"Hi. Can I help you find anything?"
"I'm just looking."
"I don't recall seeing you before. Are you new to town?"
"I am. My husband Damian and I just moved here last week." The lie so smoothly slipped off my tongue. I offered my hand. "I'm Thea Tate."
"Maureen Petersen."
"Is this your nursery?"
"It is."
"It's lovely. I'm wishing I brought the car."
"I may have gone a little overboard, but I just love decorating for fall."
I did too.
"I'll leave you to browse. If you need anything, I'll be inside."
"Thank you, Maureen."
It was amazing to me how nice people were here, so genuinely friendly. If I was more of a cynic, I'd been suspicious about what it was in their air supply that had them acting so nice.
After the nursery, I went for a ride. Maureen wasn't the only one who liked decorating for fall. Practically every house I passed had mums and pumpkins which got me wondering who had decorated the place we were staying at. Unless the neighbors took it on themselves so the house didn't stand out.
Two hours after I left the house, I returned to find Damian pacing in the living room. I hadn't even closed the door and he was on me. Right up in my face, pinning me to the wall. "Where the fuck were you?"
In the alley when he'd killed that man I hadn't been afraid, but I was afraid of him now. "The nursery. I left you a note."
"I was at the nursery. You weren't there."
"I went for a ride."
"Until this is over, I want to know where you are every second of the day."
"Okay."
He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck, the first sign of frustration I had seen from him.
"I'm sorry."
"No, I'm sorry. I just...when you weren't there … "
"Maybe we should find something to do with our evenings. Being platonic and alone together is taking a toll on both of us, but maybe we could find an activity or even a job."
"You want to get a job?"
"I want to get out of the house and talk to people."
"What kind of job are you looking for?"
"I don't know. I'm busy during the day with my design work, but something fun and easy."
"There's a bar on Main Street, Janice's. That place looks pretty happening."
"Waitressing is hard work, but it's a thought. I'm going to pound the pavement tomorrow and see what's available."
"Bring your cell and check in every half an hour."
"Okay."
"I'm going for a run."
"Again?"
"Yes." I could have sworn he added, "And a cold shower," as he walked out. He wasn't going to be able to keep his hands off me for much longer and that thought had me heading to my bathroom for a cold shower too.
"I'm sorry. It's all I have right now."
My first stop of the day in my hunt for a job was Charlie's Chicken Hut. I had thought I could work the register or fry up some chicken since I had worked in the fast food industry in college, but the only job available was a two-day a week afternoon gig of wearing the Charlie Chicken costume while walking up and down Main Street handing out free samples. I wanted social interaction but badly enough to wear a chicken outfit?
"Thank you for taking the time to talk with me."
"I hope you find something else, but if not, I'd be happy to have you."
Stepping outside, I put a question mark next to Charlie's Chicken Hut and moved to the next stop on my list. For the next two hours I was told thank you, but no thank you in more ways than I thought the words could be spoken. My future in Deadwood was not looking bright when Charlie's Chicken Hut was the best I was going to manage. I was taking a break, having a coffee at the local café, which had me missing Ryder and Kimber. We hadn't been here all that long and already I was homesick. I noticed the bar, Janice's, that Damian had mentioned, at the end of the street. It was only two in the afternoon and yet the foot traffic was impressive. He was right, the place was happening. It was hard work, but imagine all the people and conversations. I finished my coffee, popped a mint-coffee breath wasn't pleasant-and hurried across the street. I pulled the door open and immediately my eyes had to adjust to the dark interior. There was a huge, scarred wooden bar that ran along one whole wall and behind that bar were shelves of liquor that would put to shame many of the more upscale places in Manhattan. Tables dotted around the open floor plan. There were no cloths or flowers decorating them. It was just condiments, napkins and menus. Many of those tables were packed and based on the smells coming from the kitchen, I wasn't surprised. Two women, around my age, moved through the tables, collecting empties, dropping off lunches, topping off drinks. A man worked behind the bar, cleaning, refilling … obviously preparing for the evening. If the place was this packed during daylight, it was probably shoulder-to-shoulder at night. A woman appeared from the back and how I knew she was Janice, I couldn't say. Maybe by the way she moved like she owned the place or maybe in the confident set of her shoulders, the arrogant tilt of her chin, the no-nonsense look in her eyes. She was tall, five feet ten at least, long brown hair, but not brown like my hair, auburn brown that hinted at red from the lights shining down on it. Thickly lashed eyes the color of a forest shared a face with features that alone were perfect, put together were exquisite. I felt like a wilting flower, was beginning to think Charlie's Chicken Hut was not a bad idea.
"Can I help you?"
She even had a sexy voice. I felt a bit like a Disney character, cute in my perky way, but completely out of place next to this simmering diva of sexuality.
"I just moved to town and am looking for a job. I'm hitting the pavement today, popping into as many establishments along Main Street as I can."
She'd been carrying a tray of glasses, like forty or so, and she hadn't dropped a one. Settling the tray on the bar, she walked around it and I discovered she wasn't wearing heels.
"Do you have experience working tables?"
"Yes. In college."
"You went to college. Why do you want to work at a bar?"
I was surprised at how easily the white lie slipped from my tongue. I could totally rock this on the lam shit. "My last job burned me out and I love talking to people."
"When can you start?"
"Now."
She studied me for a good minute. "Ricki and Dee."
The waitresses appeared at her side. "What's your name?"
"Thea."
"Thea's going to take station three."
The girls smiled. If they were angry I was cutting into their tips, I couldn't tell.
"Alright, Thea, grab a tray and apron. We'll do a trial run and see how you do."
I was surprised she'd offered but I didn't hesitate to act. "Thank you."
"Thank me if you get the job."
She returned to the bar as one of the women reached for a tray and an apron and handed them to me. "Hey. I'm Ricki and this is Dee."
"Hi."
"You're the new girl who just moved here with your husband?" Dee asked.
"Yes."
"He's hot," Dee said. Ricki hit her in the arm. "What? He is."
"Station three is that far corner. If you need anything, just ask. The specials are on the board. Soft drinks and coffee are refilled for free. If anyone gives you any trouble, Mic … " She gestured to the bartender, " … will take care of them. But we don't usually see trouble, at least not with the locals."
I wasn't used to such solicitous people. It was refreshing how friendly everyone was in this town. "Thank you, Ricki."
"You bet. Welcome to Deadwood."
It had been a long time since I had worked as a waitress, but it was like riding a bike. The locals were very friendly, some of them a little too friendly but considering the real flirts were also pushing seventy, their attentions were charming not creepy. I was just finishing hour three of work when the door opened and Damian came barreling through it. It was only the sight of his unbelievably pissed off expression that I remembered I was supposed to be checking in every half an hour. I hadn't called him in over three hours. I waited for the bellow that would shake the building; he certainly looked like he could at that moment. Instead, he grabbed my arm with surprising care considering he looked about ready to flog me, and pulled me to a quiet corner.
"What the fuck."
"Sorry. I forgot."
"Sorry?"
"Yes, sorry."
It was fascinating watching him because he really looked like a man who was in imminent danger of his head flying off his shoulders. He wasn't wrong to be angry. We'd just had this conversation yesterday.
"How did you know I was here?" Sure he had suggested I check the place out, but how did he know I was actually here?
No answer, not surprising. I did feel badly so I sought to explain. "I took your suggestion and I'm interviewing for a job, trial run, and I've been moving nonstop for the past three hours, but I should have remembered to check in. I really am sorry, Damian."
"Where's your phone?"
I reached for my phone that was in my pocket. It was dead. I had forgotten to charge it. In fairness to me I wasn't big on cell phones, I rarely used it, but I had to get used to using it at least for a little while.