Then I walked heavy footed to the counter.
“Anyone here?” I called.
The angry voices abruptly came silent. There was a pause, then Jenson came
out of the kitchen. His fat, good natured face was red, and there was an
embarrassed look in his eyes.
“There you are,” he said. He looked me over and his expression altered a
little. I could see he was relieved and pleased that I now looked presentable.
“That’s a good cabin, eh? Have you found everything you want?”
“It’s fine,” I said. The smell of the frying onions was driving me half cr@zy.
“And this too. You’ve certainly got a place here, Mr. Jenson.”
He nodded, but the beaming pride wasn’t there. I could see he was still bothered about the argument he had been having with his wife.
“Yeah, it’s pretty good.” He rubbed his jaw, his eyes shifting away from me.
“I guess you must be hungry. I’ll see what I can rustic up for you.”
“Don’t worry about me, Mr. Jenson. You tell me what I’m to have and I’ll fix
it.”
“You stick around. I’ll talk to my wife.”
He was so embarrassed I felt sorry for him. He was starting back to the
kitchen when a dusty Packard pulled up by the gas pumps and the driver
honked on his horn.
“Shall I take care of him?” I said.
“It’s okay. I’ll do it. Time enough for you to start work when you’ve had
something to eat.”
He went out and I watched him through the open window as he began to
service the car.
I heard a sound behind me and I looked over my shoulder, then I turned right
around.
A woman was standing in the doorway. She was staring curiously at me.
She had Titian red hair: a lot of it, piled to the top of her head, rather sloppily.
She was a beauty although her mouth was too big and her lips too thick.
There was a sensual quality about her that would attract any man: it attracted
me.
She was wearing a crisp white overall, pulled tight around her, and as she
moved through the doorway, I could see she hadn’t a stitch on under the
overall. She was about thirty. She had cold green eyes and her skin was the
colour of old ivory.
She didn’t say anything. We just stood there, looking at each other.
Then Jenson came in, grinning nervously and introduced me.
She nodded at me, still saying nothing: her green eyes hostile.
Jenson stood awkwardly, rubbing his jaw, grinning fatuously at us.
“I guess he could use some food. I know I could,” he said finally. “How
about it, Lola?”
Her face was expressionless as she said, “I’ll get you something.”
She turned and walked back into the kitchen.
I could see the outline of her heavy h!ps under the overall. They rolled sens.ually as she walked.
I picked up a paper napkin and wiped my face. Sweat was running off me.
“Pretty hot, huh?” Jenson said, his grin widening.
“If s hot all right,” I said.
My face felt stiff as I tried to match his grin.
II
It was while Jenson and I were unloading the scrap off the truck that he
began to talk about his wife.
I had eaten one of the best meals in my life. She had come out of the kitchen
carrying two plates loaded with spaghetti and big veal steaks, and had
planked them down on the counter and then had gone back into the kitchen
without a word.
While we were eating and to ease Jenson’s obvious embarrassment I asked
him what he wanted me to do now I was going to work for him.
He said he would like me to take care of the garage and the gas pumps so that
he and Lola could concentrate on the lunch room. He would like me to do
three night shifts every other week and two the alternate week. Any
breakdown jobs that came in he expected me to handle, and it would be my
job to keep the outside clean and tidy.
“You’ll be busy, Jack,” he said, “but in this heat and with nothing else to do,
it’s a good thing to be busy.”
I said that was okay with me. I couldn’t be busy enough. I meant that. I knew
if I started sitting around doing nothing in this place, my mind wouldn’t be
anywhere else except in the kitchen where she was. She would have that
effect on any man.
After we had finished the meal we went outside and he showed me how the
gas pumps worked, explained what I had to do when a customer arrived and
showed me the tariff of charges for oil and gas.
He then asked me to give him a hand unloading the scrap.
By now the sun was sinking behind the hills and it was cooler. I was glad of
the chance to exercise my muscles after being cooped up for so long in the
freight truck.
As we worked, he talked.
“You don’t have to worry about Lola,” he said. “She hates to be crossed. I
told you: she’s always been against anyone working here. I don’t know why.
It’s just one of those fool ideas women get into their heads.” He looked at me
anxiously. “You don’t want to take it to heart. Maybe for a couple of days she
will sulk, but she’ll get over it.”
I didn’t say anything: there didn’t seem anything to say.
We hauled a rusty rotary cultivator off the truck. I was impressed by Jenson’s
strength. He handled the machine as if it were a toy.
As we dragged the machine into the shed, he said, “Don’t you think she’s a
fine looking woman?”
“Yes.”
He took out a pack of cigarettes and offered me one. As we lit up, he went
on, “Funny thing how we met. Two years ago she got off the Greyhound bus
and walked into the lunch room. I was feeling pretty low at the time.
My wife had died a couple of weeks back, and I was trying to run this place single
handed. I was even trying to do the cooking, and let me tell you, the food was
terrible. She asked for a hamburger. Funny how one remembers a thing like
that, isn’t it? I remember too she was wearing a green dress. The bus stopped
for twenty minutes to collect the mail and parcels and give the passengers a
chance to get something to eat.
They all crowded in: all yelling for
sandwiches, pies, hamburgers and so on, and I was swamped. I didn’t know
whether I was on my head or my heels, then suddenly there she was behind
the counter instead of in front of it, serving. I saw she knew the business, and
I let her handle the rush. I just showed her where everything was. Before the
bus left, everyone was fed. I couldn’t have done it myself, but she had done
it. I had the same feeling about her as I had about you. I told her if she
wanted a job, there was one here for her.” He squatted down by the rotary
cultivator and began to loosen the gear wire. “Like you, she didn’t hesitate.
The bus left without her. I gave her the cabin: like I’ve given it to you. Well,
she worked for me for a couple of weeks, then I got thinking.”
He looked up,
his blue eyes guileless. “I knew it wasn’t right to have her here alone. People
at Wentworth began to talk. When they came here for a snack or for gas, they
sniggered at us. They thought things were happening that weren’t.
So one evening, I talked to her. I asked her if she liked it here: if it wasn’t too lonely
for her. She said she liked it, so I suggested we got married.
That way we’d
stop the sniggering and the talk. She would have security, and if anything
happened to me, she’d have the place. So we got married.” He got the gear
wire loose and began to take off the cover of the gearbox. I stood by him,
smoking and listening. “Mind you, she’s twenty-three years younger than I am,” he went on. “I wondered if I was doing right, but she wanted to stay and I couldn’t have her here unless we were married.
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