by Shawn Inmon
“How about my car? That was a birthday present. Is it still mine, or do I need to take the bus to Berkeley? And, am I welcome to stay here in the house until the fall quarter starts, or do I need to move out right now?”
Dorothea sighed. “This generation. So dramatic. You’re welcome to stay here as long as you want, but I’d probably avoid your father for a few days. Of course your car is yours. It was a gift. That won’t change. One piece of advice, though. While you’re still living here rent-free, you might want to go get a job and save a little money. California is expensive.”
Chapter Thirteen
That night, Cassandra lay in bed, unable to sleep.
I’ve been back less than twenty-four hours and I’ve stirred up more trouble than I did in all my seventy years last life. What’s that bumper sticker I saw? Right. ‘Well-behaved women rarely make history.’ I hope I’ll make a little history this life, because I don’t feel like I left so much as a ripple last time around.
A full moon outside cast a silvery sliver of light through her window and onto her bed.
That’s all well and good, but I’ve got more practical things to worry about first. Mom’s right. I should find a job and bank as much as I can this summer. Give myself a head start when I get to Berkeley. Don’t time travelers always manage to make themselves rich? Michael J. Fox did it by betting on sporting events in that movie. Unfortunately, I didn’t have any idea I’d be waking up back here, so I never paid any attention to stocks, or sports, or anything really. If there’s an instant way to make myself rich, I don’t know what it is.
She balled her fist up, socked it into her pillow a few times and rolled over onto her side.
So. Where does a young girl with no work history and no skills other than shopping and making a home go for work?
She ran the possibilities over in her mind until she fell asleep.
THE NEXT MORNING, SHE was up early. Early, at least, for a teenager used to sleeping in until she felt like crawling out of bed. She hurried downstairs and found the kitchen empty.
Sunday. It’s Sunday. Where can I go get a job on a Sunday? Nowhere, that’s where. And, Juanita is off today.
That thought caught her short. I’ve got to quit thinking that way. Soon, no one will be taking care of me but me. I’ve got to be more self-sufficient. At least I did teach myself to cook.
She busied herself in the kitchen, breaking eggs, frying bacon, and making a fluffy omelet. As she sat at the kitchen table to eat, her mother poked her head around the corner to see what was causing the ruckus in the kitchen.
“Morning, Mom. Made myself an omelet. Would you like one?”
Dorothea shook her head, unsure of what was happening, having never seen Cassandra touch a pan before.
“No, thank you,” she said, recovering quickly. “What are your plans for the day?”
“Well,” Cassandra said, munching on a slice of bacon, “I was planning on applying for jobs all over town, but then I remembered it was Sunday. So, I’ll probably just drive around and plan out the places I’ll hit tomorrow.”
“Good. Good initiative.” Dorothea poured herself a cup of coffee, took a sip. “You know, your father does own a number of businesses in town.”
“Sure, of course. But I didn’t think he’d be much interested in giving me a job after yesterday. I got the idea he was pretty put out.”
“Oh, yes. No doubt of that. However,” here, Dorothea leaned in and lowered her voice, though they were alone, “I think he’d like to see you go to work. He probably believes that might be enough to bring you to your senses.”
Bring me to heel, is more like it. That won’t work, but I don’t mind taking the job.
“Sure, if he wants, that would be great. I could help out at the radio station, or at the newspaper. I was on the Annual Staff at school, after all.”
“Yes. Well. We’ll have to see what he comes up with then, won’t we? I’ll let you know what he says.”
In a way, I admire you two. You were an unbreakable team. He was the face, but you were the force behind a lot of what he did. Good for you, Mom, but that’s not for me, either. I don’t have your guile.
With her plans put momentarily on hold, Cassandra spent the day re-familiarizing herself with Middle Falls and what life was like in 1966.
The downtown area was not much different than what it had been the last time she had seen it. It was a ghost town, though, which ran contrary to what she remembered.
It was always bustling and busy downtown. Maybe my memory is wrong.
A church bell a few blocks off the main drag pealed, releasing the congregation to enjoy the rest of their Sabbath.
Of course. It’s Sunday. Life wasn’t a seven-day-a-week affair. Almost everything—the five and dime, the hardware store, even Coleman’s Furniture—was shuttered on Sundays.
She rolled down the main drag, past The Pickwick Theater, which was playing The Ghost and Mr. Chicken.
That would be fun. Wonder if they’ll still let me in for free like they used to, or if word has already spread that I am a disinherited child.
She drove to Kristen’s house and pulled up just as she and her parents were returning from church.
Louise Paulson waved to her. “Come on in, Cassie. I’m going to make egg salad sandwiches for lunch. We’ve got plenty.”
“Thanks, Mom!” Cassandra said, smiling. She and Kristen made their way back to Kristen’s room to wait for the sandwiches.
“So, come to your senses, yet?”
“About Jimmy? No, I’m not going to change my mind.”
“You’re a crazy girl.”
They lay across Kristen’s bed and talked, but their conversation didn’t flow as easily as it always had in Cassandra’s memory.
Maybe because I’m really an old woman, and she is still a teenager. How much can we really have in common? I barely remember most of the kids we went to school with. To Kris, they’re still fresh in her mind.
The awkward silences didn’t have to stretch for too long, though. In just a few minutes, Louise called, “Soup’s on!” from the kitchen.
The Paulsons were middle class, but they owned their own home, and they kept it neat and bright. Doug Paulson worked as a machinist, and Louise stayed home.
They ate their egg salad sandwiches on Wonder bread and ate Campbell’s tomato soup.
If the Paulsons knew about her decision to not marry Jimmy—and Cassandra was sure they did—they didn’t say anything. Instead, they talked about whether Kristen was going to be able to find a job for the summer, and the most recent letter home they’d gotten from Kristen’s older brother Frank. Frank had enlisted in the Army in 1965 and was serving a tour of duty in Vietnam.
Of course, they worried about him, even though his letters assured them he was miles from any of the battles.
I could tell you that Frank is one of the lucky ones. That he will come home whole, at least in body, if not in spirit. But, will he? I’m already seeing things go differently since I got here. Veronica’s not married to Danny any more. God only knows how many other changes have happened that I don’t know about yet.
When lunch was over, Kristen made an excuse about needing to help her mother, and Cassandra took that as her cue to leave.
I think it’s just as well I’m leaving Middle Falls. What will I have in common with anyone here? At least in Berkeley, no one will expect me to remember them. It will be a fresh start.
Chapter Fourteen
The next morning, Dorothea woke Cassandra up at 8:00 a.m.
“Your father got you a job.”
Cassandra sat up, temporarily lost. During the day, she managed to keep herself grounded as to where and when she was, but when she first woke up, she felt an overwhelming sense of displacement.
“A job?”
“You said you wanted a job yesterday, didn’t you?”
Cassandra nodded, recognizing that her brain wasn’t yet capable of speech beyond parroting back a few words.
“You start at three o’clock,” Dorothea said, walking toward the door.
“Three o’clock? Where?” Cassandra managed to get out.
“Oh, yes. You’ll need to know. At the bowling alley. Your father arranged a job for you. You’ll be working for your cousin Al.”
She closed the door behind her and Cassandra was blessedly alone.
Three o’clock. I have to be to work at three, and she woke me up at eight. I have a feeling I’m playing a game where I am the pawn and Mom is the queen.
Cassandra stumbled downstairs and into the kitchen, where Dorothea was relating a story to Juanita, the cook.
“And there she was, as if she knew what she was doing, making breakfast. I’ve never seen anything like it. She even cleaned up after herself when she was done.”
Both of them looked at Cassandra when she came in and poured herself a cup of black coffee and sat at the kitchen table.
“Would you like some breakfast, Miss?” Juanita asked. “Maybe a nice omelet?” There was a twinkle in her eyes.
I know when I’m being mocked. I’ll have you know my omelets are quite good.
“No, thank you. Just coffee is good for me. Mom? What should I wear to work at the bowling alley?”
Cassandra had run through the inventory of summery dresses she knew were hanging in her closet and didn’t think any of them would be right. In big cities across America, young girls were wearing miniskirts and knee-high boots in public. In Middle Falls, modesty was still the order of the day.
“No need to worry about that. I’ve asked Al to send over one of the uniforms they wear. It will be here in plenty of time.”
For one, I don’t remember anyone at the bowling alley wearing a uniform, and for another, I don’t think I like that gleam in your eye, Mother.
“That’s perfect.” She picked up her coffee cup and walked toward the stairs. “I’m going to go take a shower, then.”
She took a few more steps and her mother said, “Cassandra? Where are you going with that cup?”
“I told you—I’m going to take a shower.”
“No beverages upstairs, you know that.”
Cassandra’s shoulders slumped. She walked back to the kitchen counter, took a long drink of the coffee and winced as it burned her throat. She gave Dorothea her best fake smile and headed upstairs.
When she came down an hour later, a see-through dry cleaner’s bag was laid over the back of the couch.
“Your uniform came,” Dorothea said with a smile.
With trepidation, Cassandra picked up the bag. She lifted the plastic up to reveal a brown and mustard-yellow uniform. It was polyester and crackled with static electricity as she touched it.
That’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen. Did they hold a contest to pick the worst uniform of all time?
Cassandra let the bag drop back down, then plastered a smile on her face, turned back to her mother and said, “Great! I love it. That will save me from ruining my good clothes. Thanks for being so thoughtful and helping me out with this.”
Dorothea rarely laughed, but there was a bit of a lilt in her voice when she said, “Of course. We want to do anything we can to help you succeed.”
Cassandra went back upstairs and stripped to her bra and panties. She looked at the polyester monstrosity, then sat on the bed and chuckled.
You’re a master at this game, Mom, but I’m learning.
She put the uniform on and found that although it was ostensibly her size, it was baggy in all the wrong places. She stood in front of the full-length mirror that hung on her closet door and turned this way and that.
Good thing I’m not on the hunt for a boyfriend replacement. This would not help that cause. Well, nothing to be done for it. This is Mom’s move. Now it’s time for mine.
She ran lightly back down the stairs to twirl and model for her mother.
“Aren’t you getting dressed for work a little early? It’s not even noon yet.”
“Oh, I know. I thought I would go downtown and do some shopping. Maybe stop in at Mode O’Day and see what they have in for summer fashions.”
Dorothea’s half-smile froze on her face. Mode O’Day was the closest thing to a fashionable women’s store in Middle Falls. It was also owned by Marge O’Day, one of Dorothea’s closest friends. The thought of her only daughter parading around downtown in the mustard-colored uniform—and worse, talking to Dorothea’s friends—did not settle well with her.
Finally, her face twisted in a sour knot, she nodded, and said, “Very good.”
For the first time, Cassandra thought she saw some respect in her eyes.
Chapter Fifteen
At 2:45 p.m., Cassandra pulled her Mustang to a stop right by the front door of Middle Falls Lanes. She glanced off to her left and saw a sign that said, “Employee Parking” at the entrance to a gravel lot at the side of the parking lot. Obediently, she backed out of the spot she was in and drove to the designated area.
Should have figured. That’s where most of the cars are. Who in the world goes bowling at three o’clock on a Monday afternoon, anyway?
She pulled in beside a gold-and-crème-colored Chevrolet Impala. It was immaculate, with a hula girl ready to dance at the slightest jiggle of the car and an oversized pair or red dice slung over the rearview mirror.
That’s gotta be Cousin Al’s. I remember meeting him at a family reunion a few years ago. Not very tall, so of course, everyone calls him Big Al. If I remember right, he had a mouth on him, though.
Cassandra pushed through the double doors and was hit in the face with that familiar smell of a bowling alley. Cigarette smoke, the wax on the lanes, the spray used inside the shoes, and fried food and stale beer from the café in the corner combined into an unmistakable odor.
Well, I always kind of liked that smell, except for the cigarettes. Good thing, because I think it’s going to infest this spiffy polyester uniform.
To the left, a raised platform was encircled by a tall counter. Behind it stood her cousin, Al. He was leaning forward with his elbows on the counter, a cigarette with a long ash dangling from his lower lip. He was so still, he appeared to be a wax statue. As Cassandra drew closer to him, she saw he was reading a paper spread out in front of him.
She stood there, waiting for him to look up at her. He did not.
Finally, she said, “Hi, Al.”
He didn’t jerk or look up in surprise. Instead, he raised massive, caterpillar eyebrows and looked at her over the top of his glasses.
He started to speak, but apparently a large ball of phlegm had lodged itself in his throat. Instead of words, nothing but an explosion of noise and spittle came out of his mouth. He was unperturbed by this. He slowly reached for a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his mouth.
He cleared his throat and tried again. “Well, Cassandra. Don’t you look cute?”
Cassandra looked at Al, who was wearing a blue shirt with a white t-shirt underneath, and an old pair of khakis. She glanced around and saw only one other employee, a teenage boy dressed in a chambray work shirt and jeans cuffed at the ankles.
Not a uniform in sight.
“Just curious,” Cassandra said, plucking at the broad collar of her polyester uniform, “but why did Mom insist I wear this, when everyone else is wearing regular clothes?”
“It’s the damndest thing, that. We’ve never had a gofer wear a uniform, but your mom called me yesterday and asked me to send one of these over for you. Those are usually just for the waitresses in the snack bar, but she wanted one for you, too.”
Of course she did.
“You said, ‘gofer.’ Is that my job? What does it mean?”
Al’s face split in a wide grin. “Never heard of a gofer, huh? Kids today.” He let loose a short burst of laughter that turned into a hacking cough almost instantly. Out came the handkerchief again. “Yeah. Gofer. You go fer this, you go fer that. You go fer whatever I need you to do.”
“Ah. Word play. I s
ee. Clever. Well, here I am. What do you want me to ‘go fer’ first?”
“Well, my other gofer quit last week, so I’ve got a pretty good list to start you off. First off, no one has cleaned the men’s room since then, so it’s pretty disgusting.”
Cassandra looked at Al. He had at least a week’s worth of beard stubble, and his greasy black hair looked like he hadn’t shampooed it in a long time. Her lip involuntarily curled back in disgust.
If Al thinks something is disgusting, what am I going to think?
It took an effort, but Cassandra made her face go blank.
I will not turn around and run out of here. Both Mom and Dad would just love that, and I’m not going to give them the pleasure.
“The janitor’s stuff is in a closet back there,” he said, waving in the direction of an office door in the back of the building she had never noticed before. “There’s a sign you can put in the doorway, so nobody comes in and pees in one urinal while you’re cleaning the other one.”
Cassandra couldn’t help herself. An involuntary shudder ran from the bottom of her spine to the top of her head. She took a deep breath, nodded, and headed for the office.
This is what I wanted, right? Freedom. Adventure. Gross toilets.
She found a bucket on wheels, a mop, cleaning supplies, and the sign, which said, Men at work.
I guess that’ll have to do.
She opened the door and timidly said, “Hello?”
When there was no answer, she propped the door open with the sign and wheeled the bucket and supplies inside. As she turned the corner, an immense man in work jeans, a dirty work shirt, and suspenders came around the corner.
“Oh, hello, little missy. You might want to call out ahead of time before you come in here. You never know what you might see.” He winked and leered at her, but Cassandra just stared at the floor. That was when the smell hit her, pungent and overpowering. The smell of feces, mixed with old urine, and half a dozen other unpleasant smells she couldn’t put her finger on. She fought back her gag reflex.
