Talk of the Town

by Mary Kay McComas

  Perfect. Gary loved it when a plan came together.

  FIVE

  The ocean had a way of fooling people into thinking it was something gentle and benevolent. Slow lapping waves lulled you into forgetting that the water could rise up and swallow you whole. Unseasonably hot spring days deceived you, too, allowing you to hope that the evenings would be warm as well, but they never were.

  "Take my brother's operation as an example," he was saying as he removed the sport coat he'd worn over a cable knit sweater and jeans. "He can pull off enough methane gas from three million tons of garbage to meet the needs of eighteen thousand homes for the next fifteen years." He held out his coat and waited for her to slip her arms into the sleeves. "Huge underground pockets of methane gas, just sitting there waiting to explode or leak into the atmosphere and destroy the ozone."

  "So you think these waste-to-energy programs are the answer to pollution," she said, tingling as her muscles uncoiled in the warmth left in his jacket.

  By the lapels, he turned her to him and began to button her in. "I think they could be part of the answer, yes. A small part;"

  "Then why are people so upset about your incinerator?"

  "They don't understand it. All they know is that burning garbage has been banned in this country for the last fifty years." He took hold of one arm, then the other, rolling up the jacket sleeves. "And rightly so. The old furnaces released dioxin and acid gases into the air."

  "Those cause cancer, right?"

  "Among other things," he said, casually slipping his hand around hers as they walked on, heading north as if by random choice. "But the new ones burn hotter; even glass and pottery melt and crumble. For every ten truckloads of garbage, there will be one full of ash to bury."

  "So, where's the energy?" she asked, going over it in her mind. "Didn't you say it was a waste-to-energy thing . . . or is burning the trash down to ash considered energy saving?"

  “No, no. The incinerator will be an energy source," he said, pleased to explain to her. "Water, running through rows of pipes on all sides of the furnace, picks up the heat and eventually expands into a powerful steam. That's channeled through more pipes to keep an electrical generator spinning, like a steam engine."

  "So the incinerator produces enough energy to run itself."

  "Itself and seventy-five hundred homes. Indefinitely."

  "So, what's the problem?" she asked, her ears picking up country western music from a tavern on the roadway above them. "Why don't you explain it to everyone the way you have to me? Send out pamphlets or something."

  "We will, but it won't matter."

  "Why not? I think it's a great idea."

  "Aesthetics," he said, using a simple word she'd understand.

  "Aesthetics? Well, plant some bushes around it. Paint it purple. If you can make electricity from garbage, surely you can think of some way to dress up the incinerator so it isn't an eyesore."

  "Should I paint the trucks too? Or borrow a Klingon cloaking devise so no one can see or hear them driving up and down the road? How about if I hose them down with fancy perfume from Paris every time they pull into the yard so they won't offend anyone?"

  She grimaced, though she knew his irritation wasn't with her. "People are that picky? Even with all the good it will do?"

  "The incinerator site is seven miles from the housing development, and all they can talk about is the smell and what the trucks sound like and what'd happen if the pollution control devises break down."

  "What would happen?"

  "We'd shut down and fix them. And you can bet your last nickel those emission control people will know exactly when it happens. They're closing down everything that even hints at a leak these days."

  "And that's good, right?"

  "The idea is to help, not to make things worse. I'd rather detect a malfunction before it happens. But if I don't, I'd want them to shut me down."

  "What are you going to do? Can they stop you from building it?"

  "They can waste more time and money in courtrooms, but in a few years it won't matter. While they're busy fighting me, someone else will build an incinerator seven miles off in the other direction. You can't stop the future. Especially if it makes sense, and if you've run out of time and choices."

  "And we have, haven't we? With the pollution and all?"

  "I'm afraid so. We have to do something now or it'll be too late." He stopped and gravely added, "Fortunately, there's still time for us to dance. Do you know how to line dance?"

  "What?" It was a second or two, as he pulled her toward the stairs that led up to the road, before she realized what he meant. "No. I told you I don't dance. I was hoping you'd changed your mind."

  "Are you kidding? Come on. We can learn together then," he said, starting up the steep steps ahead of her, her hand wrapped tightly in his. "This place isn't too bad for a honky-tonk and—"

  He was jerked backward when she stopped suddenly behind him.

  "You checked this place out. I ... I walked into this one, too, didn't I?"

  He smiled sympathetically and nodded.

  "You were bringing me here all along."

  "Five minutes. If you hate it, we'll leave." To distract her, he looked up suddenly, searching the eastern sky, then seemed surprised when he said, "Oh, look there. See those three stars there, lined up in a row?" He continued up the steps as he spoke. She followed blindly, gazing heavenward. "That's the belt of Orion, the hunter. You can't see Canis Major from here, but down a little and farther east is Canis Minor, and ah . . . there, there in the nose of Canis is Procyon, the brightest star in the sky."

  They'd reached the top of the cliff and the paved parking lot where, by day, tourists parked to treasure the view, snap photographs, and reevaluate their decisions not to practice some sort of religion – the view was so beautiful.

  "You know about stars?" she asked, searching for Procyon, picking out three or four good candidates.

  "I told you I was a really bright guy, that I went to college and everything."

  She could feel him looking at her, watching her.

  "You can't usually see this many stars because of the fog," she said, smiling. "Lucky for you it's a clear night, or you wouldn't be able to show off like this."

  He laughed, gently guiding her toward the Rio Rider. "You ain't seen nothin' yet, lady. I have more talent and smarts in my little finger"—he showed it to her—"than most men have in their whole body."

  "And yet you're so humble."

  "I know. I can't help that either."

  She knew what he was doing. Talking circles around her until he could get her inside the Rio Rider. She could still say no. She could put her foot down and insist he take her home. But she didn't. She didn't even want to.

  The music outside was a muffled hum compared to the noise that nearly knocked them over at the door. Happy, snappy noise that quickened her heartbeat and stroked something very young inside her.

  Fingers entwined, because he wouldn't release them, they stood near the bar, gauging the crowd, watching the dancers, and looking for a table to sit at.

  It wasn't as big as some places she'd seen, years before. There was a small stage and dance floor, cluttered tables everywhere, pool tables and video games far off to one side. But the atmosphere was familiar—smoke, dim lights, colored neon signs, a cheerful hum of voices, feet shuffling and hands clapping to loud recorded music.

  "Well, as I live and breathe, will you look who's here?" a familiar voice exclaimed.

  "Lu!"

  "I can't believe my eyes. I thought for sure you'd lock yourself in the bathroom and refuse to go out tonight. It's like I've been saying all along, all it takes is the right man," she said, laying her hand on Gary's free arm and looking up to adore him. "That must be you, honey."

  "Now you both think so," Rose said, delighted to have an ally on foreign soil. Lu was wearing a red silk blouse with western fringe, too-tight black jeans, and a black hat. Lu knew how to dress. "What are yo
u doing here?"

  "Boot-scootin' my butt off, same as you. Come on. You can sit at our table."

  "Lu," she shouted over the loud music, following her because she had Gary in tow. "Who are you here with?"

  Lu swung around into her face and yelled, "Jimmy Dusom, and he's doin' some for me." She threw her head back and enjoyed her own pun. "He just got back yesterday. He's going to work one of his dad's fishing boats all summer. Oh, I know, I know. He's young enough to be my . . . my distant cousin or something, but he turned twenty-one last winter. He's fair game. And he has the most incredible tush. Wait till you see it."

  Rose gave her a closed-lip smile and refused to make any judgments. She liked Lu. There was only a year difference in their ages, but she was several inches taller and that made her seem much older than Rose. She'd appeared in Redgrove about ten years earlier, after her fourth divorce. Right away she was labeled as friendly, then very friendly, with an occasional lifted eyebrow. But no one seemed to expect anything different of Lu. They accepted her as she was—blunt, rowdy, and sexually active.

  And yet, instinctively, you knew there was more to Lu's book than her cover.

  For instance, in four marriages no children had been produced and still she had readily and generously agreed to care for Harley if anything ever happened to Rose. She doted on young customers, fussing over them, giving them free ice cream, dropping maraschino cherries and little paper umbrellas into their soft drinks.

  Also, she never dated any man she couldn't control. She might flirt with the likes of Gary, but she dated pliable young men or older, less-spirited men. Never anyone her equal. .

  Lu never reminisced aloud about the days before she came to Redgrave, and Rose never asked, because she had a powerful suspicion they hadn't been pleasant.

  "Jimmy, you remember Rose from the diner? And this huge hunk of heaven is Gary," Lu said, making introductions without last names. Jimmy was a tall, thin, clean-cut youth who had the overwhelmed expression of a child with the keys to a candy store. The men shook hands, and Lu pushed Gary into the chair next to hers, so he shoved the chair between him and Jimmy out for Rose. "You're going to love this place," she hollered. "In the summer they have a live band and this place rocks."

  Gary leaned forward in his chair to talk into Rose's ear.

  "If the kid starts to foam at the mouth, should I shoot him?" he asked, his voice tickling along her neck.

  She laughed and shook her head, moving her cheek up against his. "Nah. I think Lu'll put him down before he bites anyone but her."

  They laughed into each other's eyes, sharing more than the humor and more than an easy tolerance of those around them. An understanding of friendship, like-thinking, and appreciation passed between them.

  "Would you like a beer or something else to drink?" he asked, his nose in her hair.

  "A diet soda would be nice."

  "You smell good."

  She pulled away, looking at him as if to say he'd sniffed illegally. But the expression on his face told her to beware, he was a born outlaw and would commit any crime that presented itself. It pleased him. He craved it.

  He turned and bellowed to Lu, making a circle with his finger above the table. Then he pushed back his chair and stood up, saying to Rose, "I'm going after drinks. Can I get you anything else?"

  She shook her head and smiled and heard Lu tell him, "You said you wanted someplace clean. You didn't say anything about great service," and started to laugh.

  She waited for him to walk away before moving into his chair and all but stood on her head to drag Lu's attention from Jimmy.

  "What did you mean, just then, that he wanted someplace clean?"

  "He asked me about a nice place to go dancing. At the diner this afternoon," she said. Giving her a sharp look, she added, "When you weren't being very nice to him. He asked me if I could scrounge up a date and meet you here. He thought you'd be more comfortable and have more fun with people you knew."

  Rose looked away, uncertain of what to think, very certain of the aching inside her. She looked up again when Lu's hand came to rest on her arm, squeezing gently, reassuringly.

  "He's a good man, Rosie. They don't make many like him, honey."

  Maybe. Maybe not, she thought, her stomach a knot of turmoil she wasn't ready to untie yet. Why did he have to be so nice? She turned her gaze from Lu's keen scrutiny to watch the dancers, two by two, spinning and stepping in time to the music.

  What was she doing here? She'd never be able to dance like that, she decided, allowing her mind to wander, refusing to contemplate the merits and failings of good men at that moment. As if she wanted any sort of man in her life, for crying out loud. What good was a good man? What exactly was it they were good for? She picked out an older couple to watch because of their grace and agility and familiarity with each other when they danced. They'd probably been dancing together for a hundred years, she guessed, thinking it sweet; wondering if the old gentleman was a good man; envying them someplace deep in her soul.

  "What did you say he did for a living?" Lu asked, patting her arm to get her attention.

  "I don't think I said." Oh, Lord. She was about to become a member of the Joke-of-the-Month Club.

  "Well? What does he do?"

  "Lots of things. This and that."

  "Like what?"

  "Environmental stuff. Pollution. He's got degrees in biology and chemistry. Environmental science too."

  Lu tipped her head to one side to look over her shoulder at Gary by the bar. She sighed wistfully. "Well, he's somethin', honey."

  Something for sure.

  She felt a nudge at her shoulder and turned, expecting to see Gary.

  "Wanna dance?" asked a man she'd never laid eyes on. A big burly fellow with a nice face and a friendly smile.

  She wavered, surprised to be noticed and singled out, afraid of looking foolish on the dance floor, unsure of modern dating etiquette.

  She was saved a decision when a frowning Gary appeared behind the man, holding three beer bottles in one hand and a glass of dark liquid in the other. She motioned for the man to beware and not to back into him, maybe step aside so Gary could unburden himself, but he took it as a refusal to dance.

  "Sorry, man," he said to Gary, smiling back at Rose.

  Gary wanted to drop-kick him, but said instead, "No problem, big fellah," and sat down beside her.

  "I feel so sorry for me," he said, leaning toward her to be heard, playing pathetic.

  "Why?"

  "Because no man wants to be the guy with the prettiest woman in a place like this. You end up fighting for her all night and missing teeth in the morning."

  He was teasing her again. Wasn't he? He wasn't laughing. He looked at the tables around them. He was going too far now, she thought, also looking around, just in time to see a couple of male heads turn away from them. Well, that didn't mean anything. Lu, after all, was something to see.

  There was hardly enough time to take a breath between the end of one song and the beginning of the next, she noticed, when the tempo and rhythm of the music changed. The Rio Rider was not a good place for talking.

  "Come on, you two. Don't just sit there," Lu said, jumping up and dragging Jimmy to his feet.

  "Lu, I can't do those dances. I can't do that," she told Gary. "We'll watch, okay?"

  "No way," Lu said, releasing Jimmy and taking hold of her hands. "This is a line dance and you're going to learn it. Come on, I'll teach you." She waved to Gary. "I'll teach you both. It's fun. You'll love it."

  Love it? Well, they had a grand time screwing up. Leading with the wrong foot, bumping into the real dancers and messing up the line. They liked sticking their fingers in their pockets with the thumbs hanging out and trying again and again and again to stay in line, laughing hilariously when they couldn't, attempting to walk away and being pulled back into the column by complete and very forgiving strangers.

  Love it? Well, they enjoyed being a part of the crowd, and the crowd seeme
d to acknowledge that they were a twosome. They looked forward to the music coming to an abrupt silence and a slow, soft song taking its place, to moving into each other's arms and swaying gently. No fancy footwork required.

  Love it? Well, a few hours later they collapsed flushed, exhausted, and happy into chairs and gulped greedily on fresh cold drinks.

  "I love that," she said, laughing, placing her soda-cooled palms to her cheeks. "I think we've almost got it, Gary. We hardly missed a step this time." The smile faded from her lips. "What's wrong?"

  He offered her a weak smile and looked away as if he were suddenly shy and awkward.

  "What?"

  "Nothing," he said, words failing him. It didn't happen to him often, but it did happen.

  "Are you sure?"

  How could he tell her what he couldn't explain? How could he tell her that she was so beautiful, she took his breath away? How could he tell her that when she laughed, he thought his heart might explode? How could he tell her that when her eyes were bright and shiny and full of happiness, he could see his life looking back at him?

  "Positive. Are you getting tired? I don't want your boss to get mad if you're dragging tomorrow."

  They looked at Lu, twirling on the end of Jimmy's arms, and happened to catch her eye. When Jimmy passed her behind him, she pointed out his remarkable tush and started to giggle.

  "I don't think my boss is going to notice if I even show up tomorrow," she said fondly, turning back to Gary. "But maybe we should go. I don't want Harley to worry."

  "Think he will?"

  She smiled, recalling his earlier behavior. "Probably not."

  George Strait's "Last in Love" started up on the jukebox.

  "Last dance," he said, standing and holding a hand out to her.

  Of course, she didn't know George Strait from B.B. King without an announcement. All she knew was that he had a nice mellow voice, and dancing in Gary's arms was something she could do forever. She could rest her head on his broad shoulder, close her eyes, hear nothing in her head but the music, feel nothing but the gentle pressure of his embrace.