“That’s what the losers always say.”
“Are you calling me a loser?” I smiled to let him know I really was only joking, that it was okay to give me a hard time. It was my fault, after all, that we were in this mess. Despite the fact that I had dropped the phone because he scared me, I felt seriously guilty about it.
He looked at me for a moment in that silent way of his. It was funny. Tony was silent a lot, too, but usually with Tony I had no idea what he was thinking. With Bobby, I at least had a fairly good idea the words “pain in the neck” were in there somewhere.
“How about we concentrate on how we’re getting out of here?”
“Great idea. Think positive.” Something positive occurred to me on the whole ‘loser’ front, and I said, “Besides, it’s highly unlikely we would be in here long enough to starve. I could do with a few days of fasting, personally. I could go to my next Fat Fighters meeting and finally beat Trisha.”
“Who?” Bobby asked, his brow furrowed as he bent and rummaged under a shelf. “Oh yeah, on TV. She’s lost weight, right?”
I frowned, deciding that Bobby and I were now even.
“Yeah, well, I will too if we’re stuck in here for a few days. So there.” I hadn’t actually meant to say that last part out loud.
“So there what?” He dropped to the floor beside me, his hands across his upturned knees. He reached over and scratched Stump’s ear, which she pretended not to love.
“Nothing. I just… I’ve lost weight too.”
“You have? Good for you.”
“You have, question mark?” I said. “Question mark?”
“What?”
“Why the question mark?”
“Why the…what?”
“You said, ‘you have?’ with a question mark. Like, ‘you have?’” I might have hit the ‘have’ with more emphasis than was strictly necessary.
“Okay.”
“Because it’s hard to believe, right? I mean, I still look like the same old fat Salem. Not an ounce of difference.”
“Oh.” He opened his mouth, then closed it again. “Yeah, ummm….sorry, but no, I hadn’t actually noticed.”
“Oh, don’t be sorry. Why would you be sorry? Just because I’m working my butt off, trying to literally work my butt off, and it’s clearly not working. I don’t know why it’s not working. It’s working for Trisha. It works for everyone else at Fat Fighters. Why not me?” I shrugged and pulled my face. “Who knows? I didn’t eat the donuts. I took one pathetic spoonful of chicken salad. I didn’t drink the champagne.”
That got his attention. “Champagne?”
“I didn’t drink it,” I said, furious that that seemed to be the only thing he cared about. Anyone cared about. “I didn’t drink the frigging champagne. I wanted to. I could have used a drink at the moment. Just one drink. I didn’t even want the donut. Well, okay, I wanted the donut. But only because I couldn’t have the champagne. And now I can’t have either one. Good grief.”
Bobby clearly had no idea how to react to anything I said, so he just sat and stared.
We sat in silence for a long moment. I told myself to keep quiet. I was stressed, frustrated, and guilty. Nothing that came out of my mouth just then was going to be good. I needed to exercise some self-control in the area of just keeping quiet.
“It’s just that,” I said, because I had used my entire supply of self-control on champagne and Krunchy Kreems, leaving nothing left to control my mouth. “Sometimes I have a really hard time remembering why drinking was so bad. I mean, really? Was it so bad? At least I was skinny then.”
“Salem, give me a break. You act like you’re as big as a house or something.”
“I feel like I’m as big as a house.”
“Come on.”
“Seriously. Okay, I know I’m not as big as I could be. But…ugh!” I looked down at where my waist used to be. “I am so uncomfortable in my own skin. I feel like my real body is buried underneath this — this foreign — crap!” I spread my thumb and forefinger to cover the roll of fat over the waistband of my jeans. “Look at this! What is this? Who left this here? This isn’t mine.”
At the look Stump was giving me, I said, “Not you, baby. Mommy loves you.” I kissed the top of her head.
“Everybody gains a few pounds as they age, Salem. It’s no big — ”
“Age!?” I shrieked. “Age?”
Stump raised her head and gave Bobby the stink-eye.
“Not age,” Bobby said.
And then, because I was already teetering on the precipice of hysteria, and because Bobby’s face had taken on a decidedly backpedaling furiously kind of look, I burst out laughing.
After a few seconds, Bobby laughed, too. But he looked mostly confused.
“You looked so scared,” I said, pointing at him as I tried to catch my breath.
“Yeah, I was scared,” he said, without a second of hesitation. “We’re talking a woman’s weight and age. I’d rather face down a meth junkie with a loaded semi-automatic.”
I punched him in the shoulder, but I was laughing too hard for it to cause much damage.
I laughed until I fell over and Stump tumbled, grumping out of my lap. I braced myself against the hard concrete floor, then wiped tears from my eyes and tried to right myself.
“I’m sorry,” I finally said, when I could breathe normally again. “I’m in kind of a weird place at the moment.”
He looked around the room. “Yeah, me too.”
“No, I mean…” What did I mean? “I’m just…having a hard time adjusting to this new persona. I’m used to being the hot young thing. I need some time to acclimate to matronly.”
Bobby snorted. “You’re still a hot young thing, Salem.”
“Oh, please. You’re only saying that because you’re constitutionally incapable of being alone with a female and not flirting with her.”
“Am I?” He looked at me then, his eyes suddenly so intense on mine that I was unable, once again, to breathe.
My eyes locked to his. I could have made a joke. I could have rolled my eyes and punched him again. I could have blown the moment off.
Instead, I sat frozen, pinned by his gaze, unable — or unwilling — to break the spell. Part of me was afraid he was joking, making fun of me. But another part — a much stronger part, at the moment — wanted this to be real so I could, somehow know — See? I’m not a total gargoyle now! Some people are still attracted to me.
We sat, side by side and completely silent. His gaze flicked to my lips, back up to meet my mine, back down to my lips.
I kept waiting for the punch line. It didn’t come.
“Who says you’re not hot?” he asked, his voice low.
I swallowed, unable to find my voice. “Well, I mean…no one’s actually said it. Out loud.”
He stayed silent, his eyes intent on mine.
“It’s just…you know. Tony. My husband.” I threw the word out there to throw a wet blanket over the whole hot-as-fire scene that had suddenly sprung up around us.
It didn’t work. Bobby raised one eyebrow slightly, as if he couldn’t believe this to be true. “No?”
I swallowed. “He doesn’t seem…well. He doesn’t seem to think I’m particularly irresistible.”
“Well, he’s a fool then.”
I knew I should defend Tony. Or make a joke. Yeah, well, he stayed married to me, so he can’t be too bright, haha. I needed to do that. Tony deserved for me to do that. He didn’t deserve for his wife to be sitting here, seriously contemplating kissing this handsome specimen of a man. Again.
We’d kissed before, Bobby and I, after I’d been released from the hospital when Tony’s aunt had tried to have me murdered. And lots and lots of times in rich teenage fantasy life. I’d spent a major portion of my childhood quite certain I would someday be Mrs. Bobby Sloan.
But at that moment, my need for affirmation was a tiny bit greater than my need to defend Tony. I didn’t protest. I just sat, silent, breath hel
d. A voice in my head wondered, Why not? Tony’s not going to kiss you. He doesn’t want you. He’s staying married to you out of some fundamentalist sense of obligation, but he doesn’t really want you. If he did…
If he did, he would look hungrily at my lips the way Bobby did now. And Tony did not look at me like that, ever. He had not looked at me that way since we were eighteen and living like a real married couple.
And I was here, and I had not drunk the champagne and I had not eaten the donut, and I was trapped and trying not to freak out, and the promise of Bobby’s lips on mine his arms around me…it felt like something good and thrilling and…not boring. It felt like living. Actual living instead of just trying to hang on and run out the clock until bedtime, so I could sleep and dread the thought of white-knuckling through another day of sobriety.
This moment felt like the old Salem. The Salem who lived in the moment and didn’t worry about what anything “meant” or if it was “smart.” The Salem who did what felt like the right thing to do at the time and didn’t think beyond that.
I missed that Salem, I realized. I missed not giving a rat’s butt about consequences. The old Salem might have overdue bills, but she also had fun. She went out if she felt like going out. She ate Fritos if she felt like eating frigging Fritos. She didn’t second guess everything. She didn’t think about whether or not someone was attracted to her, because she was too busy deciding if she was attracted. If she was, well then. Giddyup.
And she was attracted to Bobby.
I stifled a groan and struggled to stand, moving to the other side of the room. It was no good. I wasn’t going to make out with Bobby, even if he was looking at me like the last slice of chocolate cake. I couldn’t do it to Tony. Again.
“Cut it out,” I said. “We’re stuck in here together and it’s not going to be good for either of us if you keep looking at me like that. No way it would end well.”
He raised an eyebrow. “No? In my plan it ends very well.”
“You know what I mean.”
He stood and crossed the narrow space between us with a couple of slow steps, his eyes still on mine. He really was quite dreamy. I was growing increasingly uncomfortable, but not because I feared him. He wouldn’t force himself on me. I simply had no confidence in my own level of self-control. And there was this part of Bobby’s neck, right at the spot where his shirt collar parted, that my lips very much wanted to touch.
I put a hand out. “Stop.”
He froze and his eyes went wide.
Ha, hadn’t expected that, I thought. I was sure he didn’t get turned down very often. Poor thing.
I opened my mouth to say something to soften the blow to his ego.
He spoke first. Loudly. “Hey! That’s sheet rock!”
“That’s…what?”
He’d stepped around me and was reaching through the shelves to tap on the wall behind them. “Sheetrock! I thought all these were cinder block, but this is — ” He drew back and looked around again. “What’s on the other side of this wall?”
I couldn’t keep up. I just stood with my mouth open.
“The restrooms, right? Yeah, restrooms. And then around to the dining room. So we could…” He began to pull cans off the shelf. Then he turned to me. “Come on. Help me get this shelf cleared off.” He pulled at the back of the shelf. “Ha! Not bolted in. Good!”
He moved more cans from the shelf and placed them on the floor at the other side of the room. Not knowing what else to do, I followed suit. Stump stood between us looking as confused as I felt.
Once we’d gotten the heavy stuff cleared off, Bobby tugged on one end of the shelves. With a heavy scrape, he managed to swivel them around so one end protruded into the middle of the room. He stopped and looked at me. “Come over to this side. I’m going to kick this wall out and we’ll have to squeeze through the struts.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. “Mario’s going to be furious that we’ve wrecked his place.” I slid around the end of the shelf and patted my leg for Stump to follow.
“He’ll be happy to find out we stopped the bandits.” Bobby leaned back and kicked the heel of his boot hard against the wall. A dent appeared in the sheet rock. He kicked it again. Another dent, deeper this time. He kicked again. And again. Soon, sweat stood out on his forehead and he was breathing heavily.
Stump whined and looked at me. I shrugged and whispered “Shhhh,” into her ear.
Finally, his boot broke through the wall. Bobby grabbed an edge and tugged it back. A bigger chunk broke off.
This part I could help with. I set Stump down and knelt to pull at another piece further down the wall. It was chalky and harder than I expected it to be, but I felt triumphant when a piece broke off in my hand. Once we’d made a big enough hole, Bobby stuck his head through and surveyed what was inside the walls.
I sat back, looking at the size of the hole. Would I really fit between the struts? I cringed at the thought of getting wedged in there like Winnie the Pooh in that hole in the tree.
Bobby tugged at the wall and peered down the wall. “Good. It looks like the pipes are down there. So I can kick through here and not run up against a sink or toilet. Stand back.”
He grabbed onto the struts and kicked hard against the other side of the wall. This one was much easier, I supposed because the wall was coming out the same side it had been nailed to. I picked Stump back up and huddled against the other shelf, watching as Bobby’s muscles bunched and flexed against his shirt.
With a crash, the wall came apart and we saw through to the small room on the other side. Bobby kicked aside the crumbled sheet rock and held out a hand to me. “Hand me your dog, and then you can come through.”
I handed Stump through, feeling sorry for her. She looked confused and annoyed. I feel you, honey, I thought.
I stepped up to the wall, then stopped. “Why don’t you go around and see if you can open the door from the other side?”
“The shelves are blocking that door now,” he said. “Come on, just come through here.”
“I can fit through there fine,” I said, although the space between the shelf and the opposite wall didn’t look any bigger than the space between the struts. I just didn’t want to squeeze through anything with Bobby watching.
He sighed and turned, leaving Stump in the middle of the rubble.
After he’d gone, I turned sideways and shoved myself between the struts. It wasn’t as bad as I’d feared, but I was still glad to leave no witnesses.
“Never mind,” I called out to Bobby as I stumbled through the broken sheet rock and picked Stump up. “I’m through.”
We went back to the motel office. Bobby called the police and I called Mario, apologizing for waking him at three in the morning. Stump went to G-Ma’s bed and whined until I picked her up and put her into the covers. She turned around a few times, plopped down with a snort, and promptly fell asleep.
I knew how she felt. After the cops and Mario showed up, and I explained to Mario what had happened, the exhaustion of the day and the night suddenly collapsed on me. I really didn’t want to be around when Bobby showed Mario what we’d done to his storeroom and restroom.
“Do you mind if I stay here with Stump?” I asked Bobby. “If she’s alone she freaks out and makes this horrible keening, wailing sound. She destroys stuff, and I don’t — ”
“No problem,” Bobby said. “Get some rest.
After they’d left, I stumbled to the bed and collapsed beside Stump. I’d never been so grateful for anything as I was to know I didn’t have to work the next day.
Chapter Six
But Who Shot JR?
Stump and I hung out at the motel all day on Sunday, watching church on TV in our sweats from G-Ma’s green velvet rocking recliner. Not a single soul came to the office, and I was starting to feel a little guilty that I had been the one to put an end to G-Ma’s cash flow. It needed to end, of course, but if I had it to do over again, I would prefer to be uninvolved.
> As I would have preferred to be uninvolved with Mario’s now necessary renovations. He didn’t seem to hold a grudge, though. He waved cheerfully to me as he drove up, listened as Bobby explained everything, and nodded as if he had walls kicked in all the time.
Rosa came over so I could go home and shower in my own bathroom. I told her to call me if G-Ma wasn’t home by six, so I could come back.
Stump was so glad to be home, and I was super relieved when Rosa called and said G-Ma had made it back just fine.
“Why didn’t she call?” I asked Rosa.
“I don’t know, hon,” she said. “I told her you were coming back if she didn’t make it home by six, so she asked me to call you.”
I hung up and made a face at Stump. “Yep, she’s mad at me.”
Oh, well.
Monday was a new day, though, and after spending all day Sunday doing practically nothing, I felt plenty rested up to face the day of work and then car shopping with Viv in the afternoon. I was especially glad when I saw that Bear and Charlie Clancy-Pigg were coming in to be groomed that day. There were a lot of dogs that I felt a personal affection for at Flo’s, and Bear and Charlie were two of my favorites. Bear had come first, a red Pomeranian that Charlotte Clancy-Pigg had had when she was still just Charlotte Clancy, before she got married and saddled her normal name to her husband’s not-quite-so-normal one. After a year of marriage, she and her husband got a little Chow-Chow puppy they named Charlie. Bear was bigger than Charlie at first, but of course Charlie outgrew him within the first couple of months. Neither of the dogs ever seemed to pick up on that fact, though. Bear was the boss, and Charlie only too happy to play the goofy beta dog. If the shop wasn’t too busy, we’d let them out to play in the floor. Charlie would flop over on his back while Bear jumped in the middle of his chest, growling and worrying the fur there like he was about to gut the big guy.
I hoped I would have time to play with them without Stump witnessing it. Stump had a jealous streak as wide and black as her snout. If she got jealous, she inevitably peed on something of mine within the next twelve hours. She had to refresh her mark on her territory, I supposed.
Caught in the Crotchfire Page 13
