Rattlesnake (14 page)

The waitress came by shortly, refilled their coffee, and cleared away the dishes. The room buzzed with a low conversational hum, and the scent of freshly baked bread wafted from the kitchen. Outside, the rain made everything gray and blurry like an impressionist painting. Jimmy’s brain felt gray and blurry too. Maybe he did need more sleep.

Finally, Jimmy roused himself. “I have a tiling job to do.”

“But you’ll have dinner at my place?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

T
HE
TILE
repair ended up being more involved than Jimmy anticipated. He’d thought there were only a couple of cracked pieces, but in fact several were chipped or broken and others were loose. Some of the grout was missing too. He carefully pried up about half the bathroom floor, then searched the basement for matching tiles and grout. The basement was a mess. Organizing it ought to be added to Belinda’s list.

A tile saw might be hiding somewhere, but luckily it didn’t look as if he’d have to cut any pieces to fit. He dug up some tile spacers and a trowel, so that was good. He was just getting ready to mix a batch of thinset mortar when Grisel arrived and stood in the bathroom door. “Mrs. Copeland needs you right away,” she announced, a little breathless and agitated.

Jimmy stood with a slight creak and a groan, and wiped his hands on his jeans. “Okay.”

He followed her out of the room, through the hallway, and down the stairs, almost coming up short when he saw Belinda deep in conversation with a cop. The same cop, he realized, who’d awakened him in his car the day before. She turned to look at him, waiting for him to come closer. Belinda didn’t look any less friendly than usual; at least that was a good sign.

The officer was younger than he expected, her dark hair pulled into a tight ponytail. She gave him the same careful, assessing look members of her profession always did. It made him itchy. But he saw no contempt in her gaze, which was a relief.

“Can I see some ID, please?” she asked.

“My wallet’s in my room.” He gestured in that direction. “Want me to get it?”

“Please.”

Obediently, he trotted away. Antagonizing cops by dawdling was never wise. He returned with his wallet less than a minute later, opened it, and handed it to her.

She peered at his driver’s license. “James Alan Dorsett.”

“Yes. Jimmy.”

“Are you a resident of South Carolina?”

“Not anymore, ma’am.”

“Are you intending to become a California resident?”

As if on cue, Shane had walked through the saloon doors from the bar just in time to hear the question. He stood next to his aunt, his eyebrows raised expectantly.

“I, uh, don’t think so,” said Jimmy. He didn’t look at Shane’s reaction.

If the cop noticed the interplay between Shane and Jimmy, she didn’t comment on it. “If you
do
become a resident, you have to get a California license within ten days. That’s the law.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, ma’am.”

After another long look at his ID, she closed the wallet and handed it back. “I’m here about your car. I told you yesterday—that lot’s for day use only. If you’re staying here, I’m sure you can park in the lot behind the inn.” She glanced at Belinda for confirmation, and Belinda nodded reluctantly. Then the officer turned back to Jimmy. “I’m telling you this now as a favor, ’cause in a short time I’m gonna go out there and start ticketing you.”

“I appreciate the heads-up. But you might as well have the thing towed now, because it’s dead.”

She looked sympathetic. “There’s Hank’s.”

“Can’t afford to fix it. Besides, you saw it. Even if I had the bucks, would it really make any sense to pour them into that piece of crap?”

“No, I guess not. If we tow it to the impound lot, we’ll have to bill you for it. You’re talking at least a hundred dollars.”

“Great.” He rubbed his face. “Well, I’ll pay when I can.”

Unexpectedly, Belinda spoke up. “What kind of car is it?”

“It’s what’s left of an Escort.”

She nodded. “I’ll call Hank. Maybe he’ll take it for scrap. That’ll save you the tow fee at least.” To the cop, she added, “Can you wait a few more hours, Jenn? You know that city lot’s not going to fill up today.”

“Fine. But it needs to be gone by sunset or the chief’s gonna be on my back.”

Belinda laughed, momentarily looking years younger. “That old fart? Tell him if he doesn’t have anything worse to worry about than a broken-down Ford, he should come see me. I’ll have a little talk with him.”

Apparently Jenn thought this was funny, because she actually giggled. “Yeah, I’d be happy to sic you on him.”

With a few in-jokes Jimmy didn’t understand and some parting pleasantries, the officer left. Right away Belinda picked up the phone and called Hank. Jimmy, Shane, and Grisel listened to her side of the conversation, as did Candy, who’d shown up midway through the little drama. Entertainment was in short supply at the Rattlesnake Inn.

Belinda looked satisfied when she hung up. “He’ll come pick it up right now. You can leave the keys with me—he’ll swing by for them.”

“The keys are in the ignition, ma’am. It’s not like anyone was going to steal the thing.”

“Fine. You can get back to work now. Oh, and Hank will be leaving a hundred dollars for you as well.”

He blinked at her. “A hundred dollars?”

“He’s going to get at least three hundred for the parts and scrap, and the tow costs him almost nothing.” She harrumphed slightly. “He was probably coming this way anyway. He likes to have lunch at Mae’s.”

“I, uh… wow. Thank you.” He couldn’t fathom why she’d done this for him.

She nodded regally. “I’d like the tiling done by tonight.” But her expression was a notch or two softer.

After detouring by his room to drop off the wallet, Jimmy returned to 214. He’d just mixed the thinset when Shane showed up. Neither of them said anything as Jimmy spread the mortar on the floor and Shane leaned in the doorway, watching.

Finally Jimmy sighed. “Need something?”

“Just admiring the view.”

Jimmy looked over his shoulder to find Shane leering at his ass. “Getting ideas, are we?”

“Already had ideas. Now I’m perfecting them.”

With a snort, Jimmy returned to his work. But it was a little discomfiting to be observed so closely. “Why did Belinda do that for me?”

“She’s a nice lady. I know she’s been kinda bitchy to you, but that’s just because….” He sighed. “They were always a nosy bunch, always getting up in everyone else’s business, giving advice nobody asked for. Used to drive me crazy. That’s when I’d get on my horse and go for a long ride….”

“What do you do now when you need a break?”

There was a long silence. “Dunno. Sometimes I take pictures. I know I’m no, uh… what’s the name of the guy who did all those Yosemite photos?”

Jimmy thought for a moment. “Ansel Adams?”

“Yeah, that’s him, dammit. Did you know he had a crooked nose too, like mine? I saw a picture of him once.”

“No, I didn’t know that.” Jimmy thought Shane’s nose added character to his face, along with the scars. It meant his face told a story. But Jimmy didn’t say so; he just kept spreading the thinset.

“Well, I know I’m not him. But I still enjoy taking pictures. It’s like, when I get behind a camera, I’m not part of the landscape anymore. I’m outside, looking in. It makes me…. Shit. What’s that word? When you can judge things fairly.”

“Objective?”

Shane thunked the wall with his palm. “Yeah. Sorry. Some days my brain’s especially slow.”

Jimmy looked up with a small smile. “I’m not in any hurry.”

“Anyway, the camera makes me objective. I like that. I can see things with fresh eyes.”

“And for once, you’re the one judging instead of being judged.” Jimmy wasn’t great at psychological insights, but he knew this. “Photography’s your way of getting away from things for a while.”

“I guess so. Is that what it feels like to you, Jimmy? Always being an outsider, I mean.”

“Dunno.” He chuckled. “People judge me plenty, though. I can tell you that much. Like your aunt Belinda and your sister Charlie.”

“They’re not judging you. If Channing Tatum showed interest in me, my family’d be all over him like a pack of pit bulls.”

That made Jimmy stop his movements with the trowel and look over his shoulder again. “Channing Tatum?”

Blushing slightly, Shane crossed his arms. “Tell me you don’t think he’s hot.”

“Eh. Not my type.”

“What
is
your type?”

“Old-school. Randolph Scott. Tab Hunter. Mmm, Paul Newman.”

“Seriously?”

Jimmy set aside the trowel and rose up on his knees, stretching his back a bit. He wished he had kneepads. He grabbed a handful of spacers and began to set them. “When I was a kid, there was a theater that played really old movies. Admission was only a buck. I think they made all their money off concessions. I used sit in there for hours, watching.” Handsome men, larger than life, solving all their problems with charm or smarts or maybe a strong right fist.

Shane was silent, watching Jimmy lay a couple of tiles. Then he shuffled a bit, his boots noisy against the floor. “You know that little park near where your car died? On Saturday nights in the summer, they set up a screen and show movies. They usually start with something for kids and then do a classic after. Westerns, mostly, ’cause this
is
Rattlesnake. Some of the school clubs sell popcorn and candy as fundraisers, and everyone spreads out blankets on the grass. I don’t usually go because I’m working, but I bet if I asked nicely, Belinda and Sam would take over the bar for a few hours.”

Fuck, Shane was painting a sweet picture. Jimmy briefly imagined what it would be like to lie back on fragrant grass, holding Shane’s rough hand, watching John Wayne strut around. Kids would be racing through the park, grown-ups gossiping, teenagers hiding in the shadows to make out or pass around a beer or a joint. Crickets would chirp. And overhead, the stars would twinkle like friendly neighbors.

But summer was months away. By then, Jimmy would be long gone.

“Belinda wants this finished today,” Jimmy said, a little more curtly than he’d intended.

“Yeah. Okay. See you at dinner.”

Shane’s boot steps echoed as he left.

B
Y
THE
time Jimmy finished grouting the tile and cleaning up the bathroom, it was nearly seven and he was filthy, achy, and exhausted. He considered canceling his dinner plans, but this would be his last chance with Shane. He had a hundred bucks in his wallet now, and sunshine was forecast for the next day—and Christ knew when or if he’d ever have dinner plans with someone again. So he took a quick shower, threw on the last of his fresh clothing, and lumbered off to the bar.

The place was almost empty. Just an elderly couple near the window, four middle-aged locals playing cards near the center of the room, and Great-uncle Sam behind the bar. And Shane, of course, who looked relieved to see Jimmy.

“The table’s not wobbly anymore,” Shane announced. “How did you fix it?”

“Wine cork.”

“Ah. Fancy. I guess I could have done it myself, but crawling around on the floor’s not very comfortable. I’m not always sure I’ll be able to get up again.”

“Well, I’ve been crawling around all day, and let me tell you, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

Shane frowned thoughtfully. “Sore?”

“A little. I’m old and out of shape.”

“And hungry too, I bet. C’mon.” He waved at Sam before leading the way to his apartment, where the mess hadn’t diminished since the previous evening, but Jimmy didn’t mind. The place had a homey, lived-in feel.

“Calzones again?” Jimmy asked.

“Nope. But I have a plan. Wait here, okay?”

“Sure.”

Jimmy took a closer look at Shane’s photos as Shane disappeared into the bathroom. Jimmy was no expert, but he thought they were good. Sad, though. They were of places that were ruined or abandoned.

He was startled to hear water running loudly in the bathroom. It was still running when Shane poked his head out. “Okay. Come here,” Shane ordered.

“Um, why?”

“My plan.”

“If you’re going to try to get me to do more tiling work, I’m going to refuse.” Jimmy walked into the bathroom, which he hadn’t seen the night before. It was larger than he’d expected, with a pedestal sink and ornate mirror, several built-in cabinets, and one of those enormous claw-foot tubs, which was currently filling with water and fluffy white bubbles.

Shane grinned at him. “Strip.”

“Um….”

“One of my doctors told me that when my bones feel screwed together too tight, I should take a long hot soak. Loosens everything up, she said. And she was right. The bubbles are courtesy of my sister Annie. Aromatherapy. Which is a load of crap, but they do smell real nice.”

Jimmy was still blinking in confusion. “You want me to take a bath?”

“Yep. I’ll bring you dinner while you’re in.”

“I’ve never eaten in a bathtub before.”

“Now’s your chance to try something new, Mr. What’s Around the Next Corner.”

Unable to argue with that logic, Jimmy removed his shoes and skimmed off his clothes while Shane waited, looking slightly smug. “It’s nice to see you,” Shane said.

Jimmy glanced down at himself. “I was never much to look at, not even twenty years ago.”

“I ain’t complaining.” He shook his head. “If I keep on looking, neither of us is gonna be fed. Get in the tub.”

Jimmy did. The water was almost too hot to endure, but not quite, and whatever was in the bubble solution smelled like spicy oranges and felt soft on his skin. He scooted around a bit, making himself comfortable and feeling more than a little ridiculous. He’d never had a bubble bath before.

“You relax,” Shane commanded. “I’ll be back soon with food.”

So Jimmy tipped his head back against the rounded edge of the cast iron and closed his eyes. The spout was over his feet, so the cascade of water gave him a slight massage. Rain streaked the window high on the wall, but here he was warm and comfortable. And above the sound of the water, he heard dishes clanking softly in the next room. When you were waiting for someone to bring you a meal, that was possibly the nicest sound in the world.