Drumgold and Harper look at her.
She goes on, “I’ll wheedle it out of Curtis.”
Drumgold scoffs, “And just how d’you think you’re going to do that?”
“I’ll...I’ll get a ride in his oil truck and ask him.”
Drumgold snaps, “No. No way.”
Isora folds her arms and cocks her head at him. “I suppose you’ve got a better plan for getting the code.”
“I’ll think of one.”
Isora scoffs, “You can think from now ’til Christmas and you won’t come up with anything.” She takes Drumgold’s hands and says softly, “It’ll be easy. We pretend I’m looking for a ride into town when Curtis is delivering oil. We can easily find out when that is because Eastern Oil posts delivery dates on their web site. That’s how Dad knows when to put money aside for it. All I have to do is wait on the highway, on the city side of the Old Beach Road, so Curtis will see me before he delivers to the cottage, and I’ll hitch a ride with him.”
“Get picked up, you mean,” Drumgold growls.
“Hitching a ride doesn’t mean getting picked up, not the way you mean it.”
“What counts is how Curtis will see it. And you can bet he’ll think it’s a pick up.” He pulls his hands from Isora’s grip.
“You’re jealous,” she says.
“I don’t want you getting in over your head.”
“I won’t get in over my head,” Isora insists. “I’ll just sweet talk him–”
Drumgold spits, “Sweet talk!”
“I’ll sweet talk him into telling me the code when he stops at the cottage.”
“And if he won’t tell you?”
“Then I’ll find out...some other way...somehow.”
“How?” Drumgold challenges.
“I’ll think of something.”
“And get yourself in a whole load of trouble.”
“I can take care of myself,” says Isora.
Drumgold snorts.
Harper shakes his head.
24
A week later, at nine o’clock in the morning, the friends wait in the woods beside the highway a kilometre past the Old Beach Road. Isora has called the daycare to say she’s sick, and Drumgold’s shift doesn’t start until the evening. Harper has taken a day off from cutting lawns.
Drumgold stands apart from Isora and Harper, his hands in his pockets, staring at the ground. Harper is watching the highway.
Drumgold says, “It’s not too late to admit this is a bad idea.”
Isora goes to him and says, standing close, “I’ll be careful. I promise.”
“Call us the moment you get back. We’ll be at the camp.”
She says again, “I promise.”
She removes her coat and hands it to him.
He says, “You don’t look like you.”
“That’s the idea. I need to look older.”
She’s wearing a very short black skirt and a red blouse with the top three buttons undone and has made her face up with lipstick and eye shadow.
Harper says, “Here he comes.”
The truck is several hundred metres away, behind a slow moving car. Isora starts for the side of the road. The car slows, the driver, a man, looking at her. Drumgold steps quickly from the woods. The man sees him and drives on. Drumgold scrambles back into the shelter of the trees.
Isora reaches the gravel shoulder, puts one hand on her hip, and holds out her thumb.
25
“First I have to stop at the Anderson cottage,” says Curtis.
“Then I’ll take you into town.”
As the truck turns from the highway into the Old Beach Road, Isora, glancing behind, catches a glimpse of Drumgold and Harper, watching from the woods at the side of the road where Curtis had stopped for her a few seconds before.
When he reaches the cottage gates, he says, “I’m going to have to leave you here while I go in. They don’t allow anyone in the grounds without clearance.” He says it proudly. “It’s more than my job’s worth to have you seen with me.”
“I’d love to see in the grounds,” Isora says. “Can’t you get me in for a peek? I could sort of lie low so no-one’d see me.” She slides forwards in her seat so that her head is below the level of the window. “Like this.”
Curtis’ eyes rest on her legs, where her skirt has ridden up. “I guess you might be worth the risk, but keep your head down unless I say it’s okay to take a look around.” He grins. “But there’s a price.”
“What’s that?”
“A date. How’ll that be?”
She glances at him, smiles, and looks quickly away.
He says, “Is it a deal?”
She nods, her head still turned away.
Curtis, looking at the gates, says, “I guess the security guys are too busy to open up. I’ll have to get the gates myself.” He pulls a scrap of paper from his pocket, muttering, “I can never remember these numbers.”
Isora breathes, “Oh, wow. You have a code – like a secret code – to get in!”
Curtis smirks and taps the paper. “There’s not many have this kind of security clearance from Mr. Anderson.”
Isora manages a surreptitious glance at the figures.
Curtis jumps from the cab and swaggers to the gates. Isora grabs a pen from the dashboard and scribbles the code in the palm of her hand.
After making the delivery and allowing Isora to peer from the window because no-one seems to be around, Curtis says, “It’s time for my break. How about you and me get a coffee?”
He pulls out from the Old Beach Road and turns towards Back River.
Isora shakes her head.
“Come on. I know a nice little bar near here that serves a good cup of coffee this time of day, where you and I can have a quiet talk, eh?” He winks.
“I can’t.”
His voice hardens. “Why not? Boyfriend won’t like it?”
She shakes her head. “I just can’t. Anyway, I don’t have a boyfriend.”
He puts his hand on her arm. “One cup of coffee. Chat for ten minutes. Where’s the harm in that?”
His grip tightens and she says without thinking, “Dad would kill me if I went in a bar.”
He releases her.
“How old are you?”
“How old do you think?”
“I’ll tell you what I think. I think you’re a little girl who’s afraid of getting herself into something she can’t handle.”
Her cellphone rings. She ignores it. She knows it will be Drumgold.
Curtis says, “Aren’t you going to answer it?”
She takes out the cellphone.
Drumgold says, “Where are you?”
“On the way to town.” She looks at Curtis and smiles. “I’m with a friend.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yes. See you later.”
She puts the phone away and Curtis says, “Boyfriend?”
“I told you. I don’t have a boyfriend.”
“Your dad, then...checking up on his precious little girl.” Curtis’ eyes are narrowed. “First you can’t go to a bar because Daddy won’t approve. Then someone calls to check up on you. How old did you say you were?”
“I didn’t.”
“I want to know.”
Isora arranges her face in the coquettish smile she’s seen on the faces of models on the covers of the men’s magazines in the drugstore. “Old enough.”
“For what?”
“That’s for you to find out.”
Curtis grins. “So let’s go get that coffee.”
“I’d like to, really, but I just can’t, not now.”
“Another time, then. Don’t forget we’ve got that date.”
She smiles. “Okay.”
They don’t speak as they drive to Back River. Isora can see Curtis’ eyes moving between the road and her legs, in the short dress, as he drives. She pulls the hem down as far as it will go. Three times he rests his hand briefly on her knee.
&
nbsp; As he turns from the highway in to Back River, she says, “You can drop me here.”
He says, “I don’t make my dates walk home. Where do you live?”
She says the first thing that enters her head. “Hill Farm subdivision.”
He drives to the subdivision and says, “Which house?”
They are approaching Harper’s house. She points and says, “Here.”
Curtis pulls up at the end of Harper’s driveway.
Isora says, “Thanks for the ride,” and jumps from the cab.
She’s about to slam the door when he says, “So, now you owe me, eh?”
“Yes. Thanks.”
“And I’ll be collecting.”
“Okay.”
“Tomorrow.”
She looks up and down the street and behind her at Harper’s house, afraid that someone will see her and word will get back to her father that she’s been hitchhiking.
He says, “Well?”
She says quickly, anxious for him to go, “Okay.”
“Seven o’clock. Riverside Café.” He winks. “Then we’ll go some place more exciting.”
She nods and sets off up Harper’s driveway, wondering how she’ll explain her arrival in the oil truck to Mr. and Mrs. Meating. As she walks around the back of the house, Curtis drives away.
She calls Drumgold and says, “I’m back.”
“Are you all right?”
“’Course.”
“Did you get the code?”
“’Course.”
“Brilliant. Where are you?”
“In Harp’s backyard.”
“What are you doing there?”
“It’s where Curtis dropped me off. I pretended it’s where I live because I was afraid Dad would be home and I didn’t want him to see me get out of the truck. Now I’m wondering what I’m going to tell Harper’s folks if they see me.”
She realizes she’s shaking.
Drumgold says, “Wait,” then, “Harper says no-one’s home. Come out to the camp.”
“I can’t walk through town dressed like this. I don’t know what to do.”
Drumgold says, “Wait,” again. Isora hears him talking to Harper, then, “Wait for us in the house. Harper says the back door’s open and his folks are at work. We’re on our way there now.”
“Make sure you bring my coat.”
Isora tries the back door. As Harper had predicted, it’s open. She glances at the backyards on each side of the house. No-one seems to be around. She enters, feeling like a thief, and finds herself in the kitchen. The stove and the refrigerator seem bigger and shinier than those in her trailer, and there’s a countertop in the middle of the room, with three stools tucked neatly under it. Isora imagines Harper having breakfast there with his parents, the three of them sitting in a row. It makes her think of the three bears, and she feels like Goldilocks as she ventures into the adjoining room and sees three big armchairs arranged in front of the television. There’s a full-length mirror in the hallway. When she sees herself – the mini-skirt, the red blouse unbuttoned at the top, the mascara and the lipstick – she runs back to the kitchen and washes her face at the sink.
Then she throws up.
She’s sitting on one of the stools at the counter when the boys arrive.
Drumgold greets her with, “I’ve been worried sick.”
“Sorry.”
“Are you all right?”
“’Course I am.”
She grabs her coat from him and puts it on, pulling it tight around her.
“Are you sure?”
“I told you – yes.”
Drumgold looks carefully at her and says, “What?”
“Nothing.”
“What?”
“He asked me out.”
“And you told him to go to hell, right?” Isora doesn’t reply, and Drumgold repeats, “Right?”
“I’m seeing him tomorrow, at the Riverside Café, at seven o’clock.”
“Jesus, Is. What are you thinking of?”
“What was I supposed to do? He kept asking and I was afraid someone would see I’d been hitching and tell Dad. It was the only way I could get rid of him.”
Harper says, “You can’t go.”
“I don’t know how to get out of it.”
“Just don’t show up,” Harper suggests.
“He’ll come looking for me. He’ll come here, to your house. He thinks this is where I live. Then your folks will think I’m dirt–”
Harper starts, “No–”
Isora cuts him off. “Yes. And they’ll tell Dad and I’ll be in serious shit. I’ll have to meet him.”
Drumgold says, “I guess you must like him then.”
“Don’t be stupid.”
“Stupid is agreeing to go on a date with a guy twice your age. Or do you get a kick out of hanging around with older men?”
“Now you’re being really stupid.” She seizes his arm and shakes it. “Drumgold, I don’t know what to do.”
Drumgold snarls, “You got yourself into this mess. You can get yourself out of it.”
He stalks from the house.
26
When Harper arrives at the Riverside Café the next evening, Isora and Curtis are the only people there, apart from a single server, who sits behind the counter, her head buried in a paperback book.
The café is at the far end of Main Street, where the road splits, one fork leading to the mill on the other side of Back River, the other turning sharply and following the waterway’s winding course. Through the day its south facing aspect makes it a bright and cheerful place as mill workers and shoppers drop in for breakfast, coffee and lunch, but in the evening, when the sun dips behind the mill, it becomes gloomy, a mood that seems to infect the few people who visit at that time.
Harper buys a coffee and makes his way to the table at the back where Isora and Curtis sit across from one another. Neither has noticed his arrival. Instead of her hitchhiking outfit, Isora is wearing her usual jeans and tee-shirt. Harper thinks she looks about twelve years old. As he approaches, he hears Curtis say, “Then we can go to my place, watch a video, get comfortable...relax...”
Harper sits beside Isora and says, “Hi, Is. What’s up?”
She looks up and smiles. “Harp! Where did you come from?”
“I was cruising around and saw you in here. Thought I’d drop in and say hello.”
Curtis says, “Who the fuck’s this?”
Isora says, “He’s a friend, Harper.”
Curtis says, “Nice to meet you. Fuck off.”
“No. It’s Harper. Not Fuck Off,” says Harper.
Isora giggles.
Curtis looks blank.
Harper explains, “That was a joke – like you thought my name was Fuck Off. So you said, ‘Nice to meet you, Fuck Off,’ instead of, ‘Nice to meet you, Harper.’ Get it?”
“I get it. Now fuck off. This lady and I are trying to have a quiet evening out.”
“Mind if I tag along?” says Harper. “I’m at a loose end. Where shall we go?”
“The only place you’re going is some place else,” says Curtis. He turns to Isora. “Where do you know this jerk from? D’you babysit him or something?”
“I said – he’s a friend.”
“A school friend,” Harper adds brightly.
Curtis looks at Isora. “You’re in school?”
She nods.
“Grade nine,” Harper supplies.
“That makes you somewhere around...fifteen,” says Curtis.
“On the button!” says Harper. “You’re some smart.”
Curtis stands abruptly, knocking his chair over. “You fucking little whore. You got your ride into town, so what are you trying to get from me now?”
The server looks up briefly and returns to her book.
Curtis leans towards Isora, his clenched fists resting on the table. “I know what it is with sluts like you. You’re looking for someone to give it to you, aren’t you, because none of
your kindergarten friends, like dickhead here, can get it up? Maybe I should put you on your back and give you what you’re asking for and to hell with the consequences.”
Harper says, “Don’t talk like that.”
Curtis ignores him. “I’ll tell you what else dirtbags like you need. You need a good slapping around, to put you in your place.” He reaches across the table, grabs Isora around the neck and pulls her towards him until her face is only centimetres from his. “Maybe I’ll do it right here and now.”
Harper says, “Don’t do that.”
Without releasing Isora or looking at Harper, Curtis says, “And just what are you going to do about it?”
“I’m asking you.”
“Ask away, dickhead.”
“Let her go.”
“I didn’t hear you say ‘please.’”
“Let her go – please.”
“Fuck off.”
Isora suddenly stabs her fingers upwards against Curtis’ throat. He gasps, “You poxy bitch. I’ll teach you a lesson.”
The server says, “Curtis...”
He rounds the table, reaches across Harper, and seizes Isora by the wrist, pulling her to her feet.
Harper stands, too, and says again, “Let her go.” He grabs Curtis’ arm.
The server, reaching for the telephone, warns, “Curtis...”
Curtis turns to her and growls, “All right.” He relaxes his grip on Isora and shakes Harper’s hand from his arm. He says to Harper, “You and I better settle this outside – man to man.”
Harper nearly laughs. It’s like a line from a bad movie.
Curtis heads for the side door, which opens on to the little car park beside the café. Harper doesn’t move.
Curtis stops at the door, looking back at Harper. “Are you just going to stand there, or do I have to drag you outside so you can defend your cunt-happy girlfriend’s honour?”
Isora gasps.
Harper starts for the door.
Isora says, “Harp...”
He follows Curtis outside.
Curtis faces him, flexing his shoulders, his arms hanging loosely at his sides. He pokes Harper hard in the chest. Harper retreats a step, wondering at the amount of pain inflicted by such a simple blow. Curtis stabs him in the chest with his finger again. Harper takes another step back and stops.
Curtis says, “Come on, chickenshit.”
Footprints Page 11
