Calamity Jayne Rides Again (7 page)

"I know it looks bad for Frankie," I said. "And I know he's not your favorite person after last night at the mini-freeze,
but do you really think Frankie would go to these lengths rather than just tell Uncle Frank, 'Hey, Dad, I quit'?"

Townsend shrugged. "Your Uncle Frank can be pretty intimidating, Tressa," he said. "And there's also the fact that Frankie
doesn't want to disappoint his folks, particularly his mother. People can do irrational things when they are despondent or
depressed."

I rubbed my temples. I didn't want to think about missing Frankfurters, or rancid ice cream, or crunchy cockroaches anymore.
I wanted to enjoy my time at the fair. Especially the time I wasn't chained to a hot concession stand.

"So, get the reptiles relocated?" I said, deciding to change the subject. "Taylor didn't go all squeamish on you, did she?"

Townsend shook his head. "Nope. She didn't pull a Tressa on me, if that's what you mean. Most women can't stand snakes, but
Taylor got right in there and down and dirty with the little guys. It was beautiful," he said with a grin.

I made a face. "How nice for you," I said. "A match made in herpophile heaven. Where is Taylor, anyway?"

"She pulls the next shift at the emporium. You relieve her at six, right?"

I nodded. "At least it's air-conditioned," I said, fanning myself with Gram's half-eaten drumstick. "Sometimes the mini-freeze
gets hotter than that ugly, inflatable, bouncing moonwalk attraction on the midway. Plus, at the emporium, there's always
the bonus of that short walk to the beer tent after closing."

Townsend wrapped his drumstick in his napkin and pushed it away. "You planning to stop in for a cold one after you close?"
he asked. "Maybe I'll see you there."

"Only if you're really, really, really lucky, Ranger Rick," I said, cocking a pleasantly surprised brow. So there, Gram, I
thought, unaccountably eager to tip back a few frosty cold ones with the only man on the planet who made every nerve in my
body hum and the only person who could make me seriously consider trying to conquer my fear of snakes. Who's the lesbian now,
Grammy? I thought. Who's the lesbian now?

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Ms. T.J. Turner. We meet again!"

I saw Rick's head snap to the left and followed the line of his gaze to discover Trooper P. D. Dawkins staring down at me,
no question this time as his glasses were off and his vibrant blue eyes locked on mine in a well-hello-there gaze.

"Oh, uh, hey again," I said, feeling warmth pool in my cheeks and hoping I was tan enough to hide the telltale blush. When
Townsend raised an eyebrow in my direction, I knew that I wasn't.

"So, has your vanishing cousin reappeared yet?" Trooper Dawkins asked. "I dropped by the stand to check, but your uncle was
busy and I didn't want to bother him." He nodded to Rick, who rose from his seat and gripped the trooper's offered hand. I
stared at the two uniformed men, comparing the trooper's dark brown shirt and tannish pants to Townsend's tan shirt and dark
pants and marveling at how they both filled out their togs so splendidly.

"Rick Townsend," Ranger Rick supplied, "DNR."

Too late I realized that, rather than space off in my visual study of the two attractive men, courtesy dictated I perform
the intro myself. Dumb, dumb, dumb.

"Rick is from my hometown," I said, for some reason feeling the need to explain why the two of us were together and not understanding
at all why I felt compelled to do so. "Trooper Dawkins took the report on the mischief at the mini-freeze this morning," I
said, feeling the same need to explain away Trooper Dawkins for an entirely different reason. I think.

"Nice to meet you," Trooper Dawkins said. "I saw you over at the DNR exhibit earlier with a dark-haired young lady. For snake
handling, she looked like she was having a pretty good time."

I turned to Ranger Rick and caught a fleeting look I couldn't recognize.

"That would be my sister, Taylor," I said, turning back to the trooper. "She's into things reptilian."

"So, about your cousin... He find his way home yet?" the trooper asked.

I shook my head. "Still MIA," I said. "But I'm sure he'll turn up soon. He's never been the independent sort." Truth be told,
Frankie had never done his own laundry, probably never cleaned a toilet in his life, and still had his mommy help him with
the hospital corners on his beddy-bye.

The trooper nodded. "I hope you're right. You'll let him know I'd like a word with him, if... when he shows up, won't you,
Ms. T. J. Turner?"

I made a goofy salute. "Yesss, sir, Trooper P.D. Dawkins," I said.

He smiled, and I found myself smiling back. "Rick," he said, shaking Townsend's hand again. "And I'll see you around—Calamity,"
he added with a wink and strolled away. My mouth popped open like the zipper on my favorite Levi's when I ate too much.

"Of all the nerve!" I sputtered. "How the devil? Where does he come off?" I looked over at Rick, who stood there, arms crossed
and foot tapping.

"What?" I yelled. "What?"

Townsend unfolded his arms slowly and reached out to me—not in a warm, comforting, now-there gesture— but one, I imagined,
of a darker nature and focused on the area around my throat. He stopped, shook his head, and walked away, leaving me to wonder
what the devil I'd missed this time.

CHAPTER 7

"And I told you, I don't know what the hell you're talking about, Li!"

I had stopped by the mini-freeze to pick up the keys I'd left there by mistake and heard Uncle Frank's bellow from the cinnamon
roll place a good six stalls down. Don't ask why I was near the cinnamon roll stand. Please, just let it pass.

"You agree sell. You want sell. You retire. See sights. Visit Hawaii. No selly the ice cream. Relax. Enjoy life."

I considered a quiet retreat—hey, there's no shame in avoiding conflict—but ultimately decided that Uncle Frank had enough
on his plate without having to confront a hostile takeover initiated, in part, based on my motor mouth. I came around the
corner of the mini-freeze to see Uncle Frank rubbing the back of his neck and addressing the tiny Mr. Li, flanked by his twin
sons, Tai and Chai. I never can tell the two apart.

"I told you, Mr. Li, I have no plans to sell," Uncle Frank repeated. "No selly the ice cream business."

Mr. Li's head bobbed up and down. "Right. Right. No selly the ice cream anymore. Retire. Enjoy wife. Play golf."

"I don't play golf," Uncle Frank said, appearing more perturbed by the second. "And I enjoy my wife as much as the next guy."

I winced, glad Aunt Reggie wasn't around to hear the way that one came out.

"You old. You retire. Son no want selly the ice cream. Frankie no like. Frankie leave because no want to selly the ice cream
anymore."

"Just a cotton-pickin' minute there," Uncle Frank growled. "What makes you the authority on what my son does or doesn't like?
And I'm not old!"

Seeing the two men were drawing an interested crowd, I hurried over. "Uh, I think there's been a misunderstanding here, gentlemen,"
I said, inserting myself in between the heavy bulk of my Uncle Frank and the diminutive but wiry physique of Mr. Li. "Now,
it has been my experience most disagreements can be resolved by unemotional, well-reasoned, and clearly articulated dialogue,"
I said, remembering the catchphrases from a past episode of my main man, Dr. Phil. Or was that Dr. Laura? I shrugged. "As
calm, rational individuals who respect and value the opinions of others, we should be able to find a common ground for discussion
and mediation of our conflicts," I said, figuring I'd earned As on both style and presentation.

Uncle Frank and Mr. Li both looked at me as if I'd suggested we all drop our drawers and jump into the bubbling hot tub on
display at the Varied Industries building au naturelle.

"So, what say you, gentlemen?" I asked, in my most grown-up, adult voice. "Who will be the better man?"

"She's the one!" Mr. Li suddenly screamed and began hopping up and down again. "Calamity Jayne! She say you sell. She say
Uncle Frank not happy. She the one.

No more egg rolls. Calamity Jayne takey egg rolls under false pretenses!"

I stared at Uncle Frank's fellow concessionaire in shock. "Why, you, you, you fibber!" I said. "You forced those grease-filled
egg rolls on me. I was merely being polite by eating them."

"All six of them? Ha, ha, ha, real polite."

"Why, you little—"

The Li twins stepped forward in defense of their father.

"Is there a problem here, folks?" Hunky trooper P. D. Dawkins, this time with a female partner in tow, stepped into the fray.
"Anything I should know about?" he asked me in particular.

Uncle Frank shook his head. "Just a simple misunderstanding," he said. "Nothing that can't be resolved through 'well-reasoned
and clearly articulated dialogue,' " he said. "Right, Li?"

I was so proud in that moment. Something I'd said had made a real impact on these two gentlemen. I looked at Mr. Li for confirmation
and agreement.

"Screw you!" he said, and stomped off. Tai and Chai, or was it Chai and Tai, gave me dual dirty looks before following.

Well, one out of two wasn't bad.

I retrieved my keys and used Uncle Frank's cell phone to call Mom and assure her I was on my way to relieve Taylor just in
case Taylor called all bent out of shape and they sent the posse out looking for me.

How can I describe Taylor? She's way smarter than I am. (Oh, I see. You'd imagined that, already? Nice.) She's also tons more
diplomatic than I am, but I'm really working on it. Hey, remember my attempt at mediation between Uncle Frank and Mr. Li?
That was almost a success story.

Taylor is brilliant, beautiful, and level-headed. But she has no sense of humor and, as a result, is not a laugh riot to be
around. I suddenly recalled Trooper Dawkins's comment about Taylor having so much fun with Ranger Rick and hesitated in my
trek up the hill to the Emporium. Maybe it was just around me that Taylor's sense of humor eroded. Maybe, I told myself, she
was actually in awe of her older sister's zest for life and thirst for adventure. Yeah. And maybe I'm scheduled to be on the
next season of "The Apprentice."

My younger sister isn't the outdoorsy girl I am and that's a fact. She prefers more... cerebral pursuits. While she enjoyed
photographing our horse family and eventually did learn to ride, she never developed the passion for the equine species that
I did. And although she tolerated my two hairy golden labs, Butch and Sundance, she never got down on all fours and made growling
sounds at them like I often do. Or dressed up in a Halloween mask and sneaked up on them. Or bundled them into the car in
the dead of winter and drove to the capital city and sneaked them into the warm botanical center. (Uh-oh. Just kidding there.
I didn't do that. Of course, I wouldn't do that. That would be against the rules.)

Perhaps I was being unfair to Taylor. Maybe her tastes ran more to scaly creatures than four-legged, furry, huggable critters.
Or
owners
of scaly creatures maybe. Hmm.

Over the years I've often wished for a closer relationship with my sister, but finding common ground between us is like trying
to find a back for your pierced earring when you're late for church. (BTW, I've ended up sticking pencil erasers on in a pinch,
so keep that one in mind, ladies!) Or trying to locate which level you parked your car on after Christmas shopping at four
malls in the same day.

I hate the distance between us, the loving yet somewhat snippy, superficial nature of our relationship, but have never found
a way to breach the great divide. I suspect lots of folks think I'm envious of my smart, talented, gorgeous baby sister, but
honestly, guys, those qualities were never that important to me. Oh, don't get me wrong: There were times I wanted to grab
a pair of scissors and make a midnight visit to my sister and shear her billiard-ball bald, cursing the hair gods who'd blessed
her with silky, shiny, healthy, rich brown hair while they'd gifted me with the Bozo look without Bozo's color. It was only
the last several months, with Taylor beginning to show an interest in a certain ranger, that I had begun to cast a more critical
eye on our differences, and to feel that I, too often and in too many ways, came up short. The old Tressa would never have
acknowledged she gave a flip. The new, and hopefully improved, Tressa was more in touch with her feelings. And guess what?
It bit the big one! For once I wanted to be the smarter, sexier sister. I wanted to have the Pantene hair, the dark, seductive
eyes, and the full, pouty lips. Natural, not collagen-enhanced. I wanted to be the one noticed first when we walked into a
room together, and not because I was trailing toilet paper from my heel. I wanted to have someone, anyone, ask
my
advice for a change. And then actually consider it. I wanted what every normal, healthy, twenty-three-year-old girl wants—hooters
you don't need a magnifying glass to find! (Whew, let me catch my breath here a second. Rabid envy run amok takes a lot out
of you!)

I traversed the final distance to the Emporium, hurrying past Lucy's Trinkets with my head down, one hand hiding my profile.
I didn't feel like hearing episode two from "Calamity Jayne Does the State Fair" right now. I hurried to the front door, eager
to get in out of the heat in the air-conditioned comfort of Barlow's Emporium.

On a hot, humid evening like this the place would be packed with folks resting their weary feet and enjoying a respite from
the steam.

I opened the door and walked smack dab into a wall of hot, stifling air and an empty Emporium. Empty, that is, except for
Taylor, who stood fanning herself with a newspaper, her hair pinned to the top of her head. How she still managed to look
Cover Girl-ready is anybody's guess. I'd only been in the place forty-five seconds and already I could feel my gelled-back
hair breaking free of its stiff confines and beginning to frizz around my face.

"Why is it so hot in here?" I asked, and hurried over to the ancient but reliable window air conditioner and began flipping
switches.

"Uh, I tried that already, Tressa," Taylor said, annoyance evident in her tone. "I went to turn it on around noon and nothing.
I checked the cord and it was fine. I guess it's just seen its day."

I flipped a few more switches, pulled the cord, plugged it back in, flipped a few more switches, and then gave the unit a
rather hard tap.

"I think it's a DNR," Taylor said.

"Huh?" I asked, wondering what Rick Townsend's employer had to do with a window air conditioner that probably came over on
the Mayflower.

"DNR. Do Not Resuscitate."

I nodded. "Oh, yeah. Good one," I said. "Did you notify the next of kin?"

Taylor nodded. "I called Aunt Reggie right away. She said Uncle Frank wanted to take a look at it before we called the official
TOD."

I gave her another "huh?" look.

"TOD. Time of Death."

I nodded. Taylor was getting scary. Maybe it was all those behavioral psych classes. Or the liberal-leaning institution of
higher learning she was attending.

"I don't suppose you've been very busy then," I said, grabbing a napkin from the nearest table and mopping my face.

Taylor shook her head. "That door opened over a hundred times, but once the customers stepped inside and felt the heat, they
turned around and walked out. I celebrated every time the door opened; it was the only ventilation I had. I was afraid to
open the coolers out front for fear the ice cream would begin to melt, but I did go stand in the freezer a couple of times
just to cool off. When is Uncle Frank going to come fix the AC, anyway?"

I shrugged. "Beats me. This is all he needs right now. First Frankie pulls a Houdini, then there was the trouble here last
night, and the meltdown at the mini-freeze this morning. Now this. When Uncle Frank sees the sales figures, or no-sales figures,
he'll freak out! I already had to pull him off Mr. Li of Li's Asian Express earlier before things got ugly," I said, enhancing
the elements of the story just slightly for effect. "Somehow Mr. Li got the impression that Uncle Frank was selling his fair
business and wasn't too pleased when he found out it wasn't so."

Taylor walked around the counter, still fanning her face. "I can't imagine what gave him such an idea. Uncle Frank loves the
ice cream business. This fair is part of who he is."

"Oh? Is it, Taylor?" I said, ticked that my kid sister again seemed to have all the answers—or thought she did. "Is it really?
How do you know Uncle Frank loves the ice cream business? Did he confide in you? Spill his guts? E-mail all his secret thoughts
to you clear over in Iowa City? How do you know Uncle Frank is happy, Taylor?"

Taylor finally stopped fanning. "What is your problem, Tressa?" she said. "You're being very passive-aggressive here."

I wasn't exactly sure what passive-aggressive involved, but the aggressive part was right on the money.

"Problem?" I batted my baby blues and tossed my head, feeling new curls spring forth. "I don't have a problem. I'm just wondering
how you know so much about a man you've only spent, oh, say three hours with in the last nine months."

Her eyes narrowed. "Is that what this is all about? My not spending enough time at home? I'm sorry, Tressa, but college is
hard work. It's very demanding. I can't just clock out and run home whenever I want," she said. "There are expectations. Deadlines."

"I have deadlines, too," I said, referring to my on-again, off-again reporting job at the
Grandville Gazette.
I'd been let go after I'd mislabeled an obituary photo identifying the publisher's wife's dear, departed Aunt Deanie as the
dear, departed Mr. Stubby P. Burkholder. We re-established our professional relationship during my role in the events of last
June. I was still on probation but determined to make the job work. I'd even convinced Stan, my boss at the
Gazette
, that if he provided a digital camera, I'd provide him feature material from the fair. I made a face. I'd totally forgotten
to think up a feature for the preview. Great start, ace cub reporter.

"You work part-time for a small-town weekly newspaper, Tressa. I have legitimate assignments that require my full attention.
This is my future we're talking about."

"Mine, too, Taylor," I said, and realized for the first time how self-absorbed Taylor sounded. "Mine, too."

"Can I go now?" she asked, pulling off her apron and setting it on the counter. "I need to take a nice, long shower."

"Good luck with that," I said. "With the spray from that showerhead, you'll be lucky to get your entire body wet."

"Yeah." Taylor stood at the door for a second, as if she wanted to say more. "Bye, Tressa," she said and was gone.

"So much for sisterhood," I said to the slamming door.

By ten o'clock, I'd read the fair program seven times and visited the walk-in freezer seventeen times, where I closed my eyes
and pretended I was standing at the top of a ski slope in Tahoe, ready to zig-zag down the hill. In my winter wonderland fantasy,
however, Ashton Kutcher races past me and runs into a tree. I save his life, and as a result of the unfortunate accident,
he has amnesia and only remembers the beautiful, heroic young woman who pulled him down the frozen mountainside to safety.
Tough break, Demi.

I'd also had the opportunity to make my way through half of Uncle Frank's ice cream flavors, one dip at a time, purely out
of boredom (honest) and still no Uncle Frank. I'd listened all evening to the laughter, shouts, and midway music outside my
sweathouse lodge, but inside the stifling confines of Barlowe's Emporium, neither Uncle Frank's business nor my long-acting
deodorant stick were faring well.