‘He’ll be along.’
‘He said he’d pay.’
‘Don’t worry about anybody paying,’ Lauren told her. ‘I own the joint.’
‘The cafe?’
‘Everything.’
‘Oh. Neat.’ Pamela lifted the heavy mug and drank some beer. The beer was very cold.
‘We like it here,’ Lauren said.
‘Pop six?’
‘That’s me, Hank, Nicki, Terry, and Sharpe when he isn’t on the road.’
‘That only makes five.’
‘Six is just sort of a general estimate.’
Pamela laughed. It felt strange to laugh when she was hardly done crying. She wiped her eyes again and drank some more beer. It quenched the fire in her throat.
‘We can’t go changing everything each time we have a minor fluctuation in our population.’
‘I guess not.’
‘It stays roughly in the area of five or six, and none of us are sticklers for detail. Besides, as long as you and Sharpe hang around, we’ve got our full complement.’ Lauren lifted her mug. It left a wet ring on the tabletop. Most of the frost on its sides had melted, leaving the mug clear and dripping. But a few small white patches slipped down its exterior like the last remnants of snow sliding down a car’s windshield. When she lifted the mug toward her mouth, the bottom of it dripped cold drops of water onto the front of her white dress. She didn’t seem to notice.
With the rim at her lips, she sucked at the frothy head. Then she tipped the mug back and drank.
In a way, Lauren seemed too willowy and ethereal to be drinking a mug of beer. A delicate glass of white wine might’ve been more appropriate. On the other hand, a hefty mug of beer seemed just about right for the Lauren who was weathered, gaunt and earthy. Somehow she seemed like two different people rolled into one. The first delicate, fey, spirit-like, the second – the outer shell – made tough by life: strong enough to fight back if fighting was required.
Lauren set the mug back down on the table, smiled at it, and rubbed the back of a brown hand across her lips. ‘You’re welcome to stay,’ she said. ‘You can sleep in Mosby’s trailer. He hasn’t got any use for it.’
‘Well . . . thank you. I don’t know.’
‘Sharpe won’t be going anywhere tonight, if that’s what you’re wondering about. He’ll probably stick around for a day or two – longer, if I have any say in things.’ Lauren raised her eyebrows. ‘Are you in a rush to get home?’
‘He burned it. Rodney. The man who killed my husband. The house is gone. My home. Everything.’ Pamela stared at her beer and struggled not to start crying again.
‘Pamela? Do you have family?’
‘In Chicago.’ She took a drink. The mug dripped onto the front of her pullover. The drops felt ice-cold. ‘I don’t want to go there. My job . . . I work in LA.’
‘What do you do?’
‘Just . . . I’m a teacher. A substitute.’
‘Oh, dear God. A sub in Los Angeles? That must be about the nearest thing to hell on earth.’
‘It’s not much fun. It’s a way to work into a . . . a real teaching position. You know, you get your foot in the door. Jim had a good job, though, so . . . I don’t know what I’ll do, but I’ve gotta go back. I mean, that’s where I live, and guess I’ll have to find an apartment, or something.’
‘It doesn’t sound as if you’ve got much to go back to.’
‘Well, not much.’
‘Sharpe’ll drive you back to LA when he’s ready to go, if that’s what you want. But there’s no law that says you’ve gotta go with him. You can stay here just as long as you want. I’d recommend it for a while, anyway, after what you’ve gone through. It’s peaceful here. It’s a good place for getting over troubles.’
‘Thanks. I don’t know . . .’
‘Play it by ear. But figure on staying tonight, at least. I always keep Mosby’s trailer up in case of company.’
‘Okay. Thanks.’ Pamela looked out the window. Long shadows stretched across the dirt lot in front of the cafe. ‘Where do you suppose Sharpe is?’
‘Oh, he’ll be in my trailer taking a shower, I guess. That’s usually the first thing he does when he comes back.’
‘He told me he lives in the bus.’
‘His bus doesn’t have a shower.’
Pamela glanced at Lauren’s hands to double-check. No rings. But she supposed that didn’t prove anything; Lauren didn’t seem to be wearing any jewelry at all.
‘Are you and Sharpe married?’
‘Afraid not.’
‘But you’re . . . something?’
‘I guess we’re something, all right.’
Pamela waited. When Lauren didn’t go on, she decided not to push. She drank some more beer instead. The mug dripped chilly water onto her.
She put the mug down.
Across the table Lauren sat motionless, one hand on her own beer mug, her eyes lowered and staring blankly, her straw-colored eyebrows drawn together just enough to carve a pair of small grooves into the skin between them. It’s my fault, Pamela thought. I shouldn’t have asked about Sharpe. I must’ve hit a sore spot.
Bumbled right into it.
Should’ve known better.
One of those ‘unrequited love’ things she was talking about, probably.
‘Are you okay?’ Pamela asked.
‘Huh? Sorry. What did you say?’
‘Is something wrong?’
‘No. No. I wonder what’s keeping the burgers.’ Lauren flashed a smile at Pamela. ‘Maybe I’ll have to give someone the boot.’
‘It hasn’t been so long.’
‘But you must be starving.’ Lauren peered off across the cafe, her eyes narrow. ‘Ah, here they come now.’
Turning, Pamela saw Nicki hurry around the end of the counter with a big loaded tray.
‘I’m going to marry Sharpe,’ Lauren said.
Pamela looked at her, surprised.
The other woman nodded, smiling. ‘Soon as he’s done with his mission. By then, of course, I’ll probably be an ugly old hairless hag . . . and too old to have babies.’ As she spoke the last part, her smile trembled and her eyes suddenly brimmed with tears.
Nicki arrived at their booth and began to unload the food. ‘That’s two Pitsburger Deluxes, chili cheese fries . . . Lauren?’ Nicki crouched slightly and peered into her boss’s eyes. ‘What’s the matter, honey?’
‘Just the usual.’
‘Damn that man.’
‘Don’t say that. He can’t help it.’
‘He sure can help it, too. Jesus H. Christ, there’s no excuse. The dead don’t mean squat. Somebody oughta tell him that.’
‘He has to do it.’
‘Bullshit, if you’ll pardon my French.’
Lauren fixed her wet-eyed gaze on Pamela. ‘He saved your life, didn’t he?’
‘Sharpe? Yes.’
‘What sort of danger were you in?’
‘Rodney . . .’ Pamela looked at Nicki, then back at Lauren. ‘He was going to kill me. He killed my husband last night.’
‘Oh, God,’ Nicki muttered.
‘And he . . . threatened he’d do a lot of things to me. Anyway, then he kidnapped me. He wanted to take me to a place in the desert, but I sort of escaped. Almost. The thing is, he finally got me down on the ground and stuck a pistol in my mouth. I’d hurt him bad. He was going to kill me. I mean, he would’ve pulled the trigger in about one more second. And suddenly he got shot in the head. Sharpe shot him right in the middle of the forehead.’
‘Wow,’ Nicki said.
Lauren simply nodded. Then she turned to Nicki. ‘See? It’s not exactly bullshit. If it hadn’t been for Sharpe and his mission, Pamela’d be food for buzzards about now. Instead, she’s about to partake of a Pitsburger Deluxe.’
‘Well,’ Nicki said. ‘I know. It’s just maddening, though, that’s all.’
‘I’ve noticed,’ Lauren said.
Nicki shook her head at Pamela. ‘It??
?s not that I’m not really glad he saved your life. I mean, that’s great. But he’s just so obsessed, and here’s poor Lauren who loves him like crazy, but off he goes anyhow just as if he didn’t give a rat’s hairy behind, if you know what I mean, and one of these days he’ll probably wind up getting himself killed . . .’
‘Stop it,’ Lauren told her.
‘Well, it’s just so maddening.’
‘Don’t you have some other customers you might want to go and bother, Nicole?’
Nicki rolled her eyes upward. ‘Well, I suppose so.’
Lauren reached out and squeezed her forearm. ‘Get out of here, okay?’
‘Somebody oughta pound some sense into that lunkhead, that’s all.’
‘Go.’
‘I’m going, I’m going.’ Nicki stepped backward with the empty tray. ‘I’m just saying he oughta think about you, for a change, and quit—’
‘Hey!’
‘Okay, okay.’ Nicki shrugged at Pamela, smiled at both the women, then turned around and hurried off.
Lauren was the next to shrug at Pamela. ‘Better dig in,’ she said. ‘All this talk, our food’s gonna get cold.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Eat it.’
Pamela looked down at her meal. A Pitsburger Deluxe and chili cheese fries.
The fries were hidden completely beneath thick blankets of chili and melted yellow cheese. So much steam curled off the concoction that Pamela knew she’d be risking a mouth burn if she didn’t wait a few minutes before taking a taste. She turned her attention to the Pitsburger.
The bun was nearly as large as the plate. Its top was brown, shiny, and striped with dark grill marks. Lettuce leaves and curls of onion stuck out beneath the bun’s top, but only here and there, not enough to hide the crispy edges of the hamburger patty.
Edges that dripped with cheese.
‘It sure looks good,’ Pamela said, and had to shut her mouth quickly to prevent drool from spilling out.
‘Just wait’ll you sink your teeth in,’ Lauren said. ‘The patty’s partly sausage, by the way. It’s my recipe. A mixture of ground beef and sausage.’
‘Ah. Sounds great.’
Pamela needed both hands to pick up her Pitsburger Deluxe. The bun felt both slippery and crisp under her fingertips. Afraid of losing it, she tightened her hold before biting in. Warm juices and cheese spilled down her palms and wrists.
She opened her mouth wide and took her first bite. Her teeth crunched through the bun, lettuce and onions, then sank into the meat. A wonderful assortment of sweet, tangy flavors filled her mouth.
Moaning with pleasure, Pamela began to chew.
Chapter Thirteen
When Boots bit into her hamburger, red juice dribbled down her chin.
‘Are you sure that thing’s done enough?’ Norman asked.
Chewing, she turned her burger around and showed it to him. The inside of the patty looked like a raw, bloody wound. The sight of it disgusted Norman.
‘You oughta have them cook it some more,’ he said. ‘You could catch a disease, or something.’
‘This is just how I like it,’ Boots said, her words muffled. She opened her mouth wide. It was full of mushy, partly chewed burger.
Norman looked away.
Boots laughed. ‘You’re funny,’ she said. She ran the back of her hand across her chin to stop the dribble. When she lowered her hand, her chin was shiny.
She’s so repulsive. Norman thought.
Right. But here I am.
Back at the beach parking lot, hours ago and fifty miles north of where they now sat eating supper, he’d had a perfect chance to get away from her and Duke. He could’ve driven off and never seen either of them again. But what had he done? He’d shut off the engine and gone to the back of the Cherokee and searched through his luggage until he found his swimming trunks.
In the back seat, where Boots had changed into her tiny little knitted bikini, he’d taken off his shorts and underwear and put on his trunks. Then he’d hurried back to where Boots and Duke were sitting on their beach towels.
‘Thought you were gonna split on us,’ Duke had said, smiling.
‘It crossed my mind. But I just couldn’t drive off and leave you two stranded. Thought it would’ve been a dirty trick.’
‘Like we don’t know how come you came back,’ Boots had said. Tongue protruding between her lips, she’d somehow made her breasts hop and shake inside the flimsy bikini – without apparently moving the rest of her body.
‘That isn’t why.’
‘Like fun.’
‘Glad to have you back, bud,’ Duke had said. ‘It don’t matter how come you stuck, just matters you done the right thing.’
The right thing, my ass.
The one thing certain to Norman, as he’d sat down on his towel and picked up his beer, was that sticking with these two had not been the right thing. It was probably the least right thing he’d ever done. He should’ve driven away.
He’d come back to them only because of Boots, because of her knitted bikini, because of what he’d been able to see through its artful holes.
And because he’d wanted to be there when it came time to work the suntan oil into her sun-heated skin.
Sitting across from her now in the diner, Norman shifted uncomfortably as he remembered.
Soon after his return to the beach, Boots had squirted the coconut oil onto her palm and spread it on the front of her body. It had a strong, sweet scent. Her hand had slipped underneath the bikini – both the top and the bottom – and Norman had been able to watch it through the meshwork of black yarn. Watch it slick her skin with shiny oil. Watch it linger inside the bikini, fingertips roaming and stroking as she glanced from Norman to Duke with her lazy, blank eyes.
Done, she’d sprawled on her back. Legs apart. Hands folded beneath her head.
Gleaming in the sunlight from face to feet. He was sure he could see her—
‘What?’ Boots asked, lowering her hamburger.
‘Nothing.’
‘Tell.’ She smiled, but she didn’t look amused. ‘You’re thinking about me, aren’t you?’
‘Yeah, I guess so. About the beach.’
‘I knew it.’ She took another bite of her hamburger. After a few chews, she said, ‘Probably spoiled yer eyes, you was staring at me so hard.’
‘Well . . .’
‘I was gonna let you do my back, but then you went and walked off. How come you walked off?’
I was about to explode, that’s why. ‘I just felt like taking a walk,’ he said.
‘Duke was kinda rough. He kinda hurt me. Hope he didn’t leave no bruises.’
‘Well . . .’
‘I kinda like it when it hurts. Don’t like bruises, though. I got me real delicate skin, in case you didn’t notice. I bruise easy. Burn, too. Sunburn? Wonder if I got me a burn out there today.’
With the hand that wasn’t holding her hamburger, Boots plucked out the front of her tank top and peered down inside. She shook her head and pursed her lips. ‘Reckon they got some sun. Wanna see?’ She met Norman’s stare.
Blushing, he glanced around the diner. It was fairly crowded. He smiled at Boots. ‘I don’t think so. Not right now, anyway.’
‘Later, then.’
‘Well . . .’
‘We’ll get a room, the three of us.’
The suggestion stunned him, excited him, frightened him. The three of us in a motel room. My God!
Privacy. Beds.
‘What?’ he asked her. Maybe he’d misunderstood what she was getting at.
‘We’ll get us a room.’
‘What kind of a room?’
‘A lecture room in a flicking museum. Duh! A motel room, dummy.’ Smiling, she shook her head. ‘What’d you think we was gonna do, spend the whole night in your car?’
‘I don’t know. I guess I hadn’t really thought about it.’
‘Thought about what?’ Duke asked, coming back from the diner’s restroom and
pulling out his chair.
‘Everything come out all right?’ Boots asked him.
Duke smirked. ‘Can’t complain.’ He sat down. He studied his cheese dog and French fries, then picked up the squeeze-bottle of catsup and covered the fries with a mat of thick red sauce. ‘So,’ he said, ‘what’d I miss? What’s going on?’
‘I was just saying to Norm how we oughta get us a room at that motel right across the street there.’
‘Hey. Yeah.’
‘I don’t know,’ Norman said. ‘I don’t have a whole lot of money.’
‘You got plastic,’ Duke reminded him.
‘I know, but . . . I can’t use a credit card for something like that. My father’ll get the bill.’
‘You gotta sleep.’
‘But I’ve only made about a hundred and fifty miles today. I should’ve gone twice that far. When he sees . . .’
‘Hey, use your head. All you gotta do is say you got a flat.’
‘No,’ Boots said. ‘We don’t wanna go and use no credit cards. It’s like telling who we are. Anyhow, we don’t need one. I can get us a room, and it won’t cost us nothing.’
They both stared at her.
‘I just bet you can,’ Duke said.
‘You better believe it.’
‘You mean like . . . use your charm on the desk clerk?’ Norman asked.
‘Whatever,’ Boots said.
‘That’ll only work if it’s a guy,’ he pointed out.
She grinned. ‘Oh, don’t be too sure.’
‘Anyway, it wouldn’t be legal. Not if he doesn’t charge us anything.’
‘So?’ Boots said.
‘I don’t want us getting into trouble,’ Norman muttered.
‘Don’t be such a wuss all your life,’ Duke told him. ‘Boots here, she’s offering to get us a free room. You really got a problem with that? Just take a second and think about what’s gonna happen in that room, know what I mean?’
‘I just don’t think we should do something that might be against the law. I don’t want to end up in jail.’
Duke suddenly looked dead serious. ‘Nobody’s gonna end up in jail. I don’t do jail. That’s for losers. So, long as you stick with me, you got nothing to worry about.’
‘You guys wait here,’ Boots said. ‘I’ll come back and get you when it’s all set.’