Alpaca My Bags

by Violet Patton

  “I miss him. He was my best friend, too. He knew I was a one-man woman.” She glanced at a photograph of a man setting on the table beside her chair. “That’s my Bud. My true love. Nobody else can compare.”

  She rocked. The AC cycled on and I shivered. I had finally gotten cold.

  “I’m sorry you lost Bud.” I’m a one-woman man too. If something were to happen to Philly, I’d be inconsolable. “And Dan.”

  “I haven’t grieved properly. I shoved Bud’s death, staying busy. But losing Dan has pulled a rug out from under my feet. I need time...”

  “I wish I’d known, I would’ve tried to get around by myself...”

  Madonna smiled. “Oh, Bunny. Helping you saved me. I couldn’t curl up and die.” She chuckled. “In the back of my mind, I knew someone... some woman would put an end to Dan’s life... style.” She rocked harder.

  “What can I do to help?”

  “You’ve already done it.”

  Back in Texas, I had good girlfriends. Once we moved to Cali, I lost my connection with the wives of the newspaper people and old high school chums. The Chronicle’s employees weren’t antisocial and the paper often hosted functions, but I didn’t bond well with them.

  I hadn’t made instantaneous friends with anyone. Not like Madonna.

  Madonna is like my sister, except better, she isn’t my sister. A sister knows when to change the subject. “Where d’you buy these tiles? I need tiles. Take me there.”

  She smiled, and a twinkle lit her eye. “Funny, I knew you’d love these tiles. I found an artisan who custom made them. He’s in Nogales. Wanna go?”

  “Where’s Nogales?”

  “This side of the Mexican border.” Mexican and border sounded mysterious. My kind of road trip.

  “How long does it take to get them?”

  “If you buy from his on-hand stock. He’s got lots of pretty stuff.”

  I drained the wine. “I’ll find out how long I have. No telling when Philly will finish the Arizona room. And... I won’t allow him to buy roll linoleum from a discount outlet.”

  Mama had asbestos rolled linoleum. She loved it spanking clean and scrubbed it with bleach once a week. Her need for cleanliness and love for her linoleum gave her lung cancer.

  “Philly’s a cheapskate if I don’t watch him close enough.”

  Madonna stood. “So was Bud. He had half of every dollar he made. I’ve spent a few of those fifty-cent pieces, since he passed.” We laughed understanding our husband’s mutual frugalness.

  The golden wine went to my head, and when I stood, I felt woozy.

  “Next time you come over,” Madonna said, “Knock on this door. I’m always in the Arizona room.” She pushed back a drape revealing a sliding glass door.

  “Oh, I didn’t see that earlier.”

  She unlocked and opened the door. “I keep these insulated drapes on all my windows. I like it dark and cool.”

  Going out, I fingered the heavy-duty fabric. I didn’t even ask before Madonna said. “These are new. I ordered them online last year. Around here, the sun rots everything. You got to replace them often. Cuts down on the electric bill, too.”

  “I’ll research that. Thanks for the tips. I’ll let you know when we can go tile shopping.”

  Dang it, I need a cell phone and the internet.

  “Sure thing, Hunny Bunny,” Madonna said. “Gimme a hug.”

  We hugged, and I felt satisfied. Everything made sense. Madonna and Dan were longtime friends, and people loved to gossip, especially people who weren’t fast friends like Madonna and me.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The Arizona Room

  Philly lounged in his chair when I walked up. “Where ya been?”

  He had dressed down—shorts and flip-flops. With his legs crossed, he sat with the tablet on his knee.

  “Visiting neighbors.”

  Philly peered over readers perched his nose. “It’s almost suppertime, you cooking.”

  “Oh. Guess you’re hinting at supper.” I climbed the steps and sat beside him. I picked up the Jesus fan from the veranda table and fanned us while he played Candy Crush.

  “What’d Madonna say?”

  “How d’you know where I went?”

  He lifted a brow. How could he miss seeing me walk across the street?

  Philly hasn’t taken his eye off me since the moment we met. From that moment, he appeared love struck. I wasn’t. I took another twenty-four hours. We went on a date the next night. He took me to a drive-in movie. I forget the name of the place and the movie. He had designs and desires in mind. He worked up the nerve to kiss me, and that did it. I’ve never kissed another man since. I went home and told mama I was getting married, and he hadn’t even asked me.

  “Let’s go eat Chinese.” I fanned and glanced at his game. I must learn to use his tablet to order heavy drapes online.

  “We don’t have a car. I’ll eat whatever you got.”

  I’m missing my good Chinese and what San Fran offered. I didn’t appreciate her nearly enough, and like beds and old Cadillacs, all cities are female.

  “I forgot.”

  I don’t have a driver’s license or a car. It was illegal to drive golf carts on the outside streets. Good planning by the Tucson city council. They wouldn’t want the residents of this asphalt jungle driving fancy free in not street worthy carts on the regular streets. Mack Riggs would pucker up tight if he thought we were escaping on his watch.

  “I want pretty floor tiles from Nogales.”

  “Okay.” He didn’t even ask where I got that notion.

  “How long do I have?”

  “Dunno. Maybe a week. Two.” His readers were on his head since he can’t see with or without them. Sometimes he wears one pair on his nose and another pair on top of his head.

  “About a month then.”

  “Prolly.” His stomach grumbled, and he matched three colored tiles in the game.

  “Didn’t Bob’s fill you up? Teach me to play that game.” Candy Crush looked easy enough. He worked a stylus across the screen matching more tiles. Anybody and their monkey could play an online game.

  “Not now, I’m hungry.”

  “You’re always hungry.”

  Once again, I rustled up grub for my wrangler. Inside the AC unit blew hot air, and I brought paper plates loaded with roast beef sandwiches and potato chips out to the veranda.

  “It’s past five o’clock.”

  Philly took a bite of sandwich. “I’m thinking I can’t watch Jeopardy anymore.”

  “Why not?” Could he get a demerit for not watching it?

  “I don’t know the answers.”

  I frowned. He had a point. “Well, at five o’clock we need to find an honest, wholesome activity. Ever’body else is watching Jeopardy.”

  He lifted his highball glass. “I got enough to do at five o’clock.” Subject was resolved.

  “You like blue and beige?” I asked, adding a potato chip to my roast beef before I chewed.

  He gave me a wonky look. “I’m colorblind. Remember?”

  “That’s right. We’ve talked about it. You’ve missed so much.”

  He pushed the stylus. “Uh-huh.”

  “How do you see those candies?”

  He puckered. “Different hues of gray. Clear as a bell. Helps they got stripes.”

  We finished another meal. I stacked the paper plates. In San Fran, I never used paper or plastic products. Sea lion pups died from eating red stack cups and birds would become entangled in plastic six-pack holders and white plastic bags flew like seagulls. Cali was the epitome of an environmental nightmare, and I wanted to be a good steward of the land.

  Here in the asphalt jungle, there were no worries about loose plastics or filling landfills with wasted paper products, everything evaporated before it hit the garbage bins.

  “Where’s the driver’s book that boy gave me?”

  “Do you mean the driver’s license manual and Jason the insurance agent?”


  I smirked. “That’s right. I’m calling it a night.”

  “Last I saw it, it was next to the toilet. Me too. Flip on the tube. Maybe I’ll watch a few minutes. Might learn something.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Forever and a Day

  The next morning after the demolition crew arrived, with Philly safely occupied by the other boys in the sandbox, I prepared to read the driver’s manual. As Philly said, I found it on the back of the toilet and inside it was the napkin Gale had written her phone number on. Glad I put it somewhere safe.

  With coffee in hand, the manual and Gale’s napkin, I settled in a veranda chair to borrow Philly’s cell phone. I’m not a dead Jack-o’-lantern head; I can punch in the numbers on the cell phone.

  Don’t use his phone. It’s a mistake.

  When Gale answered yelling into the phone. “WHOSE THIS.” I pulled the phone away from my ear, realized the speaker was on, so I punched it off. I didn’t need Wayne to eavesdrop on my conversation.

  “Yeah. Gale, its Bunny Winters. I thought—”

  “Yeah, I knew you’d get around to it. We gotta get with Lulu ASAP. She’s feeling poorly. This Wanda business has messed with her blood pressure. I’m taking her to the doc this morning. How about you stop by at five?”

  “Okay sounds fine.” I wanted this Wanda business finished, too. “Where does she live?”

  “678 Wisconsin. Don’t be late.” She hung up before I said goodbye. It was a long time before five o’clock. She and Lulu must not be fans of Jeopardy.

  Water aerobics wouldn’t start for another hour. Madonna’s blinds were closed, so were Ann’s, they must be sleeping in. If they asked me to go, I would decline. The swimming pool was far too dangerous for me.

  I picked up the driver’s manual and flipped it to page twenty-two. I can’t remember where I left off last night. It didn’t matter; I already knew the rules of driving a car. Stop on red. Go on green. Use a turn signal. The state of Arizona must want money, otherwise, I wouldn’t need a new driver’s license.

  Wayne pulled up in his pickup and parked at the edge of the carport. He got out, leaned against the front side panel and lit a smoke. The demo crew hauled paneling and the storage building parts to the bed of the truck.

  Philly came over and leaned against the railing. “Looks like we’re done wrecking the place. Me and Wayne are going to the Depot. Anything you need?”

  I flipped the book closed. Home Depot sounded way more fun than studying. I was desperate. If given the opportunity, I avoided Home Depot.

  “Yeah, can you drop me off at the driver’s license place?”

  He adjusted his crotch. “Don’t you want to read the manual more?”

  I slapped the manual onto the table. “Read it. What time are you leaving?”

  “In a few.”

  “What time you coming back?”

  “Later.”

  “Okay. I gotta be home before five.”

  He glanced up. “What for?”

  “Nunya. I got an appointment.”

  He leaned his chin on his thumb. “To do what?”

  “I’m meeting Gale to talk about ceramics class.” That lie popped up magically. I’m a firm believer in what Philly doesn’t know won’t hurt him. “You sure you don’t remember Wanda coming over the other night?”

  “You’re changing the subject.”

  I frowned, he knows me too well. “You guys thinking of eating lunch out?”

  On cue, my stomach growled. “It’s too hot to cook. Everything is such a wreck.”

  If I stopped running around the Oasis, poking my nose into other people’s business, I’d get the kitchen organized.

  “If you want, Wayne can suggest a nice place.”

  I glanced up at Wayne. He had one cigarette dangling and another ready to light. He was a nice enough Texas boy, but I doubt anyone would consider him a connoisseur of fine cuisine.

  “Like Golden Corral?” I asked. Philly loved the buffet in Odessa. We would always eat there when we went home for a funeral. There aren’t too many living folks left we know in Texas, odds of Philly eating at Golden Corral again were slim.

  “Elmer’s is as near to the Corral as we can get.” Wayne’s protruding belly was a testament to that statement.

  “That’d be good. I’ll get my purse.” The Corral had good yeast rolls. With a joint named Elmer’s I’ll keep my expectations low, save myself heartache.

  “Bring the manual. You can study at lunch,” Philly said.

  It didn’t take me long to shake a lamb’s tail, before the demo crew finished loading the pickup. I had dressed light, had my sun visor, a bottle of water and photo ID. As much as I didn’t like the Oasis, I wanted to get back into the asphalt jungle at least until I talked to Gale and Lulu about Wanda.

  After that, I will plan my permanent escape from the asphalt jungle. I wonder how much we can get for a demoed park model? Phil’s gonna balk like a dead mule. He’ll say he wasn’t going anywhere, but I will remind him of the adage: Happy wife, happy life. He adores hearing my saying.

  Phil came out wearing a clean button-up shirt. It was nice to see him dressed up.

  Wayne climbed into his truck’s driver’s side. That’s when I realized we were taking his truck.

  “We aren’t going in that thing, are we?” His ugly Army green ‘75 step side Chevy, rugged and full of carbon emissions, sat awaiting to carry away this Texas Cinderella. “I can’t ride in that hunk of junk.”

  Wayne hunkered, looking out his battleship’s passenger window. “C’mon, it’s got two-sixty AC.”

  “That’s supposed to be four sixty.” That’s another old saying. Any car made before ‘65, it didn’t have factory air-conditioning. So, we’d say, it had four sixty. Four windows rolled down going sixty miles per hour made air move fast enough to keep you cool. If you haven’t ridden doing four sixty, it’s worth trying. Although, the West Texas sand blasting into the window would destroy a beehive hairdo and stick to pancake makeup in a heartbeat.

  Philly snorted a laugh and opened the door. “After you, my princess bride.”

  I climbed in and scooted along the bench seat. “Holy hell, it’s got a stick shift on the floor.”

  Wayne grinned, patting the seat next to him.

  I slapped his forearm. “Shut up and keep your hands to yourself.”

  He grinned again. Phil got in beside me and shut the door, banging on the door’s side panel. “We’re off to see the dump wizard.”

  Wayne gunned the souped-up truck.

  “The what?” I cramped in between them, trying not to straddle the stick shift. Not a good place to be when you hear wizard and dump in the same sentence.

  “Hunny Bunny, we gotta go to the dump before we go to Home Depot.”

  My nostrils flared. “Well, why didn’t you say so. Let me out.”

  “No way, you’re going to the dump.” Wayne giggled and coming from him it didn’t sound pretty.

  By the time we got to Elmer’s, my hair was windblown, and I was as thirsty as a donkey in the desert.

  Elmer’s didn’t have enough iced tea to satisfy me... and to boot... it wasn’t sweet and tasted bad. I can detect instant tea instantly.

  “I should teach Elmer’s cook how to make real Texas sweet iced tea.” I grumbled over my glass. I order a BLT just in case Elmer didn’t know how to cook either. How hard was a bacon sandwich?

  “Elmer is the cook,” Wayne said.

  I smirked, but wasn’t surprised, it’s a guy’s guy food place. The food tasted like Elmer looked.

  “Here,” Philly said, slapping the driver’s manual onto the table. “I think you need to study more.”

  “Where d’you get that?” I pouted.

  “I got it off the table. You need to study.”

  “Hush. I’m fine. I know how to drive.”

  Wayne cleared his throat, and I squinted at his ugly mug.

  Philly continued. “You know how to drive, but it’s been
years since you took a test.” That was true. The last time I took a driver’s test was after we moved to Cali.

  “I passed with flying colors.”

  “Yeah but, you weren’t this age.” Phil winked, silently chuckling.

  These two ol’ geezers weren’t amusing. “I beg your pardon. Shouldn’t you be taking a test?”

  The waitress laid our orders on the table. “I will. I have six months to register as a resident since my license wasn’t expired.”

  “Where d’you learn that tidbit?” Gummy toast stuck in the roof of my mouth, and unladylike, I dug it out with my finger. Elmer’s needed to use sandwich spread instead of mayo on his clubs and good white bread that didn’t clump up in a person’s mouth.

  “How do you know?” I picked up the manual, flipping through the pages.

  Wayne wiggled.

  “Did he tell you?” I asked.

  Phil nodded. The waitress refilled his soda. He knew better than to order iced tea out. Elmer’s tea taught me a lesson... again.

  “You two old poots. Shut up and leave me alone.”

  They dropped me off as I requested at the front door of the Arizona DMV. I took a number—93. The digital counter on the wall flashed number 79. There weren’t ten people in the waiting room. Good thing the room felt cold... I should’ve brought a sweater because I would be here a while.

  I found a seat and opened the manual to read page one.

  When my number came up, I stood looking at the lady sitting behind bulletproof glass.

  “Driver’s test or tags?”

  “Test.”

  “You read the manual?” She glared asking and knowing the truth at the same time.

  I showed her my dog-eared copy. “All the way through to page...”

  She pursed her lips and threaded a printed legal-size sheet out the slot in her glass barrier. An eraser-less pencil rolled into the metal tray. “Here’s the test. Stand over there at the counter.” I looked in the direction where she nodded at a long counter attached to the wall.

  “Okay.”

  “Fill in the square next to the correct answer. Solid. Do not erase anything. If you make a mistake. Don’t X it out.” She made an X in the air. “You do computers? You can take it online. It’s easier.”