Exception to the rule, p.3
Exception to the Rule, page 3
“I’ll make fresh.” The soft voice was a murmur compared to the thunder of his.
Garnet shoved her hands into the back pockets of bulky coveralls. “This job. Two of my regular drivers quit today. Dissatisfaction over working conditions. Driving a garbage truck doesn’t rank high in Forbes Magazine.”
“Heard there’s been a change in that.”
“Like what?”
“They called sanitation engineer now.”
“Maybe in Forbes, but on Water Street, it’s still garbage.”
Amelia interrupted. “What do you take in your coffee?”
“Black, please.” Garnet took the delicate rose-patterned cup and saucer, smiled at the serious-faced, still suspicious, young woman.
“Might as well sit,” Amelia said. She retreated to the kitchenette where she leaned against the shaky counter.
Garnet sat on a small rocker, its burlap cover raveling at the edge, the blue faded, but clean. It smelled of soap and Pledge. She sipped the rich coffee, her eyes going from the rose-sprigged threadbare carpet to the thin curtains. Worn, but clean.
Ottice eased his huge body onto the couch, pushed papers aside on the coffee table with a forefinger, set the fragile cup, incongruous in his big hand, on a paper doily.
“They a catch to da job?”
“Yes.”
“Always is.”
Garnet placed her cup on the table, leaned back, and started the rocker to moving. “Our regular work schedule is thirteen hours a day, four days a week, three straight days off. I need you to work fourteen hours a day, five days a week, until I can get another dependable driver.”
“Huh. You think I’m dependable?”
“If you’re not, I’ll fire you.”
Silence while black eyes went over her, finally meeting her own serious blue ones. “Who said I’se looking for work?”
“I watch records of parolees, and I remembered your case.”
“Most people read the funny papers.”
“Most people think I’m strange.”
“Most people probably right.”
Garnet studied her boots. You’d think he’d been talking to Bart or Lyn. Lyn was an expert on classifying her mother’s peculiarities and could fill Ottice in quickly and completely on just how strange her mother was. It was hard at times not to resent her daughter.
“I could use a job,” Ottice said.
Garnet straightened. “Start tomorrow?”
“Yeah.” Ottice grinned, showing straight white teeth big enough to suit the rest of him.
“You need to know what you’re up against to start with when you take a job with me, Ottice, and things could get worse.” She told him of the push by the protection rackets and threats from union organizers. She even mentioned the threatening phone call and didn’t pretend to guess why she’d tell a complete stranger when she hadn’t told anyone else.
She stopped talking and there was an instant of silence.
“Looks like a case of mistaken intimidation,” he said.
Ottice’s attitude had changed. He gauged her credibility and decided she meant what she said. Relief flooded her and Garnet smiled as she stood. She glanced at Amelia who still leaned against the counter. She handed Ottice a business card.
“Report at five tomorrow morning. See Miriam to start your paperwork.” She turned to the door, and then swung around. “You need money?”
He didn’t meet her eyes. “We can get by.” Wide shoulders squared by weary acceptance of a meager lifestyle didn’t escape Garnet.
“I’d like us to do more than get by.”
“So would I.”
“Then we’ll both work at it.” She pressed two twenty-dollar bills into his hand.
“Wait.”
“See you tomorrow, then we’ll discuss details of the job and benefits I can manage.” Garnet hesitated, hand on the screen latch, and glanced over her shoulder at Amelia. “I don’t suppose you’d need a job?”
Surprise lit the girl’s eyes. “Driving a garbage truck?”
“I drive one,” Garnet said. “Pays better than housework, but I have to admit, it could be more dangerous.” She leaned against the door facing and waited.
“You hire women and blacks. Lady, you’re asking for trouble,” Amelia said. The dimple skipped into her bronze cheek and brindle eyes, like a cat’s, glinted.
Garnet was one of the first in the garbage collection and disposal business to hire women. A few snide comments about keeping their aprons clean hadn’t bothered her or Miriam or Rhoda.
She shrugged off Amelia’s comment. “Got it, too, but what the hell? Makes life interesting.” She felt again the cold needle of fear beneath her ribs. “What about it? I could use another dependable driver.”
Ottice met Amelia’s direct look for a long time, then nodded. “Go ahead, honey, if you want.” He looked at Garnet. “Her name’s Jones. We ain’t married, just ….”
“That isn’t a problem for me, Ottice.”
Black eyes wandered over Garnet again, and he sort of muttered to himself, and then said, “Okay.”
“I work at the school part time. I’d like to give a week’s notice,” Amelia said.
Garnet nodded. She liked the woman’s responsible way of giving notice at her present job.
“Whenever you can, come down to the office and get paperwork started to let us know when you’ll be able to report. And thanks.”
She turned and walked away, leaving the stunned couple staring after her.
Chapter Three In Gruesome Green once more, Garnet gripped the wheel. It was bad enough in her business to hire women, but hiring blacks could mean more and different trouble. You can’t ever be sure what folks will or won’t accept.
Barely able to hold her eyes open, she reached the Cleansweep lot, parked the vehicle behind the security fence, checked all the alarms, and reached the bus stop as a smokebelching machine rounded the corner. She dozed for the twenty-minute ride home.
She walked up the curving entrance lane towards the building complex where she and Lyn had lived since the divorce, and her eyes saw it more clearly than ever. Real estate brochures would describe it as modern upper-class townhouses with indoor pool, gym and twenty-four hour security. Garnet might settle for less than the best in some things, but when it came time to find a home for them, she made sure it was suitable for bringing up a teenager alone, a home that Lyn would never be ashamed to bring her friends. Most of the divorce settlement cash from Bart went into the roomy two-bedroom house. He’d been generous with the furniture, taking only the king-sized bedroom suite they’d used. She didn’t want it.
Grandma Shelton had left her a beautiful old, old chiffonier, the type she was sure hadn’t been made since the late eighteenth century, and an intricately carved oak trunk. It came with the solid oak bedroom set that went into Lyn’s room. Lyn loved it, polished it regularly, an act that surprised Garnet. Most teenagers she knew were careless around furniture or wanted extremely modern stuff. Lyn, however, preferred the antiqueness of her great-grandmother’s personal possessions.
The rooms were quiet without Lyn, even though the child hardly could be considered noisy. It was so quiet just knowing she wasn’t in her room or would come dancing in later. With Bart, though, Garnet considered her safe. There were doubts about safety in Garnet’s own future. Danger was the farthest thing from her mind when she started the business. If she thought danger at all, it was car wrecks or accidentally destroying something valuable that had been thrown out by mistake.
Not this. Not this deep down dread of what would happen next. Not to her, but to Lyn. Who would demand the next payoff or protection or takeover? Who would be the next to demand a payoff? If she gave into one, there would be another. She only wanted a business of her own, independent support for her and Lyn, a fighting chance to see what she could do for herself.
That was the biggest cause of her losing Bart, that desire for independence. Bart’s job and training in the army had set him up for a good position in the electronics-engineering field when he was discharged from active duty. He’d gone to the Far East on an eighteen months’ contract, and it was there he learned how women should really be treated.
“They’re covered from head to toe and never walk side by side with a man,” Bart said. “Women are treated worse than cattle over there.” And he’d decided Garnet’s place was just a step above that, at least, she was to stay home and raise kids, dust and scrub, cook and all the nice little jobs women know how to do so well. They don’t know much else, but they can manage things not requiring brain activity.
It was a personal insult to Bart, an underhanded body blow, when Garnet mentioned returning to college for her degree in business economics. It was a rebellion aimed at lowering his masculine esteem. He didn’t understand her reasoning, that it wasn’t that she wanted to be independent of him, but independent enough that, should the need ever arise, she could manage without him.
That time had come sooner than Garnet expected when Bart found a younger woman to depend on him, one who didn’t mind being second to Bart as long as he paid the bills.
So, here she was. An entrepreneur in garbage.
She walked through the quiet rooms, missing Lyn, and even Bart. She wasn’t sure she was heartbroken, but she hadn’t wanted the divorce. Their marriage wasn’t bad, maybe not perfect, but whose was? Sexually compatible, both liked the outdoors, most sports and reading. They seldom quarreled. Never, really, until Garnet’s history-rattling decision to return to the work force. Perhaps because she’d never gone against Bart’s wishes before that time.
“You will not leave Lyn in the care of a babysitter.” He had stormed at her when she mentioned filling out an application for a position in the college library. She’d be right there for her research plus get paid for it.
“Bart, Lyn’s twelve years old. She doesn’t need me with her all the time. Besides, I’ll be home thirty minutes after she gets there.”
She supposed they’d both been unreasonable. Their relationship changed and went downhill fast after that. Garnet woke up one day to find herself close to forty years of age, divorced, head of a household with a daughter to support, and no marketable skills since thirteen years before. It had scared her shitless.
She stripped off clothes now as she walked, dropped them into a hamper and stepped into the shower. Several minutes under the hot water erased the first layer of garbage smell and a bit of the muscle aches. She applied lotion generously all over her body, and then grabbed a soft caftan to pull over her head.
It was eleven-thirty, and she was starving. She hadn’t shopped in only God remembered when, so there was no food for quick consumption. Maybe an egg or two. Cheese. No wonder Lyn was happy to go to Bart’s. Poor darling probably thought her mother had her on a starvation diet.
Where’s that coupon to get two pizzas for the price of one? I can eat one now and one tomorrow. Ah, right by the phone where I left it.
She dialed the number, yawning. She had to be up in five hours but was too hungry to sleep. When the voice at the pizza shop answered, she gave her order.
“How long?” She wondered if she’d last till it got there.
“Less than thirty minutes.”
“Great.” She still had her hand on the phone when it rang. The youngster she’d just talked to was confirming the order.
She’d heard of prank calls where food was delivered to vacant lots, cemeteries, and such. No accounting for people’s weird sense of humor.
“Yes, I ordered two pizzas with everything on them, and I’m starving. See if you can rush it.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Exhausted, Garnet put her head down on her arms, and her next conscious thought was, “I’m late for work.” A glance at her watch showed it was twelve-twenty. And her doorbell was ringing.
The pizza. About time. Promised in no more than thirty minutes and it’s been fifty.
Halfway to the door, she stopped. Fifty minutes to deliver two pizzas from four blocks away. The bell rang again.
“Who is it?”
“Pizza, ma’am.”
The inflection was wrong. Or she was running scared and getting paranoid.
“One moment. Let me get ….” She let her voice drift away. Quietly, she picked up the phone and dialed 911. If this was a false alarm, they could sue her.
A brisk voice spoke in her ear. “May I help you?”
Garnet kept her voice low. “Someone’s trying to break into my house.” She gave her name, address and phone number and hung up.
The bell rang. Sharp. Impatient.
“Coming. Have to get my money. Be right there.”
The bell rang again, then a loud knock. She fumbled the chain lock, slid it back and forth as though it were stuck. She was about to decide it really was her pizza and open the door when she heard scuffling, an outraged stream of profanity and more scuffling.
A deep voice gave an order. “Turn around, hands against the wall.”
She waited. Two minutes of subdued noise and voices, then her bell rang.
“Who is it?” she said and held her breath. If she’d called police here on a wild goose chase….
“Police. Did you call about a break-in?”
Garnet opened the door enough to see a blue uniform, a figure in jeans and bluechecked shirt, both with hands on a younger man. She slipped the chain lock and opened the door. Smashed boxes of pizza lay on the floor.
“They watch all night pizza places that deliver and when they see a youngster go out alone, they lie in wait and rob him. This one had a better idea: Rob the person who was getting the pizza. Possibly more money in an apartment.”
Garnet scrubbed her hands across her eyes and stared at the face of the teenager who had been about to rob her. She was still hungry, and her pizzas had to be shoveled up from the hallway, hardly in a condition to be eaten.
“Are you hungry or just looking for drug money?” she said.
One of the policemen made a noise, and the teenager looked at her like she was something out of a cartoon. He gulped.
“You don’t want to know, Ma’am,” the blond haired policeman said. Peterson, his name tag said.
“I might.” She knew what it was like to be scared and hungry and confused and any other down emotion you could name.
The man in civilian clothes spoke. “Take him downtown, Ralph. I’ll see you in the morning.”
She didn’t remember his name if he’d mentioned it. What is a civilian doing on a midnight arrest?
Peterson ushered the would-be robber out the door and the second man turned to Garnet. “You in the habit of ordering pizza at this time when you’re alone?” He was angry, she saw with surprise.
“I’m not usually alone, and I ….” She stopped. “I don’t see why the time has anything to do with it. The places are open all night.”
“And you see what happened.”
Garnet pushed her short hair away from her face and stared at the man. She was so tired and hungry she could barely think, much less argue with an angry policeman. Deep-set gray eyes glared, a scowl drew his narrow face into tight disapproval, wide mouth accented by the thinned lips. There was a deep cleft in his chin that showed the beginnings of a dark beard. Thick black hair, laced with pewter, waved close to his head.
“Look, Officer ….”
“The name’s Mellencamp. David Mellencamp.”
She stood. “Thanks for coming over, Mr. Mellencamp. I do appreciate it, but I have to clean up that mess in the hall and be up in three hours to go to work. And I’m still hungry. Somehow, my stomach doesn’t care that food delivery people are prone to robberies. Right now, it feels like it’s been robbed of dinner.”
“It’s lieutenant. David will do.” He reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew a large Baby Ruth candy bar. “I was saving this for breakfast, but you’re welcome to it.”
“We can divide it over coffee if you like.” Coffee, she had plenty of.
David didn‘t smile, not even the hint of one as he passed the candy to her. Instead, he scowled. A call by a stupid woman who deserved to get robbed if she didn’t have better sense than to order pizza at midnight obviously disturbed him. He walked in and sat at the counter while she made coffee and looked over her medium height unenhanced by bare feet, a less than curvaceous figure disguised in the folds of the caftan. She didn’t think about her body often. It wasn’t skinny, just loosely woven together, and when she moved, its swing was graceful rather than gawky. Her freshly shampooed hair curled close to her head, a rich brown background for pale blue eyes, emphasizing creamy, makeup-free skin.
“Do policemen usually work with partners this late at night?”
“Yes. We were just about to go home when your call came, so we took it for officers headed in another direction. Your place was on our way.”
“Sergeant Peterson was wearing a uniform, but you ….” She pointed with the coffee spoon.
“Ralph had a court hearing this morning and didn’t have time to change. We’re detectives and don’t usually wear a uniform.” He took the cup she offered. “So why do you have to go to work in three hours?”
“I’m short two drivers.”
“Drivers of what?”
“I own Cleansweep, Incorporated.”
Surprise peaked thick eyebrows and his eyes darkened. “You own that?”
“If you don’t count the lien from the bank and the SBA loan and the payroll due next week.”
“You and your husband run it?”
“Just me.”
“Can’t you hire more drivers? Unemployment’s high enough you shouldn’t have any trouble.”
“Trouble’s what I’m trying to avoid. The union got to some of my oldest and best drivers, and they’re painting a pretty picture of how much better conditions will be should I go with the organization.”
“Wouldn’t it? Unions help a lot of businesses.”
“This is a private business and I want to keep it that way.”
Another Bart, she thought. Go ahead, let them take over and tell you what to do, when to pee, when to wash the trucks, change the oil. Hell. Men are so damned narrow-minded. She wasn’t sure why it disappointed her that David Mellencamp thought the same way as Bart Madigan.
