Machine Dreams

fingernails. “Watts,” she deadpanned. “Is God there?”
    “Don’t be silly,” Danner laughed. “These ketchups are beautiful. Ketchups are always a great career, even in Watts.”
    When she rode through Bellington with Riley, Danner felt beautiful. She was relaxed and tired when she left work; she’d taken a shower and put on makeup in the employees’ bathroom, and thrown away her nylons, cheap ones inevitably ruined by the end of the day. The college banquet service had a reputation for hiring “personable” girls, and there was a kind of status about the anonymous-looking uniform; girls sometimes wore them on dates with steady boyfriends when there wasn’t much time to change. Riley’s car, a canary yellow Mustang with a black top and oversized tires, was well-known around town. He was always early, waiting for her, lounging against the Mustang. By the time they met, the heat had broken and Danner walked toward the bright car, the campus shade trees around her rippling a little with wind. He stood with his arms crossed, in a sport shirt and clean white Levi’s, smelling of men’s cologne and smoking a cigarette. They drove down Main Street on the way to the Parkette, with the evening cooling and all the windows down. Danner sat close beside Riley, trying to see the street as though she’d never been there before. The brick and clapboard buildings were twilit, the colors deep. Main Street looked too pretty to be real.
    Riley steered with one hand. “Baby, what are you thinking about?”
    “Nothing, really.” She didn’t like to be asked what she was thinking.
    The courthouse sat back on its big lawn across from the fire station, the gold spire bright against the dark blue dusk. The huge evergreen, used every winter as a town Christmas tree, stood like a backdrop behind the high school football scoreboard. Names of scheduled opponents and game dates were in blue; WON or LOST would be painted on each white line in red. The street was nearly empty. Parking meters along the sidewalk looked decorative. All the small businesses—Liberty Lunch, the Casualaire, HP Hardware—were closed, their windows lit.
    Tomorrow morning Main Street would be different, crowded and hot. Saturdays, miners cashed checks in their hard hats andrumpled clothes; country families stood in line at the welfare office before shopping at Woolworth’s. They choked the three blocks that were Bellington’s downtown. Their children were numerous and pale, dressed in ill-fitting clothes. They wore muddy shoes with no socks, or they were barefoot. Their ankles looked battered, scratched and mosquito-bitten. The women were very thin or very fat, their faces middle-aged and set as though frozen. Their hair was never styled but hung past their shoulders, occasionally restrained with a child’s cheap barrette too small to have much effect. They were dirty and smelled of dirt, despite the cakes of harsh yellow soap dispensed by the County. The children were usually clean except for their feet; their once-a-week cleanliness made them look even paler. Grade schools and the junior high were full of country kids, but many dropped out by high school. Danner remembered looking at them intently on the school bus from Brush Fork when she was a child. She would stare at them in profile, afraid but fascinated. Their eyelashes were flaky with the dust of sleep or neglect.
    Riley pulled up at a stop light and put his arm around her shoulders. “Mr. Losch asked me if you were going to enter the Miss Jaycees contest.”
    Danner gave him a surprised look. Losch ran the A&P where Riley worked. He was a member of the Jaycees, merchants and professional men who sponsored the contest every fall for high school girls.
    “Why not?” Riley asked. “You’ll be sixteen by September. You could win a scholarship for college, a thousand dollars.”
    Danner shifted a little away from him. Last year, Rhonda Thompson had been runner-up as a senior entrant. Danner supposed Riley wanted her to do better.
    “Danner, you’re one of the prettiest girls they’d have, and you’re smarter than anybody who’d enter.”
    “Thanks a lot. Anyway, they don’t care if you’re smart.”
    “Losch thinks you’d have a good chance. I didn’t ask him—he mentioned it to me.” Riley looked at her pointedly, still impressed. “Doc Reb Jonas is one of the judges. Isn’t he an old friend of your father’s?”
    Danner shrugged, looking straight ahead. “They