Page 21 of The Space Between

CHAPTER 8

Jeanie

Vicki is just being herself:flirting outrageously, telling bawdy stories, laughing too loudly. Jeanie has grown used to the way Vicki is, and it doesn't even bother her anymore at home, but now that Vicki is here, amongst her male coworkers, telling a story about a time when she'd drunk so much vodka that two young sailors had to carry her out of a bar and watch her through the night while she slept it off on a park bench, Jeanie feels slightly embarrassed.

But not overtly so (she does her best not to judge other people or to feel any sort of shame on their behalf); it's more the kind of mild mortification that a teenager feels when her mother does something that embarrasses her, so she watches and listens with detachment as Vicki roars with laughter, slapping the table and then downing the rest of her beer. The men, as Jeanie observes them, seem tickled enough by Vicki. They listen to her tales with rapt attention, laughing in all the appropriate places. Not for the first time, Jeanie thinks that it might actually be nice to be a bit more like Vicki: open-hearted, open-minded, and easy with a laugh.Maybe it's something that will come with age,Jeanie thinks.Maybe someday I'll be able to tell stories to a table full of men and keep them hanging on my every word.

She glances over at the wives of her coworkers, who are knotted on the pool deck and seemingly always keeping one eye on the children as they talk intently. Dave Huggins is leaning against the fence, snapping shots of everyone as unobtrusively as he can, and after a bit, he slips out the side gate and disappears, most likely off to photograph another event where NASA employees are celebrating the holiday. Jo and Frankie are sharing a cigarette, and every so often Jeanie feels the gaze of one of the women on her, which makes her think she should get up and go over to make conversation with them. However, that would entail leaving Vicki with the men, and she isn't sure that's such a great idea, either.

"What's on your mind, Miss Florence?" Bill asks her, leaning across the picnic table slightly to form their own little conversation inside the bubble of the laughter and talk from the others. Bill has already grilled up a big batch of burgers and the kids are happily eating by the pool, but the adults are still drinking, finishing their first plates of food, and waiting for him to grill another round.

Jeanie smiles. "Not much. I'm just enjoying being here. Thanks again for inviting us." Her eyes flick in Vicki's direction just as Vicki throws her head back and laughs again.

"Don't worry about her," Bill says in a low voice. "She's a hoot, and the other guys are entertained."

"Your wives aren't," Jeanie says before she can catch herself.

Bill looks in their direction. "They're fine. A party is a party, and you're going to bring in a few unknown elements every time you open the door and let people in, right? Sometimes a friend will drink too much and say things they regret later, or maybe someone brings a guest along who is new to the group."He glances at Vicki again. "It's all good. Makes things more interesting, you know?"

Jeanie looks at the red-and-white checkered tablecloth beneath her elbows. "You have a lovely home," she says, turning her eyes up to Bill's. "But I will admit, it's kind of weird to see where someone lives. You only see them at work, you know? So you only know a person in one context, and then all of a sudden you see them in the place where they eat and sleep, and it's like you're meeting them all over again for the first time."

"Tell me about where you live," Bill says, lifting his chin just slightly at her as he rests his weight on his elbows. The conversation continues to flow around them as they lean in to talk over the table.

Jeanie laughs. "I live in a condominium community designed for 'active seniors' who enjoy things like bingo, sunbathing, and being nosy."

It's Bill's turn to laugh. "I think people are genetically programmed to be nosy as they get older."

"They're harmless," Jeanie says, lifting one shoulder. "For the most part. There are a lot of them who have grandsons they'd like me to meet, but other than that, I enjoy them. Several of the men drive golf carts around the community, and a few of the women know everything that's going on. If you stop to chat for long enough, they'll make sure you know it all, too."

"And do you enjoy that--partaking of the gossip?"

"Well, I guess if it's Mrs. Parsnip telling me how Mr. Axelrod gets confused and thinks she's his late wife and won't stop patting her on the behind when they see each other, I can live without it. But I do like to listen to them talk about life. A few of the older people have stories about the Oregon Trail. Their families crossed the country by covered wagon, and they were born just after Lincoln's assassination. It's fascinating to me when they reminisce."

"Sounds like it," Bill says, still watching her face as she talks. "People have the most interesting stories. I'm a big reader of non-fiction."

"Me too!" Jeanie says. "And biographies. Have you read the one on W. E. B. Du Bois that came out right before he died?"

"The one that came out last year? Loved it." Bill's eyes dance with enthusiasm. "I think history and the understanding of it is the foundation of this country. We need to learn it, understand it, and see where we've fallen short. Otherwise we're?—"

"Doomed to repeat it," Jeanie finishes for him.

"Exactly." Bill takes a satisfied swig of his beer, and Jeanie can see that the armpits of his t-shirt are ringed with sweat from the humid July afternoon.

"What do you suppose Du Bois would think of what's going on today—with the Civil Rights Act last month?"

"Oh, wow," Bill says. He clearly relishes the idea. "I think he'd be a huge proponent of the changes that are underway in our country."

Jeanie is tugging on her earlobe as she thinks, turning and twisting her small diamond earring absentmindedly. "I know. Just imagine?—“

“Bill,” Todd Roman interrupts. “Are we gonna throw some more meat on the barbecue? The natives are getting restless here, and I brought steaks. Want me to grab them from the fridge?”

“Oh, sure, sure,” Bill says, standing up. He looks at Jeanie regretfully. “Sorry. I’ve been called into active duty. Pick this conversation up again later?”

Jeanie smiles at him. “Of course. No worries.”

The smell of marinated steak on the grill fills the backyard within minutes, and the kids, who have finished eating, are back to hurling themselves into the pool and asking how much longer until it’s dark enough for fireworks.

Jeanie moves down the picnic bench so that she’s closer to Vicki, who is talking to Vance Majors. Vance’s wife, Jude, crosses the yard and sits right next to her husband, inserting herself between Vicki and Vance. It’s a territorial move, enhanced by the way Jude puts a hand at the base of Vance’s neck and strokes the hair that curls there as she looks right at Vicki.

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