“There ya go,” Grace said setting his plate down. “You ain’t touched the lemonade. I can get you something else if you like.”
“It’s fine. So is it always this slow in here?” he asked as he sprinkled salt on his fries.
“We do okay for lunch. Business really dropped when the McDonald’s went in just up the road.”
“Grace, I really hate eating alone. Would you like to join me?”
“Well, I could use a coffee break,” she replied with a mischievous grin. She walked away and returned moments later with a glass of lemonade. “Decided it was too hot in here to be drinkin’ coffee.”
Scott ate almost without speaking. Grace didn’t really need anyone’s help carrying a conversation. Scott would smile or nod at the appropriate moments and she would go off again. How she’s owned Charlie’s for seven years. That she was married once. It didn’t last as long as her marriage with Charlie’s. Scott thought she probably used that line more than once but he laughed just the same. Her look turned somewhat somber when she told him about her daughter. She called her Sandie. Grace had given Sandie up for adoption a month after she was born. Kids shouldn’t raise kids, she said.
“She’s twenty-seven now,” Grace said with pride in her eyes. “I bet she’ll be finishing med school next year.”
“I bet she will,” Scott said.
Then he caught her wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “Sun sure is bright, isn’t it?” She mused, gazing across the street.
When she looked back Scott was checking out her breasts again.
“Not bad eh?” She cupped her hands under them. Her voice had regained the jovial tone she had when she first sat down. “They cost me a pretty penny. Money well spent, don’t ya think?”
Scott flushed a bit. He could feel his ears turning red. He looked at her chest again as if by invitation, and then looked into her eyes. She was smiling like a teenage girl, just asked to the prom. She sat up as straight as she could. Her shoulders pushed back. Her chest seemed to be crossing the table toward him. He had an urge to reach over to meet them. He had only ever been with younger women, no older than twenty-seven, maybe thirty. Nevertheless, as he sat across from Grace, forty-five years old, maybe fifty, he was aroused. He wondered if she knew how turned on he was.
The door opened and a woman walked in. She was about thirty, tall with short dark hair, small on the top, and big on the bottom. Scott thought she looked like a walking pear. She was wearing a white T-shirt that was loose on her shoulders and tight around the hips.
“Hey Annie,” Grace called out, waving.
Annie walked over to the table.
“Scott, this is Annie.”
“Hi Annie, it’s a pleasure.”
Annie nodded but didn’t say anything. Grace excused herself and walked with Annie into the kitchen.
Scott took a twenty out of his pocket and put in on the table. The price on the menu was $6.99. He felt somehow ashamed. She was a nice lady. Not old enough to be his mother, but maybe his mother’s little sister, and he checked her out like a butcher eyeing a side of beef. He stood up and left, not wanting to wait until she got back.
He opened the car door, but before getting in, he heard a familiar voice. “You forgot your change.”
Grace was standing a few yards away. She looked younger out here. The sun’s rays put a glow on her face that seemed to erase the lines he’d noticed inside.
He just raised his hand up in front of him as if to keep her at arms length.
“That’s okay, Grace. Keep it.”
“Listen, Scott,” she said coming closer. “I live up top of Charlie’s. Would you like to come up and chat? It does get lonely up there.”
He could feel an erection coming on. His wish to sneak away before she got back to the table had been replaced by a lust that over took him with a fury. He closed the car door and stepped toward her. With a pleased look on her face, she turned and he followed her to the stairs at the side of the building.
Scott spent most of the afternoon up in Grace’s place. He had never known sex like that. She was like a piano teacher placing a child’s hands on the correct keys. Only her body was the piano and he was the child. She was setting the pace. At first, she slowed him down. If he moved too slowly, she would shift gears and he would follow. He felt like he was doing it for the first time. He was tempted to stay the night when she invited him, but decided against it.
“You better stop in next time you’re in Michigan,” Grace insisted.
He just nodded politely and went out to the car.
Scott Randall would never see Grace or Charlie’s again.
Chapter Ten
Forest Glenn, Indiana, is a quaint little hollow not quite half way between Fort Wayne and Indianapolis. It’s mostly a residential community, home to commuters who make the daily trip to nearby Muncie, or Anderson.
It’s Mayberry living at its best. With a population of less than two thousand, everyone knows everyone else’s business. The only commerce in town is on Main Street. Standing on the corner of Main and First is the Mercantile Trust, a classy looking building with a stone facade and columns framing the main entrance. A large white-faced clock with Roman numerals keeps time over the door. It’s been the only banking in town since Forest Glenn became a town. Looking out from the bank you can see Gordon’s Pharmacy, a sign in the window advertising Coca Cola, $5.99 a case. Opposite Gordon’s stands a newer two story brick building, The Forest Glenn Medical Center, a list of doctors and dentists displayed in brass on the marquee in front. Across from the bank, Amy’s Deli, in the window a poster promoting adopt-a-dog week at the Forest Glenn Shelter.
Looking in either direction down Main Street, it isn’t the bowling alley, or the shops that catch your eye. Not the gas station or the high school. It is the clean tree-lined streets. Almost too clean, like they were actually on a Hollywood set and Gene Kelly was going to come dancing down the middle of the road any minute. There are no concrete light poles standing twenty feet above the road. These are the old-fashioned black iron light poles, the kind with the frosted white spheres on top.
One block north or south of First, Main turns residential, with grand old houses from days gone by. No two alike on the full length of the street.
On the corner of Main Street and Maple sits a stately Georgian two and a half story. It is a brown brick colonial with a row of windows on the second floor and a bay window on each side of the beautifully framed front entrance. The front yard is small and surrounded by a knee-high hedge, trimmed with geometric precision. In front a sign, “Shady Glenn B&B”. In the driveway next to the hedge, a red 69 Dodge Charger with Michigan plates dripped with dew left by a cool humid night.
Scott Randall walked out onto the porch. He was dressed like a man on his way to the links. Tan shorts and a dark-blue shirt. He turned as the door squeaked open and a kindly looking woman, who Scott thought had to be a sister to Alice from the Brady Bunch stood in the opening. She wore her hair in a bun, a floral print dress that went just past her knees and a white apron.
“Would you like to have breakfast in the gazebo, Mr. Randall?” she asked him.
“Just a coffee and maybe a Danish if you have any.” He didn’t bother to look at her. His mind was on the road. He hoped to make up some time today.
“Well, that’s no kind of breakfast. I’ll bring you some eggs and toast. You just come right in and sit down at the table and let Lizzie take care of things.”
Scott turned to look at her now. He was smiling and thoughts of his grandmother trying to get him to eat breakfast came rushing through his head. Whenever he stayed at Gran’s she always tried to get him to eat.
Have another sausage, Scottie, eat all your pasta, it will put hair on your chest, have some cake, Scottie, you’re too skinny.
Lizzie stood holding the door open with a look that said,
come in and eat, or you can’t go out to play with your friends
. He went back inside and Lizzie followed.
Scott didn’t have much time to read
The Indianapolis Star
that Lizzie had left on the table. She returned in minutes and put a plate with eggs, bacon and hash browns down in front of him. She left without a word and returned moments later with a pitcher of orange juice and four slices of toast.
“I just started a fresh pot of coffee, Mr. Randall. Can I get you anything else?”
“Well Lizzie, you can start by calling me Scott and I think I’ll pass on the coffee after all.”
Lizzie went back into the kitchen and returned with a small mug in her hand. She put it down on the table opposite Scott and sat down. She sipped the coffee then asked, “So Mr. Ran…, I mean Scott. Do you plan on being in the area for a while?”
Slightly amused by her questioning, Scott explained that he was passing through on his way back to LA. Being a true ambassador to her community, Lizzie tried to interest him in some local attractions. Forest Glenn Country Club, it was private she explained, but her nephew worked there and could get him a tee time. The wineries just about forty miles from Muncie were beautiful and she felt the Heritage Car Museum might interest him considering the old Dodge in her driveway.
Scott finished eating while she gushed on about the local charm that was Forest Glenn. He had put his bag out on the front porch earlier and when he got a break in Lizzie’s sales pitch he stood, thanked her for the hospitality and walked to the front door. There was no hustle and bustle of daily life out on Main. The only sounds were birds, a barking dog in the distance and a lawn mower next door. He stepped out onto the porch, bid Lizzie goodbye, descended the steps and walked along a small garden path that crossed the front of the house leading to the driveway. Snapdragons and marigolds bordered each side of the walk. He passed through a small gap in the hedge, tossed his bag in the backseat, got into Thomas’ car, opened his road atlas and planned the day’s route.
He wasn’t happy with the progress he had made yesterday. Now Sarah and Grace were just fond memories. He would make up a little time today, and tomorrow he would be in better shape. He closed the atlas and left it on the passenger seat. He would head toward Indianapolis then take I-70 across the heartland to Utah. He had been skiing there many times, but had never seen the mountains in the summer.
Scott started the car and began to back out of the driveway. Lizzie remained on the porch, He looked back and gave her a wave. When his attention returned to driving, a man stood on the sidewalk directly behind the car. He jammed the brake pedal and stopped inches from the man’s legs.
Scott looked up to see an emotionless grin on a face that haunted his mind. It was the bum from Detroit. It had to be, no two people could look that much alike. Scott’s breakfast began to churn in his stomach. He didn’t recognize the emotion he was experiencing. Was it fear, anger, anxiety? He had a strong urge to punch the accelerator and put the rank smelling fucker out of his misery.
His fugue state was broken however by the sound of Lizzie’s voice. “Archie you old coot get the hell out of the way before you get killed.”
Scott spun toward the porch and when he looked back the bum was gone and in his place stood Archie, a gangly white haired old man with blue denim overalls and a big straw hat. Archie waved Lizzie off with a swipe of his hand and walked on.
Scott backed the car to the edge of the road, stopped and watched the senior gent saunter along. The Charger entered the roadway and headed in the same direction as old Archie. Scott drove slowly past glancing over at him, checking to make sure it wasn’t the bum. When he got alongside him, Archie looked into the car with a big yellow smirk, cocked his finger like a gun and pointed it at Scott just like the bum had yesterday. Thoroughly creeped out, Scott punched the gas pedal. With the smell of burning rubber and the sound of squealing tires, Archie was but a speck in the rearview.
Heading through Forest Glenn, the red Charger slowed down only for stop signs and the solitary red light at First and Main. A slight squawk emanated from the rear tires each time it pulled away from a stop.
Scott drove out of town taking little notice of the quaint architecture. His head was beginning to ache and the bright sun seemed to be drilling through his eyes to the center of his brain. It seemed that each car he passed had a grubby looking driver grinning at him with yellow teeth. They were all pointing their fingers and winking. He thought he could actually hear them making that fucking clicking sound. He wondered if it might be some kind of mid-west salutation, but he had been in this area several times and hadn’t noticed it before. He blamed the gesture for his pounding head. The damn gesture was a vice and each time he saw it the vice tightened another turn increasing the pressure between his ears. So, he didn’t pass any cars and didn’t let any pass him unless he couldn’t help it. If they did pass he stared straight ahead.
Chapter Eleven
By midmorning, Roger wished he had denied ever having ridden a horse. Sure, he and Ed had gone riding a couple of times, but only for an hour each time. Beth rousted him from the guest room at 6:00 am and had him in the saddle by 7:30. After three hours his ass was killing him.