Castle Cay

Chapter 4

June 1989
Boston, Massachusetts

It's too damn hot for pants!

Julia scolded herself for wearing them as she pulled open the heavy glass showroom door. She sighed with relief as the cool air from inside washed over her. Straightening up, she tucked some stray locks of hair back into the tortoiseshell barrette at the nape of her neck, and looked around.

Five brand-new cars gleamed on the polished floor, and several curious male heads turned her way. Their gaze made her change her mind in a flash. She had gone back and forth over what to wear today; her blue summer dress and heels, or the tan slacks with a plain, white silk shirt and flats. Now, despite the heat, she was glad that she had opted for the latter.

She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and headed for the circular desk centered on the rear wall. A young, pretty brunette behind the desk looked up at her, smiling.

"Welcome to Solomon Chrysler. May I help you?"

"Yes. I'm Julia Danes. I'm here to see Mr. Soldano."

The girl pulled the big microphone toward her, pushed a button and intoned, "Mr. Soldano. Mr. Soldano. Front desk, please. Customer waiting."

"Oh, I'm not a customer," said Julia.

"I'm here for the job interview."

The brunette's brow creased into a puzzled frown. "You must want Mrs. Bennett, the Office Manager?"

"I spoke to a Mr. Soldano on the phone. His name was in the ad...?"

A tanned and dapper, thirty-ish man walked up and interrupted them. "Hi, Julie Danes? I'm Pete Soldano."

He was shorter than she had expected him to be, but then most people seemed short to Julia. They shook hands as he looked her up and down approvingly. Then he nodded to his right.

"My office is just down the hall there." With that, he leaned over the desk, put his left hand over the microphone, and whispered to the receptionist, "Don't put any calls through to my office, Doll. And keep these knuckleheads out here on the floor. I don't want any of them interruptin' me, either."

As they walked back to his office, he smiled broadly at Julia. "So you want to sell cars, huh?" Without waiting for an answer, he turned into a small office with glass windows facing the hallway. "Come on in, Julie," he said, grabbing the chair behind the desk.

She hesitated a moment too long, and then it seemed too late to tell him that her name was "Julia", with an "a".

"Close the door there. Have a seat." He lifted the coffee mug on his desk. "You want some coffee?" he said, as he took his seat behind the cluttered desk and leaned back, making himself comfortable.

"No thank you, sir. I'm fine."

"You know, we used to have a store out in LA with all girls sellin' the cars. They did pretty good. They were all redheads."

Julia had researched the company and knew about them. They all wore the same sexy outfits, too. It didn't last long.

"Really?"

"Yeah, no kiddin'," he said. "So, have you done any sellin', Julie?"

"I've done well selling Avon, sir."

"Avon. That's makeup, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir...but Avon has all kinds of products now. I've been in sales for three years, sir. I'm a group supervisor and I've recruited and trained four girls who work under me."

"How old did you say you are?" he said, skeptical.

"I'm twenty, sir, but I'm really good at sales. I know I could sell cars!"

"Look, Julie, relax. You got the job. And stop callin' me 'sir'."

Suppressing an urge to dance, Julie exited the showroom clutching her "employee paperwork" like a winning bet on a long shot. With a wide, triumphant grin, she jumped into her mother's old Ford, shifted into reverse and backed out of the dealership.

I did it! I got a job with a car. I'll be able to make some real money...I'll be able to move!

•

Daydreaming all the way home about her future freedom, Julie finally turned into the driveway, lining up the sedan's wheels with the two paved strips in the grass and weeds, as she always did. She pulled up even with the back door to her family's old, white clapboard house. Jumping out, she ran up the crumbling flagstone steps. The wooden screen door banged shut behind her as she absently kicked off her shoes. "Mom, I got the job!" she yelled, stepping out of the hall.

Happiness flew away like a popped balloon.

Julia's mother was kneeling on the kitchen floor. She was crying, her hand bleeding into a puddle of gin, drunkenly trying to pick up the broken pieces of her martini glass. As her mother slowly turned toward her, Julia saw an angry, purple welt on her right cheekbone that was also bleeding.

"Oh, God, Mom! Here, leave the glass," she said, rushing to help her up. "Stop, Mom. I'll get it. Where is he?"

"I don' know."

Elizabeth Danes was a mess. Disheveled clothes and crazily teased salt and pepper hair. A sad clown would have envied her makeup.

The usual war of emotions raged within Julia. Her love and pity for her mother had kept her from going away to college, even though she was an honor student. That was three years ago, and it was plainly a mistake. Perhaps this dysfunctional play would close with one less actor, she thought. Or was she the audience? Leaving was the only way to find out.

I can't change things, Mom.
I can't change you.
I can't change him.

Suddenly, the swinging door connecting the kitchen and the dining room burst open, slamming into the side of the stove.

Julia whirled around, every muscle tensed, her fist clenching the glass shards in her hand, not noticing that she'd cut herself.

"What the hell are you doing?" roared her father. "Get away from her! She's a fucking lush! Let her pick up her own goddamn mess!"

George Danes was a drinker who never appeared to be drunk. Over six-feet with silver hair and blue-gray eyes, he could have been cast as a doctor on a daytime soap opera. An avid fisherman and hunter, he was considered a "man's man." Men liked him and foolish women flirted with him. Behind his front door, his wife and daughter feared him.

Not me, Dad. Not anymore.

Julia quickly dropped the broken glass in the wastebasket and grabbed the frying pan off the counter. She stood with her feet planted apart, in front of her cowering mother.

"Stay away from her!" she said, holding up the heavy skillet with both hands.

George stopped in his tracks.

This wasn't the first time she had physically defended her mother. But she wasn't a child anymore, to be swatted away like a pesky insect. She was tall and strong...and she didn't make empty threats.

George smiled and began to laugh.

"Goddamn! At least you've got balls. You take after me."

"I'm nothing like you."

"Huh," he snorted.

Still laughing, he turned and pushed through the swinging door to the dining room. Julia heard the front door slam, and the car start up out in front of the house.

She lowered the iron skillet.

"Mom, you've got to get a new bodyguard," she said, wearily. "I'm a car salesman."

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