Cole Dust Cole Page 32

  Without a word the woman backed up. Cole opened the door and got out. For the first time he got a look at her. The visuals were almost more than he could take in without shaking his head.

  The woman had long hair, down to the middle of her back. It was greasy, flat to her head and long overdue for shampoo. The black and silver warm up pants she wore, could he have seen, were pulled up to where they nearly met her bra. She wore a pink tank top with the words “Lookin’ For Love” in glitter that was nearly all worn away. On her feet she wore navy blue athletic shoes with two wide Velcro straps.

  The thing that Cole found the most amazing about this parking lot panhandler was that she shaved her eyebrows and drew on new ones. That in itself was not that unusual, women do it all the time. But this woman brought it to new heights of absurdity. Her self-inflicted eyebrows were large, nearly half-circle arches of dark brown color. These were not the thin eyebrow pencil kind that barflies and old painted ladies make. These looked like she used a jar lid as a template and the broadside of a magic marker to draw thick brown semicircles that came within an inch or so of her hairline.

  “I tell you what,” Cole began. “If you’re hungry I’ll buy you a sandwich or something. But that story of yours really needs some work. I have heard the same line from Chicago to San Francisco. Try a more exotic disease, or better yet, leave the reason to the imagination of your victim. Something like, ‘she really needs my help.’ Try a more reasonable destination too, say, within fifty miles. And, for God sake don’t sneak up on people.”

  The woman gritted her teeth, pulling back her thin lips. “You think you’re pretty cute, don’tcha.”

  “Nope. I have just been outside this county. If you’re going to join the ranks of the professional street beggars you’re going to have to A) be believable, which you’re not. B) have a good line, which you don’t and C) present an image of someone people want to help. You strike out on all three. Where do you live anyway?”

  “None of your business.” Then she mumbled, “At the Starlight Motel. By the highway.” She pointed a finger with a long nail in the direction of the highway.

  “If a person was really broke down, by the way, where is this car of yours, anyway? They would look more like they were on their way somewhere. They would have a reason they had no money: purse got stolen, credit card maxed out, something that could really happen. So, you hungry?”

  “You’re a smart ass. I didn’t ask for no lessons in makin’ money.”

  “OK then, class dismissed.”

  “Smart ass. Think you’re too good to help a girl out.” The woman mumbled at Cole’s back as he walked away.

  Just as Cole stepped onto the sidewalk a loud horn blasted behind him. He turned to see Big Pete and Miss Betty in Pete’s baby blue 1974 Cadillac Coupe Deville.

  “Where you goin’ traitor?” Pete shouted out his window at Cole.

  “Check out your competition!” Cole said, moving to the car.

  “What were you doin’ talking to Julienne Ritchie?” Betty asked as Cole reached her window.

  “Who?”

  “Eyebrows,” Pete said.

  “You be nice!” Betty slapped Pete’s arm.

  “I was trying to improve her routine,” Cole said smiling.

  “She’s not like the rest of us,” Miss Betty said compassionately. “Well, we came to give Ernie some moral support. Help me out of here.” Betty shifted her weight in the seat and the Cadillac creaked beneath her.

  Cole opened the door and Betty offered her pudgy hand. Not sure exactly how to approach getting a four hundred pound woman out of a car, he pulled gently on her hand. Miss Betty swung her feet around, showing more leg and knee high stockings than Cole would have wanted or needed to see.

  “Come on, sweetheart, you’re gonna have to put your back into it.” Miss Betty groaned.

  Cole obediently reached out, took her other hand and with a great heave brought her massive girth out of the car and upright. Big Pete got out of the car and joined them on the sidewalk. He offered his arm to Miss Betty and they made their way to the door.

  “Looky what I found goin’ down to the Taco Shop!” Miss Betty yelled at the counter.

  “The hell you say! Come on in!” Ernie boomed back.

  Big Pete and Miss Betty made their way to the counter. After a bit of teasing and good humored banter, they each ordered and Ernie disappeared into the kitchen. He could be seen through the pass-through in the wall behind the counter scurrying back and forth. When the phone rang Ernie yelled for Cole to take it. The caller placed a sandwich order and Cole dutifully took it all down on a note pad.

  “First phone order!” Cole said, clipping the slip of note paper to the wheel above the pass-through.

  “The hell you say. Be right up!” Ernie said cheerfully.

  For about two hours Cole watched as people came and went, most with a kind word about the food and the shop. A couple of times he heard comments on the odd choice of posters for the walls, and he just smiled. Finally Cole’s enthusiasm began to wane. He bid Ernie good luck and went to his car. He arrived home a little after two-thirty; his stomach full as well as his bladder from the constant refills of Diet Coke Ernie kept pushing at him.

  He was delighted for his friend. The shop would be a success, but it was apparent that Ernie would need some counter help soon. Maybe he would find one of those cute high school girls he always remarked would be “just the thing” to take orders.

  The house was stuffy and hot. Cole went around and opened windows on the ground floor. He opened the back door and went to the sink and splashed his face with cool water.

  “Well looks like it’s time to finish this off,” Cole said aloud, looking down at the notebooks on the table. He opened the window to the side yard and sat down at the table.

  October 12, 1949

  Sad news today. Earl’s mother passed away. She’s been sick with a stomach cancer for a while now. The nurse said she finally died of bleeding of the bowels.

  Earl asked me to be a pallbearer. I really don’t want to but I said yes. The funeral is on Saturday.

  October 16, 1949

  The funeral for Myrtle McKinsey Tyner was yesterday. There weren’t a lot of people there, mostly friends of Earl’s. She was a very big woman, I would guess close to three hundred pounds. We had a bit of a time getting the coffin up the steps of the chapel.

  The funeral was at a little church called St. John’s Chapel. The preacher there offered the use of his church to help save money on the funeral. He had been the chaplin at the hospital.

  Earl introduced me to his two brothers, Gene and Arthur, and his sister, Florence. The sister smelled pretty strong of liquor. The preacher said a nice piece about no sickness, and heaven. A lady from the church sang Farther Along. The chapel was stuffy and could have used a few windows open.

  While the preacher was praying I heard somebody mumbling. It was a woman’s voice coming from in front of me. “God help you, you never helped me,” was the only full sentence I could make out. Several times I heard curse words. My curiosity got the better of me and I opened my eyes to see who it was that was talking. I peeked out of one eye first and saw Earl’s brother holding his finger up telling somebody to shush. It was his sister.

  She’d been crying and carrying on throughout the service, but now she was getting out of hand. The preacher said his “Amen” and the church lady stood for what I figured to be the last song. As she started singing, Florence began saying things like, “I could use a hundred dollars” and “you let them take my car”. As she went on, Earl got up and slipped into the seat behind her. He put his hand on her shoulder and Florence shouted, “Get your hands off me!”

  I couldn’t tell what he was saying but Earl’s attempt to whisper sounded more like a locomotive letting out steam. The hissing and Florence’s carrying on made the church lady forget her words a couple of times.

  Finally, the preacher said that people could come up and say good-bye to Myrtl
e. As the front row stood and started to file by, Florence wouldn’t stand up. The second and third rows filed by and Florence sat still as a stone, mumbling to herself. The preacher went over to her and quickly went back up to the platform when Florence shouted, “What the hell do you know about anything!”

  I felt mighty embarrassed for Earl, and the rest of the people there, but mostly for Earl as he stood to the side, unsure as to what to do. About half the people had passed by the coffin when Florence stood up. The people in the aisle stopped where they were and waited for her to make her way up to where her mother lay.

  Florence was making waving gestures in the air as she now loudly told poor dead Myrtle just what she thought of her. “You always loved the boys more than me!” she screamed towards the poor dead lady. “You old whore, you got no right laying on your back in a church! Who’s my daddy? Anybody know?” Florence spun and screamed.

  At the foot of the coffin Florence took one of the side rails in her hand and slammed it on the side like a door knocker. As she made her way forward, she fluffed and pinched at the lacy white cotton bed clothes the old lady was dressed in. To the astonishment of everyone and before anyone could think or move or act in any way, Florence grabbed her mother by the shoulders and yanked her into an upright position!

  “You ain’t dead! Get up you old bitch, you owe me!” Florence screamed shaking the dead woman. “You made my life hell and by God you ain’t goin’ there until I get what’s coming to me!”

  In what seemed like three long strides, Earl moved to where his sister stood screaming in the face of her dead mother and hit her square on the chin and knocked her cold. From out of nowhere Arthur caught Florence under the arms as she was going down and Earl grabbed her by the ankles and they carried her out a side door.

  Myrtle was sitting with one arm dangling out of the coffin and was slumped over, her head leaning over the side. The preacher went and laid her back down and then closed the lid.

  “Thank you for coming today. I think the family could use some time alone. May God bless each and every one of you.”

  The folks still standing staring at the front of the chapel wasted no time in getting to the door. I rounded up some of the fellows standing outside smoking and got them to help load the coffin into the hearse.

  I figured the best thing for me to do would be to go home.

  October 28, 1949

  Today when we picked up our pay envelopes there was a little something extra in it. Along with an extra twenty-five dollars there was a half sheet of pink paper. The paper said something like this:

  The victory over our enemies both in Europe and the Pacific could not have been won without your hard work and dedication to Allied Steel & Shipping Works. With the reduced demand for war ships our need for a wartime work force is no longer needed. Effective immediately, your services will no longer be needed. I wish it were not so. It is the sincere wish of myself and the board of directors of Allied that the enclosed bonus of twenty-five dollars will help during this transition. You can leave proud that you made a difference!

  God Bless You and God Bless America.

  J. Peter Howard

  President, Allied Steel & Shipping

  We all saw it coming but hoped we could last out through Christmas.

  Thanksgiving Day 1949

  The hotel gave Alma a ticket for dinner in the dining room for the family. This was truly something to be thankful for. We had turkey and all the fixin’s; not as good as at home but the price was more than agreeable.

  I have not been able to find work anywhere.

  Josie and her husband Freddie have moved in with us in an effort to save on the rent.

  I know it doesn’t seem right but we called today Georgie’s birthday celebration as well. We are so broke we couldn’t get him anything this year. I promised him as soon as I get work that he and I will go to Canada. He is eighteen now and has talked about it since we moved to Washington.

  He is a fine young man and hopes to go to college. I have no idea how it will get paid for.

  December 22, 1949

  Got a Christmas card from Lloyd today. He is still in California, and from the sound of it, is doing well. He is working at a chicken plant. He’s a line foreman in the slaughter room. Says he can get me a job. Penny apiece to kill birds. I see Alma’s hand in this.

  I have no pride left; if it takes a woman to get me a job so be it.

  January 25, 1950

  I was released from jail today. I have been locked up since Christmas evening. Earl came by with a pint of Christmas cheer and the next thing I knew we were being thrown in a cell downtown. This being my second time picked up for public drunkenness, I got thirty days. Earl took a poke at the desk sergeant so he has another sixty to do at the honor farm.

  We will start packing for California tomorrow. The sooner the better. This town is dying by the day, and me with it. Georgie and Josie will not be coming with us.

  Freddie got a job at a fish cannery and Josie is expecting. Georgie joined the Army while I was locked up and reports next week. Freddie and Josie will stay in this house.

  It will be just Alma and I.

  January 27, 1950

  We have made it as far as Roseburg, Oregon. I drove all day but I was just played out so we are staying the night in a small park. A cop came by and I asked if it would be alright. He said no pitching a tent, no fires and to be gone at sunrise. We bought a hamburger at a little diner and Alma had a jar of tea she made before we left.

  We spoke little on the way. It is strange how far apart two people can be. I think we only stay together out of fear of what it would be like apart.

  January 28, 1950

  We are on the outskirts of Sacramento. I found a nice spot by the river. I built a fire, so at least we won’t freeze. We almost froze to death last night. We were so cold that Alma actually snuggled up to me!

  The car has been acting up and in Weed it overheated. We were stuck there for about three hours waiting for things to cool down. A fellow at a filling station gave me a little tube of King’s Stop-it. He said it was Aluminum powder and it would plug up any radiator cracks or holes and stop the leak. I replaced a hose that was cracked real bad and filled up with water. All told, it was $3.85.

  Alma went to the store while we were stopped and bought a pound of wieners and a can of kraut. She brought along a couple of pieces of tin foil and wrapped the weenies up and I rigged a wire gizmo to hook them to the manifold. The engine heat cooked them till they popped. So we are dining tonight on hot dogs and kraut.

  January 30, 1950

  We arrived in Hughson last night. This is the sorriest excuse for a town I have ever seen! One filling station, a half empty grocery store, a farm labor camp, and a four-stool bar. Lloyd said not to worry, we’ll only sleep there. The plant is in a town called Turlock about five miles up the road. Mamie said the rent was real cheap in Hughson, that’s why they settled here.

  We had real chili and cornbread for supper. Mamie, being part Indian, knows the Mexican ways of cooking. The chili was hotter than a coal from hell itself but tasted good. The cornbread reminded me of back home.

  I went with Lloyd to Valley’s Poultry this morning. Just like he said, I got right on. I was issued a yellow rubber suit and boots, a steel glove and a knife. If I lose them I buy the next ones.

  I forgot what the smell of blood was like. I puked three times before lunch. Lloyd slipped me a pint and said that the first one was on him. Said it’s the only thing that gets him through the day. I feel like I killed a million chickens today. Turkey used to take a while to lift and scramble their brains and all, but chickens weigh nothing and we just take their heads off. The feather room does the rest.

  February 5, 1950

  Lloyd’s landlord evicted a bunch of Mexicans from one of his rentals three doors down from Lloyd. They got drunk and kicked the panels out of all the doors. He went to collect the rent and saw the doors. The old guy got so mad he went out to his pick
up, got his shotgun and run them off. He told them he was keeping their furniture for the damage they did. It is nothing to write home about, but it is more than we got. The rent is fifty dollars a month, if we don’t make him repair the doors. That’s only 5,000 dead chickens.

  February 9, 1950

  California cops are not a very forgiving lot. On the way home from work I stopped off for a drink and got into a story swapping session with a few of the boys from back home; twisters, Indians, dust storms and more than a little Rye. On the way home I guess I was swerving a bit and got pulled over. The cop hauled me to jail.

  Lloyd bailed me out in time for work. Twenty-five dollar fine!

  Alma is mad as the devil and won’t speak to me. I had cold bologna macaroni for supper.

  Valentine’s

  Alma and Mamie fixed a big dinner of meatloaf, mashed potatoes and string beans for Valentine’s Day. Little red hearts cut out of red tissue paper decorated the table and doors. All of Lloyd’s kids came over and brought flowers and candy. I have never got Alma anything for Valentine’s Day. Mamie slipped me a card on the sly and I signed it. I really don’t think there was much of Alma in all of it, but it was fun.

  She just left my bed. I’m still kind of drunk, but I should have got her a card a long time ago if that’s what it was going to get me.

  March 17, St. Patrick’s Day

  Kind of funny that the last time I wrote in this book was a holiday. The day after Valentine’s I didn’t see a car in front of me and rear ended it. The cop that answered the call, on being prompted by the woman in the car I hit, came over sniffing my breath. He cited me for drunk driving and hauled me in.