Pamela Morsi (10 page)

304.3 Factors Affecting Social Behavior

D.J.
could have happily choked Viv for the unwelcome suggestion of a Saturday night with the hot guy. After a difficult first week on the job, she would have been very content to unwind with a good book. Instead she was expected to smile and talk and be charming to the one person in the entire world that she most wanted to avoid. Scott had the knowledge and the power to make her a laughingstock to her new community. And perhaps the potential to get her run out of town.

“Okay, maybe the locals won’t be coming after me with pitchforks. But I could be quietly let go, ‘for the good of the community.’”

She poured out her worries to the only listener she could trust.

Melvil Dewey.

The little dog sat in rapt attention on her bedroom rug as she paced back and forth. Trying on everything in her closet and then discarding it on the bed. As she dressed and undressed and redressed, she ranted.

“If he remembers, I’m doomed. I’d never be able to look him in the eye. And you know he’d brag about it to every man in this town. Guys like him do exactly that sort of thing.”

Dew made no comment.

“He simply can’t remember. He can’t. He’s already said I look familiar to him. I’ve got to be careful what I wear, how I walk, how I talk. I can’t do or say anything that might remind him.”

Her tone was certain, but she was not.

“How can he
not
remember?” she asked the dog, incredulously. “It’s so...so embarrassing to think that a moment that changed my life,
ruined
my life, would, for him, have been so...forgettable.”

The word
forgettable
was voiced through clenched teeth. Dew cocked his head as if in question.

D.J. placed a steadying hand on her forehead as if her brain ached. “Okay. ‘Ruined my life’ is maybe a bit over-the-top,” she admitted. “I had sex with a stranger. It was a dangerous, irresponsible thing to do. It’s exactly the kind of dangerous, irresponsible thing that twenty-one-year-olds do all the time.”

Dew offered no words of consolation.

“I was damned lucky that I didn’t get pregnant or catch some disease.”

Still, babies and STDs aside, D.J. had never imagined that the ramifications of one stupid night were going to echo through future relationships.

“If you could call my dysfunctional sex life ‘having relationships,’” she complained. “I do better with a glass of wine and a dirty book.”

Dew opened his mouth to pant, his little pink tongue hanging out to the side.

“Easy for you,” D.J. told him. “You should thank me for having you neutered.”

She tried on outfit after outfit. Every one of them either looked so nice it gave the wrong message. Or so casual D.J. was afraid it might make him recognize her. In desperation, she opted for her librarian disguise. She went with glasses and no eye makeup. But even that time saver barely had her ready when she heard his car in the driveway.

She quickly crated Dew and hurried out to meet her fate.

He was at the bottom of the stairs and the mere sight of him pissed her off. How dare he look like some harmless boy scout!

D.J. was so annoyed, she could barely offer a civil exchange with Viv when she asked to hang out with Dew. The woman was on the library board. D.J. needed her. And more than that, she liked her, too. But any crazy ideas that Viv had in her head about her son and D.J....Well, the woman should give those up ASAP.

She knew she was acting like a prig. And that such behavior with someone who was supposed to be a virtual stranger was very suspicious. But she couldn’t seem to stop herself.

He held open the door to the functional but ugly van. D.J. remembered vividly the sporty blue Mazda Scott had been driving in South Padre. Back then she’d refused to ride and they had walked, first through the funky shopping area and then along the moonlit beach. The walking should have sobered her up. But it had been almost as if his very nearness to her was intoxicating.

Tonight she was perfectly clearheaded.

She slid into the seat and sat, back straight and stiff as he walked around to the other side of the vehicle.

Scott made several attempts at polite conversation, but D.J. answered in monosyllables. It was not that she was afraid of revealing something that would connect her to South Padre. She’d been completely another person that night. She’d said almost nothing personal. Anything she
had
said had been a pack of lies. She had revealed nothing about who she really was.

And yet, part of her had to admit she’d revealed everything—everything that mattered, anyway. She’d deliberately stripped herself naked, body and soul.

She tried to keep her gaze focused directly ahead. But they kept drifting over to his hand on the steering wheel. The way his jean-covered knee was flexing as he operated the gas pedal. Under no circumstances would she look him in the eye. But looking him in the thigh wasn’t exactly conducive to higher thoughts, either.

D.J. was exceptionally grateful when he finally parked the van and she could escape his too-near proximity. As they walked down the sidewalk, she kept her distance. Literally and figuratively.

She hated the way Scott moved. There was so much confidence and ease in his gait. As if every step he made would lead him to whatever he wanted. He was accustomed to getting his way, she could tell. Certainly getting his way with women. The player types always had their pick. There had undoubtedly been so many women who fell at his feet, begged for his touch, screamed in orgasmic pleasure that it was no wonder he couldn’t recall when she had done exactly the same.

That thought really made her mad.

“I bet you do this every weekend.”

He seemed surprised that she’d spoken. But not so surprised that he couldn’t come up with a hasty denial.

Her first impulse was to not believe him. But as they stood behind a line of boisterous teens, she postulated that probably this was not a great adult pickup scene. She imagined that somewhere nearby, maybe out on the highway, there was a dark, seedy bar. Not even as nice as the Naked Parrott, where the local South Padre honeys got drunk, poured beer down the front of their shirts and let the hot guy take them home to screw.

But not her. Not again.

As they approached the ticket booth, she rifled through her purse for cash. She could not allow him to pay. She wanted him to be clear that she didn’t think this was a date. And she didn’t want to owe him anything.

He left her money hanging in the wind, suggesting that she could spend her share at the concession stand. Her stomach was so jittery, she couldn’t eat a thing. Besides she would not be compelled to share anything with him, not even a bag of popcorn.

That thought was firmly in her mind when she tripped on the uneven floor beneath her and fell into his arms.

The same spark that had sizzled between them on that one night so long ago lit up again at his touch. His arms were so warm, so familiar, so welcome. She felt as if she belonged there. But she did not.

“Are you okay?” he asked, getting her back on her feet again.

“Yes, I’m fine. Fine.”

She began brushing off her suit as if his touch could be discarded.

Their gazes met and his eyes narrowed intently. He couldn’t be remembering. She couldn’t let him.

“Let’s go in,” she said, heading in that direction without him. He rushed up to get the door. She didn’t even bother to be annoyed at that. She needed to get into the darkness of the theater.

The lobby, however, was very well lit and thick with people. D.J. would have been happy to avoid them. But the proposed purpose of the evening was Scott making introductions. And he seemed determined to do that.

However, the aftereffects of falling into his arms still plagued her. The heart patter and gooseflesh added to her already fluttering stomach and the combination kept her brain from functioning normally. D.J. smiled, she nodded, she shook hands, but she couldn’t hang on to one name long enough to commit it to memory.

Fortunately she didn’t need to say much. After a polite acknowledgment of her personally and the existence of the library, the talk quickly changed to wheat.

Harvest time was almost upon them and it was apparent that the folks in Verdant looked forward to it as eagerly as kids to Christmas.

“The weather is going to be on our side this year, I’m thinking,” a farmer perhaps a decade older than D.J. said. “We don’t want a big rain, but a nice little one will help out nicely.”

Beside her Scott shook his head. “I don’t know that you’re going to get it. It must be dry as a bone out there. Lots of static electricity in the air.”

The farmer raised eyebrows in surprise and glanced toward his wife.

“I haven’t noticed anything.”

“The weather man on Channel 3 said humidity was moderate.”

“The librarian here got a shock just skidding on the tiles in front of the building,” Scott said, turning to D.J. for confirmation. “Right?”

“Mmm-hmm,” she mumbled, attempting to look interested as a sinking pit of fear opened up in her midsection. “Would...would you excuse me for a moment?”

She didn’t wait for a reply, but hurried toward the sign that said Restrooms. She’d hoped for an escape and a moment of solitude. Of course, neither was available. A half-dozen women milled around the ladies’ room. D.J. didn’t want to talk to anybody. She deftly avoided eye contact and stepped into the first available stall. She threw back the bolt and then leaned against the door, mentally admonishing herself to get a grip.

Yes, the hot guy had more than his share of sexual magnetism. Yes, he still had the power to make electricity zing through her bloodstream. But no, she could not go that direction again.

She allowed herself a momentary fantasy that it was all different. That she’d just met him days ago. That he would fall for her, the real her, and there could be something incredible between them.

Her bubble burst as quickly as it had formed. The man was good in bed. That did not mean he would be good for her. In fact, she was nearly certain that he wouldn’t be. She needed the boring, stodgy stability that a hot guy could never offer. If that came without the fireworks in the bedroom, then so be it.

The bathroom had finally gotten quiet. Gratefully, D.J. figured everyone had left. She flushed the toilet and opened the door.

The area wasn’t completely empty. At the far end of the room a fortyish woman with a snappy, expensive-looking haircut was bent toward the mirror putting on lipstick. When their eyes met, D.J. gave her the slightest nod of acknowledgment before focusing intently upon washing her hands in the sink.

The woman put the lipstick into her purse, which she closed with an audible snap. She turned. D.J. kept washing her hands, expecting the woman to walk past her and out the door. Instead she moved to stand beside her.

“So I guess you’re
it.
”

D.J. looked directly at the woman. She was curvy and attractive. Her clothes were well cut, obviously expensive and very chic for western Kansas.

“Uh...yes, I’m the new librarian.”

The woman laughed lightly, but not really in a nice way.

“No, I meant you must be Scott’s new sex buddy. I’ve been waiting to see what he might come up with after I dumped him.” The woman looked D.J. up and down. “Quite honestly, I’m not that impressed. But, honey, you are welcome to him. For as long as it lasts.”

The woman swept past D.J. before she could respond. Although D.J. had no response to give. The situation was exactly what she expected it to be. Scott was a player. He knew how to pick up women and then discard them like tissues. What she’d always believed had now been confirmed for her as truth. But that didn’t stop her from being furious about it.

She quickly dabbed her wet hands with a paper towel and followed the woman out the door. She was already out of sight when D.J. made it down the hall. In the lobby, Scott stood waiting for her. He held a cardboard tray with two drinks and a bag of popcorn. His eyes were wide.

“From the look on your face, I guess Eileen said something to you,” he suggested calmly.

“Eileen? Your ex-girlfriend? Why, yes, actually. She definitely has the wrong impression about us.” D.J. could hear the snide tone in her own voice.

He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. Eileen’s opinions are rarely anyone else’s.”

“I don’t want anyone, including your ex, thinking that we have any kind of relationship at all.”

“Absolutely,” he agreed. “You’ve made your feelings very clear. So let’s go watch a movie, meet a few more people and then we can make a point to steer clear of one another.”

D.J. was briefly tempted to sock the man in the nose, but more out of embarrassment than anger. She knew she must seem unreasonably stuffy, but this was how it had to be. She would get through this evening. He would not recognize her. And forevermore she would stay as far away from the man as humanly possible.

The previews had started and the theater had been darkened by the time they’d made their way inside. One center aisle sloped down toward the screen. It wasn’t as if she could get lost. But after her near fall at the front door, D.J. allowed Scott to lead the way.

The visibility of the carpeted runner beneath her feet varied with the brightness of the image on the screen. In near total darkness, Scott approached two empty seats on the aisle. When the trailer moved on to bright sands and surf against the beach, the faces around them became visible. D.J. spotted Vern, the woman from the Feed & Tractor store. Seated next to her was a small, slight, very pretty blonde.

The couple made startled eye contact with Scott. Who gave them only the very slightest of acknowledgment before moving three rows away to take a seat.

Oh great,
D.J. thought to herself,
my onetime “sex buddy” is not only a liar and a player, he’s a bigot, as well.

306.5 Culture & Institutions

O
n her most recent trip to the grocery store, Viv had wandered down the pet food aisle, amazed at all the options. She’d wanted to buy a few dog biscuits for Mr. Dewey and ended up with a grocery cart full of interesting choices. There were fake steak strips and bacon made of vegetable meal, even pizza rolls. She’d made a couple more attempts to feed him scraps, but he’d turned up his little pink-and-black nose. If dog food was what he liked, at least she could find some of it that was a bit more unique. Viv had decided to buy some of all of it. That way she would find out which kind Mr. Dewey actually liked.

She’d stored the packages away in her extra under-the-stairs pantry. The shelves in there were loaded, but not as badly as the kitchen pantry or the cupboards.

With the little black fur ball at her heels, she rifled through the assorted bags and boxes.

“Why don’t we try this one first. ‘Chewy Bison Burger,’” she read aloud and then laughed. “Now this is an interesting choice for you. I can’t imagine that any of your ancestors could bring down a buffalo in the wild.”

Mr. Dewey, tail wagging appreciatively, hurriedly consumed what she gave him. Then he rose up on his hind legs effectively pleading for more.

“Look at you! Okay, one more. But I’m not going to let you become a junk food junkie no matter how many tricks you can do.”

As she put the bag of treats back on the shelf, she caught sight of something from the corner of her eye.

“Oh!” she exclaimed with excited delight. “We’ve got a live one here, Mr. Dewey.”

From its place, crammed in a wide variety of fruit and vegetable items, Viv retrieved the misshapen can. She examined the bulging metal at the top with approval.

“Tomatoes,” she said to Dewey. “I can always make something lovely with tomatoes.”

She carried the can with her as she moved to the front of the house. Across the hallway from the living room she opened the door to the quiet, musty office that had been her husband’s. The room was much as he had left it. Her daughter had done some straightening on the day of John’s funeral. And Scott had been in and out several times getting papers from the filing cabinet. But Viv herself had not moved a thing.

She went to a narrow closet at the far end of the room and retrieved the key secreted above it on the doorjamb and used it to open the lock. Inside, a collection of fishing rods hung on the back wall. A half-dozen narrow shelves on the side held nets, reels and tackle boxes. As a young husband, her John had loved fishing, though as the children got older and the demands on his time got greater, he rarely took time from the drugstore for his hobby.

On the floor was the old-fashioned brown metal cooler that he’d used to transport his catch on hot summer days. She released the latch on the lid and opened it.

The dog, who’d trailed in behind her, was as interested in her discovery as she was herself. He plopped his front paws up on the edge and peered inside at what appeared to be a collection of misshapen and bulging cans of food.

“You keep your nose out of this, Mr. Dewey,” Viv told him firmly. “This is not good for you. It’ll make you sick.”

The dog looked up at her expectantly, but she made no further explanation. She added the can of tomatoes to what was already inside the cooler and then closed the top, double-checking that it was secured.

“Come on, now,” she told Dewey. “Nothing to see in here.”

She closed the closet door and turned the key in the lock before secreting it once more on the doorjamb.

As they left the room, the phone rang.

Viv ignored the one on her husband’s desk. Instead she continued on into the living room to answer the one next to the sofa.

“Hi, Mom,” said a familiar female voice at the end of the line.

“Oh, Leanne, how are you, sweetie?”

The generic question was all her daughter needed to launch off into a play-by-play of her busy urban life. Viv settled in for a cozy chat. Dewey looked up at her expectantly, but waited until she offered wordless permission to jump up into her lap.

She stroked his fur and scratched his ears as she talked and listened.

Leanne always spoke as if her life was endless chaos. But Viv could see that she and her husband Jamie were happy and settled, each pursuing careers that they enjoyed.

“So how did it go with Ryan?” Leanne asked.

Viv tensed. It was a small movement, but enough that Dewey cocked his head to look up at her.

“Fine.”

“I’m still dying of curiosity,” Leanne said. “Ryan said it wasn’t ethical to discuss investigations for his clients, even with family members.”

“I simply had him look into something for me,” Viv answered evasively.

“Is it about the drugstore? If somebody is robbing Scott blind, I need to know that.”

“It’s nothing about the store,” Viv assured her. “It was personal business, I suppose you could say.”

“Personal business? Really, Mother, what kind of ‘personal business’ could a sixty-two-year-old woman have with a private detective?”

Viv didn’t reply.

“I’ve been racking my brain for weeks,” Leanne said. “Could it be something about Dad? I mean that’s what we see on TV when they hire these guys. It’s how you catch a cheating husband in a cheap motel room with a bimbo.”

“Your father was not particularly fond of cheap motels and he never looked twice at any bimbo.”

“That’s my thinking, too. But I thought you might be second-guessing yourself.”

“No, of course not.”

“Okay. Then were you taken in by some senior scam kind of thing?”

“What?”

“Lots of con men target women your age, especially widows,” Leanne said. “You haven’t been exchanging emails with any exiled Nigerian princes, right?”

Viv sighed heavily. “No, dear. No Nigerian princes.”

“What about sweepstakes winning? They may say you need to pay a portion back, but never wire money to anyone without talking to us.”

“Of course I wouldn’t.”

“And if you get a phone call from a family member who says they are in trouble, call them back with the number
you
have for them.”

“Honey, I am not being scammed, I promise,” Viv told her. “Don’t let your imagination run away with itself.”

“Well, I’m your child, I worry about you.”

“I’m the mother and it’s my job to do the worrying.”

“Not anymore,” Leanne told her. “Once your kids are grown, you’re allowed to stop.”

“A mother only stops when she’s dead,” Viv stated with conviction.

“Whatever,” her daughter said with a sigh. “But I would quit worrying if you would just tell me what’s going on. I won’t question or judge. But if you tell me, it will ease my mind. Unless it’s about me...”

“It’s not about you and it’s none of your business.”

“Have you told Scott?”

“It’s none of his business, either.”

“Okay, well at least you didn’t tell him and leave me out.”

“Of course not.”

“Good. So it’s not a scam. And it’s not me and it’s not Scott.”

Viv kept completely quiet, not even taking a breath.

“If you’re not going to tell me, I’ll just have to spend more time guessing.”

“Don’t bother.”

“I’m hoping I can wear you down,” she said. “Anyway, Jamie and I are thinking about coming down there, either this weekend or the one after. Which is better?”

The hand that was petting Dew stopped abruptly in midmotion. The little dog who’d been luxuriating in the attention opened his eyes.

“This is not really a good time, Leanne.”

“What do you mean?”

“Harvest is almost on us and you know how crazy everything gets around that time.”

On the other end of the line, she heard Leanne chuckle. “Mom, I’ve been through my share of harvest times. I know it seems like it gets really busy and the traffic gets hectic. But we live in Kansas City. Jamie and I are immune to traffic and hectic.”

“I...I don’t think there will be any room,” Viv told her. “With that many people in town, there are always people trying to crowd in.”

“We can stay upstairs in the apartment.”

“No, you can’t. I rented it.”

“Really? Well...that’s great, Mom. So we’ll stay in the guest room.”

“No...no, I think someone will be using it, too.”

“Who?”

“Uh...well, honey you know how it is at harvest, every room is at a premium.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the line. Finally Leanne spoke. “So you’re renting rooms in your house to augment your income. What the hell is going on? I’m calling Scott.”

“Margery Leanne! You keep your nose out of it!” Viv told her sharply. “I told you it has nothing to do with money or the drugstore.”

“Don’t call me Margery and don’t talk to me like I’m twelve,” her daughter snapped back. “I’m thirty-two years old.”

“Then it’s high time that you learned to mind your own business.”

Viv would have liked to slam down the phone and be done with the conversation, but
ladies
did not do that. And she had tried always to be a lady.

Dewey sat expectantly on her lap as if preparing for a joint escape through the back door. She rubbed his neck reassuringly as she modulated the tone in her voice.

“Leanne, honey, please don’t make a mountain out of a molehill. Things are busy around here. I’m busy with my clubs and the library. I would love to see you and Jamie, but it would simply work out better for me if you came to visit around the end of the month.”

Her daughter didn’t sound completely mollified, but ultimately she did agree to wait until the wheat was in and day-to-day life back to normal. And when they finally said their goodbyes it was congenial if not completely back to normal.

As Viv hung up she uttered a sigh of great relief.

“Whew! That was close,” she told Mr. Dewey.