Romeo Fails (3 page)

Shaw wandered in around four thirty to help her close. Dorsey set him to sweeping the floor. The old hardwood floors were pretty clean, but it gave him something to do and would make him look busy if Goodman showed up unexpectedly, which he was wont to do. Good was easily exasperated by Shaw, the youngest and dreamiest of the Larue siblings. Shaw wasn’t lazy, but he had a tendency to lose focus if a task didn’t engage him. Dorsey had encouraged him to go to the community college in Grover City after high school, but Shaw couldn’t quite seem to settle to anything. As his big sister, Dorsey worried about him a little from time to time, but, in truth, Shaw seemed happy with his life. He had a job and a roof over his head and that was more than a lot of twenty-three year olds could say. She’d had no interest in going to college either, so she could hardly pester him about that.

She found herself worrying more and more about her older brother as well. Goodman seemed to get a little angrier, a little more stressed out with each passing year. He had inherited the hardware store when their father, Hollis, died several years back. Dorsey didn’t mind about the store as it wasn’t the future she wanted and she knew it was what Good wanted. She’d gotten everything she needed from her father when he was alive—not only had he given her his unconditional love, he’d also taught her everything she knew about carpentry and woodworking. The workshop Hollis had built behind their house was now her refuge. There, amongst the power tools and the smell of sawdust, she could indulge her hobby of “re-imagining” the antique (or just plain old) furniture she found at garage sales and curbside. In a perfect world, she would be making a living off her hobby. But Romeo Falls was far from a perfect world, in more ways than one.

She knew she had a job at the hardware store as long as she wanted one, since Good was fair-minded and generous to a fault. Despite the always uncertain incomes of farmers and the unpredictable economic times in general, Larue’s Swingtime Hardware usually made a small profit. The three of them were scraping by, but only because the Larue family had owned both the store building and their house for three generations. But the new home center in Grover was a looming threat on the horizon, like a funnel cloud seen from afar on the prairie.

Sometimes, lying awake in the middle of the night, Dorsey thought about packing a bag, getting in her little pickup and just taking off for some place like Chicago or Denver. California even. Anywhere far from Romeo Falls. But she knew that was just a fantasy. She couldn’t leave Good in the lurch like that. And everything else aside, taking off would mean leaving her woodworking workshop behind, which she could never imagine. Besides, she told herself on those sleepless nights, what would she do in such a faraway place, a big city, not knowing anyone? Seriously, who would hire some nonunion butch carpenter girl from the sticks? No one, that’s who. So she was stuck. And you’d better get used to it, she told herself sternly.

But the loneliness was getting harder every year. She was stuck all right—stuck with no girlfriend, no sex life, not even any prospects. Besides herself, the lesbian population of Romeo Falls totaled (maybe) four. There was the old dyke couple in their seventies who’d been around so long people had almost forgotten they weren’t respectable. And the town’s wannabe wild child, the jailbait daughter of the Presbyterian minister, whom Dorsey didn’t count despite the rumors of the girl kissing one of the cheerleaders from the rival high school. No, Dorsey suspected wild child Mariah was just a poser since she’d already worked her way through short attention-getting stints of cutting, bulimia, dying her hair magenta and professing to have both read and enjoyed Virginia Woolf. Finally, there was the new doctor in town, whom everyone was assuming was gay because she was unmarried, in her early thirties, with short hair, short nails and sensible shoes, and—worst of all—didn’t socialize much. Plus, she was from Chicago, which was right next door to Sodom and Gomorrah in the eyes of most Romeo Falls residents. How the hell she had ended up in their small town was a mystery. It was widely assumed she must have been at the bottom of her med school class and/or killed several patients on the operating table. Dorsey didn’t get any gay vibe from the doctor (who was definitely not her type anyway), but since no one had asked her opinion, she kept it to herself.

These gloomy and depressing thoughts were interrupted by the jangling of the bell. Shaw was slowly sweeping his way past the front door when a smirking young man came in.

“What’s up, La Puke,” he said nastily to Shaw.

“Hi, Justin,” Shaw replied glumly. He and Justin Argyle had never been friends, despite the fact they’d gone from kindergarten all the way through high school together. Mostly because Justin was a jackass. He was the only child of a divorced woman who had taught history at the junior high school for several years. Dorsey, Maggie and Shaw had all suffered through her classes, as had Justin himself. Mrs. Argyle was quickly dubbed “Mrs. Gargoyle” by the kids, which meant that Justin was soon known throughout the county as Gargoyle, Jr.

Mrs. Gargoyle had surprised everyone by quitting her teaching position about five years back and applying for the police officer job which opened up when Luke Bergstrom—Maggie’s one-time brother-in-law—was promoted to chief on the occasion of the old chief’s retirement. Even more surprising was the fact that she got the job. A tall, raw-boned and ill-tempered woman, she was even more imposing in her uniform and gun belt. Not a single one of her former students had given her any lip since she got the gun. But they still called her Mrs. Gargoyle behind her back. Her son, Justin, who had been in and out of trouble since he was thirteen, still lived with his mother.

Now, as he headed down one of the aisles, Dorsey and Shaw exchanged a look. Justin was about as trustworthy as a snake, so Shaw moved over to sweep the floor at the head of that aisle, keeping his distance but vigilant for any attempt at shoplifting. Justin was back out again in a minute, though, and headed toward Dorsey at the cash register.

“How’s it going, Justin?” she said evenly.

He shot her a look in which dislike was ill-concealed and said nothing. He slapped a single item down on the counter—a red plastic “wand” lighter of the type used for lighting grills and candles—and rummaged in the pocket of his dirty jean jacket for some money.

In another attempt at pleasant conversation, which was totally wasted on Gargoyle, Jr., Dorsey asked, “You and your mom doing a little barbecuing this summer?”

He shrugged irritably. “Whatever. How much?”

She rang up the purchase and took his crumpled bills, then gave him the change and receipt.

“Would you like a bag for that?”

He shook his head impatiently and stuffed his change and the receipt in the pocket of his grubby jacket. He grabbed the lighter and headed for the door, sneering at Shaw who was standing well out of his path with the broom clutched to his chest.

“Well, you say hi to your mother for me!” Dorsey hollered after Justin, not meaning a word of it. The door clanged shut behind him, the bell jangling one last time for the day. Dorsey’s gaze met Shaw’s and they both burst out laughing at the one-sided exchange.

“What a doofus,” Shaw said.

“Yep,” his sister agreed. It was two minutes past five on a Saturday evening. “Let’s call it a day,” she said. Shaw turned the cardboard sign on the door to CLOSED and locked the door.

* * *

Late that night, a solitary, dark-clad figure silently approached the highway department’s big green sign just outside of town. Entering Romeo Falls, Pop. 3,557, it said in large white characters. Casting a furtive glance in all four directions, the figure dug deep into an inside jacket pocket. A shaky flashlight beam and the distinctive clanking sound of a can of spray paint being shaken disturbed the still, pitch-black night. Two long bursts, then some quick detail work. The artist paused to consider the results. Yeah. Done. The spray paint can was capped, the flashlight shut off. Then, without a backward look, the dark figure slunk off into the night, toward the lights of town.

Chapter Three

The vandalism was the talk of the town on Sunday morning. Someone had crossed out the word “Falls” on the big green highway sign and spray-painted “FAILS” next to it. In red spray paint. Dorsey heard all about it when she arrived a little early at the Blue Duck Café to secure a table for herself, Maggie, Sarah and Mrs. Bigelow. The post-church brunch crowd was abuzz with speculation about the misdeed and who might have perpetrated it. The finger of suspicion seemed to point most firmly at Mariah Reinhardt, the minister’s seventeen-year-old wild child, since she’d been caught red-handed the previous summer painting the F-word on the water tower. But Mrs. Reinhardt claimed her troublesome daughter had been home all night, in bed with a cold. Or so the gossips said.

Dorsey sat alone at a table for four, surrounded by the chattering townsfolk. She felt remote from them and yet at home amongst them, the contradiction that defined her life in Romeo Falls. Whoever had defaced the sign had her sympathy. Romeo Fails, indeed.

“Coffee, Dorsey?” The waitress handed Dorsey a menu and laid three more at the empty places.

“No, thanks, Penny, the water’s fine for now. The rest of them should be here any minute.”

“Okay, just let me know if you need anything.”

As usual, Dorsey tried to not check out Penny’s impeccable ass as she headed back to the kitchen. And failed. She hoped she’d been discreet. The waitress’s folks owned the restaurant. At thirty-six, Penny Bergstrom was unquestionably the most beautiful woman in the county, an opinion Dorsey shared with most of the women and all of the men in Romeo Falls. Penny had gone to school with Goodman and was married (to the chief of police, no less) with two kids. The short skirt she was wearing that day was worth the price of brunch all by itself, Dorsey thought as she perused the menu.

“Dorsey!”

A smiling Maggie was bearing down on the table, her mother and Sarah behind her. Greetings were exchanged as they sat down. The two Bigelows were decked out in their Sunday best, Maggie in a flowered dress and her mother in a pale yellow suit. Matching purses and heels went without saying for both women. Mrs. Bigelow had always somehow reminded Dorsey of Mrs. Potato Head—not that the woman looked like a spud, it was more in the fierce accessorizing which dominated her every outfit. Even working in the garden, Vivian would be sure to sport matching gloves, hat and trowel.

Sarah was elegantly low-key in a navy pinstripe pantsuit, which brought out the piercing blue of her eyes. No makeup, which was fine with Dorsey—she didn’t see how any cosmetic could enhance the gorgeous cheekbones, the gracefully feathered brows, the immaculate fair skin and those amazing eyes. She definitely preferred low maintenance to high in every way. In light of Sarah’s revelation about not being out to her family, Dorsey took another and more assessing look at her clothes. Her initial reaction had simply been one of appreciation. And attraction, she admitted to herself, although she was trying hard to be cool and objective. Despite that one magical night by the lake, she hadn’t sensed any interest from Sarah in rekindling anything. But back to Sarah’s appearance—if it hadn’t been for that night by the lake, would she have known Sarah was gay when she met her at the hardware store? She thought so, but maybe her prior knowledge and physical reaction were overriding all her other senses. Sarah was definitely more on the femme end of the scale, which no doubt made it easier for her to pass with her family. But those kinds of labels always led to confusion in Dorsey’s experience. Labels could be used just as easily to reveal or conceal. Even a woman who fit the butch stereotype as well as she did had her own quirks, her own likes and dislikes. People were just people, Dorsey thought. Each one an individual who had to be figured out on his or her own terms.

Sarah sat down across from Dorsey as Maggie took the seat next to her best friend. Mrs. Bigelow faced her daughter. As Sarah took off her jacket to reveal a sleeveless, Mandarin-collared white shell and exceptionally well-toned arms, Dorsey felt a brief pang of disappointment that she wasn’t sitting next to her, where her bare arm might—just by chance—brush Sarah’s and no one would think anything of it. Wow, thought Dorsey, mentally making a face at herself—have I really sunk that low? Am I really that desperate?

Yes, she sighed internally. But perhaps it was better to be seated across from Sarah, she decided. That way she got to look at her, at least. And maybe gain a little insight into what was going on inside that head. Sarah looked up from studying her menu and caught Dorsey’s glance. Her look was impassive, but Dorsey thought she caught a hint of warmth in the depths of those incredible blue eyes. Or did she? She was just torturing herself, she knew. And it was maddening.

“We missed you at church, Dorsey Lee,” Mother Bigelow said chidingly.

And you always will, thought Dorsey, but she merely smiled neutrally at her and said nothing.

“But I guess you weren’t dressed for it anyhow,” Mrs. Bigelow added, casting a disparaging eye over Dorsey’s short-sleeved, brown-and-white Western-cut shirt with pearl snaps in place of buttons. Her favorite jeans and sneakers below wouldn’t have garnered any praise either. The smile now rigid on her face, Dorsey gazed blindly down at her menu to avoid a response she’d only regret later. She’d learned over the years that semi-courteous silence was the most effective defense against her best friend’s mother.

She felt something nudge her sneakered foot and instinctively pulled it back slightly, only to feel the nudge again. It was Sarah’s foot, pressing gently against her own. She glanced at Sarah, who flicked her a look that included a small smile. She then turned her gaze back to her menu.

Dorsey felt confused. Was she flirting with her? Did she even realize their feet were touching? Was she reading something into Sarah’s actions that wasn’t really there? Not much liking her muddle of feelings, she sat up straight and pulled both her feet back out of range, taking a sip of her ice water in the hope it would cool her down.