Dancing With Venus Page 2

  “Sorry, cowboy, but… Is that you, Jessie?”

  “Hey, Wendell. How the hell you been?”

  “Just throw your stuff in the backseat and get on in here.” Wendell reached across and popped the passenger door open.

  Jessie flipped her cigarette butt on the pavement and settled in.

  “Dispatch, this is sixteen. I checked out that hitchhiker down by the Greyhound. Didn't find nothin'.”

  “Sixteen, Dispatch clear.”

  “Your daddy said you might be coming in. 'Course, he wasn't too sure on that count.”

  “Yeah? When'd you talk to him?”

  “Couple a weeks ago. I was over there helpin' bring in this year's soybeans. I guess you heard about your sister.”

  “That's why I'm here, Wendell.”

  Wendell's police radio filled the silence for a few miles. Jessie's stomach was in knots, and her head had started pounding again.

  “Sixteen, Dispatch.”

  Wendell took a call for a traffic accident out on River Road.

  “Listen, Wendell, if you can drop me down at Mercer's, I'll get a ride out on one of the trucks.”

  “Sure can. How long you gonna be here?”

  “Too long, Wendell.”

  “I hear ya. You gonna be playing anywhere?”

  “Wasn't planning on it. But you never know. Might get kind of stuffy at home. Might hit Red's just to get out of the house.”

  Wendell pulled into the lot at Mercer's Dairy and waited while she got her things out of the back. She leaned down and thanked him.

  “Glad to see you're back, Jessie. Your dad will be too. Try to stay out of trouble this time.” Wendell laughed. Jessie did too, but her heart wasn't in it.

  “Thanks for the ride, Wendell.”

  Wendell was still laughing as he turned on his reds and blues and squealed his tires leaving the parking lot.

  “Get a life, dickhead!” Jessie flipped her old high-school classmate the bird as he drove off, grabbed her stuff, and headed for the dispatcher's office.

  “Hey there, Bob. How's the cat draggin'?”

  “Speakin' of cats. Look what this one just dragged in.”

  “Can I hitch a ride out to the farm?”

  “Long as you promise not to molest my driver. He's just a kid. Wouldn't know what to do with a wildcat like you, Jessie.”

  “Funny. That's real funny, Bob. You make a living with crap like that?”

  “Seein's how you're back, I might get some new material. Who knows, I might even get me a spot on that there Comedy Club show.”

  “Which truck, funny man?”

  “Twenty-two. Kid's name's Larry. You be nice now, Jessie.”

  She walked away and discreetly brushed a tear from the corner of her left eye. Asshole. She found the truck and dropped her things into the passenger seat. No sign of Larry. In the break room she got some salted Planters and a Mr. Pibb from the vending machines. Rocking back in a chair, she dropped her boots on the edge of one of the tables, pulled her Stetson down, and tried not to think too much.

  * * *

  The single-axle stainless-steel tanker lumbered up to the dairy barn on the farm she grew up on, and Larry shut the engine off. Jessie said thanks, grabbed her things, and climbed out of the cab.

  Rusty, her father's herding shepherd, came running up wagging his tail and whining for attention. She scratched the dog's ears and stood in the dust looking to the east. The sun was just peeking over the tree line on Shorty's hill a mile away. The air smelled like damp soil, cow manure, and home. Jessie closed her eyes and breathed deep.

  “That's right, boy. You came to see me. Didn't ya? Didn't ya? You came to welcome me home.” She scuffed Rusty's neck one more time and picked her things up.

  “Jess! That you, honey?” Big callused hands were on her shoulders before she could turn around. “How ya been, Jess? Sure is good to have you back home, honey.”

  Jessie dropped her things and surrendered a hug to the only man in her life worth a tinker's damn. She fought back the tears and held on tight. She didn't want to let go. When she did, she saw it immediately. Her father had aged more than the year she'd been away. His hair was thinner and grayer. His face looked drawn in spite of his big smile. The man who never judged her, always encouraged her, and could sit for hours listening to her thump her guitar. Her father was her rock, and she felt guilty as hell.

  “Damn straight, it's me. This cow's done come home, Daddy.”

  “Let me get Larry straightened out and clear the barn. Get on in the house. Your mother'll be makin' breakfast. Big doin's goin' on. I'll be in shortly.”

  For the first time in more than a year, Jessie smiled. Not one of her stage smiles. Less one of her shallow bedroom smiles. This was a full-on, no-holds-barred, cheek-hurtin' grin that glowed as bright as the sun. She picked up her things and got a swat on her behind as she turned away.

  “You stayed away too long, Jessie. Ain't right. Now get in there. We'll talk later.”

  She took a deep breath and sighed. She was home, and that had nothing to do with the stately stone abode that sat on a lush green lawn in a stand of tall majestic oaks surrounded by a short white picket fence. Home was about the feeling in her chest and her father's love.

  She pushed open the yard gate at the back of the house and stepped off the gravelly dust of the lane onto the fresh-mowed turf. Jessie walked in the grass alongside the stepping stones and headed for the screened-in back porch, and listened to the morning birds.

  “Come on, Kimmie. Breakfast is ready. Your father will be here shortly. You other girls get on in here too.”

  At the sound of her mother's voice drifting out across the backyard from the kitchen, Jessie's stomach wound into knots and her step faltered. She wanted a smoke, a drink, and someplace else to hang her hat for the next week.

  With a full serving of trepidation, Jessie pulled open the screen door to the back porch and let it slam shut behind her. She dropped her duffel bag in front of the washer and steeled herself for the moment she'd been dreading since she'd crawled out of Jethro's bed an eternity ago.

  With more bravado than resolve, Jessie crossed the back porch, pushed open the back door to the house, and stepped onto the battleground. Her best recollection was that she'd fumbled the last round.

  “I'm back, Mom! Ain'tcha glad ta see me?”

  A graveyard at midnight would have given her a livelier welcome.

  Chapter Two

  Jessie's little sister sat in her ratty pink robe from high school, matching pink house slippers, and had a bright pink towel wrapped around her head. And she saved the day. She jumped up from the kitchen table, ran over, and clung to Jessie like a wet rag.

  “It's Psycho Woman! You came! I'm so glad, Jessie!”

  “How ya been, Short Stuff?” Jessie's heart pounded, and she swallowed a coppery taste lurking at the back of her throat. Given the words she'd had for her little sister the last time they'd been standing in the very same kitchen, Jessie wanted to kiss Short Stuff's feet. Instead she put her guitar down and hugged her sister back.

  “Wait till you see, Jessie. I'm getting Barcoff's to come in and do the food. And Heldon's is doing the—” Her sister wrinkled her nose and pushed away. “Phew. When's the last time you had a bath?”

  “I'm sure your sister's tired, Kimmie. Maybe she wants to take a bath and get some sleep.” Her mother seemed set on killing the moment. “You girls get on with your breakfast. Lots to do this morning.”

  And hi to you too, Mom.

  Her sister, someone she had wronged in the worst way possible, lived in a pink world with white trim and thought baby chicks and hot rides were neat. And she stepped in and saved the moment a second time by ignoring her mother completely.

  “Hurry up, Jessie. Get a bath. I want you to go with us. My fitting's this morning. You have to be there. You can meet everyone later.”

  Instead of taking up the gauntlet with her mother, Jessie picked up her guitar and start
ed down the long hallway to her bedroom. As awkward moments go, Jessie felt like she'd dodged a bullet.

  “You might have to throw Marci out of the bathroom. She and Debbie are bunking with you.” Her sister still sounded bubbly when she yelled at Jessie's back.

  Thank God and Colbie Caillat for “Bubbly.”

  Jessie stopped in her tracks in front of her bedroom door and surveyed her latest disappointment. Her collection of bumper stickers, concert stickers, and city stickers was gone. The door had been stripped and painted. Instead of following her heart and storming the kitchen, Jessie braced herself for what waited on the other side of the offending woodwork and pushed her bedroom door open.

  Her purple walls had been banished, and some earth-toned brown greeted her. Then she saw the foot of her bed. Or somebody's bed. Her twin had morphed into a double that took up half of one wall. Her Led Zeppelin bedspread had been replaced by something in a lighter earth tone. It was all nice but, sadly, not her. Her memories had been banished.

  Jessie found her guitar amplifier beneath a long narrow table that matched the bed. The table was where her old cluttered desk used to be, beneath the wide double window that looked out on the side yard. The room smelled new. New paint, new furniture. New bedding.

  New daughter?

  She didn't recall leaving a naked woman standing in her bedroom, but her departure was a little hazy. No, she corrected. Not a woman. A Greek goddess.

  This is going to be a great fuckin' week. Jessie rolled her eyes.

  “I should have knocked—” She started to back out of the bedroom she didn't know anymore.

  “That's okay. You must be Jessie.”

  Jessie heard her father stomp into the kitchen, and she stepped into the bedroom and pushed the door shut behind her. She threw her Stetson on the bed, dropped her guitar in front of the closet, and avoided the naked woman's eyes.

  “And you must be a friend of Kimmie's.”

  “Marci.” The naked woman smiled and took a step in Jessie's direction. Jessie teetered. She thought the woman was actually going to hug or kiss her. Instead she walked past in a light summertime breeze and started going through a drawer in the dresser.

  “Nice to meetcha, Marci.” Jessie's nose filled with the smell of spring flowers and baby oil. The olfactory experience only highlighted her own rank state.

  Just what I need. A bunch of college cheerleaders hanging around while Mom and I duke it out. Sheesh.

  Then she noticed the walls and exploded.

  “What the hell happened to my pictures?”

  Jessie stomped into the bathroom and slammed the door.

  * * *

  “You're gonna turn into a prune if you don't get out of that water soon.”

  “No. Really. That was nice of you, Short Stuff.” Jessie took a drag on her cigarette and blew a series of smoke rings toward the ceiling.

  “You didn't deserve it. And do you have to smoke in the bathroom? You know Mom—”

  “Don't say it.”

  Kimberly—Kimmie to family and friends, Short Stuff to Jessie—flipped on the ventilator fan and leaned into the bathroom mirror to inspect her eyes. Jessie reached over the edge of the bathtub and snubbed her cigarette out in an ashtray on the floor.

  “I saved everything for you, you know.”

  “Thanks again for at least saying hi when I got in. What's everything?” Jessie toed the lever for the bathtub drain and pushed up from the water. Her body ached, but her headache had taken a hike.

  “All your precious pictures and posters. Mom had them on the back porch. I boxed them up and put them in the tack room up at the stable. She redid your room because I was bringing friends to stay. She didn't do it to…” Kimmie's words trailed off, and Jessie didn't pursue the thought.

  The door into their shared bathroom opened, and a redhead walked in from Kimmie's bedroom wearing a sleek white robe. Jessie grabbed a towel and wrapped it around her body.

  This place is more crowded than a New York City subway station.

  “Sorry. You two are hoggin' the bathroom. Charlotte's in your parents' bathroom, and Linda is in the half bath doing her makeup. I don't know where Debbie and Marci are.”

  Jessie lined up with her sister and the redhead at the bathroom counter between the double sinks. She stared into the mirror and cringed. She smelled better, but the shadows under her eyes hadn't washed away.

  Right. Fat chance.

  Then she glanced at the redhead's perfect reflection in the mirror.

  Another cheerleader.

  “You're the troublemaker, right? Psycho Woman? I'm Becky. I met your sister in Cucamonga.”

  Jessie glanced back at her own image in the mirror and wondered if they were all that much younger or if she just looked that much older. Last she knew Short Stuff was born two years after she was.

  “So you're all nurses?” Jessie blew off the Psycho Woman comment, grabbed a brush, and started pulling tangles out of her hair.

  “None of us are nurses.” Short Stuff deadpanned.

  “Then what the hell did Dad pay all that money to send you to Chaffey—”

  “We're gold diggers!” Both girls waved their hands in the air and swung their hips in some perverse cheer parody. Becky offered a sultry pout, and Kimmie started giggling.

  “You see,” Becky explained, “no woman really wants to be a nurse. There're all those bedpans—”

  “And doctors,” Kimmie explained.

  “Lousy hours.”

  “And more doctors.” Kimmie had finished her makeup and was brushing her hair.

  “Needles and blood…” Becky made a face in the mirror.

  “And lots more doctors.”

  “Poor pay…” Becky ticked off a litany of reasons no one in their right mind would want to be a nurse. Kimmie sandwiched each response with doctors.

  “So this Richard guy. He's a…”

  “Doctor!” the girls answered in unison and cackled like crazy.

  They were interrupted by a pounding on the door from Kimmie's bedroom and her mother yelling. “You girls hurry up in there. The appointment's at ten thirty.”

  “Yeah, Dr. Dick.” Kimmie pulled some dreamy-eyed bimbo look, and Becky leaned close.

  “The guy's a proctologist. Can you imagine where his finger's been all day when he walks through the door with his honey, I'm home routine?”

  The door from Jessie's bedroom opened, and the Greek goddess walked in wearing her panties and bra.

  Jessie was starting to feel claustrophobic with all the bubbly college coeds in attendance.

  “Don't listen to these two. We're not all gold diggers.”

  “Yeah, Marci digs other things.”

  “I just like to keep my options open, that's all. I'm a musician. I play the cello and—”

  “She's a Mouseketeer.” Becky grabbed her makeup bag and left to get dressed.

  “Yeah, she gets off on Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.” Kimmie picked up her things to leave as well.

  “Kimmie.” Jessie saw no way around it. She stopped her sister at the bathroom door and held Kimmie's arm so her sister couldn't escape. She glanced over her shoulder at Marci but went on anyway. “Listen, about…well, we never got to talk—”

  “And you feel bad?” Her little sister looked genuinely pissed when she stared back. After a few seconds her little sister brought her open palm up and slapped Jessie hard enough it hurt. “You feel better now?”

  “Kimmie…”

  Her sister leaned in and gave Jessie a peck on the lips followed by a smile.

  “I still love ya, Sis. You're my big sis. Can't nothin' come 'tween me and my favorite psycho woman.”

  Jessie stared at the door after her sister left. She felt small and petty. Most of all she felt alone. She sniffed and wiped the corner of her eye as she turned back to the bathroom counter. She discovered Marci in the mirror, eyeliner poised, staring back. Jessie looked around for her smokes and lighter, glanced at Marci once more, sat
on the edge of the tub, and lit up. Her stomach growled, and she thought she needed food. But that wasn't it. That wasn't what she wanted or needed.

  She didn't know how long it had been since she'd cried. Not tears of joy or wet-eyed disappointment. No, she was thinking about a full-on, no-holds-barred crying jag. She tried to recall the last time something like that had happened in her life, and she drew a blank. The realization just made her want to cry more.

  “You play the blues. Sing too, don't you?”

  Jessie watched the ashes fall off her cigarette onto the white tile floor.

  Another reason for Mom to yell.

  “Kimmie gave me a few recordings of you performing. Things your father made.”

  Jessie took a deep draw on her cigarette, pulled her badass mask firmly back in place, and twisted her cigarette out in the ashtray on the floor. She pushed off the edge of the tub, adjusted the towel wrapped around her body, and stepped up to the bathroom counter.

  “Yeah, Dad must have a thousand recordings of me.” She grabbed a brush and started pulling the tangles out of her hair again.

  “I used to play for the Disney Symphony. Back when I was fifteen. That's why the Gold Diggers all call me a Mouseketeer.”

  The silence dragged out. Jessie decided bubbly college girls weren't her kind of company.

  Marci finally packed up her makeup bag and left. Jessie finished brushing her hair out, borrowed her sister's blow-dryer, and headed out to dress and see what her sister was up to.

  She was relieved to find she still had clothes in the dresser. Even if it wasn't her dresser. More relieved when she found her Martin and her Fender Strat in their cases in the closet.

  At least I haven't been evicted completely.

  She stuffed her small wallet in her front jeans pocket and headed out.

  Not yet, anyway.

  * * *

  Jessie poured herself a cup of coffee and took a chair at the empty kitchen table. Nothing had changed. As neat and impeccable as ever. Violets grew in small pots in the kitchen window. Notes and pictures were stuck to the refrigerator door with magnets that looked like daisies. A big Pooh Bear cookie jar sat at the end of the kitchen counter. The morning dishes and, Jessie lamented, food had been cleared, and the stainless-steel sink glistened.