Читать книгу A Nuisance - Lass Small, Lass Small - Страница 6

Stefan turned away from his night watchman, Tad. He walked toward his Jeep. He was ready to leave his car lot and said his usual comment, “Watch.”

So his night watchman replied with great patience, “Hell, man, I do. That’s why you hired me. Me and Tom are good watchers.”

Stefan frowned at the placid dog. “I knew of a watchdog in Florida who did only that. He would watch as the whole kaboodle was stolen.”

“You’re offending him.” Tad indicated his alert dog.

Stefan placated, “Naw. Saying ‘watch’ is just automatic. My mother still tells me to ‘be careful’ every time I leave their house, after visiting.”

“Mine just says ‘behave.’ I wonder who’s spilling her guts to my momma.”

“Nobody. Mothers set traps.”

“Yeah.” After a thoughtful silence, Tad inquired, “If your mother says that, what’s your dad say?”

Stefan gestured to indicate grand wisdom. “He said that to deal with a Polish man, American women need only two sayings in Polish.”

“What’s that?” Tad looked interested.

“Idz do piekla and jacie kocham.“

“What’s that mean?”

“‘Go to hell’ and ‘I love you.’ Those two sayings will cover any situation. In conversation, a woman needs only to listen.”

Tad laughed.

Stefan again started for his Jeep. “Watch.”

“Hell, man, we just went through all that.”

“Yeah.” And Stefan finally left.

As he drove along, he studied his restlessness. Why? Well, it seemed to him that a whole lot of nothings got in the way of his life.

Look at Kirt fooling with the innards of a new car because he had three marriageable daughters. Or his own mother’s anxiety over his single life. There was that stupid, old man, Mac, claiming Stefan was responsible for an antique government-issue Jeep finally groaning with age. And then there was the damned woman with the blond-red hair who was so cool and collected...but not by him.

Now why had he thought of Carrie as a problem of his? He’d discarded her three months ago. She was a holdout and pigheaded and impossible.

Impossible was sure true. Any woman who’d kiss like that, and then say no, was mean! Think what a woman like that would do with little kids! She’d rule with an iron hand. “Eat that spinach!” “It’s bedtime. You get yourself right upstairs. This is the last time I’m telling you!” “You play hookey and I’ll blister you!” She’d be relentless.

She’d probably want more Polish words than just “go to hell.” She’d tongue-lash a good man.

But then he began a dreamy vision of her tongue-lashing him, here and there, and he lost all his hostility. He’d be putty in her seeking hands. She’d turn him into a slave. He’d starve, waiting for her attentions.

It was just a good thing he’d wiped her from his mind and excluded her from his life.

* * *

On the other side of Blink, out where Stefan lived, there were no sidewalks. There were wire fences along the road. And the county didn’t mow the sides of the road, so the weeds were high outside the fence. His “yard” was somewhat mowed, but there was no trimming done. It was all pretty weedy and loose. Casual? It suited Stefan.

However, the house was plumb and painted, and so was the garage and shed in back of it. There was also a neat outhouse, just in case. Across the back of the house was a great, open screened porch, a lot like the ones other people had.

Inside, the furnishings were family castoffs. He did have a new bed, a good refrigerator, stove and a dishwasher. He did not wash dishes by hand.

He looked over the place and it was his.

When he got out of his car, the phone rang. That surprised him. It was almost ten, and people went to bed early in Blink. He went into the unlocked house and picked up the receiver with some curiosity.

Her tongue said, “You got home okay?”

He took a satisfied breath and began to sit down to talk as he said, “Yeah.”

But the witch hung up.

Why the hell had she called? She was paying him back for him making sure she’d gone into the house safely?

Tit for tat.

That only set his mind off again.

He went through his sparsely furnished house and up the stairs into his bedroom. Upstairs, his bedroom was the only furnished room. Stefan went to the shower and used the liquid soap to get rid of the remainder of the grease. Then he put on clean pajama pants and faced the fact that there wasn’t much else to do but go to bed.

So he did.

And the next thing he knew, he awoke to the alarm. His bed was a torn-up mess, and he was not rested.

So what was the problem? He sure as hell didn’t need more exercise.

He lay in his silent room in the silent house and went over his potential conversation with Mac, who was eighty-two, a childless widower and lonely. Stefan’s dad’s solution was to just go ahead and give Mac a new Jeep.

At that time, Stefan had replied, “Hell, Dad, if I did that, every yahoo in the county would come a-running, declaring their Jeep was one of mine, defective and needed to be replaced.”

So his dad had said, “For Mac’s Jeep, make it seem like a competition. It might cost you a Jeep or two, but it would salve that old man’s heart. He’s lonely. Why don’t you hire him as a salesman?”

“I thought I was supposed to hire Carrie.”

His dad had agreed. “Her, too. She’d draw men in like they’re flies after honey.”

“I can’t submit her to that sort of harassment.”

His dad had slid his eyes over to his youngest son and inquired, “Jealous?”

“I gave up on her over three months ago.”

“When was that?”

“Dad, you’re pushing it.”

His dad had shrugged. “We like her.”

“Which ‘we’? Are you implying Momma likes her?”

“You and me.”

Stefan had reminded his gene contributor, “Momma called her a tart.”

His dad had soberly nodded agreement. “It was the dress. It was like a second skin.”

“So you did notice. I thought you told Momma you hadn’t seen it.”

His dad had gestured openly. “There are just times when a man’s better off temporarily blind.”

“Now you tell me.”

“Hell, Stef, I’ve told you that ‘til I’m blue in the face! Just look!”

Stefan looked his dad over quite critically, because he was feeling critical. He said, “Your face’s pretty pink. There’s a blood vessel there that looks busted.”

“That was from the night you first took out the car, alone, with that youngest Sorrus girl.”

Stefan had sighed and shaken his head in empathy for a lousy time. “I remember that.”

“I should hope you would!”

Stefan had to remind his father, “It’s stuck in my head because I had to go and get her daddy to get his mules to haul us out of the sand.”

“That did take guts.”

“It was the car,” Stefan again vowed. “I couldn’t allow my first car to sink in quicksand.”

“But you left her inside the car,” his father had retorted in a censorious manner. “I’ve never understood that.”

“I told you. She had on high heels, and I didn’t want to wait around for her to make the trek. She was fifteen. She wobbled in high heels on a smooth surface. What if somebody else had come along, pulled the car out and took it off. I figured if she stayed in it, the car was still mine.”

“And if it sunk?”

“Dad.” Stefan had been very adult. “All this happened fourteen years ago.”

“You asked about my burst blood vessel.”

“No.” Stefan had then managed to be excruciatingly patient. “I just barely mentioned it. You asked if your face was blue from giving me sage advice.”

“Sage? You a horticulturist?”

That had done it. In order to avoid a burst blood vessel of his own then, Stefan had said, “Tell Momma I was here.”

“Probably.”

That one word had caused Stefan to hesitate on his way to the door. “Why...probably?”

“I’ll have to test how she’s feeling about you, before I admit you was here.”

“Do you realize there are people that have real, normal parents? How’d I end up with you two?” Then, hopefully, he’d asked rapidly, “Was I adopted?”

“No. You’re ours.”

“That’s scary.” And Stefan had left.

* * *

Stefan had four brothers. They were a year apart in age. Stefan was youngest. His mother had told Stefan that when he was born, and she was exhausted and groggy, his father had told her—at that time, mind you—that he’d finally figured out how to have daughters. Even Stefan’s father admitted that he could have chosen a better time for his pronouncement. His wife didn’t speak kindly to him for two years.

So why did Stefan think Carrie would be any different? She was also a touchy female, just like his mother. Well. Why was he interested in Carrie who was a rejected woman? It was that hair. And disgruntled, he thought about the fact that everybody has hair. Well, someplace on them. There aren’t very many people who are bald all over. But Carrie had all that mop of shimmery blond-strawberry hair. It was alluring. A man wanted to be wrapped in it.

He decided he’d casually mention to her that some of the men at his place had talked about the fact that she’d look better with her hair cut short. If she cut it, he figured, it ought to solve his lured-attention problem.

Then, more than likely, she’d mention something he should cut. Like his own throat.

* * *

When he came back into his house the next time, the phone was ringing, and it was that woman, Carrie, who said, “You get home okay?”

He didn’t sit down that time, he just said, “Yeah.”

“Who all did you accost?”

So he eased down and heard himself saying, “Some guys out at the lot were talking about you.”

“Naturally.”

She was snippy and just asking for some man to take charge of her and straighten her out. He went on, “And they think you’d look cute with your hair real short. I told them they were crazy.”

She hung up.

* * *

Several days passed and just about everyone in Blink heard of the scam Stefan’s dad had contrived. Stefan was going to give away a new Jeep in exchange for one from the time of World War II. Ownership had to’ve been continuous.

The idea was attention-getting. Stefan would actually trade a new Jeep for an antique. But it was worth doing because of the publicity.

Mac did win. The two runners-up each got a hundred dollars.

Kirt said thoughtfully, “Mac’s old Jeep up on a pole out front of the car lot would be a plus. Up in the air, thataway, it would be seen from the highway.”

It is odd what happenstance does. While Stefan was just trying to get Mac off his neck, the newspapers from around the area clear to San Antonio, up to Austin and over to Fredricksburg came for interviews with Stefan...and pictures!

Those combatants left from World War II were getting precious. World War II had been a “good” war. It wasn’t like the newer wars, so nasty and appalling.

Memory is selective.

Stefan had never had such publicity. It was good for business. He gave a second Jeep to his father.

Was his father delighted? No. He said furiously, “What the hell you trying to do? You want me to look like a moocher?” And he refused the Jeep.

Stefan begged God to prove he was switched at birth. Or at least adopted!

As he drove around the area for television interviews, he dreamed his real parents would recognize him and claim him. He hadn’t dreamed that since he was fourteen, just over half his life ago.

Then he heard by chance that Carrie had all his TV interviews taped! The very thought of her watching him on tape wobbled him. Why would she tape the interviews?

But he overheard his father say, “Our VCR went crazy and chewed up tapes, but Carrie volunteered to tape the TV bits on Stefan for us. She has a double VCR that can hold twelve hours of—”

The sound of his daddy’s voice went away, and Stefan’s head was filled with the popping air waves of a vacuum. It was fascinating. Eventually, he was aware that the stunning reason for his mental vapidness was the fact that Carrie would volunteer to tape his interviews for his parents!

Did that mean... Did she have copies?

His father’s voice came back to Stefan. “We don’t even have to watch or fool with the recorder. They give Carrie the day, channel and hour, and she just sets the time and so on. She really doesn’t mind, it’s so simple.”

Stefan was deflated. She didn’t have to watch the tapes. She just programmed the VCR. That sobered him.

Why had he been...un-sobered? Why had his libido gotten so excited when he heard she was... But she wasn’t. She was simply being kind to his parents.

Yeah. And just why was she being kind to his parents? Hmm?

His head waggled a little, his body moved a bit and he touched his tie. Carrie Pierce was interested in Stefan Szyszko?

He could understand it. After he dumped her, she hadn’t been able to get over him. She was courting his parents to get through to him. She was trying to get them on her side and trap him. Yeah.

* * *

At church the next Sunday, Stefan watched in some shock as Carrie came inside with Pepper Hodges. What the hell was she doing with Pepper, of all men? And why was she with him...in church!

And Stefan knew. Just that fast, it came to him. Pepper was the fall guy. She wanted to see Stefan. And she wanted him to see her with another man and get territorial. Yep.

Knowing all that, he wasn’t surprised when she didn’t look around to find him. He sat there with his parents, three of his brothers and their families, in a Szyszko fortress of relations, and he knew that she knew right where he was.

When had she gotten that big, floppy hat? It looked really good on that skinny, shapeless woman. She had good taste. And she was there, in church, with Pepper Hodges. She was lucky she was in church with a guy like that. She’d better be careful.

How come she had paired off with Pepper? Well, she didn’t belong to that church. Coming with Pepper was the only way she could seem normal when she came inside. But she still didn’t look around. How did she know he would know she would be with Pepper?

And Stefan figured it out. She’d come in during the week and checked the pews for names. Yeah. She had. She knew where he was. He relaxed and studied the statue of Jesus showing his cross-impaled heart wrapped in thorns, and Stefan felt great compassion.

* * *

When the service was over, and they were moving out of the church, Stefan saw that Carrie and Pepper were ahead of him. It seemed odd that she would allow that. She should have waited until he exited the church and was standing around outside as he talked, then she could have come out and been surprised to see him.

She wasn’t handling a confrontation at all well. But she was a novice. She’d learn.

However, she had taped his interviews. He would be kind to mention his mother’s gratitude. He’d be casual about it. He squeezed through impossible barriers of talking people, knocked a lady’s hat askew and walked through empty pews and got outside just in time to see her being put into Pepper’s car!

What was the rush?

And a thought stopped him cold. What if...what if she was allowing Pepper to...court her!

Yeah. What if?

And he found he was stunned by the idea. His mind rejected it. How could he be so upset over a woman whom he’d discarded three months and seventeen days ago?

How come he knew exactly how long ago it had been?

Was he sulking? Had he been waiting for her to call him and make up with him, saying he was right and she’d been rude? Yeah.

So what was he supposed to do?

* * *

Knowing her family was still away, Stefan called her the rest of the day, and fortunately she didn’t have the pushy answering machine connected. Each time, he could let the phone ring twenty times. If she deliberately was not answering, it would be annoying for her to have to listen to the long rings, but he knew she wasn’t there. No single woman would resist a ringing phone.

When he couldn’t contact her the next day, he began to get a breathing disorder. Where was she? How could he find out without seeming interested? A man’s life and times were a heavy burden.

He drove by her house, using different cars from the lot so he could be anonymous. Sure. But he went by the next night and her driveway was filled with cars. She was having a party, and he hadn’t been invited?

He was crushed. It was several days before he found out her visitors had been sorority sisters. Finding that out kept him from going into a decline. But...why would he care?

* * *

Then Pat Vernon called. He was one of the people from the TV station in San Antonio who had interviewed Stefan. Pat had called because Mac’s earpiece didn’t accept the telephone. Pat had found a World War II veteran who was only sixty-eight and he could still qualify to fly a single-engine plane.

His name was Jerold Kraut. It would be good copy if Mac would go on a flight with Jerold. Pat asked Stefan, “Would you find out if Mac would be interested? We can land the plane right behind your car lot. It’d give you some free publicity.”

Stefan said, “Great. Why don’t you come out and talk to the old man with me.”

“Is there a motel around there? I don’t recall one in Blink.”

“You can stay with me? I have the room. Mac’ll come into town, and it’ll probably be fun. My mother will fix the meals and you can’t get any better than that.”

“You talked us into it. What day?”

So they got that figured out.

Stefan’s father and a couple of his brothers helped him move an extra bed out of the family storage in the barn. The struggle to put it into one of the vacant rooms at Stefan’s house was so difficult that it was hilarious, and they became weak from laughing. Then they decided they might just as well put a bed in the other room. So Stefan bought a case of beer.

His mother told Stefan to buy some mattress covers so the stains wouldn’t show. She loaned him sheets and towels. And pillows. And dishes. And she donated two braided rugs. She told him that if he put one end under the bed no one would notice the indelible stains on one of the rugs. And she added a rocking chair to set on the stubborn stain on the other rug.

Stefan said, “That’s the rocker you used for feeding us kids.”

His mother looked at it critically. “It’ll last.”

Slipping it in slyly, Stefan offhandedly asked his mother, “Can we come to your house at mealtime? Just supper.” He gestured as if that was no big deal, and “just supper” was letting her off the hook.

She was agreeable, but she gave Stefan a look, and he knew she was collecting brownie points. She’d hit him with some god-awful job for him to solve, and he would be committed to it. The weight of that reality came down and landed heavily on his shoulders.

Carrying the burden of probable obligation, Stefan checked with the area weatherman. He said the weather ought to be okay for the next several weeks, and to check back.

In an afterthought, Stefan finally had to go see Mac because he couldn’t talk to him on the phone. Mac was willing to be involved in the filming. By then, Stefan wouldn’t have been at all surprised if the old geezer had flatly refused. Stefan’s confidence in himself wasn’t high.

But then Mac hesitated. “You say the pilot’s not even seventy? A whippersnapper. You suppose he’ll know what the hell he’s doing? What’d you say? Don’t mumble, boy.”

Therefore, it was a real fluke that Stefan had a valid excuse to call Carrie. She wasn’t at the TV station, but she was home.

Before she could reject his call, he said, “I wonder if you’d be kind enough to set your VCRs to tape another string of great promo coverage.” He just went ahead and told her what and when and why.

She said a calm, “Sure. No problem. I’ll contact your mother for the times.”

“I’ll make a list and bring it to you.”

“No need.” She rejected seeing him. “You’ll be busy.”

“Carrie.”

“Yes?”

Quite serious and deliberately vulnerable, he told her, “I’d like you to be my guest for this. Would you?”

“I’m very busy.”

“Please.”

There was a long silence. He resisted any of the crowding questions that he sweat over, like: Were she and Pepper sleeping together? Was she totally finished with Stefan Szyszko? Could she bring herself to be with him even just one or two days? He wanted her filmed with him, if the film crew did that.

She said, “I suppose.”

“You photograph so well, you’ll be the star.”

“Why Stefan Szyszko, you’re a gentleman!”

“I’m sure as hell trying.” And his breath caught in his chest over his own unexpected words. What was he saying?

She waited then said, “Call me when the schedule is solid.”

“Why don’t I pick you up now and we can figure where it’s best for the plane to land and take off?”

She laughed low and very amused.

Since he was dead serious, he wasn’t aware of anything except that she hadn’t hung up on him, yet.

Carrie’s voice said in his ear, “Now, how will we know something like that?”

And his tricky mind supplied, “We can figure how the wind blows and how we can get the takeoffs and landings with the car lot in the background.”

“Smart. Ask the pilot.”

Unhappily, his stupid tongue then demanded, “What were you doing in church with Pepper Hodges?”

Just like that, she replied, “I was so surprised to see you there that I was a total blank.”

His voice went low and velvety. “So you knew I was there.”

“The other people all looked like good churchgoers...then there was you. You tend to stand out in any crowd, but you are a sore thumb in a church.”

He was offended. “Why?”

“You look like what most women are praying about.”

“To get me?”

And her voice was soft and gentle. “To get away from you.” And she quietly hung up.

Thoughtfully serious, Stefan laid his phone gently in its cradle. He was sober and pensive. She wanted to get away from him. Why?

So he went into a period of grief. He was being shunned. He forgot all about having discarded her...so recently. He only knew she felt he was unsuitable and therefore a man for a woman to escape. His opinion of himself wavered.

His mother recognized his conduct. She was kind and gentle with her youngest. His brothers were roughnecks and laughed at him, but the fact he didn’t notice their abrasive humor caused them to ask their parents, “What’s eatin’ the shrimp?”

Their father replied, “Let up on him.”

And their mother said, “Leave him alone.”

So his brothers knew it was something serious. They made inquiries about his car business and learned he was doing great. They discussed his health and it was okay. So it had to be a woman, but they couldn’t figure out which one. He’d discarded the strawberry blonde.

They took him hunting, and scoffed at him and needled him and razed him so that he would feel loved.

And in case the problem was a reluctant woman, they mentioned that they envied him for being single and loose.... They told about all the times they’d been turned down, and they made it hilarious.

It was a great time. Then without shooting a rifle but with the beer gone, they went home. The brothers felt they’d been indispensable. Stefan would be okay, since he knew he had four brothers and they backed him.

Stefan hadn’t really noticed.

* * *

The time came when Pat Vernon, the producer from the San Antonio TV station, came to Blink to plot the flight. The television crew came along. They invaded Stefan’s house as if it was their own. And they groused at the cameraperson, who was a slender brunette woman. She didn’t budge from wanting a bedroom to herself. Selfish. They had all been unselfishly willing to share. She was just another stubborn woman.

That gave Stefan a perfect excuse to call Carrie and ask, “We have a woman cameraperson here—” He allowed that to soak in. “She insists on sleeping alone, using all of one of the bedrooms. Would you be kind enough to get her out of our hair?”

Stefan was that unkind because he wanted Carrie to understand he couldn’t be lured by another woman. While he recognized his motive, he didn’t examine it at all.

“Tell her to come on over.”

“Well, she doesn’t have a car.”

“I’ll come fetch her,” Carrie volunteered. “She can use mine.”

“What’ll you do?”

“Pepper has a sp—”

And Stefan’s speech tromped on anything Pepper might be able to do. Stefan said in a hurry, “You can have one of the spare cars.” And he was exuberant! She’d be driving one of his cars! His smile spread over his face.

But Carrie mentioned logically, “Just lend a Jeep to the woman.”

Stefan was appalled. “Uh. She can’t drive a Jeep.”

“I thought you said even a little child can drive one.”

“She’s stupid,” he hurriedly told Carrie. “She needs a basic car.”

“Mine is not automatic. Can she shift gears?”

“Yes.” Stefan had to admit it.

“Then let her use the Jeep.”

His mind racing, Stefan blurted, “I don’t trust her with one of my good Jeeps and—”

“Stefan,” Carrie was extraordinarily patient. “If you wouldn’t trust this strange female with your Jeep, then why should I lend her my car?”

“I’ll get back to you.” Then he added hurriedly, “Thank you for taking her in. The guys need two rooms. She was selfish. Just like—” And he stopped.

“Just...like...what?” Carrie’s voice was deadly.

His Baltic Sea, Polish pirate genes replied without his permission, “Just like you.” And he gently hung up on her exclamation.

He sat silently, trying to sort out how he was to handle this woman. Carrie. It was not a Polish name. It was from the British Isles. No wonder he was having so much trouble with her. The Irish had been there first and the British were still having trouble controlling them. Stefan understood the frustration of the British.

But his Polish blood understood the Irish. Poles disliked being pushed or dominated.

Then Stefan tried to think of any people who willingly submitted to another, and he came up without any race who would.

And then there were women and men. Men were in an endless struggle to try to control females. It was just about impossible. But men were tenacious and they would survive and dominate.

Fat chance.