Collection of Short Stories
By Carol Taylor
Published by Carol Taylor at Smashwords
Copyright 2011 Carol Taylor
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***
Collection of Short Stories
By Carol Taylor
The Chauffeur
Even though the questions had ceased, James knew they weren’t finished with him. He put his head in his hands in weariness. No matter how many times he told them, they asked the same questions over and over again.
‘How long have you worked for Mr. Lorimer?’
‘Two and a ‘alf years, sir.’
‘What did you do before that?’
‘I were a cab driver in London. That’s why Mr. Lorimer ‘ired me. I know London like t’ back of me ‘and.’
‘When did you last see Mrs. Lorimer and her daughter?’
‘At three-thirty when I dropped ‘em off at t’ front of ‘arrods’
‘What did she say to you?’
‘Please wait for us James. We’ll only be ‘alf an ‘our.’
‘Where did you wait?’
‘I told you’
‘Never mind the cheek. Where did you wait?’
‘Around t’ corner first, then when the ‘alf ‘our was up, right outside at t’ same place I dropped ‘er off.’
‘When she didn’t come out, what did you do?’
‘I drove back and parked for another ‘our. She ‘ad ‘er cell phone and I knew she would call me when she were finished shopping.’
‘Weren’t you worried when she didn’t return as planned?’ they accused him
‘Puh-lease,’ he’d begged sarcastically, ‘a woman, shoppin’!?’
They nodded, conceding the point.
‘What did you do after the hour was up?’
‘I went inside ta see if I could find ‘er.’
‘And that’s when you called her husband?’
‘Yeah,’ James replied wearily, ‘You already know that.’
They ignored him. Kidnapping was serious business and James, the family chauffeur, was in the thick of it, having been the last person to see Mrs. Katy Lorimer and two-year-old Jenny alive. James had been interrogated for over two hours while Charles Lorimer had been pacing the living room floor of his Hyde Park mansion where search headquarters had been set up. Handsome, powerful, the king of oil drilling in the North Sea, he was the perfect candidate for a ransom note. It had simply said, “I have Katy and Jenny and unless ten million in small bills (thats nothing over £100 in case yer stupid) is put in a briefcase and brought to the quayside at 10 pm sharp two days from today, you’ll never see her again (‘her’ had been crossed off and ‘them’ was written above it). Any police bozo and they each get a bullet without no more talk.’ It was done in crude handwriting and attached to the note was a ring Katy had been wearing as proof of the abduction.
Used to emergencies on the oilrigs, Charles hadn’t wasted a moment. Knowing the kidnappers demand would take time; he’d called his bank and ordered the briefcase and money. Scotland Yard tried to talk him out of giving in to the demands but Charles was not a man to be deterred from whatever he set his mind to.
James watched him out of the corner of his eye. He looked like a madman—tense, angry, and dangerous. The kidnappers would get no mercy from him, that was for sure! The detectives and inspectors were alternately barking orders and whispering in small groups, while Mr. Lorimer strode endlessly back and forth across the room.
“Well!?” he would demand from time to time in a superior, ‘what-are-you-doing-about-it-you-bumbling-fools voice.
“We’re doing all we can, sir” they would soothe in their best bedside manner. But what could they do? They’d analyzed the handwriting, the paper, the scanty fingerprints. With only a badly written note to go on, they could only hope the kidnapper would call. They’d naturally set up a recording station complete with an earphone-clad operator practically embedded in it. Every time the phone rang, the entire room ceased its rumbling and listened. Invariably it turned out to be mother, or a friend or a business call, and the loud outlet of disappointment was audible. The murmuring always continued immediately afterwards as Mr. Lorimer either waved the caller away or, at times, (mother for instance) took the call and hastily finished it.
Other detectives were working on Harrod’s store personnel. Yes, they’d seen Mrs. Lorimer and Jenny. Yes, she’d purchased a new dress for Jenny. Yes, they’d seen her go out the front door but no one knew where she’d gone. They assumed she was waiting for her limo. No, they hadn’t seen anyone following her but in a busy store, of course it was possible.
When this latest report got back to the Lorimer mansion, James was on the hotseat again.
‘How could Mrs. Lorimer have left Harrod’s and you didn’t see her?’ they wanted to know.
‘I told you; I were parked ‘round t’ corner. She ‘adn’t told me ta watch for ‘er. She knew I’d pick ‘er up right outside t’ front door so she didn’t have ta have Jenny out in t’ cold. She only had ta call.’
‘Why would Mrs. Lorimer have gone anywhere without you?’
‘’ow would I know?’ James replied angrily. He was exhausted from this continual bombardment.
They softened their approach. ‘Do you have any idea of where she might have gone?’
‘None,’ he said quickly but then paused. They sensed it immediately and huddled close like vultures watching the last throb of a dying heart. ‘I just remembered. On t’ way ta Harrod’s we passed some double-decker buses and Jenny were beggin’ her mum ta go on one,’ he offered somewhat gingerly. ‘I suppose Mrs. Lorimer might ‘ave gotten on one fer her daughter’s sake.’
‘Possible,’ they’d agreed, nodding grabbing on to any clue that would alleviate the ineffectual waiting. They radioed the detectives downtown instructing them to interview all double-decker bus drivers driving from 3:30 to 10:00pm.
Mr. Lorimer had looked a little more hopeful at that, and the entrenched detectives dismissed James for awhile as though he were being given time off for good behavior. Naturally, he was to be available for more questioning. He’d nodded gratefully and had slunk away to the kitchen to get a much-deserved glass of brandy, answer the saucer-eyed servant’s questions and scurry upstairs with a ham sandwich and a beer.
At leisure now to think about his own affairs, he let his mind wander to the beloved girl waiting for him to retire and allowed himself a happy smile. He pitied Mr. Lorimer in his loss, shuddering to think how awful it must be not to know the whereabouts of the one you love—if Charles really loved Katy and little Jenny but that wasn’t his concern. Still James pondered the thought for a while as he often had since coming to work for them. But Charles certainly had shown genuine concern for his wife and daughter and hadn’t waited a moment to come up with the ten million to try to get her back. ‘Well,; thought James, ‘A good thing! It doesn’t matter what the police think,’ he thought, ‘One shouldn’t play games with kidnappers.’ For once he was in full agreement with Mr. Lorimer.
But James didn’t really want to think about Mr. Lorimer and all his troubles right now. He’d been doing that for hours. He wanted to think about his ladylove. When could he be certain of seeing her again? He counted the hours and sighed. He’d been told not to leave the house until further notice. Tomorrow night the ransom would be paid and hopefully, that would be the end of it. And so, he let himself indulge in a much-needed nap as he dreamed about his own precious love and the retirement he had been working on for so long for the two of them.
Though an operator stood by the phones all through the night—and Mr. Lorimer too—nothing happened. As the appointed time for the ransom approached, Mr. Lorimer insisted that he and James deliver the briefcase without any interference from the police. The police pleaded to be backup at a discreet distance but Charles had adamantly refused. And he was not a man to argue with.
At precisely ten pm, James pulled up to the appointed destination on the Thames quayside. Appearing out of the shadows, a short man wearing a balaclava and hooded parka stood on the dock near a neat little cruiser with its motor running. As James and Charles watched, he uncovered the bundle he was carrying in one arm and revealed the face of two-year old Jenny. Both men jumped a little when they saw a gun pointing at her head. She could have been asleep or drugged for the man shouted in a strained obviously false voice to ‘bring the briefcase to the edge of the walkway,’ and Jenny didn’t even stir.
“I wish you’d let me bring a gun, sir,” James whispered. Charles shook his head impatiently and grabbed the briefcase from the seat. He walked slowly forward, not taking his eyes off the small man. He was a very short man and it incensed Charles to be held at bay by such a poor excuse for his sex. Still watching him warily, Charles set the briefcase down and backed away carefully.
The hooded kidnapper waited till Charles was back across the street, then quickly picked up the briefcase and backed himself into the little cruiser. He disappeared into the cabin and Charles started to move forward. James put a restraining hand on his arm and reminded him of the gun. In a moment, the little man returned, dragging two bundles out onto the gangway. One was a great deal smaller than the other and they looked horrifyingly like bodies. “’Ere’s yer precious cargo” shouted the man in his put-on voice as he darted back into the cabin and roared off into the night. It was foggy and dark and he seemed to be gone in a flash.
Charles and James made the quayside in record time and, quickly as they could, cut the ropes on the heavy canvas bags. There was no movement of any kind. However it was not because Charles’ wife and daughter’s corpses were inside, as feared, but because the bags were stuffed with foam pillows and bricks. “****** ****,” Charles cursed, kicking the bags viciously. He ran back to the car and phoned the police, describing the boat and the man aboard. In moments, the coast guard and every police boat in the vicinity was on the water. Within 15 minutes, the little craft had been spotted and boarded. Charles breathed a sigh of relief but it was short lived. The boat was empty. An elderly woman living on a nearby houseboat told them she’d seen a short man with a duffle bag and briefcase get off, climb aboard a large motor boat and leave but she saw no woman and child and she had no better description of the boat than that it was white and big—which described just about every boat in the bay.
The ensuing search was one of the largest of its kind, with scuba divers combing every inch of the bay’s muddy bottom. One of Katy’s shoes and a bedraggled teddy that could have been Jenny’s eventually washed up on shore and, after six months searching, Scotland Yard regretfully closed its files on the Lorimer kidnapping.
Though it was perhaps bad timing for Charles, it was just two months after the kidnapping that James handed in his notice. His hard work for an early retirement had paid off and he could finally be with his love. He was not unfeeling for Charles’ predicament and had given him three recommendations of chauffeur friends he felt were his equal. A small bonus from Charles, a sincere thank you, and James was on his way to the south of France for the happy reunion.
When he arrived at the expensive chateau overlooking the French Riviera, his petite amour ran to meet him with tears of joy. Many kisses and hugs later, he disengaged himself and dug around in his luggage. “Look what I brought!” he laughed victoriously, and held up the Dom Perignon purchased with some of the bonus from Charles.
“You certainly have a lot of cheek,” she cried laughing, “Celebrating with that man’s money! But I’ll bet you ten million dollars that a little two-year-old girl would like to celebrate with us!” Katy said, eyes shining, “Jenny, wake up honey. Your new daddy’s here!”
***
Every Man’s Dream
I saw her coat out of the corner of my eye. I’ve always been attracted to red. But when I got a closer look at the gorgeous body that red coat was hugging I let out a loud whistle. Now I’m not usually one for making a public display of myself, but honestly, you would have done the same! I mean, you’ve never seen anything so beautiful in your life!
Should I stop? I’m naturally shy. I hesitated. I looked back at her. She was obviously waiting for someone. I drove around the block. The second look convinced me--I was in love! My heart was racing.
Around the corner, I pulled over and fixed my hair and tie. Drove back and parked… I was pretty nervous… and…she’d gone! I looked wildly all around. She couldn’t just disappear—she was the one dreams are made of! I tried the sour grapes approach. You know—‘who needs a chick like that, that wipes out bank accounts anyway’? She was so obviously the classy type, living high on the octane, if you know what I mean. But, oh, would we look good together! The guys’d be so jealous they’d spit nails! I just couldn’t convince myself not to want her.
Later that day, my mouth ran away with my enthusiasm and I found myself telling my best friend, Bob, all about her. The creep said he’d already noticed her. And he’d heard a few things too, he said! I listened with drooling ears. “I happen to know she’s hooked up with that big business tycoon from downtown.”
My heart sank. I was just an ordinary guy. “And,” he continued, “Everybody knows she’s been around the block a few times.” He said it like it might put a damper on my ardor. Fat chance!
“Maybe,” I said, defensively, “But you gotta admit she looks great for her age!”
“Oh, come on,” he chided in a derogatory manner, “You know these older gals have all had some kind of cosmetic ‘surgery’ to look that good!”
“I don’t care,” I retorted, “She’s beautiful. So come on, what else do you know?” I begged, swallowing my pride.
“If it’s of any interest to you,” he said airily, “Apparently Mr. Business-tycoon is tired of her!”
“Y…you’re kidding!” I faltered. “How could anyone ever get tired of such a babe??!” I was incredulous and my heart was soaring. But, wait a minute, how did Bob know this? I was suspicious. “Are you interested in her?” I asked pointedly.
“What would I want with such an expensive toy?!” he retorted—a little too quickly, if you ask me. “Much too old for me! And you’d better think twice before taking on such an obvious big spender!” he jabbed at me.
“Hey I’m out of diapers!” I shot back, chin jutting, “I know what I’m doing!” But did I? I thought about my meager bank account. How much would I be expected to spend on a gal like that!? But I was interested. Real interested. I started looking for her again. I tried several times to catch her waiting for Mr. Business-tycoon at his office, but either I missed her, or they weren’t together anymore. I checked all the fancy nightclubs and hotels; the shopping malls; the concert halls. All to no avail. Not a sign!
Days went by and I was beginning to think I’d never see her again. And then, there she was!—I’d know that red coat anywhere and she was as beautiful as ever! I wasn’t going to miss my chance this time. I moved in for a closer look. My heart was beating fast as I approached. But something was wrong. Who was that with her? That wasn’t Mr. Business-tycoon! My jaw dropped clear to the ground and was dragging in the dust as I took it all in. For there, sitting at the steering wheel of the most beautiful red ’66 Mustang convertible you’ve ever seen, was the proud new owner and my ex-best friend, Bob!
***
War!
“Sale! Cotton Sheets Only $21.95! Won’t last at this price!”
So announced the banner pasted across the window of Abraham’s Department Store, in the heart of tiny Riverdale. Shopping hats stuck primly on their heads, the two little old ladies discovered it early Monday morning.
“Well,” said old lady Pinkerton, “I must say, that’s not a bad price.”
“Oh well, as to that,” replied Mrs. Spillman, “I hope you know better than to rush in and buy before the ‘war’.”
Old lady Pinkerton looked at her sister doubtfully. Had Martha slipped a memory disc? “And what ‘war’ would you be referring to, my dear?” she asked a little too kindly.
Mrs. Spillman, who didn’t miss the condescending tone, crinkled her eyes in a shrewd smile. “Oh, I forgot, you haven’t been here long enough to know about the wars,” she replied in her best, ‘I’ll-show-you-the-ropes-you-dottering-old-fool’ voice.
Put in her place, Old Lady Pinkerton grinned delightedly and waited for an explanation. Her sister had finally convinced her to move to this sleepy little town outside Kansas City so the two of them could ‘go to each other’s funerals’. It was a joke they enjoyed sharing often and with many. They did so like a good joke.
“By this afternoon,” Mrs. Spillman told her sister, “Old Mr. Abraham’s neighbor will put up his own announcement. Just you wait and see!” Naturally curious and with demands on her time distilled down to an afternoon nap, Old Lady Pinkerton could afford to indulge her aging sister.
So after lunch the two sisters wandered back to Abraham’s Department store. Mrs. Spillman laughed and slapped her side. “There, you see,” she exclaimed triumphantly. And, sure enough, the large window of the department store next to Abraham’s sported a fresh new sign. It read,
“Sale! Cotton Sheet s Only $16.95! Best Price in Town!”
“That’s the ‘war’ I was talking about,” Mrs. Spillman cried, delighted. “If old Mr. Abraham tries to discount some article in his store, Mr. Josef, next door, slashes his even more!”
Old Lady Pinkerton smiled at her sister’s eagerness. “Super,” she returned, sincerely enthusiastic, “I could really use some new sheets. Let’s go!”
“Oh, you mustn’t buy them yet!” Mrs. Spillman responded, horrified.
“Why ever not?” Old Lady Pinkerton cried in irritation, “$16.95 is too good to pass up!”
Mrs. Spillman smiled a knowing smile. “Just you wait, dearie. The war has only just begun!”
And sure enough, a little patience proved her point. Mr. Abraham would not be outdone and very soon a new banner graced his window, cutting his neighbor’s price by a whole dollar. On Tuesday Mr. Josef countered by throwing in a pillowcase. Mr. Abraham threw in two. By Wednesday the whole town was in on the soap opera. Some of the newcomers were sure neither store would dare take another penny off, but the seasoned townspeople had seen battles rage for days and they weren’t about to buy until one or the other waved the white flag.
At lunch time on Wednesday Mr. Josef came blustering out of his store, and making a lot of noise and fanfare, put up a new banner that read:
“Sheet sets, two extra pillowcases, only $14.95! Lowest price in the world!”
It was pretty ostentatious but then all’s fair in love, war and sales. The townspeople wandered over in little groups to the front of Mr. Abraham’s store, eager to see how he would weather this shelling. They weren’t disappointed.
Mr. Abraham came stomping out of his store, disgusted. He made a big show of glaring at the new banner and making blustery kinds of noises. The crowd were delighted with this show of ‘down and dirty’ capitalistic competition. He stood there for several minutes grinding his teeth and shaking his head and then raising an angry fist at Mr. Josef’s window, he disappeared back into his own shop. By now the crowd had expanded to include a few high school kids, business people at lunch, the sheriff, mailman, butcher and even the librarian. They didn’t have to wait long. Apparently tired of making new signs, Mr. Abraham brought out a ladder and a large felt pen and, crossing off the $15.95 on his sign, wrote above it: $13.95. The crowd gasped. This could be the end. Would Mr. Josef surrender? They waited, chuckling and talking excitedly while Mr. Abraham stood with his arms folded across his chest, like a general in command of a superior army, just daring Mr. Josef to fire another shot!
But Mr. Josef was no coward! Out he came, looking fit to bust. He seemed to have been prepared for the cutthroat pricing this time as he slammed his metal ladder into place, wielding his own heavy ammunition in the form of a black pen. Up went his ladder, down went his price.
Mr. Abraham’s return volley was quick and nasty and in the twinkling of an eye he had slashed yet another half dollar off. The crowd was transfixed. These two commandos seemed to have forgotten about the profit they were supposed to be making. It seemed pride had surpassed price. But Mr. Abraham, seeing the triumphant look on Mr. Josef’s face as he lowered his own price yet again, was beginning to snap. His Jewish blood boiling over, he let Mr. Josef have a full blast of his Yiddish unhappiness. No one but Mr. Josef understood and he just leaned against his own store window and smiled. He seemed certain Mr. Abraham wouldn’t, nay, couldn’t go lower than $12.00. He had him beat. Mr. Abraham stomped back into his store, swearing like a trooper. And it seemed the battle was over.
Still the crowd wasn’t sure. Should they buy? Mrs. Spillman put a restraining hand on her sister’s shoulder as she began to edge toward the store. “Not yet!” she whispered dramatically. And sure enough, heels thudding on the cement walk like the cavalry in the nick of time, out came Mr. Abraham, determined, grimacing. He had a look about him that said, ‘So, you wanna play tough, huh? Well, you got tough!’ You could see that Mr. Josef wasn’t quite so cocky now.
Mr. Abraham threw up his ladder and whipped the old banner off the window. Then he stuck up the new one with machine-gun speed:
“Cotton Sheet Sets $11.00 Final”
The audience clapped enthusiastically. Mr. Abraham faced Mr. Josef, triumphant. “Ha!” he said victoriously. Mr. Josef’s mouth trembled in undisguised anger and he kicked viciously at the dust on the sidewalk then he turned and snarled, “Look, you son of a snake’s mother, if you want to cut your throat to save your face, go right ahead! What do I care if you send yourself to the poor house by pricing your stuff below cost? Ha! Go right ahead and hang yourself. And then I won’t have to put up with your damned nonsense anymore!” and with that Mr. Josef marched back into his store and slammed the door. Defeated. For today.
The onlookers cheered loudly as though they’d been comrades on Mr. Abraham’s side all along. Then more than half the group bought more than half of Mr. Abraham’s sheets that day. They didn’t allow themselves to be influenced by Mr. Josef’s dire warning about putting Mr. Abraham out of business. The great bargain was just the spoils of war and they happily bought with genial camaraderie. They couldn’t believe their luck in having two such incredibly spiteful competitors in their own little town. How they hated each other! ‘Son of a snake’s mother’ was tame by comparison to some of the adjectives they’d heard! Sometimes they had to cover the children’s ears!
But Mr. Abraham wasn’t always the victor. Sometimes the townspeople were convinced that Mr. Josef must have found an extraordinary bargain at the wholesalers, so smug was he about undercutting Mr. Abraham. “Do your worst, you flea-ridden fool,” Mr. Josef would yell, “you know darn well I got the edge on ya this time!” And as the price fell so low that even Mr. Abraham could not beat it, he would grudgingly concede defeat. You could see it really went against the grain. He’d turn and slink back into his shop muttering and swearing, obviously bemoaning the customers rushing to his unworthy rival.
Neither man was stupid, either. They both knew that when folks come into your store to get one thing, they remember half a dozen other things they need too. Nope, they were no fools, no matter what the townspeople thought. And the items they chose for battle zones were the very things the townspeople needed. That’s why the skirmishes were so fierce. They weren’t trying to sell leopard-skin throw rugs to a wool and flannel clientele—these were necessities!
When Old Lady Pinkerton was finally allowed to buy her first bargain from Mr. Abraham she was loud in her gratitude to her sister. “Why I saved over ten dollars!” she exclaimed excitedly.
Mrs. Spillman accepted her appreciation as modestly as she could. You couldn’t expect an outsider to know the rules—when to buy, when to wait. It was a knack and Mrs. Spillman was confident, even cocky, that she was gifted. She was pretty pleased with some of the bargains she’d gotten in the past. To be sure, she’d been carried away by the moment and had bought one or two little things that she hadn’t really needed, or, truth be known, wanted. But, a bargain is a bargain and the troops always felt so victorious when the battle was won that they just couldn’t help themselves from rushing in to claim the booty. That they still had to fork out eleven or twelve dollars or so was a minor detail only thought about privately in their own homes as they were wondering where in the heck they would store yet another sheet set or throw rug or shower curtain with all the fittings. Together, the townspeople could have opened their own department store for all the unwanted, unnecessary things they bought during the ‘wars’.
The waste and unnecessary expense should not be lamented, however. The entertainment alone was worth the money. Little else went on in that sleepy town and, without realizing it or trying for it the two shopkeepers had been instrumental in building bridges between people who would never even have gone halfway otherwise. The old ladies spoke to the teeny boppers; and the butcher spoke to the hairdresser; and the grumpiest man in town could not keep from asking anyone nearby, ‘What’s all the damned fuss about?’
Even the little spinster librarian had had the temerity to tap the sheriff on the shoulder and ask what price had been reached by now. And when he turned to say with eager delight, “Stainless steel pots down to $9.75,” their eyes had locked and they ended up buying three saucepans each and later laughing about having six between them when three would have done. All in all there were many new friendships and acquaintances and romances that sprang up from all the healthy competition over superfluous haberdashery.
And if either of the two shopkeepers got rich on slashing prices, they never showed it. There were no ostentatious proofs and little changed. The two shops looked the same, the wars raged on, the name-calling continued. And the only thing they ever seemed to agree on was vacations. Apparently, they couldn’t stand to think that the competition might get up to some kind of really foul shenanigans while they were away, so they always agreed to leave together. At all other times they vied and fought and bellowed as happily as any two cantankerous opponents could.
Old Lady Pinkerton and Mrs. Spillman spent many a pleasant hour watching the soap operas, gossiping about the outcome and the newcomers that always bought too soon. It was like sharing a private joke. And they did so like a good joke.
And so life went on in Riverdale and pretty soon the librarian and the sheriff were going hand in hand to the war games and the gossips said the butcher actually owned a jar of hair gel and the grumpy old man made a friend of a ‘deaf old bat’ who couldn’t read his lips and just thought he was being friendly when he’d say, “What are you looking at, you deaf old bat?”
And Mr. Josef and Mr. Abraham never seemed to lack for new epithets to bestow on each other during the heat of the battle. “You lily-livered horse thief,” Mr. Abraham spat at Mr. Josef once over the price of a set of stainless steel bowls (he’d heard that in a cowboy movie—a great place for stocking up your name-calling library). It didn’t seem quite accurate as they never sold anything to do with horses but then Mr. Josef, returning the fusillade with the appellation of “duck-tailed ninnyhammer,” perhaps wasn’t terribly apropos either. Nobody cared. Creativity was always appreciated, especially when it was going to the good cause of reduced prices.
But Mr. Josef was not a young man anymore and eventually he started hinting that he was thinking of packing it in. And though Mr. Abraham wasn’t a young man either, he railed at him and found a whole slew of new verbal gifts to bestow on a quitter. But, Mr. Abraham notwithstanding, Mr. Josef one day closed his doors never to open them again. And within a week, Mr. Abraham had done the same. The town was stunned. “I guess the competition finally got to them,” some said, and “If you’d put up with all that abuse for so many years, you’d go too,” they said. And, “With such heavy competition they probably weren’t making a profit,” others said guiltily.
But a discovery was made not long after the two shopkeepers left town that laid guilt and sympathy completely to rest. And though some townsfolk were totally outraged, others saw the funny side and laughed long and loud at the clever deceit that had been foisted on them.
For in an obviously well-used underground passage that linked the two stores together, a dusty letter was found that made a complete mockery of twenty-five years of capitalistic competition. Addressed to Josef, the last sentence simply said, ‘Tell your brother, Abraham, to write’.
When Mrs. Spillman and Lady Pinkerton heard the gossip their laughter was the loudest. And every time they come across the extra knitting wool or pans or sheet sets that they’ll never use in a month of lifetimes, they laugh all over again. They do so like a good joke.
***
Love is Blind
The disease had finally run its course leaving Angela weak but mending…and blind. At 18, pretty, popular, and intelligent, she’d had everything to live for. Now she was understandably devastated and the whole family with her. The scholarship to Trinity College had to be rejected and in its place two years at the School for the Blind just 50 miles from her home. It meant she could come home on the weekends and she’d given in with tears and resentment.
Every step was a painful one for Angela. To be dependent on everyone was, to her, adding insult to injury. She who had been on the cheerleading squad had worked a part-time job after school and used up the weekends surfing! It was all dead to her now and self-pity threatened to swallow her up. Still life went on. And though the blind school soon became a second home, she hated it. She knew she would never get over her bitterness. Why did God allow this to happen?
Phillip, her main teacher and counselor at the School for the Blind had patiently listened to her bitterness. He never lost his temper with her though time and again she’d burst into angry tears of, ‘I can’t do it! Stop pushing me!’ or ‘Just leave me alone!’ Philip never tried to talk her out of her anger; he just patiently waited for the storm to pass and encouraged her to try again. And, in spite of all her pain and depression a little spark was kindling for the patient, all-enduring Philip.
She began to trust and rely on him for the sight she had lost. He’d lead her around the schoolrooms and tell her about the furnishings. She’d ask him about the views from different windows and how big the trees were and what color the sky was. He never tired of her questions and always tried to fit his descriptions to her memory. “Did you ever see a Robin’s eggs?” he’d said once in his gentle voice. “Yes,” she had smiled, remembering. “Well feel the air, today it’s soft and warm—the color of a Robin’s eggs. And little wisps of clouds are scuttering across it.” Angela would try to imagine that in her mind’s eye and for a very brief moment would forget that she couldn’t see. Another time Philip had taken her hand and outlined the big comfy chair in the sitting room. “It’s powder gray,” he had told her, “with bright blue cushions—the color of your eyes.” Angela had smiled up at him.
He’d bring her flowers and make her try to guess what kind they were and even what color. That always made her laugh even though it was a joke against her own disability. But Philip wouldn’t let her off the hook just because she couldn’t see. “No, come on,” he’d plead, “what color do they feel like?” And she’d try to guess just to be silly. With anyone else it might have seemed annoying and childish but with Philip it was endearing.
Angela began to master the art of Braille and had learned to feed herself and curl her hair and even iron her clothes, but one part of her new education wasn’t going so well. Navigating. Angela just couldn’t get used to using a cane. She’d been so graceful, an excellent dancer and into sports, and the ignominy of having to stumble around like a cripple always sent her into depression. But Philip just wouldn’t let up. Philip and his assistant would take Angela into a large room with set obstacles for her to practice navigating and time and time again she’d end up in tears and anger as her shins hit the edge of a table yet again.
“Angela,” Philip would encourage, “You’ve got to keep moving the cane in front of you all the time. It’s your eyes.” And he always said this so gently that Angela couldn’t stay mad. Wherever he took her, he used a cane, showing her how to listen for the different sounds. But still Angela could not get it. ‘I’ll just get a wheelchair and let someone else take me where I want to go’ she’d say bitterly. And though it made Philip sigh, he was as determined as she was resistant. He pushed her, encouraged her, argued with her, reasoned with her. But all to no avail. After nearly a year she still had not learned to navigate without a guide.
Her studies were going reasonably well and most of the other daily tasks were shaping up well. But Philip had exhausted his ingenuity where walking was concerned and Angela’s progress was so slow in that area that he worried about her. He knew he would never give up on her and that was in great part due to the simple fact that he had fallen in love with her. It pained him to see her so resistant to using a cane and he wanted to kiss her bitterness away. But Angela was obviously depending on Philip too much already. If she knew of his love would she just give up and depend on him totally? He couldn’t take the chance. And, besides, he didn’t want Angela to cling to him because she needed him or was grateful.
Angela’s parents had listened to Angela often tell them of Philip’s many virtues. Secretly they were convinced that Angela cared more for him than she let on. And they were right. Angela had known for many months that she’d never loved anyone like she loved Philip. It was the very barrier that kept her from learning to use a cane. For although she might pity herself, she didn’t want to be loved out of pity. And how could Philip watch her stumbling around like an ungainly child and not pity her? No, she could never tell him of her love nor could she learn to use a cane while Philip was watching and pitying.
In Angela’s quiet times, she often thought about Philip and how wonderful life would have been with him—if only she was like him and could see! She wondered if he found her pretty and wished she knew what he looked like. Then her heart cursed again the eyes that no longer told her of the wonders of the world, the eyes that made her a burden to everyone around her, the eyes that had caused her to meet the man she would love the rest of her life--the man she would never burden with her handicap! The irony of it made her little mouth set in a grim line of bitterness. But she kept her secret to herself and poured herself into her work and studies even more.
When the school board made their decision, they left it to Philip to tell Angela. With a heavy heart he went to find her. She was studying quietly in her room and when he asked if he could talk to her she’d closed her Braille textbook without a word. She knew him well enough to know that this was something serious. “Angela,” he started, and Angela’s heart couldn’t help missing a beat as he put his hand on hers, “The school board has been thinking long and hard about this and we think it’s time you moved on to another school.” He paused, waiting for Angela’s reaction. She had been totally startled.
“An...another school?” she stammered, “but why?….” she demanded.
Philip took both her hands now and took a deep breath, “Because,” he said carefully, “We think you’ve learned everything here that we can teach you.” And there was pain in his voice that Angela could not understand.
Angela sat stunned, her mind racing. She hadn’t finished her studies here, she had a full load of classes to take next year… something didn’t add up. What more did they need to teach her? She thought about all Philip had taught her, her successes and failures and then she knew...
“It’s because I can’t get around by myself yet, isn’t it?” she said quietly. Philip sighed a deep sigh.
“Angela, I want you to have the opportunity to work with someone…more experienced,” he said quietly. He seemed to be choosing his words carefully. “And the school board has decided that for your sake you can’t go on until you’ve learned to get around.” He had hated to tell her but it was done.
Angela stood up awkwardly, her temper rising. “Why does everyone seem to know what’s good for me!? Isn’t it bad enough that my future was wrenched out of my hands and that I’m so dependent on everyone else? Now I have to have other people deciding what’s good for me!?” She was pacing back and forth, her eyes blazing. “Don’t you think blind people have any brains?” she vented. “We’re suddenly so stupid that we don’t know what’s good for us?!”
“Angela…,” Philip soothed but Angela just kept on, getting out months of frustration and resentment.
“Do your administrators think that just because they can see, they know better than blind people?” she shouted unreasonably. “And what about you?!” she said, suddenly turning on Philip. “Just because you can see doesn’t mean you know what’s best for me!!’ and now Angela was crying. She groped her way across the room and fell on her bed sobbing. Philip, in his anxiousness to get to her, stumbled into her study chair and fell heavily to the floor. Angela listened, but Philip didn’t get up. She hastily wiped her eyes and carefully felt on the floor till she found him.
“Philip!” she cried in anguish, “Are you ok?” She touched his face all over as if looking for clues to his unconsciousness and finally felt him open his eyes. “Oh Philip,” she choked emotionally, “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” he soothed, “Just a little shaken up I guess.” He sat next to her for a moment then slowly got up and pulled her to her feet and instinctively hugged her to him. She did not resist. They stood in each others arms for some time, unable to hide the long unspoken emotions from being revealed.
“I’m sorry I got so angry Philip,” Angela said softly into his neck.
“That’s ok,” he replied huskily, then added somewhat unsteadily, “Angela, you won’t have to leave until next month and I…that is, would you be willing to try just once more with me?” He could not help holding her more tightly as he thought of her leaving.
She sighed in his embrace and whispered, “I don’t want to leave here and I don’t want to leave…” and she left the phrase unfinished and pulled away a little. “I will try again,” she said with determination. And a little smile lurked on her face as she added playfully, “But how is it that my teacher, who wants me to learn to get around, not only knocks down, but falls over the only chair in my room?” and she was laughing. But Philip was silent.
The silence stretched over the room and over the last weeks and months and year and suddenly the truth hit Angela like the 2:30 freight train. “Oh no!!!…” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion “Why you’re…you’re …” And tears prevented her from finishing the sentence as they rolled uncontrollably down her cheeks. She buried her face in Philip’s shoulder once again and he held her close as she sobbed, “Oh Philip, How could I have been so stupid? So selfish?! So blind?! Why…why didn’t you tell me!?” and she held him as though she would never let him go.
“Well,” he said gently, as he stroked her long soft hair, “I thought you’d figure it out in time and besides, I didn’t think you’d trust the blind leading the blind!” and then he kissed the tears that had turned to laughter and she knew that if he would have her, his bride would walk down the aisle unassisted.
And he would, and she did.
***
If Looks Could Kill...
It was the high-school reunion that had started it all. He wasn’t gangly anymore, nor awkward. In fact he was charming and downright handsome. She was entranced. It was pretty much the same for Dan. Charlene was extremely attractive and looked better than he’d remembered her in high school. A week after the reunion found them enjoying a romantic dinner together and laughing about the previous weekend.
It was great fun to have a four-year history of high school together. It seemed to get the romance off and running without a hitch except for one little incident at dinner that had somewhat rankled with Charlene. Though Danny was very attentive to her throughout dinner, it seemed that a group at a table across from them often distracted him. She had once or twice managed a surreptitious glance in their direction but had not been able to guess whether it was the pretty woman in the group he was looking at or simply that they were in his direct line of vision. She put it out of her mind.
Saying goodnight outside her front door, the incident flitted across her mind, teasing her subconscious. But several romantic kisses and hugs later, it was forgotten. She knew she wanted to see Danny again. She was pretty sure he felt the same.
And so they dated. It was all fun and romantic and had it not been for the repetition of Dan’s lack of attention on their first date, they might have gotten really serious. It became evident to Charlene however, that Danny was not just staring at whomever was in his path, it seemed he couldn’t help looking at every pretty girl that came near. She tried to ignore his wandering eyes and felt embarrassed when she caught him but she wasn’t one for causing scenes.
It was impossible not to notice when he looked every pretty girl up and down, staring after them till they were out of sight. And even though she’d remind herself of the many compliments he’d paid her and the way he looked at her, she just couldn’t ignore his bad behavior. He was acting like a teenager. But she wanted a serious relationship and his interest in other women was spoiling that chance. “You know,” she started off bravely one evening after yet another beautiful woman had caught his eye, “I really wish you wouldn’t do that.”
“Do what?” he’d asked innocently.
“Look at other women,” she answered boldly.
“All guys look at other women,” he’d answered without batting an eye.
“Yeah, perhaps,” she’d retorted, not giving in to his nonchalance “But not like you do.”
“And how exactly do I do it?!,” he said sarcastically. She bit her lip. This was the kind of arguing and scenes she hated. But she wasn’t going to let go that easily.
“You don’t just look. You STARE,” she said loudly.
“No, I do not!,” he replied hotly.
“Yes, you do!,” she insisted.
“Name one time I’ve stared,” he shot back annoyed.
“OK, just a couple of minutes ago there was a pretty woman using that phone over there and you couldn’t keep your eyes off her!” There she’d said it and he couldn’t escape this time.
“OK, so I stared,” he submitted, “Big deal. I’m just looking.”
“Well it really ticks me off,” she said, still annoyed.
He smiled. “Jealous, huh?”
She glared at him. “Why wouldn’t I be? You think those women are unaware of your interest?”
“Really?” he said a little too eagerly.
“Yeah, really,” she said dryly. “If you’d rather be with one of them than me, then why don’t you go after them?” she said peevishly.
“Oh, come on,” he said soothingly, “It’s just a habit. Remember I was married to the witch of the north. She left a lot for a man to desire. I need to see a pretty woman once in awhile, that’s all.”
“Yeah?,” she said, feeling her blood rise hot within her, “I thought you considered the woman you were with tonight pretty!”
“Very!” he said immediately and seized the opportunity to take the attention off himself by honestly praising her beauty. She was mollified--at least for the present. And for the rest of the evening he made a concerted effort to keep his attention on Charlene and she pretended not to notice how difficult it was for him. She sighed when he finally left her at her door. She really liked this man, but somehow she just knew the argument that night had not solved anything.
She was right. His extra attentiveness to her was short-lived and Charlene found herself constantly swallowing her pride as he tried to pretend he wasn’t girl watching. But it was impossible not to feel second-rate every time he made another woman the object of his attention. But what could she do?
On Friday evening they got drinks and snacks and sat in the local happy hour bar happily talking and laughing. At least Charlene pretended she was happy. She was only giving Danny half her attention sure he would find some pretty girl to admire. Danny didn’t disappoint her. He seemed oblivious to the fact that their relationship was already on shaky ground and was back in his old habit after only a few minutes together. He became fascinated with one particularly pretty blond with long hair and dimples. And though obviously a great deal younger than him, she wasn’t shy about acknowledging his attentions. Charlene was incensed.
When they went into dinner, she noted that he sat at a table where he could easily watch his new amour. Charlene sat and fumed while he spent the evening surreptitiously trying to get the little blonde’s attention. And even though the little hussy had a date, she managed to cast him several smiles. Charlene could take no more. Excusing herself she told him she was going to the ladies room. Danny smiled innocently and told her in a seductive voice to ‘hurry back,’ then unrepentantly went back to his flirting.
Charlene hadn’t been gone more than a few moments when, to Danny’s great delight, the pretty blonde’s date stood up, kissed her on the cheek and headed out of the room, probably to get something from his car. She turned her dimpled face towards Danny, caught his eye and smiled. He was radiant. He smiled broadly and nodded his head at her. Then to his ego-inflating amazement, she got up and came towards him purposely. His heart started pounding with excitement. She was actually going to come over and talk to him! As she stood in front of him, he caught his breath. She was very beautiful and very young. He was incredibly flattered. “Hi,” she said sweetly.
“Hi,” he said back flirtatiously.
“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” she said with a little laugh.
“Uh, not that I know of,” he said as seductively as he could. This was unbelievable. She was openly flirting with him and he hadn’t done more than smile at her. He puffed his chest out a little. This was just great!
“Oh well,” she continued, looking a little shy, “I thought maybe you thought you knew me?”
“No, I….,” he started to say, but just then her date came around the corner and stopped dead in his tracks. At first he just stared at the guilty pair as if he couldn’t comprehend the situation. He looked at his date, then at Danny and the anger building in his eyes was unmistakable. For a moment the three of them froze. Then little blondie, seeing his anger rising, stepped back accidentally catching her foot on a chair leg and slipped unceremoniously onto Danny’s lap. He caught her to hold her steady wondering how her date would take this unforeseen development. But when he looked up, he found the young man looking transfixed at something behind Danny’s chair. With one accord Danny and his lap partner turned to see what had caused his stupefaction and understood in a heart-stopping moment. Charlene had just walked back into the room and was standing with her mouth hanging open in utter disbelief. The four players in the little drama could not seem to move for several moments. Then little blondie broke the silence with a low “Uh oh” and turned back towards her boyfriend.
Charlene’s entrance had given him the respite he needed to control his anger and he didn’t even look at her. Instead he quickly and angrily walked over to their table, grabbed the bill, told his pretty date to find her own way home and walked out without another word. And Danny watched dumbfounded as Charlene followed suit. She yanked her coat from her chair and stalked out without a word.
Danny stared after her. He couldn’t believe it or take it in. Charlene didn’t understand. This was just an accident. He was crazy about her and she was walking out of his life, probably forever. Why had he been so stupid as to play with her feelings? For a moment he felt totally miserable. But just then his co-partner in crime stirred on his lap as she attempted to get up. He smiled down at her and she looked back at him with a rueful smile, “I guess we’re in trouble, aren’t we?” she smiled.
“Yeah, I guess so, “ he said, helping her up, somewhat unwillingly. “I don’t suppose she’ll ever speak to me again,” he added as she sat down across the table from him.
“No, I don’t suppose so,” agreed his new ‘date’. “Mine was certainly angry, wasn’t he?,” she said with a sigh. “And it’s all very well him telling me to find my own way home, but I only brought five dollars with me!”
“Would you let me take you home?” he offered quickly, hoping it would sound chivalrous when there was nothing else he would rather have done.
“Well,” she said, hesitating, “I guess I don’t really have a lot of choice. I got myself into this and now I'm stuck. Are you sure you wouldn't mind?” she continued uncertainly.
“No,” he said, this time completely honest, “Of course not. Don’t even think about it.”
“But,” she said, “How do I know I can trust you? I mean, we hardly know each other,” she added shyly.
“Well I can get you a cab if you’d rather. But then you’d have to trust him, wouldn’t you?” he smiled.
“Yeah, you’re right.,” she sighed, “…better the devil you know,” she added with a twinkle, and then smiled at her blatant cheek. They laughed together and he stood up.
“I’d better pay my bill and get us out of here before you change your mind,” he said. She smiled a bewitching smile at him and went to her table to gather her things. He began to suspect that the evening wouldn’t turn out to be a total dud after all.
They talked as he drove her home and she fed his ego with her flirting. Every once in awhile she’d interrupt to give him directions but the conversation never really lagged until he suddenly noticed that they were in an area he was very familiar with. ‘Wow,’ he said to himself, ‘that’s a coincidence, this is the same area of town Charlene lives in. How very peculiar.’ But then the whole evening has been peculiar. He wondered if it really was over with Charlene and felt a severe pang of regret. Would she understand that this was all a mistake? His mind was racing with possibilities of winning her back as they drove on. Charlene had warned him about his girl watching. Would this incident be his undoing? It wasn’t like he was trying to get anything started with those other girls. He felt sure he could make her see his point. And in the future he’d be less obvious when he wanted to look.
As he brought his attention back to the present he began to feel uneasy. They were driving in the very neighborhood that Charlene lived in. Could these two girls possibly know each other? No, that was ridiculous. This girl was far younger than Charlene. He dismissed such silly notions and tried to pay attention to his companion. But in a moment his heart was pounding, for she was asking him to turn onto the very street that Charlene lived on. What if he was seen delivering his new ‘date’? He gulped and wiped his brow. What a strange coincidence. Still his pretty companion chatted gaily, seemingly unaware of his discomfort. She couldn’t know that this was the very same street Charlene lived on. And yet….
“Right here,” she said cheerfully and Danny’s heart gave a sudden leap. They were pulling up right in front of Charlene’s house!
“Are you… sure?” he stammered, completely bewildered.
“Of course silly,” she said as she was getting out. “Don’t bother to walk me to the door,” she insisted as she closed the door and leaned into the passenger window.
“But this is…,” he continued uneasily.
“…where Charlene lives?,” she finished for him, and she watched his eyes widen in surprise as he nodded. What was going on here? He hadn’t told her his date’s name. How did she know…?
“I guess, then, that you really didn’t recognize me, huh?” she said, all wide-eyed and innocent.
“Recognize you?,” he said dumbly.
“Of course I was only a baby when you and Charlene were in high school together and she says we don’t even look like sisters....” She paused with a mischievous twinkle in her eye to watch the effects of this bombshell. She wasn’t disappointed.
“Sisters!!,” he exploded, horrified.
“Oh, you didn’t know?” she said with mock surprise, “I guess I don’t look much like my brother either then?,” she asked in an innocent voice.
“Your brother!!,” he stammered in a falsetto voice, completely beaten.
“Yeah, come to think of it you wouldn’t know him,” she continued smoothly, “He’s a good two years younger than me. He always takes me out to dinner when I come into town. Good looking devil, isn’t he?,” she said lightly, pretending not to notice his extreme discomposure. She was enjoying this. “Well, thanks for the ride. See you around,” she said as she turned to go, and then added, “Well, probably not, huh? Goodnight…..chump.”
And she left him with his mouth hanging open and a bright red flush creeping slowly from his neck to his ears as she fairly skipped up the drive to the door Charlene was holding open for her.
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