A Trashy Affair (2 page)

Jane ripped her hand away, intending to leave at once. His big white, unstained teeth showed again briefly. She regarded the clear sputum sinking into the earth and settled down again. “You don’t chew either.”

“Just having some fun with you. Can’t chew and drink beer at the same time, though I might know some dudes offshore who can.” He took another swig.

“You work offshore?”

“Yep, seven days on, seven days off. I fly work crews out to the oil rigs.”

“You seem to drink a lot for a helicopter pilot.”

“Not at all when I’m on, much as I want when I’m off. Twelve hours between bottle and throttle.” He cocked his beer can at her. “Next time you come to visit, I’ll have some wine to offer.”

“How do you know I drink wine?”

“I see you sitting over there on my granny’s porch having your evening libation.”

Jane moved a few inches away from the heat of his body and crossed her arms over her chest. “You’ve been watching me?”

“You favor red clothes. Even with the bushes all grown out of control, you stand out like a cardinal perched in a yaupon tree. Granny would be upset about the state of her yard.”

“I’m not trying to attract attention. Red is a power color. I deal mostly with men, so…”

“The dumb-asses you work for.”

“My employers. I had no idea that dear old lady I bought the house from was your granny. After finishing all the renovations, and it needed a bunch, I don’t have money for a yard service. I’m often busy on weekends.”

“Yeah, I wanted that old place, but I was away at the time she sold it. I had all that flight and dangerous duty pay saved up from the service, so I got a townhouse instead. Granny likes the way you put a red metal roof on the old place and a red door, the bright green shutters, too, but let the weathered, gray cypress alone. Says that red lamppost you planted by the driveway is cute, but if you let the wisteria keep growing, it’s gonna strangle the azaleas and crawl right into the attic. That’s where I used to sleep, me and my half-brother, in the attic. The
garçonniere
, she called it.” Merlin rolled the tall beer can between his palms as he reminisced.

“I thought Olive Tauzin went into assisted living.”

“She’s still there. I take her out for church, Sunday dinner, and a drive when I’m not working. Like I said, she’s upset about her yard.”

“She’s not the only one. My neighbor across the fence is after me, too. I swear I’ll get to it even if I have to take a day off from work. I need to go. Nice meeting you, Mr. Tauzin.”

“Merlin or Blackie,” he corrected and stood like a gentleman to see her off.

****

Jane rose, moved across the parking area and out the gate into the blue twilight. Merlin watched the easy roll of her rounded hips under the snug gray skirt. He liked the smooth, straight sweep of her dark brown hair down to her pointed chin, the cute bangs, her full breasts all wrapped in red. She had green eyes like—not emeralds, not olives, not jade. Shit, he wasn’t a poet. The shade of her eyes reminded him of nature, trees and ferns and such. Best of all, she made him smile. When did that last happen?

Jane Marshall had come at him like that plucky little chicken hawk in the cartoons, the one always trying to carry off the big, white rooster. Well, Jane could carry him back to her nest any day, any time. She had no way of knowing he was a falcon, too, and not poultry. It had been a long time since he had any appetite for a woman, but he truly did now.

Merlin chugged the last of his beer, stamped the can flat and sent it soaring toward her ditch. She noticed, turned, and threw a “What the hell!” gesture his way. Merlin cupped his mouth with his hands.

“I’ll be over to pick it up tomorrow, Jane! That’s a promise.”

Chapter Two

Clang, clank, chug. The sound repeated and grew louder. CLANG, CLANK, CHUG. About to slip into the jacket of her dark green suit, Jane realized she hadn’t put out her trash last night after the major Merlin Tauzin distraction. Not that she had a trashcan to drag to the curb. B.O. Trash Hauling never delivered her new one after the parish hauled the old receptacles away. She suspected, but could not prove, an intentional slight.

When B.O. took over the service the first week in October, she called their number politely requesting they bring her a new can as she had not received one. Sure, sure, by next week. Just set your trash bag on the curb. Full of doubt, she’d done so. Before midnight, wild animals, dogs, cats, raccoons, coyotes, and who knew what else, tore the plastic bag to shreds and spread some pretty intimate items the length of the street. Picking up used tampon holders with rubber gloves by the light of the moon, not her idea of fun.

Week two, Jane called again. Still no container. The woman on the other end of the line solemnly informed her that someone at the parish council had given B.O. Trash Hauling an incorrect figure in the specifications on the number of receptacles needed. What a lie! Jane had provided those figures. More had to be ordered from China, the woman claimed. Obviously, these were coming on a slow boat because Jane still had no trashcan by the end of October. Meanwhile at her office in the parish courthouse, her phone rang incessantly with complaints from others in the same predicament. Final count of the unserved—twelve hundred, the same as the number of those who once recycled. Coincidence, she thought not.

Jane could only suggest the solution she now relied on. Ask a neighbor with a can if they would share. She buddied with Lloyd Babin, a widowed retiree, her neighbor across the fence who had a light trash load each week. Lloyd kept an immaculately mowed and edged lawn lined with marigolds in the summer. He nurtured a bountiful garden at the rear of his house and brought her autumn tomatoes in a basket as well as sacks of grapefruits and sweet Satsuma oranges. He’d offered her space in his trashcan and only asked one thing in return: would she please trim her bushes and get her yard in shape before the trumpet creeper sprawling all over her ramshackle garage took over the neighborhood? She made her promise and so far had not kept it.

Jane dashed around her house emptying wastebaskets. With the addition of the tall kitchen bag under the sink, she collected two full, biodegradable plastic bags and sprinted for Lloyd’s receptacle. Too late. The garbage truck chugged away from the Babin home and headed past her house to the main road.

“Wait! Wait! I have trash!”

Following the line of ooze from a leak in its bottom, Jane pursued the dark blue vehicle with the peeling orange lettering to the stop sign on the corner. Two plastic grocery bags from its open rear caught the breeze and wafted toward her. One attached itself to her face. The other sailed down the street to the bayou. Quickly, she stuffed the bag threatening to suffocate her into one of her sacks. The garbagemen snickered, but she marched right up to them and held up her burden. A corner of the bag holding decomposing lettuce and a moldy tomato leaked and dribbled on her burgundy-colored blouse.

“You missed these.”

“Sorry, ma’am. All trash must be placed in a can, boss says.” A big grin spread across the B.O. employee’s dark brown face.

“What! Just a few weeks ago I was told to leave bags on the curb.”

“That Ethel, she don’t know nothing. Only an idjit would put bags on the curb. We gots coyotes round here.”

“I know. Please take my bags.”

“Can’t.” Suddenly, his grin vanished along with the early morning light.

A cloud must have obscured the rising sun. Jane shivered in the long shadow cast from the east.

“Take the little lady’s garbage.”

His approach disguised by the noisy heaving of the truck, Jane turned to find Merlin Tauzin, the source of the long shadow, looming behind her. Like the Grim Reaper, he held a long-handled pruning hook with a lethal-looking blade in one hand and a chainsaw worthy of a mass murderer in his other big paw.

“Here, let me show you how easy it is.” He handed Jane the pruning hook and set down the chainsaw. Divesting her of the garbage sacks, Merlin tossed them over the head of the man giving her a hard time and into the back of the truck. Then, he skirted around the fellow and pulled the lever to rotate the trash. “See, no-brainer. Now, I want a shiny new trashcan delivered to Miss Jane before next week.”

“No can do, boss. We outta them. She could go by the parish barn and get an old one. Gotta be green, not a black container. That will fix her up right fine.”

“Good, we’ll do that. Here, I forgot this.” Tauzin dug a round of flat aluminum from the hip pocket of his worn jeans and offered it to the guy like a tip.

Jane snatched it away. “We recycle these, Merlin.”

“Right. Drive on. Your truck is leaking into the ditch.”

For a garbage truck, the vehicle peeled out fairly fast with the garbageman barely hanging on in the back. It pulled into the safety of the Cane View Chateaus parking lot and disappeared around the back of the townhouses.

“I could have handled that, you know. You did not have to come to my rescue.” Jane returned the pruning hook. “What are you doing here with that so early in the morning anyhow?”

“Yeah, I could see how well you were doing.” He eyed the stains on the front of her blouse. Two days growth of very black beard hid a hint of a smile on his face.

“Another thing. Do not refer to me as little lady. One of the councilmen always uses little lady when referring to me. I dislike it intensely. You hate being called Lin and Merry, and I respect that. It’s Jane, just plain Jane.” She looked straight up at him to make her point.

“Hardly. You have pretty green eyes, sugarplum.”

“Aren’t sugarplums made from prunes? So not a great compliment. That term could be considered sexual harassment.”

The hint of a smile emerged from his dark beard and spread across that big jaw. “I guess it might be if you worked for me or I worked for you, but since I’m here to clear your yard for free, I don’t think so. Still, I won’t use it again. I’ll think of something else, Green Eyes.”

“Look, I can’t take time off to help you with the yard today. I have to change my blouse and get to work by seven-thirty—Blue Eyes.”

“I took care of this yard for years and have time to spare, so you just trot along to the courthouse and let me get to it. Blue Eyes, I kinda like that.”

Jane offered the crushed beer can. “Fine, go crazy with that chainsaw. While you’re at it, put this in the barrel inside my creepy garage.”

“Sure. My hands are full. Can you just slip it into my back pocket?” Those blue eyes gleamed with wickedness.

“No. I cannot.” She forced the disk into the front pocket on his already grubby T-shirt.

“That’s good, too.”

Frowning, Jane changed the subject. “You have a lot of yard equipment for a man who lives in a townhouse.”

“I found all this in your ‘creepy garage’ right where I left it when I went into the service. Used to be a cowshed. My grandpa converted it to a garage when he got his first truck. Sorry you don’t like it.”

“It’s not the building itself. Every time I go in there, I stir up long-legged spiders and step on a few of those crunchy stick insects. You know those creatures can blind you with their spray.”

“The daddy-long-legs are harmless, and I doubt if the walking sticks will blind the bottom of your sneakers.”

“Once, I thought I saw a snake.”

“Possible,” he admitted. “When I’m done with the yard, I’ll clean out the garage.”

“I need to pay you for all this.”

“Nope, I’m doing it for my granny. She could have a heart attack if the place gets anymore overgrown.”

Jane checked her watch. “No time to argue. We’ll settle this at lunchtime, Merlin.”

“Say, if you bring me a fried shrimp po-boy from Tujacque’s, I’ll consider us even, Jane.”

Nodding, she ran back to the house to make a quick change and a fast trip to work.

****

With her arms folded across her stocky body, Nadia Nixon stood by the time clock and watched Jane’s frantic approach with an expression like a feral cat about to pounce on a dove pecking at birdseed in the grass. She wore her blonde hair pulled back so tightly into a stubby, under-turned ponytail that her glittering eyes actually slanted. Nadia liked nothing better than catching a person who clocked in late. It highlighted her morning, and she relished such an event like a rich dessert or a fine wine throughout the day.

“I know I’m late. I got garbage juice on my blouse and had to change,” Jane blurted.

“Your reason for cheating the parish of fifteen minutes of work time does not matter. I will expect you to clock out at four-forty-five rather than your usual four-thirty,” the Chief Administrative Officer for the parish said.

There went her peaceful half hour of sunset watching and wine drinking before dinner, but she would never give more pleasure to Nadia by saying so. “Of course,” Jane replied.

She could have said, “What about all those unpaid hours I spend at council meetings or speaking to civic groups in the evening?” but Nadia would simply sneer and tell her she was a salaried worker and that was her job.

When Ste. Jeanne d’Arc Parish decided to convert from the old police jury system of government to a parish council with an elected president, the vote for a new leader swept Wofford “Woof” Langlois into office. He’d been sitting in the president’s chair for forty years because the new constitution had no term limits, a fine old southern tradition. Woof’s mellow blue eyes grew watery, his bottom spread, and his dark hair grayed and receded until it formed a ring around his bald noggin, but still he served his county in the same capacity year after year.

Some of the parish councilmen, restless to take over that office, finally decided that Langlois gave away parish services too freely and hired far too many friends and relatives who felt obligated to vote for him. They demanded he take on an administrative officer to cull the flock of his devotees in the name of efficiency and better government, to make certain parish resources were not squandered on people who felt grateful after having their shell road graded or riprap dumped on the eroding edge of their coulee for free. In other words, they wanted a hatchet man and found that person in Nadia Nixon. She might have been called a hatchet woman, but her sexuality was often questioned. The councilmen said she had a big pair of balls or sometimes flip-flopped and referred to her as a ball-buster. Whatever, she did love her job.