allison’s left hand. “So when’s the wedding?”
“This June. As a matter of fact we’re having our reception at your place. In the Gold Room. I’m sorry to say that’s about all I’ve seen of the River Inn. I haven’t been to the restaurant or lounge yet.”
“Well, you and your honey just gotta come pay me a visit, now don’t you?” Vicky said exhaling smoke through her nose and scrunching out her cigarette in the brown glass ashtray which sat on a box by the sofa. She stood up, lit another cigarette, and went into the kitchen for just a moment. She emerged with her bottle of Jack Daniels. “Sure I can’t get you anything?” she asked, cigarette hanging from her mouth as she poured some more whiskey into her mug. She placed her bottle on the box by the ashtray, and sinking into the comfort and security of her old rocker, appeared to settle in for the evening.
“No, thank you,” Allison said, her stomach beginning to ache with hunger. “You’ve been very hospitable, but I really need to go home and get something to eat,” Allison said rising to her feet and collecting her purse.
“Is it suppertime already? What time is it anyway?”
“Ten ‘til six,” Allison said looking at her watch.
“Shit! I didn’t reckon it was getting to be so late.” Vicky quickly jumped up from the rocker. “I’d offer you something except all I got is a bag a chips. Sometimes I forget to eat.”
“Maybe if I’d forget to eat I’d be as skinny as you,” Allison said re-slinging her purse over her shoulder.
“But you ain’t fat. You was, but you ain’t no more. Except now you can’t see yourself any other way.”
“How did you know I used to be fat?”
“I just figured you couldn’t have always been so good looking. You’re too nice. Not stuck up like someone born and raised good looking might be.”
“Thanks. I think.”
“I meant it as a compliment.”
“And I thought I knew people.”
“You just learn them in my business,” Vicky said taking another gulp from her mug. “You better go get you something to eat, girl.”
“What about you?”
“Oh, I’ll be all right. Got me a bag a barbeque potato chips. That ought to hold me over ‘til morning.”
“You’ve got to have something more than that.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Hey, I just remembered. I’ve got some lasagna. Do you like lasagna?”
“Sure. I’ll eat just about anything that ain’t still crawling or got something crawling on it.”
“One of the girls who lives here made a ton of lasagna for me. Sally’s her name. Believe me, you’ll meet her soon enough. She lives down the hall from you. If I don’t finish it up soon I’ll just end up throwing it out. We can have it for dinner.”
“That’s awful kind of you. Sure I ain’t imposing?”
“Not at all. You’re saving me from having to eat alone. I hate to eat alone. No, I’m the one who feels impertinent; barging in your apartment like this and just making myself at home.”
“ ‘Impertinent’… don’t tell me the definition. Let me look it up. As soon as I find my dictionary,” Vicky said looking around at the boxes. “In the mean time let me write that down. I’m tryin’ to educate myself–get a better vocabulary,” Vicky said grabbing her purse off the kitchen counter and digging through it.
“Oh!” was all Allison could say at this sudden shifting of gears.
“Impertinent. Now how do you spell that?” she asked pen and paper in hand. “I-M-P…”
“I-M-P-E-R-T-I-N-E-N-T,” Allison finished spelling the word.
“No, I hear what you’re sayin’ about hatin’ to eat alone. That’s why I just a soon munch on a bag of chips. I can’t remember the last time I sat down to supper.”
Vicky followed Allison upstairs to her apartment. Allison was right about Vicky. She bounded up the stairs two at a time, with a bag of chips in one hand and a bottle of Jack Daniels in the other. Despite Vicky’s heavy smoking, Allison didn’t detect the slightest hint of puffing or panting once she reached the top.
And so the two had dinner together. Vicky helped Allison chop up carrots, cut up, rinse, and dry a head of lettuce for salad, while the microwave oven radiated the frozen lasagna. Vicky was insistent that she contribute something to the dinner so she brought along her bag of chips, which they crushed into tiny crumbs and sprinkled over the top of the lasagna. The chips actually helped the lasagna, which wasn’t exactly fresh and never quite made it past warmed. The two talked well into the night.
Vicky told Allison all about her life. How she grew up in rural Western Kentucky between two coal mining towns. How her mother died when Vicky was only a teenager. How it was the cigarettes and worry that killed her. She told her about her father, a mean alcoholic who died shortly after her twenty first birthday. He wanted to see her before he died but she refused to go. Now he visits her in her dreams, all sober and cleaned up, and asks her why she didn’t come. She feels regret and sorrow in these dreams, until she wakes up, then she’s angry all over again.
Vicky was an only child. The emptiness of no brothers and sisters threw a kind of pall over her childhood, as it
also did for her mother who lost baby after baby to miscarriage. No brothers and sisters, but she did have her cousin Chief Bobby who was as good as any brother. The only problem was Bobby couldn’t go home with her. He had his own home and his own set of problems there, just like Vicky.
She always thought if she had a brother or sister at home maybe she could laugh more about her Daddy. She would’ve had someone she could hide under the bed with when he was on a whuppin’ rampage. Someone she could giggle with when he passed out in his lazy boy with his glass still firmly clutched in hand, his head tilted back, his mouth wide open, and that reverberating snore that you could hear from anywhere in the house. Someone she could make dares with about who could get the glass out of his hand without waking him up. Someone she could take whuppins for. Someone who could take whuppins for her.
Her paternal grandmother was the stabling influence of her life. She always knew just when to call or show up, just when things got really bad. She was a good Christian woman, always quoting the Bible and dragging Vicky along to church and holy roller prayer meetings. This grandmother outlived both her parents, dying about a year after her father. She still cries sometimes at night into her pillow for grief over the loss of her grandmother.
Vicky left late that night. Allison opened all her windows and the sliding glass door to the balcony, to air out her apartment from the cigarette smoke. Although the smoke was intense and Allison had grown unaccustomed to the smell during the past year, it reminded her of her college days and of the sorority house. The smell of smoke made her homesick for her friends. She fanned the smoky air with a thick magazine and laughed. She was surprised how much she enjoyed Vicky’s company. She thought how completely different they looked standing side by side, yet their backgrounds were actually very similar. They both had unhappy childhoods. They were both teased in school, Vicky for being too skinny, Allison for being too fat. They both knew the rural life, the seasons of planting and harvest. It was the land, with all that space to run around in and dream that saved them both from going crazy. Yet here they both found themselves, years later in these tiny apartments, not far from where they both grew up, yet somehow a million miles apart.
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