Swept Away (6 page)

Adolfo came out of the pantry in his coat, cap on his head. “I'm away,” he said to Buzz.
“Señora, Señorita—hasta mañana.”

While Buzz was busy with something in the kitchen, Gloria talked about her husband, Harmon, who had had a stroke four years before. She found him on the garage floor, near death. Somehow he pulled through, but with fewer than half his former capabilities. He couldn't communicate very well, but she claimed to do all the communicating for him. He went from bed to wheelchair to bed and could only be left alone for periods of a couple of hours at a time, so when she worked or ran errands, her neighbor looked in on him and called Gloria's cell phone if she was needed. “To tell the truth, I work for a break. You have no idea how hard it is to take care of an invalid. Hard on the heart, too.”

The man at the end of the counter stood up and shuffled out the back door without a word, without a thank you or a goodbye.

“Is he homeless?” Jennifer asked.

“Oh my, no. He lives a couple of blocks away. Widower. We don't see too much of him, but Buzz always reminds him that by the end of the day there's usually food that's going to get thrown away, if he's interested. Once in a while, he comes down here and relieves us of the waste.” Gloria got up and cleared away the old man's plates. “Not much of a tipper,” she laughed. And then, “You're welcome,” she yelled toward the door.

The next couple of weeks Jennifer learned that there was much more to the diner than met the eye. More specifically, there was so much more to Buzz. His waitresses needed their jobs—jobs that seemed to be specifically designed for them. And he seemed to have a regular clientele of hungry people who needed a charitable bite to eat. Jennifer even saw Buzz tip his flask over a cup of coffee a transient was having.

“Did I see you just give that man a drink?”

“Appeared he needed one,” Buzz said, clearly not interested in discussing it.

And then she realized that Buzz had his own little meals-on-wheels service. He frequently excused himself from the diner for just a few minutes with a take-out carton in a grocery-store sack. Or he'd ask Adolfo or Hedda if they'd drop something by Miss Simms's or Mr. Haddock's place as they were leaving. It didn't appear to be a scheduled service, unless he had a schedule in his head. Buzz seemed to know when and where to fill a need.

* * *

Saturday morning, around nine, found the diner packed to capacity and Hedda was serving up a storm. Jennifer was getting the hang of this waiting business, but she was nothing compared to Hedda in speed and accuracy. “Don't worry about it,” Hedda told her. “You're doing great, and I can back you up.”

Hedda was picking up orders from the grill and switched the radio station to something with a little more boogy to it. “Oh, Mother Mary,” Buzz complained.

A song by Usher blasted into the little diner and Hedda said, “Oh,
yeah!
”

Balancing two complete breakfasts on her arm and a coffeepot in her hand, she two-stepped across the floor in her high-top, rubber-toed athletic shoes to the rhythm of the hip-hop. She put them on the table with a flourish, poured the coffee in spurts that matched the beat, then hopped away from the table on her way back to the counter.

Someone in the diner began to tap on a tabletop to the beat while someone else clinked a utensil against a saucer. Encouraged, Hedda continued to dance around the diner while she picked up plates. It was irresistible to Jennifer, who had always loved to dance. She joined in, moving to the beat as she went from table to booth to table, picking up dishes, then hopped backward and around in a circle just as Hedda had done. They met in the middle, bumped rumps, did a few hops and high-fived each other. There was a bit of laughter and the tapping turned to table banging, which only served as encouragement.

As the waitresses hopped and slid and wriggled around the diner, the patrons kept the beat with enthusiasm. The song was a mere three minutes long, and when it came to an end they took a bow and erupted into laughter. There was a little applause from their tiny gallery. “You're all right, Doris,” Hedda said. And she whispered, “Think any of these tightwads will cough up an extra dollar?”

At the end of the shift they pooled their tips and divided them. It had been a good morning; Hedda's face lit up as she pocketed sixty dollars. “Yeah, I think I might go to that prom. My boyfriend, Max, thinks he can borrow his older brother's car for the night.”

“Here,” Jennifer said, handing her another twenty. “You did twice the work I did.”

“No way,” she refused. “A deal's a deal. Besides, it was busier than usual. And I think that little hip-hop brought us in a little extra.”

“It was a nice break from
la orquesta,
” Jennifer laughed.

“Hedda,” a woman called sharply.

Both waitresses turned to see Hedda's mother standing in the diner door with her seven-year-old boy by the hand. Jennifer wouldn't have recognized her by the way she looked—her appearance was so much improved from the other day in the doorway of the bungalow. But the sharp tone of her voice was unmistakable. Jennifer was a little startled to see that up close the woman was about her own age, give or take a year. She must have had Hedda as a teenager. She was dressed and made up for work, an old trench coat obviously covering a sexy waitress uniform that included black hose and heels. She was, in fact, an attractive blonde, though a little on the pale side. She would definitely be prettier if she had a smile on her face instead of an expression of sheer annoyance.

“Did you
forget
something?” she asked.

“I was just on my way, Mama. Mama, meet Doris—a new waitress here. Doris, this is my mom, Sylvia.”

“Hello,” Sylvia said shortly. “Hedda, you're going to make me late by screwing around.”

“Sorry, Mama. Just let me get Joey a soda and then I'll take him home.” Hedda crouched. “How'd you like that, skipper? Cherry Coke?”

“Yeah!” he said, climbing up on a stool.

“Hedda, I have to talk to you for a minute,” Sylvia said. She turned around and headed out the door.

“I'll get that Coke,” Jennifer said. “Nice meeting you,” she called after the woman.

Sylvia turned and gave a nod, but she was all about business. Late for work, Jennifer decided. She watched through the front window while Hedda and her mom talked for a moment and then Hedda reached into her pocket, withdrew her tip money and peeled off two twenties, handing them to her mom. Then, as Sylvia's hand remained extended, Hedda put out all she had.

Jennifer felt her heart twist. She hoped she would see Sylvia give her daughter a kiss or hug or some show of affection—at least a smile—but when Sylvia just walked away, Jennifer's twisted heart sank.

Hedda stayed outside awhile after her mother left, staring in the direction of her departure. When she came back inside, she was quieter. To her credit she kept her chin up. And she didn't say a thing about giving her mother money.

* * *

There was a coin-operated washer and dryer at the Sunset Motel, so Jennifer put on her sweat suit, the first purchase she had made after fleeing the MGM Grand, and washed her clothing and sheets. Nothing in her life felt more like luxury—even in her Fort Lauderdale condo—than clean sheets. These sheets were a little on the muslin side rather than the nice six-hundred-count at home, but it was the clean smell that counted.

In bed, cozied up to the smell of Downy, ready for a guiltless sleep, she heard the sounds of a neighborhood that was still awake through the thin walls. Someone played a radio too loudly and young peoples' voices could be heard from another block. There were the occasional horns honking, engines revving and the unmistakable sound of a skateboard whizzing past her room.

What am I doing here?
she asked herself for the millionth time. Of all the things she had considered for her future, her imagination had never ventured this far. She had thought about a career in real estate, or maybe even a travel agency.

She wasn't missing her sexy clothes, nor did she lament frequent trips to fancy spas or resorts. She hadn't wanted to be the other woman for life and, in fact, the sooner she could leave all that behind, the better. But one thing she had never seen coming was what appeared to be a return to the tough times of her youth.

It had been almost four weeks, and the time had flown by. She appeared to have been left alone by Nick, though he rarely left her thoughts. Every day she expected to see his chauffeured car drive slowly past the diner, but as the time passed she was left to assume he was back in Florida, probably searching for her there, where all her personal belongings were. As for Nevada, had he left the search to the local police?

So she told herself,
easy does it.
Vowing to take it one day at a time until she could figure out how to retrieve her savings and investments so she could truly start over—maybe pursue that real estate or travel agency career—she settled into the sheets.

One of her final thoughts before drifting off was that there were things about this she liked. Getting Louise her breakfast, Alice her biscuit. Dancing around the diner with Hedda. Watching Buzz take care of the neighborhood, in his own way.

She just wasn't crazy about being bald, wearing army surplus or eating Mexican meat loaf....

four

Jennifer watched as Louise Barstow made her way cautiously down the cracked sidewalk, one bent leg at a time, gripping a cane in each gnarled hand to help hold herself upright. She could see that shocking white hair slowly rise and fall with each step Louise took. Clearly it hurt her to walk, but she had told Jennifer that if she didn't walk as much as possible, bearing the pain of arthritis, she would be bedridden in no time. She rejected the suggestion of a scooter or wheelchair. “I'm degenerating fast enough as it is,” she said. “I've seen others my age give in to wheels, and that's it. They quit walking, and the decline is even faster.”

She did well for an eighty-year-old with severe arthritis. Right beside her, just about as old and slow, was Alice. At fourteen, she was ancient for her breed. Jennifer was amazed by them both and wondered if she would have that kind of fortitude at that age. She wondered if she'd be fortunate enough to even
see
that age.

Louise was a teacher, a college professor who had driven to Las Vegas and sometimes farther when she was teaching, and Buzz was the only guy in town willing to open at 5:00 a.m. “But I don't teach anymore,” she had told Jennifer. “At first it was for the pleasure of company in the morning after my husband, Harry, died, then it was for the exercise and finally it became a matter of survival. But I don't exactly bounce out of bed in the morning anymore.”

Jennifer opened the door when Louise finally arrived. “Good morning, Madam Professor,” she said. Louise's face brightened immediately and Jennifer knew that she liked being addressed in that way. “Two canes as opposed to the walker—that must mean your arthritis is pretty tame today.”

“Hah. You wish. I'm just especially brave.”

“Ah, I should have known.” She had Alice's bowl of water in her hand and placed it before her on the sidewalk outside the diner while Louise went inside and got settled.

It was one of the high points of the morning for Jennifer when Louise and Alice arrived. The way the older woman expressed herself—a kind of harsh but kindly manner—was a kick. “You're a little rough around the edges, aren't you, Doris?” was one of the first things she'd said to her. And she always asked personal questions that Jennifer skittered around. Direct questions like “Where do you come from and who are your people?”

Jennifer admitted to coming from the Midwest, which was not entirely untrue. Her grandparents lived all their lives in Ohio, even though Jennifer had moved around a lot with her mother. And she said she didn't have any people, unfortunately.

She got Louise's tea right away. “Here you go,” she said. “What can we get you for breakfast this morning?”

“I don't know,” she answered. “I'm not hungry.”

“You will be by the time you start nibbling. Have to keep your strength up.”

“Widows tend to skip meals or eat over the sink. Did you know that, Doris? But not Rose, my next door neighbor. She's in so much better shape at seventy, and she fixes a proper supper every night and eats it while seated at the table. But then Rose has never been married, and it makes a difference somehow.”

“Why is that?”

“I don't know exactly. It's the
having been
married that does a lot of us in. As if when the old boy goes, there goes the only excuse we have for fixing a good meal. But you didn't see me eating over the sink
before
I was married.” She snorted. “Of course, I was married at seven.”

“Seven? A little young. Were you one of the Travelers?”

“The what?”

“Those gypsies who marry off their girls before they're out of elementary school. The Travelers.”

“You have a very unique education, Doris. For a biker chick.”

Jennifer laughed. “I like the news magazine shows—like
60 Minutes.
Now, how about some eggs and fruit?”

“Fine, then. You've been here about a month, haven't you, Doris?”

“Just about. Want some whole wheat toast?”

“No butter. You must like Boulder City a little or you would've moved on. At least to better employment.”

“Come on, Dr. Barstow—I couldn't ask for more than this!”

Jennifer loved the way Louise's face brightened whenever she titled her. The first time she did so, Louise told her straight out that it felt rather good to be given that title. After all, she'd come up through the ranks of academia at a time when women were still being admitted with some reluctance.

“Buzz is lucky to have you. You should make him tell you so twice a day.”

“He is as free with praise as with pay,” she said.

Louise continually surprised her. She was so amazingly observant, for one thing. The first time a couple of Boulder City cops came in and Jennifer found her herself ducking their stares, Louise had said, “If you're going to be so obvious, they're going to know you don't want to be recognized. Look 'em in the eye—that'll fool 'em for sure.”

Taken aback, she had replied, “Are you saying they're not all that sharp?”

Louise had shrugged. “We have very little for them to do here in Boulder City, Doris.”

Louise had taken to recommending books to Jennifer and every day she went to the library, reading them quickly. In just one month she'd gone through all of Jo-Ann Mapson, Alice Hoffman and Alexander McCall Smith. Louise had speckled some nonfiction in there, as well—
Women and the American Experience,
for starters. That took Jennifer more than one day to get through.

Jennifer took a dog biscuit outside to Alice, gave her some pets, then returned to the diner to wash her hands. She then delivered the fruit and toast to Louise.

“Doris, I see you're letting that hair grow in a little. I wondered what color it was. It's darker than I imagined.”

“It's darker than I
remembered,
” Jennifer laughed. “I doubt I'll let it get any longer than an inch, tops.”

“I just can't imagine what you were thinking. Egad.”

“I thought it would be quite a statement. Bold. Different.”

Louise lifted her eyebrows questioningly. “Is that a fact?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Well, unfortunately it made you look more like a thug. But this is better, this little bit of hair.” She reached a gnarled hand out and patted Jennifer's head. “I have to tell you that when you smile, you are transformed. And your smile doesn't really fit with this look—with the piercings and army clothes. But, I've never been very good at fashion.” Then Louise abruptly changed the subject. “Is it too late to make it a vegetable omelet? Egg substitute?”

“Not at all. I told you you'd find your appetite once you got started. I'll have it right up,” she said, taking the order slip to Adolfo. And then, per her routine, she went back to Louise's table. “I finished
The Seasons Of Women.
Do you have another suggestion? I'll be taking it back to the library this afternoon.”

“Hmm. Have you read
Gift from the Sea?
”

“No, I don't think so. I've always enjoyed reading, but I've never been able to do so much. There isn't much else to do here.”

“We're a dull lot,” she said.

“Oh, I didn't mean it to sound that way. There's no TV where I'm staying and I thought it would be tough, but I like it. It's a nice change.”

“Change from what?” Louise ventured.

“Someday I'll tell you all about it, but right now I have to do my chores.” She smiled and got away without telling anything. Again.

Jennifer brought Louise more hot water, then went back outside to check on Alice. She liked to linger there, stroke the old girl's head and back. Alice would moan appreciatively, thanking her. Satisfied that there was plenty of water and that it was cool enough in the shade of the diner's awning, she went back inside. As she stood and turned, she caught Louise watching her. Staring at her with a slight frown wrinkling her brow. “I just wanted to be sure Alice was fine. And that she has enough water in the bowl.”

“You like Alice, don't you?”

“What's not to like? She's a perfect dog. And I think that besides you, I'm her favorite.” She grinned again.

“I've always had dogs. Sometimes more than one. It was difficult when I traveled more, but I love animals. And it's my opinion that people who don't like dogs are coldhearted and impatient. I think that within you beats the heart of a loving woman. Am I right?”

“I hope so, Madam Professor.”

“Do you know I've spent my whole life studying women and their issues? I hold a post-graduate degree in women's studies and there is no woman on earth I don't find interesting. And you, Doris, are one of the most intriguing.”

“Me?
Phooey.
If you knew me better, you'd realize I'm very boring. Let me get that omelet for you.”

Jennifer went about the business of refilling the sugar and creamers, sweeping up behind the counter and gathering up the ketchup bottles to consolidate them so they were all full. When her breakfast was done, Louise asked Jennifer if she could take a little break. “I'd like to talk to you about something.”

“Sure,” she said, sitting down across the table from her.

“No. Walk a little way with me. Buzz won't care too much.”

“Just give me a minute,” she said. She spoke to Buzz, then retrieved her backpack and slipped the straps over her shoulders.

Once outside Louise said, “I don't know what you have in that backpack, but it never leaves your sight.”

“Well, not exactly. I just don't leave it behind because... Well, because I travel light, and that means I carry what's important with me.”

“Are you planning to stay around awhile, Doris?”

She laughed a little, and with it came a little snort. “How could I think of leaving a fantastic job like mine at the Tin Can?” Then she added, “I didn't think I'd still be here, but I like this little place. I like that there's almost no nightlife.”

“Odd that a woman your age would be fascinated by that. But if you are planning to stay, I have a proposition for you. I go to England every spring and come back every fall. My son is there. Rudy. I like to be near him, and I get privileges at Oxford as a professor emeritus. I research cultural issues, women's literature, women's studies. I've been working on a textbook for some time now.”

An unusual sound came out of Jennifer. It was a sigh. A sigh of longing. And her tone of voice softened so hopefully. “Please say you want me to go with you and carry your books.”

“I'm afraid not. However, my usual house-sitter-slash-dog-sitter has disappointed me. She can't help out this time. You can see that Alice can't be alone, can't be kenneled. In fact, it gets harder and harder to leave her. She's an old woman, is my Alice.”

Jennifer was holding her breath and no doubt Louise could tell. She sensed what was coming and began to desperately pray it could happen. After all, the Sunset Motel wasn't a place you'd want to stay for too long.

“I could use a house sitter. For five, maybe six months.”

“Me?” she asked tentatively.

“In addition to the house, food, utilities, upkeep and frequent dog walking, I'll pay you a small stipend.”

“Stipend?” she asked, a little breathless.

“There's a condition, Doris.” She stopped walking. She looked up at the younger woman. “Yes, you look so much better with hair. Mmm,” she said, clearing her throat. “I'd like you to tell me what you're hiding.”

Jennifer let out her breath in disappointment, shaking her head in defeat before she even realized her actions were as much as admitting there was something major. “I'm not hiding anything,” she said.

“Oh, yes, you are. I don't much care what it is, unless you did prison time for ripping off little old ladies.” That brought a slight chuckle from her. Very slight. “I'm an expert on women, Doris, and I know how tough the world can be for some. And I'm an excellent secret keeper. It's just that this might be too big a mystery for me. Please understand—I can't leave you with all my worldly goods and my very best friend without knowing why you're hiding out in Boulder City.”

Jennifer moved her mouth as though she were literally chewing on the question. She decided quickly it would be okay to be honest. Louise was eighty and not very talkative. If there was anyone in this town who could be trusted, it was probably Louise. “If you tell anyone, it could be very, very bad.”

“I have no reason to tell. But I do have a need to know.”

“It was a man. He was violent. He—” She took a deep breath. “He threatened to kill me if I left him.”

“Do you think there's any chance he could be looking for you?”

“I think there's every chance—but I think this is the last place he'd look.”

“And why is that, exactly?”

“Because this is such a quiet place. No gambling, no nightlife, not exciting. It's not what he'd expect of me. He'd think that I'd run off to L.A. or New York City before I'd hunker down in a town full of—” She stopped suddenly.

“Full of little old ladies and their ancient dogs?”

Jennifer bit her lip. “He'd expect me to want more excitement than is found here, Doctor.”

“All right, all right, so there is much more to you than meets the eye. I thought as much. Maybe later you'll trust me enough to give me a few more details. I might even be able to help at some point. I do have a lot of experience with this sort of thing. I helped open a facility in Las Vegas that's strictly a women's and girls' shelter. Anyone female can get help there, as long as they're drug free.”

“I'm okay here. For now,” she said, but there was a tentative tone with it. “But what if something... If I have to leave in a hurry? What about Alice?”