Brake Failure

by Alison Brodie

  Ruby imagined the canvas-covered wagons, the dogs and children excitedly running alongside, men lashing whips, fired-up and eager, while the women soothed infants, their eyes far-seeing and frightened; not knowing where they were going and if they would survive.

  ‘The women were so brave,’ Ruby murmured.

  ‘Yeah, they were. Without them, there wouldn’t be the America we have today.’

  Now they were in the centre of the city, they became stuck in traffic. The intense heat and traffic fumes were suffocating. ‘Kansas was nicknamed Queen of the Cow-towns,’ Molly chatted. She pointed to a large building: ‘Over there was Marble Hall, a favourite gambling spot for cowboys. When gambling was outlawed they got around it by putting up two signs, one saying: DONATIONS, the other saying: REFUNDS. That’s where guys like Buffalo Bill Cody and Wyatt Earp hung out.’

  ‘What? They were real people?’

  ‘Sure they were.’

  Molly groaned. ‘I’ve got to cool off.’ She swung the car into a U-turn. ‘Can we do the city another day?’

  ‘Of course. Where are we going?’

  ‘Shawnee Mission Lake. I have a spare bikini you can borrow.’

  Forty minutes later they carried Molly’s cool box and Ruby’s picnic basket down through a wooded hillside to a crescent of silver sand.

  ‘It’s beautiful.’ Ruby shaded her eyes as she gazed out across the vast expanse of shimmering blue water. ‘Shall we try swimming to the other side?’

  ‘You can only swim from the official beach - and only when there’s a lifeguard on duty, but it’s all closed for the season.’ Molly indicated the notice board. ‘See.’

  Do Not Swim

  Do Not Feed the Ducks

  ‘We can sit in the shallows, though.’ Molly rummaged in her bag and brought out a fistful of pink fabric. ‘That should fit you.’

  It was a tiny bikini. In fact, it was not even big enough to sneeze in. The fabric was thin, chlorine-perished, but Ruby didn’t care: she was just desperate to get in the water. Molly took two beers from the cool box, popped one open and handed it to Ruby.

  ‘Have you got something non-alcoholic?’ Ruby enquired.

  ‘Well … no.’

  ‘It’s alright. It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘It does. My job was to bring the drinks - but you don’t have a drink.’ Molly scooped up the van keys. ‘There’s a convenience store on Renner Road. What do you want? Juice?’

  ‘No, no, I’m fine, honestly.’ But Molly had gone.

  Ruby went behind a bush to change. Although she was small, she had large breasts and the bikini top did nothing to hide them. When the bikini bottom disintegrated, she put her silk, lace-edged panties back on. Normally she wore plain white cotton knickers but she’d replaced them all with expensive lingerie when she was preparing for Paris. She looked down at herself, glad there was no-one around to see her like this.

  She scanned the shore. She didn’t care about the rules: she was a strong swimmer and she was going swimming.

  Reaching into Molly’s bag for a towel, she saw a mask and snorkel and put them on. She waded in to the lake, feeling the water enveloping her legs like cool satin, the sand soft between her toes. Tiny waves lapped against the rocky shoreline and far out, the blue water danced with silver stars.

  She floated face down, watching the underwater world through her mask; the flicker of tiny fish, mussel shells, swaying fronds. With powerful strokes she moved further from the shore. After a while she turned over on her back and gazed up at a fluffy white cloud drifting across a sky of periwinkle blue. All at once her heart expanded with joy. And a sense of absolute … freedom.

  ‘HEY! YOU! A man’s voice boomed across the lake.

  She thrashed upright and hitched up her mask. Two policemen stood on a boat ramp at the other end of the lake. She turned and saw the red cool box on the crescent of sand. Gosh, she had come out a long way.

  One of the policemen had a megaphone to his mouth. ‘OVER HERE! NOW!’

  What a rude man! Sedately, she began to breast-stroke back the way she had come. If those policemen wanted to accost her they would have to clamber along the rocky shoreline, which they wouldn’t want to do - not in this heat.

  The policeman with the megaphone had seen the direction in which she was heading. ‘I WANT YOU OVER HERE!’ he boomed. Both policemen were now waving her into shore as if she were an oil tanker about to go to ground. “Megaphone cop” threw down his megaphone and began clambering over the rocks at the water’s edge.

  He was evidently determined to get her. She viewed the shoreline; calculating that the rocks and bushes would slow him up considerably. If she swam fast, she could get back to the crescent of sand, and disappear up into the forest.

  She accelerated to a powerful crawl. She didn’t lift her head again until her feet touched sand and then she was up, gasping for air as she lumbered through the shallows. As she pushed off, ready to sprint, she felt her wrist clamped in an iron grip.

  ‘You ain’t going nowhere lady!’ Through the fog on her mask she recognised Gephart. ‘Can’t … you … read … the … sign?’ he gasped, thumbing back at the sign. ‘It’s forbidden to …’ His words tailed off as he saw her body.

  Hot embarrassment shot through her as she felt his gaze - like a physical touch - crawl over her breasts and down to her silky briefs. She snatched her wrist away, the movement snapping him to his senses.

  When he spoke again, he stared rigidly at a point beyond her head. ‘It’s forbidden to swim outside the official swimming area.’ He began to lecture on the dangers of waterweeds, broken bottles and stomach cramp.

  Ruby grabbed up a towel and wrapped it around her. ‘Blah, blah, blah,’ she mumbled. The words were barely audible but he’d heard.

  He bent forward, his eyes narrowed as he tried to identify her through the fog on her mask. ‘That voice ...? Don’t I know you from somewhere?’

  ‘No-siree.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘Take off your mask.’

  ‘Cain’t ’cos it’s stuck row-w-n back.’

  His big hands reached up. ‘Here, let me do it.’ The mask fell away. ‘You!’ he exclaimed.

  There was the sound of snapping branches and Molly appeared, her face instantly lighting up with pleasure when she saw Gephart. ‘What a nice surprise, sheriff! I’m Molly. You might not recognise us but we were performing at Broken Arrow-’

  ‘It was you two?’

  Molly wriggled her shoulders seductively. ‘You remember?’

  ‘Yeah, and I also remember Miss Thompson, here, drunk and driving recklessly on Turkey Creek Road.’

  ‘I wasn’t drunk.’ Ruby threw down the mask, flushed with all the things she was forcing herself not to say. ‘The car swerved because I was applying lipstick.’

  ‘Uh-huh?’

  He still didn’t believe her! She mentally counted to five. ‘So why, may I ask, didn’t you breathalyse me?’

  ‘I will … next time.’

  Molly stepped forward. ‘But, officer, that’s in the past. Why don’t we forget about it? And Ruby has been on her best behaviour, haven’t you Ruby?’

  Gephart snorted. ‘She was half-way across the lake. And she knew it was wrong ’cos she tried running from me.’

  Molly gaped at her in astonishment. Embarrassed, yet surly, Ruby started burrowing a hole in the sand with her big toe.

  ‘Get dressed, Miss Thompson.’ Gephart ordered. ‘You’re coming with me.’

  Molly put a hand on the policeman’s arm. ‘Can’t you make an exception, sheriff, just this one time? Ruby is English. She doesn’t know any better.’

  Gephart hesitated. Ruby kept her head down so he wouldn’t see her anger. She must have given the impression of hang-dog repentance because he sighed. ‘Okay, Miss Thompson, I’m not gonna take this further but I warn you: when you’re in this country, you obey by our rules, got that?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.’
>
  The policeman turned and headed back the way he had come. Molly didn’t speak until he’d gone from view.

  ‘You almost got yourself a criminal record!’

  Ruby spluttered at this injustice. ‘I’m no criminal! I never even took a pencil from the stationery cupboard at work without filling in a requisition form.’

  ‘Glad to hear it,’ Molly said sourly.

  Ruby continued hotly. ‘I don’t drink, I don’t swear, I don’t smoke-’

  ‘Okay, Miss Prissy, I get it.’

  Ruby dropped to her knees beside the picnic basket and started unpacking it, flapping down the table cloth, grabbing up napkins and plates. ‘What happened back there was persecution.’

  ‘That wasn’t persecution. You broke the law.’ Molly paused and stared across the lake, seeming puzzled. ‘The weather’s changing.’

  Ruby had also felt it; an icy current snaking through the warm air. She shivered and reached for her clothes. ‘He had no right to treat me like that! I’ve never been so humiliated.’

  She remembered how she had driven out into the prairie with a sense of exhilaration. She recalled the joy of performing for those school children. And, today, she had experienced a wonderful sense of freedom in a vast expanse of sparkling water. On each occasion Gephart had ruined the moment, making her feel angry and ashamed.

  She tore open the parcels of sandwiches with her teeth. Then she glanced up.

  Do Not Feed the Ducks.

  She snatched up a sandwich, strode to the water’s edge and flung it as hard as she could. A great swarm of ducks and geese converged, quacking and screeching loudly as they dived for it. He couldn’t see her, but she knew he could see the ducks.

  ‘This is war, Gephart.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  Hank swung himself over a boulder as he headed back to the patrol car. His shirt – soaked with sweat - clung to his back. A thorn scratched his cheek. At first, when he’d realised it was the girl he’d stopped on Turkey Creek Road - he’d felt a jolt of pleasure. That hadn’t lasted long!

  He paused to wipe his face. The lake was calm and serene - at odds with how he felt inside. Anger versus tenderness; elation versus fear. He shook his head bitterly. He’d never understood those country songs about love, thinking he was immune, but now he understood. Being close to her, the air buzzed with some kind of electricity, and the sounds around him just faded to a hum.

  He felt at once protective and destructive, subservient and dominant. He wanted to feel the softness of her cheek under his fingertip. He wanted to bend her to his will, to take her there on the sand.

  He recalled the heaviness of her breasts; the nipples pushing against the thin wet fabric of her bikini top; the slim waist fanning out to curvaceous hips. The panties; so sheer that he had seen the pale-brown curls trapped and flattened by the silk.

  He groaned, feeling the swollen hardening in his groin. He lifted his face to the sky. ‘Don’t do this to me,’ he whispered, speaking to whatever was up there.

  He carried on, determined to put her out of his mind. She was English, on holiday, and in a couple of weeks she’d be gone and out of his life. Tonight, he’d phone Suzie, or maybe Collette. They would satisfy this need.

  Branagh was waiting on the slipway. ‘You catch her?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Hank grabbed the water bottle and drank thirstily.

  And you booked her?’

  ‘She’s visiting from England. No point.’ It was then Hank saw the flock of birds dive-bombing the lake.

  ‘Goddamn it!’ Branagh yelled. ‘She’s feeding the ducks! I’m going after her.’

  ‘No.’ Hank held him back. ‘You’ll be wasting your time.’ He smiled dryly. ‘The evidence will be long gone by the time you get there.’

  He knew the English girl was sending him a signal, a direct challenge to his authority. He recalled her bottom lip, red and swollen from where she’d bitten down to stop herself saying what she wanted to say; her amber eyes flashing up at him with fury.

  The cat had spiked claws and wanted to scratch him. Why? Was it because he’d looked openly at her body? Yet she had not cowed under his roaming eyes; instead she had thrust out her chest defiantly, like she was saying, You can look, but you can’t touch.

  But he wanted to touch. Oh, God, how he wanted to touch.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Ruby spent the drive home ranting and raving. Frustrated that Molly refused to join in her Gephart-bashing tirade, Ruby waited until she got home then telephoned Grandad and had a satisfying conversation about neo-Nazis. ‘Don’t worry,’ Grandad concluded. ‘When midnight strikes the Millennium, that policeman is going to be too busy containing the rabid horde to think of bothering you.’

  The next phone call completely erased Gephart from her thoughts.

  ‘Dwight has asked the agency to give a presentation,’ Edward began excitedly.

  ‘I knew it!’ Ruby shrieked.

  ‘It doesn’t mean we’ve won,’ Edward hastily added. ‘But we’re in with a fighting chance; and it’s all thanks to you.’

  ‘Merci, monsieur!’

  He laughed. ‘We’re going to Ruth Chris’s Steak House to celebrate. It’s on the Plaza. Do you want to come and meet Payat and the crowd?’ He must have sensed her hesitation because he added, ‘You’ll have to get used to mixing with creative types when we get to Paris.’

  She felt a surge of confidence. ‘What time are you picking me up?’

  She went to get ready. It was still early so she spent an hour in the Jacuzzi. By the time she climbed out, her hair was a halo of frizz. Since it was only going to be a lads’ booze-up in a steak house, she dressed casually in jeans and check shirt. Her brain had been full of Gephart; now it was washed clear, replaced by the twinkling skyline of Paris.

  Edward was late. She went out and waited on the porch. The sky was black, the air coldly crisp. Summer was finally turning to winter. Down among the clapboard houses, a line of illuminated icicles had been twisted round a tree; the first Christmas decoration of the year. Close by, a dog howled, a door banged. From a great distance came the long low blast of a freight train, making Ruby think of box cars trundling across thousands of miles of America, through towns with romantic names: Phoenix, El Paso, New Orleans, St Louis.

  In that moment she felt a thrill of adventure, the excitement of the unknown. The blast of the train became fainter and fainter until there was silence. An icy breeze touched her cheek and she turned to face it, conscious that it had travelled over that vast emptiness.

  She could like this place, now she was leaving it.

  Edward pulled up at the curb, and she jumped in. ‘You’re wearing jeans,’ he remarked, accelerating. ‘Sorry, I should have told you. Ruth Chris’s Steak House is pretty stylish.’

  ‘Should I go back and change?’

  ‘There’s no time. Everyone’s about to sit down. I’ve asked Donna to order you tagliatelle carbonara – is that alright?’

  ‘Absolutely perfect. Your secretary sounds such a gem.’ Ruby turned up the heater. ‘Isn’t it great about the presentation?

  ‘It’s not a done deal. Dwight is still clinging to the hope that he can keep the whole company in the family.’

  ‘He can, but not the advertising side.’ She warmed her hands at the air vent. ‘You sounded so impressive the other night. Just like a vet.’

  ‘There’s more to Purdy’s than just selling dog food. That reminds me, there’s a veterinary conference coming up in Orlando, Florida. I asked if you could accompany me but it’s only for delegates.’

  ‘That’s alright. How long will you be gone for?’

  ‘Eight days.’

  Eight days, she mused. Plenty of time to make the house cosy for Christmas; and give Edward a lovely surprise when he gets home.

  They had circled an enormous fountain of prancing horses and were now driving along a boulevard of smaller fountains and Mexican-style buildings foaming with bougainvillea and decorated with pretty hand- p
ainted tiles. ‘It’s beautiful,’ she breathed, sitting forward to get a better view. ‘This is lovelier than Rome!’

  ‘Like I told you; give Kansas a chance. It has more working fountains than anywhere else on the planet. The Spencer Museum of Art in Lawrence ranks as one of the best university art museums in the world. You’ll find Renoirs in the Coutts Memorial Museum in El Dorado. And, of course, just up the road there’s the Nelson Atkinson.’

  ‘And I thought this place was just prairie.’

  ‘Well, it was, once upon a time.’

  Ruth Chris’s Steak House was understated, but chic. The maître d’ led them to a private dining room where smartly-dressed guests chattered around a large circular table covered with a white starched cloth and expensive tableware. Ruby, who’d believed she would be sitting at an old water barrel eating chips, felt embarrassed to be dressed like a farm hand.

  Everyone seemed genuinely delighted to meet her. As Edward made the introductions, a pretty doll-like female grabbed her arm.

  ‘I’m Donna. I’ve bin so wanting ta meet ya!’

  Ruby gazed at her. Wasn’t Edward’s secretary called Donna? The girl wore a simple shift dress patterned with tiny roses; her golden hair tied up in a green ribbon. She looked girlish, fresh and … sexy.

  Edward placed a possessive arm around the doll. ‘Donna is the best secretary a man could want,’ he boasted. ‘And she bakes me a chocolate cake every day.’

  Donna poked him in the chest; an intimate proprietary gesture. ‘A man needs more than iddy-biddy rabbit food.’

  Ruby stood in a daze. Why didn’t Edward tell me his secretary was so PRETTY? With her thoughts tumbling in confusion, she was barely aware of an arm coming around her shoulders as she was led to the table.

  ‘I’m Rita,’ a voice said in her ear. ‘And this is Taylor.’ The two women settled Ruby in a chair between them and began to interrogate her.