Different Drummers (10 page)

“Kathleen, honey, I ain't never seen the likes of you. When you get mad, your face gets all flushed and your eyes just sparkle up a storm. These, these,” he said, reaching out and placing his hands over her breasts, “they sorta stick straight out like nothin' I've ever seen before.”

Turned to stone, the heat from his hands burned through the soft fabric of her dress. A thin trickle of spittle drooled from the corner of his mouth. Her body felt weighted and it took great effort to raise her leaden arms and knock his hands away. But the movement broke the spell.

“Keep away from me, you bastard. Keep away. Don't touch me with your filthy hands, ever again. If you do, you'll be sorry.”

She spat the words at him, her voice shaking with loathing.

He smiled his ghastly smile. “Don't worry, no one's ever gonna know. And if I know you, you ain't gonna tell either.”

Bob called from the car. “Daddy, come on. Momma and Selma are ready to go.”

Otis walked toward them. “I was just tellin' Kathleen we've got no hard feelings for her. Like I said, it's just gonna take time to learn our ways. Here's your pocketbook, Selma, honey.”

He turned around to look at them. “Night y'all.”

He sat behind the wheel, Selma at his side and Beulah in the back seat, silent once more. “Will we see y'all in church tomorrow?”

“I don't know, Daddy,” Bob said. “We may make it. We'll see how it goes.”

“It's a good thing Jesus never waits to see how it goes,” his father said. “It's up to you.”

Hypocrite, hypocrite!!

Kathleen wanted to scream out the words but all she could do was raise her arm in the semblance of a wave as the car pulled away, its rear lights disappearing into the night mist. On shaky legs, she made it to the terrace.

Bob spoke to her through the screen door. “Don't stay out there too long, Baby. Them mosquitoes'll eat you up. And don't be payin' too much mind to what Daddy says. It's just his way. I think deep down he kinda likes you.”

Obviously sorry for the insulting way he'd spoken to her earlier, his tone now was soft and caring. She wanted to answer him in kind, to take away the harshness and fear of the last fifteen minutes, but her mouth was so dry her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. She could still feel the heat from Otis's hands through the thin gauze of her dress.

“I guess I'll be goin' to bed,” Bob said. “Don't you be long now.”

She heard the unmistakable whine of a mosquito a second before it landed on her arm. She swiped at it before moving into the safety of the living room.

The pack of cigarettes lay on the coffee table. She usually didn't smoke but took one now. Leaning back in the chair and inhaling only slightly, she watched the blue smoke rise lazily toward the ceiling. Then, knowing she had to let go of the incident with Otis, she turned on the floor lamp and pulled out Georgina's letter.

* * *

That night, Kathleen spent another sleepless night. In this little house that she'd thought of as her haven, her sanctuary, Otis was everywhere, and she relived the incident on the stoop a hundred times. What unsettled her more than anything else was this detestable man was her father-in-law. Was she condemned to spending the rest of her married life trying to think of ways to avoid him?

Somehow, she made it through Sunday. She'd made up her mind that if Bob suggested church at the Holiness Church of Jesus, she would pretend to be unwell. Bob, though, was a late sleeper, so she closed the bedroom door and cleaned the little house until it shone.

CHAPTER SIX

The new red-and-white striped dress was a perfect fit. On a whim, she tied her hair at the nape of her neck with a matching red ribbon. As she viewed herself in the mirror over the dresser, she bet not a soul would guess the strain she'd been under all weekend. She did a couple of twirls for Bob.

“How do I look?”

“You look all right to me.”

She caught the surliness of his tone. He'd never liked the idea of her taking this job and now that her first day was here he couldn't help but show his insecurity, or whatever it was he was feeling.

“I'll probably be home around five,” she said. “Mr. Tate said Monday is the slowest day. I'll have a lot to tell you tonight.”

“Yeah, OK.”

She reached up and pecked his cheek and walked out the door.

* * *

Her first day at
The
Eddisville Gazette
was everything she'd hoped for. Patsy Ashcraft said she'd be leaving on Friday, which should give Kathleen plenty of time to learn the ropes.

She met cynical Bernie Beauchamp, the woman whom Mr. Tate said did society, fashion, and stories of local interest. There was a slightly superior air about her but she was friendly enough and brought Kathleen her first cup of coffee. Lennie Barlow, the full-time reporter who doubled as photographer, told her proudly he was the only Yankee on the staff, and if she ever felt homesick to come to him because boy, did he know the feeling. All the staff were nice and went out of their way to make her feel welcome. By lunchtime, the jittery feeling she'd had since Saturday night gradually slipped away.

There wasn't a lot to do that first Monday, except listen carefully and make copious notes of everything Patsy said. At the end of the day, she breezed along the streets toward Petrie, her feet hardly touching the ground. For the first time since she'd arrived in Eddisville, she was oblivious to the searing afternoon heat. She'd made some friends today and couldn't wait to get home and tell Bob.

She shoved away the little wave of disappointment when she saw his car wasn't in the driveway. Surely, he couldn't have gone far. And even though his manner had been surly when she'd left that morning, he was bound to be anxious to hear how her very first day on her very first job in America had gone. She changed out of her good clothes, then made sandwiches from Sunday's roast, sliced a tomato on some lettuce and put both plates back in the refrigerator. She poured herself a Nehi, picked up a magazine and headed for her favorite lounge chair on the terrace to wait for Bob.

An hour later, she began to feel uneasy. What could have delayed him? She searched the house for a note but could find nothing. In the gathering dusk she saw the first firefly of the night, followed quickly by another and then another. As darkness settled around the house, she convinced herself he'd been detained somewhere. That would explain why there was no note. She longed for a phone. If the car had broken down or for any reason at all, at least he could have called her.

The hours dragged by until finally at midnight, Bob's car pulled into the driveway. She held on tightly to the latch of the screen door as she watched him stumble out of the car and weave his way unsteadily up the path toward her.

“I didn't mean to be this late, Baby,” he said, slurring his words as he brushed past her and stumbled toward the sofa. “Some of the guys and me went fishin' but the fish weren't biting. Lonnie Pendleton had a couple of jars of moonshine. So, well, we just sort of sat by the lake and drank.”

She cleared her throat and gave a little cough. It wouldn't be easy to get any sense out of him tonight. “What's moonshine?” she asked, unable to think of anything else to say. “I've never heard of it.”

Bob raised his eyebrows and shook his head. “You ain't never heard of moonshine? You sure don't know much, do you. It's corn liquor, brewed in a still.”

He wagged a finger at her and grinned dizzily. “It's against the law to make it, so don't you go tellin'.”

“I wish you'd left me a note,” she said, barely able to keep the irritation out of her voice. “I didn't know where you were and I worried, you know. And God only knows how you managed to drive home. You could have wrecked the car and been hurt or hurt someone else.”

Had he heard a word she'd said?

She closed the front door and turned off the porch light, then went into the kitchen to make sure the coffee pot was switched off. In that short time, Bob had fallen asleep on the sofa, or maybe he'd passed out. She couldn't tell. His hair was tousled and a loose curl fell across his forehead. Already he was tanned from the summer sun and she had to admit again, even in her frustration and hurt, he was one of the handsomest men she'd ever seen.

He and Ron Velnes.

Her mind jolted. Why had she suddenly thought of Ron? He was part of her past now and that's where she wanted him to stay. But his memory persisted and she saw again the pain in his eyes when he'd taken her in his arms and kissed her outside the church on her wedding day. She remembered Dorothy's letter. She'd said Ron was thinking of going to Canada to his sister's home. Kathleen wondered if he'd gone.

She looked again at her husband. Rather than try to drag him to bed, she removed his shoes and left him where he lay.

* * *

The next morning Bob was still there but woke as Kathleen moved about the room as noisily as she could, still angry from the night before.

Eventually he raised his hand and rubbed his temples. “Is there any coffee made?”

“No, I drank tea. You'll have to make your own.”

She picked up her handbag and headed for the door. “I'll be late if I don't leave now.”

“OK,” he said, still half asleep. “How about me cookin' some barbecued ribs on the grill tonight?”

Obviously, he was one of those men who couldn't say he was sorry but tried to show it in other ways.

“Do you know how to do them?”

“Sure I do. I'll get the ribs from the A&P, make some slaw, and open a can of pork and beans. This'll make up for me stayin' out last night.”

She stood in the doorway. “Let's just forget about last night. Next time, though, leave me a note and then I won't worry.”

As she walked toward the
Gazette
, she felt let down. Bob hadn't shown the slightest interest in her job and hadn't even asked how her first day had gone. Clearly, he didn't give a damn. She couldn't ignore the feeling of unease any longer. Not only was she a long way from home, but she was in a difficult marriage, one in which she'd be expected to give a lot more than she got.

Mr. Tate was already in the office when she arrived. “I've got good news and bad news,” he said. “The good news is Patsy had a baby girl at three o'clock this morning. Mother and baby are doing fine. The bad news is that from now on, you'll be on your own.”

He looked at her anxiously. “Do you think you'll be able to manage OK by yourself?”

She placed her handbag on her desk and gave her boss a reassuring smile. “I think so. We covered a fair bit of ground yesterday.”

Mr. Tate let out his breath in a whoosh and even smiled. “You've got a lot of self-confidence, Kathleen, and that's good because Tuesdays here are wild. How about bringing your book into the conference room? The staff meeting's about to start.”

Lunch orders were phoned in to Todd's, which apparently was the usual procedure for Tuesdays. Johnny Mayhew winked at Kathleen when he delivered them while the meeting was in progress.

Mr. Tate smiled at him. “Thanks Johnny. You're a little early or we're a little late. Just set them on the end of the table and we'll each get our own.”

“Yes sir, Mr. Tate,” Johnny said.

Kathleen smiled her thanks when he passed by her chair and whispered, “I put extra fries in yours.”

When the meeting was finally over at two o'clock, Kathleen flicked through her shorthand notebook eyeing the voluminous notes. Determined to make a good impression on her first day on her own, for the next four hours she hardly looked up from the typewriter as her fingers sped over the keys. She finally looked up when William Tate stopped at her desk. The clock on the wall behind him said five minutes past six.

“I had no idea it was so late,” she said pushing her hair back from her face. “Still, I only have a couple more pages of shorthand. Would you like me to finish this draft so it'll be on your desk when you come in tomorrow?”

“That would be great if you don't mind working late,” Mr. Tate said. “You were really put to the test today, Kathleen, and you've come through with flying colors.”

He reached for his hat. “I have to leave now but I don't think you'll be the last one here. If you are, don't forget to lock up.”

An hour later, as she put the cover on her typewriter, Lennie Barlow stopped by her desk. “You look beat,” he said. “Can I give you a ride home?”

“Oh, yes please. I'll bet Bob's given up on me. We don't have a phone yet so I couldn't let him know I'd be late.”

She smiled at Lennie. “He's barbecuing ribs on the grill tonight. They'll be the first I've ever eaten.”

“Well, you're in for a treat,” Lennie said. “They're delicious, especially the way they do them in the South. Bob can keep them warm in the oven. And anyway, he'll understand that working on a newspaper sometimes requires odd hours. You can tell him Tuesdays are always hectic.”

Within a few minutes, he pulled up to her driveway.

“I guess you beat him home. I don't see his car.”

“I'm sure he'll be along in a few minutes. Thanks for the ride, Lennie.”

“You bet. See you tomorrow, English.”

She went into the house to find no note and no barbecued ribs on the grill or in the fridge. The now familiar feeling of foreboding wrapped itself around her like a cloak. For the second night in a row the hours dragged by. She wrote letters to everyone she could think of to keep herself busy. Somehow, she knew Bob was out with his friends and the heavy feeling in her chest wouldn't go away. Was this going to turn into some sort of nightly ritual for him? Sleep was out of the question and when he finally arrived home at one o'clock, she was propped up on the sofa, pretending to read a book.

“Hi, Baby,” he said. “What you doin' up at this hour?”

“Why wouldn't I be?” she asked, bristling at his casual tone. “You're up, aren't you? And anyway, how do you expect me to sleep when I don't even know where you are or what you're doing? You act like there isn't anything wrong at all with you coming home at one o'clock in the morning.”

“Well, there isn't is there? Hell, I was only over at Rankin's pool hall. It ain't like I left town.”

She snapped her book shut and rose from the sofa. “But I didn't know you were there, did I?”

“No you didn't and I didn't know I was supposed to let you know every move I'm gonna make.”

Even though something was dying inside her, she hated the shrewish way her words came out. And yet, she couldn't let this pass without saying something. Some sort of code of living needed to be set, and she'd be damned if she'd settle for what they had now.

“Can't you see I'm lonely? It isn't easy for me you know.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“You said you'd cook spare ribs on the grill and I come home to an empty house. I'd just like to know is this going to be your nightly routine or what.”

“Hell, I don't know. What I want to know is will I have to go through the third degree every time I come home a bit late. Don't get so pissed off. It ain't like you to nag.”

No, it wasn't like her to nag and here she was doing it. A great throbbing was beginning in her head as she turned on her heel and went to bed.

The next morning she moved soundlessly through the house, not wanting to wake him this time, not even in the mood to talk to him.

* * *

When she arrived home that evening, Bob surprised her with the barbecued spare ribs, cooked to perfection on the grill. He'd already tossed the salad and fixed some sort of exotic rice dish. He'd also bought a bottle of wine.

She weakened as he placed a glass of wine in front of her and planted a kiss on her forehead. Maybe he did need the companionship of his friends, she reasoned. After all, he'd only gone out twice and had she even taken into consideration how long he'd been away from home. And besides, he started work next week. He couldn't have many late nights when he had to get up early for work the next day.

For the rest of the week Bob was a model husband, but as Monday morning drew ever nearer, there was no mistaking his apprehension.

* * *

“How about fixin' me a sandwich or something for lunch,” he said as he dressed for his first day at Phillips Hardware. “There's no tellin' how busy I'm gonna be, learnin' the job and everything.”

She patted him on the shoulder. “I think you'll do just fine. Try not to worry so much. You're probably just the man Mr. Phillips is looking for. It'll all work out. You'll see.”

She placed his cold meat sandwich and an apple in a paper bag. “I'll have to hurry, love, or I'll be late. See you tonight. You'll feel a lot better by then.”

Bob was on her mind as she took long strides toward the
Gazette
, and she sent up a fast prayer that he'd have a good day. If he didn't, she'd blame herself. After all, would he have taken the job if she hadn't pushed him?

He arrived home an hour after she did. His face was tense and he hardly looked at her as he took a beer from the refrigerator.

She started with the gentle approach. “You look like you've been dragged through the wringer. Was it really all that bad?”

“You could say that. You could say old man Phillips is some sort of bastard, and you could say if I stay more than a month he's gonna be damn lucky.”