The Quarry Girls(21)

Claude was pulling a box of straws off the shelf. He tossed me a tight smile. He’d sensed something was up last night, of course. We’d known each other our whole lives. But he hadn’t pushed it.

“Gonna be a busy one,” he said, tipping his head toward the front. “We already have a line.”

I punched in. “Who eats a hot dog at ten in the morning?” My stomach lurched as I remembered the meal I’d barfed up last night and washed off the lawn before I’d hopped on my bike.

“It’s already seventy-seven degrees out,” he said. “People’ll eat a lot of hot dogs if it means they can stay in the air-conditioning.”



“You coming to my party tomorrow?”

Ricky wore a paper hat over a hairnet, same as me and Claude. He was hunched in front of the soda fountain, filling his plastic cup with a suicide, a little bit of every flavor. This was the first breather we’d had in two hours. Customers had flowed through in a steady stream. When the men came to my counter, I found myself peeking at their wrists, looking for a copper-colored bracelet, even though I’d told myself to forget about last night, had promised Brenda I would.

I’d also told her I’d float with her to Ricky’s party. “Probably.”

I felt a flutter of excitement when I said it out loud, despite myself. If the cabin was where Brenda said it was, it would be my first quarry party. That was a big deal for a Pantown kid. Jumping off those big fortress rocks into the icy deep. No place to stand and catch your breath because there was no bottom, just a gaping hole that might as well stretch to the center of the earth. A hole that probably hid prehistoric water monsters, slithering, sharp-toothed creatures that needed immense depths to survive but that sometimes, only every few years or so, would unfurl a tentacle and wrap it around your ankle and suck you down down down.

“Can I come?” Claude asked, emerging from the back with a packet of napkins to fill the metal dispenser.

“No single dicks,” a man said, appearing at the counter.

I blinked at the guy. He looked like he’d stepped off a 1950s movie set. His hair was jet black and oiled, the straps on his leather jacket jingling, his worn jeans rolled at the cuffs. How could he stand to wear all those layers in this heat?

“Hey, Ed!” Ricky said. He took a swallow from his drink before adding more orange. “Head, you met Eddy yet?”

I cocked my head. Here he was, finally, the Ed of legend. The man Maureen had described as sexy as hell. I felt a shiver low in my belly. He was short, his teeth smoker yellow, but he was attractive, despite or maybe because of the weird way he dressed, like he wasn’t afraid to be different. That sort of confidence counted in Pantown. Was that what Maureen saw in him?

“Hi there, darlin’,” he said, studying me. “What’s your name?”

Even though he worded it that way, like he was starring in a Tennessee Williams play, he sounded like a Minnesotan, same as the rest of us, like Swedish people who forgot to get off the boat. Still, I was struck by how deep his voice was, given his compact body.

“Heather.”

He tipped an imaginary hat. “Nice to meet you, Heather.”

“She’s the drummer in the band I was telling you about,” Ricky said, nervously switching his weight from one foot to the other. “The ones you got a spot for at the fair?”

I noticed he wasn’t taking shared credit for it anymore, not with Ed right there.

Ed, who hadn’t taken his eyes off me, smiled slow and delicious, like a morning stretch. “All right, then,” he said. “You’re a friend of Maureen’s.”

I nodded. I wondered where Ricky and Ed had first met because Ed was way too old to be hanging out with high school kids, even a brain-fry like Ricky. But it was hard to hold on to the question. Ed was exciting and terrifying and so out of place. His greased black hair and leather jacket against the soft, pastel Pantowners shopping behind him reminded me of a sleek jungle cat let loose in a petting zoo.

“Maureen’s a good bird,” Ed said, his smile widening. “You got RC Cola back there?”

“Sure do,” Ricky said, pulling a waxed cup from the dispenser.

“You’re not supposed to be serving food,” Claude said, eyes scanning the perimeter for the manager. Ricky’d already gotten written up twice this month, once for not wearing his hairnet and the second time for taking too many smoke breaks. He was skating on thin ice.

“You’re not supposed to be serving food,” Ricky said, mimicking Claude. He kept filling the cup. “How about, Claude, you can come to the party if you bring two girls.”

Ed hooted like Ricky had said something funny and leaned over the counter to punch Claude in the shoulder. “What the hell kind of name is Cloudy?” he asked. “What, you got a sister named Windy? If so, I’d like to meet her. I bet she blows hard.”

Ed and Ricky both guffawed at this, and like that, whatever spell Ed had thrown over me was broken. I gave him the hairy eyeball.

“We don’t want to come to your stupid party anyhow,” Claude said, rubbing his arm where Ed had punched it.

My eyes dropped, avoiding Claude’s. I didn’t want to mention that I’d already told Brenda I’d go. It wasn’t just that I’d promised, either. During the lunch rush, as my fingers were busy but my mind free to roam, I’d begun to wonder if what I’d seen last night meant I had even more catching up to do than I’d thought.