"If they bother you so damn much, don't stare at them,” Ally said with a hint of mirth in her tone.
"You may as well not be wearing a shirt,” Cliff mumbled. “You said you'd put on a bra."
"No I didn't. You asked but I didn't reply. When I am doing physical labor, I don't like the restriction of a bra on my chest. Live with it."
"You look like the winner in a wet T-shirt contest."
"You calling me a prostitute?"
"I'm calling you a sexy lady."
"Why don't you try looking at another part of my anatomy for a change."
"When you helped Roger drag out that last box of trash, I did look at another part of your anatomy—your bottom.” He lifted his eyes and grinned. “It didn't help any more than looking into your bedroom eyes."
"You're coming on to me, you know."
"I'm just stating facts."
Ally's eyes focused on Roger, across the room, scrubbing the stained pine wall behind the row of booths they had laboriously tugged to the middle of the dining area. “Speaking of bottoms, that guy has worked his off today."
"Doesn't have much to say, does he?"
"Quiet as a church mouse, but I have an idea he has something on his mind."
"If you would dress decently maybe he could concentrate on his work."
Ally grinned. “You think I turn him on too?"
"You know damn well you do. You've been flirting with him all day."
"Jealous?"
"No, just pizzled."
"Pizzled?"
Cliff chuckled. “Yeah. That's a word my boss in Raleigh used a lot. It's sort of a combination of puzzled and pissed off."
"Want to talk about it?"
He spun the stool 180 degrees and rested his back and elbows on the counter. “You wouldn't be interested."
"I asked, didn't I. If you don't take advantage of my offer to listen, we have no excuse to continue resting."
"Well, first Julie was hot to trot and I was hesitant. Now I'm ready for a meaningful relationship and she's not interested. I don't know her very well, I admit, but I swear it threw me for a loop when I saw her making goo-goo eyes at you."
Ally snickered, but covered by taking another sip of her beer.
"First she was hell bent to sell the place and wouldn't even listen when I tried to talk her out of it. The next thing I knew, she wanted to keep it all and for the three of us to be partners. Then Carl showed up this morning and says she's going to sell most of it to him and he has his people working furiously on the place even though there is no contract."
"With some people,” Ally ventured, “a verbal agreement is just as binding as a notarized legal document. I understand your confusion, but why are you pissed off?"
Cliff scuffed the sole of his shoe on the floor and muttered, “She's making all these decisions without consulting me."
"Why should she?"
He searched her eyes for several seconds. “You're right. Why should she? I'm just an ex-con who wandered into the peripheral of her life unwanted and uninvited."
"Cliff,” she said, her voice softening. “I didn't mean it like that. Give it time. Julie doesn't know your interest in her has deepened. She thinks your only interest is in finding employment."
"I'm not through."
"There's more?"
"Out of the blue you tell me that you want a physical relationship with me and I ran away like a scared jackrabbit. Right now I want to hold your naked body in my arms so badly I can taste it."
Ally grinned. “Taste it?"
Cliff smiled weakly. “Your perspiration smells like a two inch sirloin sizzling on a charcoal grill."
Her countenance became serious. “So have a bite. Who's stopping you?"
"I am. Julie is. Damn,” he said, getting to his feet, “I told you I'm pizzled."
"Scuse me, folks."
Both Cliff and Ally turned towards the sound. One of the painters stood in the entranceway.
"Just thought I ought to let you know we're leaving now."
Cliff glanced at his watch. “I didn't realize it was this late. How much did you get done?"
"We scraped ‘er good. Most all the old paint was a-peeling off."
"Then you'll start painting tomorrow?"
"Nope. Gotta recalk all the windows first. They's a few panes missing. You might wanta go by the hardware and buy replacements first thing in the mornin'. We'll most likely get done by quittin’ time tomorrow. We don't work Saturdays or Sundays, so the paintin’ won't start ‘till Monday."
"How long do you think it'll take ’til you finish the outside?” Ally asked.
"Three, maybe four days. She needs a primer coat, ya know."
"Well, thanks for all your help and have a good evening,” Cliff said.
The painter turned, paused and again faced them. “What color you gonna use on the inside?"
"Off white,” Cliff and Ally said simultaneously.
"Good choice,” the painter grinned, showing three empty spaces where teeth should be. “Makes the room look bigger and besides, the hardware has a sale on off white."
"I suppose I should be going too."
Ally gasped and slapped her hand to her chest. “Damn, you're quiet, Roger. You shouldn't slip up on people like that."
"Sorry. I think the walls turned out real good."
Ally agreed. “When we get all the old soft drink and tobacco signs cleaned and back on the wall, the place will have real ambience."
Roger nodded. “I could come back after supper if you like."
Cliff smiled. “I don't suppose we're in that much of a hurry. Besides, you need some rest. You're the only man I've ever seen who works harder than I do."
"No charge,” Roger offered.
Ally cocked her head to one side. “Now why would you do that?"
"I don't have anything to do tonight."
"I think there's more to it than that."
"No ma'am. It's just that ... Never mind. I'll see you in the morning.” He walked towards the entranceway and stopped. Without looking at them he asked, “You folks planning on running this place by yourselves?"
"Along with the owner,” Cliff replied.
"I doubt that Julie will have much time to help out with all her artwork and stuff."
"You know Julie?"
"Long time ago. She wouldn't remember."
"Roger,” Ally said pointedly. “You do have something on your mind. Spit it out."
He turned with his head bowed. “I think I'd like to work here."
"Doing what?"
"Whatever."
"We couldn't pay much, Roger,” Ally said.
"I don't need much—trailer rent and food are my only expenses."
"Carl told me you are well on your way to becoming a good carpenter."
Roger looked up. “There's just one thing wrong with that. I don't want to be a carpenter. I want to be a handyman—a jack-of-all-trades like my daddy. He never made much, but he was happy. I think that's what counts."
"I agree with you. Your dad used to work here, didn't he?” Ally asked.
Roger nodded. “A long time ago. He did odds jobs for Mr. Wilson—kept the place up, pumped gas, waited on customers in the store, helped with the barbecuing.” He paused. “I'm talking too much."
Cliff smiled. “Ally and I have something else to do tonight, but if you want to come back and work on the signs, we'll leave the door unlocked."
Roger smiled. “You going to serve Mrs. Wilson's barbecue when you open the restaurant?"
"If we can find the recipe."
"I might be able to help there. As many times as I watched Mrs. Wilson prepare the sauce and helped Dad with the pits, I should be able to remember it."
"You worked here too?” Ally asked.
He shook his head. “No. I was just a kid. I kind of hung out after school while Dad worked. I'll tell you one thing, though. That barbecue is the most delicious food any man ever put in his mouth."
As Roge
r made his departure, Cliff said, “I'm getting hungry, Pretty Lady. How about you?"
Ally nodded her agreement. “If I'm going to cook, we'll need to make a run on the grocery store."
"The Korner Kafe in Dot serves good home-style meals. Let's grab a bite and get started moving you into the apartment."
"Give me ten minutes for a shower. I'm not going out in public looking like this,” Ally said, slipping off the stool.
As they walked towards the motel units, she continued, “Cliff, let's leave things the way they are for now."
"I'm not following you."
"I don't think it is a good idea for Julie and me to share a bed. Sometime before she arrives, we'll move you to another of the motel units, but I think I should stay where I am."
"Julie's not going to like that."
They paused in front of the apartment door. “We'll see.” She grinned. “I hate to mention it, but you could use a shower too. You stink."
Cliff chuckled and watched her buttocks grind as she walked away. The telephone rang as he entered the apartment.
"Yo?"
"Where the hell have you been? I've been calling all day. I was worried sick."
"We've been working on the restaurant, Julie. Why were you worried?"
"You should have called when you arrived last night to let me know you were safe."
Cliff grinned and shifted the telephone to his other ear. “You worried about me, Pretty Lady? I'm touched."
"I was concerned about both of you. Let me speak with Ally."
"She's, uh, temporarily staying in unit number one and, at the moment, is taking a shower. We're getting ready to go to Dot for supper."
Cliff frowned when he heard Julie sigh. “Ask her to call me when you get back."
"Will do. Carl Elliott came by early this morning and said you are going to sell most of the land to him."
"Yeah. It was Creasy Green's idea and I think it's a good one."
"Maybe, but I wish you had discussed it with me first."
"Why?"
Cliff paused and then replied, “I thought we were partners."
"I'm keeping the land with the businesses and log cabin. I thought that's what you wanted."
"It is, but ... oh, never mind."
"Is Ally feeling okay?"
"Yeah. I think she's still pretty sore, but she's not complaining. Her lip is much better today."
"That's good. Well, uh, be sure to have her call me later."
"Julie, do you know somebody named Roger Bruister?"
"Spunky?"
Cliff laughed. “That could be his nickname. He goes by Roger now. He said his dad used to be the caretaker here."
"God, yes I know Spunky. He used to hang out at the restaurant. I had a huge crush on him. All the girls did. What's he doing in Dot? The last I heard, he was working for the FBI."
"We must not be talking about the same guy. Roger is working for Carl Elliott as a common laborer and Carl sent him out here this morning to help out with the restaurant cleaning."
"It has to be the same man if his dad used to be the handyman—tall, dark hair, gray eyes?"
"That's Roger."
"Cliff, what in the world could have happened?"
"I don't know. Maybe you're wrong about the FBI thing."
"No, I'm not."
"Well, at any rate, he wants to work for you as a handyman like his dad."
"Hire him, Cliff. Offer him a good salary."
"Julie, I don't think we can afford..."
"Just do it, Cliff. Maybe we should cut him in on the profit."
"Damn it, Pretty Lady. You've already stretched this partnership thing too thin by bringing Ally onboard."
"You tell him we'll work something out when I get there next week."
Cliff stared at the telephone receiver and listened to the dial tone.
Chapter Ten
The aroma of freshly brewing coffee again woke Cliff from deep sleep. He rushed to the bathroom to take care of necessary bodily functions and, as he washed his hands, looked at the man in the mirror who was in bad need of a shave. Quickly he lathered up and scraped away the stubble. As he splashed on after-shave, he thought he should also attempt to rid himself of morning breath. He scrubbed both his teeth and tongue thoroughly. He quickly pulled on clean clothes, rushed to the kitchen and broke into near hysterical laughter.
A tall, slender person of undetermined gender stood at the stove dressed in baggy bib overalls. A brown paper bag with cutouts for the eyes covered its head.
When he regained control, he grabbed the figure by the shoulders. “Who are you and what have you done with Ally?” She snickered as he removed the bag. Their eyes locked. Their lips touched. Their bodies pressed tightly together.
Cliff backed away. “I'm sorry, Ally."
"I'm sorry you're sorry,” she muttered.
He poured a mug of coffee. “Anything I can do to help?"
"Put bread in the toaster."
They ate in silence and, when they were through, Ally put her dirty dishes in the sink and left without washing them.
Boy, is she pissed, Cliff thought as he watched her depart. He moved to the sink and ran water until it became warm. He closed the drain, adjusted the temperature and added dishwashing detergent. It's my fault, damn it. I must keep my hands off her. He shook his head and grinned. She lights my fire no matter what she's wearing.
When he joined her in the restaurant, Ally was scrubbing the stainless steel, double sink. Without looking up she said, “Check out the stove and grill. There's no point in cleaning them if they are not operational."
He studied the appliances for a moment. “Looks like they work on propane. There's probably no fuel in the tank and, frankly, gas scares me. I'll go back to the apartment and call in a professional."
She did not respond.
"Ally, I said I'm sorry. I don't know what else to say."
"We need more Brillo pads."
He nodded. “I need to go to the hardware store and buy panes of glass anyway. I'll pick up a box while I'm there."
Again, she did not respond.
The propane company promised to send a technician during the afternoon. Cliff measured a pane in a motel window and then counted the broken ones. When he returned to the apartment for his truck keys, the telephone was ringing.
"Yo."
"I've changed my mind."
"Good morning to you too, Julie. What now?"
"If I have a good day, I can finish the third Wal-Mart ad. I'm going to see if I can find a moving company willing to haul my junk to Dot tomorrow."
"Great!"
"It will probably be late when I arrive."
"It'll be good to see you again."
"Is Ally there?"
"She's in the restaurant. Want me to get her?"
"No. How about Spunky?"
Cliff chuckled. “Roger is a quiet, mild-mannered guy, but somehow I think he'd knock my block off if I called him Spunky."
"Is he there? Have you offered him a share in the business?"
"He's not here yet, Julie. Hell, woman. It's only eight o'clock. He came back after supper last night. I can't wait for you to see what he's done. The restaurant walls sparkle and he cleaned and polished all the old signs and put them up. It looks ... well ... Ally says it gives the place ambiance."
"As soon as he comes in, you tell him he is welcome to join us as a partner in this venture."
"Julie, we need to talk."
"There'll be plenty of time for that later."
"Julie, damn it. I love you."
"Bullshit."
The line went dead.
When Cliff returned from Dot, one of the painters helped him unload the windowpanes. “Feller's inside lookin’ fer you."
"Oh? What does he want?"
"Can't rightly say—somethin’ ‘bout gas."
"Oh, yeah. I wasn't expecting him until this afternoon."
Cliff wandered into the restaurant. Roger was on a ladde
r, cleaning one of four chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. A short, overweight, middle-aged man was behind the counter talking with Ally.
"Hi,” Cliff said, extending his hand. “I'm Cliff Baker."
"Bud Zegra,” the man replied, gripping Cliff's hand firmly. “The lady here says you folks are going to open the place soon. Keeping it rustic, I see. I like that."
"It'll probably take us a month or two, but we'll get it open eventually. I guess Ally showed you the stove and grill. I think the tank is out back."
The man cocked his head to one side.
"You are with the propane gas company, aren't you?"
Bud smiled. “I'm a gas man, all right, but not propane. I sell automobile go-juice.” He handed Cliff a card that identified him as a representative of the Charlotte based Riteway Petroleum Company. “If you haven't already hooked up with a company, I'd like for you to consider us. We can give you a deal that will allow you to be competitive with the stations in Dot."
Cliff glanced at Ally who winked her approval. “We haven't signed with anybody yet. We'll listen to your pitch."
"There's no pitch, Mr. Baker. We'll make you a fair offer on installing tanks, pumps and signage and we'll give you a competitive deal on gas and other products. I'll put it in writing and you can compare it with other offers."
"I'm sure there are already tanks in the ground."
Bud nodded. “Probably, but they'll have to come out and new tanks installed. Old tanks leak and that isn't good for the environment. North Carolina recently enacted new, very strict laws about underground tanks. Let's go outside and check things out."
Cliff nodded and led the way.
"Those old pumps have to go. The way I see it, you need two islands with eight pumps each."
"One island with two pumps is sufficient,” Cliff argued.
Bud shook his head. “The company won't go for that. The minimum is one island with four pumps."
"Two underground tanks?"
"Three."
"Why three?"
"Regular, hi-test and diesel."
"We don't get many big rigs through here. We don't need diesel fuel."
Bud nodded. “If the restaurant is good, the trucks will come, but we can add that later. I'm thinking of a nice tall sign right here in the middle, next to the road."
"What's on the sign?"
"Riteway, of course, and a place to post your regular and hi-test prices. It comes with all the letters you need and an extension pole to use in changing prices."
Sintown Chronicles III: In Dark Corners Page 10
