Read Online Talk of the Town by Mary Kay McComas - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mary Kay McComas
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read the expression on his face by the dash lights. Surely he was funning with her again. "'You spent the afternoon looking for a place to take me tonight?"
"Well, if this were Sacramento or Fairfield or San Francisco, I'd know where to take you. But I don't go out much when I'm up here."
"Why didn't you ask me to recommend a place?"
"I was afraid you'd say Burger King and end our date at seven-thirty."
She smiled, inside and out. Granted, her dates with eligible men had been few and far between, but she couldn't recall anyone going to such pains to ensure her having a good time. In fact, she couldn't remember anyone at any time going to such pains to ensure her having anything.
"So, where do you stay when you're up here?" she asked, needing a change of subject.
"I have a little place outside Eureka. A property investment really. Not much there but a roof and a bed."
"How long do you usually stay?"
"Depends. A week. Sometimes two. Longer if I need to. Less if I don't. I keep a flexible schedule so I can drop in unexpectedly and check things out. Ride the trucks. Go over the books. I get a better picture that way."
"You actually ride on the back of the garbage trucks?"
"Now and again. I don't want to forget what it's like out there. And it gives me a chance to see my guys in action. Make sure they're putting the lids back on the cans."
"You really love being a garbageman, don't you?"
"Yep," he said, turning his blinker on to take a left-hand turn to Arcata. "No sense in working hard at something you can't care about. Even Harley knows that."
They glanced at each other across the bench seat, silently debating the issue.
"Harley doesn't want to understand," she said, looking out the window at the settling dusk. "It's only temporary."
"How'd you get interested in welding?"
"I grew up with it. In the garage."
"You grew up over the gas station?"
"Earl was a lumberjack most of his life. Before the fight to save the redwoods. My dad was a teenager when Earl got pinned under one of them and broke his back. He bought into the gas station as an independent dealer with the insurance money and every dime of his savings and he . . . he and my dad worked it until . . . Well, the oil embargoes in the seventies and eighties were hard on all the independents."
"So your family stayed on and you started building art in the garage?"
"Eventually," she said, uncomfortable with the details of her childhood. "I was a welder at a chain-link fence factory up until three years ago. When it closed down, Lu, ah, Lulu gave me a job, and that's when I started the bigger sculptures. The little ones were for fun. A hobby. Just something I enjoyed doing."
He thought about reiterating the differences between the sculptures she loved and those she was doing because she felt she had to, but decided to let Harley do it and stay out of it. He had her talking to him, and there was so much more he wanted to know about her.
He'd chosen Bill's BBQ Bar and Grill not for the originality of its name but for its menu and atmosphere. It was perched on a pier overlooking the water and had soft lights and tablecloths. Not much, but nothing to spit at in this neck of the woods. And Rose could order anything she wanted, from spaghetti to fish to steak.
Choice had been important. And only because he sensed that Rose hadn't had, didn't have, or wouldn't allow herself to have too many choices. It was just a feeling he couldn't shake, despite the fact that she was a tough little cookie who knew her own mind and wasn't afraid to voice it. She was an odd combination of reserved and straightforward, an intriguing mixture of compliant and rigid, and he wanted to know why.
"Lu's been to every restaurant within a hundred miles of Redgrove. She's our local expert. She says it's to check out the competition, but she just likes to eat. I think she said this place had great food," Rose said, looking around, feeling horribly underdressed even though denim seemed to be
"Well, if this were Sacramento or Fairfield or San Francisco, I'd know where to take you. But I don't go out much when I'm up here."
"Why didn't you ask me to recommend a place?"
"I was afraid you'd say Burger King and end our date at seven-thirty."
She smiled, inside and out. Granted, her dates with eligible men had been few and far between, but she couldn't recall anyone going to such pains to ensure her having a good time. In fact, she couldn't remember anyone at any time going to such pains to ensure her having anything.
"So, where do you stay when you're up here?" she asked, needing a change of subject.
"I have a little place outside Eureka. A property investment really. Not much there but a roof and a bed."
"How long do you usually stay?"
"Depends. A week. Sometimes two. Longer if I need to. Less if I don't. I keep a flexible schedule so I can drop in unexpectedly and check things out. Ride the trucks. Go over the books. I get a better picture that way."
"You actually ride on the back of the garbage trucks?"
"Now and again. I don't want to forget what it's like out there. And it gives me a chance to see my guys in action. Make sure they're putting the lids back on the cans."
"You really love being a garbageman, don't you?"
"Yep," he said, turning his blinker on to take a left-hand turn to Arcata. "No sense in working hard at something you can't care about. Even Harley knows that."
They glanced at each other across the bench seat, silently debating the issue.
"Harley doesn't want to understand," she said, looking out the window at the settling dusk. "It's only temporary."
"How'd you get interested in welding?"
"I grew up with it. In the garage."
"You grew up over the gas station?"
"Earl was a lumberjack most of his life. Before the fight to save the redwoods. My dad was a teenager when Earl got pinned under one of them and broke his back. He bought into the gas station as an independent dealer with the insurance money and every dime of his savings and he . . . he and my dad worked it until . . . Well, the oil embargoes in the seventies and eighties were hard on all the independents."
"So your family stayed on and you started building art in the garage?"
"Eventually," she said, uncomfortable with the details of her childhood. "I was a welder at a chain-link fence factory up until three years ago. When it closed down, Lu, ah, Lulu gave me a job, and that's when I started the bigger sculptures. The little ones were for fun. A hobby. Just something I enjoyed doing."
He thought about reiterating the differences between the sculptures she loved and those she was doing because she felt she had to, but decided to let Harley do it and stay out of it. He had her talking to him, and there was so much more he wanted to know about her.
He'd chosen Bill's BBQ Bar and Grill not for the originality of its name but for its menu and atmosphere. It was perched on a pier overlooking the water and had soft lights and tablecloths. Not much, but nothing to spit at in this neck of the woods. And Rose could order anything she wanted, from spaghetti to fish to steak.
Choice had been important. And only because he sensed that Rose hadn't had, didn't have, or wouldn't allow herself to have too many choices. It was just a feeling he couldn't shake, despite the fact that she was a tough little cookie who knew her own mind and wasn't afraid to voice it. She was an odd combination of reserved and straightforward, an intriguing mixture of compliant and rigid, and he wanted to know why.
"Lu's been to every restaurant within a hundred miles of Redgrove. She's our local expert. She says it's to check out the competition, but she just likes to eat. I think she said this place had great food," Rose said, looking around, feeling horribly underdressed even though denim seemed to be
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