Chapter 11

Risky Dick’s was quiet, which was typical for any Monday night. But the Monday of Holy Week was particularly quiet, and Don debated every year whether he should just go on vacation every year to observe the passion of our Lord. But every year, a couple of regulars would talk him out of it, and he’d stay open and grumble about how bad business was.
When Martin and Sharla walked in, Don slapped his hand on the bar and yelled, “Hey! Jimmy Olson and Ms. Whitefeather! I am so glad you’re here.”
Sharla started giggling, and Martin couldn’t help but laugh, too. “Don, bring us your best burgers and finest bottles of Grain Belt,” he said in mock formality.
Don brought them two mugs of beer and hustled back in the kitchen to throw 2 burgers on the grill. He wiped his greasy hands on the towel around his waist, and they all could hear the sizzle of the meat on the grill as he settled in on a stool behind the bar across from them. “Sharla, it’s so good to see you. I was afraid you wouldn’t come back here once you found out that occasionally, this place is visited by low lifes.” He frowned and looked into her face. “Are you doing all right there, Miss? I was worried about you after Saturday…”
Sharla shook her head. “Mr. Wardle…Don…you don’t have to worry about me. I can take care of myself.” Martin could tell she was trying to convince herself of that, and he touched her lightly on the shoulder. “No, Martin, I mean it…at least I think I do.”
No one said anything for a minute, and then Don said, “Well, I’ll let you two talk a little while I finish making your dinner. I have some baked beans on the stove. Are you interested?”
“I love baked beans!” Sharla answered. “I’d love some.”
“Me, too,” Martin chimed in, relieved as Don got up to go into the kitchen.
Martin turned to Sharla and looked at her profile as she stared into the kitchen at Don flipping their burgers. “You know, Martin, you’d better quit staring at me, or I’ll never tell you the story.”
He looked up at the ceiling and sighed. “Okay, is this better?”
Sharla giggled. “Much better.” And she took a big slurp of her beer and began the story of the day Mr. Talbot asked her to stay after class.

Sharla Whitefeather was a star pupil at Siren High School and earned straight A’s in every course, including physics. Unlike many of the high school girls in Burnett County, Sharla wasn’t shy about her skills in math and science, and had she not been an Indian, she would have been suggested for Advanced Placement Classes or at the very least, accelerated course work.
But she was an Indian, which meant her intelligence was looked at with suspicion and caution. Sharla knew about the bias against Indians, but she didn’t let it affect her. She had dreams for after high school and knew she just had to make it through.
In the first semester of her sophomore year, Sharla had physics 7th hour, which meant she ended every school day suffering the leering stares and potential groping of Mr. Talbot, something that most girls at Siren High were well familiar with. She made a point of never standing too close to him – she’d heard the stories. And when she had to, she’d stand in front of him instead of by his side. She could stand him oogling her chest, but she was just a little bit out of his readh. And she knew someone like Mr. Talbot would never be so bold as to just reach across his desk and grab her breast in front of the entire class. He was too sneaky, too subtle.
This strategy worked for about four months into the school year, and then, one day, Mr. Talbot asked Sharla if she was interested in learning about college scholarships through the regional and state science fair competitions. Sharla didn’t hesitate to answer “Yes, of course, what would I need to do?” And Mr. Talbot told her he’d go over the entire program with her if she’d like to come back to his classroom at about 3:30 that afternoon. “You’re such a gifted student, I could see you earning enough scholarship dollars that your entire education could be paid for…” he told her, with a smarmy smile on his face.
The thought of getting some money for college was so amazing to her, Sharla’s warning bell turned off, and she didn’t suspect for a minute that Mr. Talbot had other plans for her when she arrived at his classroom. The fact that he had his jacket and tie off, and had one leg hoisted up on his desk when she came in the room seemed odd, but she threw off any feelings of doubt or suspicion. She sat at one of the desks in front of his desk, and asked eagerly, “Okay, Mr. Talbot, tell me about this science fair program.”
He grinned at her menacingly, and replied, “Why don’t you come over here, and I’ll tell you all about it…” She heard the sound of him unbuckling his belt and unzipping his zipper, and immediately knew he didn’t want to talk about science competitions or college scholarships. “I think I’d better go, Mr. Talbot,” Sharla said hurriedly, and started to get up to move to the classroom door.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he growled at her, and got up to reveal his undone pants, which he gathered up around his waist so he wouldn’t trip as he moved toward her.
“Nope, sorry, I’m out of here!” she replied. She stopped to pick up her backpack, and just as she stood up, Talbot was there behind her. His pants dropped as he grabbed her. She struggled to get away, and smelled his coffee breath as she felt his face right next to hers. “Don’t fight it, little girl. This won’t hurt,” he mumbled as he reached around to lift up her top and feel her breasts over her bra.
Sharla got one arm free and wound up to twist around and punch Frank Talbot square in the jaw. “Why you stupid Indian bitch,” he said in stunned surprise. While he relaxed his grip in sheer amazement that she actually hit him and to rub his jaw, Sharla wrestled away and was out the door when she heard Talbot fall to the hardwood floor as he tripped over his pants, trying to chase her.
That was the last Sharla Whitefeather saw Mr. Talbot, or Siren High School, until last Saturday at Risky Dick's.