Difficult to decide which story should come next. And I have been somewhat dishonest in all of this. I have already written or at least made the first draft of stories. So now it is a matter of ordering the stories as well as rewrites. I do a lot of rewrites until either I get a piece published or my interest moves somewhere else. During all of this book I have been listening to music from the big bands of the 30s and 40s. The music is both complicated and melodic. The lyrics are somewhat trite, barely reflecting the depth and darkness of the human psyche. But it frees my spirit. The stories were written in a certain rhythm. (Am I repeating myself. It’s my age.) Most of the stories border on the comic. Like some of the better films of the 40s. I’m thinking of Preston Sturgess’ films. http://www.prestonsturges.com/ And yet behind these films and this kind of flippant good natured Americana is a darker issue, an almost insistence on not looking at the worse parts of human nature. Is this a rejection of European cynicism? Or perhaps a refusal to look at the ugly features of American history? Slavery. The treatment of native people. The subjugation of lands in the Americas to the interests of American capitalism.
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THE FIRST DAY
Deborah Hall placed her coffee cup on the roof of the small pink Toyota, leaned against her car and stared at the drug store. Her first day. God, she was excited. And nervous. She looked at her newly painted fingernails. Ruby red. And began to sing, In my solitude you haunt me of revelries of days gone by. She recalled how overwrought she’d been the previous evening. Pressing her blouse and slacks twice before laying them out on the table for the next morning. Spending hours deciding which shoes to wear. Finally rushing out at the last moment to buy a pair before the stores closed. A bright red pair. Like the shoes that Judy Garland wore in The Wizard of Oz. She showered twice. Drank warm milk. Still she had a restless sleep. That could have been tackled with alcohol or pills. But she dared not use anything. Or sex. But there was no one available. And besides, if she had been so persuaded, those evenings drained her. Sleep would not have been a by-product. And so she slept fitfully. Surprisingly in the morning she felt wonderful. This was going to be a great day. Deborah remembered her interview. She knew that she’d won them over when she mentioned, almost casually, that she’d passed in the top quarter of her class. At Cosmetics College. And the short skirt didn’t hurt either. She spotted Mr. Edwards stealing a glimpse. And she remembered how she had to keep her arms close to her side so that the puddles of sweat under her armpits wouldn’t show. And how she’d almost burst out laughing when she noticed that Mr. Edwards had mis-buttoned his shirt. How could Mrs. Edwards have allowed her husband to leave the house in that condition? There was a marriage that was beginning to unravel. Or maybe there was no Mrs. Edwards. Maybe he was gay. Too handsome to remain single. And too rich. Partner in the business and head pharmacist. What kind of car did he have? Something European, she supposed.
Deborah looked up at the deep blue sky. And the lonely little clouds that drifted across it. Like in a dream. She took the cup of coffee off the roof of her pink Toyota and walked across the parking lot. She was so happy. She wanted to dance. In the mood. There was a boy squatting in front of the drug store. Reading a book. A hat on the cement in front of him. A beggar. Who was he? He looked Native. He looked disheveled. Like he’d put his clothes on with a shovel. And he was looking at her. More than looking. Staring. Undressing. It was intimidating. The homeless should know their place. The sliding doors opened. As if they only opened for Deborah. She listened to her name being whispered by the air conditioning. A woman rushed passed her pushing a young child in a stroller. The fragrance of a dirty diaper followed behind them. Inside the store a tall black man stood. He’s a giant. 9 feet. And then she realized he was on a small ladder putting goods on the shelves. He looked down at her. And smiled. Her knees became weak. Could a guy like that ever fall for me?
Deborah walked up to the cashier to ask to speak to the manager. Mr. Edwards had promised to meet her first thing in the morning. Was she too early? He promised to introduce her to the staff. Hadn’t he? Had he lied? The cashier smiled. Her name was Bea. It was written on a small brass ornament pinned to her blouse. Dorothy noticed a small drop of blood on Bea’s blouse. Why doesn’t she change her blouse? I would have. Bea looked at her and smiled. Deborah smiled back. Bea continued to smile. But it wasn’t the sort of smile one gives a stranger you have met for the first time. Behind Bea, another cashier named Josephine was giggling.
“Is there a problem?” Deborah asked.
Bea smiled and looked down at Deborah’s skirt. Had she spilled something on it that morning? Deborah looked down at her skirt. The skirt wasn’t there. She’d forgotten to put on a dress.
“Ah!” Deborah screamed and woke up with a start.
Looked around. She was still in bed. A dream. She sighed with relief. She looked over at her alarm clock. Four a.m. She was going to be dead tired on her first day at work. Oh what a terrible dream. Imagine showing up for work and forgetting to wear her slacks. She felt funny. She pulled back the covers of her bed and cried out.
“Ah!”
She was wearing the clothes she’d prepared for her first day. Blouse, slacks, and bright ruby red shoes.
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The Anderson Sisters from The God of Six Points
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