by Jenna Brooks
“Oh, Bim, how pathetic is this?” Jo wiped at her eyes, putting a hand on her stomach.
Bobby slid two more mugs across the bar toward them. “Here, girls–on me.”
“Thanks, man.” Max dropped her cigarette in the decoy can they kept near the back vent, and retrieved the beers. As she set them on the table, she bent down and put an arm around Jo’s shoulder, hugging her quickly. “That felt good. I needed to laugh.”
“It’ll be okay, Max. Really.”
“Hope so.”
“But we need to start this adventure with a shot of something.”
“What adventure?”
“Hey Robert, my love, two tequilas.”
Max hit her on the arm. “What are you doing here anyway? It’s not even two o’clock. You’re supposed to be at work.”
“Darn. Knew I forgot something. Actually, I quit.” She nodded at Max’s look of incredulity. “Yup.” She reached into her purse for a cigarette. “And I didn’t realize how much I was looking forward to that expression on your face until right now.”
“I don’t…Wow. What are you going to do now? What happened?”
“Let’s sit at the bar so Bobby doesn’t have to walk so much. I’ll tell you there.”
By four-thirty, Barley’s was filling up for happy hour, and Max was singing at the top of her voice.
Jo put her hand over Max’s mouth. “Bobby, find another station, will ya? She knows the words to everything before 1985.”
He gave her a thumbs-up, reaching for the tuner.
“Hey, honey,” the voice was too close to Jo’s ear. “She’s just having a good time. Leave her alone.”
Jo and Max glanced at each other, then turned together to look.
He was about forty, short and chubby, and looked like he’d had just one too many: not drunk, but feeling “pesty,” as Max would say.
She pursed her lips as she nudged Jo. “Excuse me?”
“Just wanted to come to your defense, honey. Sing if you want, you know?”
Bobby and Jo grinned at each other.
“I’m Ron.” He raised his highball glass as if to salute her.
Max swiveled the barstool to face him. She rested her palms on top of her thighs, leaning close, tilting her head to the side as if studying him. “Yeah? Why?”
He looked confused, with a sudden odd, uncomfortable grin. His eyes darted back and forth a few times. “Why am I…What? Ron?”
“Know what you look like right now, Don?” Jo asked.
He shook his head. “‘Ron.’”
“A meathead, like that guy from that old show–what was that, Max?”
“Oh, yeah! Remember when the son-in-law would get all shook up by something, and he’d…”
“…get that weird little smile on his face…”
“…and his eyes would go back and forth–yeah, John, just like that!”
Ron backed away a couple of steps, muttered something about “lezzies,” and just wanting to make conversation, and then turned and went quickly to a nearby table where two of his friends were seated, watching the exchange with a fair amount of amusement.
Max shook her head regretfully. “Meathead.”
“Hey Bobby, this place is getting too overrun with Yuppies lately. It’s bringing down property values.”
“Quiet, Jo.”
Max glanced at her watch. “Going on five. You hungry?”
“Yeah. Let’s go up to Devon’s and get an overpriced meal.”
“Ooh. Dine with the beautiful people.”
“Absolutely. We’ll return the favor, invade their space. Bobby, we’ll be back in a bit. Leave our drinks.”
“No problem. Bring me a sandwich?”
“Reuben?”
“Sounds good.”
They stepped out into the sun, standing there for a moment to let their eyes adapt to the brightness. Max looked down at her jeans, tucking in her pink t-shirt. “Think we’re dressed good enough?”
“You’re dressed better than I am.”
“Yeah, especially that shirt you’re wearing. Lots of idiots at Devon’s gonna be insulted.”
“Hey, two stunning blondes grace their restaurant–they should be grateful.”
“We should go see Sammy after.”
Jo thought about it for a second. “Nah. Big Barbie may still be there.”
“I saw her planner. She had a meeting in Salem at four.”
“Maybe. I’ll drive if we do, though.”
A creaking, wheezing truck was coming towards them. As it passed, the balding middle-aged driver slowed to a crawl and yelled something out the window to them. Jo couldn’t hear what he said, but Max stopped, faced the truck, and put her hands on her hips.
“You have to grow one first, Sonny!”
Jo poked her in the back, trying to make light of it. “Go get ‘im, Maxine.” The truck, its fan belt shrieking, was pulling away.
“Nah. Boys. Don’t they ever grow the hell up?”
“They used to. Not anymore.” She watched as it rattled down the street. “I thought by the time I hit menopause, that the construction-worker type would stop bothering me.”
They walked in silence for a few minutes, then Max said, “They really don’t. They never grow up.”
“You know you have the rep of being a man-hater?”
“Yeah. So do you, by the way.”
“I know. I’m a certified castrating female.”
Max studied her for a moment. “Do you?”
“Hate men? Not at all. Love ‘em, actually. What I hate are all the males running around in men’s bodies.” She walked with her hands in her pockets, looking into the distance. “I would have given an awful lot to find one.”
“Wonder what ever happened to real men.”
Jo shrugged. “Our generation, the girls grew up on love songs. The boys grew up on porn.”
“That simple, huh?”
“Nothing’s that simple.”
As they approached Devon’s, Jo reached up to smooth Max’s shaggy blond hair. “You have the prettiest blue eyes. Actually, you look pretty good, for an old broad.”
“I’m younger than you, Bim.”
“Not that much.”
“I love it when people think we’re sisters. Hey, who’s paying for this? And for Bobby? We’re both dregs of society now.”
“I’ve got it.”
“You sure?”
“No problem at all.”
Max grabbed the polished brass handle, opening the oversized glass door and making a sweeping motion for Jo to go ahead.
Jo stepped back, looking her up and down. “All because I’m paying? Wow.”
“Nah. Age before beauty.”
“I hate you, Maxine.”
“Don’t hate me ‘cause I’m beautiful.”
They were laughing as they went in, trying to remember the name of the model who had made the phrase iconic. The hostess was a tall, stocky brunette, who looked at them with a hint of distaste before she asked if they’d be going to the bar.
“Must be obvious?” Max whispered.
Jo kicked her heel. “Yes, we’ll be having dinner in the lounge.”
The hostess smiled, and Jo thought she did look a bit relieved. “It’s right through those doors, then off to your left.”
Max held up her hand. “Hon, we’ve been here before.” She sighed dejectedly. “But that was before we lost the trailer.” As she and Jo walked toward the bar, she lifted her arms and sniffed. “Yep, we’re good, Josie.” They crumpled against each other, giggling.
They got their drinks at the bar, then sat in a booth near the doorway to the dining room, away from the pendant lights that hung too low and were too bright to be comfortable. Jo was glad that Max ordered a soda. She knew that they both needed to take it easy, because it would probably be a long night again.
The waiter was an acquaintance of Jo’s, a server from a restaurant she had frequented with Keith before the divorce. They chatted for a few mi
nutes before he took their order.
“Nice,” Max commented as she watched him walk away. “Very nice. Any interest there?”
“Plenty. Problem is, it all goes to Brian, his roommate.”
“Oh. Okay.” She picked up her glass, looking over the rim at Jo. “So you’re a bum now, too. I’ll forgive you that I wasn’t there to see Big Barb’s face.” Looking dreamily somewhere over Jo’s shoulder, she sighed deeply. “What a moment that had to be.”
“It was.”
“So what’s next?”
“Bow Lake.”
Max took a long drink of her soda. She put her glass down and, elbows on the table, rested her chin in her hands. “Bow Lake? You mean Strafford?”
“Yup.”
“Great. Let’s go.”
“Right. C’mon, Bim. You want details.”
“Yeah, but you know I’ll wind up going in the end.”
Their salads came then. Jo laid her napkin across her lap, then grimaced as she picked up the salad fork.
“Something wrong?”
“Nah. Just being snotty. Seems to me that these high-end places could do better than lettuce and tomato.”
“Hey, there’s two croutons on that salad. Ingrate.”
“Told you, I’m just snotty.”
“It’s part of your charm.”
“Anyway, I’m trying to get in touch with the guy who rented a house to us when we first came to New Hampshire. And a few times since, just for summer vacation here and there. It’s right on the lake. Three bedrooms, three baths, very secluded–absolutely gorgeous.”
Max gave a short, low whistle. “How much?”
“That’s not your problem.” She pushed her plate to the side. “Salad’s warm.”
“Jo, you can’t pay for a week at a beach house around here, especially not this time of year…”
“A week? What week? I’m taking a month-to-month tenancy. I’m not coming back.” She reached for her glass. “Not until I feel like it, I mean.”
The waiter was on his way to the table. Max pointed back and forth between their glasses, and he detoured to get refills. “Okay, I really do need an explanation. Where are you gonna get that kind of cash?”
Jo looked down at her glass, circling the rim with her finger. “I’ve been sitting on my divorce settlement money for years. Never touched it. And I took that dive apartment, pinched every penny, and worked for Big Barbie until I couldn’t take it anymore, so I’ve actually added a fair amount to it.” She looked back at Max. “I have a pile of money in the bank. Enough to live on for a very long time.”
“Are you serious?”
She nodded.
“Oh my gosh, Jo. That must’ve been hard.”
She pushed her glass to the edge of the table. “It’s over now. I want to kick back for once. And the way things have turned out, now you can come with me.”
“I’ve wondered why, you know, with as well-off as Keith is, why you had to work as a waitress.”
The waiter arrived with their drinks and their meals. Jo waited until he left, then lifted her drink. “You’re in?”
“Of course.” She raised her glass. “And thanks.”
“To living.”
“For once, yeah. To living.”
Barley’s was packed when they got back. Their mugs were still at the bar, and they slid back into their seats, putting the box with Bobby’s sandwich on the ledge that dropped down on his side.
Max was still mulling over the conversation at Devon’s. “I really can’t believe it. When are we going?”
Jo shrugged. “I need to get ahold of Grady.”
“That’s the owner?”
“Yup. Grady Simpkins. Love the man. He’s a nice old guy.”
“That name sounds like an old guy.”
“Yeah, he’s about a hundred and twenty. Hated Keith, though. We spent the entire summer there in ninety-five, and Keith just let the place go. The kids and I had to take care of everything. He thought Keith was a real tool.”
“Well, he is. Okay, I’ll be waiting to hear what this Grady Simpkins says.”
Jo patted her on the arm. “You need to get used to the idea that we have time, Bim. Blessed, wonderful time.”
Bobby came over and picked up the box. “You two are the best. How much?”
Jo leaned in close, only a couple of inches from his face, her eyes fixed on his mouth and then his eyes. “Whatever you want to pay,” she purred.
Bobby grinned, planting a kiss on her nose. “I owe ya, cougar.”
“I know.”
Max reached for her phone. “It’s Sammy.” She opened her phone, putting her finger over her free ear as she answered. “Hey, you…Good…Yeah, sure.” She nudged Jo. “Sammy’s cut for seven. Want to go pick her up?”
Jo nodded.
“Be there in ten, honey.” She snapped the phone shut, sliding off the stool. “Bobby? We’re going to get Sam.”
“Yup. I’ll hold ‘em for you.” He pulled a third mug from the freezer and set it in front of the empty barstool next to Jo’s.
“Wow. Dead.” There were only a dozen or so cars in The Crate’s parking lot, and several of those belonged to the employees. Jo pulled up in front of the entrance, tapping the horn.
“Serves ‘em right. I hope they shut the place down.”
The neon sign blared the day’s special, alternating between MEATLOAF AND ALL THE FIXIN’S and ONLY 11.99!
Max opened her door, tossing her cigarette onto the pavement and sticking her foot out to crush it. She glanced up at the sign, then at Jo. “Got a rock?”
Sam appeared at the doorway to the restaurant, holding up two fingers, then went back inside.
“This place is a pit, Max. It truly is.”
“I don’t know how you survived as long as you did here, when you didn’t have to. I just don’t know how you do it.”
“Do what?”
“Hold up the way you do. I was never that strong.”
Her expression turned vacant. “I’m not strong.”
Max frowned. “Sure you are.”
After a moment, Jo said, “It isn’t a compliment, you know, telling someone they’re ‘strong.’”
Max grunted as she lit another cigarette; she exhaled the smoke out the window with a hiss. “I think it is. Anyway, I meant it as one.”
“Sorry.”
She turned sideways in her seat to face Jo. “Just out of curiosity, I’d like to hear why it’s not a compliment.”
Jo was looking out her window, studying the artificial flowers in the acrylic boxes that lined the front of the restaurant. “Nah. I’m not up for one of our debates tonight. I shouldn’t have said it.”
“Fine. I’ll figure it out myself.”
They sat silently for a while.
“You’re back and forth a lot these days, Jo.”
“I’m just worn out.”
“Me too. Battle fatigue, I guess.”
The tailgate opened with a loud whine, and they jumped: neither of them had seen Sam approaching.
“Hey.” She clambered into the back of the SUV, tossing her gear into the back seat. “Amy said to tell you guys to go inside. She wants to talk to you.”
Jo and Max exchanged amused glances.
“Go on. Go see what she wants. I’m gonna change my clothes here while you do.”
Max shrugged, and turned to open her door. “Should be interesting.”
“Yeah, okay. Hold on, Max.” She pulled away from the front of the store. “I’ll park in back so Sammy can change without an audience.”
Amy was sitting at the large, round table in the corner of the dining room, several short piles of paperwork in front of her.
Jo slid one of the aging, faded wood chairs out and put her foot up on it, leaning an elbow on her knee. “What’s up?”
Amy held up a finger without raising her head. “Hold on.”
Jo looked over her shoulder at Max, who shrugged, grinned, and went to the other si
de of the table, standing with her hands in her pockets.
Amy looked up then. “Flanking me?”
Max snorted. “Don’t be paranoid.”
Jo pushed the chair back in. “We have just a couple of minutes, Amy. What did you want?”
Amy feigned a look of surprise, making no effort to cover her hostility. “Oh, I didn’t realize you were so busy. Forgive me.” She pushed her black-rimmed reading glasses up onto her head. Barb had a pair exactly like them.
For the first time, Jo noticed that Amy seemed to emulate Barb in several ways: unlike Barb, Amy was rail-thin; but she always dressed in ankle-length skirts and spike heels, she had the same 1950’s hairstyle as Barb–and she was wearing the same sneer that Barb used when she was about to crush someone.
Max sighed and folded her arms. “C’mon, Jo. Let’s get going.”
Jo nodded, and they turned to leave.
Amy stood up, gathering the stacks of papers, not looking at them. “Fine. You don’t think you owe me at least an explanation…”
Jo stopped. Without turning, she mumbled, “You have got to be kidding.”
“Excuse me?”
She looked up at the ceiling, as if asking for strength.
Amy threw the papers down on the table; several of them drifted to the floor. “Say it so I can hear you. Do you have any idea the kind of bind we’re in now, with Mother’s Day next weekend and then Memorial Day two weeks after? Do you really think we’ll have someone up to speed in that time…?”
Max touched Jo’s arm. “Let’s just go.”
Amy was still lecturing, her voice getting louder as she spoke. “…and how in the hell are we going to…”
Jo shook Max’s hand off of her arm, and turned to face Amy. “Shut up!” Her heart was starting to thud painfully again. “Just shut up! Who, exactly, do you think you’re talking to? I don’t even work here anymore!”
Later, as she reflected on it, Jo would remember that Amy actually took on a small, nasty grin, like she had been hoping Jo would get rattled. Jo hadn’t realized, until then, how much Amy hated her, or how much she hated Amy.
“You know, I came in here to see if maybe, just this once, you’d do the right thing, say the right thing. You’ve been kissing Barb’s ass for the entire time you’ve been here. Watching her abuse, intimidate, threaten, work us like hell every…single…day.” She hit the table with each word. “Nine, ten hours in a day, no break, trying to work in that toilet you call a kitchen, putting up with you and your owner and your customers…For what? Three dollars an hour, and lousy tips? You think I owe you something?”
