Triple Exposure Page 8

  “I’ve been calling since Wednesday. I was ready to send out the rescue squad,” Beth said, her voice tinged with desperation.

  “I’ve been on a tractor, mowing roadsides for Dan.” She scratched at her arm. “Except for the poison ivy, it’s not a bad way to make a buck—lots of sunshine and fresh air and time to think.” She could almost smell the hot, rank mixture of weeds and diesel fumes.

  Beth’s voice dropped so low that Nicky strained to hear her. “I know it’s as much my fault as yours, but we never should have sent each other cards.”

  Alarmed, Nicky’s heart tripped into overtime. She tried to recall her last card, how incriminating it might have been. She sometimes scribbled torrid references to their love life. Damn it. Why hadn’t she recognized the danger of putting such feelings on paper? “Why?” she whispered.

  “Mark found the one you sent last week. He’s up in arms. I never saw this side of him.”

  “Where are you?” What exactly had it said? For the life of her, she couldn’t remember. She had sent the card on impulse, because she had thought it funny and appropriate, and added a few words of her own.

  “On a pay phone at the health club.”

  “What happened? What did he say?”

  Beth’s voice shook slightly, which frightened Nicky even more because Beth always seemed so in control. “He wants me to move the pony to another stable. He doesn’t want me to see you anymore.”

  Nicky’s heart, thumping in her throat, impeded her breathing. She looked toward the ceiling and blinked back tears. “Are you going to go along with him?” There was a long pause. She kicked the floorboard savagely. “Are you?”

  “I think we should lay low for a while.”

  “Meaning I won’t see you? What about Tater?”

  “Just leave him there for now. I’ll work on Mark. I won’t see you this weekend, I know that. I’ll call you whenever I can.”

  Nicky slammed the receiver into its cradle. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she said, throwing herself into the nearest chair.

  Scrappy tucked tail and retreated to a far corner of the room, where he curled up in an untidy heap. He eyed her reproachfully, his sorrowful gaze screened behind tangled brows.

  “Sorry,” she said, and the black tail thumped briefly. Why was it you could always see so well what you shouldn’t have done when it was too late to undo it? Well, she thought with a sigh, this would tell her how much Beth valued their relationship. Maybe Mark would recognize Nicky’s place in Beth’s life. Ha, fat chance.

  Somehow, she had to force herself out of the chair and into the shower. She needed to make a real effort to find a job, especially now that she might lose Tater’s board.

  Sitting in her truck outside the Gazette office building, the rain washing down her windshield, she wondered why it was so hard for her to just ask if her resume was being considered and if an interview could be scheduled. She had dressed in her only suit and brought her portfolio in hopes that she might see someone in personnel.

  The receptionist greeted her with a smile and asked her to take a chair while she went to make inquiries. Nicky selected a dog-eared People magazine and paged through it. She looked up when the young woman returned, her brightly colored skirt swishing around admirably shaped legs. The girl looked no older than Natalie, yet Nicky envied her her job.

  “They’re in a meeting,” the girl said.

  Nicky thought the meeting was probably as phony as the receptionist’s smile. “I don’t mind waiting.”

  “Sure. I’ll let Mr. Glaeser know that you’re still here.” She picked up a phone and spoke into it.

  Absorbed in an article, Nicky didn’t notice Mr. Glaeser until he spoke. She jumped at the sound of his voice, and the magazine fell to the floor as she quickly stood. Then she accidentally butted his shoulder as they both stooped to pick it up. She knew she had turned crimson. Her eyes felt like burnt holes in the flush of her skin. “Sorry,” she stammered, watching him set the magazine on the end table.

  “You’re Nicole Hennessey? I’m Jim Glaeser.” Offering her a limp handshake that contradicted his size, he looked down at her with an amused smile. “I’m sorry we haven’t contacted you about your resume. We have no need for another photographer right now. But if you could send some samples of your work.”

  “I have some here.” She handed him the portfolio.

  “You came prepared,” he said. “I like that. We’ll certainly keep you in mind. In the meantime, if you take any newsworthy pictures, please send them. We pay for those.”

  Knowing she had been dismissed, she went out into the rain. Seated behind the steering wheel once again, she touched the dampness of her armpits and shrugged out of the suit jacket. A headache was working its way forward from the recesses of her brain. Her next scheduled stop was the photography studio on Main Street.

  They didn’t need a photographer either. The eager owner showed her around the studio, which made her realize how little she wanted to take portraits.

  She decided she would rather mow roadsides. At least, there was an element of excitement in the endeavor. Every time she mowed a steep incline, her adrenaline kicked in. Driving a tractor was a dangerous occupation. Next week maybe she’d look at developing film for Photoplay.

  The rain had stopped. Catching glimpses of blue sky and sun behind the shredded clouds, she rolled down the window. Steam rose from puddles on the pavement. Snatches of birdsong reached her ears as she picked up speed out of town.

  After supper that evening, she watched Dan check the blades on the six-foot field mower mounted on the three-point hitch of the mowing tractor, a 275 Massey Ferguson. She had parked it in her barn on Thursday evening after filling it at his fuel tank. “They’re good and sharp,” he said.

  Just then, she saw the Rabbit splash down the driveway. She hadn’t seen Meg since she had backed out of her bed. There was someone else in the car with her, a woman who looked like the D. Carpenter from the unemployment agency. Nicky stared, her thought process working methodically. D could stand for Denise. Was it possible that Meg was living with the thin, frizzy-haired woman with nut-brown eyes—the woman with the jagged edges?

  She watched with disbelief as the very same D. Carpenter from the unemployment office got out of the VW. God, she thought, what a mismatched pair. She had imagined Denise to be handsome, charismatic. Who else could be expected to control an attractive, sexual woman like Meg?

  Walking out of the barn with Dan and Natalie, she greeted Meg. When Denise pulled back in apparent alarm from Scrappy’s rush and bark, Nicky apologized and took hold of his new red nylon collar.

  Meg introduced them to Denise, who said about Nicky, “We met.” She did not say where or how, which Nicky attributed to discretion.

  Looking from Denise to Meg, Nicky strained for conversation. She didn’t know whether she should ask about horse shows or Brittle, even though she was eager to go to the next show. She was willing to do anything to get Beth out of her mind. All day her heart had felt bruised and damaged, her stomach nauseated, her intestines twisted.

  Natalie asked for her. “Showtime tomorrow?”

  Meg glanced at Denise, who was still nervously eyeing the dog. “There’s one Sunday. Want to go to a horse show?”

  Denise’s smile looked as fragile as she did. Her movements were quick and bird-like. “Sure. Where’s the horse?”

  “I’ll have to come out tomorrow and get him ready,” Meg said, taking Brittle out of his makeshift stall and turning him loose. He galloped across the wet pasture toward a snorting Tater. Meg nodded her head in their direction. “Is Matt coming out tomorrow?”

  The physical pain caught Nicky off guard. She didn’t know her heart would ache again, as it had when Beth married Mark. She thought she was too old and too reasonable to feel crushed by Beth’s decision to “lay low.” Shaking her head, she forced a smile.

  Meg departed with Denise, leaving Nicky alone with the dog. Natalie and Dan had already gone out for the eve
ning. Nicky desperately needed to talk with Beth about Mark’s finding the card and what that meant for herself and Beth. She wanted to tell her about Denise and Meg and discuss her job search. But there was no one to answer any of her questions or listen to her complaints. She realized that her relationship with Beth was unsatisfactory and that her life was empty.

  When Meg arrived alone the next day, walking into the kitchen with only a knock and a yell to announce her presence, Nicky was already up. She put aside the morning paper and poured Meg some coffee.

  “You remember telling me about the Toyota Celica parked down at the crossroads last Saturday?”

  Nicky set the pot back under the coffee maker. “Let me guess,” she said, suddenly seeing the light. “Denise was in that car. It wasn’t someone watching Beth at all. She was watching you.”

  “Bingo,” Meg said.

  “Why do you put up with that shit?” she asked, unable to ask what she really wanted to know. There must be more to Denise than was readily apparent, something that drew Meg to her.

  “I lied to her. She has a right to be angry.”

  “Granted, you shouldn’t lie to her, but why do

  you feel you have to? And she had no right to spy on you, anyway.” Nicky sat across the table from Meg and looked into her gray eyes.

  “I know all those things. I have no answers.” She sighed heavily and changed the subject. “I’ve got a lot of work to do on that horse. Are you going with us tomorrow?” When Nicky nodded, she said, “Is Beth coming out?”

  Nicky told her about Mark finding the card. “Beth thinks we shouldn’t push seeing each other right now.” She hadn’t meant to say anything and listened with mild surprise to her own voice, toneless with depression.

  “I thought something was wrong yesterday. You’ve got your own set of problems, woman.” Meg reached across the table and took Nicky’s hands. “Why don’t you help me get Brittle ready to show? It’ll take our minds off our troubles.”

  Chapter Eight

  Nicky treated the horse show as more than a welcome diversion. She walked the show grounds taking pictures of little kids—leading fifteen-hand horses, riding in the walk-trot class—dressed in Western hats and chaps. She photographed some of the many dogs, adorned with brightly colored scarves, tied to horse trailers or wandering underfoot. She filmed the older kids working and showing their horses or just relaxing in the saddle talking to friends. And, of course, she focused on the other classes and the winners.

  Nicky had ridden with Natalie and Dan in his truck, which towed the horse trailer. Denise and Meg had followed in the Volkswagen. Once there, though, Denise tagged along with Nicky, bending Nicky’s ear with questions.

  “I’m still learning horse photography,” Nicky told her. She had learned to avoid certain angles, such as head-on shots that made a horse’s head appear disproportionately large and its front end narrow.

  Denise looked at the ground as she walked, occasionally glancing ahead or at Nicky. “I’d like to see your work.”

  “It’s on exhibit at Phelan’s Gallery on Park Drive near the lake.” Nicky had talked with Margo that morning. Having sold two more of her photographs, Margo had asked Nicky to replace them with new ones. The horse art series had once again become a real possibility.

  “Maybe you could sell some of these pictures you’re taking here to the people who are in them—especially the ones of kids.”

  Nicky stared at Denise, wondering why she hadn’t thought of that. A horse and rider trotted past, enclosing them in a swirl of dirt. Even as the dust settled, her thoughts moved ahead. She could talk to the show committees, maybe get permission to set up a booth at future shows. The thing was, she didn’t have the equipment to develop color film.

  “Nicky, I think we should get out of the road.” Denise plucked her sleeve.

  Dozens of horses were headed toward the show ring. She realized it must be the break. She needed to set up her tripod for the afternoon classes.

  On the way home, Nicky asked Natalie and Dan if they enjoyed the shows.

  Dan said, “Well, I started going because Natalie wanted to. Now I guess we both go so that Meg can get Brittle there. It’s okay.” He paused and leaned forward to look past Natalie at Nicky. “You can pull my trailer with your truck any time you want. Brittle’s doing too well to stop now.”

  “That’s for sure. He’s won every pleasure class I’ve seen,” Natalie said. “Some guy asked Meg to put a price on him today. She wouldn’t do it.”

  Staring out the window, Nicky hoped Denise had been with her, not Meg, when the offer was made. She sensed that Denise would sell Brittle cheap.

  Rolling and grunting, Brittle coated himself with the soil of the barn lot. When Meg opened the gate, he dug in his hindquarters and propelled himself with his usual loud flatulence across the field. Tater, who had been snorting and prancing impatiently at the pasture gate, squealed and dashed in pursuit. Running after them, Scrappy returned moments later with a smug look, as if he had chased them off.

  Nicky remarked wryly, “Brittle has no idea that he’s such a star.”

  “He’s the soul of modesty, isn’t he?” Meg fished her winnings out of her pockets. “He’s high-point amateur pleasure horse in the state already, and I think he may be high-point horse in Senior Western Pleasure too.”

  “That should make him worth big bucks, shouldn’t it?” Denise asked.

  The three of them hung on the fence, eyeing the galloping horses. Natalie and Dan had gone into the house.

  “You going next weekend?” Meg asked Nicky, digging a hole with the toe of her Western boot, wisps of fair hair curling around her tanned face.

  “Maybe I’ll drive. Call me when you know who’s putting on the next show.”

  “We’re talking Saturday and Sunday and maybe Friday night.”

  Denise remained silent, her eyes darting from Meg to Nicky and back again. She seemed anxious to leave.

  Nicky was loath to let them go, although she couldn’t have said why. She and Meg had talked yesterday while Meg bathed and clipped Brittle. Nicky had held the lead rope, so distressed by her Friday phone conversation with Beth that she had been barely aware of the horse.

  Feeling sorry for herself, she had said, “I won’t know what to do with myself on weekends.”

  “I know what to do with you,” Meg had replied. “Showtime.”

  The sun was setting, staining the sky with color which Nicky thought prophesied a nice Monday. She could mow for Dan. She was beginning to enjoy mowing, if only because it gave her a purpose.

  She had to see that the horse show photographs were developed before next weekend, though. Waving at the Rabbit, she turned toward the house with Scrappy on her heels.

  Inside, the answering machine registered zero. No messages. Her expectations dropped along with her heart. If Natalie’s leftovers hadn’t smelled so good, she would have foregone supper and gone to bed. Her sister regarded her questioningly as she entered the kitchen.

  “Beth didn’t come out this weekend. She all right?”

  Nicky looked from Natalie to Dan and back again. Did they know enough about her life to suspect her distress? She was tired of hiding her feelings. Nevertheless, she passed a grimace off as a smile and said, “She had other things to do, I guess. Smells good.”

  As they sat down to eat, Natalie announced, “I’m going to be cutting veggies at The Goose Inn next week. I need some spending money.”

  Nicky felt abandoned.

  Monday morning, Nicky took the film to Photoplay. Knowing she had to actively look for a job weekly in order to meet the requirements for continued unemployment benefits, she filled out an application.

  By midmorning it was hot. She climbed onto the seat of Dan’s Massey Ferguson. Shoving in the fuel knob, she turned the key and listened to the throbbing engine. This was power, she thought. Once the throttle was set and the transmission in gear, the tractor could only be stopped by shutting off its fuel supply or by some
thing immovable. What gave it so much power was not the engine, but the low gears and large, deeply treaded rear tires.

  She had put Scrappy inside the house so that he couldn’t follow her. The rear-mounted mower, its heavy blades turning at high speed, chopped up saplings and bushes as if they were weeds. It had no respect for life.

  Just before noon, she ran over the yellow-jacket hole. Weed seeds clung to her sweaty skin as she peered through pollen-colored sunglasses at the unmown grass next to her, trying to locate rocks and holes she needed to avoid on her next swipe. The first sting startled her. Glancing at her denim-clad legs, she saw an army of yellow jackets swarming upward. She had enough presence of mind to put the Massey into neutral before jumping off and running, screaming until she had swatted the last attacking insect from her body. Then she turned and stared at the bright red tractor as if it had somehow betrayed her. It vibrated to the beat of its diesel engine.

  Standing at the edge of the blacktop, she wondered how she was going to manage a safe return to the Massey. Absently, she scratched at the many wasp stings on her legs and body. She didn’t recognize Beth’s Probe until it was nearly upon her.

  “What are you doing?” Beth asked, parking next to her.

  Although adrenaline no longer raced through her veins, Nicky breathed heavily. “I must’ve run over a nest of yellow jackets.”

  Elegantly clad in a linen suit and heels, Beth stepped out of her car. “Let me see.”

  Still scratching, Nicky said, “I’d have to take off my jeans.”

  “Then let’s go back to the house and check you over.”

  “I can’t leave the tractor running. And if I turn it off, I might get stung again.” Still, she knew she had to approach the Massey sooner or later. With her heart in her throat, she pulled the shut-off knob, grabbed the key, and returned to Beth in a matter of seconds. She opened the passenger door of the Probe. “What are you doing out here?” Then hesitating, knowing that sweat had plastered weed seeds and a dusting of pollen to her skin, she inquired, “You sure you want me in your car?”