Cool in Tucson (20 page)

He parked upstairs in the parking ramp, another point in his favor.  She had always liked that space, it seemed enough like a cave to start her imagination going even before she got into the movie.  She felt odd walking up to the ticket window with a man she didn’t know, but nobody paid any attention to them.  People were all looking up at the schedule and asking each other what they wanted to see.  Hector got some more money out of his grocery sack, and their ticket-taker pointed to Number Six.  Denny could hear the movie starting as they walked toward the door, and her heart leaped toward it crying
yes!  
She couldn’t wait to get into
the glamorous darkness where the brave and handsome people lived, in a world completely unlike her own. 

The movie was already starting, they took the first seats they could find and she was enchanted at once, she wanted to get on that ship and sail away with the sailors in the odd hats. 

And then that fool’s telephone started to ring.  What could he be thinking, coming into a theater without turning it off?  He was scrabbling in his bag, trying to find it, but even after he pulled it out he couldn’t seem to get it stopped.  All the people around them were hissing like snakes.  Denny shriveled into an angry lump, pretending she wasn’t with him.  The ship was moving into the fog, the ship—he jumped out of his seat carrying the ringing phone and ran toward the entrance.

The relief when he was gone felt like a cool breeze after heat.  Denny watched the ship move into the fog bank, saw the arms and hands of the brave sailors straining on the lines…and in her mind, suddenly, she saw Hector’s slim brown hand reach into the grocery sack and pull out a twenty dollar bill.

It only took a few seconds.  She leaned sideways into the darkness in front of his seat and slid her hand into the sack.  She felt a slippery garment, a plastic bottle, something cold and metallic, and then just as she was losing her nerve her hand felt a paper envelope with the flap open, and inside was that familiar greasy feeling that could only be money.

She meant to just take one or two bills, whatever was handy.  But she heard the muffled thud of footsteps coming down the aisle and fear brought blood surging into her cheeks in a hot rush.  She had the envelope half out of the sack; she pulled it out and stuffed it under her shirt. 

Sitting up trying to look innocent, she faced the movie as a stranger walked down the aisle and passed her.  She tried to get up enough courage to take the envelope out from under her shirt and put it back in the grocery sack, but the space around her seemed bright as day, all of a sudden, and she felt as if everybody was watching her.  Then Hector was there, sliding in beside her.  Denny sat up very straight so the bulge from the envelope wouldn’t show.  On the screen, a huge shipload of Frenchmen shot cannons into a smaller shipload of English.  Hector got quite excited during the battle scenes, Denny noticed.  Remembering the cold metallic thing in the sack, she decided it might be a gun, and as she watched the slaughter on the screen she wished she had put the envelope back.     

When the battle scene ended he picked up his sack and walked back up the aisle toward the entrance.  While the captain and the doctor on screen played their delicate stringed instruments, so surprising after the bloody battle, Denny sat with a lump of dread growing in her stomach.  She expected Hector to come tearing down the aisle any minute and demand his money back. 

Instead, a few minutes later he walked right past her with his eyes straight ahead.  He never said a word or made any sign to her, just went down the aisle fast toward the screen, opened the exit door under the little light and went out. 

Watching the movie, Denny felt her mind split in two.  One half longed to get absorbed in the story again and forget everything else; it was mysterious and glamorous, and ordinarily it would have blotted out everything else.  But she kept wondering where Hector had gone.  When he didn’t come back after a few minutes, she began to consider that maybe he had intended all along to leave her there and take the car. 

She sat a few minutes nursing sour feelings of abandonment and betrayal.  Then she thought,
Oh, well, I didn’t care about him
while I was taking his money so I guess it’s fair
.  Eventually, though, she began to wonder,
How will I get
home?
 

She was still working on that problem when another thought popped up. 
If he’s gone with the car I guess I can keep the money
.  She pressed her arm against her stomach and heard the envelope crackle. 
Unless he
notices it’s gone and comes back.
  Fear made her stand up quickly then, and grope along the upward-slanting dark aisle with her left arm pressed against her body, holding the envelope in place. 

In the hall she saw the sign for the women’s restroom.  She pushed through the door and went into a stall.  The relief of getting into a private space with the envelope was so great she immediately felt a sharp urge to urinate.  She pulled the envelope out from under her shirt and sat down on the stool.  While she emptied her bladder, she opened the flap and pulled the money out of the envelope. 
Eeee, a
whole fistful of money
. 

She put the envelope across her knees, set the bills on top and spread them out a little, and began to look at the denominations.  At first she was sure she must be misunderstanding the numbers, but these were twenties, she’d seen plenty of them, and these were fifties, right?  So then all these others were hundreds, had to be.  In her mind, for the first time ever, Denny used one of Mom’s favorite expressions,
Holy shit
.

She got the feeling of eyes watching her and looked up guiltily, but nobody was peering over the top of the stall.  She stuffed all the bills back in the envelope, folded the flap over, stood up and zipped her shorts.  She slid the envelope in her waistband and was reaching for the door to go out when she thought again about the problem of getting home.  She couldn’t walk—she didn’t really know the way and was pretty sure it was too far.  She had to make at least one phone call, maybe more, and that meant getting some change.  She took the envelope out from under her shirt, took out a twenty and put it in her pocket.

She closed the envelope and put it back down the front of her shorts, but at her first step, it slid out of her waistband and down the leg of her shorts onto the floor.  She scooped it up in a sweat—what if somebody saw all that money?  This time she slid the envelope carefully into the front of her underpants, which were tight enough to hold it. 

Now, where would she find a phone?   She felt conspicuous walking out by herself; she had never been on the street alone at night.  At first, in the crowd around the door of the theater, nobody paid any attention to her.  But as she walked toward Grant the traffic thinned and people began to glance at her.  She stood at the corner, looking around.  Walgreen’s and Bookman’s had lights on.  Did they have public phones?  Could she find anybody to ask in such busy places?  Kids were easy to ignore.  She looked across the street and saw a Coffee Xchange with all its lights on, people sitting at tables, a sign in the window that said “24/7.”
They
must have a phone.
 

She watched many lanes of roaring traffic for a long time before the light changed.  She hurried across Grant, terribly afraid she wouldn’t be fast enough.  But she made it, and then she had to wait again to cross Campbell.  It was just as busy but felt a little easier because she’d proved she could do it once.  Traffic seemed faster at night, though, the lights were more confusing.  Getting all the way to the coffee shop seemed  like climbing a mountain. 

She felt shy at first, walking in, but nobody looked at her much.  The customers were mostly students absorbed in each other and giving a lot of thought to their food and drink orders.  There was a counter where a pale, thin girl and a smiling young man with dark brown eyes were serving pastries and elaborate coffees.  Denny went and stood at the end of a line of customers, rehearsing the words she would use to ask for a phone. 

Idly, she watched the big TV screen in the corner.  A news program was on, three reporters sitting side by side at a long desk, talking.  Other images appeared, a war scene, a baseball game.  The sound was turned down, she couldn’t hear it well enough to know what was being reported, but then an image of her mother appeared on the screen. 
Mom!
  Why was she crying?  She was talking into a microphone held up by a reporter.  Denny walked quickly to the TV set as a head shot of another reporter came on.  Standing close to the set she could barely hear him say, “Ms. Lynch’s original story about how her car was stolen seems to have changed somewhat since it was first reported earlier this evening.  But her child is still missing, and Tucson police are searching for Denny Lynch—”  

Denny stood watching as her last year’s school photo came up on screen. 
Why didn’t I at least get the
part in my hair straight?
  

She went back and waited in front of the cash register again, burning with shame.  Was everybody in school going to know that her Mom told a lie?  Why did she do that? 

When she got to the counter the thin girl said, “What can I do for you?”

 “Um,” Denny said, “I need to use a telephone, please?”

“There’s a public phone right there by the back door,” the girl said, pointing.  “Do you need some change?”

“Yes, please.”  She put the twenty on the counter. 

“Is that the smallest you’ve got?”

“Yes.”  She tried to look appealing.  The young man with the wonderful eyes was watching her now, not exactly in an unfriendly way, just very interested.  Young men his age were never interested in Denny, so she didn’t know how to take it.  He said something softly and the girl turned toward him with her eyebrows raised.  Then they both turned back and began staring at her. 

“Listen,” the girl said, “you know you look just like that missing kid they been showing on TV?”  

“Oh?  Well,” Denny said, “where did you say the phone is?”  When they both pointed to it she walked past the TV set into the back hall and stood looking up at the pay phone, which was hopelessly beyond her reach. 
Maybe
I could go get a chair
.  But then the young man from the counter said, right beside her, “Shall I give you some help with that?  What number do you want to call?”

Denny thought about Mom on TV, looking loony, telling a reporter a story about two men with guns.  She had made up her mind not to ask Aunt Sarah for anything more, but this felt like an emergency.  She closed her eyes, got a clear picture of the framed card Aunt Sarah had given her to keep on her desk, and read off the number of her aunt’s cell phone.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Sarah drove fast into the parking lot behind Coffee Xchange, parked in the first spot she came to and ran around to the front.  Through the glass door, she could see Denny, small and tired looking, sitting at a table near the window with Artie Mendoza. 

“Denny,” she said when she got inside.  Her voice had a bad wobble in it so she didn’t try to talk any more, just put her arms around her niece’s skinny shoulders and held her close.  Mendoza got up and moved away a little, gave them some space and waited.  Denny trembled and made small noises, trying not to cry.  When Sarah could talk she said, “Are you hurt?  Did anybody hurt you?”

“No.  I’m okay.  I don’t know why the policeman came.”

“I called him, Honey.  He’s been looking for you ever since your Mom reported you missing.”

Denny pulled away, looking mortified.  “Why did she do that?  She knew where I was.”

“She did?”

“Sure.  In the car.  Right where she left me.”

“But the car was gone.  At least—she said she couldn’t find it.”

“Well, what—did she forget she told that man to move it?”

Sarah peered into her face.  “What man, Honey?”

“Hector.  The one who took me to the drive-in and—” 

Sarah held up one hand.  “Just a minute.”  She caught Mendoza’s eye and nodded, and he came back to the table. “Denny, do you feel up to telling us what happened?”