Shop Till You Drop (26 page)

“He’ll forgive me!” Helen shouted, her anger rising in a red tide. “He’ll forgive me! I didn’t do anything.”

“You wrecked his car,” her mother said.

“Of course, I wrecked his car. I found him and Sandy shagging on our patio.”

The scene flashed again in front of her. Rob and Sandy were naked on the teak chaise longue, his hairy bottom in the air, her freshly waxed legs waving like antennae. Rob was supposed to be oiling the wood and doing patio maintenance. Instead, he was nailing Sandy. And Rob always said he didn’t like Sandy.

Helen had picked up the crowbar she found next to Rob’s electric screwdriver. She brought the crowbar down on the chaise with a satisfying
crak!
Rob jumped up off (and out of) Sandy. Sandy scurried behind a pot of pink impatiens for protection, but not before Helen noticed she was not a real blonde.

Rob abandoned his lady love and tried to hide in his Land Cruiser. He scrambled in and locked the doors, but Helen had the crowbar. She still remembered the satisfying sound it made as she destroyed the big SUV. First, she mulched the windshield while Rob cowered in the front seat, arms up to protect his head from flying glass. Next, she broke all the other windows. Then she cracked the headlights and tail-lights and splintered the side mirrors.

She was busy bashing the doors when Sandy crawled to the pile of clothes on the patio and picked up her cell phone. Helen was having so much fun she did not hear Sandy calling 911. The police laughed their heads off when they saw the naked Rob hiding in the car. He tried to get Helen arrested for destruction of property, but the car was registered in her name. After all, she’d paid for it. Rob and Sandy did not press attempted assault charges. Sandy was too afraid her husband would find out how she’d spent her afternoon. He did anyway.

Unfortunately, Helen’s insurance would not cover self-inflicted damage. And Rob’s photos of the battered Land Cruiser and the police report on the domestic disturbance call did not help her court case.

She realized her mother was still talking. “. . . Everything could be worked out, Helen, if you’d just get back together with your husband.”

Helen’s hands itched for a crowbar. “He’s not my husband, Mom. We’re divorced.”

“Divorce isn’t recognized by the Church, Helen,” her mother said. “The Pope said so. If you should ever remarry, you’ll burn in hell.”

“The Pope’s wrong,” Helen said. “When I lived with that mooch Rob, I was already in hell. Anything else would be heaven. Mom, don’t you remember what my life was like? When Rob quit his sales job, he quit looking for work and lived off me.”

“He wasn’t living off you, dear. He just couldn’t find a job on his level.”

“For five years?” Helen said, angry all over again.

“And he did a lot around your house. He remodeled the kitchen and the bathrooms, and—”

Helen interrupted. “Mom, he didn’t do anything but tear up those rooms. I had to hire people to finish what he started. I paid for those renovations myself. Meanwhile, he was screwing every woman in the neighborhood.”

“Helen, I have no desire to hear that language. And while I don’t want to be critical of my own daughter, perhaps if you’d been home more instead of working those long hours, your husband might have been more faithful.”

“Mother!”

“Well, men have different appetites than we do, dear. I know you think I’m old-fashioned, but it’s true. Robbie could still be a good husband if you’d just come home and do what the judge said.”

“Never!” Helen said. “I’ll starve first.”

“But you don’t have to,” her mother said. She started her wailing whine again. “Helen, you could have a decent high-paying job—”

“Except I’d have to give half that salary to Rob, Mother.”

“Is that so bad, Helen?” her mother said. “It would still be many times more than you are making now.”

Helen looked around the musty apartment at the Coronado with the squeaky bed and the turquoise Barcalounger. She remembered her huge St. Louis home with its tasteful furniture. Half the home and most of the contents went to Rob.

Helen had filed for divorce after the Land Cruiser crushing. She was the injured party. But charming Rob had convinced the judge that he was a house husband who made Helen’s successful career possible because he stayed home and took care of their household. His many lovers testified that Rob provided invaluable domestic services, while Helen fumed, and her incompetent lawyer told her to shut up.

The judge believed Rob, the man’s man. Helen was making six figures, his honor said, because of Rob’s love and support. The judge gave Rob half the house. That was bad enough, since Helen put up all the down payment. But then the judge awarded Rob half of Helen’s future income, claiming her deadbeat husband made her current career possible “at the expense of his own livelihood.”

When the judge said those words, Helen was outraged. Before her lawyer could stop her, Helen grabbed a familiar black book with gold lettering. She put her hand on it and said, “I swear on this Bible that my husband Rob will not get another nickel of my salary.”

Later, the book turned out not to be a Bible, but a copy of the Revised Missouri Statutes. But Helen still considered the oath binding.

“Young woman, you will do as I order, or you will be in contempt of court,” the judge had thundered.

“I’m already in contempt of this court,” screamed Helen. She realized she must have looked like one of those “crazy women’s libbers” the judge disliked so much. Rob sat there in his nice suit, kept his mouth shut, and got all her money.

Now she was holding the cell phone and screaming again. “Mother, I’d rather starve than give Rob my money. That’s why I left St. Louis and took a dead-end job. Even if the court or Rob finds me, I’m barely making enough to live on, much less having money left over for that mooch.”

Her mother wept louder. “Helen, you are cutting off your nose to spite your face. All your education and what are you making now? Seven dollars an hour?”

“Seven seventy,” Helen corrected her.

“Doing what?” her mother demanded.

“Never mind what,” Helen said. She didn’t trust her mother not to blab to Rob. “It’s respectable.”

“It’s a waste. I never thought I’d have a daughter hiding from the law.”

Helen wasn’t sure how far the courts would go to track down a deadbeat wife. But she knew Rob would go to any length to get her money. Well, he would be disappointed. Helen came from hardworking stock. Her grandmother was a cleaning woman who supported herself with dead-end jobs her whole life. Helen could, too.

“I don’t know how you could do this to me,” her mother wailed. “I don’t even know where you are.”

And you won’t, thought Helen. Because Rob would charm it out of you.

“I’m in a better place, Mom,” Helen said. “I’m happy here. I like it better than St. Louis.”

“You hate me. You hate your home,” her mother said.

“I love you,” Helen said. “Please try to understand.” It was time to bring out the pink cellophane and end this conversation. Helen crinkled it in her hand.

“Sorry, the phone’s breaking up. I’d better hang up. I can’t hear you, but I love you, Mom.”

I can’t listen to you, but I love you, Mom.

“You’re breaking up. Bye, Mom. Happy birth—”

Helen cut herself off in the middle of a word, to make it seem authentic.

After the call, Helen could not stay shut up with her thoughts. She took the suitcase back to Margery’s, then went for a walk on the side streets, where people like her lived, shop assistants, waiters, and retirees.

Darkness was coming on. Cats with torn ears crawled over fences for another night of dangerous freedom. Small things scurried and slithered through the impatiens and palmettos. Lights were going on in the brightly painted cottages, and in their glow, Helen caught glimpses of other people’s lives.

The more she walked, the more peaceful she felt. Juliana’s and its dirty secrets seemed far way. So did her mother and her rigid morality.

Helen’s peace was shattered by the roar of a motorcycle. She did not look up, hoping the noise would soon be gone. But then the motorcycle slowed to a rumble, and she heard a man say, “Would you like a ride?”

Helen looked up and saw Daniel on a black Harley.

He wore his black leather jacket and chaps like a knight’s armor. His legs were braced to control the motorcycle, and she could see his muscles flexed through the leather. She felt weak in the knees.

“Come on,” he said. “I won’t keep you out late on a school night.” He smiled so charmingly, she climbed aboard the big bike. He handed her a helmet, which felt heavy as a bowling ball.

Helen settled in behind him, put her arms around his broad chest, and felt how it tapered into his narrow waist. She leaned against him and breathed in soap and sweat and leather. Every time Daniel shifted, she felt him move against her. His body was hard but warm.

They were going too fast to talk, and Helen was glad. She knew she’d be tongue-tied. At first, she was afraid they’d be killed. Herds of SUVs drove straight at them. Angry pickups roared past. Delivery trucks cut them off. Helen tensed and closed her eyes, expecting to be ground chuck. But soon she saw that Daniel knew what he was doing. She relaxed and began to enjoy being wrapped around a man for the first time in ages. She felt young and carefree.

Half an hour later, Daniel roared into the Coronado parking lot, Helen still clinging to him. They pulled off their helmets together. Helen stayed sitting on the bike, a little dazed. Daniel dismounted and kissed her. Hard. She dropped the helmet and kissed him back, her fingers tangled in his long dark hair, her chest pressed against his black leather jacket.

“I have to leave now,” he said finally. “But I want to see you tomorrow night. Seven-thirty OK? We’ll go for a longer ride.”

“Oh, yes,” Helen said, knowing he was not talking about his motorcycle.

“I have a new system to win the lottery,” Peggy the parrot lady said.

“Hmmmm,” Helen said absently. She was still dazed by Daniel’s kisses. Her lips were swollen and bruised. Her cheeks burned, rubbed raw by his beard, which was pleasantly rough. Like his kisses.

Tomorrow night she would have that perfect body all to herself. If those kisses were any preview, Daniel was even better than he looked.

Helen plopped down at the picnic table and stared into the night, wishing it would go away and become tomorrow, so she could be with Daniel.

“Are you OK?” Peggy said, then looked closer at Helen. “No, you’re not. You look like you’ve been hit on the head with a coconut.”

“I went for a ride on Daniel’s new Harley.”

Peggy whistled. So did Pete the parrot.

“He wants to take me riding tomorrow night,” Helen said.

“Well, well,” Peggy said. “Are you going?”

“Oh, yes,” Helen sighed. “He’s absolutely perfect. I think this is it.”

“Oh, oh. What kind of protection do you have?”

“Huh?” Helen said.

“I thought so,” Peggy said. “Don’t pretend he’s swept you off your feet when you wind up in his bed tomorrow night. Do you have any condoms?”

Helen could feel a blush creeping up her neck. “No,” she said.

“I have a box I’ll never use. I’ll get it for you.”

Helen was content to daydream in the dark until Peggy returned with the condoms. “Helen, I hate to sound like your mother, but do you know what you’re doing? You aren’t the type who has casual affairs. You’re a serious person. This guy dates strippers. If you just want a good time, Daniel could be fun. But he’s not for the long haul. If you’re looking for any kind of commitment, he’ll probably take off. Can you live with that?”

“Daniel may not be Mr. Right, but he’s Mr. Right Now,” Helen said. She was surprised to hear herself say that, but she meant it. “I don’t care if I only have one night with Daniel. No woman can expect perfection forever. I’ll take what I can get.”

“Then put these in your purse.”

“Thirty-six condoms?” Helen said.

“Hope you use them all,” Peggy said, and winked.

“Thanks,” Helen said. She went to her apartment as if she were sleepwalking. On the way, she passed through Phil’s perpetual cloud of burning hemp.

Phil had his dreams. So did Peggy. Tomorrow, Helen would have hers.

 

Helen was not sure how she made it through work the next day. She brought the wrong sizes for her customers. She counted out the wrong change. She forgot to buzz in Brittney and left her standing outside the green door tapping her foot impatiently. Tara finally noticed Brittney and admitted her. When Brittney asked about the progress of Christina’s police investigation, Helen simply smiled and stared into space, which shocked Brittney. No wonder she left in a huff.

After that disaster, Helen tried drinking black coffee until her nerves screeched like a badly tuned violin. The caffeine did not make her more alert. She picked at her lunch. She said, “What?” when Tara asked her questions. But mostly Helen stared into nothing, like a woman in a trance. She’d been put into that trance by Daniel’s kiss. Only another kiss would break the spell.