The Readers of Broken Wheel Recommend (23 page)

‘I offered to be in it,' said Andy. ‘But she didn't think it'd have the “desired effect”.'

‘She was surprisingly shy when it came to whose idea it was,' said Carl. ‘She didn't want to take the credit. Said it was all yours.'

‘How could a picture of me not have the desired effect?' Andy continued, opening a beer and pouring three glasses of whiskey simultaneously.

‘I just thought it'd be good publicity for the bar,' Sara said.

‘How would having me in the picture stop that?'

Carl slapped a crumpled, slightly damp piece of paper onto the bar. It was a copy of the newsletter. Underneath a large – ridiculously large – picture of Carl, it read: ‘The friendliest bar in Iowa: We live to serve.'

Next came an absurdly short box of text about the Square which explained that they (not unlike other bars, Sara couldn't help but think) served alcohol and food, and that they were also very friendly and very, very service-oriented.

Jen had outdone herself. Tom was laughing now.

‘I'm holding you personally responsible for anything that happens here tonight,' said Carl.

‘Do I get commission?'

‘If you take my place then you can have half my kingdom and my firstborn son.'

‘You're gay,' Sara reminded him.

‘We can adopt.'

‘I don't want kids.'

‘My kingdom?'

She laughed. ‘Sure. Call me Queen Sara.'

She made a reluctant attempt to move away from Tom. He protested by pulling her towards him.

‘Don't leave me,' he said desperately. She knew that it was only because the women around them were more terrifying than she could ever be, but all the same, she couldn't help but lean in for a moment longer.

Carl looked pleadingly at her, and she forced herself to leave Tom and go behind the bar. A woman tried to squeeze in alongside her, but Carl blocked her way.

Sara was surprised by how different everything seemed from that side of the bar. The warm crowd was transformed into a faceless mass which washed over her in waves. She had more space, though, and she could see the expressions of those closest to the bar, read their thoughts and hopes, and eavesdrop on their conversations (which, at that moment, all seemed to revolve around Carl and herself. Most of them seemed to be envious of her new-found, elevated position). Tom was squashed up against the bar only a few metres away.

‘What do I do?' she asked, looking at the bottles and the glasses and the chaos around her. Slices of lemon on a chopping board, a sink with empty glasses in it; bottles, glasses and refrigerators along the wall. OK, Sara, she thought. Let's go.

‘Open the beers and pour the whiskey,' said Andy, showing her where the bottles were. ‘Don't worry about other drinks. Most of them just want beer and whiskey. If they want anything else, send them our way.'

‘And whatever you do, don't be stingy with the whiskey,' said Carl. ‘They'll burn the place down.'

Sara laughed.

‘Hey, lady,' said one of the women. ‘Two beers, two whiskey. And snappy. I'm parched.'

It took her three times as long as Andy or Carl to pour the whiskey. Payment went more smoothly; she'd had plenty of practice at that, after all. She quickly worked out the change and gave it to the woman, who kept it. The woman being served by Carl, on the other hand, left a tip. Sara's presence would seriously reduce their takings.

Three hours later, she was tired, hot and sweaty, and Tom had left without her noticing.

‘Thank God that's over,' Carl muttered. He switched on the overhead lights and watched, relieved, as people stood up and started heading out. In their wake, they left empty bottles, spilled drinks, scrunched-up napkins and half-empty bowls of peanuts.

Carl poured each of them a whiskey and Sara slumped exhausted onto one of the bar stools, resting her weary feet. ‘Thanks for tonight,' he said, which was surprisingly generous of him.

‘Sorry,' she said.

‘D'you think they were serious about coming back?' Andy asked.

‘Seemed that way,' Carl replied as he went once around the room, picking up half-full glasses and used napkins.

‘Especially if you organise that dance they were nagging you about,' said Sara. At any moment, she would get down from the stool and help him tidy up, but for now she simply sipped her whiskey and subtly tried to massage her feet.

‘I don't dance,' said Carl.

‘I do,' said Andy. He seemed inexhaustible and added, even more enthusiastically: ‘A dance!'

‘We don't have enough staff.'

‘Sara can help.'

‘We can't afford to hire anyone.'

‘What about Josh?' said Sara. ‘I'm sure he'd help without wanting to be paid much.'

‘A dance,' said Jen.

‘A
dance
?' said Caroline.

They were gathered in the bookshop once again. Sara was behind the counter, trying to read, but it was impossible, given that Caroline was standing right in front of her. Jen was sitting comfortably in one of the armchairs.

‘It'll only lead to drunkenness and loose morals,' said Caroline.

‘I can write about it in the newsletter,' said Jen. Caroline glared at her. ‘The dance, I mean,' she explained.

‘Improper,' said Caroline, but she seemed to be lacking her usual severity. There was something different in her eyes. Sara made an effort to avoid looking at her.

‘Maybe,' she said innocently, ‘maybe we can combine it with a market? For the church. A day for the entire family. With an organised, well-behaved dance at the Square in the evening.' Sara was sure that organised and well behaved weren't what Andy had in mind, but she thought it was best to avoid going into that with Caroline.

‘The church does need money,' Caroline admitted.

Josh stopped by the bookstore two days later. The only other customer was a woman, wrapped in an elegant black scarf and wearing big, dark sunglasses. Josh looked admiringly at her. A woman with style, he thought. He couldn't be sure, but it seemed almost as if she was hovering around the gay erotica shelf, like he had done that first visit. He was on the verge of asking her what she was looking for, but then Sara greeted him and he turned to her.

‘They phoned me, from the Square,' he said. ‘They asked if I wanted to work there, they said I'd get paid in kind.'

Sara choked on her coffee.

‘OK, so I'd quite like to pay them in kind. What he said was that I'd get to keep the tips. Apparently it's mostly women who go there, but generous women.' He clasped and released his hands. ‘I can charm women, too,' he said.

‘Sure you can.'

He looked around. The woman with the sunglasses had vanished. ‘Who was the woman that was just here?' he asked.

Sara looked away. ‘Ah, that was … I never reveal the names of my customers.' I really need to learn how to lie, she thought.

‘Do you know what she wanted?'

‘I have no idea.'

Josh shrugged, turned to leave, and then hesitated in the doorway. ‘Thanks, Sara,' he said.

CAROLINE HAD FOUND
out about the arrival of sin in their little town, of course. She hadn't believed it at first, but her short reconnaissance in the bookstore had proved it. There it was, a whole shelf dedicated to it, as open as you please, right there in front of her.

She had, of course, been rightfully upset. She had left the shop as quickly as possible. It was unthinkable that Broken Wheel was selling gay porn. The very word was unthinkable.

Broken Wheel might only have one church nowadays, and a minister who left a great deal to be desired, but as long as she, Caroline, was around, then such a clear attack on virtue and propriety wouldn't be permitted. At least not until she had done her very best to prevent it.

Besides, you need a challenge, Caroline
, she said to herself. She was an honest woman. She had started to get too comfortable and it had been much too long since she had achieved anything. Too comfortable and too faint-hearted.

She couldn't imagine that Sara would put up much of a challenge. The woman shrunk back in an irritating manner whenever Caroline went near her. Nice, without a doubt, but obviously not Christian in the way that Iowans were.

European. It explained a whole lot, but
not
the importing of gay porn into their upstanding, beautiful town.

Caroline marched into the bookstore ready for a fight.

Sara shrank back behind the counter just like Caroline had known she would.

‘Sara,' she said ominously.

‘Caroline?'

‘You're selling
porn
.' Caroline was a woman who got straight to it.

Caroline had been a teacher in Broken Wheel's school for almost fifteen years. There were very few people in town that she hadn't, at some point, told off.

‘Not at all,' said Sara.

‘
Not at all
?' Caroline echoed. Whenever she was annoyed, her tendency to speak in italics became even more pronounced. ‘I
can see
the shelf from here. You've
marked it out
. And now you're
daring
to claim that you aren't? Whatever faults you might have' (she said this in such a way as to imply that Sara had many), ‘I didn't think dishonesty was one of them.'

‘It's erotica, not porn.'

‘Don't quibble with me.'

Caroline stared at her.

Sara looked her in the eye.

For a few seconds, at least, before she looked away. ‘It's erotica. Literature. Stories about love and friendship. Sure, there's sex in them, but unlike
porn
' (she was unconsciously making use of Caroline's emphasis here, which made Caroline gasp at such overt provocation), ‘it's not the main point. Even heterosexual love stories have sex scenes in them.'

‘Are you really claiming there's no difference?'

‘Yes,' said Sara. ‘Unlike you, I've actually read them.'

‘You've
read
them?'

‘Yes,' Sara said again. ‘I've always thought it's wrong to judge books, or people, blindly.'

‘Wrong?' Caroline was aware that her face had turned an unflattering and shameful shade of red. The conversation wasn't going as she had planned, and an unpleasant thought struck her. She couldn't quite catch hold of it; it was just there somewhere, at the back of her mind, without really making itself known.

‘Yeah. Un-American. Almost … unchristian.'

‘
Unchristian
?'

The unpleasant feeling grew stronger. Caroline realised what was bothering her. Sara might have a point. And somewhere in her words, there had been a clear challenge. Caroline didn't normally shrink from a challenge.

‘I've got to think about this,' she said heatedly, storming out of the shop.

She was very, very angry.

The minister was interrupted in his gardening by the shadow of Caroline's upright figure obscuring the plant he was busy with.

‘William Christopher,' she said with clear distaste. He shuddered. She had been his teacher. ‘Shouldn't the only minister in Broken Wheel have more important things to do than pulling weeds? It's not dignified.'

William sighed (albeit quietly, to himself) and stood up from the flower bed. ‘Yes,' he said, and Caroline nodded. ‘What can I do for you?' He had no doubt she was the one planning to help him, doubtless with something he hadn't realised he needed help with yet.

But she surprised him by saying: ‘I've got a question I've been wondering about …' Her voice trailed off as though she was expecting him to say something.

He waited.

She seemed to be trying to find the right words, because she stood there in silence for almost an entire minute, before confusedly continuing: ‘If you heard about … something which should be wrong, but you yourself hadn't experienced it, but had heard it was from reliable sources, and all logic pointed to it being wrong, would it be acceptable to judge something without having investigated it yourself?'

William hadn't followed what she was saying at all, but admitted that, as he saw it, and it was, of course, only his personal opinion, you could never be careful enough when it came to judging something about which you yourself didn't have all the facts; or even when judging at all.

Caroline snorted. Not judging something was also a judgement, and not doing something was also an act. But he had given her an answer, and she admitted to herself that he may actually have been right.

The whole thing was deeply unpleasant.

She sighed. ‘Thanks so much,' she said, and William winced.

‘You're welcome,' he stuttered.

Having Caroline ask him for advice and then thanking him for it made him nervous.

She marched back to the bookstore.

‘OK,' she said, after having made sure the shop was empty. ‘Give me one.'

‘One what?'

‘One of those books.' She couldn't bring herself to ask for gay porn. ‘I'm a fair woman,' she said in a dignified manner. ‘As you rightly pointed out, it's wrong to judge something blind. Or unread, in this case. So give me one.' And she added, ominously: ‘I'll tell you what I think later.'

Sara stared at her. When Caroline showed no sign of changing her mind, she moved cautiously over to the shelf of gay erotica and placed one of the books into a protective cover. Caroline nodded and paid without a word.

But once she was home, she didn't know what she should do with it.

There and then, in the heat of the moment, she may have agreed that it was unchristian to judge something without having read it first, but alone in the privacy of her home, she wasn't quite so sure.

The very thought that
she
had
one of those
books in her house made her break into a cold sweat.