The Black Velvet Coat

by Jill G. Hall

  Sylvia tossed the T-shirt, Ritz Crackers, peanut butter and apples, and several canned goods—Spam (she’d never tried it before and had always been curious), Campbell’s Tomato Soup, and Friskies—into a basket. At the cash register, the woman nodded at her again and started to total up the prices. Sylvia added an Arizona map to the pile.

  A basket of pendants sat on the counter. Sylvia picked one up and admired the lovely golden brown. It had a fly trapped inside! She grimaced and tossed it back in the basket.

  “Amber. Good luck.” The woman’s voice was deep. “Buy one.” Her gray hair was pulled back into a low braid, and wrinkles lined her ruddy face. She could have been anywhere from thirty to fifty years old. The name badge pinned to her Mickey Mouse T-shirt read Betty Lou. “Very powerful.” She pushed the basket closer to Sylvia.

  She shivered. “No, thanks.”

  Betty Lou flipped off the soda cap and handed it to Sylvia. The Indian woman’s dark eyes inspected her then looked out the window and upward. “Rains coming.”

  There wasn’t a cloud in the sky.

  She clutched an amber piece on a gold chain and held it toward Sylvia. “Buy one. You need it.”

  “No.” Sylvia’s hands trembled as she paid and collected her sack of goods. She pushed the door open, and the bell tinkled her escape.

  Was that woman crazy? Did she bother all customers that way? Sylvia put the sack in the trunk, climbed into the T-Bird, and put the key in the ignition. She touched Lucy’s head to shake off the eerie feeling.

  “Here, for you.” Betty Lou all of a sudden stood next to the car. She dangled the nugget in front of Sylvia’s face. “Take it.”

  “I couldn’t.” Sylvia’s voice quivered.

  “Please. It’s for good fortune.” Betty Lou nodded and grinned at Lucy in the passenger seat. The puppy barked at her.

  Sylvia grasped the light chain, squinted, and held the amber, bigger than a quarter, up to the sunlight. At least this one didn’t have an insect inside. She ran her fingers over the smooth surface, and her tense body relaxed. The yellow-orange translucent sap shone glossy, the color of honey. Black lines, like delicate ink strokes, sparkled.

  “It’s from nature and will keep you safe.”

  Trancelike, Sylvia clasped the chain behind her neck and pressed the pendant to her chest. It felt cool. She reached for her purse.

  “A present for you. It’s lucky.”

  No one had ever given Sylvia something for luck. Maybe it would really work. She drove away with a sense that the woman knew all about her. Perhaps Betty Lou had seen her picture in a newspaper and recognized her. But that would have been impossible—Sylvia looked so different now. Whatever the case, she sensed this woman had been on her side.

  Back on the road, Sylvia felt something inside her breaking lose and melting away, something old and restricting. A month ago, she would never have accepted something from a stranger or have worn anything so cheap. But this was a new life, a new persona, and she needed all the luck she could get.

  29

  The jet screeched, bounced, and finally stopped on JFK’s tarmac three hours late due to a winter storm. The red-eye from hell was almost over. Squished in a window seat, the bulky man seated beside Anne took up the whole armrest, and a baby behind her had screamed the entire flight.

  The movie had been Bridesmaids, which she had already seen twice and opted not to watch. The romantic parts might remind her too much of Karl (that jerk!).

  Girlfriend time with Dottie was just what Anne needed. She couldn’t wait to tell her all about Karl and her new art series inspiration. Dottie had always been so supportive and an enthusiastic sounding board. Lately though, Anne had been worried about her. On the phone she’d seemed rushed and distant. Her Facebook posts had gotten weirder and weirder. Like the one where she showed a close-up of her newly pierced nose, and others of her partying with people who looked like characters from The Rocky Horror Picture Show. And then there was something about a name change?

  “You may turn on your electronic devices,” the flight attendant announced over the intercom.

  Anne dialed Dottie’s cell.

  “Hello.” Her friend’s voice sounded slurry.

  “I’m here! Just landed. I’ll meet you at the baggage area.”

  “I got tied up.”

  “What? You mean you aren’t even here at the airport?”

  “Sorry. I got tied up with the installation. Just hop on the Air Train to Jamaica Station and then get off and transfer to the LIRR and take it to Penn Station. I’ll meet you there.”

  Anne’s head started to swim. “I can’t. All by myself.”

  “Grow up. Take a taxi then. Call me when you get into the city. Get dropped at Penn station, and I’ll meet you just inside the Eighth Avenue entrance.”

  Anne jammed the phone in her pocket, rolled her suitcase down the plane’s aisle, exited the Jetway, and followed the passengers to ground transportation. She’d never seen so many people scurrying here and there in her life. Stepping outside to a cold blast of air, she was grateful for her velvet coat. Then she stood in line for a taxi, climbed inside one, and soon exhaustion overpowered her and she quickly fell asleep.

  She awoke to a view of Manhattan’s outline. Bridges spanned onto it, and she made out the Chrysler and Empire State buildings. Then the excitement hit. New York, the Big Apple, Times Square, Broadway, the Met! She couldn’t wait to see it all, dialed Dottie, and notified her she was almost there.

  At Penn Station, Anne paid the taxi driver the $45 flat-rate fare and added in some tip, and there went her spending money. No problem. Dottie would reimburse her for half the flight. With her heart thudding crazily, Anne rolled her suitcase into the crowded concourse and stopped to get her bearings. She studied the blue pillars decorated with twinkle lights, watched people hurrying by, and then looked around but found no clues as to where the Eighth Avenue entrance might be. She asked a man walking by for directions, then followed where he pointed, but when she arrived, Dottie was nowhere to be seen. Anne stepped outside for a moment into the cold once more and looked around, but Dottie wasn’t there either, so she called her friend again. “Where are you?”

  “Be right there.” Dottie yawned and hung up.

  When she finally arrived thirty minutes later, Anne almost didn’t recognize her friend. Her light hair had been died jet-black and cut into a Mohawk. “Nice to see ya.” Her usually enthusiastic voice sounded cool, and she gave Anne a little hug.

  She tried not to be angry with Dottie for being so late and hugged her back. “I’ve missed you.”

  “Great coat.” Dottie rubbed Anne’s velvet-covered arm.

  “There’s a story to it. I can’t wait to tell you all about it, but we’ll save it for later.” She popped up the suitcase handle and rolled it along beside her. “I’m starved. Let’s get something to eat.”

  “Not now. I need to get back to the apartment.” She took Anne’s suitcase and pulled it for her.

  “Do you have a boyfriend now? You were so mysterious on the phone.”

  Dottie nodded. “I’ve been seeing someone a bit. You’ll meet him tonight. I’m glad you dumped that Karl. What a geek.” She had met him when she visited San Francisco last year right after Anne started seeing him.

  “I thought you liked him.”

  “Yuck! What about that beard?”

  “He shaved it off.”

  “Did he look any better?” Dottie laughed, and Anne saw her old friend for a second.

  “Much!” Anne sadly thought off his smooth face. Too bad he didn’t shave it off earlier in their relationship. For some reason though, she didn’t feel like telling Dottie all about the breakup like she thought she would.

  Neither said another word as they walked the busy sidewalk the few blocks to Dottie’s home. Anne wondered what had happened to the Dottie she knew. Had she been kidnapped by New York?

  The SoHo loft, a long narrow rectangle in an old building, was located on a s
eedy street. “Where can I put my suitcase?”

  The counter was strewn with unopened paint supplies and empty canvases. Dottie pointed to the coffee table, and Anne pushed aside some old issues of Punk Planet and set her case on top. The room smelled of skunkweed and dead flowers mixed together. “Let’s open a window.” Anne strode over to a grimy one, which overlooked a trash-filled alley.

  “Can’t. It’s stuck.” Dottie plopped down on the stained couch underneath a Jimi Hendrix poster. She picked up a bong, lit it, and inhaled. Then she passed it over to Anne.

  “No, thanks.” As roommates, the only times they ever argued had been when they were high. Karl didn’t like the stuff, so Anne hadn’t even had any in almost a year.

  “Come on. Let’s celebrate. You’re finally here.” Dottie took another toke and offered it again. “It’s good stuff.”

  Anne sat beside her on the couch and took a drag. It burned on its way into her lungs, and she regretted the decision. “Dottie, you seem so different.”

  “Don’t call me Dottie. I go by Dorothea now.”

  “Since when?” Anne asked.

  “Since I met Trevor from the gallery. He said it sounds more sophisticated.”

  The smoke started to bother Anne’s eyes, so she moved to a mustard yellow beanbag chair across from the table and studied her dear friend. She looked anything but sophisticated. Besides the Mohawk and nose ring, her eyes were bloodshot and rimmed with too-thick liner. The baggy pants and tee she wore weren’t vintage. They just looked old and dirty. “You have really changed.”

  Dottie shrugged. “Don’t like it, huh?”

  “I didn’t say that.” Anne decided to change the subject. “My mom thinks I should move home.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m having a hard time making ends meet.”

  Dottie ran her hand over her Mohawk. “Maybe your mom’s right. Not everyone is meant to be an artist.”

  “But you always said if I couldn’t make it, no one could.”

  “I must have been wrong. Some people are meant to move back with mom.”

  “You’ve moved home for awhile.” Anne felt stung, held back tears, and turned away.

  “That was just temporarily. Tell me about your coat?” Dottie took another toke.

  Anne had really looked forward to telling her all about it, but now she didn’t even want to. Her stomach churned. “Later. I need something to eat.”

  “Help yourself.” Dottie pointed to the rusty fridge.

  It was empty inside except for an unidentifiable moldy vegetable in a drawer. “Not much here. Can we go to a nearby restaurant?”

  “I don’t have time. There’s a deli across the street. Go ahead.”

  “Can you pay me back now?”

  Dottie squinted at her. “For what?”

  “The plane ticket.”

  “Oh, that.” She took her wallet from a back pocket and opened it. “Don’t have any cash right now. Get it to you later.”

  That was supposed to be Anne’s spending money. There was nothing left in her ATM. She spied Dottie’s money jar sitting on the counter. “May I at least use your change?” When they’d roomed together, they’d raided their jar for special occasions.

  “Sure, knock yourself out.”

  Anne dumped the coins onto the counter.

  Dottie pulled herself up off the couch. “I need to get to the gallery to finish up a few details.”

  Anne looked at her watch. “But the opening doesn’t start for hours. You mean I came all this way, and now you don’t even want to spend time with me?”

  Dottie shrugged. “I’m sorry. Do you want to come with me now?”

  “Can you use my help?”

  “Not really.”

  Anne didn’t want to navigate her way across town by herself later tonight, but her body swayed with hunger and jetlag. She needed to get something to eat and to lie down for a while. Unzipping her suitcase, she pulled out the green dress. “What do you think?” She held it up under her neck. “Is it too much for tonight?”

  Dottie shook her head. “It’s lovely. I should change too.” She turned around and pulled off her T-shirt, revealing a tattoo that covered most of her back. The curvy letters formed words that were difficult to make out. Anne’s stomach roiled as she deciphered the words “death” and “doom” before Dottie slid into a see-through black blouse. Her Dottie really had been kidnapped by New York.

  30

  Sylvia decided to drive north up the mountain into the indigo sky, decorated with a few wispy white clouds. After an hour, the T-Bird’s engine started to make a funny sound. Cha-chung. Cha-chung. She thought about Marty’s warning but wanted to make it to the top of the peak, so she tried to ignore it and just kept going. Then the noise got faster and louder, chung, chung, chung.

  No way would she like to get stranded by the side of the road, so she looked for a place to pull over. Spotting a Campground Ahead sign, she followed the arrow down a dirt road to a copse of pines next to a stream. It even had a picnic table. Yes, this quiet campground would be the perfect place to hole up for a few days. No one would find them here.

  She parked, lifted Lucy to the ground, and carried the sack from the trunk into the Airstream. The closed-up space still smelled of cloves with a hint of oranges. Lucy ran around outside for a few minutes then dashed into the trailer, sat down, and stared at Sylvia.

  “You’re right. It’s suppertime!” She continued to unload the groceries, but Lucy kept jumping on her.

  “Hold your horses, girl.” Sylvia found a bowl in the cupboard and picked up a can of Friskies. She rummaged through the drawers for an opener but couldn’t find one. “Wait a sec.” Slicing an apple, she offered a piece to Lucy, who took it in her mouth, grimaced, and spit it out. Sylvia opened the Ritz Crackers, located a knife, and spread some peanut butter on one. Lucy gobbled this treat right down. Sylvia fixed one for herself and ate it and then made another for Lucy. She wished she had some of Ella’s grape jelly to add some flavor. They ate this way for a while, standing at the counter until Sylvia was full.

  When she spread the map out on the bed, Lucy dove into it, ripping the center. “Stop!” Sylvia yelled. Lucy froze, kicked it again, then sank on a pillow for a nap.

  Sylvia straightened the map out again and thought of Milo. She recited the rhyme, making the motions he had taught her long ago. “North, south, east, and west. But here at home is the very best.” She pointed way to the left of the Arizona map toward San Francisco and began to study the possible routes she could take. They might be able to continue north, up higher into the mountains, but the T-Bird probably couldn’t make it. At least, not with the trailer on it, but she wasn’t about to try and unhook them. She decided that after resting here a day or two, she would head out to Monument Valley. She found it on the map and put her finger on it, tracing the route. On the way, maybe she would spend time in the Painted Desert too. She liked that name and imagined jewel-tone colored sand.

  Sylvia stepped out of the trailer and closed the door, breathing in deeply. How did these pines smell so fresh? Was it a chemical reaction from the slight breeze touching them, or would they give off an odor even in the stillest air? The aroma made her body and mind feel clean. She sat at the picnic table, lit a Lucky, and inhaled. The acrid smoke tarnished the nearby forest scent. She tossed the cigarette to the ground and crushed it under her boot, thinking she might quit.

  The silhouetted pines on the hill and gathering clouds above resembled an artist’s rendition of a Western scene. She could just sit here for the rest of the afternoon enjoying the view. A bush rustled, and something moved out from behind it. It was the most beautiful creature she had ever seen, and it stood only about ten yards away. Sylvia froze as tears sprang to her eyes. It was a good thing Lucy slept in the trailer; she would have scared it away.

  The deer had a white tail and two budding antlers. Sylvia wished she could reach out and touch its brown fur. Her fingers imagined its hemp-like texture.
It strode along on an uphill path away from her. With as little movement as possible, Sylvia tiptoed on a lower parallel walkway. She followed the deer for several minutes until it turned a long neck toward her, bounced down a gully, and disappeared out of sight.

  What a gift! Sylvia felt full of gratitude to God for allowing her to witness this living animal, but then guilt settled in again, knowing that she’d killed a living creature too. She touched the amulet around her neck and looked toward the sky. “Please, God, forgive me.”

  Surprised that being in the wilderness didn’t scare her, she realized it actually had a calming effect, probably because she felt safe from whoever might be out there looking for her. However, she felt an underlying itch of loneliness.

  Paul had told her how much he liked to watch animals up at his mountain cabin. She’d thought he was crazy, but now she understood what he meant. If he were here, she would tell him all about the deer.

  As she walked back toward the trailer, Lucy scratched at the door, and Sylvia hurried to release her. While unpacking the rest of the groceries, she heard a pinging noise on the tin roof as rain fell in large drops. She stuck her head out the door and laughed as her puppy ran up the trailer steps for cover. She had a wet-rat look about her and seemed angry too, as if it had been Sylvia’s fault she’d gotten caught in the cloudburst. Sylvia threw a towel over the puppy and dried her soaked fur. The rain continued to pound and drip down the windows. It abated slowly and then stopped altogether. The sun came out, and it appeared as if the rain had never happened.

  Outside, an owl hooted and swept toward the trailer and into the top of a tall pine. Sylvia wondered if it had a nest up there. As dusk set in, she searched the cupboards and found a Coleman lantern tucked away in the back of one. She took the lighter from her purse, lifted the glass globe, and tried to ignite the wick, but it didn’t work. There seemed to be a canister in the bottom, and she shook it, hearing the oil splatter inside. She turned a knob, attempted again, and this time it lit. The lantern light cast a soothing glow around the trailer and onto the floor. Outside it grew dark.