Page 3 of From Nowhere

He glances up at me, removes his hat, and scratches his head of sparse gray-and-brown hair. “Why?”

“Because there’s someone in the stall who needs toilet paper.”

He grunts. “Is it Miles? Let him figure it out.”

“No. It’s ...” I clear my throat. “A woman.”

Taylor squints. “In the men’s room?” He peers over my shoulder and frowns at theOut of Ordersign on the women’s restroom door. Then he grumbles and leads me toward the main office. On the opposite side of the corridor, he unlocks a supply closet. “Don’t be weird about it. I don’t want any sexual harassment allegations,” he says, handing me a roll of cheap one-ply bathroom tissue wrapped in white paper.

“How would I be weird about it?”

“Don’t linger. Don’t ask questions. Deliver the roll and get out of there.”

“So I’m not allowed to wipe her ass for her?”

“Christ, Ozzy. That’s what I’m talking about.”

I laugh while returning to the men’s room.

“Here you go.” I set it on the floor and slide it under the stall with the toe of my black boot.

“Thanks. I owe you one.”

I open my mouth to respond, but that might count as lingering, so I turn.

“One more favor?”

“Uh ...” I stop, turning toward the sound of something scraping along the floor. It’s a quarter.

“The women’s restroom is closed because of plumbing issues,” she says. “But the tampon dispenser should work. Are you man enough to help a gal out?”

I focus on the quarter. It’s heads up. Is it someone’s lucky day? I don’t think so. I step on George Washington’s head and slide it severalfeet away from the stall before picking it up.Man enough?What’s that supposed to mean?

“Thanks. You’re the best,” she chirps.

“Sure,” I murmur in amanlytone.

After glancing in both directions, I hustle across the hall to the women’s restroom, insert the quarter, and turn the knob.

Nothing.

I shake it, bang on it, and dig change out of my pocket to try it again. Either it’s empty or broken. “Shit,” I mumble. Again, I head into the hallway, making a beeline for the front office and crossing my fingers that Hillary is at her desk.

“Good morning, Ozzy.” She bats her brown hair away from her green-framed glasses and sips her coffee.

“Hey! I need a tampon.” I spew the words like the building is on fire.

Her nose crinkles as she returns her “cat lady” coffee mug to the desk. “Excuse me?”

“The women’s room is empty, and someone in the men’s room needs one.”

She gawks at me, lips parted.

I sigh. “It’s a woman.”

Hillary nods slowly. “Oh. Well, let me see.” She retrieves her red leather purse from under the desk. “I have a pad. Will that work?”

“I’m going to say yes. But I have no clue.” I dig into my pocket and pull out a quarter.

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