Wendy Chapter 6: The Wrong Side Of the Tracks

Wendy and Eric have more in common than Wendy thought

CHAPTER SIX: The Wrong Side of the Tracks

 

I did all in my power to avoid Dave over the next week, but I couldn't avoid him on Friday. It was time for my six month progress report. With Sheila, this had been a perfunctory formality. I did a good job, we both knew it, and she filled out the form with “satisfactory” on every line. What would happen with Dave I dreaded to find out.

 

But first, Wednesday was my lunch date with Uncle Philip. It was a beautiful, cloudless day. When I approached Uncle Philip in the atrium of the mall, I picked him out of the crowd, sitting on the edge of the fountain. He looked tired and the bright light showed up his pallor. He hadn’t looked good the last time we had lunch either. He was getting older, but was hardly in his dotage. Until our last lunch, he had been a vigorous 63 year old man. He looked far less vigorous today. When I drew near, he caught sight of me and waved. After a kiss on the cheek, he inspected me from head to foot. I was wearing the cowboy boots with jeans and a white blouse, accompanied by my dangly silver earrings.

 

“I approve. You look much better in light colors, and those boots make the outfit.” I smiled, but felt a tinge of worry. Up close, he looked even more unwell.

 

We joined the crowd of shoppers as some examined the window displays and others moved more purposefully. The restaurant was dark and forested as usual. The heavy scent of Italian cooking tantalized me; I was famished. When we were tucked into our grove of ferns and ficus, I scanned the menu. Feeling decadent, I chose fettuccine Alfredo.

 

After some small talk about the fashions we’d seen on display, Uncle Philip’s eyes crinkled and he smiled devilishly at me.

 

“How’s tall, dark and handsome?”

 

“His name is Eric and he’s fine. He came over the other night and we sat on the porch.”

 

“You’re a smart girl,” he said with affection in his voice. “No sense in rushing. Getting there is half the fun.”

 

“I’m sure not going the same route as my mother. I learned from mom’s mistakes, thank God.”

 

“And how is Pam?”

 

“Pam is…  Pam . You know how she is.”

 

Talk moved on and I dug into my pasta with relish.

 

My concern returned when I noted his lack of appetite. He toyed with his lasagna, only taking a few bites.

 

“Uncle Philip, are you OK?”

 

“I’m feeling a little under the weather, now that you ask. Maybe I’ll see Dr. Zimmerman this week.”

 

“Please do. You don’t look well.”

 

My pasta swimming in rich sauce was now too heavy and I pushed away my plate.

 

Not much later, we paid up and I parted from Uncle Philip, anxiety lingering long after I got home.

 

***

 

 

Right after my break on Friday, Dave called me into his lair, giving me a strange, unpleasant smile, as if he knew something I didn't. The only chair available stood next to his desk. I was seated so close I could see the wrinkles around his clouded blue eyes. With just a desk between us, we were almost knee to knee. I suppressed a shudder with difficulty. He wore some acrid cologne or aftershave, sharp and unpleasant.

 

He shuffled some papers unnecessarily. I could see the form on top. With an air of showmanship, he drew the paper to himself. Pretending to read, he shook his head.

 

“Wendy, your record isn't very good. You've been verbally reprimanded twice for tardiness, three times you failed room inspection. But much worse is your personal conduct. The hotel cannot condone fraternization between employees on the premises. You allowed, you invited,” here he paused for emphasis, “another employee into a room you were occupying due to inclement weather. The hotel does not give you free lodging so you can indulge your desires.” He said this last with a leer.

 

I couldn't deny Eric had been in my room.

 

“I'm willing to overlook this licentious behavior... if you can convince me you have changed your ways, that you regret your actions. I'll allow you to prove this to me. How do you think you can do that?” He sat back, fingers laced over his paunch.

 

“I cannot do so because I am innocent.” I said this with as much formality as I could gather, my spine straight, my eyes fixed on his. “I have a year's worth of satisfactory progress reports and have earned employee of the month twice. I will stand on my record if you choose to pursue this course of action.”

 

“That's unwise, Wendy.” All pretense slid off his face and he glared malevolently at me. “I can make your life hell. And you can kiss a good reference goodbye, so lots of luck getting a new job in the hospitality industry.”

 

He stood. “Get back to work.” His voice had a whip crack in it.

 

I managed to get through the rest of my rooms and clock out. Exhausted, I drew a bath when I got home, hoping to relax and bring myself down from this adrenaline peak. Sliding into the hot water hurt a little at first but I adjusted to the heat. I slipped down so only my mouth and nose were not immersed. Rotating my head, I reveled in the sensuous motion of my hair, feeling tension flowing out. Rubbing my skin with French lavender soap brought me back to pure sensation, no thoughts. No Dave, no Brenda, no HR, no problems. I was toweling off when I heard my phone. It was the ringtone I'd chosen for Pam, Beethoven's Fifth. Not bothering to hurry, I hung my towel on the rod and put on my robe. I wasn't going to undo all my stress relief to be asked for a ride. I thought Ross was supposed to pick her up anyway.

 

“Come and get me.” No greeting, no niceties, but for once I heard something besides selfish demand. Pam sounded... scared.

 

“What's wrong? What happened?”

 

“Just come and get me. Please.”

 

“Okay, I'm coming. You're at work?”

 

I tossed on some clothes, gathered wallet and phone, got the car in gear and sped off. If Pam said please, she must be very scared indeed.

 

She was standing outside Taco Hut, her arms folded, but in a self-protective gesture, for once not radiating anger. Just as I beeped the horn, Ross came into view. He was approaching Pam from behind. I pointed and Pam turned. Phone at the ready, I jumped out of the car and ran across the parking lot. Ross had started shouting.

 

“You w***e. I saw you with him. You can't do this to me,” he was bellowing. Just as he reached out a hand to grab her arm, I was at her side.

 

“I'm calling the police. Don't touch her.” I was dialing 911 that very second. At first I thought he was drunk. His rage made spittle form in the corner of his mouth and his eyes shine and his hands shake. He made fists to stop the shaking. Meanwhile, I was going through the 911 litany.

 

“What is your emergency, fire, medical or police?”

 

“Police. Someone is getting violent.”

 

“State your location please.”

 

“Taco Hut, um...” I looked around, found the black and gold self-adhesive numerals above the door. “Taco Hut, 1439 Airport Road.”

 

“What is the nature of your emergency?”

 

“Someone is disturbing the peace and threatening physical violence.” I glared at Ross, daring him to hit me while I was on the phone with the police, recording every sound.

 

He saw I was serious and put his hands up as he backed away.

 

“Can you give me a description?”

 

“I can give you his name, Ross Jobbs.”

 

“We need a physical description please.”

 

“He's about six feet tall, short curly brown hair, um...”

 

“What is he wearing?”

 

Now Ross had turned tail and was beating feet to his black Charger.

 

“Ma'am, he's left. He's not hurting anyone.”

 

“I'll need to send an officer out to take a report anyway.”

 

It was wearisome, waiting for the police. They came a half hour later, which was pretty good considering it was Friday night. Finally all the questions and paper shuffling were over. Pam and I got in the car.

 

In a tiny voice Pam said, “Thank you.”

 

Our ride back to the house was silent, Pam’s tears making tracks through her makeup. When we got home, Pam headed towards her room.

 

“Pam, we have to talk.” I gestured her to the sofa. She sat and I pulled up the ottoman, so I could see her face. “How long has this been going on?”

 

“He doesn't mean to do it. He can't help it when he gets mad.”

 

“He can help it. Millions and millions of people get mad and do not hit other people. If they can control themselves, he can too.”

 

Pam was bent over, silently crying, allowing her tears to fall into her lap, making dark spots on her uniform trousers.

 

“It's okay, Pam, we'll figure this out. You can get a restraining order. Things will work out.”

 

“But he loves me.”

 

“He does not love you. If he loved you he wouldn't hurt you.”

 

"How would you know, little Miss Perfect? How would you know what it's like to have no one love you? Ross loves me! No one else does, but Ross does!"

 

"Pam, I love you. You're my sister."

 

"Sure you do. Always off with Uncle Philip, him buying you clothes all the time, taking you out to lunch. Why doesn't he ever buy me things, take me out to lunch?"

 

"Uncle Philip tells me he's asked you to lunch as well, and that you said no."

 

"I was scared."

 

"Scared?"

 

"Mom said he'd give me AIDS."

 

"Pam, you can't have it both ways. You can't say no to lunch and say yes to lunch at the same time. I am sure Uncle Philip would invite you if he thought you might accept his invitation."

 

"Sure, go ahead and be all superior. You always were."

 

"What does that mean? I’m not superior."

 

"Teachers liked you better, mom liked you better, Uncle Philip liked you better, Jeanette liked you better."

 

Jeanette? We were friends in fifth grade.

 

"How long have you felt this way?"

 

"You've always been better than me. Look at you now, a car, a good job, a perfect boyfriend. All I've ever had was Ross. Ross isn't perfect but he cares about me."

 

"It's hard to care for someone if they push you away. Pam, you've been rude to me, you've been rude to Uncle Philip. We still care about you, but you wouldn't let us in."

 

"Sure, it's always my fault."

 

I looked at Pam. She was sunk deep in the couch cushions, arms folded, makeup streaked by tears. I'd never known she harbored such deep wounds, such deep resentment. I guess neither of us got out unscathed by our mother's neglect and chaotic lifestyle. Perhaps if our mother had shown more affection, Pam wouldn't have fled into Ross' arms.

 

"You don't have to trade being hurt for being loved. Uncle Philip and I both care about you. Listen, Pam, things can change for you, but you have to change too. You deserve better than Ross." I got up. "C'mon, let me make you some tea."

 

She said nothing, just continued blotting her eyes, trying  not to smear her makeup even more.

 

I made some valerian root tea, which Pam accepted silently. I sat while she sipped.

 

When the tea seemed to be relaxing her, I asked, "Will you say yes if Uncle Philip invites you to lunch?"

 

Pam nodded.

 

“I’ll ask him to call you. But Ross is forbidden the house. He cannot come here.”

 

***

 

It was just past eleven when Eric called. He wanted to know how the progress report went. I filled him in on that, then launched into the Ross story.

 

“You're safe? You're okay?”

 

“I doubt he'll come here. He knows I mean business.”

 

I convinced Eric I didn't need his presence to prevent Ross from attacking us. I wasn't sure that having a man around wouldn't help. That is the sort of thing stupid men like Ross pay attention to. But I didn't want any more complications.

 

“I'm off tomorrow. Are you?”

 

“Yes. Let's talk then, okay? I'm tired.” We hung up.

 

***

 

The next day I woke at eight, surprised I'd fallen asleep so quickly and slept so late. I decided to make blueberry pancakes. Why not live a little? You never know when you might have a raging bull of a man threatening you with violence. I thought of Uncle Philip. You might as well grab what you can.

 

Pam stumbled out just as I was sliding the first pancake onto a warmed plate. I handed it to her. She was groggy, hair sticking up in odd directions, eyes circled. She took it with a murmur of thanks. Two thanks in as many days... such civility. I placed the hot maple syrup on the table. Soon we were both tucking into pancakes.

 

“I have to work today. Can you give me a ride?” That valerian root knocked her on her a*s. I'd rarely seen her so subdued.

 

I got her to work at 10:15, then ventured to call Eric.

 

“Hi, how are you doing?” His simple question was asking about Dave, Ross, Pam, everything, but I didn't want to get into that.

 

“I'm doing okay and want to do something normal. I've had enough craziness. Would you like to have coffee this afternoon?”

 

“Yeah, but are you--”

 

“Yes, I'm okay. I just want to get some stuff done and have coffee like an ordinary person.”

 

What I got done was a thorough cleaning of the bathroom and the kitchen, a load of laundry, then a long hot shower, followed by a sandwich for lunch. I met Eric at the coffee shop at one. Even in my distracted state, Eric stood out as the most handsome man there… tall, dark and handsome was Uncle Philip’s description, but that didn’t describe his grace and ease. How did I deserve such a man?

 

We settled under a spreading oak tree at a café table with iced coffees to stave off the heat. Eric tried to stay away from the two topics I wanted to avoid, Ross and Dave, but I gave in. He was so distressed on my behalf he obviously couldn't think of anything else.

 

“You stood between him and Pam?” he wanted to know about Ross.

 

“Not between them, but I was right there next to her. I wasn't going to let him hurt my sister.”

 

“Weren't you afraid he'd come after you?”

 

“He now knows I won't hesitate to call the police, which makes things less fun for him. And he'll probably come after Pam, which means I will be there anyway. Plus,” I admitted, “he pissed me off and I didn't care at the time.”

 

“Wow, here I thought you were a shrinking violet. You've got some balls.”

 

“You don't mess with my sister. And I hate woman beaters. I saw enough of that to last a lifetime and that is one thing I don't put up with.”

 

I sipped my drink and looked at the shadows of the oak leaves playing across the ground.

 

“The thing I really worry about is Pam going back to him.” I looked up into Eric's eyes. “That's my real fear.”

 

“She wouldn't go back after he hit her, would she? Now that she knows what he's like?”

 

“This wasn't the first time. She already knew what he was like and stayed with him anyway. She... she thinks he loves her and that it is her fault he gets so mad. Just like our mom and Bruce.” I took a deep breath. “Bruce lived with us from when Pam was eight to eleven, very formative years. Being older, I saw things differently. Bruce could be so kind and caring when he wanted forgiveness. I never forgot the bad things he did, but Pam would. Just like mom.”

 

I watched the shadows of the leaves again.

 

“Well, I can't control what happens there,” I said. “I can't control Dave either. But I found out some stuff online.”

 

I explained to Eric that I had two potential avenues for recourse. I could turn to the hotel HR department or I could file a complaint with the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission, the EEOC.

 

“I don't want money. I just want Dave gone. I want to be awarded raises and promotions based on my work ability, not my willingness to carouse with an ugly old man.” I had other words I could have used, but I had been instructed by Uncle Philip that ladies don't say such things. “And I sure don't want to have to touch that man in order to keep my job.” I shuddered at the idea. “Brenda said she could give me a good reference if I wanted to quit and work at another hotel. But I'll be damned first. All I want is no harassment. No man is going to drive me away.”

 

It took a lot to piss me off, but once you did, look out. People often underestimated me. By the look on his face, Eric had too. It was a bit comical. I smiled.

 

“Not your normal meek Wendy, eh?”

 

“You're a real firebrand. I had no idea.” His eyes were still wide.

 

“But it's going to be hard. I won't be able to simply say Hey guys, Dave is doing this thing that is against the law and expect anyone to do anything. HR will want to keep everything quiet and avoid liability. The EEOC is an uphill battle because I'd be going up against the hotel, not Dave.”

 

“What are you going to do?”

 

“Try HR first. See if they will be reasonable and conduct a legitimate investigation. Then we'll see.”

 

We had lingered so long, all the ice in our glasses was melted. My stomach announced it was dinner time.

 

“I'm hungry. Let's do something about dinner.”

 

“We can go out for dinner. On me.”

 

“I would rather cook. It's therapeutic for me.”

 

We decided on lemon pepper chicken with rice and a salad. Back home, Eric leaned against a kitchen counter while I pounded three chicken breasts to an even thickness. That noisy task done, I washed my hands.

 

“Eric, you mentioned a brother-in-law. You have a sister?” I wanted to relax, get our minds off Dave.

 

“Yes, she lives in Arizona. You can meet her at the family reunion.”

        

Family reunion? He wanted me to go to his family reunion? That was a big deal. Things were going a bit fast.

 

“She has two sons,” he was continuing.

 

I was still stuck on the family reunion. As I listened, I cut two lemons in half and got out my green depression-glass hand juicer. No one had ever been proud enough of me to introduce me to their whole family.

 

“The youngest can already talk,” the proud uncle bragged on.

 

Our city was still small enough and old-fashioned enough to care which side of the rail road tracks people came from, and I definitely came from the wrong side, East Aiken itself. I might live in hard-working Aiken now, but I had the East Aiken taint.

 

I leaned in on the lemons, using my body weight to force the juice out. My mother was still living up to the stereotype of trailer trash.

 

“Wow, you're really killing those lemons.”

 

I poured off the lemon juice, keeping the pulp and seeds in the juicer. “That's the way we do it in East Aiken. Kill them lemons dead.” I reverted to the speech of my caste.

 

“That's what my grandmother used to say,” he said happily. “She was from East Aiken too.”

 

It was Eric's turn to surprise me. Here I'd thought he was a privileged child of impeccable descent. He was just one generation out of the slums I'd come from. Fetching the pepper mill from the kitchen table, I turned the crank with a much lighter heart.

 

“When she moved in with my Aunt Fiona, she didn't want to give up her handgun. She is one feisty lady. You reminded me of her when you were talking about Dave.” He stroked my back and kissed my cheek. “I like strong women.” I turned towards him, wrapping myself in his embrace.

 

***

 

 

After dinner, Eric and I retired to the porch swing. It was a cool evening and we were sitting in the soft darkness, the porch light off. We lived on a quiet street. That's why I noticed the black Charger drive by twice.

 

    “Oh s**t, Ross.” I was up and to the porch light. When the Charger came around a third time, I was standing prominently on the front steps with my phone in hand and the house was lit up like Sunset Strip. The Charger burned rubber getting out of there.

 

Being the gentleman he was, Eric offered to stay the night, sleeping on the couch. But I figured, the way he peeled out Ross had no intention to come back. At least, not tonight. But he had been thinking about Pam, which was not good.

Author's Note

I am, as always, open to any comments or observations.

Reviews

[Shannon]

I really enjoyed seeing more of Wendy's backbone here. And the very realistic way she describes the situation to Eric.

The dialogue between Wendy and Pam discussing the abuse feels a bit awkward at times.

We are losing Eric's character again I think.

Overall, I think the writing rings true and the situation very realistic.

[SweetNutmeg]

Thank you for reading and reviewing. I agree the Pam & Wendy talk after Ross is sort of jumpy and awkward. I'll go back and work on that.

Eric really is a Gary Stu. He's a flat character who serves no purpose other than to be Wendy's love interest. He's way too perfect and has no story arc of his own. I wrote this before I knew what a story arc was, before I'd had flat and round characters explained to me. So poor Eric will remain forever flat, with no story of his own. However, I now know what NOT to do with love interest/side characters.

I really lucked out on my research for this story. I got connected with a woman who used to investigate harassment and hostile work environment stuff for a big company. She told me how things usually go down and how she behaved while interviewing, the things that can be proved, the things that can't, how investigations proceed. Super helpful lady. I met her through Yahoo! Answers.

[Shannon]

I hear you about learning. Nice to have people helping with accurate details!

[Shep]

so good to have a man around the saying goes. Another great chapter Dave better watch back Ross should Dave should be bed buddies in a bad prison movie.

[SweetNutmeg]

LOL I think Dave would have a very hard time in prison. Thanks once again!

[AUU]

Things are getting stressful for Wendy. I'm interested in more of her past, like why she's working the hotel industry as a housekeeper.

I don't think too may incidents are happening. If you think you want more of a roller coaster, maybe switch up the order a bit.

Dave.
Ross.
Philip
Ross.

I do feel as though too many outside incidents are happening to Wendy. We have Dave angry at her for literally not doing anything, then there's Uncle Philip's health, and now Ross and Pam. I'd like to see Wendy be the one who creates the trouble, to make a decision she thinks is the right one, but instead it causes herself grief.

Overall this well written.

Some comments.

1."Until our last lunch, he had been a vigorous 63." Do you mean a 63-year-old man?

2. "Up close, he looked unwell." This line confused me. I think it's because you already said he looked unwell from afar, so up close, one would think he looked even poorer.

3. I love that Dave has a lair. Guy is a reasonable a*****e.

4. I like Pam's conflict with Wendy, albeit it's a bit of a cliche. I think it does well in exploring their relationship, and it makes you wonder how s****y Pam's life really must be if she think's her sister's job at a hotel is perfect.

5. "Pam slamming the front door shut interrupted our kiss.

She mumbled Hello before wandering off with her phone, entering a text, her usual rude self. I went back to my pepper grinding, then started melting butter in a frying pan."

I think these events read a bit awkwardly. When I think of a slamming door, I think of it as a statement, an exclamation. When I read it, it kind of just happens. Does that make sense? It might be because we know Pam slammed the door. I'm sorry if this is confusing.

6. I like the visual cue of the Charger. It's a nice touch, but maybe have Wendy notice it earlier in the day, give the detail some breadth.

Keep it up!

[SweetNutmeg]

Thank you for pointing those awkward places. I took care of those.

Working at a hotel is definitely a step up from Taco Hut, so yeah, Pam's life is pretty s****y. Personally I'd rather do nothing but clean toilets all day than do fast food work. Worst job of my life.

I see what you mean about things just sort of happening to Wendy. I'm taking that into consideration in my new work. I super appreciate you pointing that out. I'm not sure I can fix that in "Wendy," but it is VERY helpful for "Home Free," the new piece I am working on. All of your feedback is really helping me with "Home Free."

You're getting me thinking about constructing plot and motivation and all kinds of other good things. Thank you for all your help.