by Robyn Carr
She opened her pants and untucked her shirt. She put the flyers against her belly and tucked in her shirt and cinched her belt. She bloused her shirt loosely and left the bathroom.
Her eyes glassy and her cheeks pink, she approached Buzz. He took one look at her and said, “Oh-oh. That hit you kind of sudden.”
“I’ll be all right. But I think I better head out, if that’s okay with you.”
“You bet. I’ll call and check on you later.”
“No,” she said, a hand on her stomach. “In case I lie down for a while. All right?”
“Sure, Doris. Gosh, I hope it wasn’t…” He turned suddenly and spoke over the counter to the grill. “Adolfo? Check the expiration date on the eggs.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said weakly.
“You want a lift?” he asked as she was heading out the door.
She just shook her head without turning around and lifted her hand to wave goodbye.
The way she held the flyers against her waist might look as if she had a precarious control on nausea, but she was only trying to keep them from slipping down the baggy leg of her trousers.
She took a deep breath, the cleansing breath of a bright, crisp, fragrant spring. It was so clean in Boulder City. So quiet she could hear the birds sing. And twenty-five miles away was the glittering gem of Las Vegas, where, very possibly, Nick Noble played poker while his thugs combed the outlying towns for Jennifer.
But they hadn’t found her! They would go back to the city and tell Nick about the little town they had visited, about how the fanciest restaurant in town was just a café. Well, that wasn’t entirely true—there were some ritzy places associated with country clubs, but they were membership-only clubs and Jennifer hadn’t been anywhere near them. If Nick’s boys had gone to those places, no one would have reported seeing her. If Nick was going to send his boys to all the little towns in Nevada looking for her, they’d be very busy. And they had already been to Boulder City!
There was absolutely nothing to link her to this place. Nothing! They had asked around about her and no one had seen her. They had looked right at her face and not known her. They had no reason to come back.
By the time she got home she was smiling. Her cheeks were still a bit flushed, but now it was from relief. Happiness. Alice lay on the cold stone hearth, her favorite spot. Jennifer rushed to her, fell to her knees and took her big Lab head in her hands and kissed the top. “Al, baby, I did it! They looked right at me, didn’t know me, and left!” Alice’s tail thumped on the floor twice. “I think we’re going to be okay!”
Jennifer turned on the old radio. Frank Sinatra sang out of the box as usual. She turned up the volume and started dancing around the living room. She let her pants drop and kicked them aside. Flyers fell to the floor and she gave a loud whoop of laughter, giving the pages a kick. Next went the shirt, which she twirled over her head before letting it fly, stripper fashion. In bra and panties she danced and sang, “I’ve got the world on a string, I’m sitting on a rainbow…Got the string around my finger…”
Alice sat up and watched this crazy display, cocking her head right, then left. Jennifer did a little cha-cha, a little twisting, a little Charleston and knee-slapping. She twirled around in a couple of circles, coming to stop as she faced the doors to the screened porch where, just on the other side of the screen with a hedge clipper in his hand, stood a man, looking in at her, mesmerized by her underwear dance. Alex.
She screamed, tried to cover herself and ran to the bedroom.
Poor Alice didn’t get her walk. Once Alex was gone, she had to make do with the backyard. And Jennifer didn’t get her walk, either, because she was just too mortified to show her face outside of the house. She opted for an amazingly long soak in the tub with extra-high bubbles. Still, she could not wash away the stunned look on Alex’s face every time she closed her eyes.
Well, it was slightly better than what she’d gotten from him in the diner the past few weeks. If he looked at her at all, his expression seemed disapproving.
When Louise said Alex looked after the yard, it never occurred to Jennifer that he’d be lurking back there while she wasn’t home. She hadn’t thought about it much, but she would have expected him to knock on the door and say, “I’ll be doing a little clipping and trimming in the yard now.”
He wasn’t much older than her—a few years. Passable in the looks department. Maybe a little more than passable. And she’d only seen him in a polo shirt or sweatshirt in the diner. The shoulders and chest that strained against the fitted T-shirt were muscled. All that yard work…
After her bath, she lay on the bed in the darkened bedroom, staring at the ceiling. Great way to not draw attention to yourself.
The doorbell rang and she sat up with a start. She turned to look at the clock. Five-thirty. She could see that the sun was making its downward slant into evening. The doorbell rang again, insistent. Oh, God, she thought, if he’s coming to apologize or laugh at me I’ll kill myself.
She rummaged around in Louise’s closet for something to cover herself with. Louise had moved almost all her clothes to the second bedroom to give Jennifer plenty of room for her scant belongings, but she’d left behind a few blouses, jackets and a wonderful old chenille robe. She slipped into it and realized it smelled like her. Talc and violets and soap. She went to the living room where Alice was already at the door, her nose right in the crack where it opened, her tail swishing back and forth.
“Who is it?” she asked the door.
“It’s Rose.”
“Oh. Um. It’s not a really good time, Rose.”
“Oh, phoo. Be a good sport, Doris. What could you possibly be doing? Not fixing your hair…”
Jennifer made a face. Grain of salt, she remembered. “Well, just a minute, then.”
“Hurry up. I have my hands full.”
Jennifer looked around the little living room and porch. Tidy. The flyers were in the trash can under the sink. On the off chance Rose made herself that familiar with the house and saw them, she plucked them out and stashed them in the bedroom, under the pillow. Then back to the front door, where she asked, “Are you alone?”
“Well, of course. Who in the world would I bring with me?” Jennifer cracked the door and there stood Rose in all her splendor. She wore turquoise capri pants and a blouse that looked more like several flowing, multicolored silk scarves than a shirt. Heeled sandals adorned her long, slim feet. Then there was jewelry…plenty of it. And in her hands, a bottle of wine, a corkscrew, two wineglasses and a plate of canapes. “Louise asked me to look in on you from time to time. I thought it was high time we got to know each other. We can toast your summer with Alice.” She bent at the waist and got nose to nose with the dog. “Hello, dear.” She came inside, gently pushing Jennifer out of the way.
Rose seemed to fill the small room with her beauty, her erect posture, her sheer flamboyance. She placed the tray of canapes on the coffee table that sat between the sofa and two overstuffed chairs and went about the business of opening the wine. Jennifer took note of her graceful fingers, manicured nails in a color that not only matched her toes and lips, but her blouse as well, a cheery mauve that blended perfectly and somehow did not do battle with her red hair.
“Did you notice that Louise has no wineglasses here? She broke the last one about the time the doctor suggested that alcohol and arthritis medicine probably didn’t mix. After that it was only the rare drink for her, and if I didn’t bring the glasses we had to drink out of jam jars.” She twisted and twisted and popped. “Ah,” she said, pouring. She handed a glass to Jennifer and then, pausing to sniff the air, said, “Oh—someone’s been primping.”
“Louise left me a basket of bubble bath and smelly soap. And lotion and things. It was very sweet.”
Rose wrinkled her brow. “I admit I’ve only seen you at the diner, but I didn’t think you were the bubble bath type. I guess I was wrong. Well,” she said, lifting the glass toward Jennifer. “To a plea
sant summer in a small town.”
“Oh, yes,” she agreed. “Thank you.”
Then Rose draped herself gracefully on the couch, more reclining than sitting. What had Louise said? That Rose was seventy? She didn’t look it. Or perhaps it was that she looked as if she could be seventy, but she was such an excellent seventy it was hard to believe—her skin was luscious. She’d probably had a little work done. And another thing, she was incredibly fashionable, from her clothes and hair to her makeup, which was flawless. Many women had the awful tendency not to change their hairstyle after the age of forty, which resulted in all these seventy-year-old women wearing thirty-year-old hairstyles. Their makeup was usually the same stuff that worked for them when they were in their thirties and forties. And with failing eyesight, the lining of lips and eyelids tended to be a tad sloppy, not to mention what happened to the rouge on cheeks.
But not Rose. Rose clearly paid attention to details. She was very beautiful. Very with it. She was, Jennifer realized, what she thought she would become. Before she shaved her head, of course.
“So,” Rose said, sipping a bit of her wine, “No husband? Boyfriend? Family?”
“I’m afraid not. I just broke up with someone and I’m a little…Well, let’s just say it would be ideal for me to be alone for a while. I’m not interested in another relationship.”
“Parents? Brothers and sisters?”
“No. Unfortunately.”
“Can you really be that alone?” she asked bluntly.
Jennifer bit her lip, looked away and found that her eyes began to fill. Oh, please don’t let me cry, she thought in panic. Please.
“Oh, phoo, I’m so damn outspoken. Don’t answer that. At least, don’t answer that yet. Later, when we’re better friends. Tell me what you think of the wine. It’s a very good Bordeaux. Hmm?”
Jennifer got hold of herself and sipped. She had learned quite a lot about wine, thanks to Martin, a gentleman friend who had preceded Nick and had a great love of fine wines. She swirled the dark red liquid in the glass and observed the silky coating it left on the crystal. She let the bouquet rise to her nostrils and then took a small sip. “Very nice,” she said. Not cheap, she found herself thinking. “This is very thoughtful of you.”
“Not at all. Now, besides serving chili and eggs, what do you plan to do with your summer here?”
“Hiding out” wouldn’t be an appropriate answer. Truth to tell, she hadn’t thought about it. She was living one day at a time, and today was the first day she’d really felt there was a good chance she could exist here without being found out. Ohio had crossed her mind—she wondered if she could go back there and reconnect with her past, her childhood. There had been some happy times there, when Cherie and Grandma and Gramps had enjoyed a small measure of control. There might even be someone there who would remember her. But that was in the future, long after the summer. “I guess for starters, I’ll discover Boulder City.”
“That shouldn’t take long,” Rose laughed. “Fifteen thousand people and a great big lake.” But as Rose talked on, she revealed so much more than that—free concerts in the park, community theater, art shows, farmers’ markets every week. Fifteen thousand people who enjoyed culture and small-town values, but used the upscale community of Lake Las Vegas and the city for their high-end entertainment and dining, keeping this little mountain town quiet and very family oriented.
Jennifer pulled her knees up and encircled them with her arms, sipping her wine and listening to Rose talk about her life in the town, starting with moving into this neighborhood at about the same time Louise did. Although they were as different as two women could be, they hit it off at once. Louise was widowed and had to adjust to life without her longtime husband, Harry. But Rose had never married, she said somewhat defiantly. Or proudly. Whatever, the statement came with a lift of her chin that made Jennifer smile.
They had a second glass and Jennifer’s cheeks began to glow with the warmth of good wine and conversation. What had Louise said? Take her with a grain of salt? Why, Rose was wonderful. Sitting here in Louise’s chenille robe, her hair less than an inch long and her eyebrows growing in all funky, Rose would have no idea how alike they were. If she had met Rose two months ago, they might’ve gone shopping together. Or to one of the fancy Las Vegas spas.
Eventually Rose’s eyes fell to Jennifer’s toes, sticking out from under the robe. Her toes were bright red. She hadn’t thought anyone would notice. She found the polish under Louise’s sink and it was old.
“Nice color,” Rose said. “I believe it’s called Matador.”
Jennifer shrugged. “I was just playing around.”
“There’s more to you than meets the eye.”
“Well…probably not.”
“Hmm. Well, is there anything you would like to ask me? About the house, the town, whatever?”
“Yes. Would it be helpful if I took care of Louise’s yard? Since I’m here?”
“It might be,” she said. “But Alex is used to doing it and might take offense.”
“Well, then, when does he come?”
“I’m afraid it’s just whenever he has the time or the inclination. Why? You don’t want to be surprised again?” Jennifer blushed. “Oh, phoo, get over it. If I blushed for every time a man saw me in my underwear, I’d have high blood pressure.”
“I can’t believe he told you!”
“He was…What should I say? Maybe as surprised as you.”
“What did he say?”
“He said you shouldn’t quit your day job.”
Jennifer couldn’t wait to e-mail Louise after Rose’s visit. She was at the computer that night before going to bed.
Dear Louise,
Well, I finally spent some time with her—Rose. She brought over a bottle of wine to toast my summer with Alice. So thoughtful. And she is funny. A little outrageous. She told me that you two hit it off instantly, even though you were very different. But she seems to be the kind of person you can’t help but like—she’s so direct and honest.
Tell me, Louise—how is your son, Rudy?
Love,
Doris
The very next morning:
My Dear Doris,
So, she descended on you. Well, it took her much longer than I thought it might. I wasn’t sure she’d give you a whole day much less a week to yourself. Try to imagine us thirty years ago. I was a fifty-year-old academic working ferociously on the Equal Rights Amendment while Rose, at forty, was hiring showgirls for casinos after years of being a dancer herself. I don’t think she wore much while she danced, if anything. Single, many men, flamboyant, exploitive. We were at opposite ends of the female spectrum.
But Rose might know more about women—having worked with them, hired them, managed them—than I, with my Ph.D. in women’s studies. We joined forces in getting that shelter in the city up and running—we both saw the need for a place for sheltered women in need even if they weren’t wives. Even if they were, for example, girlfriends or showgirls or even prostitutes.
But look out for that wine trick. She’ll get you drunk and make you talk.
Love,
Louise
Jennifer took closer notice of her neighbors. Rose drove a yellow Mustang convertible, usually with the top down and her flaming red hair wrapped in a long silk scarf. Alex drove an SUV—but she saw him leaving and returning so seldom that she couldn’t figure out his schedule, nor did she have a clue what work he did. She planned to ask Rose the next time they got together.
She saw Rose being picked up for what looked suspiciously like dates by two different men on two separate evenings. One was silver-haired, one was balding, but both were pretty classy-looking and came for her in nice cars. Alex, on the other hand, was never seen with a female. But that was no indication there wasn’t one in his life; he could be going to her house. Their houses.
Rose left her house one afternoon, returning with a few grocery bags and a bunch of fresh flowers. Alex left and returned with p
eat moss for the yard. Since Louise had been gone, Rose had not been seen in the diner. Alex, on the other hand, had been showing up more often.
She was a long way from having them figured out. But she envied the normal look of their lives.
When she was slipping off to sleep she found herself thinking about them, creating rich fantasies in which she was just like them—one of the ordinary neighbors. A real person. Someone with a good uncomplicated life.
She was awakened one night by a fierce pounding on the door, accompanied by the doorbell and Alice’s bark. Jennifer’s heart was thumping and terror gripped her. Her first thought was that they had found her. The bedside alarm clock announced 2:22. She wrapped the chenille robe around her and, without turning on any lights, went to the door.
“Who is it?” she called.
“Me. Hedda.”
She opened the door immediately. Hedda held Joey, her arms crossed under his bum, his long, skinny legs dangling. His head rested on her left shoulder, her backpack on her right. She was looking down, then slowly raised her eyes.
“Do you have room on the couch, Doris?” she asked.
The shock of seeing these kids here, like this, had paralyzed her tongue. “Ah, yes! Of course!” She held the door open.
Alice stepped back also, wagging her tail. Hedda entered, head down, and dropped her backpack just inside the door. She moved toward the couch, carrying her heavy load. He was sound asleep—she must have carried him all the way from her house. Blocks and blocks. Alone. At two in the morning.
“No, Hedda. Let’s put him in my bed. I have to get up pretty soon for work, so I’ll take the couch.”
“I can’t do that to you,” she said.
“Come on,” Jennifer said, leading the way.
Left without a choice, she followed. She laid Joey gently on the white sheets. “I’ll get a cloth and wash his feet,” she said softly.
“No, don’t bother with that—you might wake him.” She grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the bedroom. “What’s going on?”
