Talk of the Town (8 page)

Before he let his heart get wrenched out by letting Kelly get under his skin, maybe he’d test
her
resolve. If she wanted a courtship, he’d give her one hell of a cornball Paradise-driven courtship. If she stuck around for the end of it, he’d be surprised. If she bolted, he’d have learned something.

He’d know for sure that whatever part of him wanted to take home stray cats, fix them up, feed them, and give them a warm place to sleep was the part that needed to be locked up for good. It led him nowhere but Troubleville.

Most likely he was going to scare this stray cat right out of town, and he’d never see her again.

That would be real unfortunate if she ran, because he had never wanted a woman in his arms, in his bed, the way he wanted this one.

Sam started up the Chevy and drove a few blocks before he heard a car come up behind him. In his rearview mirror he caught the familiar look of Lynnette Stivers’s black Trans Am.

What the hell was she up to now? His
glimpses of her had become more frequent. Either Paradise really was a very small town or she was following him. Considering it was one o’clock in the morning, chances were she was up to her old tricks.

He hated to call Tom Blackwell again, the poor guy. It had to be totally humiliating for him, being in love with her and all.

The Trans Am turned down a side street. Heck, she wasn’t hurting anyone. It could wait.

At nine o’clock on Sunday morning, Sam Grayson came through the door of the Hen House Beauty Parlor. Kelly was having her second cup of tea and she half dropped her cup into the saucer, causing it to clatter noisily.

“Sam! I wasn’t expecting you so soon!”

“Uh-oh,” Myrtle said loudly. “Did I forget to tell you Sam called to say he was coming over? It’s Eastern Star Mother-Daughter Day, and my mind is in the clouds. You know we’re only open two Sundays a year, and this is one of ’em.” Myrtle said all that without breaking her stride. She was doing Rhonda Pierson’s hair in a foil, and Rhonda looked like an alien.

Sam was staring. Myrtle had on leopard leg
gings and a black turtleneck top—Kelly could see Sam was a little startled by both Rhonda and Myrtle.

“I’ll be right out,” Kelly called from across the room. If ever a man needed an escape route, Sam was in need.

“Great, I’ll…er…wait outside.” Sam backed out the door. The screen made its sprongy noise as he opened and shut it behind him.

As soon as he stepped back outside, Myrtle and her crew, Opal and Rhonda, and a few of the customers ran over to the window.

“Rayanne, come over here and check this out! Sam’s such a kid at heart.”

“Geez, you guys, has it been that long since you saw a man around here?” Kelly grabbed her leather jacket and headed to the door. Then she stopped dead and stood holding the screen open wide, like her mouth.

There he stood on the sidewalk with a tandem bike and a large bouquet of daisies. He had on an old-fashioned tweed bicycle hat.

“Date number one!” Sam called.

Myrtle came over and put her arm around Kelly. “He’s smart, just not too subtle,” Myrtle said under her breath.

Kelly agreed. “We might as well take an ad out in the
Paradise Pioneer: Local nutcase lawyer dates new girl in town.
”

She grabbed the strap of her shoulder bag and marched out the door, ready for anything.

“I thought you’d look sweet on a bicycle built for two,” Sam said as he handed her the daisies and kissed her cheek.

“Hold on, let me get my Brownie camera,” Myrtle hollered through the screen.

“Do Brownie cameras still exist?” Kelly asked. She and Sam posed for Myrtle, then waved goodbye and tried to get their act together. After some wobbly starts and flat-out falls, peppered by laughter coming from the Hen House audience, they made a synchronized attempt.

“
One, two, three, go,
” Sam directed from the back. They jumped together, started pedaling madly, and were up! She heard clapping behind them.

“Hey, we work pretty well with each other, Miss
Applebee
.”

“That remains to be seen, Mr. Grayson. We haven’t had our first fight yet.”

“Call me Sam, honey.”

Kelly craned around to give him a look, almost steering them into a tree. She straightened out abruptly as Sam started singing “Bicycle Built for Two” again.

“What are you, nuts?” Kelly called over her shoulder.

They rolled along past neighbors and white
picket fences until there were more hay fields than houses, and the road got bumpier. It took a really long time. Her butt was getting sore.

“Turn right here, Kelly.”

He directed her to a field with rolling grass hills surrounding a small lake. Willow trees bowed graceful branches into the calm water, the breeze lifting them like skirts.

They walked the bike to a picnic table. Sam proceeded to lay out a tablecloth, linen napkins, then china. Out came still-warm croissants wrapped in foil, fresh-squeezed orange juice, Brie, smoked honey ham, some kind of papaya chutney stuff, a very colorful melon and grape salad, and a wonderful-looking quiche.

“Quite the magician, Sam. Where did all this food come from?” Kelly asked suspiciously.

“Leftovers,” Sam replied. He slathered an open croissant with Brie and laid a piece of the fragrant ham across it with a smidgen of chutney, then offered Kelly a bite.

“From what, the social? This stuff comes from deeply gourmet roots, Sam.” Kelly shook her head.

“I confess. My mother’s cook packed it for me.”

“Your mother’s cook. I’m going to try and not think about that right now, okay?”

“Don’t hold it against me.”

“We’ll get to that part later.”

They spent the morning sitting side by side, talking and feeding each other the delights of the picnic basket. The sun warmed her back, and she fell into timelessness with him. It was the magical place couples go when they are falling in love with each other. A place she’d never been with Raymond.

Kelly was cautious as to how much she revealed about herself: her unhappy childhood, running away at sixteen, even working in L.A., she skimmed over most of it. She listened very carefully to Sam’s family stories. No alcoholic parent, no abuse, no divorce, just Sam and his two younger sisters and two parents who actually cared. A tear slid down Kelly’s cheek. Sam caught it with his fingertip.

“Where does this come from?”

“You, describing the family I will never have.” Two more tears rolled down. She put her head against his shoulder and breathed deeply to calm herself. The pain twisted way down deep within her.

“You could start your own, you know, be the first part of a new family; give your kids what you never had.”

“That sounds grand, but I would have to learn how. My only pictures of normal family life come from
Leave It To Beaver
reruns.”

“That’s not a bad start,” Sam said. “June and Ward were pretty tight. She just needed to get out of the kitchen more.”

“Yeah, and what was Ward doing in the garage all the time, anyway? Working out? I liked
Ozzie and Harriet
. They laughed it off more, and the sex was better,” Kelly said. She reached for a piece of melon and smiled a goofy smile at Sam.

“Oh so that’s what all those fade-out scenes were in Ozzie and Harriet’s TV scripts—sex?

“Of course, didn’t you know?”

“You have a wonderful sense of humor, Kelly, and a very loving heart. That’s unusual for someone who’s been through what you have. It could have made you very bitter.”

“Thank you, Sam.” She fed him a melon ball and he licked at her fingers.

“Four more dates,” he garbled through the melon. “No, four
weeks
. Augh. Do we get to neck?”

“Yes.” She bent forward and let him kiss her. His kiss had a big hunger underneath it.

“But that’s it.” She pushed him away. “We can date as much as we like in that four weeks, though.”

“How about a daily double?” Sam took her hand and kissed her fingers one at a time.

“I suppose.” Kelly started to lose her speaking ability. He was getting her really hot again.

“Good, because that plan is already in effect, I
just needed the green light from you. We might as well get to know as much of each other as we can. That didn’t come out just right, did it?”

“Never mind, Ozzie.” She kissed him again. “I’ll just torture you a while longer.”

“I knew you would.”

He ran his hands lightly over her arms, slowly moving up to her face, her temples, and her lips. She moved up against him, intoxicated by his touches. His kisses were even better than last night. He seem to be…learning her.

Sam finally stopped and sat up. He obviously needed a break from her relentless torture. She sat beside him and remembered once again they were in public when she saw an older couple walking down by the lake path. They glanced up at Sam and Kelly, smiled, and waved. Kelly picked a leaf out of Sam’s hair.

“What is this place, Sam?”

“It used to be an old homestead. Fish Trap Lake. The property on the rise over there is Red Miller’s cousin’s place. That couple you saw are probably bordering neighbors.”

“It’s beautiful. Is this where you Paradise High boys take your dates to make out?”

“Damn, what a good idea! I can’t believe we never thought about it. Mostly, we all went to the Doggie Drive-in outside Lynden.”

“The Doggie Drive-in. That is, like, whacked.”

“Hey, the old guy named it for his dog.”

“Okay, I’m not even gonna go there. It’s out of the
Ozzie and Harriet
realm.”

“Time to pack it up, Harriet, we’ve got to get ready for part two of today.”

She helped him pack up the basket, and after wobbly starts, their two-seater cruised down the road. They worked in rhythm with each other. The soothing motion of the bike helped Kelly quiet some of the thoughts racing through her head.

She’d said too much about her life. Normal people didn’t like to hear about someone’s hippie mother and her drug problems. He was quiet behind her. No singing.

Sam delivered Kelly to Myrtle’s and gave her a proper porch kiss. Enough to make steam in her veins. He retrieved the daisy bouquet from the front basket on the bike.

“Pick you up at five. Got any Western gear?” He held out the flowers.

“Just jeans,” Kelly answered, puzzled. She took the flowers.

“What are you, about a size six?”

“Ten. Real women are not size six.” She threw a handful of wilted daisies at him.

“Shoes?”

“Seven and a half.”

“Them’s some mighty dainty feet, ma’am.”

Kelly threw another handful of flowers at him. Sam walked bowlegged to the bike and mounted it like a horse. She couldn’t stop laughing.

“That’s too much horse for you, cowboy!”

Sam wrestled the bike into the back of his pickup, making horse noises, hollering, “Whoa, there, Gluepot!”

Kelly waved and went in the door. Myrtle had been watching from the front window, of course, and clucked like a hen, slapping her knee, overcome by her own laughter.

“Sam always was a clown. Didn’t I tell you he was just the ticket?”

Kelly plunked down on a vinyl chair. “He is just too good to be true. He deserves someone better than me,” Kelly’s voice cracked, then she burst out crying.

Myrtle glanced quickly over Kelly’s shoulder as one customer leaned forward slowly from underneath the dryer. It was Lynnette Stivers, and Myrtle was sure she saw a smirk creep over Lynnette’s hard features. Myrtle knew what she had to do. She grabbed a box of Kleenex.

“Nonsense, honey. Now take this and march over to the house.” She sounded like a drill sergeant, but that’s what the girl needed right now.
Kelly snuffled her way to the connecting house door obediently.

As soon as she was gone, Myrtle flipped up the dryer hood on Lynnette and plucked a curler from her blonde head.

“
Ouch!
”

“Well, you are toast for sure, Miss Stivers. Now, I’m sure your mama is waitin’ for you to get all dolled up for Eastern Star tonight. It’s late. I’m gonna close up. You best be gettin’ along. The curlers are on the house.”

Myrtle figured if Lynnette hadn’t been so stunned, she might have had something to say back. All she did do was raise one drawn-on eyebrow at Myrtle, grab up her white purse, stick on her white sunglasses, and stalk out the door, curlers bouncing.

“Don’t you give me the evil eye, Lynnette Stivers, you’re lucky I don’t put a curse on you! I’m an old witch, ya know!” Myrtle cackled as Lynnette drove off in her black Trans Am. “That woman is trouble on fat tires,” she said out loud, as the other two customers clapped and cheered.

“Okay, gals, fun’s over. Opal, you take over in here, I have to go see to Kelly,” Myrtle said. She steamrolled through the connecting door to take care of one hysterical former city gal. “Must be a bad planet,” Myrtle mumbled to herself.

Myrtle sat down next to Kelly on her red sculptured mohair sofa. “What is it, child?”

“I don’t deserve him. He’s too good for me,” she sobbed out.

Myrtle put her arm around Kelly. “Honey, that is not true. You are just used to being treated badly. Think of him as a gift the cosmos sent you to make up for all the bad times.”

Kelly would have laughed, but she couldn’t speak anymore. She cried like a baby against Myrtle’s shoulder. She was a married woman with a suitcase of drug money, in love with the boy next door who was just too good to be true. She should leave Paradise and let Sam have a good life with someone’s second cousin. But she was really starting to love it here. Paradise.

Myrtle handed her a Kleenex from her smock pocket. She rubbed Kelly’s back and offered silent comfort. When Kelly calmed down a little, Myrtle went into the kitchen and fixed them each a cup of hot chocolate and a plate of Oreos. They sat and twisted cookie tops off, eating the double stuff in the middle. Kelly finally curled up under a blanket and napped on the sofa.

When she woke up a short while later, Myrtle was in the kitchen making fried egg sandwiches. There, perched on the chrome and red vinyl
dinette chair sat Fred Hansen, the man Myrtle had danced with at the social.

Myrtle winked at Kelly, and right in front of Fred, reminded her that Fred had been a widower for five years now and they now had a great friendship with occasional sex but neither cared to get married. Fred was set in his ways, she’d said. Fred nodded amicably throughout Myrtle’s frank talk.

“Feeling better, sweetie?” Myrtle motioned her in and patted the barstool seat beside her.

“Very much. Hi, Fred. Are you golfing today?”

“If you want to call that cow pasture a golf course, you bet,” Fred replied. “But first me and the boys are going to hit the driving range and improve our distance some. You know I occasionally take eighteen holes with Sam Grayson’s dad.”

Kelly shifted closer to the table, suddenly interested. “Is that so? What’s he like?”

“Well, you’d never know Hank had all that money. He sings bass in the local theater group musical. The guy did a hell of a singing Frenchman in
South Pacific
last year. He’s a regular sort of guy. Gives a lot back to the town.”

“Built a swimming pool for the high school. Course, Sam was a champ swimmer, and they all said his daddy built it for him. That’s kids,
though. They forget the pool stayed behind after Sam left.”

“His mother came from Texas and taught us all a thing or two about Southern hospitality,” Myrtle chimed in. “Sam’s daddy met her in college, then brought her up here to his family. I hear tell her own folks were dirt poor, and her daddy was a drinker. She turned out mighty re-fined for all that.