The One Where Veronica Buys A Doy Collar

The counter of the soda fountain was forever dusty. The shop was forever dusty. Veronica did not know where the dust came from. She wiped down the counter with cleanser, making small, methodic circles on the teal counter top. For minimum wage, she would continue to clean the same spot with absent minded zeal.
A man seat down on the stool opposite her, keys clinking as they dangled from his belt loop.
Veronica did not look up. “You can’t exactly sneak up on crooks jingling like that.” Keys dangling from belt loops was a personal pet peeve. It was just so trashy.
“Is that your dog outside?”
Veronica looked over Junior’s shoulder and out the window. The Shackleton’s Dog was outside on the pavement, patiently waiting for Veronica with his head resting on his paws.
“That dog? That’s not my dog.”
“Everyone in town seems to think it is. Do you know what the fine is for an unregistered animal in city limits?”
“That’s not my dog. Besides, I hate dogs,” Veronica said. “They smell.”
“Not to mention a leash.”
“If I see the dog’s owners, I’ll let them know, Junior.”
“Deputy Laudermilk to you.” Junior was the only son of Old Man Laudermilk. While his father was good natured and had a gift for putting people at ease with small talk, Junior’s talents seemed to be antagonizing people. He could get a man to throw a punch at him in only five words. That was a bit simplistic but Junior had a small bit of power and he enjoyed flaunting it. He looked for trouble because anyone dumb enough to get into a fight with Junior was assaulting an officer. Junior was a world class dick.
“Deputy,” Veronica said. “This counter is for paying customers. I suggest you order something or be on your way. No loitering, isn’t that what you always tell the kids?”
“The dog needs to be registered, in a collar and on a leash next time I see it.” Junior eased off the stool, keys jingling merrily.
“It’s not my dog.”
Alison passed Junior as she entered the building. She wore sunglasses and was chewing bubble gum.
“And where we you last night, Miss Clark?”
“Trick of treating with my kid sister.” That may or may not have been true.
“At midnight?”
“Home. Asleep. It was a school night, after all.”
“You weren’t at a party, perhaps?”
“I don’t remember a party.”
Junior and Alison gave each other a long, level stare. Alison blew a pink bubble and snapped it loudly. Junior left in a sour look on his face.
“What’s Deputy Dog want?” Alison asked, climbing onto the seat Junior vacated.
“Just giving me a lecture on dog ownership.”
“How is the mutt, anyway?”
“Harmless. Follow me everywhere. Hey, I didn’t see a lot of you last night.”
“Well, you were too busy making eyes at the glorious son of York.”
“I was not making eyes.”
“You were doing something. What’d you do after?”
“After?”
“The bust?”
“Seth took me home.”
“No way, home? Are you serious? No stops along the way?”
“Yes, he took me home. Just home. Very innocent.”
“Very boring. In my humble opinion, when you’ve got a guy as tasty gorgeous as Seth, you need to bonk him till your brains ooze out.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“The bonking or the brains?” Alison had a reputation. Not so much from her actions as her words. She talked big and everyone believed her. From the way she talked, she’d personally had every guy on the Medicine Lodge football team. It wasn’t true, but a lot of people believed it. Her current outfit was a good example: tight jeans and a cut-off shirt that exposed the mid-drift of her belly. She dressed that scantily regardless of the weather.
“When are you going to stop punishing your parents and be the dutiful, good little daughter you know you are?”
“The day pigs learn to fly.”
Veronica caught Old Man Laudermilk’s eye and knew the look on his face: your friend has to buy something or skedaddle.
“You need to buy something,” Veronica said.
“Give me a cherry coke. And don’t be stingy on the syrup, soda jerk.”
Veronica admired Alison because she was forever on mission to upset and anger her parents. Her father was the preacher at the Rose of Sharon Baptist Church. Preacher’s daughters had a big hell raiser reputation to live up to and Alison was up for the challenge. Veronica, however, was forever rushing trying to put out fires her family set and trying desperately to placate everyone. Veronica was envious. She wished she would be so selfish as to not care what kind of trouble she caused, to do as she pleased.
Maybe she should buy a collar for the dog. And some dog food. The Shackleton’s Dog had been following her for a week. Clearly he was not going anywhere, whether she ignored him or not.
Old Man Laudermilk placed two paper bags on the counter. “Take these out to the Forth house. There’s milk in there, so don’t dawdle.”
“Can I take the truck?” The Laudermilk delivery wagon was a wood paneled relic from the fifties.
“Nope.”
“I have my liscence.”
“And I don’t have the insurance to let every teenage yahoo go driving Carmine. You can take the bike.” Carmine was the name of the wood paneled relic. The bike was an embarrassing piece of work with a huge wire basket in the front and on the back.
“Fine.” The bike was resting in front of the store, leaving sharply to one side on its kick stand. “You going to come?” Veronica asked Alison.
She shook her head. “Diner’s at seven tonight.”
The Forths lives on the far side of town, the side that faced the old gypsum mines. Mrs. Forth had been a chorus line dancer on Broadway but had serious asthma. She was advised by her doctors to come out west for the healthy, dry air. That was 1923. She arrived in Sun City and worked in the hotel. In the twenties the hotel was no longer a brothel but an actual hotel and had a speak easy in the basement. She married Carl Forth in 1925.
During the Dust Bowl years, the air filled with thick dust and turned to poison. She came for the air that was now slowly killing her. Forth’s developed dust pneumonia. They had lungs filled with scar tissue. Once a month, a medical supply company from Wichita delivered oxygen tanks for Mrs. Forth.
It took Mr. Forth ten minutes to answer the door, enough time for Veronica to ring the bell and then unload the bicycle’s baskets.
The door opened slowly, the smell of dust and lavender wafting towards Veronica. A voice called from the darkness inside the house. “Who is it?”
“The Harlow girl,” Mr. Forth said, his voice bellowing.
“Let her in, I have something to show her,” Mrs. Forth hollered back. She couldn’t breathe and he couldn’t hear.
“You’re dog has to stay outside,” he said. “You know where the kitchen is.” He left the door open for Veronica.
She carried the bags into the kitchen and sat them on the counter. She took out the carton of milk and put it in the refrigerator. The Forth’s had a very old fashioned model, it was round on the top and lined with chrome and sat on four dainty legs. Mrs. Forth mentioned once with pride that it was the first electric refrigerator in Sun City.
Mrs. Forth was sitting in the living room. The heavy drapes were drawn against the night. The lights were on but the entire room seemed dim. The oxygen tube was taped in place under her nose. The canister sat unobtrusively side her on the sofa.
“How are your light bulbs? Should I send my brother round?” Veronica asked, sitting next to Mrs. Forth on the sofa.
“You go ahead and do that.” Christian earned a little pocket money doing errands for the Forths, the most elderly people in town. “We need to get the leaves raked, I suppose.”
“How are you doing today?”
“Can’t complain. Isn’t that right, Carl?”
Mr. Forth had resumed his position in the wingback chair in front of the television. “What?”
“We can’t complain,” she repeated, loudly.
“Of course we can.”
“The old fool,” she said to Veronica. “He won’t admit he needs hearing aides. Anyway, the thing I wanted to show you.”
“Yes?”
Mrs. Forth grabbed a framed photograph from the inn table and handed it to Veronica. A black and white print. In it, a pretty young girl smiled at the camera. Her dark hair fitted tightly to her skull and she wore a long white gown. One arm crooked around to hold up a feather fan behind her head.
“Was that you?”
“I was something sharp, wasn’t I?”
“You look a little fast, to be honest.”
Mrs. Forth laughed, which broke into coughing. She pointed to a large oil painting on the wall. It was the same photograph but rendered in playful brush strokes and soft color. The white gown gleamed. The feather fan was a soft pink. The dancer posed in such a manner that was more than seductive.
“We just had it cleaned.”
“You’re gorgeous.”
“Your mother painted that.”
“My mom?”
“Sure. She was in high school at the time. ’63 I think. That girl had talent.”
Veronica studied the painting. It was hard to gauge a person’s mental instability by the way they painted. The strokes were even and stable, no wild gashing at the canvas. “It’s gorgeous,” she said, truthfully.
“Does she still paint? Carl and I got our sixtieth coming up in a few years. I think it would be nice for the kids to have.”
“Does who still paint?” Mr. Forth asked, taking rare interest in a conversation.
“The McCoy girl,” Mrs. Forth said loudly.
He nodded, sagely. “Very talented that one.”
Veronica wasn’t sure how long Mrs. Forth would be around but it was a nice idea. “She still paints, off and on.”
“You let her know, will you?”
“Sure thing.”
“How much do we owe you?”
“It’s on your tab.”
“Sweet girl. Carl, give her a tip.”
“What?”
“A tip! Give the Harlow girl a tip!”
Mr. Harlow said nothing and produced a much wrinkled, much used dollar bill from his back pocket.
“Thanks,” Veronica said.
“You tell your mother, now.”
“I will.”
Outside, the air was chilled and felt refreshing against her face. Shackleton was patiently waiting beside the bicycle. “I think you need a collar. And some dog food. And I don’t know where to register you. Come on.”