The thermometer on Mrs. Grainger's porch said it was 15 degrees. I desperately wanted to see a silhouette walking down the icy sidewalk, but all the good citizens of Reno were at home stoking fires. The tourists were in their rooms, reading racy pulps, wishing they were out hitting jackpots, or dancing, or making love. There was no sign of Sheila. I went back inside and marked the time on the grandfather clock, 9:30. I'd called and talked to big Sam the night manager and he told me she left work all by herself without any hassles. I'd walked the four blocks to the casino twice.
"Just settle down, she'll be here soon. She just snuck off with a secret lover, that's all. The poor little hussy is going to get in trouble, and she only has herself to blame."
I hadn't told Mrs. Grainger about Joe. We owed her a month of back rent and I didn't want to give her another excuse to put us out on the curb, but now things were getting serious.
"I have to tell you something. My ex-husband showed up today."
"I imagine he was trying to win you back. I don't mind saying, you might be better off reconciling. Life is a trial if you don't have a good man to lean on. I can tell you that firsthand. And to be honest, you girls aren't doing so well on your own. It's all well and good to try and be some bohemian, but at the end of the day you are going to want a family and you aren't getting any younger."
I thought of Sheila with her arms wrapped around her head to try and protect her face from Joe's fists. "I'm going to call a cab, have him drive me around."
"Don't be ridiculous. You can't afford all that. I swear I don't know how you are going to ever run a house with the way you spend money." Mrs. Grainger shifted in her chair, rollers in her hair. She was flipping through a celebrity gossip rag, leaning into the lamp beside her to be able to read the print.
"Can I borrow Ol Blue then?"
"Sweety the roads are all black ice. I'm not having you wreck another car especially when I've already told you what this is all about."
I put my palms down on the kitchen sink and leaned over it to try and peer out the window into the dark. I was wearing my old pair of gardening trousers; they had green stains in the knees and didn't quite reach my ankles. I put on my snow boots and my coat, dug into the older woman's purse. I put her keys into my worn Milori soft leather. "I'm sorry Mrs. Grainger. I can't stay here waiting."
"You are not taking my car."
She leaned forward with her magazine splayed out on the floor a look of betrayal etched on her soft full face. I shut the front door, the spring-loaded screen whacking into place. I slipped on the steps but caught my balance. It took everything I had to pry up the stiff garage door. The springs squeaked a little as I slid into the front seat of the old rust bucket and turned the tired engine over. I backed out slowly afraid I'd see an angry shadow with rollers in her hair blocking the way, but Mrs. Grainger was on the porch with her arms crossed.
I slid the shifter down into drive and turned the corner not daring to look back.
Virginia street was quiet, every few blocks there were little sets of people walking together. Couples huddling close or solitary men with hats down low and coat collars up high. Everyone walking fast, with purpose, trying to get somewhere out of the cold wind. I had the heater in the cab cranked up high, but the engine wouldn't share any of its warmth. When I drove under the neon lights, I could see my breath reflecting all the surreal colors.
I parked at the curb of the Mapes. I brushed past a parking attendant and took the elevator up to the sky room. The band played some country swing; everyone was doing the two-step. I had my hand on the strap of my purse with my elbow resting on its top. I maneuvered through the smiling faces everyone pepped up on watered down cocktails feeling their oats, bodies pressed together and pulled apart in a simulation of the coupling that was sure to come, had to come.
I took the elevator back down, cruised the slots. A different set of people were down there. Older more tired, all dried up, hoping for a change in status and getting nothing but poorer.
A bony hand clasped my upper arm. A red cheeked, smooth faced jowly man said something to me but all I registered was his boozy breath. "You lookin' for a place to keep warm tonight?" He let go of my arm and pinched my ass.
I moved on fast, turned a corner and pressed against the front door. I let it swing shut behind me on its own. "Hey is this your car? You aren't supposed to park here." The skinny attendant in his mauve uniform goose stepped toward me.
"I'm sorry I'm looking for my friend."
"Well, you can't just park here with the car running there are a bunch of young hoods that are running these things down to Mexico and selling them in Tijuana."
"That's not a problem. This car wouldn't make it out of the county." I slid in and left the teenager watching with his hands jammed into his pockets.
I popped into three bars and drove out to Sparks to the depot where Sheila liked to people watch. The train station had six or seven men sleeping on benches the result of a tolerant merciful clerk who watched me with his palm on his cheek his cap hanging low over his face. I should have brought a picture of Sheila. There was no point in trying to describe her. A man with a newspaper on his beefy ponch locked eyes with me and I turned to leave before he could try and engage his alcohol drenched brain.
"Hey you, pretty lady. Come back here and give me a little kiss. You wouldn't be so stingy as to deny an old soldier a little kiss now, would you?"
I pressed the door closed and looked up and down the street. I saw a pair of red eyes slide around the corner. I felt the blow in my gut. I leaned back against the glass and tried to stick my knuckle into my mouth to stop myself from crying. Old blue was gone.
