Sassafras, Part 22

Rick



I was dreaming about Joan when I woke up. I groaned when I realized it was just a pillow I was holding. I tried to sort out what had been a dream and what had really happened last night, but the whole night seemed like a dream. It had started out so ordinary, and then turned into an absolute roller coaster ride. First she was happy and then she was sad, she was shy and then she was passionate. It had been hard to keep up with her until she hit the drunk stage. I still remembered when she was lying down in the booth, laughing and waving her feet in the air, one shoe on and one shoe off. I thought about that list she made. I’m not bouncy, but I have a nice ass.

I tried to think about what I had to do today, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Joan. I wondered what time she wanted me to come over tonight. I hoped she still remembered. She had been pretty tipsy when she invited me over. Maybe she wouldn’t even be home, or maybe I would show up and somebody else would be there with her. An old boyfriend from high school, dropping by to relive the good old days with her. I couldn’t believe how upset that idea made me. I didn’t want to think about her with anyone but me.

I wanted her more than any other woman I had ever met, but I knew that idea was crazy. I looked around my apartment and imagined bringing her here. We could stand in the middle of the room and I could give her a complete tour. That corner is the living room, that corner is the kitchen, that corner is the dining room, that door is the closet and that door is the bathroom. If she wanted to spend the night she would have to stand in the dining room while I pulled the bed out of the couch. Last night she said she knew I had been in Bowling Green, and it hadn’t seemed to matter, but I knew once she sobered up she wouldn’t feel the same. There was no way she would want to have anything to do with me.

Why did I have to meet her now? At least I hadn’t met her before I went to prison. That would have been even worse. I had been such a complete asshole. I knew what would have happened if I met her then. I would have seen her, I would have wanted her, I would have gotten her, and then I would have dumped her. I wouldn’t have realized what I lost, or even have remembered her at all, because you have to know something before you can remember it, and I never bothered to get to know the women I met. They had just been amusing toys to me, no more important than the cars and motorcycles I bought on a whim and then sold when I got bored with them.

I suppose it’s a cliché that prison was the best thing that ever happened to me, but sometimes clichés are true. I had been a bad combination of good looks, money, and an ego the size of Texas. In prison I learned I really wasn’t the center of the universe. I was almost 40 when I got out, and I didn’t have anything. No friends, no money, no job, no house. My accounting degree was worthless. Even my sister turned her back on me when she found out I was going to prison. The only people who stood by me were my parents, and I knew what a disappointment I was to them. I had never been so ashamed of myself as I had the first time they came for visiting day at prison. That was one of the reasons I was in Sassafras. I couldn’t forget the look in their eyes every time they visited me, like they had done something wrong. I wanted to do something to make them proud of me again.

Lying around in bed wallowing in self-pity wasn’t going to get me anywhere, so I got up and took a shower. After I got dressed I started a pot of coffee and got out my laptop. While it was booting up I threw a couple of pieces of leftover pizza in the microwave and folded the bed back up. Another exciting day in Sassafras was about to begin. I snuck a program in the phone company’s computer when I started working for Boyd that generated e-mails every day listing the incoming and outgoing phone numbers for Sneider’s cell phone and house phone, and the different phone lines that went to the police station. I added Jenny’s house phone and Joan’s cell phone to the list of numbers to monitor, then checked the phone logs that came in last night. There were a couple of new numbers on the police station logs, but when I checked them they were just other police numbers and a police supply store. Nothing interesting. Sneider had another phone call listed on his cell phone to the number he called that night Joan got in town, but the chief of police calling the county police wasn’t anything unusual.

I had to work Saturday and Sunday, so I decided to hang out at the cop shop as long as I could without being obvious about it, and it really paid off. I was sitting at a desk near the front of the room after lunch, playing around on a computer. That was how I was able to keep an eye on what was happening at the cop shop. I convinced them to let me use the computers at the station since as far as they knew I couldn't legally own, or even touch, a computer until I was off probation. After all, I was doing them a favor by working my computer magic for them, the least they could do is let me come in on my free time and surf the net once in a while. They didn't even notice me as long as I had my nose pointed at a monitor. I slipped up once and mentioned my laptop, but caught myself and said I was talking about the laptop I had before I got busted.

I was trying to look like I was paying attention to the computer, some car stereo equipment, when Joan walked into the station. She walked over to Sneider’s desk, but all the way she kept looking over at me and smiling. I loved looking at her, especially when she smiled. And when she sat down.

I could hear her asking a lot of questions about her sister. Sneider was trying to keep his cool, but when she showed him the coroner’s report he started fidgeting with his lighter like he wanted to set her on fire. Whatever he was hiding, she was getting close. When she showed him the jacket and those camera chips I could tell he was about to have a stroke. Then she just gave him the chips.

When she started walking to the door I stood up and waited for her. “It’s nice to see you again, Joan,” I told her. She just smiled at me for a minute, then said hi. “You look really nice today.” She was wearing a long blue skirt that swirled around her legs like water, and a dark blue sweater with little pearl buttons running down the front. The neckline was just low enough to remind me what I was missing. She had a pearl necklace that made her neck look even more graceful, and her hair was pulled back to show off the little pearl earrings she wore. She looked like a movie star from back in the days when that really meant something.

I don’t think she was paying any attention to what I was saying. She said hi again, then said “I mean, what?” I told her how beautiful she looked, and asked when I should come over that night. At first she looked confused, but then she said to come over at six. When I asked her if I should bring anything with me, first she said she was ok, then started blushing and said I didn’t need to bring anything.

I’ll never forget the look on her face when I mentioned toast. Her mouth fell open, then she put her hands up over her face, and all I could see was her eyes peeking over a row of dark pink nails. “I didn’t! Please say I didn’t invite you over, not for toast,” she pleaded.

She sounded so upset, but she looked so adorable, it was all I could do not to laugh. She started pacing, just three steps right, turn, then three steps left, turn, waving her arms a little each time she turned, her skirt swirling like a whirlpool around her, then she stopped. She looked at me and tilted her head a little. “So, I invited you over, for toast, and you said yes?” she asked. I just nodded. “For toast?” she repeated. When I nodded again she pressed her lips together, then put her hands back over her mouth. At first I thought she was upset, maybe going to cry again, but then she suggested maybe I should bring some jelly instead of wine and I heard her start laughing. I laughed, too.

“Is toast some kind of new East Coast fad?”

“No, it’s just a joke a friend of mine said. It’s nothing. I’d love for you to come over tonight, if you still want to. I promise there won’t be any toast involved.”

“Okay, I’ll be there at six,” I said and we walked to the door. I watched her bounce down the steps, her skirt fluttering along after her, then walked back to the computer I had been working at.