Durant Days
Chapter 4
A/N: Maybe I am writing in angst-lite, a personal form of literary libation. I also enjoy alliteration. So there. Oh, wait. This somehow got funny and didn't follow my scripted directions. Sorry, will insert angst somewhere else…Leaving Durant is next up, then Survival. Those should qualify. Hey, thank you for reviews-I am not as conversant with Star Wars I-III as I thought...have fixed several muffs. Hey, maybe the padawans were from Padua?
It was hot that day, dusty and cloudless on the plains, with a line of clouds up over the foothills of the Bighorns which suggested the possibility of rain later that afternoon, but for now, it was time for barbeque, bands, and pretty girls.
The Tweedle brothers had fanned out in search of food and fairer game. Ruby sat near her, a suitable chaperone, knitting what she claimed was a blanket for her newest great nephew due in a few weeks. All Vic knew, it was a soft and pretty pale blue-and-white striped thing. The Ferg was out on the basketball court which was subbing today as the dance floor, cutting a figure with a young woman from Ucross.
She still wore the sling Dr. Weston had prescribed, but would be shedding it, soon. He was very pleased with her progress, but had asked her several times if Walt had been appropriate and if she had any complaints about his behavior.
"Nope, none." She had answered all his questions. She had not been helpful, but there was nothing to hold Walt accountable for, either as caregiver or lover.
Mary Makilla's fingerprints had scored a hit as Mary Makill, a housewife from Billings who had developed a tendre for Geordie's convertible when Geordie's then-wife Maisy had put it up on Craigslist a few years before.
Geordie had promptly divorced Maisy, but it hadn't stopped Mary's lust for the beast. The entire ASD had the same lust as the car was impounded to the print shed, for cherry 1964 ½ Mustangs were few and far between in Durant, indeed in the entire country. And, as far as they could tell, not one of the other ones had been called Clarisse.
So Absaroka County had officially inherited a Billings version of garden variety unhinged, and the object lesson had been passed on to the Tweedles how to handle multiple crazies at one time. It was something Walt had said years ago, and then again when Branch had been dueling with his demons.
Just pretend they're sane until something makes sense, or you can get an opening. Even if they aren't right, sometimes they are right.
Clarisse was once more safely in Geordie's detached garage. Walt had ventured to him it might be nice to bring her out to the town parades now and then. Geordie was taking that under consideration. It had been a great relief to him that the IRS had no issue with Clarisse.
Vic hadn't been released to work, even desk work, yet, so instead of placating Sean as in prior years, or working security, she was attending the event. Ruby made a wonderful companion and the sling helped deflect the thin bench that was Durant, even as the populous flowed about her. Not the belle of this ball this time, in one sense it was a disappointment, but in another, it was a relief, a fresh start. In Philly, she had always craved the attention, but this year, with Sean gone, and Walt and she dipping their toes and pretty much the rest of themselves into developing a relationship, she preferred not to be in the limelight.
Cady was back, and Walt had said he'd had breakfast with her a few days ago. At least, the rumpled bed had been empty when she'd awakened, and he'd left a note on the nightstand in his distinctive large printing.
She was going to make a comment to Ruby about how Cady looked like she was enjoying the dancing with one of the Tweedles, when she heard the scrape of a chair and turned.
The perfectly groomed blonde woman she had seen with Walt at the Bee had slipped into it, smiling at her. She felt her breath hitch and her ribs ached.
She didn't want to seem like a jealous bitch right off, so she ventured, "Hi?"
The smile broadened. The woman was impeccably groomed, with thousands of dollars of Indian jewelry draped over her, which reminded her a little of Lizzie, but this was not Lizzie. This was someone Walt had seemed at ease with, or may have had a past with at some point. Her competitive radar perked up, because the blonde was speaking.
"I'm Sally Taubman. Has Walt mentioned me at all?"
Why, no, he certainly has not, and I can't think of one reason why he would… her mind went back to a lazy lovemaking just that morning, all sliding heat and mouths and sweaty tangled limbs…nope, no Sally there at all.
"No? I thought he might have." She almost pouted. "He was my Padawan, after all."
She thought she heard a choked laugh nearby, but when she turned, Ruby was just furiously knitting, head down.
Was—past tense. "Padawan? Wasn't that something from one of those Star Wars movies?"
"Right, a Jedi apprentice that Qui-Gon took on to teach the tools of the force. When that movie came out, I recognized our relationship in it right off. Walt and I had a rather enlightened understanding for a couple of years in college. I'd school him in, um, pleasing a girlfriend, and as the girlfriend of an offensive tackle, I'd get to attend all the parties he got invited to while on the team. I met my future husband at one of those…later became an NFL team owner. I gave Walt plenty of notice, of course. Ari was about the age Walt is now, but I had thirty good years with him, five children…buried him just before Christmas, last year." She took a deep, closed-mouth breath. A sigh, really, like she indeed did miss her husband.
Taubman. The Christmas card on the station mantle she couldn't place. No one in Durant by that name, after all…
"I'm very sorry for your loss," she said automatically to this revelation.
"Vic," said Walt, waving as he trotted past on the dance floor in a two-step with Cady. "Have you been introduced to Sara, yet?" They moved on quickly, in what appeared to be earnest conversation.
"I was Sara Mueller, then," the woman laughed. "I will always be Sara to him. I was Ari's Sally. Anyway, I hope you are reaping the benefits of ," the woman went on, "uh, my tutelage." She winked. It was a broad wink, or the wink of an old broad, take your pick.
"Ah—" Rarely was The Terror without words, but she could feel crimson staining her cheeks.
"Just so you know," Sara—Sally—said in a conspiratorial whisper, "I called him Grasshopper."
"Another movie," she murmured weakly, desperately trying to neither laugh nor cry. Karate Kid or not, this was a Walt she described who she could never have envisioned.
"Actually, no. Even earlier, from a television show-Kung Fu. Before your time, honey. He was so innocent, then. Unfinished. He was always a big guy, but he's developed character along the way to go along with that."
"Yeah." Wow, articulate Moretti, she thought.
"And when I mean, a big guy, I mean, a big guy." Again the wink.
Yeah, well, Walt was definitely—proportional, but she wouldn't admit that to this woman to save her skin, but her face had to be flaming.
Ruby sat there as though knitting was her life, which, for the moment, it apparently was, but in a few seconds she looked up and addressed Sally directly.
"Will you be staying in Durant much longer, Mrs. Taubman?" she asked. Trust Ruby to ask the direct question and stop this line of conversation. She threw Ruby a silent and grateful thank you.
Sally gave a shrug, and looked almost coy before answering.
"I don't know, exactly, but Walt introduced me to his friend Omar a few weeks ago, and he, um, invited me to stay with him a while. We'll, uhh, see…"
Now the smile was almost cat-like. She almost expected Sally to pounce. She idly wondered whether Omar might be addressed as Grasshopper as well, at some point. Omar was no cherub, though, and had been around the block a few times, unlike young Walt. Vic suspected Sally might even learn a thing or two from him. She decided they deserved one another.
Speak of the devil, there was Omar striding their way, beaming. He leaned over and kissed Sally on the cheek. He was currently in beard mode, but she seemed to enjoy it.
"Sorry I'm late, had a little brou-ha-ha with my broker and had to fix it. Glad to see you on the mend, Vickie."
She just smiled and ignored his misuse of her name. The last few minutes had overwhelmed whatever social impulses had coaxed her to attend. She knew Walt was performing obligatory mingling, but he still kept looking back to her. It would always be his way.
Omar took Sally's hand and led her onto the impromptu dance floor, even as Cady plumped into the chair.
"I'm popular today," Vic said drily to Cady.
"Dad just told me," she said, not dissembling, "about the two of you. He's happy, Vic. I hope you both will be happy, and stay happy. I've waited a long time for him to get to this stage, to get past the depression after mom's death. I can tell you, it's a weight off me."
"Thanks," she said, surprised, and frankly, relieved.
"But," added Cady in a low voice just for her, with outstretched forefinger in her face "don't you ever leave him or break his heart. Ever."
Now, that was closer to what she had expected. She made a mental note that she was officially toast if she ever even thought of such a thing. Ferg motioned to Cady from out on the dance floor, and Cady jumped out of the chair again so he could lead her out.
She could feel and smell Walt-scent behind her as he leaned down and in and kissed her ear.
"Tired? Is it time to go home, yet?"
She hesitated, surprised by the PDA. What was that, telling Cady and kissing her in public after the lengthy conversation they had the morning after her injury about not telling anyone?
"It sounds almost like you're hoping I'll say yes."
He gave that guilty, 'aw shucks' grin and she gave him The Eye.
"I wouldn't object." His eyes were the intense blue she associated with…
"Fuck, Walt, it's been, what…six hours?"
He gave a who me? shrug but gave her a naughty grin as he sank into the popular chair.
"So, what did you and Sara talk about? You looked uncomfortable."
"Nothing much, I'll tell you later."
He was not dissuaded.
"After thirty years of Christmas cards, I was truly surprised to take her call at the station a few weeks ago."
"Probably wanted to see if there was anything left there?" she ventured.
He shrugged. "She told you about us?"
"About your…arrangement."
Now his cheeks went crimson. "Oh."
"Practical, really. You said once you were motivated during your relationship with her, where you learned about the Jewish religion and people, after all."
"Well, yeah." It was an admission. "I went to Seder and bar mitzvah…"
"Was she always that way? I mean, so blunt, and...personal?"
He shrugged. "Nope, I think that's age and...I think she might be jealous of your youth, or...us."
The red had not left his cheeks, so she smiled and whispered into his ear, "Grasshopper."
He stopped and stared at her, then was out of his chair and had her hand, making their way through the crowds, toward where the Bullet parked in his reserved space.
"Walt!"
He opened the passenger door and lifted —lifted—her inside, stalked around and had the vehicle running in a moment, turning behind the buildings to avoid traffic leading out of town.
She didn't say anything, just watched the town roll by, and then glanced at him.
"Ferg and Jon are on call if needed," he said as though replying to an unasked question, but his jaw was working, clenched.
"I said the wrong word?" she asked, not knowing whether to be amused or be-mused by this entire sequence of events.
"Only if you didn't want to get laid," he said crudely, focused on his driving. He didn't touch or talk to her as Walt.
"What did she do to you?" she finally whispered, and laid one of her hands over his right forearm.
"That was her signal to me that she deserved some attention."
"But…"
"But…the byproduct was, the little traitor learned to respond to it, and it made him, um, instantly hard."
She tried so very hard not to laugh. "So…did Martha know that word?"
He gave her the intense look.
"No. I've never told anyone."
"So, after thirty years…"
He pulled up in front of the cabin.
"…it's no longer Sara I want."
She'd take it.
He was around to the passenger door in five seconds, and carried her inside.
"Best Durant Days, ever!" she exclaimed, as he threw his hat on the table in passing, which landed brim up for luck. She thought, yes indeed, she was feeling very, very lucky these days.