"The same to you, folks," she muttered, then glanced straight ahead to where High ran into Park and saw Vic rounding the far corner and heading directly for her. There was no hesitation. She yelled, raised both arms and yelled again until he looked up and saw her. When he broke into a run, she dashed across the street to meet him, threw both arms around his waist, and lifted her face to be kissed.
"Very nice," he said when she released him. "Is this a yes, or is it my sexual karma that made you so wanton in the middle of the day?"
"Don't flatter yourself," she laughed.
"What would Mrs. Inness say to such a display, Miss Bartlett? You'll give the poor thing a massive heart attack."
"Nuts to that old bag," she said, taking his hand and pilling him back the way he'd come. They passed the grade school and she glanced nervously up at the blank shaded windows. "I've got to tell you about a dream I've just had."
"Oh, you too?"
She stopped suddenly and moved to stand in front of him. "What do you mean, me too?"
He was startled by her vehemence, but recovered rapidly enough to retake her arm and move her along. "I mean, my dear, that I too have just been through a dream. A nightmare, actually. You see, I've just been to the Board office this beautiful Saturday afternoon—the poor devils work hard at the end of August. I wanted to see what could be done about getting some new programmed learning books I wanted for my honors course this year. Well, it seems they won't be getting me the book, or anything else for that matter." He bowed and gave her a sardonic grin. "This model teacher, shop lady, has been given the old proverbial pink slip."
"You want a job?" was the first thing she thought of to say, flippant, and she regretted it instantly. He only smiled, however, and turned her at the corner into the luncheonette. Most of the stools at the white-and-pink counter were taken, as were the dozen booths that stretched along the sidewalk side back toward the kitchen. They found one, however, hidden behind a paperback book rack and, after snaring a waitress, slid in. Vic set an ashtray between them, lighted a cigarette for himself when Dale declined. He stared mutely at the smoke curling blandly toward the ceiling.
"You asked, madam, if I wished gainful employment."
"Come on, Vic, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. It was a poor joke. I'm sorry."
"On the contrary," he said, still watching the smoke. "If you are serious, then so am I. Assuming, of course, that you are speaking about that den of sinful fun you laughingly call a toy store." His grin became wry. "The . . . other matter is obviously now postponed. A slight change in plans, you might say."
She watched him reach up to pull at his beard, stroke his mustache, then took his wrist and settled his hand over hers on the table between them. "Don't do that," she said softly. "I know it means you're nervous. Don't be. You don't have to be, Vic, not around me."
"Well, how do you think I feel?"
She took the verbal slap and excused it. There was little of the confidence of expertise about him now, and she wanted to hold him, put his head to her chest and say stupid things that would promise them the moon and realize nothing. That, she knew, was precisely what he didn't need that moment. And her own fear born of the dream was shunted aside before she could think twice about it.
She waited until their coffee arrived, the creamer and sugar bowl scrounged from another booth, then said, "Why you, and why so late before telling you? I don't understand."
"If I did, fully, I could bottle it and be a millionaire," he said. "What I was told was this: although my classroom deportment and instruction is reasonably above reproach, my other activities have made it clear to the Board that I was not in full and complete comprehension of my contractual obligations."
"Now what is that supposed to mean?"
"When I asked the good old Treasurer of the Board, Harmon Randolph Blanchard, that very same question, he said—and this was man to man, mind you—he said that I was supposed to be teaching high school students, not taking jobs away from the grade-school faculty."
Dale put a finger to her forehead and scratched, shaking her head.
"Wait and patience, love, and it will become clear. I hope. I'm still working on it myself. I tried to get more from him but couldn't, so I set my gorgeous bulk down on his secretary's desk and wheedled and pleaded in my best sloe-eyed manner until she told me in the strictest confidence that the grade-school faculty was—and how well she put it for a college graduate—disturbed because several students were getting too far ahead of their regular class. It seems these same few geniuses, which is a loose word because they are not geniuses, were the ones like Will Campbell and Melody and Jaimie McPherson who come over to the high school to mess around with the older kids. The idea is, see, that since I am in charge of the yard and since I talk with those kids a great deal, I must be tutoring them on the sly. This would not only be in violation of my contract but also in violation of the agreement made between Board and Teachers' Association. It also makes the grade-school people look stupid. Ergo, some fatheaded building representative complained to the grade-school principal, who complained to my principal, who, since this is my tenure year, saw fit not to mention it to me but rather nipped in the bud my revolutionary tactics by terminating my contract."
"But, Vic, he can't do that!"
"Oh, but technically he can do just that. They bought me off." Dale frowned.
"What I mean is, when I threatened suitable bodily harm and loss of other goodies through a massive and publicity-seeking legal action, they promised to give me my full year's salary just to keep me quiet. And I took it."
"Now that's stupid of you, Vic," she snapped, slapping cup to saucer so hard her coffee slopped over onto the table. "What about your ideals? Your wanting to teach those kids? What happened to your principles?"
"With great self-control I will pass over the obvious puns and simply state that principles do not put bread on my humble table, my love. Besides," and his voice lost his sarcasm, "after this, I couldn't work for that simple-minded jackass anyway. I'm not a gadfly. It wouldn't work. And neither am I brave enough to be a martyr that I'd run with my cause, no matter how just in this case, to the papers and anyone who would listen. I stuck them for all the money they would have paid me anyway, and I ran. Simple as that. I was on my way to your place to tell you about it when"—and he grinned—"we met so delightfully."
She wanted to comment, but there was too much to be said. He saw the struggle in her face and took her hand, held it tightly while the luncheonette filled, emptied, filled and became noisy, and the waitress hovered to either clear the table or take their order. Not looking up, Vic asked for the day's specialty for the two of them. Alone again, her hand still in his, she wondered just who first thought there was some sort of impartial justice floating around the universe; it was an insane notion with no bearing at all on the way life at its most real functioned. But when she said so, angrily and with tears stinging to make her blink rapidly, he shook his head.
"Poor attitude, Dale."
"Well, what am I supposed to think, Vic? It just isn't fair!"
"Nothing is, and when you get used to it, things like this pass."
"But what are you going to do?"
"You said you wanted to give me a job—temporarily, until I can find something more substantial?"
"Yes," she said, and couldn't help a sly grin when she pictured Mrs. Inness' face when he walked in with her Monday morning. "But you've got to promise me something."
"Anything, boss," he said, saluting.
"No seductions in the storeroom. I have an image, you know."
"My Lord, such a mouth on such a beautiful woman," he said, laughing. "You are going to have to change your ways."
Arrival of the meal silenced them, and Dale used the time to mull over what she had heard and what she had just done. It would be interesting, she thought, to discover exactly who the complainer had been and how it was discovered that Vic had been the one talking to the children when they visited the hi
gh school. But despite his anger over what had happened, he'd given no signals of wanting revenge and she abandoned the idea, replacing it with another: a brief examination complete with surreptitious glances at Vic of her violent reaction to his news. It wasn't merely sympathy for a friend's misery—empathy was more like it; and friend, she realized, wasn't the word for the situation or the relationship—now she was his boss and, she thought, a beautiful situation that was going to be.
"Hey," he said, lifting a spoon and pointing over her shoulder, "isn't that the old Campbell woman over there?"
Dale turned in time to see Dave and his aunt walk into the luncheonette. She ducked away but not quickly enough. While Dave spoke to the counterman, his aunt remained oblivious to the stares she received and came over to the booth.
"Flora," Dale said, "what brings you here?" She nodded toward her plate. "It can't be because of the cuisine."
The old woman laughed appreciatively. She was dressed as Dale had seen her the night of her visit, yet despite the temperature there was no sign of perspiration anywhere on her face. "David takes me in once a month to do me some shopping," she said. "I am very much in love with the jewelry in the windows, you see." She spread her hands. "Not that I can purchase the pieces that I like, but it pleases me to look just the same. And how have you been, Miss Bartlett?"
"Well, and awfully hot. I don't know how you can take that coat in such miserable weather."
Flora smiled and touched the black buttons carefully. "It serves me to wear it, no matter the weather. I suppose you might say my blood is cold, still tuned to the winters across the water."
"Miss Campbell," Vic began, but she quickly waved him silent.
"I must run now. Do be careful, Miss Bartlett," she said, "and sleep well in this terrible heat."
Without waiting for reply, she returned to Dave and the two of them walked out to the street, not looking back.
"Friendly, isn't she?"
Dale shrugged. "Interesting, more likely."
"You're telling me? You notice how she falls in and out of that Highland burr? It's as though she can't decide whether or not to use it. She must be near a hundred years old."
"Eighty," Dale said, "so Willy once mentioned."
"Well, she likes you, obviously. What did you do, take a thorn from her paw?"
"Vic, that's not fair," and she explained about Flora's walk to her house and the absolution she'd brought. Vic thought it a splendid gesture, though he wondered aloud why neither of the parents had made a follow-up visit. Dale didn't know, and she didn't care. What was done was over, and at the moment she had more important things to worry about.
"Aha," he said. "Such as?"
"Such as catching Mrs. Inness before she leaves for the night. I was going to spring you on her first thing Monday, but now I don't think that's a good idea. She might keel over from the shock."
"Am I so impressive?"
Dale laughed, more like a bark, and hurried him through his dessert so fast he belched all the way down the street to the shop where Mrs. Inness was just preparing to shoo out the few remaining boys clustered around a display of metal soldiers. When Dale and Vic walked in, she left the boys and planted herself behind the counter, officiously slapping a hand on a receipt pad.
"Dale," she said stiffly, "I'm glad you've come. You've saved me a trip out your way."
Dale saw the color drained from the woman's cheeks, leaving her dabs of rouge and lipstick a brilliant and unpleasant contrast to the curled mass of gray hair piled atop her great head. Another crisis, she thought wearily, and leaned against the counter, smiling, waving once to a passer-by before making a show of scanning the store as though searching for something dreadfully amiss. The smile became a strain, then, and Vic deserted her for a wandering through the aisles.
"Dale, are you listening to me?"
"What?" She jerked her head around and leaned her chin on a paten, looked up with the smile gone. "I'm sorry, Bella. What's wrong? Are you feeling all right?"
"I'm feeling just fine, thank you, and please do not try to change the subject."
"Then what is it? Something wrong with the store?" Again she looked around, then back with a carefully blank expression.
"There is nothing wrong with the store, either. You entrusted the sales to me and I believe I handled myself adequately. What is wrong, however, is that I am going to have to tender my resignation, effective tonight."
Dale jerked straight, hurried around the counter, and climbed the platform on which it rested. She stood between Bella and the display window and folded her arms over her chest "What do you mean, you're quitting? Come on, Bella, what's wrong?"
Mrs. Inness pulled a lace-edged handkerchief from her neckline and patted her jowls, her cheeks, pursed her lips and patted them. Daintily and, Dale thought unkindly, grotesquely. "What is wrong, Dale, is those incorrigible children. Ever since you left they've been coming in here to persecute me."
"Bella, for God's sake, they love you! They get a little rough at times, I admit—"
"They have been downright cruel to me, Dale, and I won't stand for it. They ask me questions, all kinds of questions that I can't possibly answer. I tell them to go to the library and they say the librarian won't let them in the grown-up sections where they could use the adult dictionaries and encyclopedias. But they keep at me! All the time! And then they stand in the corners, fingering the dolls and what have you, whispering just loud enough for me to hear them." Her face lightened, and Dale dropped her arms when she saw the shimmer of tears. "I've never told you this before, Dale, but they do this all the time. And . . . they make fun of me, of my weight and the way I dress and the way I talk. When you were gone they didn't have your unthinking friendship to hide behind. They . . . they were . . ." She tossed her head and swallowed. "Vicious. That's the only word. Vicious."
"Bella, please." She laid a gentle hand on the woman's shoulder. "Kids don't know about things like the social graces, Bella. Whatever is silly they think is funny, and if they think they can get away with something, they will and as often as they can. It's not deliberate cruelty. Look at Willy and the way he used to tease you about saying 'May I assist you, young man' all the time. It wasn't because he didn't like you—"
"Easy for you to say."
"—but because he just didn't know any better."
Bella slumped onto the stool and folded her hands wordlessly over the pad. The boys had come up to the counter with their purchases, and she worked at smiling while taking their money and thanking them when they refused the bags she'd pulled off the shelf at her knees. When the door closed, she wrote out the receipt and speared it on the nail driven into the wood by the register.
"Now," Dale said, "are you going to tell me that's the last sale you're ever going to make in here?"
Bella only dabbed at her cheeks again.
"You know, you're always invoking my parents at me. I could do the same to you. They trusted you, Bella, and if nothing else they taught me that I need you in here." A sag appeared in Bella's stiffly set spine. "Especially now."
"Oh? Why now?"
Dale rubbed a hand over her face to hide the grin, put her back to the counter and slumped in a posture of conspiracy. "Victor Blake. He was fired today from the high school faculty, you know."
"You must be joking, Dale!"
"I'm not. He's been rather good to me since I've known him, you know, and he was the first one . . ." She took a deep breath, not wanting to say it. "He was the first one to reach me that day in June when Willy drowned. I. . . I promised him a job, Bella, to help him until something else comes along. I'm going to need you to help me show him the ropes. You know how busy it's going to get in here with school opening up next week, and the Christmas and Halloween seasons sneaking up on us again. I just can't handle it all without you."
"I will do it if you promise me something," Bella said.
"What do you need, a raise?"
She pulled away suddenly, her face now a mask
of indignation. "Certainly not! That would be blackmail, or something of the sort. I want you to promise me you'll have a talk with those . . . children. Get them . . . well, get them to watch their language while they're in here. Especially that Jaimie person."
"Jaimie? Jaimie McPherson?" Vic said, coming up so silently that neither of the women heard him. Bella made to leave, but Dale held her hand and explained to Vic what Jaimie, Carl, and the others had been doing while she'd been gone. Vic, at once angry and solicitous, impulsively covered Bella's free hand with his own. "Mrs. Inness," he said solemnly, "I think I'll make this my first task on the job. Jaimie is too smart for his own good. He and Melody and those Newcastle brats. I'll be sure that they'll be on their best behavior when they're in here. I promise you that."
"You're trying to get around me, Mr. Blake, so I won't feel badly about your being hired."
Vic grinned, laughed, and Dale was sure he was about to lean over the counter and kiss Mrs. Inness' cheek. "You're right, and you're wrong, Mrs. Inness. I am conning you, but I am also promising. Those little brats, in case Dale hasn't told you already, are deeply involved with the loss of my job. Believe me, they'll toe the mark while they're in here."
"And if they—"
A sudden screeching of metal, shattering of glass stunned them into silence. An explosion and a quickening of the light.
"Oh God, now what?" Vic said, opening the door and moving out to the sidewalk. He looked down the street, turned back and beckoned quickly. Dale couldn't hear what he was saying, but the name he called out was clear enough.
"David Campbell?" Bella said, her voice breaking in shock.
Once outside, Dale saw Campbell's automobile canted up a telephone pole. It was blanketed in flames, while smoldering pieces had smashed through nearby shop windows. A crowd was trying to get closer, several men with their arms over their faces attempting to snatch open the driver's door. Beyond the pole was something lying on the macadam. As Dale ran up, tears already breaking, she saw that it was what was left of Willy's father; apparently forced through the windshield, sliced by the glass, only his head, arms and torso had been thrown clear of the wreck. She gagged and spun around as the men trying to get into the car realized what had happened and one dropped a coat over the remains.
The Sound of Midnight - An Oxrun Station Novel Page 5
