Читать книгу A Coventry Wedding - Becky Cochrane - Страница 10

The sky was awash with dozens of variations of orange, blue, and yellow by the time they got to El Paso. Jandy wanted to enjoy the beauty, but she was uncomfortably aware that she needed a restroom and suggested that Sam might want to pick an exit with a promising motel sooner rather than later.

Sam said it would be better to eat first and then find a motel, explaining, “I’d rather leave Sue alone in the truck with the windows cracked than in a motel room.”

Jandy nodded, remembering HoliTyme Hotel, Inc. v. Randolph, et al. (San Diego County Superior Court), and said, “Yeah. She might chew through a wall. Or use the bed as her bathroom. Who knows what bad habits she has? Something made that guy ditch her.”

“Meanness made that guy ditch her,” Sam said, pulling into a Denny’s parking lot. “She’s probably his wife’s dog, and they had a fight. Jerk.”

Jandy covertly checked out the area and had to admit that Sam couldn’t have chosen a better place to eat. Not only were there motels within walking distance of Denny’s, but she spotted a Target at the nearby mall. All she had to do was get away from him, buy a suitcase, and fill it with a few necessities and a change of clothes. She didn’t want Sam to know that she had no luggage. Not that it was any of his business. But if he found out she’d lied to him, she’d lose her moral high ground against a person who cheated at a coin toss and pretended to be a mechanic.

She went inside the restaurant, used the restroom, and washed her face and hands, then got them a table while Sam walked Sue and gave her more water. By the time he joined Jandy, she had a plan.

“Why don’t we check into that La Quinta after we eat?” she asked. “Then, if you wouldn’t mind dropping me at the mall, I need to pick up a few things. Female things,” she added, knowing any man, straight or gay, shunned shopping for such items. “I don’t want to be rushed through the store, though. You and Sue can get settled into your room, and I’ll just walk back to the motel when I’m finished.”

“Fine with me,” he said, studying the menu.

She wasn’t sure whether she was relieved or exasperated not to get more of an argument about walking alone in a strange place. He didn’t seem at all concerned about her safety, yet with that strange compulsion of a man to let a woman precede him through doors or to light a woman’s cigarettes, he insisted that Jandy be the first to order food. Then, while he talked over his options with the server, she looked at her hands. Even though she’d washed them, they still felt grimy. She began digging inside her purse, pulling things out and dropping them on the table as she searched for her hand sanitizer.

“You can figure out a lot about a woman by the contents of her purse,” Sam commented.

She would never let him see the bundle of money or the now inaccurate wedding invitation, but she took inventory of everything else as she emptied her purse. She wondered what he thought he was learning from her Estée Lauder lipstick; Clinique compact; Prescriptives eyeliner pencils in various colors; Maybelline Great Lash Mascara—Blackest Black, because she ignored makeup advice for redheads; hairbrush; two tampons inside a little case—she hoped he didn’t guess what that was, or he might wonder about her proposed shopping trip to Target; multiple key chains with keys to various apartments and cars; several computer disks; a copy of Jennifer Weiner’s novel Good in Bed—she’d been carrying that around for months and even though she liked it, she was still only on the third chapter; a half-finished résumé in a tattered envelope; three hairclips; four pens—she was sure at least three of them didn’t work; several crumpled receipts and ATM slips she’d never put in her check register; cell phone; cell phone charger—that would come in handy at the motel; book of stamps; a Dooney and Bourke wristlet case that held three condoms and her birth control pills; two pairs of sunglasses from a dollar store that were in Oakley cases discarded by a long-ago roommate; Burt’s Bees lip balm; a tin of Altoids Peppermint Smalls; a Coach wallet that contained other people’s business cards, a MasterCard, a Bank of America debit card, a faded photo of Hud, her driver’s license, and a five-dollar bill; and at last, a tiny bottle of Purell Hand Sanitizer.

She had no idea what her Fendi knockoff and its contents said about her. Which prompted an assessment from Pru: You’re a fraud with fake sunglasses and a fake purse. You have cosmetic promiscuity. You have more keys than a cat burglar. You don’t finish things. But at least you’ll have germ-free hands, fresh breath, and no sexually transmitted diseases or unplanned pregnancies.

She used the hand sanitizer and said, “What do you think my purse says about me? That I’m a big, disorganized mess?”

“You don’t have kids. You have a sore shoulder from lugging all that crap around. And you haven’t been living a low-income life in a trailer.”

“It’s a Fendi knockoff,” she said.

“With real Dooney and Bourke and Coach accessories inside it.”

Oh, yeah, he was gay. She would never let him see the fake Oakleys.

The server came back with their coffee. Jandy noticed that Sam took his black, while she loaded hers with cream and Sweet’n Low.

“I would have figured you for the blue package,” Sam said.

“No. I’m all about the pink. You really don’t know anything about me, Sherlock.”

“Tell me about the Beatles and the Barbies.”

She stared at him. Maybe he was more perceptive than she thought, because he’d bypassed stupid judgments based on her purse contents and gone right to one of her deep, dark secrets. After a few seconds, she decided there was no reason why she shouldn’t tell him. Sometimes it was easier to confide in total strangers. After all, as soon as the pickup was fixed, she’d be on her way back to California and would never see Sam again.

“The Beatles broke up way before I was born,” she said. “I probably wouldn’t have known who they were except that every time a Beatles song came on the radio, or there was something about them on TV, or even if they were mentioned in random conversation, my mother always got this sour look on her face. She’d change the station or the channel. She threw away magazines if they had articles on any of the Beatles. I thought it was weird, so I started doing things to test her.”

She paused when the server came back to top off their coffee. Sam pushed the cream toward her. He didn’t say anything, but his face had an expectant look, so she went on.

“I listened to a classic rock station to hear their songs. I named my pet turtle Martha after Paul McCartney’s dog. Sometimes my Aunt Ruby would keep chickens, and I’d call them names from Beatles songs: Lucy, Rita, Julia, Loretta. I didn’t dare name the rooster Ringo—that would have been too obvious—so I settled for Dr. Robert.”

Sam laughed and said, “Wasn’t Dr. Robert somebody’s drug dealer?”

“Allegedly, but hey, how would I have known that? I was just a little kid at the time. After school, I usually stayed at the library until somebody picked me up on the way home from work. I’d check out books on bands, including the Beatles. Not racy memoirs or unauthorized biographies or anything like that. Books that it would be okay for kids to have, mostly with pictures. My mother always made the same unpleasant face if she saw Beatles books in my backpack. And one time, I paid a boy at school thirty dollars—that was a lot for a kid to scrape together—for a T-shirt with a picture of John and Yoko on it. My mom went ballistic about that.”

Once again she had to pause while their plates were set down. Sam barely waited until the server was out of earshot before he said, “Did you ever find out why?”

“That is when I found out why.”

“Don’t tell me. You’re supposed to be John Lennon’s illegitimate child.”

She laughed and said, “Close, but no.”

“Yoko’s?”

“Do I look Japanese?”

“Good point.”

“Since my mother wouldn’t break her no-Beatles rule and tell me herself, I got the story from Aunt Ruby. When she was in college, my mother fell in love with a man—well, supposedly she married him, but I don’t think that part could be true, because my grandpa and Aunt Ruby never even met him. His name was Thomas Taylor, and he was a huge John Lennon fan. He apparently had every Beatles-related object he could get his hands on. Albums, posters, books, photos. Just like John, he drew and wrote songs and played guitar and piano. When John Lennon got killed, Thomas was crushed.”

“I’m sure.”

“Apparently, he got it into his head that if he went to Japan, he’d make peace with the loss of his idol. Find consolation.”

“Or find his own Yoko.”

“That’s exactly what I think!” Jandy agreed. “He told my mother he felt like he had to go on a pilgrimage to honor John’s memory. He was going to Japan, then Liverpool and London, then New York, and finally back home. Maybe he did find his Yoko, because he never came back, at least that I know of. Aunt Ruby said he didn’t know—even my mother didn’t know—that when he left for Japan, she was pregnant with me.”

“So you never met him?”

Jandy shook her head and said, “Now that I’m older, I think it’s more likely my mother was involved with someone who didn’t want to marry her. The rest of it sounds like some story she or Aunt Ruby made up.”

“But that wouldn’t explain your mother’s dislike for all things Beatle,” Sam said.

“I guess. Anyway, after Aunt Ruby told me that story, I never talked about it to my mother. Of course, then I really wanted to know everything about the Beatles, especially John Lennon. By that time, my mother had been married to my stepfather for a few years, and he’d adopted me. Stan’s an okay guy, but you know how kids are. If I was mad at my parents or got in trouble, I’d always think my real dad would come back and take me away. The two of us would bond over the Beatles. He’d think I was the perfect daughter.”

Do you have any idea how lame you sound? Pru asked.

“What about the Barbie dolls?” Sam prodded.

“All my Ken dolls were named after Beatles or Beatle friends, and all my Barbies were named after the women in their lives. That Pattie was a real vixen. Cynthia was long-suffering. Maureen was always reassuring Ringo that he was important, too. All Paul’s ex-girlfriends constantly conspired against Linda. It was very dramatic.”

Since she’d told Sam her name was Jandy, she couldn’t share the story of the day she asked her family to start calling her Jane instead of January. Even though her mother couldn’t have known the request was prompted by admiration for Paul’s one-time girlfriend Jane Asher, she was the only one who’d never gone along with the name change.

“I’d pretend all the Beatle Barbies traveled around together in a sort of perpetual Hard Day’s Night. I tricked out my Barbie Star Traveler like it was a rock and roll bus. I loved that thing. When I was twelve, I was in a thrift store with Aunt Ruby and hit the mother lode: an Around the World Japanese Barbie. She was several years old by then, but she was still in her original box and looked good, and I talked Aunt Ruby into buying her.”

Sam laughed and said, “She had no idea she was buying your Yoko, did she?”

“No. But just like with the real Yoko, everything went to hell after that. I had to go to camp, and when I came back, my mother had hired someone to build a shelf all the way around my bedroom about a foot from the ceiling to display the Beatle Barbies out of my reach. She didn’t dare get rid of them. I’d have had a tantrum, and Grandpa and my stepfather would have found out. When I complained to her, she said I was getting too old for dolls. Which I probably was, but that made me determined not to give them up. I just got sneakier about playing with them. I had my own stereo and bought used Beatles CDs. Me and John and Yoko had a lot of Saturday morning bed-ins. Of course, I gave peace a chance by wearing headphones.”

Sam was laughing again and said, “Do you still have the dolls?”

“All of them. I eventually moved them to Grandpa’s house, and from time to time he reminds me that they’re there. Even though I haven’t seen them for years, I still know who each one’s named after. I also still have all their clothes. I figure one day when I have a big enough place, I’ll display them.”

“Along with your Star Traveler rock and roll bus?”

“No, that’s gone. I guess my mother threw it away.” She blushed. “I sound so dorky. I don’t know why I told you all that. I’ve never told anyone else about my Beatle Barbies, not even Aunt Ruby or Grandpa.”

“Or your husband?”

She blinked at him, remembered her string of lies, and said, “No. Not him either.”

Being in Target with twelve thousand dollars in her purse was almost a religious experience. She couldn’t believe how inexpensive the clothes were, and she went back to the luggage section twice to get an incrementally larger suitcase. It would be crazy to buy one or two changes of clothes when the store had all kinds of cool shorts and cargo pants and jeans for almost nothing. And she had to have shirts to go with them. Then she needed a swimming suit, because she was sure there’d be a pool at any motels she stayed in. She also needed underwear, sneakers, sandals, and lounging pajamas.

She saw no reason to buy little travel sizes of toiletries when there were so many great oils and lotions and body washes and hair products. And it wouldn’t hurt to have a few snacks, because who knew where she’d have to stay in Coventry while Grandpa’s pickup was out of service?

She felt virtuous about not buying any jewelry, even though they had some good silver and turquoise pieces dirt cheap. She just added a couple of bandannas, a ball cap with a Beatles logo on it, and more hair clips, so she could continue to keep her long, heavy hair off her neck because of the heat.

After her binge of consumerism ended, her only buyer’s remorse was about the digital camera with its memory card, charger, and camera case. But who knew when she’d ever drive hundreds of miles and see new places again? She should document her trip. On her way back to California, she definitely wanted to stop and get pictures of the giant boulders. There could be lots of other things to photograph, too.

She lugged everything back to her motel room, congratulating herself on how she’d evaded detection by Sam and Sue. Tomorrow when she took the suitcase down, she’d tell Sam it had been in the locked toolbox of Grandpa’s pickup. If he wanted to put it back in the toolbox, they’d have a problem, because she didn’t have the key. She supposed she could pretend that she’d mislaid the key overnight. Sam would believe it. He already thought she was dumb, and she was sure her confession about her Beatle Barbies hadn’t changed his opinion.

She went by his room to take him a few other purchases she’d made. Sue now had a black leather collar and leash that matched her spots, a bag of dog food, two bowls, and some toys. When Sam tried to give her money, she told him to credit it against what she’d owe him for the tow.

She was about to back out of the door when he said, “If you’re interested, there’s a cartoon marathon on one of the channels we get. You can hang out and watch with me.”

“Enticing, but I just want to take a bath and crash.”

He nodded sadly and said, “I hope one day you’ll correct your glaring cultural deficiency. Unlike ballet or piano, it’s never too late to start cartoons.”

“I’m sure it takes a refined nature to appreciate a mouse dropping an anvil on a cat.”

His eyebrow slipped up again. “You’ve been cheating, haven’t you? What would your mother say?”

She just laughed and shut the door between them. Once she was back in her room, she plugged in her cell phone to charge it while she took her bath. She could take a shower and wash her hair later.

After soaking for half an hour in the aromatic salts and oils, she wrapped herself in a towel and cut tags off her new wardrobe, folding everything and packing her suitcase. Then with a glance at the clock, she called information, got the number for the Edgewater Hotel and Casino in Laughlin, and left a message for Grandpa to call her cell number.

She rested against the pillows with the TV on. Sam must have made up the cartoon marathon. The closest thing she could find was a silly network movie about rich teenagers living in Southern California, which was about as far from her adolescent reality as she could imagine.

The next thing she knew, she was jarred awake by a ringtone warning that “instant karma” would get her. She peered at the display and saw that it was an unknown number. Since Hud would call from his cell phone and her mother wouldn’t call at all, it had to be Grandpa.

“Hello?”

“Jane! You calling to get me to place a bet for you? I’m on a streak!”

“How much have you lost, Grandpa?”

“I think I just lost Ruby to some Chinese fellow,” he said and gave the wheezy little laugh that she loved.

“As long as you don’t bet the farm.”

“I know why you’re calling, worrywart. Ruby and I’ll be back before Friday night. She’s even bought two new outfits. One for the rehearsal dinner and one for the wedding. I told her she didn’t need new clothes. It’s not like anybody will be looking at her. There’s no fool like an old fool.”

She’d heard him say that about a zillion times in her life, and she said, “I don’t know, Grandpa, I’m not old, but I can do some pretty foolish things.”

There was just enough of a pause for her to realize he was debating whether he wanted to know, but he finally said, “Anything you want to talk about?”

“You and Aunt Ruby can stay in Laughlin as long as you want,” Jandy said. “Hud and I decided to postpone the wedding.”

“You broke it off?”

“No! We’re just rescheduling.”

“Cut it kind of close, didn’t you? Was this your idea or his?”

She sighed and admitted that it had been hers, although she wasn’t sure why she’d done it. “I know I’ve messed up everybody’s plans—”

“You don’t need to worry about that,” he said. He obviously didn’t want to talk about her mother any more than she did, because he said, “You ought to go to Redlands. You know where the key is. When Ruby and I get home, she can spoil you rotten. And you can help me in the grove. That’s the best distraction there is: hard work in the fresh air.”

“I was way ahead of you,” Jandy said. “I forgot you were in Laughlin. I had to break in to your house after I sold my SUV to that guy in Palm Springs. I’m using one of your trucks. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve driven it to visit a friend.”

“Of course I don’t mind,” Grandpa said. “Which truck?”

“The gold Ford.”

“I hope you didn’t go far,” Grandpa said. “I think she’s got a cracked block or something wrong with the gasket. I used some seal additive, but don’t let her get too hot, and don’t drive alone at night. Where did you say you were?”

“Grandpa, are you still there? I can’t hear you,” Jandy said, further honing her skills as a habitual liar. Maybe she should run for president. That was the ultimate temp job. “I’ll call you soon!” she yelled and disconnected the call.

She checked the time. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep, and now it was too late to wash her hair. It would take forever to dry, and all she wanted was to go back to sleep. At least she felt better now that someone knew where she was. Or sort of knew.

She turned off the TV, crawled under the covers, and closed her eyes. She kept seeing the road stretch in front of her and hearing the way Sam talked so affectionately to Sue. The thought of the two of them curled up on the bed in Sam’s room made her feel a little envious.

You want to be cozy in bed with a man other than Hud? Pru asked.

“Of course not,” she mumbled.

It would be nice to have a big dog like Sue for company. Not Sam. Although Sam wasn’t really a bad guy. He was kind of adorable. She wondered if he had a boyfriend. Too bad he didn’t live in L.A. She could hook him up with one of Hud’s gay friends. Then again, she wouldn’t recommend getting involved with anybody in the industry. Very few of them were as stable and centered as Hud.

It was a pointless train of thought. Sam didn’t live in L.A., and she had other things to worry about. Only not her wedding, or Hud, or her mother. She needed a break from all that.

Break…broken truck…cracked block…gasket…seal additive. She had no idea what any of it meant, but it definitely sounded more plausible than a rotary beater or a defibrillator.

She fell asleep to the sound of her own giggling.