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THE STREET LIGHTS WERE just beginning to come on, and except for Earl who sat on his usual bench, the town was completely deserted. Wearing blue jeans, a white t-shirt and carrying nothing but a small purse, he spotted the girl with long brown hair walking up Main Street and kept his eyes on her until she sauntered up to his bench and plopped down beside him.
“Car broke down outside of town,” she blurted out. “Hope you don’t mind sharing your bench, I’m exhausted.” He didn’t answer but that didn’t bother her. Most people were wary of complete strangers and she was just as wary as anyone else. “My name is Tiffany, what’s yours?”
Earl Woodbury slowly turned to more closely examine the girl with the same name as his kidnapped daughter. Her eyes were the right color, her hair matched and she was approximately the right age.
“You don’t say much, do you? That’s okay. What I need is someone to tow my car into town and fix it. It’s sitting on the freeway access road and I worry that someone might steal it. Stupid car. It’s practically new, you know, and it shouldn’t be breaking down already. Geeze, I’m such a sucker. I believed the salesman when he said it only had 10,000 miles on it. Bet I’ll find out it’s more like 100,000. Oh well, nothing I can do but get it fixed.” Tiffany shut up just long enough to give the deserted street another look. “Where is everyone?”
“Softball,” Earl muttered.
She listened for a moment, heard a loud collective groan and guessed the stadium was only a couple of blocks away. “Oh, that makes sense. I love sports, especially football, don’t you? I mean every other kind of entertainment is predictable, but not sports. No one knows who’ll win a football game. That’s what makes it so exciting.” If she noticed he was staring at her, she didn’t let it bother her. “I guess I’ll have to wait till the game is over to find a tow truck.” He nodded. “Say a little prayer that no one steals my car in the meantime, okay?”
Earl put his hands together as if to pray and closed his eyes.
Tiffany’s green eyes sparkled when she grinned. “Thank you,” she said in earnest when he opened his eyes again. “I feel much better now.”
“Where you from?” he asked.
“Rhode Island. I’ve been saving my money for months hoping to drive clear across the US, you know, from one side to the other in the north, down the West Coast, and then across the southern states and back up the East Coast. I want to see absolutely everything.” She paused to watch the breeze push an empty pop can down the street. It rolled and rattled until it got stuck in a gutter. “My dad threw a fit when I left, but I’m of age now and wanted to do it anyway. Thing is, it’s a lot more expensive than I expected. The price of gas keeps going up from town to town and those discounted hotels...well, let’s just say I understand now why they’re discounted.”
She took another look around. “Nice little town you got here. Don’t suppose you know anybody who needs a bookkeeper. I’m pretty good at it, at least that’s what they said at the part time job I had all through high school.” She noticed Earl looking at her white tennis shoes and lifted her legs straight out to better display the green lace on one and the red on the other. “Christmas present. My little brother made me promise to wear these laces forever. I sure hope they last forever.” Tiffany let her feet down and scooted back to make herself more comfortable. “One thing I really miss when I’m out on the road is the internet. I’ve got a laptop and I hook it up at night, but some motels don’t even have Wi-Fi, can you believe it?”
Earl thoughtfully rubbed the new whisker growth on his chin. He was about to answer when people started pouring into downtown. None of them looked very happy. A set of twin boys playfully shoved each other and then disappeared into the fast food restaurant. People got in cars and then grumbled and honked horns when they had trouble beating other cars out of the diagonal parking spaces. Still more people continued to walk down the street in both directions and none of them seemed interested in either Earl or Tiffany.
“Guess the game’s over,” said she.
Just then, a red sports car pulled up and stopped in front of the bench. The driver hopped out, walked around his car and came closer. “Hey Dad, you want me to take you home?” Earl shook his head. “It’ll be dark soon and I worry.” As if he just noticed her, the stranger reached out his hand. “Michael Woodbury.”
“Tiffany Clark,” she said, giving his hand a firm shake.
Michael briefly looked awestruck and then glanced at his father’s reaction, but Earl didn’t seem to be bothered by her name. “As I am sure you discovered by now, my father doesn’t speak to anyone. He can, he just doesn’t.”
Tiffany hid her surprise and quickly responded, “How come?”
“Long story,” said Michael.
“Well, if he doesn’t speak, he must have a good reason for it. According to my mother, I don’t give people a lot of time to talk anyway. By the way, do you know someone who can tow my car into town? I barely got it off the freeway before it died. Stupid car!”
“I can call someone for you,” said Michael.
“That would be great.” She listened as he placed a call to someone named Lucky, made the arrangements, and hung up.
“Hey, you didn’t ask how much it would cost me?” she complained.
Michael shrugged. “He’s the only tow truck in town. We have to pay whatever he charges.”
“Nice,” she sarcastically said. “You think someone will steal my car?”
“Maybe. I could take you back and wait till the tow truck comes.”
“Well, I don’t know.” She turned to Earl. “You think I’ll be safe with him?”
Earl hesitated for just a moment before he nodded.
“Alrighty then,” she said. Tiffany stood up, started for the car and then turned around to face Earl. “The good thing about having a friend who doesn’t talk, is that you can trust him never to tell on you.” She winked and then climbed into the passenger seat of Michael’s car.
His son and Tiffany were well out of sight by the time Earl’s lips curled into a slight smile. At length, he stood up, walked two blocks away from downtown and then started up the hill to his Elizabethan style house. His sons didn’t live with him and hadn’t since before he married his second wife. Therefore, he lived alone – not counting his housekeeper.
His fondest’ memories were of Lisa, his first wife, and the fun they had designing and building the house. His tile factory was just beginning to prosper when they married, she was happy and fun loving, and soon pregnant with Michael. For that reason, they took great care to make sure the house was arranged to accommodate little children, even putting skip proof rubber on the grand staircase. He thought wood paneling, but Lisa wanted white walls and the freedom to change the decorations anytime she wanted. Lisa won and he had to admit her skill at choosing just the right colors was magnificent.
The great rooms on the first floor had two marble fireplaces, one in the living room and a smaller one in the dining room. It was upon those mantles that she displayed her cherished collection of glass bells. The antique grandfather clock was his special addition to the living room. Adjacent to the spacious kitchen on the first floor was a small apartment where the housekeeper lived. The second floor was for the children and the third was designed just for the two of them, with a master bedroom, bath, and nursery/sitting room.
Lisa especially wanted the windows to have tall, triangle shaped roof eves. They were to have several square panes each and that opened outward to let in the fresh air. The largest window was designed to face east so the warm Iowa sunshine would greet them each and every morning and brighten their day. Even now, Earl could remember the way she charmed him into it. They were expensive, but he didn’t resist, how could he?
Once the house was finished and after Jason came along, Lisa was not about to waste her time sitting around changing furniture color schemes. Instead, she started the Blue Falls Beautification Club, collected money, and started designing flower pots to run along the outside of Main Street’s sidewalks. The park and the fountain were Lisa’s idea and design too. It took months to raise the money, but she never gave up, and Earl was proud of her.
The couple loved entertaining and the three-story, seventeen room house often seemed less than adequate. Now it was lonely, cold, and lacked the kind of charm old houses could usually boast of. Even so, he never once considered moving. It held the only happy memories he had, so he left each morning, came back each evening, ate his dinner, and then walked from room to room reviving his memories of Lisa.
All that changed when Lisa died and he married Shelley.
Rarely did he allow himself to remember the night baby Tiffany disappeared. This night was different – Tiffany Clark brought it all rushing back. As he stood in the doorway of the baby’s room on the second floor, he remembered every detail as though it had just happened. Long ago, the room had been converted into a normal bedroom, but that didn’t matter. He still saw the empty crib, the rocking chair and the happy animal characters on the wallpaper behind Tiffany’s crib.
Earl lowered his eyes and stared at the floor just as he always did. He was tired the night of the kidnapping, peeked in on the baby and then went to bed. Even now, he couldn’t guess what time that might have been. Around two in the morning, he heard his wife scream. He jumped out of bed, ran to the baby’s room, found the crib empty and his wife in hysterics. His first thought was that housekeeper, Mariam Eggleston, had the baby, so he rushed downstairs and burst into Mariam’s room. The baby was not there and Mariam had no idea where Tiffany was. The next step was a complete search of the house in case an intruder was still inside. After he looked everywhere he could think of, he called 911.
Soon, the house was filled with officers.
While they searched the house again, Earl anxiously listened to his wife’s tearful account of what happened. She didn’t have much to say, but what she said was important. Still, it just didn’t make any sense. If what his wife said was true, why was the milk in Tiffany’s bottle still warm, and why didn’t the kidnapper take it with him or her to keep the baby quiet?
After that, Earl’s world was filled with so much overwhelming activity and noise, he didn’t manage to mention the bottle to anyone, even the sheriff. He meant to, it just never came up. There was the ransom to borrow from the bank, the search, friends and neighbors coming to console them, and a continuous stream of people offering to help anyway they could.
Before he had his wits about him, Shelley was dead. By then, it was way, way too late to mention the warm baby bottle. What was the point anyway? She wasn’t there to explain.
Earl Woodbury slowly pulled the bedroom door closed and headed downstairs. He didn’t know how his world got so screwed up. It just happened and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it.
*
TIFFANY’S INTEREST was definitely piqued – an old man who doesn’t speak to anyone else just talked to her. As they drove down the freeway looking for her car, she quietly mulled the mystery over in her mind. He didn’t seem crazy. In fact, the old man seemed nice. Crazy people had a look about them, and Michael’s father didn’t have that look even if he was dressed in clothes that definitely wore out a few years ago. Nope, not crazy, just one of the most captivating people she was likely to meet in her travels. That’s what she was hoping for –friendly animals, fascinating people, and beautiful landscapes like the ones she’d seen in Iowa. Car lights sped down the freeway in both directions against a backdrop of green fields that the last rays of sunset were beginning to turn a pastel blue.
As soon as she spotted her car still parked on the deserted service road, she drew in a deep relieved breath and exhaled. “There it is.”
Michael slowly drove past the car, made a U-turn, pulled up behind her mid-size, light green sedan and parked. “You lucked out. Next time, just call for help.”
“Sure, if I remember to charge my cellphone. I’ve got a charger in the car, but do I remember? Oh please.” Michael Woodbury chuckled. In her opinion, he looked a little too old to be driving around town in an expensive red sports car, but to each his own, she supposed. “So Mr. Woodbury, what’s wrong with your dad? Throat cancer?” she asked as they sat waiting for the tow truck.
“Everybody calls me Michael.”
“Awesome.”
“Dad lost a daughter years ago and hasn’t spoken since.”
“Lost her?”
“Kidnapped.”
“Oh man, that’s terrible.” She glanced at the side of his face, and then turned her attention back to keeping an eye on her car.
“Her name was Tiffany too,” Michael admitted.
Tiffany bowed her head. “Oh. My little brother died, but he’d been sick a long time and we were prepared for it – as prepared as a family can be, and that was hard enough.”
“Yeah.”
He said no more about it, so she changed the subject. “What do you do?”
“I run the tile factory.”
“Really? We probably own some of your tiles back home. My mom loves the blue ones in our kitchen. Of course, she likes all things blue. Can’t talk her out of it.” It was a sort of game with Tiffany. She liked sizing people up to see if her first impressions were right and just now she guessed Michael had a wife and at least four kids, not that she really cared, she just liked playing her game. “Married?”
“Sometimes.”
Tiffany giggled. “Does your wife know?”
“Which one?”
She tipped her head to one side. “I might be a little too young to hear about that.”
Michael smiled. “Ah, to be young and stupid again.” Even in the diminishing daylight it was easy to see her backseat was filled to the brim with stuff. “You bring everything but the kitchen sink?”
Tiffany sighed. “I thought of bringing that too, but I ran out of space.” If there was one thing she hated, it was tired old clichés and kitchen sink was the worst of the worst. Long ago, she realized the world just didn’t have anything new to say, but really – kitchen sink? She turned her disgruntled expression toward the window pretending to watch the traffic whiz past on the Interstate.
“No wonder you broke down. Too much stuff,” he was saying.
She tried never to instantly like or dislike someone, but Michael was quickly inching into the dislike column. “Kids?”
“Two, and you?”
“Nope, and don’t intend to get married either. Men are a pain in the you know what.”
He chuckled again and turned off the car engine. “All men?”
“All the ones I know, except my dad. I’m no feminist. I still like flowers and manners, but guys these days are too bossy. I dated a guy for a while and it was like I had a third parent. Don’t do this and don’t do that. It made me crazy. He doesn’t like me traveling alone either, and said I couldn’t go. He lost. He also said he would miss me, but I haven’t missed him for one single second.”
“Some women are bossy too, you know.”
“Well, they shouldn’t be. They should...” before she could finish, a speeding blue pickup truck came up from behind them on the service road, sped past, and came close enough to make Michael’s sports car wobble. “Good grief, this place is scary.”
“That’s just Crazy Eddie. He likes to show off,” said Michael.
“Crazy Eddie, huh? I’ll have to watch out for him.”
“Where are you thinking of staying?”
“Where do you suggest?”
“Birdie’s Bed and Breakfast is just up the road. It’s clean and Birdie will take good care of you. How long are you planning to be here?”
“Depends on how much it costs to fix my car. This little vacation idea of mine is turning out to be a lot more expensive than I expected. I’m looking to find a temporary job for a few days. Need anyone at your factory?”
“Sorry, no. I hear Mariam Eggleston needs help.”
“Doing what?”
“Selling books. She owns a used book store.”
Tiffany nodded. “That doesn’t sound too hard.”
The bright headlights of the approaching tow truck were easy to spot. It made the same U-turn Michael made, pulled ahead of her car, and then backed up to it. “About time,” she grumbled.
“You in a hurry?”
“You’re right, I’ve got no place to go just now.” She opened the door and then graced Michael with her friendliest smile. “Thanks for the lift,” She closed the door and waited until the tow truck driver came to the back of his truck before she approached him.
“Hey, pretty girl,” said Lucky with a silly grin. “You need a tow?”
A stupid cliché and now a stupid question. Tiffany couldn’t help herself. “Nope, I’ll just carry it into town.” She watched a slow smile spread across his face.
“You got me on that one,” Lucky said.
His was a pleasant face now that his smile looked a little less silly. At least he was closer to her age and he did say she was pretty. She supposed she could forgive his stupid question this once. “Don’t let it happen again. Do you fix cars too?”
“Yep, if I can. What happened?” He looked at the front and back tires on the driver’s side and then walked around to check the other side.
“It just quit on me and before you ask, no I didn’t forget to buy gas. Stupid car just conked out.”
“Well, I’ll take a look at it in the morning. There’s a bed and...”
“I’ve already heard.”
“No you haven’t. I was going to tell you not to stay there.”
“Oh. Why not?”
He dropped his voice to a whisper when he saw Michael get out of his car and head their way. “Just take my word for it.”
“You want a ride to the Bed and Breakfast?” Michael asked.
“I saw a hotel in town,” she answered. “I think I’d rather stay there. I’d feel safer.”
Michael shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He looked at his watch and whistled, “I’m late. Tiffany, do you mind riding back to town with Lucky?”
“Not at all. I need to get a suitcase out of my car anyway.”
Michael was halfway back to his car when he said, “Catch you later.” He got in, started his engine and drove away.
Tiffany turned her attention back to Lucky. “I’m a little short of cash but Michael said I could probably get a job at the bookstore.”
“The used bookstore?” Lucky asked as he knelt down and looked under her car.
“Uh huh.”
“My mom loves that place. She’s always got her face in a book. If you take the job, you’ll meet her soon.”
“What’s her name?”
“Nora,” he answered as he stood back up.
“Well, if I get the job...”
“If you want it, you’ll get it,” Lucky assured her. “Mariam Eggleston always needs help.”
“It’s true, then,” said Tiffany, “it’s not what you know but who you know.” Clichés were okay as long as she was the one saying them.
*
AS SOON AS MICHAEL got back to town, he swung into the nearest parking place, pulled the company’s paper ledgers out of his briefcase and got out. As always, the lights were still on in the second floor offices of Earl’s attorney. No matter how late Michael turned up, the Lawyer was always there waiting. Michael walked across the street, opened the door and then took the stairs to the second floor two at a time.
Keeping a ledger on paper was nonsense and had been for years. There were plenty of accurate software programs available to handle the accounting, one of which he used daily, but Earl insisted on a paper version. He also insisted his attorney pay all the bills, which Michael regarded as a slap in the face. A couple of tug-of-wars with the attorney gained him nothing, so Michael simply complied with his father’s wishes.
He walked into the office, set the papers on the attorney’s desk and then left without so much as acknowledging the attorney’s existence.
*
TIFFANY OPENED THE trunk, pulled her suitcase and laptop out, and then closed the trunk lid. Unlike the back seat, the things in her trunk were neatly arranged. “Mind if I put these in your truck?”
“Not at all.” While she did that, he pushed the button that let the hydraulic-powered stinger arm lower and then unfold. Next, he positioned it so the wheel cradles were in the right place. He checked the brackets in front and behind each of the front wheels, and then secured them using steel pins. Finished, he again used the hydraulics to lift the front of Tiffany’s car.
“That was fast,” said Tiffany.
“Yep, climb in.” he got back in the driver’s seat and then grinned when she had to try twice to step up high enough to get in on the passenger side. At last, she slid into the seat, shoved her suitcase aside so she could get her feet in, laid her laptop on her lap, and closed the door.
He extended his hand, “Ben Coulter, mechanic, tow truck driver, and all around nice guy.”
Just then, a bus load of cheering boys drove down the freeway followed by a long line of cars heading away from town. “The winning team?”
“Yep. We lose to them every year, and every year we still hope we won’t.”
“I love all kinds of high school sports, when’s the next game?”
He started the truck, waited until she had her seat belt on, slowly drove forward and checked both side mirrors to make certain her car was securely in tow. “Next Friday.”
She paused. It wasn’t a very long pause, but then it never was with Tiffany. “Why does Michael call you Lucky?”
Ben glanced at the side of her attractive face and then looked straight ahead. “A semi broadsided my old tow truck and rolled it four times. I don’t know how, but I got out without a scratch. The tow truck wasn’t that lucky though. I tried to fix it, but gave up and bought this new one instead.”
“Why did you tell me not to get a room at the Bed and Breakfast?”
“Well, that’s not easy to explain.”
“You mean it’s a hookup bar,” she asked.
“Not normally. It’s just that something is brewing out at Birdie’s. I don’t know what exactly, but I’d stay away if I were you.”
“Murder, mugging or drug deals?”
“More like ex-wives.”
“Oh man, that sounds like murder to me. Thanks for the warning. My dad could come looking for me any day now and I sure wouldn’t want him finding me in a place full of ex-wives.”
Ben cautiously left the service road and pulled onto the Interstate. “Did you run away?”
“No, and I call him all the time, but I made the mistake of telling him my piece of junk broke down. I just didn’t tell him where, thank goodness.”
“How old are you?”
“Old enough to be out on my own, if that’s what you’re asking. I’ll be nineteen soon.”
He didn’t bother to hide his attempt at teasing her. “That old, huh?”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-five.”
She grinned. “Bet you’ll be needing a crutch soon. I saw a hotel downtown. Do you recommend I stay there?”
“There’s a newer hotel west of town, but it’s expensive. If you don’t mind an older building, I think you’ll find the service friendly and the rooms clean in the one downtown. Is that where you want me to drop you off?”
“Yes please.” At the next exit, Ben turned off the Interstate and as he drove down Main Street, she looked but Earl was not there. “Michael’s father was sitting on a bench when I came into town. Michael said his dad hasn’t spoken in years. Does he speak to you?”
“No and not to anyone else that I know of. He’s not really that old either. He just looks all worn out.”
“I wonder how he does it? I couldn’t keep my mouth shut for a whole hour, let alone several years.” As soon as Ben stopped in front of the hotel, she thanked him, set her laptop aside, opened the door and slid down. She grabbed her laptop and suitcase, and then looked down the street. “Where do I find you in the morning?”
Ben pointed straight ahead. “A few blocks that way.” He dug in his shirt pocket, pulled out a business card and handed it to her.
“Thanks.” She closed the door and considered her next move as she watched him pull away. Something was brewing at Birdie’s and she was tempted to get a room there just to see what was happening. However, she soon thought better of the idea. Tiffany needed to plug in her cellphone and let her dad know she wasn’t dead yet – before he called out the Cavalry. She abruptly turned around, opened the hotel door, and marched up to the registration desk.
*
THE NEON SIGN NEXT to the red brick, two-story converted motel simply said, “Birdie’s.” White decorative windows gave the place a warm classic look while farms in green fields behind it served to further enhance its inviting appearance. Located a mile east of town on the south side of the Interstate next to the truck stop, a sign on the door promised a good night’s sleep and a hardy breakfast. An underpass made the place easily accessible, parking was rarely a problem, and many a trucker made a point of stopping by, if for no other reason than just to say hello.
Birdie had ten bedrooms to offer her customers, a private two room suite for herself, and a spacious kitchen/bar combination in the back. She hired maids to do the cleaning and paid them well, but expenses were high and with a free breakfast, she barely broke even most months. It was the bar that paid all the bills and allowed her to save enough for that grand holiday she planned to take someday.
The floor in the establishment’s lobby was covered in fake off-white marble Woodbury tile that matched the ones on the soft tile peg board behind the solid oak check-in counter. It was there Birdie kept all the room keys. Those with green tags attached were clean and ready to rent. The others were not. She often admired her choice of soft blue furniture adding just enough color in the throw pillows to offset the blue. She kept the counter polished, wore frilly dresses that made her feel young and feminine, and expertly applied her makeup which she touched up at least once or twice a day.
A year younger than Michael Woodbury, Birdie was blonde, petite and some thought quite beautiful. Others did not agree, but they were mostly women who did not regard her as an upstanding member of their society anyway. She didn’t care. As long as they didn’t bother her, she wasn’t interested in bothering them. Blue Falls was the only home she’d known, and as often as she considered selling the Bed and Breakfast and making a clean break of it, she stayed.
A clean break? What a joke that was. Birdie was trapped in that small, unforgiving town, had been for years, and there was no way out.
*
IT WAS EARLY EVENING when Jolie Woodbury burst through the front door of the empty Bed and Breakfast lobby, dropped her suitcase in the middle of the floor, and shouted, “Birdie, I need a room!”
Tending bar and chatting with two women in the dimly lit backroom, Birdie rolled her eyes. “Knew that was coming.”
“How?” a woman seated on the other side of the bar asked.
“Michael started ranting about it this afternoon and Alex couldn’t wait to spread the word.”
This time the shout from the lobby sounded more like the scream of a wounded animal. “BIRDIE? ARE YOU EVEN HERE, BIRDIE?”
Birdie removed her apron, laid it across the bar, and then went to greet her newest guest. “I’m here, Jolie.” She didn’t bother to sign the young woman in. Instead, she picked up the suitcase, put it behind the counter, and then took hold of Jolie’s arm. “Want a drink?”
Tears already rimmed the bottoms of her eyes when Jolie nodded. “I don’t know if I am supposed to cry, kill him, or throw up.”
“Killing him would probably be less messy.” Birdie tried to guide Jolie toward the back, but she resisted.
“Are the others here?”
“Are they not always?”
A lone tear rolled down Jolie’s cheek. “I can’t, I just can face them yet.”
“Might as well get it over with.” Birdie more firmly gripped Jolie’s arm and began to pull. “Believe me, the medicine they can provide is just what the doctor ordered at a time like this.” At last, the young woman let Birdie take her into the bar.
Not unlike thousands of other drinking establishments, stools faced the bar, tables and chairs filled the rest of the room, and strategically placed light fixtures on the walls offered anonymity in the back to those who wished it. On this particular evening, it was unusual for the two women sitting at the bar to be Birdie’s only customers. Birdie paused a minute to let Jolie’s eyes adjusted to the dark, and then ushered her to the barstool. She returned to her place behind the bar and put her apron back on. “Gin and tonic?”
“Heavy on the Gin, please.” Jolie set her purse on the bar, found a tissue inside, wiped her tears, and then finally leaned forward to acknowledge Pamela, Michael’s first wife, and then Andrea, his second. Each of the women were small in stature, pretty, blonde, and well-dressed. To outsiders, the similarities suggested they were sisters, but nothing was farther from the truth.
Sitting beside her, Andrea patted the back of Jolie’s hand. “Look at it this way. Now you can go back to having brown hair instead of Michael’s favorite shade of bleach blonde.”
“You haven’t,” Jolie reminded her.
“True, but I like it this color.”
“Hey,” said Pamela. “Maybe all three of us should go back to our original color.”
“Maybe you should,” Birdie agreed “Of course if you did, you would be the talk of the town.”
Andrea scoffed, “Like we aren’t already.”
“Own it, Pamela,” said Birdie. “You love being the talk of the town or you would have breezed right out of this place years ago.”
“True,” Pamela agreed, “but how could I? Michael is so entertaining and I would hate missing the day he finally gets what he’s got coming to him.”
“What’s the deal with blonde hair, anyway?” Jolie asked.
Immediately, the other two wives uncurled a finger and pointed directly across the bar at Birdie.
“Wait a minute, you can’t blame that on me,” Birdie complained. “This is totally, 100 percent natural hair.”
“Sure it is,” Pamela giggled. “Sorry, my darling, but doing it yourself doesn’t make it natural.”
Jolie sighed. “Wow, I always thought it was natural.”
“It is,” Birdie whispered as she set Jolie’s drink down in front of her. It was hardly a double. In fact, it was less than a full shot of gin.
“You expecting a crowd tonight?” Andrea asked Birdie.
“Hopefully. Friday nights are normally my most profitable, especially when there is...” Birdie had already said too much.
“Especially when there is what?” Jolie asked.
Birdie glanced at the other two women, and then folded her arms and decided to tell the truth. “A rumor.”
“Spread by my gallant and always rumor-mill accommodating son,” Pamela scoffed.
“About me?” When no one answered, Jolie slowly laid her head on the bar and closed her eyes. “Oh no. I just found out myself.”
“You mean you didn’t ask him for a divorce?” Birdie asked.
Jolie lifted her head back up. “Sort of. I mean he got me so confused I probably did.”
“Well,” said Andrea, “I’ll give him that much at least. He lets us save face by pretending we couldn’t stand to live with him another minute. It’s a small one, but it is a favor and makes the divorce go through far more easily. Of course, who in this town would think otherwise?”
“Such a chivalrous man, my Michael,” Pamela mocked. “Meanwhile, all we get is alimony.”
Andrea sighed, “And child support for as long as we can keep the kids from growing up. I’m about to lose that fight with Gloria.”
“Can I get the house?” Jolie asked.
Pamela answered, “Nope, the house is in the name of the man who paid for it – Earl Woodbury. Sorry, but you’ll have to settle for alimony. Michael lets people think it, but he’s not even part-owner of the company. He just works there like everyone else.”
Jolie was quiet for a while and the others didn’t talk either while she tried to come to grips with her situation. At last she asked, “Where do I go in the meantime? I can’t stay here and take the chance of running into Michael.”
“There is a furnished condo just down the street from me that will be empty next week,” said Pamela. “In the meantime, you can stay at my place. I’ve got an art show to attend in Des Moines and I’ll be gone a couple of days. That should give you enough time to decide what you want to do. Want me to see if the condo is rented yet?”
“Please,” Jolie answered.
“I’ll take care of it first thing in the morning.”
Jolie sipped her drink and again remained quiet for a time. “Michael said I wasn’t like the others...I mean, all of you. He truly loved me.”
Andrea narrowed her eyes, “How old are you?”
“A year older and ten years wiser. At least I’m not pregnant.”
All three of the other women grinned and then Pamela said, “Michael will probably be here tonight if you want to flatten his tires or something.”
“Or something,” Andrea muttered. “When he booted me out, I seriously considered super gluing his everything to his everything else, but Pamela talked me out of it. Believe me, we’ve thought of a hundred ways to make him pay, but he would just get even by forgetting to send our alimony checks. On the other hand, we’re always open to suggestions. Just don’t kill him, okay Jolie? That would be the end of our checks.”
Jolie took two more sips of her drink before she asked Birdie, “Why didn’t you marry Michael? Obviously, you’re the one he truly loves.”
“Marriage to Michael was always out of the question,” Birdie answered. She spotted a spilled drop on the bar, grabbed a rag and wiped it away. “All I need is a little companionship once in a while.”
Jolie gasped. “You use him?”
Birdie wrinkled her brow, and then smiled, “You could put it that way. It’s what lots of men do to women all the time.”
“And Michael doesn’t mind being used?” Jolie asked.
“Sure he does,” Birdie answered. “He gets mad, gets married and then comes back.”
“But...” Jolie started.
“Sweetheart,” Birdie interrupted, “I don’t love him. I never have.”
“So you just mess up his marriages?”
Birdie argued, “No, it’s not like that at all.”
“Our marriages were already over,” Andrea said. “He ends them so he can go back to her.”
“That’s true,” Pamela agreed. “He hasn’t been here since he married you.”
Jolie downed the last of her drink and then pushed her empty glass toward Birdie. “I need a refill.”
“Go easy, okay?” Birdie said. She made a fresh drink for Jolie, and then poured vodka in shot glasses for herself and the other two women.
They could hear the full blast of a trucker’s horn in the far off distance and it made Birdie smile. “That’s Sadie. She’s just telling me the cops haven’t caught her yet.” She leaned a little closer to Jolie and whispered, “Speeding tickets.” She waited until the blaring horn faded in the distance before she held up her shot glass and said, “To Michael!” Andrea and Pamela lifted their glasses in salute, and then tossed the shots down.
Jolie watched and then huffed, “I suppose I’ll have to learn to drink shots too.”
“No,” said Birdie. “You have to get what you can in the settlement, move away and get a real life outside of Blue Falls. Michael is too old for you, too stupid and too impressed with himself to be a good husband for any woman.”
“You sound like you hate Michael,” said Jolie.
Birdie sighed. “I don’t hate him, at least on most days, but I sure would have been better off if I’d never met him.”
Pamela nudged Andrea’s arm. “There’s a story in there somewhere and someday I plan to put Birdie in a room and not let her out until she tells me what it is.”
“Holding someone hostage is against the law, I remind you,” said Andrea.
“That’s the only thing that stops me,” Pamela said.
Jolie took a deep breath. “You all seem so...I don’t know, so blasé about this whole thing with Michael. It’s like he can get away with doing anything he wants, no matter who he hurts, even you.”
Pamela considered that for a moment. “I suppose he can, as long as he keeps signing the checks. In my case, he’s the father of my son, and depriving Alex of a father was not an option, even a father like Michael.”
“And I’m the mother of his daughter, Gloria,” Andrea admitted. “Little girls need a dad too, not that having Michael for a father has done Gloria much good. You have no idea how often I have regretted that decision, but it’s far too late now. Now I just collect the check and try to keep the two of them from shooting each other. They’re at war, you know.”
“I think both Alex and Gloria are very, um,” Jolie paused, “nice kids.”
Pamela leaned forward and gave the youngest wife an incredulous look. “You’re not a very good liar. Alex becomes more like his cocky, overbearing, arrogant father every day. Don’t get me wrong, I love my son, but man do I pity the woman he marries. I have, and fully intend to keep preventing his wedding plans no matter what I have to do. I couldn’t save myself, but I sure can try to save my son’s victims.”
Jolie softly giggled. “Victims?”
“That’s what we are,” Andrea agreed. “When a man says he loves you, marries you, and vows to take care of you for the rest of your life, while all the time thinking of Birdie, then yep, you’re his victim.”
Jolie looked to see if Andrea’s words were upsetting Birdie, but there was no hint of it in Birdie’s expression. “So he loves you, but you truly don’t love him?”
Birdie put both hands on the bar. “Not exactly. If Michael is even capable of love, which I doubt, I am just the one he can’t have – you know, the challenge, the thrill of the chase, the conquering hero syndrome.”
The door to the bar abruptly opened and a man walked in. As soon as he saw the four women together, he turned right around and left.
“Guess I know what that’s about.” Jolie confessed. “I hate Michael now. I’d kill him but I’d get caught.”
The other three laughed. “There are better ways to get even with Michael Woodbury.”
“Such as?” Jolie wanted to know.
“You tell her,” said Andrea.
“Okay,” Pamela said. “I’m not confessing to anything you understand, but someone rubbed raw onion all over the seat of every pair of pants he owned, even his underwear. Boy was he mad about that.”
“Yeah, and he still thinks I did it,” said Andrea. “I just wish I’d thought of it. You see, it’s the little things an ex-wife can do that count.”
Birdie grinned. “After that, he got all paranoid. He was so afraid of Andrea he hired a bodyguard.”
“And a private onion detective,” Pamela smirked. “He just couldn’t figure out how I got in the house.”
“The detective didn’t figure it out either?” Jolie asked.
“Nope,” Pamela answered. “Birdie gave our detective friend all kinds of bogus information and sent him half way across the state looking for people who had it in for Michael. Michael ended up paying him a fortune and still can’t prove it was me. The detective still stops by when he’s passing through.”
A half smile was all Jolie could manage. “What am I supposed to do all day now?’
“You’ll think of something,” Andrea answered. “Pamela paints and I am famous on the shopping channels. What I buy and don’t end up loving, I donate to charity. It’s my little way of giving Michael’s so called hard earned money away.”
It was obvious Jolie was not much of a drinker and the booze was already making her words start to slur a little. “Isn’t it strange how Earl says nothing about the way Michael runs the company?” Jolie asked.
Andrea scoffed, “Earl says nothing about anything, let alone what Michael does.”
Birdy wasn’t so sure. “Yet, I bet Earl knows a lot more than he lets on.”
“True,” Pamela agreed. “Earl still signs all the paychecks, or at least his lawyer signs it for him. On the first business day of each month, Earl spends an hour or so in his lawyer’s office. I’d love to be a fly on that wall.”
“So would I,” said Andrea.
“Does Earl’s lawyer do divorces?” Jolie asked.
“Yep,” Andrea answered. “He did Pamela’s and mine. I think he likes sticking it to Michael.”
The hint of a new round of tears appeared in Jolie’s eyes. “Money is all well and good, but how do I stop loving Michael?”
“That’s the hard part,” Pamela said. “That’s the really hard part.”
