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| Tommy Edison. Radio Trip Pictures. |
Here is Part One of The Mysterious Case of Betty Blue
And here is Part
Two.
Part Three
The Mysterious Case of Betty Blue
Louis Shalako
“I
have to get out of here for a while. I try to get out as often as possible.” It
was an essential part of routine.
Single
for all these years, Scott never bought more than the twelve items allowed in
the express checkout.
One or two small
bags of groceries was all that he could reasonably handle, what with the
stick and all.
“Are
you okay on your own, Scott?”
It
was kind of a dumb question, but it gave him an opening.
“No
problem.”
Scott
needed air and Betty thought it best if he went alone. She was planning to
scrub the kitchen floor.
“That
way we won’t be tripping on each other.”
“Yeah.
I’m a little too used to my independence.” He smiled, getting the same feeling
he’d had more than once in the last couple of days.
He
had laughed, of course—over the years. He had a few friends, a few
acquaintances. If someone told a joke, of course Scott would laugh.
But
this was different. This was smiling. Almost as if it came naturally.
She
kissed him on the cheek and the cane was pressed into his hand.
“It
is kind of a small place, even just for the two of us.”
“Is
there anything we need? Milk, maybe?”
“Yes.
We could use milk. And tea bags.”
He
nodded, and Scott smiled again. Fuck, what a thrill. His heart leapt. It had
been doing that a bit lately…
“Kissy-kiss?”
At one time he would have thought anyone who said that a proper fool.
Not
anymore.
She
took him in her arms and Scott wrapped his free arm around her. Their lips met
and Scott enjoyed some tongue and one or two thoughts for later.
“Bye,
lover.”
“Bye.”
Fuck,
I never thought I would say that again. Or maybe I never have said it.
The
latch snapped open and then Scott was through the door and into the hallway.
Crap,
with her there it was like he didn’t want to leave, but routine had its role.
Scott,
as often as not, enjoyed his walk to Mel’s on the corner, where the stock was
never moved.
He’d
stopped going to the big supermarket when the new manager had gotten on some
kind of efficiency kick and moved everything in the place. While moving the
aisles and rearranging the shelves, the freezer cabinets and everything, might
have found another couple hundred square feet of retail shelf space, Scott, he
sort of took it as a personal insult.
He’d
walked in, making it in through the turnstile no problem, and then walked
smack-dab into some kind of a low display. He never did figure out what that
was.
Scott
caught it with a hip. His pocket or his jacket snagged a corner, he
over-balanced, and then he went down, falling on the slender stick and breaking
it.
Being
the centre of attention of a bunch of strangers that he couldn’t even see was
embarrassing.
Their
comments, their voices, were just a stream of meaningless noise. They all had
something to say. It was a good thing he couldn’t see them, he was sure he would
have punched somebody. He hated humanity at that moment, and of course they had
to help him up, all worried about him.
The
staff had to get someone to lead him around while he did his shopping—minimal
as it was.
All
them fucking apologies grated on him, when all he wanted was to be left alone.
The stock boy who took him home hadn’t been properly briefed. Scott thought the
kid had forgotten exactly where he lived until a couple of days later when the
store manager showed up at his door with a new white cane for him.
More
apologies, and Scott had been barely polite to the man.
Fucking
asshole. I’ll never shop there again, Buddy. Give it up. And fuck you, too.
If
they were looking for some feel-good publicity, Scott sure as hell wasn’t going
to give it to them.
But
today was a better day, in fact a wonderful day. It was a rare event in Scott’s
experience.
The
breeze was warm, and the birds were noisy and cheerful, the air was wet and the
smell of fermenting dog-shit everywhere you turned was a portent of spring. The
traffic was just as heavy as usual. Somehow the cars, trucks and buses didn’t
seen quite so threatening, not so cold and impersonal anymore.
The
chess players, and the men with Italian accents playing bocce-ball in the park,
ignored him.
They
never minded the cold either. Italians were full of life. No one ever heard of
a depressed Italian.
Crossing
the street held no terrors for Scott anymore.
He
had acquired a kind of fatalism over the years. It was a way of dealing with
things.
It
would happen someday.
Once
you accepted it, things got better. Scott felt kind of sorry, even ahead of
time, for the poor bastard who was slated to kill him. Just make sure you do it
right. Don’t leave me in a fucking wheelchair, okay, Buddy?
Do
it right.
Man,
that is one dark thought, and yet he couldn’t quite shrug it off, either.
Fuck,
I wouldn’t wish that on anybody. That is one burden I will never have to bear.
Now
he had something to live for. Why does the chicken cross the road, anyways?
He’d done it a million times, and this time was no different. The ‘pong’ of the
signal changing and the sound of cars accelerating was a reminder of pain,
death and injury, but so far, he’d been lucky.
You
had to admit that. So far, no one had run him over. Yet a forty-two year old
man on a bicycle had been killed by a pickup truck at this very intersection
just a couple of weeks ago…
Sticking
close to the storefronts, he found the fourth doorway to the left of the
intersection of Queen and Main streets.
The
laundromat was busy, always on a Saturday, with the smells of laundry, the
voices of women and small children coming vaguely through the wall. There was
the sound of rotating dryers and squelching washing machines, the latter of
which, if you overloaded them, would leave a crust of dry soap on your clothes
because the water wouldn’t penetrate all the way through. On a tight budget,
Scott had only done that once or twice, as doing the wash cost two dollars and
seventy-five cents per load. It was a big city, after all.
Life
might be cheaper someplace else.
Scott
held the bag and the stick in the same hand. Going up was a lot easier although
he had fallen once, losing his grip on the handrail. Sliding down six or seven
steps, he was banged up on the shins, his left wrist hurt like hell. His
bananas were squashed and there was one tomato that he never did find. His
temper had been well and truly sparked that day.
 |
| Sarah Chester. |
He
had said a few things, at least until Mrs. Jarvis came out and stood at the top
of the landing, asking stupid question and quavering, which he had always hated
in a person. Of course the lady insisted on helping him.
That
made two of them on the stairs, and it was all he could do not to tell the old
lady to fuck off, get the hell out of my way—and leave me the fuck alone.
He
was just coming to the second-floor landing, tapping his way along, holding the
handrail, as it was easy enough to put a foot wrong and go tumbling down the
stairs.
There
was the sound of a door.
“Mister
Nettles?”
It
was a hell of a lot easier to be nice today. Just one of the many benefits of
having a girlfriend, he supposed.
“Yes,
Missus Jarvis?”
“Mister
Nettles, I need to speak to you about something.”
Scott
didn’t hesitate, although standing around in small talk could very easily
disorient him.
He
navigated the last few risers, tapping and banging the stick around so she
would get back in her apartment and leave him room.
“Hi.
So. What’s up?”
“Well.
It’s just that I was worried about you.”
“What?
About me? Why?”
“Well.
I heard some noises, and I wondered if you were okay.”
“Noises?”
The sounds of traffic came up from the street below and Mrs. Jarvis had the TV
on in her
apartment.
“Last
night…er…”
Scott
almost laughed aloud at the doubtful tone.
“Oh.
I’m so sorry. It’s just that the walls are thin.” And his bedroom was directly
above hers,
most
probably. “We’ll try to keep it down, and I am sorry about that.”
Scott
took a step.
“Mister
Nettles…”
He
stopped.
“Yes?”
“You’re
the only one listed on the lease, and you are supposed to inform me if your
circumstances change.”
“Oh,
well. Yes.”
No
pets. No parties, no unnecessary noise after eleven p.m. While she had rattled
off the terms of the lease when he rented the place, that was years ago. He
didn’t recall anything about circumstances.
“It’s
just that I rented to one person…”
“Ah,
yes.” Scott was the only one in the building who didn’t have a dog or a cat.
The
perfectly rational fear of tripping on the animal, falling and breaking the
thing’s back or leg was a compelling one, and he had never been able to bring
himself to take the risk.
“Well,
okay. We’ll have a talk and then decide what we’re going to do.”
“Thank
you, Mister Nettles.”
He
could go on, but she had brought up an important issue.
Not
unexpectedly, she took the grocery bag from him and then followed behind,
breathing noisily and grunting as she took the stairs.
Scott
opened the door. He extended his hand and the weight dragged his arm down.
She
wasn’t leaving and he repressed a deep sigh.
I
suppose I really ought to be grateful.
“Betty?
There’s someone here that I would like you to meet."
There
was dead silence in the apartment. Fear stabbed at Scott.
He
moved in through the door and of course Missus Jarvis had no option but to come
in. Scott had endured worse.
“Betty?
Betty?”
“I
didn’t hear anyone go out.” She seemed mystified.
“All
right, well, maybe she’s doing laundry or something.”
Mrs.
Jarvis hovered right there at his elbow.
“Look,
if she’s not here then she’s not here. I’ll tell you what, Missus Jarvis. I’ll
bring her down
and
introduce you a little bit later, okay?”
“Well…”
That doubtful tone again.
He
grinned.
“I’m
a big boy, I can look after myself.” He wasn’t all that eager to show Betty
off, as deep down inside he had some doubts of his own.
The
odds were she’d be gone soon enough. The thought was enough to make him sag a
little in the knees.
“Would
you like me to put your groceries away?”
“Ah,
no thank you, Missus Jarvis.” The one time he let her do that, she’d cleaned
out and rearranged his fridge, which meant that for weeks afterward, he hadn’t
been able to find anything.
“All
right, then. I’ll leave you to it.”
Scott
gently closed the door behind her and the sounds of her stumping off down the
hallway were plain enough. He pried off his shoes, the toe of one foot against
the heel of the other.
He
would untie them only before putting them on again. A knot in a shoe-lace was
disaster, and so he left them a bit loose. Sometimes he could squeeze them on
without the bother of untying and tying them.
The
toilet flushed, the bathroom door opened and then Betty’s aroma was right
there.
“Sorry,
honey. But she’s not that bad. She’s just curious.”
Scott
moved into the kitchen, after carefully leaning his stick in the usual place.
He put the grocery bag on the kitchen table.
She
took his jacket and he heard her go to the front hall.
“Betty?
Are you okay?”
“Yes,
Scott.”
“It’s
just that you seem kind of quiet this morning.”
She
took his hand and led him to his lumpy old armchair in the living room. He
eased himself down into it. She was standing right there.
“Sounds
like we’re going to get some weather.”
“Yes,
Scott.”
The
TV nattered away softly as the team on the Weather Network cheerfully
speculated as to
how
bad the coming line of thunderstorms would be. The cold front was just to the
west, minutes away by their urgent tones.
“She’s
just curious, more than anything. She’s never heard a woman up here, I suppose.
And as for the lease—after a year, that means nothing. I mean, it’s only for
twelve months. I don’t think she’ll make problems.”
“Scott.”
“Hmn.
It’s okay, Betty, I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“Scott.
We need to talk.”
“Yes?”
Still smiling at his thoughts—Missus Jarvis was in her late fifties and it
occurred to Scott that she might be a little jealous.
There
was just a shit-load of lonely people in the world when you thought about it.
“There’s
something I need to tell you.”
His
mouth opened and the dull tone, the seriousness of it sunk in.
“What
is it, Honey?”
His
guts went cold and his heart picked up.
Of
course.
There
is something she needs to tell me.
The
thought of losing her lanced through him. And yet it really was inevitable...wasn't it?
“Huh.
Okay." This had to be it, didn't it? "Why don’t we sit down and you can tell me all about it.”
END
Hopefully
we can get the next segment out by Friday evening next week.
