The Baby Bargain (2 page)
Authors: Dallas Schulze
She had always known she wasn't pretty or sophisticated like other girls. She'd never had the clothes or makeup the girls in school had chattered about, and she'd never known how to giggle and flirt like they had seemed born knowing how to do. If her mother hadn't died maybe things would have been different
But her mother had died and her father thought cosmetics were the devil's work. Kelly shuddered, remembering the one time she'd tried wearing makeup. She'd found a box of her mother's things and had been playing with some eye shadow and lipstick when her father walked into her room. It was the first time he'd taken his belt to her. There had been other times since then, more than she could remember, but the memory of that beating lingered in her mind, all the more terrible because she hadn't understood why he was so angry.
Not that she understood it any better now, but she'd come to accept her father's rages, the way other people accepted the flu—unpredictable and something to be endured.
Her footsteps slowed as she neared the edge of town. Bud's Tavern was just across the street. Neon signs advertising beer flashed in the gathering dusk. The parking lot was almost full but she knew more cars would somehow be wedged into it as the night wore on. Inside, people would be laughing and talking, dancing maybe, having fun.
Her father said places like Bud's Tavern were dens of iniquity. Kelly didn't dare disagree, but to her Bud's had always looked warm and cheerful. What would it be like to be part of the crowd inside? she wondered. Would it be fun and exciting or would she feel lost and out of place as she always had in a group?
Shaking her head, she turned away, her footsteps quicker now. If she didn't hurry, she was going to be late and her father would be angry. He already verged on disapproval regarding her trips to the library. It wouldn't do to give him a reason to forbid her to go again.
The trailer house where Kelly and her father lived was on die edge of town, set in the middle of an overgrown lot that was the only thing of value her father owned. Kelly made sporadic efforts to keep the yard tidy but it was a losing battle. Three old cars sat in rusting heaps where the front lawn might have been. A shed leaned drunkenly against a sagging fence.
The trailer house was as old and worn as its surroundings. It had once been pale blue and white, and Kelly sometimes thought it might have been bright and cheerful when it was new. But now it was old. The paint had faded to a vague gray and dents marred the sides.
The interior was painfully neat and just as painfully shabby. Holes in the sofa had been covered with a blanket that had, in its turn, developed holes of its own. The curtains were a heavy, dark cotton that blocked out what little sunlight could penetrate the overgrown trees. The tiny kitchen held a stove and refrigerator and enough counter space to make a sandwich.
Kelly barely noticed the shabbiness. Sometimes she remembered the little house they'd lived in when her mother was alive. It had been dilapidated, too, but there had been a different feeling about its disrepair. It was as if the house hadn't given up hope of being restored to its former charms. The trailer had given up hope a long time ago.
Her father sat in one corner of the sofa, hunched over his Bible, his lips moving as he read. He didn't bother to look up and acknowledge Kelly's arrival. She hurried through the kitchen to the tiny alcove that served as her bedroom, putting the library books on her bed and shrugging out of her coat. Her shoes were damp but there was nothing to be done about that. The sturdy black saddle shoes were the only ones she owned. They would just have to dry while she wore them.
Dinner was a plain meal of beans and corn bread. The beans were bland but filling. She was going to have to go to the store in a day or two—a chore that she hated. She hated seeing everyone else with their full carts while she counted every penny she spent.
Her father ate without speaking, muttering some passage from the Bible now and then, his eyes fierce under furrowed brows. Looking at him, Kelly tried to remember what he'd been like when she was a little girl. Had he ever smiled at her, ever laughed? She couldn't remember.
She picked at her food, feeling something hot and painful in her chest. Was this how the rest of her life was to be? Sitting across the table from her father, unspoken to, unspeaking? Never tasting even the edge of life? Was she going to grow old and die without ever being young and alive, without ever dancing or laughing with a man or wearing a pretty dress?
"Get your coat, girl. They'll be expecting us at the meeting.
Kelly turned away from the shallow sink, wiping her shaky hands on her dress. Her father waited near the door, his dour face almost animated as he considered the evening of prayer that was to follow.
"I...I don't feel very well. Maybe I should stay home." The words were hardly more than a whisper as terror threatened to close her throat.
"What's wrong with you?" he demanded, a harsh scowl hooking his brows together over steel-gray eyes.
"I feel...sick." It wasn't exactly a lie. When she thought of the dark little meeting room with its cold cement floor and bare walls, she did feel sick.
He stepped forward, his fingers hard on her arm as he pulled her forward into the light. Fear had driven the color from her face, lending credence to her plea of illness.
"I wouldn't want my illness to interrupt the meeting, make us come home early or anything," she stammered.
"It is an important meeting." He released her abruptly, wiping his hand on his sleeve in an unconscious gesture as if he disliked touching her. "If the world's to be saved, it will be through the power of prayer. You know that, don't you?"
"Yes, Fattier," she whispered, keeping her eyes lowered.
"You'll stay here, then, and pray," he announced.
"Yes."
She hid her crossed fingers against the side of her dress, wondering if she was condemning her immortal soul to eternal damnation by lying about something as important as prayer.
But at the moment her immortal soul seemed a dim concept. If she didn't do something—anything—her whole life was going to be gone without her ever having lived it.
She waited until she heard the last hiccup of her father's battered old pickup track before darting into her tiny room and pulling the door shut behind her. Her hands were shaking as she dragged the narrow box from under her bed, brushing away the dust that had gathered on it.
It had been almost three years since she had dared to pull it out. If her father knew she'd kept the things it contained... She shivered, forcing the thought away. He was going to be gone until after midnight tonight. Sometimes these prayer meetings lasted all night.
And it wasn't as if she was going to do anything really wrong, she reasoned with herself as she lifted the lid of the box. It wasn't a sin to want to have just a taste of fun, was it?
The box held very little, really. A shiny green satin doll dress that was all that was left of Devlin's Christmas gift and a faded picture of her brother and herself, taken when she was seven and Devlin had been a tall, lanky teenager. Ordinarily she would have lingered over the photograph, trying to flesh it out with increasingly fuzzy memories. But tonight her mind was on the future, not the past.
She drew another dress out, holding it up to herself as she knelt on the floor. Her mother had worn this dress to a dance in high school. Kelly had seen the pictures once.
The same pictures she'd watched her father burn after her mother was killed in a car wreck. Running away with her lover, he'd said. But she hadn't believed it. Devlin had gone away but her mother would never have left her—not without a word. If she'd been leaving, she would have taken Kelly with her.
She shook the thoughts away as she set the dress aside. She lifted out a pair of high-heeled pumps that matched the dress and the flat case that held all that was left of her mother's makeup.
Stepping out of her own plain dress, Kelly slipped the brightly printed dress over her worn underwear. The print was a wild mixture of pink and orange and green, all swirled together. What was it called? She frowned, trying to remember. Psychedelic. That was it. The bodice had a scooped neck and the skirt dropped straight from the high waistline.
She frowned, tugging at the short skirt, which exposed an extraordinary length of leg. Her dresses usually came to the bottom of her knee. Now she felt exposed. But she'd seen other girls wearing short skirts. She set her teeth. Just for tonight she was going to find out what it was like to be like the other girls.
Just for one night.
❧
Dan Remington stared at the TV dinner he'd just pulled from the oven, his expression morose. New Year's Eve and he was sitting in his apartment with nothing for company but an ailing plant and a very healthy alley cat. He watched without interest as the cat leaped to the top of the table and boldly walked over to sniff at the TV dinner.
"You have the manners of a warthog, Grunge."
Grunge looked at Dan, gauging the seriousness of the accusation. Deciding, correctly, that Dan wasn't going to protest his presence, he returned his attention to the food. He sniffed at the vegetables, dismissing them as unworthy of his attention. The apple cobbler received dubious approval—the crust might be edible. The sliced turkey and gravy were tasted, considered and then approved.
Dan scratched behind one battered gray ear, knowing that the cat would just as soon be left alone. From Grunge's attitude, it was sometimes hard to tell who paid the rent on the apartment. Grunge had moved in soon after Dan, not precisely asking permission, but more as if he were granting a favor by allowing Dan to stay. Dan had never considered himself much of a cat lover but he'd found the big torn helped alleviate some of the loneliness.
Loneliness. Dan shook his head. He'd never expected to find himself turning to a cat for company. But then he had never expected to find himself so cut off from the people he'd known all his life.
Who was it who had said that you couldn't go home again? He was finding that more true than he cared to admit. He stood, leaving the cat to eat in peace. Moving over to the television, he flipped it on. Only a few more hours till midnight. The people in Times Square were looking smug. After all, they had a jump on the rest of the country. They got to shoo the old year out earlier than everyone else.
Dan snapped off the television and wandered over to the window. The park that lay across the street was dark and full of mysterious shadows. The snow that had fallen just before Christmas lingered only in sheltered places, catching the light here and there, giving the look of a patchwork quilt.
What was he doing here? Not just here in this apartment but here in Remembrance? There was nothing for him here. After nearly two years in a Central American prison, he'd come home, wanting nothing more than to pick up the threads of his life. It had been foolish of him to think that everyone else's life would have stood still just because his own had been dragged to a halt. People had moved on, changed.
He'd left, traveled for a couple of months and then somehow found himself back here. This was home. Or it had been all his life. Now it was just the closest thing to a home that he had.
Restless, he let the curtain fall, turning to look at the sterile apartment. If he moved out tomorrow, there would be nothing here to show that he'd once spent several months of his life here. If he disappeared tomorrow, his absence would leave a gap in no one's life.
His mother lived in Europe with her new husband, a man half her age who treated her as if she were made of gold. She would miss him but her life would go on.
And Brittany? Brittany would miss him. The love they'd once felt had changed, not without pain, into something approaching a friendship. Yes, Brittany would be sorry to see him go, but her life was wrapped up in Michael and little Danielle. She had a family, people whose lives were intimately entwined with hers. A husband, a child.
"That's what I want."
Grunge looked up from the tray, licking gravy off his whiskers. Well fed, he was willing to provide an audience.
"A family. Is that so much to ask?" Grunge licked one paw and began to wash his face.
"I suppose you think that's ridiculous." Dan scowled, turning away to glare at the blank television screen. "Maybe you're right. Maybe it's just the holiday season that's making me crazy."
Whatever it was, he knew he had to get out of the apartment. If he sat here watching plastic-faced celebrities chortle about the new year, he was going to put his foot through the television.
His sudden, decisive move to the coat closet startled Grunge who jumped, putting one foot down in the apple cobbler. He hissed his displeasure but Dan wasn't listening. Bud's Tavern might not be the best place in the world to spend New Year's Eve, but it was certainly better than sitting here with nothing but his own company.
Just for tonight he was going to get out and have fun. Even if it killed him, he was going to have a good time. At least for tonight.
Kelly swallowed and backed farther into the corner she'd found. It seemed as if it was the only space in the entire room that wasn't occupied by people laughing and talking.
Bud's Tavern wasn't quite what she'd expected Of course, her idea of what she'd find in a "den of iniquity" had been vague. This certainly met some of them. There were lots of people and all of them seemed to be having a roaring good time.
But her dreams hadn't included the amount of sheer noise that filled the bar. Across the room, a small band blasted music so loud it seemed to preclude conversation, but that didn't stop anyone from talking. They simply raised their voices to be heard above it Kelly didn't see how anyone could hear anything.
And she'd never anticipated breathing air she could actually see. She'd read the phrase "smoky barroom" in books but her imagination had never come even close to the reality. Smoke drifting from cigarettes swirled in a cloud near the ceiling, giving the multicolored lights a hazy look. It hovered everywhere, drawing a tattered veil around the edges of the big room.
Once her eyes had stopped watering and her lungs no longer burned, she was able to ignore the smoke, just as everyone else seemed to. But it was the only thing she had in common with the room's occupants.
She'd seen right away that her clothes were all wrong. It wasn't that her skirt was too short, as she'd feared. A lot of the other women were wearing short skirts, some even shorter than her own. But they were all narrow, snug little affairs of denim or leather. And they were generally paired with cowboy boots or spike heels and stretchy little T-shirts.
Kelly eased one foot out of its shoe, flexing her toes to relieve the cramp that was running up her instep. It had taken her nearly fifteen minutes of practice to be able to take more than two or three steps in the thick-soled shoes without falling over. They added nearly two inches to her own height of five foot two, if she could just keep from tipping over.
"Hey." Kelly looked up, startled, as a tall, willowy blond woman with perfectly chiseled features stopped in front of her. "Where did you get that dress?"
"It was my mother's," Kelly stammered out and then immediately wished she'd said something else.
"It's really hot. My mom threw out all her sixties stuff. Can you believe it?" The blonde looked disgusted. Kelly shook her head, trying to look as if she couldn't believe it. "You've done a great job with the makeup and everything."
"Thank you." Kelly groped for something more to say. After all, this was the first person to speak to her. This was what she'd come here for, wasn't it?
"Hey, Tiffany." The blonde turned in response to the shout, lifting one perfectly manicured hand. Kelly tucked her own ragged nails behind her back. Tiffany turned back for a last comment. "Great retro look, really."
Kelly watched her plunge into the mass of people, weaving her way expertly through the crowd. Even from a distance, she exuded the confidence Kelly was so sorely lacking. It was clear that Tiffany was perfectly at home in Bud's Tavern. Whereas Kelly was anything but.
Still, she'd been nice. For a minute there, she'd almost felt as if she wasn't out of place. Retro look? Tiffany had made it sound like a compliment. Was it possible that she looked like she was making some sort of a fashion statement? The thought almost made her smile.
She fished for her shoe, edging back as one of the waitresses headed toward her comer. One of the first things she'd realized was that one didn't come to a bar without planning on drinking.
Even if she had known what to order, she didn't have any money. So far no one seemed to be paying any attention to the fact that she wasn't drinking. In fact, no one seemed to be paying any attention to her at all.
Aside from the brief moment when Tiffany had spoken to her, she might as well have been invisible. Her fantasies had never been quite like this. She'd been a little sketchy on details but she'd certainly never imagined herself feeling so out of place, so invisible. If it wasn't for the fact that she'd been jostled and bumped more times than she could count, she might have begun to wonder if she was even here at all.
If a girl goes into a bar but nobody sees her, is she really there at all?
Kelly almost giggled at the absurdity of the question. Her forehead felt clammy and there was a vague buzzing in her ears. She should have eaten more at supper. Her stomach felt hollow. She watched a waitress go by with a tray of drinks and licked her lips, suddenly realizing how thirsty she was. A glass of water sounded like heaven but she didn't dare ask for it, didn't dare risk drawing attention to herself.
Maybe if she went to the ladies' room, splashed a little water on her face, she'd feel better. But the sign for the rest rooms was all the way across the room. Just the thought of trying to make her way through all those people made her feel dizzy.
Everywhere she looked, people leaned against walls or stood next to the bar or sat in booths, or rocked back and forth on the tiny dance floor. Everyone was laughing and talking, smiling and drinking, apparently having the time of their lives. Everyone was with someone else.
She had been lonely most of her life but she'd never been quite so aware of being alone. Here, in this crowd of people, her aloneness was so obvious, so real. She felt as if she were the only person in the world who didn't have someone to talk with.