It's Not Like I Knew Her (27 page)

“Paper says they're charged with ‘illegal assembly with the intent to commit sodomy.' What exactly does that mean?”

Teddy shook her head, and smiled. “Like I said, darling, they're screwed. That is unless you've got the judge on your payroll.”

Jodie nodded, and reached for the bottle.

T
he following Tuesday, the incumbent sheriff was reelected in a landslide victory, and the raid had served its purpose. From local gossip Jodie learned that Gabby, under considerable pressure, had agreed to sell the building that had housed the Hide and Seek and its eighty acres to the sheriff's brother-in-law: the first step in converting the property into a private, gentlemen's only, hunting club, with gambling and prostitution as its featured attractions.

After five days of incarceration, public interest had waned, and with Gabby further agreeing to pay the women's inflated fines, charges were reduced, requiring no additional jail time. The women were escorted from the jail at midnight through a side door.

The local newspaper didn't report their releases, but the personal damage had been done. The exposure resulted in painful losses: parents and extended families disowning their daughters, lesbian couples splitting for the sake of protecting the unidentified partner, loss of employment, housing, and, in the case of two mothers, the loss of parental rights to their children. They were easy targets, subjected to unrestrained righteous rants, and easy prey for the ruthlessness of men. They had no choice but to scatter like rats facing extermination.

In the six months following the raid, Gabby had moved to Birmingham where it was rumored she opened a pizza parlor. The front half of the building sold pizza to families. After closing, a separate clientele entered through an alleyway to the back half of the building, arriving with only a secondary interest in pizza. Gabby was reported to have spoken of the comfort to be found in the normalcy of corruption.

J
odie drove from the jean factory into yet another empty sunrise. She clasped a cigarette between her lips, lit it from the one pinched between her finger and thumb, and considered the storm that had been building inside of her for some time now. One that left her jittery, inside and out; a deep unsettling she'd come to know as her fear of surrender: capitulation to the deadly undertow of complacency.

She wasn't sure why today, ordinary in every way, sent her rushing into the trailer and going directly to the telephone. She pulled the worn card from her wallet, the number barely discernible, and placed a call to the number in Dallas. Her breathing came in hot puffs of air squeezed between her dry lips, and she counted seven rings.

“Anybody here know a Jodie … what'd you say your name was?” The male voice was younger than before, abrupt, but not dismissive.

She answered and worked at deep breathing while the line spit static back at her for much too long to mean anything good. She imagined a black phone hanging from some dingy wall, the receiver dangling from its cord, swinging back and forth, seeking equilibrium, and then hanging limp. She took a firmer grip, her palm sweaty, and wished she'd first made herself an Irish.

“Hold on, gal. She's coming.”

Who was coming? She had no idea, unless it was the person charged with talking to fools like her. Talk aimed at easing the directive that she take a hike. Marry that shoe salesman and have babies.

“Hey, Jodie, you grown up some?”

She nearly strangled on her dry spit. She'd heard the same voice in her head every day since the sweet swish of the ball through the net.

“Jodie, you there?”

“Oh, yes, ma'am. I truly have. Grown up, I mean.”

Her soft laugh was sheer joy to Jodie's ear.

“I called before, but they said you quit.”

“So, that's what they told you?” There was a long pause that could only mean the truth would go unspoken.

“I kept your card. And I've tried every day since to get there. But one thing, and then another.”

“Look, Jodie, I know life can be a bitch. But I'm real busy here. What can I do for you?”

“Trials. I mean to come there for the next round.”

“You're still thinking about taking a shot?” Jodie imagined a nod so slight it was barely an acknowledgment, and clearly not encouragement.

“It's all I think about. I want it more than anything.” She hungered for the exhilaration that came with pushing her body to exhaustion, the triumph she knew when dominating an opponent. She'd only known its match when the woman she was with came under her touch.

“The girls who come are younger. The competition's fierce. And the coach only wants a certain type of woman.” She hesitated. “If you have a job, you might not want to give it up.”

“You saying I'm not good enough?” She twisted the tangled cord and clamped her jaw. She'd heard “certain type of woman” but chose to bury it right along with all her other doubts.

“No, I'm saying home-town talents don't always measure up. But, all right, I'm pretty sure I can get you on the list. Trials are in four months. Be at the address on the card. And Jodie, be in the best shape of your life or I promise you'll die trying.”

“Oh, God, thank you. I'll be there. And you won't be sorry.”

Jodie placed a call to Teddy's workplace and asked to speak to Ted. She sat through the profane boss's rant about Ted getting too many calls from his girlfriend.

“Hey, make it snappy. I'm working here.” Teddy's voice was gruff and Jodie smiled.

“It's me. I gotta talk right away. Can I come by your place tonight before my shift?”

“Yeah, yeah, right. That it?” Jodie was certain the boss hovered nearby.

Convinced she would not sleep, Jodie slipped on a pair of old shorts and a tee shirt. After a handful of food eaten standing before the open fridge, she laced up her tennis shoes and stepped into the bright sunlight.

T
eddy swung open the door. “Hey, girl, come on in. Tell me who's got your cheeks all rosy. Do I know her?” Teddy was still dressed as Ted and smelled every bit the role. She claimed she didn't use deodorant on the job. Doing so would mean heavy teasing, and even the risk of suspicion among a few of her co-workers.

“Way better than any woman.” Jodie laughed, her cheeks flushing hotter with her rush of excitement.

Teddy squinted. “Oh, yeah, and what could that be?”

“I called Dallas. And the woman I told you about, the one I scored on, she's back on the team.”

“Okay, I guess I should be happy for her.”

“Teddy, you don't get it. She's getting me on the list.”

“That's not news. You were on the list before. And pissed it away.”

“I know, but this time is different. With her backing, I've got a real chance. And by God, nothing short of a bullet to the brain is stopping me.” Jodie paced the room, banging a fist into her palm.

Teddy slammed the fridge door. “Damn, now you're talking. That's what I've been waiting to hear. Let's celebrate.” She grabbed two beers.

Jodie glanced at her watch. The super wouldn't notice a single beer.

“Take these and let me go unbind the girls. Morning since I've had a deep breath. I'm on my own tonight. Little Cindy's got a school thing.” Her features pinched into what Jodie knew as an expression of painful regret. The kids begged Ted to come to their school events, but she dared not risk setting off an explosive bout with their grandma.

Teddy continued talking through the open bedroom door. “What's it going to take to get your ass there and keep you till your first paycheck?”

“Don't know.” What she had wouldn't get her out of sight of Selma.

Teddy came from the bedroom wearing faded jeans, a stained tee shirt without a bra, and scuffed cowboy boots rather than the heavy, steel-toed boots Ted wore on the job. She grabbed a beer from Jodie's hand, took a slug, and wiped her mouth on her sleeve.

“Don't matter. I'll get you what you need.” Teddy wore her banker's face. “But, know it's a loan. I don't do charity work.”

“Hell, no, I'm good for it. That's if we both live long enough.” She liked that Teddy had spoken first, sparing her the humiliation of asking.

“Hell, woman, I figure you'll owe me a long time before you'll beat me out of it.” Teddy took another deep swallow of beer. “But you've got to promise me one thing.”

“Name it and you've got it.”

“You'll send me a signed photo of you in one of them skimpy little uniforms. Figure to hang it in my work locker alongside Liz and Marilyn. Charge the boys a quarter to look. Win back some of what I've lost to your pitiful game.”

“Shut your mouth, you damn fool.” Their laughter likely turned heads on the sidewalk below.

T
he ring shattered Jodie's deepest sleep. In her fog, she grabbed for the phone, expecting to hear Silas. He'd taken to calling on Saturday nights, after he'd screwed some woman other than his wife and needed time to lose some of his guilt before dealing his way back between matrimonial sheets.

She swung her feet onto the floor and glanced at the clock. Three-thirty, and even Silas never called this late. Beyond the tiny bedroom window the moonless night was black, thick as wet tar.

She growled into the phone, her nerves fully awake.

“Jodie, it's me. You've got to come, and you've got to come right now.”

“All right, but slow down. What the hell's going on? Come where?”

“Jodie, I can't come to you. It's not safe. I think they're watching me.” Teddy panted like a cornered animal.

“Wait. Who's watching?”

“Can't talk now. You've got to come before it's too late.”

J
odie crossed over the Alabama River on the Edmund Pettus Bridge, careful to drive at a legal speed, heading out of downtown Selma. Twenty-five minutes east on Highway 84, she spotted the wooden hull of what she believed was the abandoned fruit stand Teddy had described. She slowed the truck and approached. There was no sign or sound of Teddy's machine. Then, she hadn't said how far out she was, only that she'd meet her there.

Under the glow of a single outdoor light, the freshly plowed field adjacent to the dilapidated row of stalls shone like weak moonlight on a shallow lake. Jodie drove to the back side of the stalls and cut the engine, wishing she'd stopped at the all-night diner and bought a cup of its strong coffee. She glanced at her watch. It had been two hours since Teddy's frantic call.

Headlights from the sporadic approach of vehicles cast eerie bursts of light across the walls of the fruit stand, and Jodie worried that drivers might detect the shape of the truck. She listened to their sounds as they faded into the distance, welcoming the returned chorus of katydids and crickets and the call of an owl from so close she was sure it was watching her.

She sat for what seemed an eternity, staring in the direction of Selma, listening for the sound of Teddy's machine, and fighting off fearful notions of why she hadn't shown.

Behind her, Jodie heard approaching footsteps, and she reached toward the glove compartment. At the sound of Teddy whispering her name, she snapped the lid shut.

“What the hell's the matter with you, slipping up on me like that?” Jodie's voice went hoarse around the tightness in her throat. Teddy was on foot, and she carried her saddlebags over her shoulder.

“Sorry, but I'm riding bare-assed in a shit storm. I can't get in touch with Maxine.” Her outburst went the way of a punctured tire, and what Teddy had left was no more than a weak whimper. “And I'm about fucking crazy.”

“Whoa down, big gal. You're going to need to breathe.”

“Damn, but this time I've ripped it for sure.”

“All right, maybe, but get in. Start from the top.” A number of rips came to mind, all bad, but the story would need to unfold coherently if she was to find a way to cut through Teddy's panic.

Teddy got into the truck and eased the door shut. “Jodie, I've got to leave town. And fast.”

“All right, but why?”

“It's a long story. And I'll be okay when I know Maxine and those babies haven't been dragged into my mess.”

“What mess?”

“Remember that sonofabitch cop we tussled with the night of the bar raid?” Leave it to Teddy to call their fight a tussle.

“Sure, what about him?”

“Today, before dinner break, he drives up to the shop, claiming his car engine's overheating. But he don't bother raising the hood. Just slow walks around my Harley. And I don't think much about it. Lots of guys do. Next thing I know, the boss is pointing my ass out to him. He struts over to where I'm knocking out a routine tune-up, starts in friendly enough, talking about my machine. Then he shifts into pig talk, saying he's pretty sure he's seen my Harley over in his county. And I tell him me and my gal ride over his way every now and then.”

“Okay, there's no law against that.” But a bested, brooding cop on a personal vendetta didn't need the law on his side. He
was
the law.

“Right, but he asked about the night of the raid. Didn't mention it outright, but I know it was the same night. Asked my gal's name.”

“You didn't .…”

“Shit, no. I laughed. Asked which one.”

“Okay, who did he think he was talking to?”

“Ted, I'm still thinking. And that's what's got me puzzled. He didn't come at it like a blown cover. If he had, I'd be stripped naked, plugged, and what was left of my ass floating in the Alabama River.”

Jodie nodded. “What, then?”

“That's just it. I don't know. But he sounded pretty sure about where he saw my motorcycle. It's not easily missed.”

“Jesus .…” Jodie remembered a numbers runner called Sammy the Snake showing up at the factory loading dock every week, perfectly timed for the supper break, and the hordes of women who'd swarmed him, dollar bills wadded in their callused hands.