Opal Wanted to Appear Nonchalant (chapter three)

8/8/2019 Opal Wanted to Appear Nonchalant (chapter three)

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Opal wanted to appear nonchalant while greeting the personattached to the low voice she had heard through thebedroom wall, as if she were constantly meeting new peopleeach morning in her kitchen. This became impossible as he

was wearing her mother’s caftan. She stared at him as if acircus performer were in her dining room. Appearing a littlestunned was unavoidable. He was heavily ornamented withsome unusual stone and silver rings, a heavy silver braceletand a large gold hoop in one ear. He had thick straight hairthat hung almost to his elbows and was the color of cornhusk.

Opal had tried to slip into the kitchen unnoticed, but hermother and the caftan guy were seated at the new dining

room table her mother had bought last weekend at the fleamarket. It was bright red and chrome and took some gettingused to. Only two of the four chairs matched and the othertwo were yellow and green. “Very festive,” Opal had saidwith an enthusiastic eye roll when her mother hadassembled all the pieces the first time.

The flea market had become a major resource for furnishingtheir apartment after her father had left with nearly all of

their belongings. All of their kitchen utensils, dishes andcookware and most of their furniture had been found there.Nothing matched and most everything was antique looking.In Opal’s opinion her mother’s wardrobe had taken a majorturn for the worse as a result of their weekends at the fleamarket.

Opal had found a few treasures though. A pair of white satinelbow length gloves with rhinestones at the wrist and abeaded cashmere twin set with pearl buttons. She liked thetailored vintage glamorous clothes. Her mother, however,was dressing more and more like a gypsy, her latestpurchase being a furry gold tasseled poncho.

“I am Pablo,” caftan guy introduced himself. Opal thoughthe must be the blondest Pablo ever. “your inner glow tells



me you’re Opal.” Opal tried her hardest to water down areflexive withering glare.

Opal nodded aware that her mother was monitoring her

reaction. She immediately decided she would go on a bikeride and busied herself assembling a snack.

Bea was in ambassador mode, “Opal, Pablo has a great oldhouse downtown and has invited us over for a swim thisafternoon. Do you want to bring a friend?”

“I’m going on a bike ride. Maybe if I’m back by the time yougo.” Opal headed for the door and Bea leaned sideways tocut her off. The look in Bea’s eyes was sharp. She gripped

Opal’s wrist hard and leaned into her ear, “You’ll be back inhalf an hour. You’re going,” she whispered, then kissed herforehead and smiled. Bea picked up her coffee cup as Opalopened the sliding door. Pablo waved, “Okay, have a goodride.”

Pablo’s house was in a section of downtown that had givenup on appearances. His house was trying it’s best to riseabove it, but across the street was a house with it’s

windows boarded up and black soot from where the fire hadbeen streaked the exterior wall above each window. Most of the front yards on the block were dirt and the trees, citrusand palms, were barely hanging in there.

The fresh paint on Pablo’s house gave it the impression of alip-sticked old dame in a nursing home. It’s wide cementsteps led up to a large covered porch complete with rockingchairs and a wicker swing. There were cheery pottedgeraniums on each step. He had a large copper mailboxwith little red mushrooms painted on the base.

Inside the heavy oak front door, the entry had dark woodpaneled walls and a dramatic staircase. To the left was theliving room, full of dark jewel colored pillows and orientalrugs. There were instruments everywhere. A black grand



piano was in the corner, a black sparkly drum kit in anothercorner, guitars, amps and all kinds of hand instrumentsmade of gourds, seed pods and wood. On a stand was ahuge brass gong with a mallet on a pillow. There was also a

movie screen set up and a projector. The windows that linedthe music room were covered in thick emerald velvetdrapes.

They were quickly led by the housekeeper to the right,through a huge white tiled kitchen full of sunshine with a bigwhite enamel stove, and into the back yard. The perimeterof the yard was lined with tall oleander bushes. Set backfrom the red brick patio was a path that led to the pool. Thepool was old fashioned, without a slide or a diving board. It

was a perfect rectangle surrounded by red brick. Navy blueand white hand painted tiles lined the edge of the pool.

There were two white painted iron chaise lounges with thickcushions and between them a low matching table with astack of folded pool towels. A large metal umbrella in acement stand shaded the lounge chairs. A twin umbrellashaded a white iron dining table and chairs on the other sideof the pool. The housekeeper was setting up a tray with anice bucket, a pitcher of lemonade, sun tea and glasses.

November was a little chilly to swim so Opal was reluctant todive in. She set her bag on a chair and poured somelemonade. Pablo had changed from her mother’s caftan into

jeans and a loose cotton shirt with wild patterns of interlocking peacock feathers. After greeting them eachwith a kiss, he kicked off his huarache sandals and startedclimbing an old mulberry tree. “I’ve designed a tree housefor this tree. I like sitting in trees. I get my best creativeideas when I’m in the womb of a tree. I wanted to put a treehouse in the pomegranate tree, but they’re not strongenough, really more of a shrub.”

Pablo dropped out of the tree and pointed to thepomegranate shrub. You can pick one. Bea came out of thehouse with a platter of sliced melon and grapes. “look at



this! Isn’t this great Opal?”

Opal smiled and nodded. She walked over to the edge of thepool and tested the water with her toe. It was like a bathtub.

She sat and put both feet in and kicked them around.

“I keep it heated all winter, so I can swim anytime. Weshould be in warm water as much as possible. That’s howwe came into being. It’s our essential nature.” Pablobeamed a smile at Opal.

Opal made a mental note not to get attached to this place.It was beautiful and she was curious about exploring thehouse. But Pablo was not someone she saw her mother

spending a lot of time with. Opal wondered where hermother had met this guy and why on earth she wanted tohang out with him.

After swimming a few laps and floating around in the toowarm water she dried off and asked if she could go insideand watch TV. “oh, sorry little lady. This is a TV-free zone. Ihave a big library upstairs though.” He waved his arm at thehouse. “ohhh kay,” Opal picked up her bag and followed the

path back to the house. ‘little lady’? she thought to herself,“Perfect.”

Inside she heard a vacuum running in the music room. Sheheaded up the big wooden staircase. On the landing therewas a tiny window seat with a red velvet cushion and a littlebuilt in table with a lamp and a pen and writing tablet. Setinto the wall was a pay phone.

She continued up the stairs and was struck by the contrast.It was bright up here, with light coming in from hugewindows that faced the back yard. There were several cozywindow seats with cushions that framed large doublewindows. In the center of the room was a large mission styleoak table with three chairs and two table lamps. I was ahome library with wall shelves and freestanding shelves that



created aisles. On top of one shelf against the far wall was acard catalogue. Opal pulled out a long drawer and flippedthrough green and salmon colored typed cards. Some hadhandwritten notes on them.

Opal heard her mother laughing and glanced out the windowdown into the yard. Pablo and Bea were climbing the tree.Opal furrowed her brow and groaned. After walking throughthe rows of books it seemed there was a large non-fictionsection devoted to music and architecture, a hugemythology and native folklore section and lots of randombooks on U.F.O.’s , herbs, astrology and yoga. The rest,which was a lot, was fiction. Some of the books looked veryold and had very tiny print. Opal sat on the floor and poked

through row after row. She selected a book of illustratedtarot cards, a paperback copy of The Illustrated Man and

Jonathon Livingston Seagull. One book spine intrigued herand she pulled it out only to replace it quickly after glancingat the photo section. Helter Skelter. Some grisly murder bya bunch of druggie hippies. The book contained grainy blackand white police photos of the crime scene. Now just thespine of the book looked creepy.

The Illustrated Man had a cool painting on the cover of aseated bald guy covered in tattoos. She saved that for last.

The tarot card book was kind of interesting. Her mother wasreally into that now, and kept her cards wrapped in a silkscarf under her pillow. She started reading JonathonLivingston Seagull. It was told from the point of view of aseagull. It was quick reading but after thirty minutes Opalwas bored with it. A seagull wants to fly. Whoop de doo.She thumbed throught the rest of the book, stopping to reada passage to see if it got more interesting. It didn’t. She putit down and picked up the Illustrated Man.

Opal started reading a short story called ‘The Velt’ and wasimmediately sucked in. The library and her mother’slaughter faded and Opal was immersed. When she hadfinished the short story she reemerged in a darkening room.



She got up to turn on a lamp on the oak table. She couldhear someone down in the kitchen and then footstepscoming up the stairs. Pablo came around the corner andstopped. His hands clasped in front of him, he rose up on his

tip toes and giggled. “You found some good things to read!”he was very enthusiastic and was talking a little too loud.

“Yeah,” Opal waved the Illustrated Man at him. “Justfinished ‘The Velt’.”

“Oooh, good one! What else have you found?” He skippedover to the window seat to see what she had.

“Oh yeah, Jonathon. Did you read this yet?”

“Uh hu,” Opal kept an arm’s length away from Pablo. Hesmelled like burnt sugar.

“Did you get it? Did you understand the message of following your true nature? Not to conform but to reallyembrace your essence and pursue your gifts? Pablo waslooking intently at her and leaning towards her pressing thepaperback to his chest.

“Yep. Got it. We discussed it at our Girl Scout troop meetinglast week when we were working on our Essence badges.”Opal wondered if Pablo could process sarcasm in his mentalstate.

“That is very cool. I’m going to have to think about that.We’re going out for dinner. Spaghetti Company sound good?Pablo held on to the book and started uncertainly for thestairs.

“Sure, when are we leaving?” Opal wanted to read anothershort story.

“Whenever you are ready. You can bring the book withyou.” Pablo smiled at her and flapped the seagull book like a



bird, then with his own arms outstretched glided down thestairs.

“Wacko.” Opal sighed under her breath.

At the Spaghetti Company the three of them were seated inan old railroad car turned into a booth. They road to therestaurant in an old chocolate brown convertible Mercedesthat had belonged to Pablo’s father. Pablo and Bea passed a

joint back and forth as Pablo drove and the smoke blew backin Opal’s face. She pinched her nose and breathed throughher mouth. In the lobby there was a potted ficus tree withbits of dried spaghetti hanging from the leaves andbranches. A sign gave detailed information about the rare

endangered Spaghetti Tree.

The menu was designed like a newspaper with the entreesmixed in with weird fake stories about the history of growingspaghetti. Opal ordered a kid’s plate of spaghetti marinara,salad and garlic bread and was able to order a Coke whileBea was distracted. Pablo ordered spaghetti primavera,confirming for Opal that her mother would never be able tobring him home to Texas for a visit. They also ordered a

carafe of red wine and talked and giggled like she wasn’tthere.

“Oh, Opal found success in the library. She read JonathonLivingston Seagull. Apparently it’s theme was widelydiscussed in her Girl Scout troop,” Pablo raised hiseyebrows, looking at Bea, then cracked up.

Bea glared at Opal over her wineglass, “I see.”

Pablo had barely recovered from laughing, “Oh don’t get onher, I liked that comment. Plus she liked one of my favoriteRay Bradbury short stories. She passed my snobbyliterature test.”

“Imagine my honor.” She wished she could say out loud.



The waiter brought the drinks and a basket of garlic bread.Opal appreciated the distraction and opened the IllustratedMan in her lap and started another short story.

“My mother does a huge spread for Thanksgiving. It’s notheavy or anything, real low-key. I want you and Opal tocome.” Pablo looked at Bea and nodded.

“Well,” Bea looked nervously at Opal and mirrored his nodslowly,” I appreciate the invitation. Have you asked yourmother if it’s alright to bring guests to Thanksgiving?”

Opal pretended to be so absorbed in her reading that she

didn’t hear Pablo’s invitation. Her heart was pounding. ‘thissounds like a terrible idea’ she thought.

“My mother would love nothing more than for me to bring aguest, but if it makes you more comfortable, I’ll give her aring tonight when we get home and make sure.” Pablorefilled Bea’s wine glass and then his own.

Opal forced herself to focus on the short story so her head

wouldn’t explode. It was about a couple that lived on ahighway in the desert and the highway starts to becomecrowded with travelers who are escaping the city after anuclear holocaust. The story’s cheeriness was mirrored byhow Opal was feeling about her mother’s new friend andwhat he meant by ‘when we get home’.

They drove back to Pablo’s big house and Opal was waitingfor a sign that they were going to say thank you and goodnight and get into her mother’s car. It was past her bedtime.Pablo was in the music room playing with a reel to reel andBea was asking to hear his music. The housekeepermotioned to Opal to follow her. Opal was led up the stairs tothe library again. The windows were now covered withheavy gold velvet drapes like the living room. Table lampsand wall sconces added warmth to the room. Near the



window seat where she had been sitting and reading earlierwas a cot with a down comforter and a little table with aplate of shortbread cookies and a glass of milk.

The housekeeper patter her on the arm and left. Opal stoodwith her arms crossed and heard the reel to reel’s jazz fusionand said, ‘you’ve got to be kidding’.

Those first few moments after opening his eyes were filledwith pain and confusion. Vertigo and nausea hit him whenhe push himself up to sit on the edge of the bed. A fewshallow breaths and the nausea settled, threatening to riseagain if Clayton made any quick moves, which he wouldn’t.He slowly turned his head to check and to make sure he wasthe only one in the bed. The relief at seeing the other pillowuntouched was enough to give him the momentum to riseand slowly stagger to the bathroom.

In the mirror was a very ragged looking traveler with moregrey in his beard than he thought was normal for a man of 37. He bent slowly at the waist and turned on the tap andcupped his hands to splash cold water on his face and wet

his hair. He smoothed the hair back, thinning aggressivelyon top and graying on the sides, but still several inchespassed his collar where it started to curl. He snarled at themirror and ran a finger over his furry feeling teeth. He waswithout a toothbrush or any personal hygiene tools with hisdop kit in police custody. Maybe Scott could get him a travelkit from the hotel’s hospitality supplies. He could do with adose of Alka-Seltzer and some mouth wash.

Clayton wiped down the counter and sink and then shook outthe towel and folded it in thirds and hung it on the towel bar.He put the lid down on the toilet and started to get dressed.It was early but they needed to get back on the road. Hebraced himself then pulled open the heavy drapes. Hesqueezed his eyes shut and then abruptly opened them. Themorning light pounded his head and he sucked in a breath



and held it until the pain subsided. He took a deeper slowerbreath and then shook Leo’s shoulder.

“Time to hit the road pal,” Clayton gritted his teeth, the

sound of his own voice sent shock waves of pain through hisskull and reactivated the nausea. He needed to get suppliesand get out of here.

There was much groaning and complaining from the Leo’sbed as Clayton straighten the sheets and blanket on his ownand replaced the pillows. His bag was zipped and ready, hefilled his pockets with the change, wallet and pocket knifehe’d put on the counter, and picked up his parka from thechair.

“I’ll meet you in the lobby in ten,” said Clayton as he put hishat on and opened the door.

The lobby was bustling with wedding guests checking outand Clayton zig-zagged through the suitcases and severalguests who looked like they never had a chance to sleep itoff. There was a complimentary coffee service set upopposite the front desk and he poured coffee into a

Styrofoam cup and added two packets of sugar andpowdered creamer from a large canister. No amount of stirring would dissolve it all and the chemical lightener didn’tmask the bitterness of the coffee. Clayton set the coffeedown and searched through his bag for his sunglasses case.He secured the wires behind his ears and pressed the darkshades into place. Hiding behind the brim of his hat and thedark green aviator lenses, he sipped the vile coffee until Leoappeared and then turned and headed out to the parking lotwithout a word.

Mrs. Womack felt confident that she had successfullycamouflaged her scraped chin with a thick layer of foundation and powder. She turned her face to the right andto the left inspecting her work in mirror. She drew on her



eyebrows and painted her mouth a dark coral. Thebandaged palm would be bad enough, hopefully she couldget away with just mentioning it and not call attention to herface at all. Some of these old bats had nothing better to do

than pick at you like crows so you had to be crafty to deflectattention if you didn’t want to talk about something.

She was wearing a nylon purple floral tunic over navy blueslacks and navy peep toe sandals that showed her matchingpurple toe nails. She had the girl do her manicure in a lightfrosty lavender. Snowball was fed and the hall light was lefton. Mrs. Womack picked up her keys and handbag from thetable in the entry and locked the deadbolt then headed tothe carport and sat in her custard yellow Cadillac and

adjusted the seat to where she could see all the mirrors. Sheput on her large white framed sunglasses then she slowlybacked out of the carport.

After parking as close to the entrance as possible, Mrs.Womack pulled down the visor and checked her teeth forlipstick and scowled. The Arizona winter sunlight was lessforgiving than her hall lamp. Peach makeup powder dustedthe rough terrain of her scabbed chin. She must make sure

to not sit in the window.

Mrs. Kaplan and Mrs. Greenberg were already seated whenshe made her way to the table. The hostess led her overand she sat down smiling saying her hellos and turning hercoffee cup over in the saucer to indicate to the waiter thathe didn’t need to ask, just pour. These monthly lunchmeetings were almost entirely social, gossip sessions or bragsessions thinly veiled as book club meetings.

“I see Mrs. Mintz is not here, so I’m spared from being late!”Mrs. Womack said as she set down her handbag and put hernapkin on her lap.

“We waited to order,” said Mrs. Kaplan.



“The special salad is chicken salad,” said Mrs. Greenberg,raising her eyebrows in contempt, “Must be some chickensalad at seven dollars.”

Mrs. Womack swapped her large white sunglasses for herreading glasses which she pulled from a needlepoint casedepicting a gold owl on an avocado colored background.She opened her menu and held it a bit higher than necessaryto conceal her chin. “Do we know the soup?” she askedfrom behind the laminated menu.

“Curried carrot,” said Mrs. Greenberg, “Sounds made up tome.”

“Well, it was ginger something last time and it was verygood, so I’ll be adventurous and give it a go,” said Mrs.Womack.

Mrs. Mintz breezed in waving away the hostess andmuttering, “Sorry, sorry” as she sat down. Her sleek whitehair was pulled back in a wide silver barrette and her softpowdered skin was punctuated by bright red lipstick. Sheslipped a woven shawl delicately from her shoulders

revealing a white ribbed turtleneck sweater dress thatemphasized her slim frame. “I got hung up discussing

Thanksgiving guests with Pablo.” The other ladies groanedand clucked their disapproval or sympathy. “He’s gotanother live one - this time with a 10 year old daughter andhe’s invited them for dinner.”

“Well he has no problem reeling them in, does he? AskedMrs. Greenburg.

“What are you going to serve?” asked Mrs. Kaplan timidly.She was dressed in a grey cashmere twin set and greyflannel slacks and had her light brown hair clipped as shortas a boy at boot camp.

“It’s Thanksgiving dear, I’m sure she’ll serve spaghetti and



meatballs like everyone else,” snapped Mrs. Greenburg.

Mrs. Mintz scolded Mrs. Greenburg, “Knock it off.” Andcontinued by answering Mrs. Kaplan, “The traditional

Thanksgiving menu will be followed. Only the playerschange. So this one is a shiksa – divorced shiksa with pre-teen daughter – who Pablo is mad about ever since theystarted going together last week. Plus he has a newrecording coming out at the first of the year, which meanshe’ll be on tour and that will be the end of that. This galwon’t be able to travel with him with a ten year olddaughter. He never looks a week ahead. He probably hasn’teven told the young woman that he’s going to be gone forseveral months. What are you ordering?”

Mrs. Mintz scanned the menu quicky and then shut it. Sheturned her coffee cup over and motioned to the waiter tocome over.

The waiter was the same age as the book club ladies, histhin hair dyed a flat indigo and pencil mustache meticulouslytrimmed. He didn’t make small talk.

“Reuben and a side salad,” she said and turned to Mrs.Womack.

“I’m going to try your special carrot soup and salad,” saidMrs. Womack.

“I think I’ll have the cobb salad,” said Mrs. Kaplan, orderingthe same thing she ordered every month.

“Cheese burger, medium with onions, lettuce and tomato,”said Mrs. Greenburg, handing her menu to the waiter withoutlooking at him. She turned to Mrs. Womack and narrowedher eyes, “What the hell happened to your face?” shereached out for Mrs. Womack’s hand, “and this?”

“Oh leave it alone. I’m fine. Just clumsy is all.” Mrs.



“I did, a very pretty name, Opal. But I don’t know where shelives, somewhere in the neighborhood is all. I gave her a rollof Butter Rum Lifesavers.”

“Well that should do the trick. Butter Rum Lifesavers willcertainly keep her from robbing you.” Said Mrs. Greenburg.

“Enough.” Mrs. Womack had had it. She waved her hands toend the discussion.

“Really, that is enough,” said Mrs. Mintz.

Mrs. Kaplan nodded and slightly furrowed her brow towards

Mrs. Greenburg, just briefly.

Mrs. Greenburg sighed and shook her head. She gave up.

Mrs. Mintz had heard of a young girl called Opal twice in onemorning. She mused as she sipped her black coffee at thepossiblity of the two being the same girl.

The waiter arrived with their food and Mrs. Mintz asked who

would be coming to her home for Thanksgiving and lookeddirectly at Mrs. Womack. Both Mrs. Kaplan and Mrs.Greenburg had their own family dinners to deal with andMrs. Mintz knew this but always extended the invitation.

She nodded, “Yes, of course I’ll come.” Mrs. Womack loveddinners at Mrs. Mintz’s beautiful home.

Mrs. Mintz was eager to learn if the two Opals were one andthe same.

Ben watched a white line etched through the desert floorgrow in size to become a highway with visible cars. Thedesert sprouted a few monopoly buildings that became



clusters and then neighborhoods. Landmarks began to popup at him –Pinnicle Peak, the drive in, Big Surf, GradyGammage, the zoo. In a rush the plane was landing andsoon Ben was walking across the tarmac to the terminal and

standing outside waiting for the suitcase to appear on thebaggage carousel. The air was chilly in the shade and hemoved to warm himself in the sun. Despite his irritation atwhat Clayton had put him through, even though he knew heshould find him and resolve this mess, he really just wantedto go home and take a nap. The flat winter light of lateafternoon made him sleepy and he was looking forward togetting home.

The big suitcase was inching towards him on the belt and

when he leaned to lift it he felt a familiar tug in his back. Hebraced himself to lift the bag so as not to do any damage.As he turned towards the long term parking lot, he stopped.Clayton had the car’s key. Ben thought for a minute. Heclosed his eyes and began muttering a long string of expletives as he turned back towards the terminal andlooked for a pay phone.

Standing at the phone he dug through his pocket for change,

then stood still with his hand on the receiver and thought fora moment. Ben flicked through a mental Rolodex and madea decision, lifted the receiver, dropped in the coins and thendialed. All easy going sunny small talk and charm hechatted for a moment and then asked humbly for the favor.He smiled and nodded, “Ah thanks sweetie, that’s great.”and hung up.

He headed back outside and sat on a bench in the sun andwaited. The sun felt wonderful but he was in danger of falling asleep, so he stood up and began to pace the lengthof the baggage carousel swinging his arms and stretching.Once he felt he’d gotten his blood moving and was no longerin danger of falling asleep, he dug the novel out of the carryon bag and began to read. His head nodded after a fewparagraphs and when the horn sounded he jerked awake.



Tamara was the type who honked rather than just wave orroll down the window and call out to you. She actuallyhadn’t noticed that Ben had fallen asleep. She was busy

trying to quiet her German Shepherd, Rommel, who alwaysbarked at men, exclusively.

When Ben startled awake, he heard Rommel, Tamara yellingat Rommel to shut the hell up, and the labored guffs of

Tamara’s 1957 Chevy Bel Air trying to idle without dying.Ben stood and lifted the suitcase, careful of his back, openedthe door and used the suitcase to shield himself fromRommel. Once Rommel scented Ben and snuffled his handshe quieted down and began licking Ben’s neck and cheek

and wanted to jump into the front seat with him and sit onhis lap. This was not going to work and it took a few minutesto calm her down. Once Tamara put the Bel Air in drive andstuck her arm out the window to inform the oncoming trafficof her intentions both the car and the dog quieted down.

“Thanks for picking me up,” said Ben

“Where’s your wing man?” asked Tamara as she lit a

cigarette with the dashboard lighter.

“That is a really excellent question. I’d like to know theanswer to that as well. What the hell are you doing? Youshouldn’t smoke that crap. It’s laced with pesticides.”

“I smoke, Ben, deal with it. Really, you don’t know whereClayton is? Everything went ok in Albuquerque, right?”

Tamara took side streets and avoided Van Buren and CentralAvenue.

“I don’t have a clue where the bastard is. He left me atcurbside in Albuquerque while he returned the rental andthat’s the last I saw of him. He never made the plane.” Benrubbed his face with his hands to keep awake, then turnedand reached back to pet Rommel who was busy sticking her



head out the window and barking every time she saw a man.

“You’re kidding? You think he got popped?” Tamara wasintrigued.

“Not likely. He left me with all the incriminating evidence.It’s only by sheer luck that I opened his carry on and sawthat he’d left that fucking lady pistol in his bag. Asshole.”Ben’s adrenalin would keep him awake for a while now.

“Jesus. That guy’s not a team player, Ben. You need toseriously reevaluate this business plan. He is going to getyou killed or locked up. Let’s hope he stays AWOL for good.”

“well, as long as his kid is still living in Phoenix he willprobably be coming through town. I think at some point Iwill have to officially end this thing face to face.”

Tamara pulled up to the front of Ben’s apartment complexhe slid out and collected his bags. She blew him a kiss, “youowe me. Good luck never seeing Clayton again.” Shehonked goodbye as she pulled away from the curb. Rommelcould be heard barking as she turned onto the street.

Ben walked through the breezeway of he apartment complexto the bank of mailboxes, set down the carry on and thesuitcase and dug into his cubby for his mail. He tucked itunder his arm and made it up the stairs and into his darkcool apartment. He didn’t bother opening the drapes orturning on the lights. He went to the refrigerator and got abeer then sat at the kitchen table and unlaced his workboots and kicked them off. He opened the beer and palmedthrough the mail then headed back to his bed room thenstopped, turned around and double checked that he hadlocked the door and put the chain on. Then he headed downthe hall again and lay down. He shut his eyes and wasasleep almost instantly.

It was dark when the scraping sound woke him. He lay in



the dark disoriented for a moment and tried to think whatthe sound could be. A street lamp cast a weak grey lightover the alley that is bedroom window overlooked. Thesound was metal on wood, like a manual tree saw, being

pushed and pulled erratically. It was not a sound thatinduced sleep, so the phrase ‘sawing logs’ must be moreabout loud snoring like he’d always thought. He didn’t wantto pull back the curtains, so he tried to see the best he couldby looking sideways through the window.

After a short while the noise stopped and Ben had no betteridea what it had been. He was incapable of going back tosleep. He finished the half beer on his night table and wentto the kitchen to make something to eat. He found a can of

chicken noodle soup and wrestled with a rusty can openeruntil he had the lid pryed back enough and dumped theslimy contents into the blackened sauce pan. He lit thestove with a match and turned down the heat half way. Benfound a several packets of individually wrapped saltines inthe utensil drawer and a spoon. When the soup began tosimmer he took it off the heat and poured into a large mugand sat at the table to eat.

Ben put his dishes in the sink, he shook the cracker crumbsoff the front of this shirt. He put the suitcase on the dinettetable, twitsted the locks open .He put the boot bag into thecoat closet behind the front door. He then pulled back thefabric lining of the case and removed his envelope. He tookthree twenties out and put them into his billfold and thenstarted taking down books from his bookshelf. On page fiftyhe would put a few bills, close the book and put it back onthe shelf. He did this until the envelope was empty. Thenhe dumped his clothes on the chair and put the emptysuitcase under his bed.

He still wasn’t tired. Ben put his boots on and laced them,got his down parka and the novel he’d been enjoying andwent out the door. He was quiet going down the stairs, andenjoyed the crisp night air as he walked to the street, then to



the light. He headed up Maryland Avenue to 7th Street, to abar called the Velvet Hammer. Inside he waved at thebartender and ordered a beer then took it to table and sat.He had the waitress order a cheeseburger from the

restaurant next door and spent the next few hours untilclosing reading the better part of the novel and enjoying avery peaceful night. He really loved the quirky charactersand the humorous descriptions of the farming life inNorthern New Mexico. There was some familiarity with theland and people that made the characters really come to lifefor him. Ben thought it was ironic that both he and Clayton,two very different men, should both like this same book.

Ben made a plan to head over to the Phoenix public library

tomorrow morning, then see about a bus ticket up toPrescott for the rest of the week. If Clayton did resurface, itseemed like a good idea to not be too easy to find. Let himwonder what happened in the Albuquerque airport. Ben paidhis bar tab and headed back out into the early morning. Hetook a deep breath and zipped up his parka then started towalk back to the apartment.

Opal Wanted to Appear Nonchalant (chapter three)

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Transcript of Opal Wanted to Appear Nonchalant (chapter three)