Romeo Fails (16 page)

“No need,” Dorsey said with a sinking heart. “She’s already here.”

Officer Gargoyle braked her patrol car to an abrupt stop at the curb in front of them, with a chirp of the tires and an entirely unnecessary
whoop
from the siren as well. She turned on the blue lights—again unnecessarily, Dorsey thought, as she was parked in a space, not blocking traffic. Gargoyle ponderously removed herself from her vehicle, adjusting her gun belt as she swaggered toward them.

“What’s going on here?” she said loudly and officiously.

A merchant sweeping the sidewalk in front of his store on the opposite side of the square stopped to watch. A car waiting at the stoplight didn’t move although the light was green, its driver and passengers gawking at them. Gargoyle spotted the beer can in the corner beneath the movie poster.

“It’s illegal to have an open container in public,” she told them, whipping out her little citation notebook.

Sarah said angrily, “Are you crazy? That’s not ours. Some goddamn redneck just threw that at us. They’re the ones you need to be talking to.”

Gargoyle paused in the act of flipping open her notebook and stared at Sarah, her mean little eyes narrowed as she considered her next move.

“Now why would someone do that?” she asked. “Just what were you two doing in there anyhow?”

“Looking at the movie posters,” Sarah replied, outraged. “What do you think we were doing?”

Dorsey touched Sarah’s wrist, trying to get her attention and make her stop talking. There was no way Gargoyle was going to help them, she knew. She felt embarrassed—not for herself or Sarah, but for her town. If Sarah kept talking, she might find herself on the wrong end of a ticket or worse.

Sarah stared at her furiously when she felt her touch on her wrist. “What?” she demanded.

And Gargoyle was looking at her, too, with a look that Dorsey knew all too well. A look of revulsion, of hatred, of fear and ignorance…no doubt the same look as on the faces of the people in the pickup truck who’d thrown the beer at them.

Speaking of which, the sound of a big engine accelerating came to Dorsey’s ears. She turned toward the direction it was coming from, but the early evening sun was shining right in her eyes. She saw a late-model full-size pickup, maybe black or dark blue, careen around the corner back into the square, music blaring out its open windows, a flannel-sleeved arm protruding from the passenger side window, beer can at the ready. Dorsey grabbed Sarah and ducked back into the marginal shelter of the theater entryway, but the thrower’s aim was off. The beer can—an almost full one by the sound of it—bounced off the back of Officer Gargoyle’s patrol car and rolled harmlessly into the gutter, where it lay sputtering and foaming.

“Fuckin’ lezzie perverts!” was the curse screamed at them this time. The pickup truck sped off.

“Oh HELL no,” Gargoyle said, more to herself than to them and obviously referring to the insult to her car, not the enmity aimed at them. She hitched up her belt and headed for her car at speed, pausing only to point two fingers back at Sarah and Dorsey. “I’ve got my eyes on you, missy,” she said to Sarah, then crammed herself back under the wheel, and set off with the siren shrieking and lights a-flashing.

“Are you kidding me?” Sarah said in disbelief to Dorsey, who almost wanted to laugh if it weren’t all so unfunny.

“Come on,” she told Sarah. “Let’s get out of here before either one of them comes back.”

They walked quickly back to the alley behind the hardware store. A light rain had started to fall, which further sped them on their way. By the time they got to Dorsey’s truck, the ludicrousness of the situation had overtaken them. They were both laughing and out of breath as they piled into the little pickup. Dorsey put the key in the ignition, then said to Sarah, “So where are we going?”

Before she could answer, a sudden sharp clash of thunder made them both jump and check the sky, which had been at least partially blue just moments before.

“Whoa,” Sarah said apprehensively. “That doesn’t look good.”

It had been raining on and off the entire day, but now the sky had taken on that eerie greenish tone seen only in the midwest. Thunder rumbled again in the distance, but they hadn’t seen any lightning. The storm was still miles away, but storms could move frighteningly fast over the open prairie. They needed to find some safe place indoors and soon.

George and Ira obviously agreed about the indoors part. The cats had been out and about in town, but as the women watched, they ran down the alley with alacrity, tails straight up in the air, and zipped in through the kitty door.

“We need to get inside somewhere too,” Dorsey told Sarah. “That sky’s not looking good.”

“Someplace where we can be alone,” Sarah agreed with her. She reached out to lightly trace the back of Dorsey’s hand on the stick shift. Even that small contact triggered the fierce and aching desire that Dorsey felt whenever Sarah was with her. That desire could not be delayed another hour. She wanted Sarah—needed Sarah—now, not later. And the look in Sarah’s eyes told her she felt exactly the same way.

“Your place?” Sarah said.

“Well…” Dorsey hesitated. “Goodman’s there, so not really. I don’t suppose your place…”

“No, their women’s group is assembling some ghastly craft project in what seems like every room of the house. That’s what made me flee in the first place.”

They both glanced up at the sky with a sense of urgency. Ominous pewter-gray clouds were stacking up into thunderheads as they watched. A flock of birds wheeled past, darting and diving through the sky in search of a tree or a building where they could ride out whatever was coming.

“Motel?” Sarah suggested, a little desperately.

“No good,” Dorsey said. “It’s owned by the Luccheses.”

Seeing Sarah’s look of noncomprehension, she added, “Those drunken heifers at The Hamlet, remember?”

“Oh. Well, what about the store?” she said pragmatically, pointing at the back door just ten feet away. More fat raindrops were starting to splatter down onto the pavement. It wouldn’t be long before the skies opened up with a vengeance.

As a place to take shelter in from the elements, the store was an excellent option. As a place to get laid in, not so much. For one thing, she was fairly certain Good would kill her if he ever found out. Plus, the idea of it felt a little strange. She’d grown up in that store. She’d grown up in her house too, of course, but a house has bedrooms and bedrooms are for having sex in. Not hardware stores.

But she had no choice. The first piece of hail pinged off the hood of the truck as she sat there dithering.

“All right,” she told Sarah. “Let’s go!”

They ran for the door. Dorsey fumbled with the keys, then got them inside just as the first heavy wall of rain came racing down from the heavens.

They were in the back of the store, the windowless stockroom, with all manner of boxes and bags stacked around them. Dorsey flicked the light switch, but the power had already gone out—not unusual when it was storming. Fortunately, the keypad for the alarm system was lighted by a back-up battery, so she was able to quickly disarm it.

“Hold on,” she told Sarah, who was clinging tightly to Dorsey’s chambray shirt so she wouldn’t lose her in the dark. Dorsey knew the layout of the store like the back of her hand and could have navigated it blindfolded, which was good considering that was essentially what she was having to do. It was close to pitch-black in there as the storm closed in. The rain was roaring outside, hail banging on the roof, with thunder now bone-jarringly close and ever more frequent. Dorsey was headed to the front counter, where there was a flashlight under the cash register.

“Wait,” Sarah said to her as they passed the open doorway of the office, murkily sensed rather than seen in the near total darkness of the hall. “Office?”

The office was so completely Goodman’s domain that the idea of getting it on in there was not appealing. At all. Besides, Dorsey had a better idea.

“Nope,” she told Sarah. “Come on, we’re almost there.”

“I have to be back for dinner by seven,” Sarah warned her.

“Almost there,” Dorsey promised, pulling her forward.

In the back corner of the store, far from the plate glass window which stretched all the way across the front, Goodman had dedicated a small area to patio furniture and other outdoor items. Dorsey carefully guided Sarah to a chair and sat her down.

“I’ll be right back,” she told her. Sarah’s fingers reluctantly released her.

“Hurry,” she whispered fiercely.

Dorsey moved as quickly as she could through the dark and silent store, its internal quietness in stark contrast to the racket Mother Nature was making outside. She found the flashlight under the cash register, where both the cats were huddled together, green eyes aglow in the near total darkness. She petted Ira, got a hiss from George for daring to make eye contact, then detoured to the front window where an old family quilt was draped over one of her furniture pieces as part of the display. Rain lashed the front window violently and she could see the water running high in the street outside in what was left of the daylight.

She hurried back to Sarah, who impatiently stood when she saw the small beam of the flashlight headed toward her.

“Okay, so we got a chair, a flashlight and a quilt,” she said to Dorsey, adding up their assets like a castaway on a desert island. “What else? Plenty of tools and hardware. Tools…hmmm, so how do you feel about tools, Dorsey?”

Sarah’s tone of voice had changed from pragmatic to sultry. Her warm hands were now wandering over Dorsey’s torso as she put the flashlight and quilt down on the patio table next to the chair. Sarah was nibbling on her neck, pressed up against her from behind, not letting her straighten back up from her bent over position at the table. Which felt rather nice, actually. Sarah’s hand slipped down the outside front of Dorsey’s jeans until her firm grip found a home. A sharp wave of desire filled Dorsey with heat, suffusing her from head to toe as her body moved with Sarah’s dominating hand. She found herself gasping for breath, gripping the table with all her might.

“Tools?”

“Tools, toys, accoutrements,” Sarah breathed in Dorsey’s ear. “You know. I bet we could get real creative with some of the stuff in this store if we wanted to.”

Dorsey had been more than gratified with the creativity already shown by Sarah in their short time together. There was much more to explore, she knew, and she was definitely looking forward to that in time, but for now—even with her wholesale discount—she thought it wiser to stick with the tried-and-true.

“Ummm, yeah,” she managed, finally squirming out of Sarah’s embrace. “I’ve got something else in mind for this afternoon,” she told Sarah, who was taking advantage of their temporary uncoupling to start peeling off her clothes. Dorsey picked up the quilt and flashlight and turned on a battery operated camping lantern on the table. Its gentle light bathed Sarah in a golden glow as she dexterously dropped her bra on the pile of her other clothes, then gracefully shimmied out of her panties as Dorsey watched, her anticipation mounting almost painfully. She’d never felt this way before, never wanted another woman this badly.

“Well,” Sarah said, posing for her for a moment with her hand saucily on her hip. “What exactly did you have in mind?”

Dorsey had lost the power of speech when the bra came off, so she merely turned and mutely shone her flashlight into the corner behind the patio furniture, where a four-person tent stood, flap unzipped and inviting, with sleeping bags and a faux plastic, molded campfire to complete the picture.

She would never think of camping the same way, she thought, as she followed Sarah’s pale and perfect buttocks into the cozy little tent.

Chapter Ten

Dorsey and Maggie had lunch together that Friday, which was Maggie’s last day as a substitute teacher. Her colleague had recovered from whatever bug had afflicted him and was due back in the classroom on Monday. Since her last day was actually just a half-day, Maggie was celebrating with a well-earned glass of wine with her lunch at the Blue Duck. Dorsey enjoyed her cheeseburger and her break from work while Maggie brought her up to speed on all the latest.

“And Mother and I are off to the capital this weekend for the state convention,” she finished as Dorsey started on her fries.

“How is your mother?” Dorsey asked dutifully.

“Well, her ankle’s still bothering her some. She had Sarah run her over to the clinic in Grover today for a follow-up appointment.”

Dorsey actually knew that already, having had to cancel a planned rendezvous with Sarah as a result of Mrs. Bigelow’s commandeering of the red Bug and its driver. She felt an uneasy twinge of guilt when Maggie told her what she already knew.

She knew all about the convention Maggie mentioned as well. Both the Bigelows belonged to a women’s organization that was a social hub for the churchgoing ladies in town. Maggie was currently the treasurer, while her mother was the recording secretary. Tanya Hartwell was the president. Although Dorsey’s mother had been a member, Dorsey herself had never been asked to join, for which she was deeply grateful. Mrs. Bigelow and Mags had been thrilled when they were chosen to be the representatives from Romeo Falls at the annual state convention that year and had been looking forward to a swinging weekend at the capital Best Western.

Dorsey said, “So y’all are still going despite her ankle problem?”

“Yep, we’re going,” Maggie assured her. “We’re leaving as soon as her soap opera is done this afternoon. Wild horses couldn’t keep Mother away from convention. She’s on the rules and regulations committee this year, you know.”

Dorsey nodded politely while thinking how perfect that was for the old she-beast. She reached for her Coke and took a long sip. She hoped she didn’t sound like she was
too
eager for Maggie to go. On the one hand, of course she wanted her to go and enjoy herself and have a good time. And on the other hand, she very much wanted her to be gone so she could be alone with Sarah. It was all very confusing. With each encounter she and Sarah had, the guilt was ratcheting up in Dorsey’s conscience. She hated having this secret from Maggie. But it wasn’t her secret so much as it was Sarah’s and if Sarah wasn’t ready to tell Maggie, neither could she. Such a mess…