I cocked my head. Here he was, finally, the Ed of legend. The man Maureen had described as sexy as hell. I felt a shiver low in my belly. He was short, his teeth smoker yellow, but hewasattractive, despite or maybe because of the weird way he dressed, like he wasn’t afraid to be different. That sort of confidence counted in Pantown. Was that what Maureen saw in him?
“Hi there, darlin’,” he said, studying me. “What’s your name?”
Even though he worded it that way, like he was starring in a Tennessee Williams play, hesoundedlike a Minnesotan, same as the rest of us, like Swedish people who forgot to get off the boat. Still, I was struck by how deep his voice was, given his compact body.
“Heather.”
He tipped an imaginary hat. “Nice to meet you, Heather.”
“She’s the drummer in the band I was telling you about,” Ricky said, nervously switching his weight from one foot to the other. “The ones you got a spot for at the fair?”
I noticed he wasn’t taking shared credit for it anymore, not with Ed right there.
Ed, who hadn’t taken his eyes off me, smiled slow and delicious, like a morning stretch. “All right, then,” he said. “You’re a friend of Maureen’s.”
I nodded. I wondered where Ricky and Ed had first met because Ed was way too old to be hanging out with high school kids, even a brain-fry like Ricky. But it was hard to hold on to the question. Ed was exciting and terrifying and so out of place. His greased black hair and leather jacket against the soft, pastel Pantowners shopping behind him reminded me of a sleek jungle cat let loose in a petting zoo.
“Maureen’s a good bird,” Ed said, his smile widening. “You got RC Cola back there?”
“Sure do,” Ricky said, pulling a waxed cup from the dispenser.
“You’re not supposed to be serving food,” Claude said, eyes scanning the perimeter for the manager. Ricky’d already gotten written up twice this month, once for not wearing his hairnet and the second time for taking too many smoke breaks. He was skating on thin ice.
“You’re not supposed to be serving food,”Ricky said, mimicking Claude. He kept filling the cup. “How about,Claude, you can come to the party if you bring two girls.”
Ed hooted like Ricky had said something funny and leaned over the counter to punch Claude in the shoulder. “What the hell kind of name is Cloudy?” he asked. “What, you got a sister named Windy? If so, I’d like to meet her. I bet she blows hard.”
Ed and Ricky both guffawed at this, and like that, whatever spell Ed had thrown over me was broken. I gave him the hairy eyeball.
“We don’t want to come to your stupid party anyhow,” Claude said, rubbing his arm where Ed had punched it.
My eyes dropped, avoiding Claude’s. I didn’t want to mention that I’d already told Brenda I’d go. It wasn’t just that I’d promised, either. During the lunch rush, as my fingers were busy but my mind free to roam, I’d begun to wonder if what I’d seen last night meant I had even more catching up to do than I’d thought.
I didn’t want to be doing what Maureen had been, obviously, but I should be doingsomething, shouldn’t I? That’s when it had crossed my mind that she might be getting paid for what I’d seen her do last night. That would explain where she’d gotten the money to buy her Black Hills ring, its plump rose-gold grapes hugged by curving green-gold leaves. I hoped she wasn’t getting paid. If I won the Publishers Clearing House Sweepstakes, I would buy her all the Black Hills gold jewelry in the world so she never had to get on her knees again.
Still, I couldn’t help but imagine what it was like. My stomach kicked thinking about it, yet ... those men had been waiting for her. They werewaiting. In a line. Too focused on their turn to even notice the basement door crack open and then closed. What did that feel like? Powerful? Beautiful? Was it the Kissing Potion lip gloss that had given her that hold over guys? Maureen’s cousin in Maple Grove said boys couldn’t resist you if you wore it. It transformed even the dullest lips into stud magnets. I’d immediately bought my own tube of Cherry Smash. I’d hidden it from my dad like it was drugs, but the rollerball had accidentally popped out. Ruined my favorite pair of purple cords.
“Thanks, man,” Ed said, taking the pop Ricky offered him. He pulled a brown Anacin bottle out of his inside coat pocket, tapped out three tablets, dropped them in his mouth, and started chewing.
He caught me staring. “Want one?” he asked, offering me the bottle, looking at my chest rather than my face.
Good luck finding anything there.
“Picked up the habit in Georgia when I was in the service,” he continued, undaunted. “Keeps my teeth from hurting. There’s nothing better to wash down Anacin than God’s cola.”
When I didn’t put out my hand, he twisted the cap back on the bottle, slid it into his coat pocket, and took a swig from his pop. I glanced at his wrist, searching for the glint of the copper bracelet I’d seen on that man last night, his hand tangled in Maureen’s hair.
But Ed’s wrists were bare.
BETH
Beth figured she’d have one chance to swing the lantern at him.
The chamber pot was too light, the water jug too unwieldy.
It had to be the lantern.
She would smash it upside his head with enough force that his brains spilled out. Not only was she a long-distance runner but also she’d spent the summer slinging trays loaded with heavy diner plates. She knew she had strength enough in her arms as long as she surprised him, as long as she could get at him before he threw up an arm to shield himself.
