Brake Failure

by Alison Brodie

  A man shouted out. ‘Hey, Hank, I got a notion she don’t like you!’

  Another man agreed. ‘You ain’t gonna be herdin’ that pretty heifer into yer corral any time soon.’

  In the babble of voices she heard: ‘… got yerself a maverick.’ ‘… Roxanne.’

  It wasn’t until she was outside that she realised she was crying.

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Stunned, Hank put a hand to his cheek. Ruby had put all her force against the slap. He knew what it was like to be punched by a guy, but he’d never experienced violence at the hands of a woman.

  Recovering from shock, he went after her, pushing through the crowd in the doorway who were having a fine time enjoying the drama. She wasn’t at her table. She wasn’t among the dancers. He went outside and saw a motorbike take off, Ruby riding pillion behind a Hells Angel, while Molly shouted after her.

  ‘Molly,’ he begged. ‘I know you can’t give me her address, but this is an emergency. I have to speak to her.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘She slapped me. But I don’t understand. She was giving all the signals.’

  ‘What signals? What happened?’

  He ploughed his fingers back over his scalp. ‘I had a bust up with a biker and she helped me to the washroom to clean off the blood. She was trying not to look at me but when she did, I tell you: her eyes were big enough to dive into. I’ve seen that look a hundred times before; but I’ve never felt that electricity…’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I asked her to give me a kiss and she did.’

  ‘She did?’

  ‘Yeah, but she sure as heck didn’t know how to kiss, so I showed her. That’s when she slapped me.’

  Molly put a hand on his arm. ‘Listen, I can’t give you her address ’cos I made a promise. But what I’ll do is phone her tomorrow, tell her you’re sorry. Then she might call you.’

  ‘Thanks Molly. I appreciate that.’

  When Molly had gone, Hank thought through what had happened. How could he have got Ruby so wrong? He rubbed his jaw, rasping the bristles on his face.

  He recalled how she had slapped off the other girls in possessive jealousy, like she was saying: This is my man - leave him alone.

  Then when he’d said “Sweet Cheeks”, she’d laughed.

  Sure, she had tensed when he’d pulled her into his arms, but there was one thing that could not be denied. When he put his lips to hers, she had relaxed. No, it was more than that. When he put his lips to hers, she had melted.

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Ruby woke up with the sensation of a metal drill piercing her skull. It was Mr Schoettler, working in his garden. She turned over to complain to Edward before remembering he was in Orlando.

  She glanced at her watch. Six o’clock. Oh, God.

  Suddenly, the memory of last night flooded back. She sat bolt upright. Hank had kissed her! Again, she felt the caress of his lips on hers, and she swung out of bed. Never before had so many emotions hit her at the same time: lust, anger, frustration, exhilaration, despair, need. They boiled and surged, with nowhere to go.

  Anger: that would reassert her self-control. ‘How dare he?’ she stormed.

  She knew with despair that the touch of his lips had sparked something inside her, something that was aflame; a need for more. The kiss had rocked her life, but to him it had just been a game. She remembered his grinning face as his audience cheered him on.

  ‘Brainless brute!’ she muttered.

  Becoming aware, once more, of the machinery roaring beyond her window, she balled her fists, the anger churning the acid in her stomach. That’s it! She’d had enough of Mr Schoettler! She flung on her dressing gown, ran down the stairs, shoved her feet into Wellington boots and marched outside, almost tripping over Rowdy, who was lying on the doormat.

  Mr Schoettler was chain-sawing a tree into segments. With the deafening noise, the old man didn’t hear her approach, so when she poked him in the arm, he got such a shock he turned abruptly, nearly lopping off her head. Since it was too noisy to make herself heard, she waited until he turned off the machine.

  His eyes were like wet black stones. ‘Yeah?’

  This man had ignored all her begging notes; made every morning a living hell. Seeing the sly, knowing expression on his face, she felt the urge to let rip, but there was a tiny priggish voice in her ear which, in the tones of Vanessa, told her to Act Like a Lady.

  Taking a calming breath, she said stiffly: ‘Would you mind deceasing from creating such an awful racket?’

  The old man thought about this, rasping a knuckled-fist along his jaw. Hank did the same thing when he was thinking. She felt the flutter of giant wings inside her chest and immediately jammed her hands on her hips, stoking her anger against Hank, against Mr Schoettler. Was the old man deaf? She raised her voice to a shout and repeated: ‘Would you mind deceasing from creating that racket!’

  The old man’s head snapped up, his face knotted with hatred. ‘Why you yelling?’

  ‘So you can hear me!’

  ‘I can hear you, lady! But I ain’t got a clue what yer saying.’

  ‘I am saying. Shut. The. Fuck. Up.’

  Her ears buzzed with her attack. She trembled with abject fear and elation.

  Mr Schoettler spat on the ground at her feet. ‘No, lady, I won’t.’

  What could she do? The man was obviously a psychopath. With a chainsaw. She took a more diplomatic approach. ‘Don’t you care that you’re disturbing your neighbours so early in the morning?’

  ‘This is my land and I work on it when I want. Just ’cos you un-Christians lie abed at ungodly hours.’

  She snorted. ‘What? I’m going to burn in hell because I have a lie-in?’

  ‘Sloth is a deadly sin.’

  ‘Bullshit!’ Her body straightened, her head went back in a gesture of infinite scorn. ‘If this noise continues I shall send my husband over!’

  ‘Suit yerself.’

  She pivoted and marched off, furious to hear the chainsaw roar into life once more - a bitter taunt that she was a feeble woman who could do nothing about it. She exchanged a look with Rowdy as they headed back to the house. ‘I wish you were a Rottweiler,’ she told him, and he wagged his tale. She left him sniffing a blade of grass and went inside.

  She dressed and decided to work off her tension by mopping and disinfecting the kitchen floor. She saw the box of copper bullets and wished she had the gun to go with them. But it wasn’t Schoettler she wanted to shoot. She was unable to blank out the image of Hank’s laughing face. She stopped and stared sightlessly out of the window, remembering the feel of his lips on hers…

  Stop it, Ruby!

  She mopped furiously. He’d taken a childish delight in embarrassing her in front of his friends. But what could one expect from a bull rider who’d been regularly dropped on his head? And she had not appreciated the comments about being herded and corralled, either. God, it was like being sucked into a cowboy movie. And she was the cow.

  The ringing of the phone interrupted her thoughts. It was Molly. ‘Hank said you slapped him!’

  ‘That’s correct.’

  ‘But he said you agreed to it.’

  ‘A peck on the cheek, yes, but not … not … that.’

  ‘What?’ Molly’s voice was eager.

  ‘I can’t think about it. I’m too traumatised.’

  ‘Jeez, Ruby! What the hell did he do to you?’

  ‘He … he pinned my arms to my sides. Then he held me so I couldn’t move my head. And then he … he ….’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He kissed me.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Isn’t that enough?’

  ‘Did he give tongue?’

  ‘Oh, God, Molly! No!’

  Molly released a long sigh. ‘He asked me for your number but I said you’d phone him.’

  ‘No, Molly. This is where it ends. I will never see him again.’

  *

  The n
ext call was from Edward. ‘Hello,’ he said coolly.

  This was the first time they had spoken since he left for Orlando. Edward had kept his distance, letting her feel his disapproval over the thousand miles that separated them. ‘Just to let you know: Dwight wants to show me his factory in Wichita, which means I won’t be back until next Friday.’

  ‘I’ll make you something special,’ she said sweetly, trying to smooth his ruffled feathers. She didn’t want this tension when he came home. ‘What would you like? Moussaka?’

  ‘I don’t care.’

  She would have to do a lot of grovelling to be finally forgiven but, for now, she didn’t have the patience. ‘When you get back could you speak to Mr Schoettler? He was breaking the sound barrier again this morning, so I confronted him, told him I’d send you round.’

  ‘What? I’m not going anywhere near him! He’s dangerous.’ Edward paused, panting. ‘Anyway, I only phoned to tell you of my movements. I presume everything is fine at home?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘What about the dog?’

  ‘He’s fine, too.’

  ‘I don’t care if he’s fine! I want to know if you’ve got rid of him.’

  ‘Um … no, I haven’t.’

  ‘I hope he’s not taken up permanent residence in that shed.’

  ‘Oh, no, he hasn’t.’

  And he’s not allowed in the house. Understand?’

  ‘I understand.’

  *

  Kansas where are you now? Them streets I used to ride?

  Galloping, trotting and whopping them leather hides

  Plucking that banjo till it bled, we sent the devil packing

  Playing dark when sunset went and injuns came attacking.

  I’ve wiped sweat from my brow and from my eye

  I’ve looked to the sky asking “Why? Why? Oh, why?”

  I’ve ate griddled rattlesnake and ol’ Sadies’s pie

  I’ve peed in the streets ‘cos I’m brash, I’m not shy

  There’s meat packing for them that’s looking for work

  And gin joints and sleaze for the slackers who shirk

  There’s wheat on the prairies all silken and flowin’

  And Mid Kansas Electric to keep the lights glowin’

  It was early evening. Darlene had just phoned to say there had been a storm warning. Ruby opened a tin of sardines and ate them from the can while gazing out at her neighbours’ gardens. She didn’t need to go out to the prairie for inspiration; it was as if she could see it all in her mind’s eye. Her gaze lifted to the sky. Silent lightning zigzagged miles away. The sun was slowly being swallowed up in a bank of clouds, tropical clouds that nosed across the low sky, massing into a mammoth grey mountain.

  Ruby was thinking of the red-headed girl on Hank’s knee last night. Hank had taken her outside and had come back alone. How long had he been gone for? Fifteen minutes? Where had he taken her? His home? Was the girl a mere dalliance, or someone more permanent? And what about the girls in the lavatory with their tight jeans, wanting to touch him?

  Ruby knew at once, in an instant churn of misery that she would never have been special to him; there were just too many others out there that he could pick and choose.

  She was jolted by a crack of thunder. Car alarms shrilled, police sirens wailed and dogs howled. She thought of Rowdy bedded down in his shed for the night. Would he be frightened by the noise of thunder? Probably not; after all, he was a destitute mongrel accustomed to the elements. She would go out and check on him anyway.

  As she opened the front door, a flash of pale fur shot past her knees. She found him behind the sofa shivering convulsively. He wouldn’t even look at the bowl of minced-meat in gravy she offered him. He even ignored Edward’s old teddy bear.

  Well, one thing was for sure, Rowdy wouldn’t be sleeping outside tonight. She went to the shed for his eiderdown, ducking as forked lighting lit up the black clouds overhead. The air crackled like whiplash; rain freckled the tarmac. A damp breeze carried the fresh scent of grass, of flowers.

  Back inside she plumped up the eiderdown invitingly: ‘Gosh! Rowdy’s bed!’ He was totally unaware of it, his eyes locked in terrified expectation. He wasn’t the cuddly sort, but she felt so sorry for him, she knelt and put an arm around him. ‘Hey, don’t be a silly.’ Her soft words seemed to have got through because he looked up at her with eyes that pleaded: Please make it stop.

  As the thunder and lightning continued, she lay on her stomach beside him, keeping him company while jotting down words for her epic poem. It was early evening when the thunder finally stopped. Although Rowdy no longer trembled, he remained immobile, his eyes strained and watchful. The air was hushed, as if the world was waiting. Snow began to fall.

  The doorbell rang. Through the rippled glass of the door, she saw the shape of a large man in the light of the porch. Hank! She stepped back, almost tripping over Rowdy.

  ‘Who is it?’ she called breathlessly.

  ‘Payat.’

  Payat?

  Payat!

  Her hands flew to her hair. She glanced down to see what she was wearing. Jeans: okay. Green cardigan: Not okay! She kicked off her Snoopy slippers as if they were contagious. Her breath smelled of sardines. She opened the door and smiled without parting her lips. She understood why she had mistaken him for Hank; his duvet-style padded jacket made him seem bigger.

  ‘Hi Ruby.’ He handed her a cardboard box with her name written in thick black felt-tip: Mrs Mortimer-Smyth. ‘Here are the cosmetics I promised.’ He saw Rowdy. ‘Who’s this fella?’

  ‘Rowdy.’

  ‘Is he safe to pet?’

  ‘Yeah.’ She dumped the box by the door and ran upstairs. ‘Go through to the sitting room and make yourself at home, I won’t be a minute.’ She was grateful for this visit. With Payat here, she would no longer think of Hank.

  In the bathroom she swilled Listerine around her mouth with all the force of a washing machine on full spin then changed into a red, low-neck jumper. Payat knew she was alone. Was the box of cosmetics his excuse for dropping by? Perhaps he saw this as an opportunity to make romantic overtures? As she raced back down the stairs, she was surprised to find him still in the hallway.

  ‘Any fuses blown?’ he asked.

  She was bewildered. Was this a coded message?

  ‘Pardon?’

  He thumbed back over his shoulder. ‘The storm. It can cut the voltage.’

  ‘My fuses are great.’

  ‘And your gutters?’

  Oh, Payat, don’t talk of household maintenance, talk of your unquenchable desire for the touch of my skin.

  ‘They’re great, too.’ She thrust her feet into high-heels. ‘Do you want a coffee?’

  ‘Thanks.’ He dropped his coat over the banister and followed her into the kitchen.

  ‘So, your tribe lives in New Mexico?’ she asked, switching on the kettle.

  ‘Taos. I’m from the Pueblo tribe. All American tribes other than Pueblo have been forced off their home ground.’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t know. That’s dreadful.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Is Taos nice?’

  ‘Magical. I sit out in the desert at sunset just listening to the emptiness. I sit so still the prairie dogs don’t even notice I’m there.’

  The intensity in his voice made her veins tingle. She could visualise his noble profile - like a Victorian shadow portrait - against a crimson-streaked sky. How could she have thought Hank was desirable? Payat was far better looking.

  He continued, ‘Then the sky becomes black and full of stars and it’s like you’re under this great tree and the branches are low and heavy with millions of silver fruit that you could just reach up and pick. We might not have fancy restaurants, but we have fiestas, dancing and tribal gatherings. There’s vibrancy without the push-and-shove of the city.’

  ‘It sounds so tranquil.’ She handed him his coffee. She already knew how he drank it: milky and sweet.

  ‘It
’s not totally tranquil.’ He cradled the mug between his hands. ‘For the past decade we’ve been fighting the government for territory along Highway 25 so we can build The Great Powwow.’

  She saw him at the head of a band of horsemen galloping down from the hills. Of course, this was a ridiculous notion; he would be fighting in the courts, not brandishing spears and whooping war cries.

  ‘And your tattoos? Are they a symbol of your tribe?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘And how long have you been chief?’

  ‘I’m not. Not yet. I’ll be taking over from my daddy when the time is right.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll be expected to have children?’

  ‘I don’t want kids. I have fifteen nephews and nieces. That’s enough.’

  ‘Do you hunt?’

  ‘Yeah.’ He held up an imaginary rifle and squinted down the barrel.

  ‘I mean, with a bow and arrow?’

  ‘Sure. We live like our ancestors did a thousand years before us.’

  She had a sudden thought. ‘Your tribe, presumably, is self-sufficient?’

  ‘That’s about right.’

  ‘So, if the Millennium bug does disrupt civilisation, it won’t affect your people?’

  ‘Shouldn’t do, no.’

  ‘When do you go back?’

  ‘New Year’s – just after midnight.’

  ‘For the holidays?’

  ‘No. When I go, I will never return.’

  ‘Oh,’ she exclaimed, feeling the disappointment.

  He continued, ‘Donna’s having a New Year’s party for the agency. That’ll give me a chance to say goodbye to you and Edward and everyone else. Then after a couple of drinks, I will go.’

  Ruby saw herself – as if on a TV screen – standing at a window, watching this handsome Native American drive into the night, and out of her life. A love that could never be.

  He misread her silence. ‘You’re not worried about the Millennium bug are you?’

  ‘Depends which TV channel I’m watching,’ she said dryly.