We chatted as we worked, but after a while, I realized all that was playing from the radio was country music.
“What’s with the music?”
Dani didn’t look away from what she was doing. “Huh?”
I stared at her until she looked at me.
“Oh. Umm. The Boss Lady likes country.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Ooh. Well, we like rock, so let’s switch the station.” I walked toward the radio.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you….” Her voice rose in pitch as she stretched out the last word.
I pulled up short. “But…I thought this was a democracy.”
“Oh, it is. It is. Only it’s a democracy run by a dictator.”
I put a hand on my hip, but being new on the crew, I held my tongue. Better to worm my way in, then override the authorities. “Whatever.”
“You must be hanging out with Zoe too much,” she said under her breath.
“What?”
She smiled sweetly. “Never mind.”
A few minutes later I caught her singing along to the radio. “You did not just sing a country music song.”
“What? Oh. No,” she scoffed, waving a hand as if the thought was silly.
“Hmpf.” I scowled at her. “Keep this up and I’m taking away your rock and roll card. I mean, what would Chase say?” Chase Hatton. The rock star whose concert had changed both of our lives. She’d met Tucker there and I’d met Kyle.
She didn’t comment as she primly collected her neat stacks to take back to the dish room, but she raised an eyebrow before turning away from me with her laundry. “You know, Sam. I think you’re looking at this the wrong way. You thought we had fun analyzing rock music—you should hear the asinine lyrics the country artists write.”
“Huh….” I stood with my mouth hanging open as she left the room. Might be worth a shot.
Oh, my gosh. I did not think that. I fumed. One day in Nebraska and I’m turning into a hick.
Still, I couldn’t help but note, when she returned from the back, “They said that band was Sugarland.”
Her eyes brightened. “Mmm-hmm.”
“The song was called ‘Stuck on You.’”
“Yes?”
“Well…haven’t they ever heard of Goo Gone?”
She smiled. “Or at least WD-40.”
It was good to be back.
A bit later, the phone in the kitchen rang. Dani was busy, so I answered it.
“Hello?”
“Yes. This is Josephine Compton. May I please speak with Tara Devine?”
“One minute, please.” I held my hand over the receiver, whispering to Dani. “It’s some broad named Josephine Compton. Josephine? Sounds like the maiden aunt who always brings fruitcake to Christmas dinner.”
“That’s the new principal,” she hissed.
“Oh.” I walked halfway down the hall toward the dish room and Tara’s office, stretching the cord to its limits. “Satan, Line One.”
Tara lost it. She probably peed her pants.
Dani entered. “You guys. She can probably hear that.”
“Ahh,” Tara made a noise that was half-sigh, half-laugh. “That’s a good one. Satan. I like it.”
“Would you just answer the phone?” Dani glanced at the clock. “We need to get the corn dogs in.”
After lunch was served, Tara blew a gasket again. She stampeded through the kitchen where Dani and I were cleaning, her face red. “Un-freaking-believable!”
“What?” Dani and I asked at the same time.
Tara held a hand in the air. “You’ll see. You ladies aren’t going to like it,” she added forebodingly.
We exchanged a look, and went back to cleaning up lunch, but I stopped mid-swipe. “So…I’ve been listening to this country music you speak of….”
A smile stretched across her face.
“I think we need to create a grocery list for these country music stars.”
“Ahh.” I could tell she liked the idea.
“So, Goo Gone for Sugarland, as we mentioned earlier….”
“Okay….”
“And we should add a Tide stain stick.”
“Oh?”
“For Tim McGraw.”
She had to think for a half-second, but she got it. “For the barbeque stain on his white T-shirt.”
“Exactly. And we might as well add an inhaler for George Strait.”
She shook her head, no doubt mentally going through a catalogue of George Strait songs, searching for the right one.
“You know. With all his talk about breathing in and out.”
She laughed then tried to be serious. “Good idea. That would be a lot more useful than writing a song about it.”
I nodded. “Yes. As we’ve said before, visit a doctor for your ailments, people. Don’t create lyrics. That’ll get you nowhere quick.”
“Indeed.” She finished wiping the steam table and walked toward the sink. “I need to think of a few things to add to that list.”
Fifteen minutes later, Tara strolled in with a pile of clothes in her hands and three baseball caps with the school’s logo on it. We abandoned our work and came over to check it out.
“What’s this?” Dani asked. She slid a navy shirt from the top as Tara explained.
“Well, Satan thinks we need uniforms now. Says it’ll show we’re ‘united’ as a school. Whatever.”
Dani held the shirt up. “But it’s a polo. I don’t look good in polos.”
“Nobody looks good in polos,” I corrected.
Tara passed a shirt to me and one of the pink baseball hats. “And hats?”
Dani frowned. “Pink hats with navy shirts?”
“It’s all the Athletic Club had right now, and she wants us to start wearing these right away.”
I frowned. “What if we have to go to an appointment after work? We’ll have terminal hat head.”
Tara handed Dani a hat and plopped one on her own head. “You’ll simply have to leave time to go home and shower before any appointments.”
Because Tara’s hair was shorter than mine, her hat covered her whole head. “That looks ridiculous on you, by the way.”
She looked at Dani, who shrugged. “She’s never been fluent in tact.”
Tara spun on her heel and retreated to her office, mumbling, “Twenty-two years and I’ve never had to wear a uniform. She’s here a couple of months, and now we need to look ‘united’ all of a sudden? Whatever.”
Dani and I chuckled. She looked at the objects in her hand. “Hey, Sam…” she said thoughtfully. “I think we may be overlooking the benefits of wearing a hat to work.”
I shaped the bill on mine and put it on. “What? Like it’ll help with the glare from the stainless steel tables and equipment?”
She put hers on, but needed two hands to wedge it over her gorgeous, thick hair. “If we have to take a shower after work, there’s really no reason to take one before work and—”
“We can sleep in longer. You’re brilliant, Dani-girl.”
We walked toward the bathroom. “This shirt, on the other hand….”
I grimaced. “Yeah.”
We opened the door and entered together, looking in the mirror.
She groaned. “This looks horrible.”
“Give me your hat.”
“What? Why?” She removed it reluctantly.
I took it from her, and worked on curving the bill.
“What are you doing?” She tried to snatch it back, but I dodged.
“There.”
She stared at it a second, then put it on her head, turning back to check her reflection.
I nodded. “Much better.”
She smiled. “You’re right. Thanks.”
I glanced in the mirror, adjusting mine. “They can make us wear hats, but we don’t have to look stupid in them.”
Tara called out. “Sam?”
“Yeah. We’re in the bathroom.”
Tara soon crammed in. “What are you gu
ys doing?”
“Give me your hat.”
“What? Why?”
“Trust her,” Dani advised.
As I worked on the hat, which seemed slightly stiffer than ours had been, she said, “I was coming to tell you Satan says you forgot to fill out some form and you need to stop by her office before you leave.”
“You’re kidding me. I filled out like a gazillion forms.” I handed her hat back to her.
“Well, apparently there are a gazillion and one.” She put the hat on and looked in the mirror. “Awesome. Thanks.”
“No problem. Glad I could contribute today. So, that’s probably all you need from me then, right?”
They both frowned at me.
“I’m kidding. Come on. Let’s get these dishes done so we can get out of here.”
Twenty minutes later we were taking our coats from the hooks in the kitchen hallway. Dani and I were discussing the need for us to attend a concert soon. She turned toward the back door, but I stopped. “Aren’t you coming?”
“No. Remember? I’ve been called to the principal’s office. Satan…so I guess it’s like Hell.”
Dani came back a few steps and lowered her voice. “She’s not that bad. Tara’s not happy unless she’s bitching about something.”
“Okay. But if I don’t come back, tell Kyle I love him.” I clutched at my heart to add to my dramatic exit. “Tell the kids…to get their homework done.”
“You’ve got it. See ya.” She gave me a hug. “I don’t know what caused you to move, but, selfishly, I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me, too, babe. I’ve missed you.”
She headed out to nap, and I strode down to the office. I entered the outer room, and it was empty. “Hello-o-o?” No one came. I waited for a few minutes, glanced in the hall in both directions, and became impatient. I slinked past the secretary’s desk to the short hall behind it. The first door was the vice-principal’s. Closed and locked.
As I approached the door labeled, “Josephine Compton,” weird noises were emanating from within. When I was about to knock, I realized it was crying. Someone was crying inside. Had Satan broken her newest torturee? Peering through a slim window in the door, I saw a head of hair on the desk. Pressing against the wall I realized the person on the opposite side of the desk was the one weeping, and there didn’t appear to be anyone else in the room. A young woman with lighter brown hair gathered into a bun on top of her head was bawling into her folded arms, which were on the desk. A wave of sympathy swamped me. I put my hand on the doorknob, but hesitated. Would she want some stranger in there trying to comfort her?
I was debating my course of action when the phone on her desk rang. She jumped, then sat straighter and grabbed a Kleenex. She dabbed at her face then pressed the speaker phone. “Josephine Compton.” Her voice was incredibly put together. She swiped at her nose while she listened. At one point, she looked toward the door and I had to draw back. When I chanced another peek, she was walking toward me.
“Shit.” I scrambled back into the reception area as the secretary entered from the hall. She stared at me with her head tilted. I’m sure she was wondering why she just saw me rushing back from the inner offices.
“Can I help you?” she asked, eyeing me with a frown. The door I escaped from opened.
“Yes. I’m Samantha Scofield.” I pointed to my hat. “I work in the kitchen.”
A woman in a navy, wrinkleless suit, approached from the back. She held out her hand. “Oh. Mrs. Scofield. I’ve been expecting you. I hope you haven’t been waiting long? Elaine stepped out to run an errand for me.”
Elaine spoke up. “Yes. Mrs. Davis told me she already had a copy of the calendar.”
“Oh. Did she? Well, I’m sorry. I must have misunderstood. Mrs. Scofield? Would you like to step this way?”
She escorted me back to her office. She glanced over. “I hope you had a nice day today?”
“Yes. Everything went fine.”
“Good. Good.”
When we entered her room, she waved at a chair. “If you would take a seat. I have that form right here.” She removed a file from out of a stack of wire inboxes to her right—all with a color coded tab—and withdrew a piece of paper from inside it. She retrieved a clipboard from a stack on her left, a pen from a cup that matched the inboxes, secured the form to the board, stuck the pen in, and handed it to me.
I began writing out the same information I’d already written on a half-dozen other documents I’d turned in. I glanced over. She was straightening the black, leather desk pad in front of her that had been moved slightly when she sat. Her hair was secured so tightly, I wasn’t sure how she was able to blink. It might have had a hint of red in it, but it was hard to tell. I entertained a fleeting fantasy of her ponytail holder breaking under the pressure and showering rubber shrapnel all over the room. Stifling a laugh, I stole another look while pretending to be filling out my form. She was pretty, or at least had the features to be if she wore a hint of makeup. High cheekbones, beautiful green eyes—although they had dark bags under them and were obscured by the glasses perched on her nose as if standing at attention. She looked over and caught me scrutinizing her.
“These papers are sure repetitive, aren’t they?” I smiled.
“Oh, yes. I noticed that, too. I need to work on organizing those better.” She reached into another wire cup that had several different colors of pens in it, found the one she wanted and made a notation on a flip calendar. “Thank you for mentioning it.”
I’d meant it as small talk, not something to put on her to-do list, and I found myself wondering why she chose the purple pen for that notation. I purposefully took my time filling in the boxes. The juxtaposition of the hard-ass woman Tara described and the emotional one I saw earlier piqued my interest. “So, Mrs. Compton, are you from here?”
She blinked and it took her a second to respond. “No, actually. I’m from Wahoo. It’s about twenty-five miles from here.”
“Oh, yes. Cute little town.”
“Yes.” She laid her arms across the desk, folding her hands in the middle. Her chair looked plenty comfy, but she seemed to be balanced at the edge, her back ramrod straight.
She didn’t give me much to go on. I filled in another box while thinking about how I could engage her. “Recently moved here, then?”
She nodded. “At the beginning of the school year.”
A commotion arose in the reception area. Since I’d left the door cracked when I entered, it was easy for us to hear everything going on out there.
“Elaine. Did you see this memo?” someone sniped.
“Yes. Since I’m the one who copied and distributed them, I am aware of what’s on there,” the secretary returned.
“Did you see it said all teachers were required to go to the morning assembly, including those teaching non-core classes?”
The secretary lowered her voice, but not enough. “Yes. I saw that.”
I glanced over at Josephine Compton. The pleasant smile was gone from her face. She was staring straight ahead, her eyes glassy, completely still.
“Well, you know I never attend those silly things.”
Josephine planted her hands flat on the leather pad and pushed to her feet. She slowly circled the desk, moving toward the door.
“Please excuse me for a moment.”
I nodded. She stepped over the threshold, but left the door ajar. I held my breath.
The voices continued. “I know, Janice. Just between us—”
And anyone in hearing range.
“—I’ve heard a lot of complaints.”
“She can’t waltz on in here and—”
“Actually, I can, Mrs. Humphries.” Josephine must have stepped forward, as her voice was more distant. “If you’d like to discuss the morning assembly, please take a seat. I will be available shortly. In the meantime, Elaine has a lot of work to do.”
The phone rang. “I better get that,” Elaine said.
Seconds la
ter, Josephine strode through the door and crossed back over to her chair, sitting again, primly. I wanted to hoot and applaud, but it somehow didn’t seem appropriate. I finished my paperwork and handed it back to her.
“Thank you, Mrs. Scofield.” She rose to walk me out. “Hopefully that is the last form you’ll have to fill out.” She opened the door and stood to the side with her arms hanging in front of her, the fingers interlaced. She smiled, but I could see the tension in her lips. Her eye twitched.
Poor thing. She knows no one here, and she’s everybody’s enemy because of her position.
I passed through the door, but turned back on an impulse. “Would you like to join us for a drink tonight, Mrs. Compton? The girls in the kitchen and I are going to celebrate my first day of work.” I shrugged. “Any reason for a party, right?”
Again, she was slow to respond, as if my invitation was totally unexpected, which I’m sure it was, as even I was shocked by it. She released her fingers and her arms swung to her sides as she rocked forward on her toes. “Oh, yes, of course. Umm…” she pressed her mouth together and seemed to be searching for a polite way to decline. She looked at me, and her face relaxed a fraction. “You know, I think I’d like that.”
I grinned. “Good. Do you want a ride? Or do you want to meet us?”
“Oh. Umm…I’ll meet you there.”
“Wonderful. Around seven?”
She nodded. “Seven it is.”
I turned to go. She rushed forward. “Oh, Mrs. Scofield. Where should I meet you?”
“Oh, yes. It would probably help to know that, huh?” I chuckled. “It’s a place called Paddy’s. A quasi-Irish bar not far from here—”
“On Park Street?”
“Yes, that’s it.”
“I pass that every day.”
“Yeah. It’s one of our favorite spots. Drinks are kind of pricey, but you’ll love the bartender who works Wednesdays. He’s a real sweetheart.”
Her eyes seemed to have life now. “Okay. I’ll see you there. At seven.”
“Sounds good.” I leaned forward. “And it’s Samantha. Or Sam, for short.”
She extended her hand. “Josephine.”
We shook. I turned and some crusty old windbag got to her feet. Mrs. Humphries, no doubt. I glared at her. “You have a run in your stockings.”
Satan, Line One Page 5
