The Burgenton Files

by C. Ruth Daly

  Rita reached up and gave me a hug.

  “It’s okay, Donna. I’ll be okay. I want you to take care of yourself. And...and be careful.” Donna whispered to me and then releasing her hold, she looked over at Ned Hollis’s house. “Be careful.”

  In a louder voice for her dad to hear, she blurted. “Hey, why don’t you give us a hand and Dad and I can get back down south by lunchtime.”

  I followed Rita inside, up the stairs and into her apartment. It was empty except for the new kitchen table, which Rita said was her present to Mrs. Becker. Rita’s picture still hung above the fireplace mantel. I wondered what her dad thought of it. Rita saw me looking at her framed portrait.

  “I want you to have that Donna. I know you won’t hang it up. I would like for you to take it and smash it. Take an axe to it. It’s the last thing I want to take with me. I certainly don’t need a picture of myself.”

  She reached into her blouse and pulled out the diamond necklace. “I’m keeping, this, though. I think it ought to cover any damages incurred.” Rita smiled her playful smile at me. “Come on. Let’s get to loading that car. Dad’s getting tired.”

  I grabbed a box from a stack and carried it down the stairs. When I was backing out the door I saw Mrs. Becker in her sitting room. She was crocheting in her favorite chair. Mrs. Becker looked up at me and then back down again. Like Glynda, she too was stuck in that Twilight Zone stupor. I waved my hand to her from the grip of the box in an attempt to say hello, and pushed my way out the door. I knew she couldn’t have seen the wave, but it made me feel better to know I had done it.

  Finally the last box was loaded in the car. Rita once again reached up and gave me a tight hug. She smiled at me and hopped in the passenger’s seat. Rita’s dad gave me a slight smile, pulled the keys from his pocket and tossed them in his hand.

  “Is that it, Rita?” He spoke in a quiet voice. Then he climbed into the driver’s seat.

  She nodded at him and the car moved down the street and around the corner. Rita looked at me and waved one last wave. The car was out of sight. I glanced over at Ned Hollis’s house curious to see if he might be around, and did a double take. The curtains were pulled back in the upper window of his house and standing in clear view was Hollis with his hand raised in a frozen goodbye toward Rita Brennan moving down the pavement and clear of Burgenton. Hollis caught my stare and his eyes bore down on me.

  The hand that was just in a regretful pose was now clenched in a fist and shaking in my direction. Rita’s words echoed in my mind, “Be careful,” as I ran into the safety of Ethel Becker’s front sitting room.

  Mrs. Becker was still crocheting and methodically rocking back and forth in her chair.

  “Well, I guess little Rita is gone. I’ll just have to get me another tenant.” Mrs. Becker looked up at me and smiled. The storm had ended. Rita Brennan and whatever trouble she had inadvertently brought Mrs. Becker was now gone.

  “I reckon I’ll just stick to rentin’ to some nice man from now on. Maybe I can find me some nice elderly fella. Why don’t you come in and have some cookies, Donna?” Mrs. Becker laid down her crochet hook and yarn. She smirked at me. “I know Rita left something upstairs for you. You go ahead and get it and grab you some cookies, then head out that back door with your treasure. That way, certain folk can’t see what you’re up to. Or that I’m lettin’ you be up to something.” Mrs. Becker clicked her tongue and chuckled.

  I darted up the stairs two at a time and carefully took Rita’s photo from the wall. Before I knew it I was walking sideways down the alley with a fist full of cookies and a massive memento of Rita Brennan.

  “What in good heavens is that?” My dad dropped the last bite of donut in his coffee. “Where do you think you’re going to put that?”

  Dad was horrified when I walked through the kitchen door and tilted the picture in his direction.

  “Miss Brennan asked me to keep it and destroy it. That’s okay, isn’t it?”

  I wasn’t sure what to do with it. In a way I wanted to keep it, but on the other hand, it was kind of creepy to hang on to a larger than life photo of a friend. Especially when it was apparent that the friend was partially clad when the picture was taken.

  “Take it out to the garage and burn it or something. I don’t know why that teacher couldn’t have just gotten rid of it herself.” Dad shook his head with disgust and went back to reading the newspaper.

  “Okay Dad.” I obediently replied and turned to go back through the kitchen door and into the garage.

  I found an empty corner behind the lawnmower and some rakes. There was an old canvas cloth folded on a shelf. It smelled of mildew and dirt but I carefully unfolded it and draped it over the photo of the semi-nude Rita. It was like a ceremonial conclusion to her brief stay in Burgenton.

  “Donna, telephone!” Mom called from inside the house.

  Thoughts of Rita vanished and I darted back through the door, into the pantry and to the kitchen where on the other end of the phone I heard the sound of LBJ’s voice.

  “Hey there, Donna! It’s me.”

  It had been awhile since LBJ had called me and it was good to hear her voice.

  “Can you come and go with us to dinner tonight? Grandpa said it was okay and Mom’s home tonight. She said she would drive us to Hamilton City. What da ya think?”

  Dinner in Hamilton City sounded great. It would be good to escape Burgenton for awhile and venture into the largeness of the city. Hamilton seemed a long way from Burgenton and I was ready to take a break from the bizarre happenings that had invaded the solitude of my small town.

  “I’ll check with Mom, but I’m sure it will be fine.”

  “See ya at 4:00 then.” LBJ hung up the phone and I breathed a sigh of relief.

  FOURTEEN

  LBJ’s mom knew how to pick ‘em. There we were sitting in the best steak house in the area. The walls were covered with thick dark wood and the front of the restaurant had several small paned windows which looked out onto the Wabash River. Mrs. Jameson ordered for us, which was okay with me, since I wouldn’t have known how or what to order anyway. My family did not eat at restaurants and rarely did we venture outside of Burgenton, except to visit Mom’s cousin in Fort Wayne and Dad’s brother in Indianapolis.

  I had a big T-bone in front of me with a massive baked potato and a little bowl with some salad greens covered with a thick Thousand Island dressing. LBJ had the same. We also had tall glasses of iced tea. The waitress knew LBJ’s mom so she brought out two baskets of rolls—one for each of us and a little basket with butter pads. Mrs. Jameson looked chic and thin in her black velvet blouse with sequins and a matching black skirt. Her red dyed hairdo was swept up behind her head and her emerald green eye shadow contrasted nicely with the auburn highlights of her coiffure. Mrs. Jameson kept a tall Bloody Mary in her right hand and a cigarette in her left. She nibbled on her Chef Salad in between drags on the cigarette and swills of the drink.

  I had hoped to fill LBJ in on the happenings in Burgenton, but the overwhelming dinner and the massive piece of meat kept our mouths busy. While LBJ’s mom smoked and talked with the wait staff, LBJ and I took our napkins, sliced up our steak and carefully rolled it into the napkin’s folds. Casually, we both reached beneath the table and then with great care, stuffed the paper-covered meat into our knee socks, which were covered by our flared pants. When our socks were full, we excused ourselves to go to the restroom. We carefully made our way across the restaurant and to the recessed area near the bar where the bathrooms were. The bar was smoky and filled with both couples and single men positioned at the shiny counter slugging down shots of whiskey and bourbon. A few women dressed in mini evening dresses hung around the bar. Their beehive hairdos towered above the men.

  I looked twice toward the end of the bar as LBJ and I rounded the corner to the room labeled “Ladies First.” At the end of the bar sat Ned Hollis, sitting by himself with a big steak plate in front of him and in his hand was a tall glass of scotch
which he was quickly emptying. The bartender brought him another and Hollis glanced in our direction. I gave LBJ a push into the corridor of the bathroom, almost knocking her to the floor.

  “Hey, watch it!” LBJ stopped in her tracks and turned to look at me. “What was that for? I can barely keep this steak in my socks with the elastic about to break.” I continued to push her gently but forcefully into the restroom.

  “L. Didn’t you see who was at the end of the bar?” My eyes felt like they were about to fall out of my head and my mouth was dry.

  “Nope. Just some drunks, why?”

  “It was HIM.” I could not believe she didn’t see Ned Hollis.

  “Who HIM?” LBJ looked at me blankly.

  I could feel the steak sauce seeping through the napkin onto my calf and I rushed into a stall to empty the contents of my sock into the toilet. LBJ followed me.

  “Who?”

  I turned my head toward her and seethed. “Ned Hollis!”

  “Huh? Wait. Let me get rid of this stinkin’ meat.” LBJ rushed to the neighboring stall and flushed the saturated globs of steak filled napkins down the toilet.

  The toilets flushed in unison as I whispered Hollis’s name to her. Suddenly the restroom door opened and a middle-aged woman with a tight skirt and a palette of blue and purple eye shadow smeared over her lids, burst into the room. She swayed her hips as she sauntered through the door and glanced over her shoulder.

  “Be right there, Sugar.” She sang as her hands smoothed down the sides of her red skirt. She wagged a pointed finger at us while we stood and gawked at her with our jaws dropped and our mouths open.

  “Hey you little girls!” The woman sing-sung while applying scarlet lipstick and smacking her lips at the mirror. “I bet you can’t wait to grow up and get yourselves a man like the one I just got.”

  LBJ and I nodded our heads. My mouth still hung open while the woman stood at the mirror examining her tightly clothed physique. Bulges of fat poked out between the elastic waistband of her skirt and the obvious bikini line of her panties that showed clearly through the shiny polyester fabric.

  “I got myself a rich one. And he’s young, too.” She turned and again wiggled her index finger at me to emphasize her point.

  LBJ and I just nodded our heads, dumbfounded by the woman’s verbal ramblings.

  “Yeah. He’s drunk off his ass and he’s all mine!” The woman turned and walked out the door with her hips swaying to and fro like the pendulum of a clock.

  I followed her with my eyes and through the jam of the closing door I could see the drunken Mr. Hollis with his steely eyes and sloppy grin, give the woman a pat on her rear. Faintly through the heavy metal door came the giggling words of the woman. “Why Ned, you little devil. Take me and show me a night on the town before you do that!”

  LBJ and I stood quietly and stared at each other. We were silent for awhile before either of us could speak.

  LBJ was the first to break the silence. “What did you want to tell me, Donna? Wasn’t it about Hollis and Rita Brennan?”

  I told her the story of Rita’s last day in Burgenton. About the larger than life photo, the Twilight Zone stupor of Glynda and her grandma, and I continued to tell her of Rita’s parting words and the view of Ned Hollis in his upstairs window.

  We had been in the restroom for fifteen minutes before we realized LBJ’s mom would be wondering about us. Making our way out of the bathroom and along the wall of the corridor, LBJ and I tiptoed with our backs to the wall. My eyes were on the bar while LBJ watched the restaurant to make sure the coast was clear. I didn’t see Hollis in the bar so I gave LBJ the nudge that the coast was clear. The two of us crept out into the bar and LBJ peered through the trellised wall into the restaurant. Waitresses hurried past us as we tried to get a clear view of the tables and the door of the dining area.

  Then LBJ gave me a little push and I knew that it wasn’t safe to move further into the area. Over LBJ’s head I could see the woman and a teetering Ned Hollis sitting in our chairs at OUR table. The woman was talking to LBJ’s mom like they were old friends and Ned Hollis sat as if he were some porcelain cat with big glassy eyes staring off into the distance.

  We were now getting annoyed looks from the wait staff and LBJ and I quickly realized we were stationed right by the entrance to the kitchen. The two of us were completely in the way with waitresses moving by with armfuls of dishes to serve and bus boys pushing past hurrying to clean the next available table.

  “You two girls look ‘in for a job, or are you just lost?” A waitress carrying three plates on both arms stood right behind us. Sweat trickled down her forehead and strands of hair fell over her face. She quickly blew them off. “Well, can ya’ll get out of our way, here? Please?” The waitress forced a smile as LBJ and I quickly moved out of her way.

  Luckily the woman and Ned Hollis were moving from our table. LBJ and I slowly walked to our table, stopping occasionally to pretend to tie our shoes every time Ned Hollis gazed our way. They were finally out the restaurant door and we were back in our rightful places. Hollis had sat in my seat and it was still warm. The thought grossed me out.

  “What took you girls so long? Mrs. Jameson asked us. She had finished her drink and was on her sixth cigarette. I could see all the spent ones in the ashtray on the table.

  “Who was that at our table, Mom?” LBJ was casual with her question. “I’ve seen the man around Burgenton, but I’ve never seen the woman before.”

  LBJ’s mom took a long drag from her cigarette and then blew the smoke straight up into the air. “She’s Bonnie. A gal I used to waitress with. Nice enough, but always talking up a storm and going on about men. Looks like she’s hooked up with another one. Didn’t you say that you’ve seen him around Burgenton, Lori Bell?”

  “Uh, yeah, Mom. I’ve seen him when I’ve been at Donna’s house. He’s a neighbor.” LBJ looked at me to add to her explanation. “Donna, don’t you know more about him than me?” LBJ had me on the spot.

  “Oh sure. Yeah. He’s a neighbor all right. Well, sorta. He lives over by Ethel Becker’s house, you know Glynda’s grandma. I’ve heard he moved here from Florida or someplace like that. Um, that’s all I know.” The words flowed mechanically from my mouth. I was hoping to hide any alarm in my voice. I guess that I had by the way LBJ’s mom responded.

  “That’s nice.” Then she doused her cigarette butts with water. “Are you girls ready to go?”

  Next thing I knew, we were back in Mrs. Jameson’s car and driving through the university campus on our return trip to Burgenton.

  “Bonnie has a daughter who goes to the university.” Mrs. Jameson pointed out as we drove past the agricultural building. “Do you think you’ll go to college here, Donna?”

  “Um, I don’t know.” I hadn’t thought about college. I still had to get through middle school and high school.

  “Lori Bell and I are moving to Arkansas once Lori Bell graduates from high school. That’s where she’s going to college.”

  It was the first I had heard of LBJ moving to Arkansas. Our senior year seemed years and years away, but Mrs. Jameson’s remark surprised me. I looked to LBJ for a response. LBJ just looked down without saying anything.

  The drive back to Burgenton was filled with silence. I thought about how Mrs. Jameson was a fourth generation Burgenton citizen living in the old brick homestead out in the country. I had thought for sure that LBJ would stay in Burgenton like most everyone else.

  It seemed late when we returned to Burgenton. The town was quiet with a few houses still lit with the ten o’clock news on the TV showing through the windows. We drove past the courthouse square where there was activity at the two bars on opposite sides of the block. A few teenagers cruised around the square looking at each other and looking to see who was looking at them. The Jameson car drove on past the bakery, gas station, library, and then we turned left at the corner where on the right, Ned Hollis’s house sat, dark and void of activity. Ethel Becker’s house wa
s on the left, then another left and we turned to my house.

  “Goodnight Mrs. Jameson. Thank you for dinner tonight. I’ll talk to you later, okay, Lori Bell?” I smiled a weak smile at her and she smiled back.

  “Okay. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” LBJ smiled a bigger grin and I turned to go into the house.

  Dad was in his recliner waiting up for me. “Are you in Donna?” Dad asked from behind the newspaper.

  “Yeah, it’s me, Dad. I’m going to bed. Goodnight. Thanks for waiting up for me”

  “Goodnight, Donna. I guess Irish will be in later. She’s old enough so I don’t have to wait up for her.” Dad put the chair back in a sitting position and with both hands on the arms he gave himself a push and shuffled off to bed.

  I watched him walk off into the kitchen toward the bedroom before I darted up the stairs to the room I shared with Irish and Anna. Anna was sitting up in bed reading a magazine. A long red licorice rope hung from her mouth and the soft pink curlers I gave her for Christmas covered her head.