Nearly Diamond

By J J Garrett

Hanford Stone carries with him a past as heavy as his name implies when he arrives in Beaux Bridge, Ohio, he a modern day flimflam man for Nearly Diamond Corporation, an energy company hoping to sell its high-sulfur coal. No one senses his burden, given his bright faade and dynamic demeanor. Surely not Hasten Edmond whose beauty, unequalled in the town, is emphasized by ebony-marbled eyes and shaft-dark mane which hints of how her persona plays the light of reflection at once with the clarity of diamond and with the carbon black of coal. She contrives to possess Hanford as she has every man of her desire, and is stunned when she finds her only competition ever in the personas of Allison, Grace, and Maryeach woman with varying allures, all unachievable by Hastenand all sought by a man whose search for love demands more than beauty and wit. She sees Hanford as a contemporary in every way, but cannot fathom that part of him from a different timescape, tradition, sense of self. Nor can Hanford, a man in flight and in denialeven as he succumbs to the abundance of love he helps Hasten find within herself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Oct 24, 2007
• ISBN: 9781467810401

J J Garrett

About J J Garrett J J Garrett is a product of Georgia. He is a novelist, a poet, a researcher, and an educator. He holds a Ph.D., M.Ed., and B.A. from various Georgia colleges. He has lived in and traveled most of the U.S. and Central America. He has consolidated his search for lore into six novels and seven chapbooks of poem (now in anthology) with a resolve to return literary fiction back to Planet Earth. He is married; has too many animals around the house.

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This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.

© 2007 by J J Garrett . All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse  12/07/2015

ISBN: 978-1-4343-4449-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4678-1040-1 (e)

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Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

DEDICATED TO

American Electric Power Company

And

That Resilient Registration Clerk

At the ‘Wentworth Hotel’

Chapter 1

He rushed up the steps of the Wentworth Hotel, ploughed through the revolving glass doors, and pressed across the lowered lobby toward the walnut-paneled grand hall beyond.

Walt Carmen has asked for you a number of times, Hanford. He turned to a female voice that came from a doughy body behind the registration desk. "And a young lady—a Leah—called for you. Sexy sounding."

Thanks. I just left the … er … young lady. And I’m on my way to meet Walt.

Then you know that Mr. Carmen is in the Colonial—

Yes.

And that there are others who—

I know, Jacqui. He sent her a wave and took the steps up to the hall.

Have a couple for me! Jacqui called. She ran her hand through a short spiked mane that covered a large head with tiny eyes she squinted against the distraction of a ringing telephone.

- - -

The Great Colonial lounge claimed its place in a corner of the Wentworth Hotel. Above a black and white checkered marble floor rose a curved chromium-based bar topped by black Italian marble. Behind the bar, mirrors circled, and above the mirrors, a chromium entablature hid lights that cast soft rays upon renderings of Egyptian nudes.

A massive stone pillar in the center of the lounge displayed engravings reminiscent of ancient Arab geometrics. A pool of mosaic tile made the base of the pillar, its filling maintained by urination from the artfully styled penis of a robed Egyptian child. Chromium rods shot upward from the rim of the fountain until they neared the apex of the lounge’s arched ceiling, at which point their tips curved downward like rays from Sirius.

An angular dance floor stole a small area across the circular room from the bar, this area surrounded by stilt-legged tables of chromium steel and chairs upholstered in black-buttoned leather.

Such was the dimly lit maze that, upon entry, Hanford found himself squinting into as he searched for Walt Carmen.

Hanford! Over here!

He advanced in the direction of the voice until he recognized Walt’s freckled face and precisely cropped brown mane. He arrived and shook the other man’s hand.

Hey, everybody! Quiet! Let me introduce you to our new friend, Hanford Stone.

Six faces sat around joined tables. Hanford took the hand of each face and greeted each as Walt called names.

This is Mary, our college professor.

Her blonde hair shimmered in the low light. With eyes as blue as a Caribbean lagoon and the skin upon the slender hand she extended as luminescent as ivory, the weakness of her smile, the hint of worry there, appeared misplaced.

This is Basil. You’ll recognize him from the office.

Basil stood an inch or so taller than Hanford—brown hair, blue-gray eyes, solid build with broad shoulders—a friendly, masculine face.

Here’s Kit, Basil’s friend. She owns an antiques shop here in town.

The curls of her chestnut hair bounced upon her shoulders, the flesh there proving an olive complexion that lent her a sense of French Riviera elegance. She could not have hidden her breasts had she desire to do so. She smiled openly and warmly, noting Hanford’s admiration of the most apparent of her fine female assets.

This is Zeb from our Big Veto mine. Zeb Torrance.

Hanford shook a calloused hand. Its strength matched his. Hanford squinted past a set of jaws shadowed by a day’s growth of thick stubble into a set of dull dark eyes. He resisted an impulse to slam a fist into the face.

And this is Hasten, my dearest friend.

The siren’s hair hung thick and raven black, formed inward at her shoulders to veil her neck. The eyes Hanford studied showed as black as her mane—but with a depth one imagines at night when peering into the perpetuity of space—her irises glistening as if diamonds suspended themselves within.

Hello, he said to her, making his voice come high and carefree.

Hasten works as a paralegal with a local law firm. Walt gave a grin, followed by a nod. And, as I told you, he said to the others, Hanford is our new director of marketing at Nearly Diamond Coal.

Hanford took the only vacant chair—the one next to Mary—and sat.

Then you’ll sell Zeb’s Big Veto coal? Hasten asked.

Yes, he replied, and tried his best smile.

Sounds simple enough, Hasten replied.

I wish it were simple, but it’s not like selling used cars. It’s very complicated.

The group giggled. Hanford looked confused.

Mary’s friend, Ty, tried to sell used cars and went bankrupt, Hanford, Walt explained.

He’s gone bankrupt in everything, Mary added with a twist of mouth, but it was the real estate—

Mary understands complicated things. Hasten interrupted. She has access to the Glasgow College library.

But as a lowly assistant professor, Mary answered, not the professor that Walt always introduces me to be.

Shyly, she eyed him.

In what field?

English and literature.

I studied English, too.

Humph! English teachers! Zeb snorted.

Not much good for anything, are they, Zeb? Basil asked in a compromising manner.

Zeb concurred without a smile.

Hanford is from Chattanooga, Tennessee, Walt said quickly.

A Southerner! Hasten cried. As if we couldn’t tell.

Don’t let them pick on you, Hanford, Kit said, her voice soothing. All of these guys are Beaux Bridge natives. They call me a Yankee because I’m from New Jersey—the same latitude as this place—which means to them that you’ll always be a Johnny Reb who jumped a tobacco barge in Cincinnati. She winked. "But these Ohioans are never true to their biases—give them a reason and they’ll swing both ways."

Yeah! Especially on an issue like sex, Walt said.

Speak for yourself, Walt, Basil replied curtly.

You can’t even swing one way, Basil, Hasten said.

The group broke with laughter. Basil laughed, too. However, Hasten only smiled, and Hanford noticed some of the crystal lost within the black of her eyes.

The server interrupted them.

And this is Keisha, Walt said, the waitress assigned to problem populations here in the Great Colonial.

Keisha delivered a business-like nod and noted their orders. Zeb made an excuse and left. The two couples spoke quietly among themselves. Hanford noticed that their eyes moved as if they linked Mary with him. He guessed that she felt as uncomfortable as he did.

I’ll bet you teach Greek and Latin Literature, he said to her.

She stared at him strangely.

No. What makes you think so?

You look so Hellenic. You know. Like Helen of Troy.

She laughed lightly and did not look at him.

Helen of Troy was not Hellenic. She was from the Mycenaean age. And Greeks have noses larger than mine and none of them are blondes.

Oh. Hanford replied flatly. I never really liked early Greek and Roman literature—but the movie was pretty good even if Helen was a blonde and had a small nose. Self-consciously, she lowered her eyes, still keeping her eyes on him. But, no. I don’t teach early Western literature.

Then Shakespeare, Cervantes, Milton . …

"No way! That’s not me."

The drinks came. She took hers up. Hanford remembered.

Alright. I have it now. He studied her, the workings at the corner of her lips, the response of her nostrils to the air, the float and dip of her brow. You teach Chaucer and Dante and Bunyan.

Mary eyed him as if he were silly. Hanford dared chuckle. Then he whispered, his voice knowing.

Yes! Chaucer and Dante and Bunyan and the whole dark crew. They scrawled their thoughts as dreams to avoid death at the hands of their religion, didn’t they?

Mary squinted at him.

Where did you come from?

Hanford leaned back in his chair.

Like Walt said: From the South.

She tossed her head with unaccustomed vigor.

I haven’t heard those words from anyone for years.

What? The South?

No. She looked him full in the face. The words Chaucer, Shakespeare, Milton, Dante, Bunyan . …

College day’s recitations, Hanford apologized.

Never say those words to anyone in this town but me. They will think you’re strange. Beaux Bridge is a working person’s town. Although you can get a master’s degree here, once you graduate Glasgow College, you’re supposed to leave … or to stay and act stupid.

I’m stupid enough for this place.

You don’t look stupid. You look …you look … handsome.

Regretting her words, she lowered her eyes and peeked shyly at him.

Indeed, Hanford was handsome, in an offbeat way, and he knew it. He used it—dark hair tending toward curls, hazel eyes, sometimes happy, but most times approaching sad, always implicit of secrecy of self; of average height, with smooth, youthful skin and broad shoulders that lent him a powerful appeal.

Mary, one who felt so femininely slim and vulnerable, let go a short breath. Hanford took one in.

We should come here together some time, he said in a stab at conversation.

Mary’s throat stuck upon a knot. A blush grew from pink to red.

I—

Hanford! Walt called. He motioned for all to listen. An idea!

No ideas at this table, please! Ralph Felix declared in an authoritative voice from above his patrons. That ass of a wife of mine would kill me if I permitted an idea to surface within this bar! The general manager of the Wentworth Hotel chortled belligerently—his trademark.

Ralph appeared as a slim but potbellied man whose crown—beset by thin hair grown out in long strands glued carefully down—connected itself to a forehead and nose that anchored a pair of out-of-date eyeglasses.

Minda is not an ass, Ralph, Kit said. "But you should be happy that she works her ass off as your lounge and restaurant manager—in addition to suffering as your wife!"

"You’re right, Kit. Minda is no ass, nor can one see that she has an ass. Poor devil, she’s so skinny she has no nothing! Ralph reached out with his hand and extended his fingers. Except long skinny fingers."

He eyed Kit as if aggravated with her, then checked that his wife did not stand behind him.

Hanford did not need to follow Ralph’s eyes across the room to know that he peered at an anorexic beauty. She who tended the bar sported a boyish crop of strawberry-blonde hair that decorated a sharpened face. Large green eyes that peered from above high cheekbones made the corner stone of her image, below which set a delicate nose, but with nostrils which tended to flare too often, and a pair of thin lips that oversaw a potentially wide smile she never exercised.

Then emphasize the positive. Praise her for her fingers, Ralph, Walt replied. He motioned down the table. Do you know Hanford Stone?

Of course I know Mr. Stone. He is the only residential guest who leaves his room in order; and he is one of the few who takes my advice on menu specialties in the restaurant. Ralph huffed. You people will never understand. When Robin decides to cook Trout Almandine, then all else be damned. The only edible meal for the evening will be Trout Almandine. If you want a medium steak, you’ll probably get a raw slab of hamburger with a pickle on the side. And if she decides she wants to cook steak … . Well, like I said, you people will never understand. He pointed at Hanford and clicked his tongue. Keep taking my advice, Hanford.

With a glance to his left, then to his right, he gave a wave and departed.

Will Ralph ever say anything without sarcasm? Basil said.

Probably not, Kit replied, her voice brittle.

Go ahead with your idea, Walt, Hasten said.

Oh, yes! About my idea, Hanford: You should think about someone to take to the Valentine’s dance. You could join us there—get to know everyone in the company.

Hasten cut her eyes at Mary. Mary looked away.

Oh come on, Walt! Basil objected. Don’t do this to Hanford.

Walt’s voice flared. Shut up, Basil!

Hasten glared at Basil, then circled her eyes again to Mary. Basil sent Hanford a face of empathy.

We could meet here again if you’d like, Mary said abruptly—with forced bravery, Hanford thought, given that her voice quavered.

The others mutely awaited the exchange.

Alright. Fine. Tomorrow at nine?

Sure, Mary whispered.

Great! Walt concurred loudly.

That ended the reunion, by Hanford’s estimation. Walt and Basil soon stood and excused themselves, one to pay for drinks and another to go for coats. Hanford remained at the table with the women. Hasten spoke to him, her hand upon his arm, but his only awareness that of her irises.

—by which to say that you and Mary should get along grandly, she summarized. Don’t you think so, too, Mary?

We’ll see, Hasten.

Don’t let her bore you with literature lessons, Hanford. Make her speak of something lively.

Perhaps I should speak to him of gardening … no … of fishing. Fishing would be better. What do you think, Hasten? Mary answered wittily.

"Well, I could think of something to talk to him about," Kit replied

"You would, Kit," Hasten said, a bite in her voice.

Kit responded with a contemptuous lift of eye. Walt and Basil returned. Basil helped Kit with her coat; Hanford took Mary’s from Walt and helped her. He watched the three women button themselves into their wraps until their collars framed their faces.

I have never seen three women as beautiful as these in one room, he whispered to Walt.

Then welcome to Beaux Bridge! You will never believe the life that awaits you here, Hanford Stone.

In gaiety and with promises, the group dissolved. Hanford added a few bills to those already upon the table and made his way to his room in the hotel, alone.

- - -

The cost of barging is only eighty-six cents less per ton than by rail, Roderick Kadlec, the vice president of development, announced, and much slower … and with higher risks due to natural causes.

Hanford’s hopes dropped, sensed by him as a bowling ball fallen into the coffee acids that churned within his stomach from a no-breakfast morning and a no-lunch noon. He tried to rebound by way of a peer through the second story window of Nearly Diamond headquarters, past the old buildings of downtown Beaux Bridge, and into the gray Ohio horizon.

We need another dollar and fourteen cent break in order to compete, he said as he wheeled around the others.

We can’t pull that kind of a margin from any resources we hold, Hanford. What you need to do is convince the buyers that it’s good coal. Sell them on the clean burn they get with our fossil, Roderick replied.

The kind of gob-head who buys coal nowadays doesn’t care about clean burn, Roderick. Hell! He lives under the soot stack of some coal-fired plant hidden in the boonies. He buys pickup trucks, racecars, and speed boats that pollute air, water, and soil, and heats his house with a wood-fired heater. If he sticks a nail in his foot, he soaks the puncture in a pan of gasoline and pours the residue on the grass.

Which is to say, Hanford?

That coal purchasing agents buy junk. That makes them look thrifty and wise. And they shift the problem of clean burn to boiler and chimney engineers who praise the benefits of ash in agriculture and hail the wonders of sulfurs for environmental bug control so they can keep making their big salaries.

The vice president rubbed his forehead with fatigue.

Maybe we can negotiate shipping costs based upon breaks for high tonnage.

Has the coal industry not played that game for the past one-hundred years, Roderick? And whom do we get to negotiate with? Yes! The railroad monopoly that controls every train that rolls in and out of the five surrounding states. Except that they don’t negotiate! They don’t need to negotiate. I could say a couple of prayers and expect better results from the Lord Jesus!

I am a member of the Methodist Men for Evangelism in Faith—the MMFEIF—Hanford. I don’t think Jesus plays a role in prayers for industrial goods. So, if you don’t mind . …

I’m sorry, sir. I thought you would be impressed by my testimony that prayer brings results.

Roderick relaxed.

"If He convinced some company to give you the one dollar and fourteen cent margin you need in order to sell the best quality coal produced in the Eastern half of the United States, I would still not expect it to happen because of your prayers, Hanford."

Grief! Hanford whispered.

Mr. Kadlec? Grace Sedgwick, his secretary, stood at the door. Mr. Stone has a phone call.

Hanford stood.

I know how to get the margin we need to sell coal anywhere between the Mississippi River and Brazil, Roderick. I just don’t know how to convince anybody in this business that it can be done.

Sounds like that’s something you need to work on, Hanford.

Hanford held his reply and excused himself. As he hurried past Grace Sedgwick, he asked her to forward the call to his office. She punched the telephone board and made the transfer, then stepped down the hall to where Basil McElkin chatted with Teresa Martin.

Mr. In-Again Out-Again is out, again, she announced.

Who’s that? Basil asked.

Our Mr. Hanford Stone, Teresa said knowingly.

He must think he’s God’s gift to this company. Grace huffed. "He doesn’t feel it’s necessary to stop by the secretary’s desk and ask if a mere vice president is available to visit with him."

Grace thinks he should speak to her every time he walks past.

That’s right. He doesn’t even nod when he heads for the men’s room! He rushes by my desk—and, I’m sure, every desk of every secretary in this company—like he’s on a roller coaster! I think I could come to hate him very much.

He doesn’t seem to be that way to me, Grace, Basil replied. Hanford is friendly. But he’s new here. He’s preoccupied with his work.

I’ve tried to remind her of how good-looking he is, Teresa said.

His looks contribute nothing to my opinion of him, Grace answered. You wouldn’t catch me dead in public with a snot like Mr. Stone.

She whirled and went to her station.

What’s her problem? Basil asked.

I think she’s horny, Teresa said, and giggled.

- - -

Hanford took the call in his office. To get to the phone he squeezed between his desk and the wall and squeezed again past a bookcase laden with catalogues. From there he dropped into a surplus chair—a perfect match for the surplus desk over which he commanded the entrance-side of his office; that area made unremarkable by a surplus visitor’s chair and a dead potted Ficus tree in the corner. He took up the telephone.

Hanford Stone, he answered.

Do you plan to come over again tonight?

He paused. Again, the ball of disappointment dropped into the coffee acids.

We want to know if you plan to visit us tonight, the voice repeated.

I don’t date you. I date you’re mother, he said into the receiver.

I know.

Then let me talk to your mother.

She’s at the Cutlery.

It’s almost five o’clock.

She called and said she would be late. The dinner shift is short of staff and she needs the overtime pay. She said I could cook for you if you came tonight.

Leah …

I promise I won’t burn the chili like I did last time. And Marie promises not to tell on me for listening to you and Mama—

I still can’t go to your house tonight. I’m very busy. I need to work late. And, anyway, Leah, it’s not polite to call men at their office and ask them for a date.

Mother says that lots of women do it.

No, Allison doesn’t call men for a date. And I don’t expect her ten year old daughter to do so either.

The child did not answer. After a moment, she spoke again.

Papa came by Tuesday night not long after you left.

I can’t get between Zeb and your mother, Leah, that—

They got into an argument and he cursed her and pushed her around like he always does.

I hope my name didn’t cross the conversation. I told your—

"She hasn’t mentioned you. We’re all afraid Papa would get really mad. You know, like—like always, except crazy-like, even if they are getting a divorce."

That’s sad; that’s really sad, little girl. All I can say is, well. . . I love you. I love your sister and your mother, too. He swallowed. Anyway, please explain to your mom and Marie that I wish I could drop by tonight, but I can’t. I’ll visit over the weekend instead. We’ll spend more time together that way.

Okay. The voice came melancholic.

And, Leah?

Yes?

Please don’t call me at the office anymore. Not unless it’s an emergency. And don’t make your sister call me, either.

The smaller voice cracked in the middle of a whispered yes, sir, then after a moment of silence laid the receiver upon its cradle.

Hanford set aside his receiver, too. He shook his head, first in confusion, then in shame. He peered through the doorway of his office into the second floor hallway of the mining administration center.

He should not be at headquarters, he reminded himself. He should be somewhere out there in cowboy boots, the armpits of his sport coat soaked with sweat, the hem of his slacks dripping black sludge as he tried to convince a coal buyer—already well-set with a kickback account from a competitive supplier—that Nearly Diamond mined the cleanest coal around.

He saw Walt hurry from the president’s office a few doors down, en route to his office in the legal department. Everyone hurried into and out of Gamaliel Whitmore’s office, he reflected.

He engaged again his numbers, his telephone calls, and his travel plans.

- - -

The Blue Sky Café laid out its primary menu as a rock and roll smorgasbord of tightly crinkled notes from various lead guitars. After that came food, from breakfast to midnight, of a quality upon which none of its customers ever particularly cared to comment. Café patrons wore jeans and t-shirts rather than the slacks and sport coats typical of the Great Colonial. And as for any reasonable comparison between the two community watering holes, citizens often commented that the equivalent of the naked baby who urinated into the pool at the Great Colonial would be a mule who defecated into a washtub at the Blue Sky.

On this particular night, Walt sat at the bar with his long time friend, Ty Harris. Ty stood a few inches taller than the average man. He was of slim build, but with a belly, which, because of his fondness for malt, protruded like a soccer ball from his mid-section. Though he could be called attractive in masculine terms, he failed to attain to handsome. Still, his grayish hair set thickly above a nose that hinted of fine lineage and afforded him occasional gratuitous recognition.

But neither his hair nor his nose … nor his money, for that matter … served to influence Ty’s character. It was his underlying constitution that wobbly directed him in his relationships and his business affairs; and of this, Walt took issue even as they drained their long-necked beer bottles at the end of the evening’s happy hour.

Shana, the young woman who served them, wiped the liquid residue from the bar where the beers had sweated down to room temperature. She listened, as had she done since their arrival.

I still say you’ve stretched your luck too far, Ty. Mary is fed up with you.

How can she be? I’m the most successful bachelor in Beaux Bridge. And between my family and yours, we own most of the damned county. Ty eyed his friend. I agree, I’m no good-looking Southern stud. But—this Stone fellow—how do you know he has class or money?

This isn’t about Hanford Stone. It’s about you! Every time you’re around Mary, you’re drunk. You know she hates that. And your business deals always end as embarrassments. Your slum renovation real estate scam lost $200,000 of your dad’s money and almost got you sent to jail by the Securities Exchange Commission.

I pulled out of that.

And then you started a used car business with what you hid of your investors’ money. And you went bankrupt with that, too.

I shared the tax write-off with my dad. He needed it. Anyway, my wholesale jewelry business wasn’t a bad idea.

Ty! To sell watches and rings out of the trunk of your car can’t be considered a business.

Get off my back, Walt!

Listen to me, Ty. Mary is one of the three most eligible women in Glasgow County. She’s beautiful, intelligent, and your mom and dad would love to see you catch someone like her. But she will never stay with you until you become more stable.

Ty dropped his head.

What can I do, Walt?

You can stay sober—at least when around her; or pretend that you’re sober when you’re around her. And you can take her to a nice restaurant in Columbus the night of Nearly Diamond’s Valentine’s dance. Give her a piece of whatever jewelry you still keep in your trunk and tell her you bought it at Monforth’s.

Why that night?

Because Hasten wants me to convince Hanford to ask Mary to the dance. She thinks that Hanford—

Who does that bastard think he is! Ty exploded.

Shana liked bastards. She grabbed two beers, popped their tops, and pushed them before the two.

Looks to me like you’re as good as out, guys. Enjoy!

Her clients automatically grabbed the recharge.

"He’s a nice looking, friendly guy whom I also happen to like. It’s not his fault that Mary could develop an interest in him. Let me tell you, it’s your fault!"

"People tease me about my rickety build. My hair is graying. My mother commented that I’m growing lines in my cheeks. I—"

It’s none of that. Look at me, Ty. I don’t look as good as Hanford either. But Hasten, who is by far the hottest property anywhere south of Columbus, responds to my every need. She won’t even look his way.

Christ! Shana whispered.

Did you say something, Shana?

Not me, the bartender replied. You know me, Walt. I stay away from opinions when it comes to you guys. All I think about right now is a room full of potential drunks and a shift that runs until one a.m.

Ty invested in the exchange between Walt and Shana with his bottle turned up. He slammed it, drained, upon the bar top.

Give me another, Shana. He glared at Walt. Let’s knock down a last one together, old buddy, and then I’ll go see Mary and patch things up.

Walt eyed his wristwatch.

Hasten and I are due for a workout at the club. What’s more, Mary is supposed to meet Hanford at the Great Colonial this evening. And now that you’ve had your nightly few too many, you should wait and make things right with her tomorrow—definitely, not tonight.

Ty muttered an obscenity as Walt stood, gave him a reassuring pat upon the back, and departed.

Ty remained at the bar. He finished the next beer that Shana placed before him. Later he ordered another—and later another, and another.

- - -

Hanford helped Mary into her chair at a table a comfortable distance from the dance floor. The clarinet, trumpet, and trombone made their last-pitch toots and the drummer ended the Swing instrumental with two tests of his bass drum pedal. ‘A one, two, three …’ Another tune began.

Where do they get these bands? Mary whispered. She leaned forward as Hanford drew his chair alongside. They always look like Glenn Miller remnants.

Hanford eyed her curiously.

You seem so lighthearted tonight. Not at all like before.

Keisha took their order. Neither Hanford nor Mary noticed the entrance of Basil and Kit who took a table behind them near the fountain.

This is silly, Basil, Kit said.

But you don’t understand Walt.

I don’t need to understand Walt. I know him well enough.

I’m sure you do. Basil frowned at his companion.

Kit shook her head, caught Minda’s eye at the bar, and waved. She returned to Basil.

Well, I plan to enjoy this evening. You can waste all the time you like in strategy.

The guy seems to be decent. Basil thought aloud. Maybe a little cocky, a little overconfident. But I like him.

Then like him. Be his friend. But let him find his own way in this town. Now. What do you plan to order?

I didn’t realize … but I guess I do … I feel a little more lighthearted than I did on Wednesday, Mary continued. I’ve been under a lot of pressure from Ty Harris—I mentioned him the evening we met—a fellow I’ve dated on and off for a long time—and I felt, well, preoccupied.

Hum, Hanford sighed.

Don’t misunderstand. We’ve never been serious. He loves to do business and, I think … I know, rather … he has a problem with alcohol. I always wonder if he and I are right for each other.

He’s a very nice person, I’m sure. Maybe I shouldn’t have—

No. It’s alright. We’re just friends.

Who?

Ty and I; and you and I, Mary answered. She giggled.

The refreshments arrived. They toasted. The band played Chattanooga Choo-Choo."

At some point during the number, the door at the street entrance of the lounge flew open and slammed into the wall of the narrow foyer. Responding to the racket, Basil saw Ty, his coat unchecked, stalk the tiles to a standing room end of the bar.

It’s Ty! he hissed.

Minda! I’ll take a draught, Ty shouted.

And how are you tonight, Ty? Minda asked in her dry, cracking voice. The foam ran over the top of the mug she pushed toward her most frequent patron.

Determined.

Well … I guess that’s good for a change.

Where’s your husband?

Ralph’s not here. Are you determined enough to drink your next ten drinks without him for a change?

Your usual self, Ty quipped.

The same as you, Minda replied.

So, what about Mary? Have you seen—

Minda pointed.

Over there. Be careful.

Ty waited as his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. He made out Mary, her back to him. He saw her companion—a small target, he considered. He took a long drink, then pushed through the crowd. Basil watched tensely; Kit, as well.

And how are you tonight? Ty asked in a voice laced with threat.

Oh, hello, Ty, Mary answered. Taken aback, she swallowed tightly. Let me introduce you to my friend, Hanford Stone.

He slipped his mug upon the table and dropped himself into a chair. He did not look at Hanford. Instead, he drilled Mary with a glare.

I thought we might go out tonight.

You didn’t ask me out tonight.

Oh? Hmm. Ty rubbed his chin. I didn’t realize that I needed to.

Really?

The band continued. The last two bodies with the possibility of fitting onto the dance floor did so. Hanford, his fingers tapping silently upon the table, watched the exchange between Mary and her friend.

Would you like to dance? Ty asked.

No. Thank you.

I think we need to talk.

Leave me alone, Ty.

Ty resumed his stare. This time his anger flushed into his cheeks and cast the whites of his eyes red and fluid. He gripped the back of Mary’s chair, his knuckles white upon it. When he felt certain that Mary sensed his rage, he directed his stare to Hanford. He met one equally intense as Hanford stood.

The seconds that passed between the stares seemed, instead, to be summed by epoch.

Holy Virgin! Basil whispered to Kit.

Alright, Mary. I’ll go, Ty said, standing, pretending calm. I’ll call you later.

He left, leaving his mug upon the table as if a promise of hostility. Hanford let his shoulders drop, then reclaimed his chair.

I … I’m sorry, Hanford.

Do you believe that! Do you believe it! a voice cut in.

Basil swept around the table and fell into the chair Ty vacated. Kit, with a whoop, dropped into the vacant chair next to Hanford. As for Kit, Hanford didn’t recognize her at first glance. She wore large round glasses that disguised her olive-skinned beauty. Then he recognized the breasts that pressurized the cut of her blouse.

Kit! he greeted stiffly.

Kit had to put on her glasses to take in the excitement, Basil said.

We couldn’t believe Ty would do that to you, Mary—to be so obnoxious!

And when you stood up, Hanford. Oh! Basil cried. You did exactly what you should have done with that son of a—

Basil is still jealous that Ty won Mary away from him, Kit teased. Isn’t that right, Mary?

Absolutely, Mary said, tapping the mischievous quality of the moment. Eat your heart out, Basil!

The women laughed. Hanford laughed. Basil laughed. Hanford liked Basil’s laugh. He liked Basil McElkin.

Why don’t we dance? he suggested as the band took up another set.

They took the floor. When Hanford pulled Mary into his arms he sensed the inclusive physicality of her as a woman—full, then narrow, tall, yet waif-like. He moved her upon the dance floor like a feather.

Chapter 2

I like the Symbolists, Mary said. She gauged the symmetry of the cheese and cracker platter she arranged, and pointed toward the dining room table. You can place the chafing dish there in the middle.

Hanford set the dish of cocktail meatballs where she directed.

The Symbolists were a bunch of writers who faced backward on a bobsled, he countered. I guess they thought that absolute truths surfaced in their backwash rather than between themselves and the wall at the end of the run.

Mary positioned another cracker on the platter. Hanford continued.

The Symbolists wrote like you arrange that cheese tray, Mary—much attention to things that don’t deserve attention. He took a square of cheese from the platter and popped it into his mouth. There. What do you see? An imperfect mandala? Or a piece of cheese missed from a plate?

So you look down upon Flaubert?

"Madame Bovary? My first sex—"

"I refer to The Temptation of St. Anthony."

Don’t know.

"What about Oscar Wilde? The Picture of Dorian Gray?"

Good movie, but weird. Kind of … you know—

I would say that what is most symbolic in this conversation is your Southern arrogance, Professor Stone.

She kissed him upon the cheek. He grabbed for her waist but she spun from him and stepped into the kitchen.

It’s such a welcomed change to talk to someone outside of the faculty about my work, she called back to him. We’re such a small town in such an inconspicuous place, lucky, I guess, with a coal mining corporation and a couple of big factories. It’s a great place to live, it’s clean and pretty with a wonderful park and canoe pond downtown, and it’s a great place to party. But it’s all about life of the body here; not much about life of the mind … and nothing of the soul, I often think."

Hanford cleared his throat.

I meant to suggest by way of our conversation that you should focus upon the life of the body when with me.

Silly, Hanford. Mary arrived with a plate of boiled shrimp. You should forget about my flesh and begin to think about my mind. We could enjoy much together.

"Actually, I was thinking about my body."

Mary placed the plate upon the table.

You make me feel good. She let him take her into his arms and kiss her—on the lips—she made it quick. They’ll be here soon. Stop eating my food and stop trying to kiss me!

Give me a break, Hanford moaned.

Fill those two ceramic bowls with the nuts there and put them in the living room.

Hanford filled the bowls. Mary worked with hors d’oeuvres at the opposite side of the table.

I’ve heard quite a bit about Nearly Diamond’s Valentine’s Day dance. Have you ever attended one?

No.

The dance is next weekend.

Mary continued her arrangement of appetizers. She went into the kitchen again and appeared again.

I’d like to ask you to accompany me.

Mary attended to her work for a moment more, then raised her head.

I would like to go with you, Hanford. But I can’t. There are a couple of things … She stuttered. I’m simply not sure right now.

Your friend, Ty?

Will you give me until Tuesday?

Sure.

And you’re not offended?

No. That would be nonsensical. I’ll call you Tuesday afternoon. He sent her a grin. Now! What can I do before Walt and Hasten arrive?

- - -

The sky enveloped Walt’s car as the snow sifted downward upon the Sunday afternoon. The windshield wipers clicked to and fro as if in time with Hasten’s entreaties to him. She held her mitten-wrapped hand upon his arm and caressed him as she tunefully pestered him.

Please do what you can, Walt. Please!

But Ty is my oldest and best friend. He should come first.

Hanford would be a better friend to you. Ty only causes you trouble.

That’s true.

And Ty’s not an employee of Nearly Diamond Coal; so he can’t escort Mary to the dance anyway.

That’s true, too.

"So do you want to do it or do you want me to make sure that Hanford does it?"

I’ll do it, I’ll do it! Walt answered.

He made the corner onto the tree-lined street, which led to Mary’s apartment in a neighborhood of small but stately old homes. The trees stood bare and gray. They raised themselves against the sky as if nature intentionally designed their branches for the artistic display of snow.

All you need to do is keep him mindful this next week until he asks her.

He’ll probably ask her tonight.

"If he did, she would probably tell him no. She clings to Ty."

Because Ty doesn’t ask anything of her—except for her to baby-sit him while he drinks, Walt answered.

"Oooh, Walt! There does live an insightful mind within that always perfectly clothed body of yours!"

What do you mean by that? Walt sounded aggravated. You know how I hate it when you make me drive through snow and argue with you at the same time.

Actually, I believe something opposite from what you said. I believe that Mary clings to Ty because he doesn’t make her commit. But Hanford Stone is the kind of man that you commit to. And Mary is afraid of commitment.

You don’t know that, Hasten.

And you’re not a woman. So do what I say.

What did you say?

What I said before we even left the condo: You’re to help me arrange a meeting between Mary and Ty. And, with us there, too, we’ll get Mary’s commitment or lack of commitment to Ty settled once and for all.

You shouldn’t interfere Hasten.

"We should interfere. And then, you’ll call Mary later in the week and make sure she accepts a date to the dance with Hanford."

So you assume that Mary will once and for all rebuff Ty for Hanford?

She would be a fool not to do so.

Hasten refocused her attention to the white winter beyond her side window.

Walt drove the last of the distance and parked his vehicle behind Hanford’s company car. The couple maneuvered the snow-covered walkway to the house.

When they gained the porch, they found Hanford’s face at the glass beyond the door. He motioned for them to enter. For a moment his eyes, gaze intentional, caught Hasten’s eyes. Hasten realized that she bit the inside of her lip as the door opened.

What she did not realize was that Hanford, assigned by Mary as a sentinel, had watched her exit from Walt’s car; watched the snow fall into her thick black hair; seen how the redness of her lips and the coal-charred animation of her eyes rebounded upon the whiteness of the lawn.

He had imagined the touch of her body against his, free of the cloaked encumbrances of the harsh winter clime, and, now, he had met her eye and, in so doing, had told her so.

- - -

Noon, Tuesday. Hanford scratched a fourth reminder into his calendar to call Mary that evening regarding the Valentine’s dance. He made another note to call Allison and confirm dinner with her, Leah, and Marie the next night.

Let’s go to lunch, Basil called through the opened office door.

Oh, Basil! Well, kind offer, but I intended to work through lunch.

No. Let me take you to lunch. I’ve fought enough coal fires over the phone and on paper this morning to earn a decent meal—and with you trying to sell our high-priced gold in this trash-seeking marketplace, then you deserve a good meal, too.

A block later Hanford and Basil waited for the hostess to seat them at the Cutlery. The hostess, Allison Torrance, directed them along darkly paneled walls to a corner table and sent Hanford an eye of more than familiar welcome.

Basil noticed.

Do you know her? he asked.

Should I?

Zeb Torrance’s wife—or ex-wife—whichever. Do you remember meeting Zeb?

Yes. I wasn’t impressed.

No doubt. But don’t let Zeb’s rotten personality fool you. When it comes to coal mining, he’s one of our best. That’s why he’s the superintendent at the Big Veto mine.

He looks like he stayed down in one of the tunnels too long.

How would you act if you spent every day of your life in the dark and stared at a wall of black rock?

You make a point. But his … ex-wife, you say. She shows some personality … here in the restaurant, you know … which makes me wonder how she manages to live with Zeb. He appears mean to me.

The waiter arrived and took their orders: both of them the London broil au jus with a spinach salad. Hanford did not mention his preference of a plate of white lima beans cooked down over rice with a slice of fried fatback set in the middle and a scoop of stewed tomatoes as a topping. He opted for sweetened iced tea; Basil, the house wine.

I thought I might speak to you about a couple of things, Basil said.

Bring it on. I need something to get me down.

Basil grinned.

I understand how it is to feel punch drunk in the coal mining business, Hanford. But I didn’t invite you here to talk business. I’m here to talk of love.

Oh! I can manage that. Tell me anything.

I offer only this: We enjoyed the Great Colonial last Wednesday night, didn’t we? And you enjoyed dancing with Mary, didn’t you? She dances like a dream, doesn’t she; and feels fantastic when she’s against you, her breast to your chest, doesn’t she?

Oh, hell yes!

And I’ll bet you can imagine what it would be like to take her to bed, don’t you?

No doubt about that. But let’s get past the foreplay.

Basil leaned over the table. His eyes pressed forward in their sockets and reddened. His voice came intense, as if the edge of the table cut off his breath.

But she’s frigid!

My God! Hanford cried.

He fell back in his seat and watched as Basil struggled to keep the sound of his amusement confined to their table.

You’re a liar, Basil!

Oh! Oh, no! I dated her for six months. Walt dated her, too. He’ll tell you the same. Nothing! She’s as frigid as that glass of tea there. The main reason she puts up with Ty is because he can’t keep himself sober enough to bother her with … with get up and go, you might say.

Oh, Basil, no. She’s so intelligent, conversant—

Have you kissed her yet?

"Yes. And I will concede—"

Her lips were so tight you couldn’t stick a pin between them, right. Like kissing an asshole—that was what it was like, wasn’t it—like you tried to stick your tongue into an asshole!

Basil leaned back and howled. Neighboring diners eyed them. Hanford flushed with embarrassment.

How could that be, Basil? I mean … I know . …

Basil wiped his eyes with his napkin.

She’s a fine woman, Hanford; a wonderful woman. But that’s a problem that will never go away.

The meal arrived. They ate. Basil cut into his second bite of steak before either spoke.

But I didn’t bring you here to injure Mary’s name, Hanford. Ask her to the Valentine’s dance if you—

I already asked.

Basil stopped chewing.

And what did she say?

She wasn’t sure.

Basil resumed his meal.

Because of Ty. That’s another reason why she stays with him—she knows that he will stick with her regardless of her … limitation.

Hanford took a portion of his steak and stared flatly at his messenger.

But I might suggest a more promising alternative for you, Hanford. Someone who would be delighted to attend the Valentine’s dance … and might even be a challenge for you to take down.

Oh, a competition. Is she a bullfighter?

Hanford lifted his drink and washed down an over-hurried mouthful.

Not at all. She’s Grace Sedgwick.

I don’t know her.

Yes, you do. You walk past her every time you enter Roderick’s office.

I still don’t know her.

She’s Roderick’s administrative assistant—reddish hair. Nice shape. Nice conservative clothes. About five-four and—

Oh! Her! The bitch.

Ah! You two would get along great!

Why?

Because she thinks you’re a bastard.

"Me? A bastard? So now you tell me she’s an uninsightful bitch. What’s her problem with me?"

You always brush past her when you want to speak to Roderick. You don’t check with her. You don’t follow corporate courtesy or protocol. She’s efficient. And she believes in those things.

They’re rinky-dink.

Many more people follow protocols than not, Hanford. That may be something that you need to work on someday, but—

She could have stopped me and told me. Sometimes I listen.

That’s not protocol to Grace. She would never say anything to you.

Sounds like a messed-up broad to me.

She’s not messed-up. And you should ask her to the Valentine’s dance.

So I, the bastard who ignored her from the start, suddenly appear at her desk and ask her to the biggest Beaux Bridge dance of the year?

Yeah. That’s it. Exactly. And I think you should do it. As a newcomer, you need to attend the dance.

But even if I were inclined, I’m already committed to Mary.

"But you told me that she has not yet told you, yes?"

That’s correct.

The dance is three days from now. If you don’t soon get the negative from Mary that I expect you will get, then you might also miss a chance at Grace. She’s declined invitations for a month now.

In search of Mr. Right?

I think so.

So you think I’m him?

Who knows?

"And how does this help you?

Beaux Bridge is the kind of town where any one thing affects all others. Of that