Sassafras, Part 13


Rick


After the waitress left Joan decided to take a trip to the restroom. While she was gone I looked around the bar. This was the last place her sister had been seen alive. Somewhere between here and Scott’s Hardware she died. I remembered how Joan’s name had seemed to spook Matt. I was going to have to find out what he knew about that night. The waitress came and dropped off the pitcher and two mugs. Joan was still not back, so I decided to have a look around. The dart tournament was over, and the people in it had already left, so the bar was fairly empty. I walked over and put some money in the jukebox, pausing along the way to watch a couple of men play pool. I couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. It was just a dark, smoky bar.

While I was trying to pick out the last song I saw Joan walk out of the restroom. She stopped before she got to our booth and just stood there, staring at the table, the saddest look on her face. When she sat down she folded her arms on the table and put her head down, her hair fanning out around her. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out something was wrong. I forgot about the jukebox and hurried back to the booth. I slipped in next to her and touched her back. She was shaking. “Joan, what’s wrong?” I asked.

She never even looked up, just turned and held on to me, her head pressed against my chest. “What happened?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she choked. “I came back, and you were gone, and I just felt so alone. I don’t want to be alone.”

“You’re not alone, Joan. I’m right here.”

I could feel her starting to cry. “But Jenny’s gone. I want Jenny.”

“I know,” I said, wrapping my arms around her. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. Jenny’s dead. I don’t know what to do. Why did she have to die? I used to be so jealous. She was perfect. Everybody loved her. It was always 'Jenny this’ and 'Jenny that.' My name might as well have been Jenny's Sister because that's all I was. She was prettier than me. She was smarter than me. She was more popular than me."

She was crying harder now, hiding her face in her hands. "Everybody loved her. Nobody loved me. Everybody misses Jenny. Nobody would miss me if I died," she said. "Do you know who's waiting for me in New York? Nobody. The only people who care if I come back are my cats. I wish somebody had run over me instead.”

"Don't say that,” I said. “You don't mean that."

"Yes, I do," she said, wiping her eyes and looking up at me. "Did you see that shrine they put up for her at Don's? Do you know what they would do if I died? They'd say 'Joan who?' and then somebody would say, ‘You know, Jenny's Sister’. Nobody would miss me."

"I would," I said. I didn’t know what happened to her sister, but I was going to find out. I was going to find out and whoever killed her was going to pay. I didn’t care who it was, I didn’t care how long it took, I didn’t care what I had to do, they were going to pay.

"You don't even know me," she said and tried to pull away.

"I do know you," I said, pulling her back against me. "I know you loved your sister. I know you're smart. I know you're beautiful. I know you’re the classiest lady in town. I know when you smile you get a dimple right here." I touched her cheek. “I know when you laugh you tilt your head a little to the right. I know I want to run my fingers through your hair, pull you close and kiss you like you’ve never been kissed before." I held her and stroked her hair until I felt her start to relax.

“You really think I’m classy?”

“I don’t think I’ve seen another woman in Sassafras wearing a dress since I’ve been here,” I said, feeling the soft gray fabric of the dress on her shoulder. Her dress was so soft it felt like air. I couldn't believe how attracted I was to her, how much it hurt to see her cry like that. It wasn't like I hadn't had sex since I got out of prison, but it had been just a physical thing. Just something to help me relax and unwind, to make me forget spending the last seven years a guest of the state.

She sighed and slipped her arm around my waist. Yes, I thought, this is much better. I was glad she stopped crying. I had never figured out how to make a woman quit talking or quit crying. At least when a woman started talking after I convinced her I was listening I could tune her out, just listening enough to know when to agree with whatever she was saying. A crying woman was another thing entirely. I had no idea what to do when a woman started crying. You might as well give me a Swiss Army knife and tell me to take out my own appendix.

I noticed she was still sniffling. “Hold on,” I said and leaned over her, dipping her back like we were dancing, until I could reach the napkin dispenser against the wall.

“Thanks,” she said, pulling a couple out and wiping her eyes before blowing her nose. “I’m sorry I got your shirt all wet. I don’t usually break down like that. I’m always logical, rational, dependable. Boring. I don’t go around crying like that.”

“Your sister just died, I think you’re supposed to cry. And I don’t think you could be boring if you tried. Besides, my shirt will be fine. Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “I’m okay now. I should probably go home before I do anything else embarrassing.”

“No,” I protested. “You can’t leave me here with a pitcher of beer and nobody to talk to. You have to stay and at least have one glass with me. Please?”

She picked up her purse, and I thought she was going to leave, but she just unzipped it and pulled out her cigarettes and a lighter. “Okay, just one,” she said. I filled her glass then watched as she lit a cigarette and leaned back against me. She closed her eyes as she inhaled deeply, her chest rising slowly, and then lowered her hand until it rested on my leg. For a moment she just sat there, her head tilted back, eyes closed, her lips parted just enough to reveal the tips of her teeth. I wanted to kiss her more than any woman I had ever met. She sighed and opened her eyes, blowing smoke up to the ceiling like steam out of a teakettle.

“So, tell me about New York,” I said to take her mind off her sister and my mind off kissing her. “What do you do there?”

“I work for a company called Starburst Properties. I work in mergers and acquisitions.”

“So you’re a real estate agent?”

“No, not exactly. I’m sort of a troubleshooter. The owner or one of the senior partners will give me a project to work on. Sometimes I research a piece of property they’re interested in. I make sure the owner has a clear title, no liens or back taxes or anything. I check the property’s history to make sure there aren’t any surprises that would affect its value. I was researching a warehouse the owner was interested in when I started working there and found out in the 30’s it had been a paint factory. The place was so contaminated with lead we ended up contacting the EPA.”

“My favorite projects are when they give me a building the company owns and tell me to find somebody to buy it. I love a challenge. This guy at work, Frank, had been trying to find a buyer for an ice-cream factory for nine months, but nobody was interested in ice-cream. I had them rip out the machines and marketed it as an office complex and sold it in less than a month. Frank was so pissed off I thought I was going to have to get a restraining order against him.”

“Right now I’m working on a redevelopment deal in Long Island. There is an old Navy base there that has been closed for almost 30 years, since back in the 70’s. We’re trying to convert it to an exclusive housing project, complete with it’s own marina for their yachts. I can’t really say much about it. I’d rather work with the Mafia than the government. You’ve never seen so much paperwork. I’m just glad we have secretaries that help with the paperwork or I would never get anything done on this project.”

“It sounds like you really like your job.”

She shrugged. “Yeah, it’s a good job, but the hours are killing me. I have to fit my schedule around everybody else’s schedule. If the client isn’t available until 9:30 at night, I have to be there at 9:30, ready to start a presentation that might last two or three hours, even if I have a meeting for 7 in the morning scheduled with another client. Some times it feels like I’m working 24 hours a day. I need a vacation. Some place with a beach. No cell phones, no paperwork, no clients, just sun and sand and seashells and all the Mai-tai’s I can drink.”

When she started talking about a vacation she closed her eyes and I could tell she was already there in her mind. I pictured her stretched out on a beech towel, nothing on but a bikini and some suntan lotion, her hair still wet from swimming. “This must be boring you,” she said. “Let’s talk about something else.” I couldn’t get the image of her on the beach out of my mind. I was anything but bored. She was still resting her hand on my leg, and I felt her thumb idly trace an arc on my thigh.

"You know, we used to do something like that cyber sex when I was in school, but we didn't use computers," she said and sipped her beer.

"What did you do?”

"It was silly," she said, starting to blush.

"Come on, tell me."

She lifted her hand and hit her cigarette, thinking it over for a moment. "Okay," she said. “Imagine we are in school, at a game or in the cafeteria. PDAs weren't allowed. Public Displays of Affection would get you in detention. This is a small town, you know. Full of Baptists. So you would sit next to your boyfriend and write things on his arm or back with your finger, but if you didn't want anybody to eavesdrop you wrote it on his thigh. There were certain codes we used."

She put her hand back on my thigh and started tracing out letters. I had a hard time concentrating with her running her finger over my thigh. "What did I spell?" she asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Do it again.”

First she traced out a K, then an I, then S twice.

"Kiss," I said.

"Right. That meant I wanted to kiss you," she said. "Then there were different variations of kissing." She traced KISS again, but really slow. "That was a long, slow kiss. This is a French kiss." She traced out K and I again, but instead a pair of Ss she just run her finger up my thigh in one sinuous, wavy line. I felt shivers up and down my spine.

"Do you want to try?" she asked. I reached over with my right hand and traced a K on her thigh, then an I, and then before I knew it I leaned in and kissed her. She gasped in surprise, and I slipped my tongue between her teeth. She started to pull away, but I slid my hand up into her hair and pulled her closer. If she was going to slap me, I wanted it to be worth it. She froze, her hands pushing against me, then I felt her tongue move against mine, her hand slide up and touch my face. It was the most wonderful kiss in the world. I couldn't think. I didn't want to move. I think I even forgot to breathe. When she finally pushed me away I was dizzy and gasping for breath.

"Sorry," I said. "I shouldn't have done that." I could still feel her lips against mine. She was looking down, and I couldn't tell what she was thinking. At least I was wrong, she hadn't slapped me. She was blushing, and chewing her lower lip. She looked up at me for just a second, and then looked away. I felt horrible, but also wonderful. It was a confusing mix, but at least I could breathe again.