“If he’s congenial,” Bob said, ever the peacenik, “perhaps he wouldn’t object to all of us inviting him to a meeting. He might share his plans with us. Perhaps you could arrange a forum, Marisa.”
This morning’s meeting with Mr. Ledger had left her with a funny feeling in her stomach. Not enthusiastic about another encounter with him, Marisa grunted and opened her palms. “Look, y’all, I don’t know him any better than you do. But he won’t eat you. Just go knock on his door and ask him your questions.”
Bob and Mr. Patel shook their heads. They had a lot to lose, she supposed, but they were in no worse position than her mother—or for that matter, than herself. Now she berated herself for not taking up her own problem with the new owner when she had the chance.
Ben drained his glass, then reached into a pocket of his cargo shorts, pulled out a silver flask and poured himself another drink. “Well, I don’t give a rat’s ass what he does. If I have to, I’ll just pack up my shit and toodle my sorry ass back to Tennessee.” He sipped another drink, then frowning, set the glass on the counter with a clunk. “I wouldn’t like that much, but I could do it.”
Ben had stayed put in Agua Dulce ever since Marisa had returned to take care of Mama, unlike his lifestyle in the past when he had yo-yoed between here and Nashville. They all sat in silence, sipping. She could almost see wheels turning behind Bob’s eyes, just as she could almost see steam rising from Mr. Patel’s scalp.
“You could discuss our issues with him,” Bob said. “Perhaps voice our concerns and ask him his plans.”
Marisa felt her eyes widen. “Me?”
“It’s what your mother would do.”
“Guys, I know Mama did stuff like that, but I’m not my mother. I have no influence with this man. What do you expect me to tell him? I’m sure he bought this place for a reason. Do you think anything I say is going to make a difference in what he does with it?”
“You should discuss,” Mr. Patel said.
“You made a difference for Gordon,” Bob said. “And you used to live in Dallas.”
“Gotcha,” Ben said, giving her a reptilian grin.
“Listen, you three. I’ve got all I can do figuring out what me and Mama are facing. I see no point—”
Abruptly Mr. Patel rose and stalked through the flea market, out the front door. They all stared after him.
“Well, la-dee-dah,” Ben said, pulling a crushed pack of Camels from his T-shirt pocket.
“You can’t blame him for being upset.” Bob’s gaze swerved back to Marisa. “He has a family. This is a serious problem for them. Every penny he has is tied up in his service station.”
“But I’ll bet that ain’t true of you and that hodgepodge you call a motel, is it, Bob?” Ben’s mouth flattened into another evil grin. “It ain’t the money that bothers you, is it?”
Marisa’s attention shot from Ben to Bob, her curiosity renewed as she awaited Bob’s reply.
The motel owner’s shoulders squared, his chin lifted. “It’s true, money isn’t what interests me. I’m on the brink of profound discovery. I don’t want to see all of my work destroyed.”
“Jesus Christ, I knew it,” Ben growled. “You’ve been talking to little green men again.”
The front door opened again and Tanya came in. She sauntered toward them, six feet tall in high-heeled sandals. She was wearing low-rider khaki pants and a knit shirt, it’s V-neck cut low enough to show the upper half of a blue lizard tattoo and the bottom cropped short enough to show several inches of midriff. A diamond-studded navel ring was the center of attention.
An image flew into Marisa’s mind again of those long legs astraddle Woody’s lap in the front seat of his pickup. She couldn’t let it go, even knowing the encounter was ten years back. She was struck in a way she hadn’t been before by the hairdresser’s blatant sexuality and how she moved with an assurance that was almost feline.
Tanya braced a hip against the counter edge, planted a hand on her hip and ordered coffee. Her breast shifted in a way that made the lizard tattoo’s long head seem to crawl out of her neckline. Marisa had seen the whole tattoo, roughly eight inches long. It slithered down the slope of Tanya’s right breast, with the tail curling around her nipple. Today, that part was hidden, but barely.
Tanya had several tattoos, including one on her innter thigh where it joined her torso that said HARD AND FAST. Marisa couldn’t let herself be judgmental about them or the navel ring. She had a navel ring herself and two tattoos—a tiny yellow rose on one ankle and a quarter-sized happy face at the edge of her pubic hair.
Tanya took the mug of coffee from Marisa and plopped down on a stool beside Ben. “Jeez, Ben, you smell like hell. How long you been drinking?”
“Not long enough,” Ben said and belched. He leaned back and looked at Tanya’s back. Marisa knew he was looking at the long tramp stamp that spanned Tanya’s back a couple of inches below her waist.
She also knew Tanya didn’t mind if he looked. The woman seemed to have no inhibition about exposing her body.
“I had the weirdest phone call from Raylene,” the hairdresser said. “The phone rang, I picked up and said hello and she said, ‘I was going to call you, but I can’t find the phone.’ I said, ‘Why, Raylene, you’re talking on it, aren’t you?’ Then she said, ‘I don’t know where I put it.’”
Tanya shook her head as Marisa set a mug of Cowboy Breakfast Blend in front of her. “I’ll tell you, Marisa, you’re not gonna be able to leave her all by herself much longer.”
Such remarks about Mama had ceased to bring pain. Still, Marisa, along with Bob and Ben, stared at Tanya as if they couldn’t believe her callousness. Oh, well, Marisa thought at last. No harm done. At least she now knew who her mother was on the phone with earlier.
Bob finished his cup, set it on the counter and stood. “You won’t forget us,” he said, looking into Marisa’s eyes as he dug money from his wallet.
Marisa let out an audible breath. “If I get an opportunity to say anything, I will.”
“What was that all about?” Tanya said after Bob disappeared.
“Nothing. Just worry.”
“They probably want you to fix everything for them. Like Raylene used to do.”
Marisa didn’t answer. Instead she picked up the empty cups and carried them to the kitchen. Ben and Tanya exchanged a few barbs, then Ben left. Tanya lit a cigarette. “Ben’s hopeless. He is such a drunk.”
“I know,” Marisa said, preoccupied with all that had transpired in only a few hours.
“Marisa,” she said, “do you think we’re gonna get kicked outta here?”
Bingo, Marisa thought, but she said, “I don’t know. I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“I heard the dude’s here, staying in the new trailer at the back of the park. I’ll bet he’s a fat old fart that sweats. Have you seen him?”
Before Marisa could answer, the “dude” sauntered through the front doorway and Marisa felt a surge in her pulse. A royal blue crew neck sweater a little brighter in hue than his eyes topped well-washed Levi’s that molded around his thighs. A wide black stripe crossed the front of the sweater, emphasizing his wide chest and shoulders. “That’s him,” she whispered.
Tanya glanced in the new owner’s direction and her jaw dropped. “You’re shittin’ me.”
As Terry Ledger weaved his way through the flea market the hairdresser eyed him up and down. Marisa thought of one of those predatory South American plants that trapped bugs and ate them.
When the victim reached the lunch counter, Tanya stuck out her hand and tilted her head sideways, letting her long hair cascade over one shoulder. “Hi, I’m Tanya Shepherd. I’m the stylist next door? And I own the museum. Art of the West?”
A blind man could see the hairdresser’s interest had little or nothing to do with this stranger being her new landlord. There was no missing Mr. Ledger’s assessment of the view of Tanya’s phony boobs and the tattoo, either. Marisa crossed her arms over her chest and rolled her eyes. Maybe Tanya should introduce the lizard, too.
The new guy shook Tanya’s hand and smiled, which seemed to come so easy. Too easy. “Charisma.” That was the word. A special charm or allure that inspires fascination and devotion. She had seen it in crossword puzzles many times. And he had to be a bastard. Most men with that special quality just were.
“Terry Ledger,” he said. “I haven’t been into your establishment yet. I intend to drop in today.”
Tanya smiled back and shrugged, shifting the site of the lizard’s head. “Cool.”
She held her cigarette poised between two fingers, her elbow resting on the countertop as her eyes roved down Mr. Ledger’s lanky frame. Marisa wanted to pinch her, but she kept her hands and her thoughts to herself, unable to resolve why this guy’s unexpected appearance sent a jiggle through her whole system. Well, she might not know the answer to that, but at least she now knew his name.
He turned her way and took a seat beside Tanya at the lunch counter. “Didn’t you say you served breakfast all day? Sometimes I like breakfast for lunch. How about a couple of eggs, bacon and toast? Maybe a shot of that coffee.”
“You should try one of Marisa’s special coffees,” Tanya piped up, turning her head and blowing out a cloud of smoke. She turned back and extended such a blatant invitation to Mr. Ledger with her eyes, Marisa had to turn away, embarrassed. “She buys all these special beans and grinds and mixes them up herself.”
Marisa felt a blush crawl up her neck and wished she handled compliments better. Terry Ledger smiled again and it came back how his smile had affected her the day he appeared beside her in the tiny café kitchen. Yep, charisma. That was the word.
“Really?” he asked. “Why go to the trouble?”
Marisa figured what he didn’t say was, Who cares, out here in the boondocks?
“She’s one of those gourmet types,” Tanya said. “She went to this fancy cooking school in Dallas.”
“Tanya,” Marisa said, “stop—”
“Really?” Terry asked again. “Which one?”
What he didn’t say was, If you’re such hot stuff, what are you doing out here in the boondocks?
“She’s only here because she takes care of her sick mother,” Tanya said, as if she, too, had read Terry Ledger’s mind and thought an excuse was in order.
“Oh, sorry to hear that,” he said. “Well, I hope she recovers soon.”
Tanya snubbed out her cigarette. “She ain’t gonna recover. She’s—”
“Tanya.” Marisa drilled the hairdresser with a lethal look. She turned to Terry. “I’ll get you that breakfast.”
Marisa went to the kitchen, aggravated that the confused zebra, the married confused zebra, was sitting at the counter flirting and carrying on with Terry Ledger as if she had no husband and were as free as Marisa. Marisa wouldn’t put it past her to take her interest in Mr. Ledger further than just flirting. And that thought got under Marisa’s skin in a way nothing had for a very long time.
As the bacon strips she laid on the griddle began to sizzle, she heard Tanya say she had to get back to her shop for an appointment. Then the hussy invited Terry Ledger to come over any time, even after she closed if it was too inconvenient for him to drop by during the daytime. For an instant Marisa wondered if Woody and Tanya had screwed around because Woody had seduced her or if he had been attacked by her.
When breakfast was done, Marisa carried it out to her customer.
He smiled up at her as she set his plate in front of him. “I heard her call you Marisa. You must not be Raylene Rutherford.”
“You must be right.” Marisa bent and picked silverware from the bin under the drainboard. “Raylene’s my mother.” She placed the silverware and a large paper napkin beside his plate. “This place is her business. I’m helping her out.”
“While she’s sick?
“She has Alzheimer’s Disease.”
He looked at her for a moment and she was sure she saw the same expression in his sky-colored eyes that she had seen the day they danced to the jukebox. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said.
Marisa lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “One of those things. When she was...when her mind was right, she was sort of the mayor of Agua Dulce.”
“I see. And who has that role now? You?”
Marisa gave a sarcastic huff. “Are you kidding? Mama was one of those natural-born leaders. I couldn’t lead a flock of ducks.” She picked up a ketchup bottle and blindly stared at the label. “No, I’m just...I don’t have a family to take care of or anything, so I’m sort of passing the time and doing the best I can to...to keep things going for her.”
Both of them remained silent, him eating, her choking on the question she wanted to ask him. Finally she found her courage. “Tell me something, Mister Ledger.” He looked up and she locked her eyes on his. “Are you going to put us out of business here?”
His gaze dropped to his plate and he picked up his napkin and dabbed his mouth. A muscle worked in his jaw. “It’s too soon to say.”
He was lying. Marisa could read that much for sure. “That isn’t a no, is it?”
He picked up his mug and sipped. “No,” he said, carefully placing his mug back on the counter. “No, it isn’t.”
Though she had known the answer before he said it, the impact was more than she was prepared for. A burning sensation passed behind her eyes and she started to turn away.
“I’m fair,” he said, stopping her. “I always try to be fair.”