X-Ray Vision Ch. 09: Family

Billie

The one-hour copy shop said they could have cards ready by 2. Ok that's two hours but who's keeping track. Certainly not the skinny tattoo'd guy with all the piercings behind the counter - he was barely verbal.

Never seen somebody so carved-up and inked! Debbie Standfield had a tiny moon tattoo on her left ankle, her mom made her wear socks to cover it up, even with sandals! And Tony Dirk had that port-wine stain, had it from birth, but we all pretended it wasn't there even though it covered half his face.

The only piercings I knew about were guys who worked at the fabrication plant, and they were all accidental. This guy had so many rings in one ear, they jingled when he shook his head. Didn't know whether to say something about it, or ignore it like with Tony. So I said nothing.

I typed up a simple ad card on their machine, "Billie's Recovery Service", stuck on a bit of clipart from a sample book. Was gonna use a lost-dog cartoon but thought it'd look like an "I lost my dog" notice. Folks throw those away; I know I do.

So I used a magnifying glass and an empty doghouse. Says it all. A short description of services and payment. Greg's phone number. And a dumb slogan - "Finding your treasure is our pleasure!"

Greg is out doing whatever he does. Promised to look for an answering machine. As he left, just handed me a roll of cash from his sock drawer, so I could get started.

I avoided blubbering that time, took it without counting and stuffed it in my shorts pocket. Cool as you like, sure I walk around with money like this all the time.

Of course it occurred to me I could take it and run, go somewhere else, start over with that wad. Leave Jillian and Gregory to regret the day they met a snotty kid just off the bus.

Being trusted was a new thing for me, and I couldn't get around it. If I had any self-respect then I was gonna make good on that. And self-respect, that was my whole deal, the reason I was here and not back in Idaho.

Sure I was raised as a goody-good girl. I rebelled against all the other crap, the marrying-my-cousin plans, the shut-up-stay-pregnant-and-barefoot life they had chosen for me.

At the core though I had morals, standards. That part had stuck. Being a thieving little shit was not how I saw myself.

How did I see myself? I didn't know when I left, just knew I needed to be somebody else. But almost as soon as I got here I started getting ideas. I wanted to be a cool smart cookie like Jillian. I wanted to have enough so I could trust people without blinking, like Greg. I wanted to be radically honest like Nick, no pretenses, no hiding behind words, say it all plain and proud.

Maybe I wanted to be a cool bartender that feeds a stranger just because she asked nicely, and really needed it. Gotta make that up to Trevor sometime.

But right now I saw mysef as hungry. Greg's breakfast had barely filled in the gaps after a week of random bus-station snacks until my money ran out. Sleeping so long last night, I'd missed a meal. Now I was behind again and it was past lunchtime.

The copy shop was behind the strip, close to downtown if I had figured this out right - the courthouse flag was just visible sometimes, up the hill. There would be food downtown, between here and there.

Two more blocks and I had more choices that I knew what to do with. Idaho had cafes, diners, steak and burgers and fries and that was about it. This town had Mexican, Indian, Thai! And what the fuck was Hellenic? Had a picture of a butchered goat in the window, gonna give that a pass for now.

Should I go cheap, settle for a burger and fries? It wasn't my money, it was Greg's. But the devil on my shoulders says, you own a business, you are a woman of means! You should act the part, sit down somewhere and eat like hardworking business owners do.

So into a Chinese place I go, like I do this all the time. On the outside like a pagoda, red and black, jutting beams and steep tile roof and all. Inside - colorful fabric sashes around the ceiling, scrolls on the walls, wierd green carved dioramas in frames. Black laquered tables.

This place had a hostess, and she looked like a picture from National Geographic! Some colorful silk duds, goofy raised shoes, hair done up with chopsticks stuck thru a bun.

Chinese! They have real Chinese people here! The joint in Ketchum was run by Mrs. McGully and her son, their food not much different from the cafe down the street. She put soy sauce on Uncle Bens and peas and called it fried rice.

The lady smiled and said "One today?" in real English, don't know what I expected but not that. I nodded, followed her to a booth with a tall back, slid in, took the menu.

It had foreign writing all over like chicken scratches but fortunately some English words, enough so I might figure it out.

She was gone, but came back with a teapot and an adorable china cup. Poured for me - was this really tea? It was green! And smelled like grass!

I grinned at her, and she grinned back.

"What do you think? This is new for me." I didn't have any idea what to do next. Channelling Nick, I was just blurting out the truth fearlessly.

She eyed me critically, like it really mattered what I got. Smiled suddenly and said "I suggest, today, sweet and sour pork with dumplings!"

Sounded good to me, so I handed the menu back. She clattered off on those strange shoes, taking small steps in her silk sheath of a skirt. Did she wear something else at home? I sure hope so.

Looking around, late for lunch the place was mostly empty. Only me and a Chinese guy pushing a cart around, wearing all white, clearing dishes. Somebody in the back was swearing in Chinese, I don't know Chinese but I know swearing. I heard a game on a tv back there, his team must be losing.

Almost immediately my waitress returned with a plate of slimy steaming dough crescents arranged in a circle, a tiny pot of brown sauce in the middle. Dumplings? Soy sauce? I dipped a finger, tasted - vinegary! Some sesame seeds floating there!

She grinned, got some chopsticks from somewhere in her dress, held them out. I took them, looked blankly at her.

She gently took my right hand, put the sticks between my fingers just so, pressed one finger so the sticks opened and closed. Cool!

I smiled at her, made my first attempt to pick up a dumpling. It slithered out, plopped on the table. I tried again, got it as far as the sauce pot and oops dropped it in. She clapped happily! "You are getting it! Very good!"

Her enthusiasm was catching. I grinned back, fished it out, got it as far as my mouth. Hot! Tongued it carefully, huffing in and out to cool it off. Finally chewed a bit - some kind of meatball stuff in there! Salty and sweet and yummy.

"Ummmm!" I grinned around the bite, tried to keep my mouth closed as I chewed, it was really too much for one bite.

She approved, returned to the kitchen smiling.

I got thru two more before the pork came, steaming on a plate with a bowl of white rice. Sticky rice! Back home when you made rice it had to be loose, individual grains. But this stuff was one big wad in the bowl?

I found out why - so you could gouge out chunks with those sticks. I managed to get some on the plate, started in on that.

The pork was strips, breaded or something, and sauced up with some sugary pinkish-orange stuff. First bite I found out why 'sweet and sour' - it was both of those things! At the same time!

I tried to think what else it was like, but nothing came to mind. Completely new for me! Not ever in my life had such a flavor combination occurred to me.

Somehow that got me teary again. One day into my new life, doing new things I would never have done in a million years before. Tasting new things, meeting new people, acting in new ways. Sitting in a restaurant with actual Chinese people! Eating with sticks!

I put down the chopsticks and busied myself with the teacup for a while, to cover for my sappyness. Decided the fuck with that, I'm sappy so roll with it. I raised my teacup to the sweet waitress girl across the room, smiled with tears on my cheeks, blew on it and took a drink.

Scalding! That sobered me up in a hurry. She saw, hurried over with a glass of ice water.

"Is it ok? Not too hot?" She was concerned for me, seeing my tears now.

"It's all... very good! Perfect!" Sipping the water I put out the fire. Trying the tea again, more carefully, blow and sip! The green-ness filled my sinuses, lit up my tastebuds. Made me feel like maybe a horse feels eating the first alfalfa hay in spring, fresh and green and somehow strengthening. My little rural mind was blown, and it must have showed.

She saw my wide-eyed wonderment, laughed. "Genmaicha! Toasted rice with green tea! Not really Chinese," she admitted, "Japanese. But my favorite!"

"Wonderful!"

She smiled contentedly, left me to my lunch.

I polished off the pork and half the rice. Returned to the dumplings, made short work of them, getting the hang of the sticks now. Drank that cup of tea and two more, each stronger than the last. Felt at last like my hunger was satisfied, completely, after a week spent hungry, tired and miserable.

The bill came, and I was surprised how cheap. On the road I'd learned that the further east you got, the higher the prices but this was not bad. Fishing out my bankroll I slipped off the rubber band, starting pulling bills off.

I had thought it would be ones and fives, maybe an occasional tenner. They were twenties! All twenties! There must be what, a thousand dollars here!

I sat back and just breathed in and out for a bit, felt my heart racing. A combination of that strong Japanese tea, and my shock at finding I had been carrying around what, a months pay at any job I'd ever known! A fortune!

Greg's casual, breathtaking, foolish, massively unwarranted trust hit like a ton of bricks. Now I had to do right by him, or I would feel like some colossal fuck-up.

When my pulse slowed a bit I put a twenty on the tray, rerolled and stowed the cashwad in my pocket, snagged the receipt for Greg, got up to leave.

The waitress called out "Thank you! Hope to see you again!" in her sweet accented English. I turned, smiled and waved, jingled out the door.

Still not time for the cards to be ready. If I took my sweet time returning, it would be near enough. Plenty to see downtown, shops with apartments above, restaurants, a gas station or two.

A tea shop! I went in, and was met by a cloud of tea scents - flowers, grass, fruit! Big jars in racks on the wall, hand labelled. Tables down the middle with teapots, cups, silvery gadgets. Boxes on a table, teabags I guess?

A nice lady, not Chinese at all but Asian, small with black hair, a narrow face, dressed like an executive!

"What can I find for you?"

I didn't want to say "I'm just looking!" which always sounds lame. So I said "Jenmaka?", doing my best to reproduce the sounds my waitress had made.

She looked up, thinking, then brightened. "Genmaicha! Yes! We have three varieties..." She led me to a place on the wall where all the tea was green. We passed red, brown, black, yellow(!) on the way. Taking each jar down in turn she undid the lid, let me sniff.

The first was way greener than what I'd had - no thanks, not today!

The next was mild, more like grass than alfalfa. Again, I shook my head.

But like the three bears, the third one was exactly right. Strong green-hay smell with a nutty richness, just like at lunch. I smiled, nodded.

"May I package some for you? A few ounces?" I agreed, settled on a quarter pound. When she'd scooped that out and filled a cloth baggie it turned out to be a whopping great wad! Tea sure doesn't weigh much.

"And what else can I help you find? Something black? Darjeeling? I have just in, some golden tip Assam?" We went to the black section, and she offered a sniff.

The leaves were small curls, black as sin but occasionally a whitish bit - the 'golden tip' I assumed. It smelled viciously strong.

"I don't imagine it takes much?"

She shook her head. "I recommend using a full teaspoon per cup. Darjeeling is intended to be enjoyed strong!"

That sounded dangerous, so of course I was on board. I asked for just two ounces this time, and it was still a bulging bag.

The damages came to quite a bit - it took more than one bill! She smiled to see my bankroll, somehow not surprised. Had Greg been here before? I doubted it; he seemed a soda and wine kind of guy.

I left the shop sniffing my purchases, revelling in the foreign smells. My nerves were alive from that teapot at lunch, and I felt them respond with a twang! in anticipation of another caffeine hit to come.

Moving on. Passing a couple of thrift shops, I found that their idea of 'thrift' here was way above back home. Looked nearly new to me - no patches, no faded patterns, no stretched seams. Maybe folks around here only wore things a time or two, then off to the thrift store?

Also some upscale department-store type places, the things in the window way different from my taste. I'd be happy putting together an eclectic wardrobe from the other places. Save a bundle and way more my style.

I passed a Thai place, remembered Jillian's work was above. Looking up I saw only office windows with blinds, no way to tell which was which from outside. No matter; I wouldn't be going there for a while if at all.

Time to get back to the copy shop. It was only a few blocks, and took as many minutes. The same skinny guy was lounging behind the counter. Saw me, turned and found a bundle in a cubby, sat it on the counter. Rang it up, waited patiently all without saying a word.

"Good to see you again too! How's the wife and kids? Yeah, same here. Can't live without em! How about them Bears?"

That was maybe a little snotty, pulling his non-verbal chain like that but it didn't even register on him. He continued to give me a blank look, waiting. I pulled out my wad, made a show of stripping off a couple bills, handed them over.

He fiddled with his electronic register, got the drawer open. Counted my change tediously, starting over twice. Not very bright? Or half stoned, I was familiar enough with stoners growing up. No matter, the change was close. He put my package and receipt in a plastic bag.

I took the change, fished out the receipt and put it my pocket with the last one, hooked the bag over one wrist.

"It's been a blast, but I gotta go! No, no, can't stay. Catch up next time! Nice talking with you!" Still no reaction. My wit is wasted on this guy.

Outside I tore into the bundle, took a dozen cards and dumped the rest loose in the bag. They were dry but barely, the ink still shiny! Two colors like I'd wanted. The card stock was about right; I'd use maybe a lighter weight next time.

My graphic was ok, you could figure out what it was. Maybe have worked better to make it fill the card, like a background behind the words? Oh well.

What next? Hand out the cards! Marketing, Greg called it.

Turning in a circle I surveyed what I could see of the buildings around. Downtown or residential? I think, people in their houses might lose precious things more. Like poochie or snookums; not a lot of pets downtown.

Greg had mentioned crossing the river, lots of working class housing over there. I think rich people are probably a better bet, have the money to pay somebody for every little thing.

They always live on top of the hill. The cable operator, the feed mill owner lived on the only hill in Ketchum, in big houses with pillars on the front.

So I started uphill. And soon found I was right - the pillared mansions were up there, visible from the street soon as I got halfway up. Nobody out on their lawns - definitely a rich-person neighborhood. If it was anything else, middle-class or rooming houses, there'd be people out grilling or washing their car or watching kids.

First house I came to, some kinda monstrous pile with a tall center section and two wings! Hike up the driveway, cross the enormous porch or was it a portico? Rich-person talk was not my forte.

Knock or just stick a card in the door? If I knock and somebody comes, they might tell me to fuck off. And I'd not hardly started marketing yet. Stick it in the door!

I reached up with the card just as the door opened. An older lady, maybe 50, wearing some kind of bathroby thing with fur and sparkles.

"Oh! You aren't Jennifer! I was expecting Jennifer! What can I do for you?"

I adopted my church-girl manners for senior ladies. "Well ma'am, sorry to bother you ma'am, I'm new around here. Looking to meet the neighbors, let them know I've opened a business."

Her face clouded, and she pointed to a tiny sign below her doorbell - 'No Soliciting'. Whatever the fuck that was.

"I can see that ma'am, and I don't mean any offense! I was going to leave a card and go, which I can do! I don't want to bother you any, I can see you're... busy."

She was obviously totally not-busy, still in her bedroom clothes and home in the middle of the day. To forestall any further unpleasantness I held out my card with a just-little-ol-me church-girl smile.

I saw her soften, reach for my card. Read it briefly, eyes flickered between the card and me.

"Well Billie - that's you, Billie? Well I can see you didn't mean any harm, and being new around here I can forgive your enthusiasm."

She paused, scanned the drive, there being nobody else there she settled her gaze back on me. Decided to say something.

"Jennifer is going to come and help me find my earring! It's her day off but I'm simply lost without her. She said she'd come over once she got back from the doctors, taking her mother for an appointment. I don't know why she couldn't come here first!

"Anyway, it says here you find things. Could you find my earring?" She pointed to one ear, a silver fitting with a little diamond dangle. The other ear - nothing.

A case!

"I'd be glad to try, ma'am! My fee is "

She talked over me; apparently money was no issue. "I was in my dressing room, getting ready for my morning, just got my face on and was arranging my jewelry. I put one earring in and got distracted! My fluffy-foo was doing a darling trick with my mascara brush, dancing on two legs, waving the brush in his mouth...

"Anyway, when I'd retrieved the brush, that naughty boy won't leave my things alone, I looked back and the second earring was gone! I know it was there, they were both there when I opened the box I keep them in."

This wouldn't be too hard. The earring had to be somewhere, and she was possibly too nearsighted to see it.

"Just show me where this all happened ma'am, and I'd be glad to do what I can."

She brightened like a child, turned and swooped into the house leaving the door open. I followed hesitantly, pushed the great massive door closed behind me, like it was on a track or something, it whooshed shut with a solid clunk!

She had mounted a curved stairway, halfway up, waiting impatiently.

"Come along Billie!"

I trotted up the steps, caught up with her. At the top was a walkway with several doors; the second door was ajar. A tiny rat-terrier was peeking out, scuttled out of sight when he saw me.

She breezed into a room, larger than the whole downstairs in the house I'd grown up in, waved dramatically at a massive dressing-table against a wall. Like an old stereo console, it was half the room wide with mirrors running along the entire length.

The top had a clutter of pots and potions. Also a big jewelry box, open, with a score of tiny boxes inside. One tiny box sat beside, open, empty.

I gestured at the table, gave her a May I? look, got a gratified look in return.

The tiny box was indeed empty, two small slots in the velvet where the earrings were supposed to be stuck. A thorough survey of the assembled clutter showed me the earring was nowhere in evidence on the table.