Dearest Dorothy, If Not Now, When?

by Charlene Baumbich

“It wouldn’t be so bad if entries were a uniform size and written in handwriting we could actually read without magnifying glasses and guessing. You should see some of the chicken scratch! While some good folks followed instructions, used the entry blank out of the paper, printed nicely and mailed it in, others have been dropping them off by the fistful and I mean to tell you they’re written on all sizes of blank paper and envelopes, including, if you can believe it, the back of those skinny grocery register receipts from Your Store. We got four of those!”

  Lester, who had just this morning finally had a chance to jot down a list of five possibilities on a napkin and was planning on giving it to Harold when he was done with his coffee, stuck his hand in his pocket and discreetly shoved the napkin to the very bottom. “I’ll tell you,” Harold continued, “our phone’s been ringing off the hook for these last few days before the deadline. Seems like the minute anybody gets a bright idea for a mall name they just pick up the phone to tell us about it. We must be on their speed dials. Once the caller said, ‘Oh, now that I hear that idea out loud, that’s not any good. Never mind. Hold on while I think of something else.’ You can bet your bippy I hung right up. The nerve. Some people are even calling wanting us to go through our whole pile to make sure we got their entries in the mail.”

  “Do ya?”

  “Heavens, no. We tell them we’re running a newspaper, not a confirmation service for the U.S. Post Office. Besides, we toss out the ridiculous ones right away. It’s enough keeping track of the possibilities.” He took his glasses off and rubbed the bridge of his nose before putting them back on.

  “You allowin’ the entries that didn’t come in on the official entry blanks?”

  “Sharon and I talked it over with Katie and decided that for better or for worse, we have to. Although we printed ‘Official Entry Blank’ on the form in the paper, we neglected to say that was the only way you could enter. And I suppose you saw last Sunday’s letter to the editor from Cora Davis accusing me of just trying to sell newspapers— accused me of dreaming up the contest just to sell papers!— by implying one had to have an official entry blank for each submission.”

  Lester tisk-tisked, shook his head. “That sounds like Cora.”

  “You haven’t had a chance to read today’s paper yet, have you?”

  “Liver day, you know. Been too busy chopping spuds and onions.” The mere reminder caused him to gulp down the rest of his coffee, get back to the grill and take to finishing up the side dishes before the early-bird diners arrived.

  “I wrote a piece telling everyone that as long as an entry gets to our office by eight P.M. tonight, it’s in the running, but after that, never mind. Too bad, so sad, but it won’t be considered no matter how much you whine or stomp your feet. Of course I didn’t say it like that, but I’m sure they got my drift. I also let them know, and in no uncertain terms, that we would not be answering the phone after five P.M. tonight when our office officially closes. At five P.M. we’re setting a shoebox outside the door and they can drop written entries into that until eight P.M. when we’re picking it up and closing the contest, no ifs, ands or buts about it. We figure that’ll give working folks who didn’t have a chance to read the paper this morning one final chance to see the reminder and weigh in.” Harold sighed, taking a quick look at the wall clock. “I better drink up and get back to the office to rescue Sharon. I tell you, folks have gone plumb nuts over this.”

  “Not all bad, the way I see it. At least it seems most everybody’s finally rallying around the idea of the mini mall, whatever it ends up being called.”

  “Katie Durbin is as smart as a whip, getting people invested like this. And as far as I can tell, most of the controversy about the mall has died down.”

  Lester filled a couple of creamers, put them back in the fridge and got out a huge slab of bacon to fry up for the liver. “You gonna run a list of the worst entries, withholding names, of course? Maybe give out a few ‘Thanks for the Laughs’ booby prizes?” Lester chuckled, imagining talk around his counter if that should happen.

  “Since I depend on subscriptions to keep the paper afloat, I doubt that would be a good political idea.”

  “Right-o.”

  “Lester,” Harold said, lowering his voice even though no one else was in the grill, “since I’ve never in all our born days known you to be a gossip, I will tell you the most obvious and preposterous laugh we’ve had, though.”

  “Shoot,” Lester said as he tossed the slab of bacon on the hot grill, readying to pull the slices apart as they heated up. “I could use a good laugh today.”

  “McKern Mall.”

  Lester spun on his heels to face Harold. “NO!”

  “YEP! Even though it was an anonymous submission, I would recognize Gladys’s thick handwriting anywhere. She pushes so hard on the paper she leaves big indents in it. Can you imagine a mayor recommending a mall be named after her own self?”

  “In Gladys’s case, yes, I certainly can.”

  As if on cue, the door swung open and Gladys stomped in, the stomp being her natural gait. She was carrying a giant parcel. The two men clammed up and froze in place, which made them look highly suspicious if not downright guilty of something.

  “What’s going on here?” Gladys demanded to know when she noticed their odd behavior.

  Harold stood and reached in his rear pocket to retrieve his wallet. “Nothing going on, but I’m going out.” He shot Lester a “Good cover, huh?” look and both men smiled, causing Gladys to puff herself up. “Sharon and I are still receiving mini-mall entries and as I’m sure you know, the winning announcement’s scheduled for this Sunday’s paper. We probably won’t even have a chance to eat or sleep before then.”

  “No obvious winner yet?”

  “Afraid not.”

  “I’ve been thinking about mall names myself,” Gladys said, trying to sound casual while shifting the front seams to her winter coat slightly to the left, “thinking how appropriate it would be if we perhaps named the mall after a family from Partonville, you know, a family that’s been influential in our community.”

  Lester coughed to mask his laugh, then coughed again, then cleared his throat.

  “Interesting idea, Gladys,” Harold said. “You mean like Wetstra Mall after Dorothy’s family? I kind of like the sound of that. Wetstra Mall. After all, where would we be without our Dearest Dorothy? What do you think, Lester?” Lester could only grunt, go into a coughing jag and turn his face as far away from Gladys as possible. He was about to bust a gut. Everyone knew full well Gladys had always been jealous of Dorothy. Old Harold was really playing devil’s advocate. “Or maybe Durbin Mall, since Katie Durbin’s single-handedly investing her time and money into the project.”

  By now, Gladys appeared puffed up to twice her size. Before she could respond, Harold tossed his money on the counter and left with a “Gotta run!” The minute he cleared the building he burst out laughing, which he continued to do all the way to his office. He couldn’t wait to tell Sharon.

  Poor Gladys.

  Gladys squinted and turned to give Lester, who still had his back toward her, a serious eyeball. He coughed yet again into the crook of his arm, cleared his throat and took a deep breath. “Can I get you something, Gladys?” he asked without turning to face her.

  “Not if you’re getting sick, Lester. Maybe you should be home in bed instead of here cooking cold germs into tonight’s special.”

  “No cold. Just swallowed wrong.”

  She squinted and studied his back for a moment. Something still felt fishy, but she didn’t have time to pursue it. “I’m just here to put one of these posters in your front window.”

  “What poster would that be?” he said, finally looking over his shoulder.

  Gladys laid her giant parcel on the counter and carefully opened the top flap. She proceeded to extract what could—and surely would—be described a
s a huge black-and-white mug shot of herself. The camera, wielded by her son, had been held so close to her face and she’d obviously worked so hard not to blink when the flash went off that Lester had to cough again. She looked plumb startled in the picture, as if somebody’d walked up behind her and said BOO! Gladys, on the other hand, felt that the up-close-and-personal angle, which she’d insisted on, made her look bright-eyed, alert and ready to step forward into the future, as she was fond of saying. Under her face, giant block lettering read MAYOR+McKERN=MOMENTUM. Well, you do barrel along, Gladys, Lester thought. Without waiting for Lester’s approval, Gladys propped the poster in the window right next to the front door.

  “Thank you for your continued support, Lester,” Gladys said as she barreled out the door to disperse the rest of her campaign materials.

  Lester returned to his bacon and waited until he heard the door close behind that hurricane of a woman. “I don’t recall ever giving it to you,” he said aloud with a sigh.

  “Don’t recall giving me what?” a male voice asked.

  Lester whirled around to discover Jacob seating himself on a stool. “Jacob! Good to see you again. Here to stay yet?”

  “Not quite. But maybe that’s because you haven’t given it to me yet?”

  “What?”

  “No fair. I asked first.”

  Lester had to think for a moment. “Oh. I wasn’t talking to you. I didn’t realize you’d walked in.”

  “If you were talking to Gladys, she didn’t hear you. She was already out the door and bounding toward Hornsby’s Shoe Emporium before I came in.”

  “That was the general idea,” Lester said, waving his spatula at the door. “I mean that she didn’t hear me.”

  “I caught a glimpse of her poster on the way in.”

  “And?” Lester asked, turning the strips of bacon to keep them from crisping.

  “Scary.”

  Lester laughed out loud, which felt good since he’d been holding in a guffaw since Harold had caught Gladys in his crosshairs. “I quite agree. Now, what can I get you?” he asked, swiping his bacon-smeared hands down the front of his apron.

  “The biggest, strongest cup of brew you got, and make it to go.”

  Lester grabbed one of the Styrofoam cups he used for large to-go soft drinks. “Okay?”

  “I’ll take it.”

  “How’s things going for you up there?” Lester nodded to Jacob’s second-floor office which was right next door.

  “Helen and I are chipping away at it. One thing is for sure, I couldn’t make this transition without her. I’m sure glad she’s staying on to work for me.”

  Lester ran his thumbs around the rim of the to-go lid, sealing it in place. “Doesn’t she want a coffee?”

  “I asked her but she said no. She’s been downing bottled water since Monday.”

  “You don’t say. I just do not understand anyone paying for water. And say, don’t you guys have a coffeemaker up there? Surely you do. You know, Rick ordered lunch from here just about every day, but come to think of it, I don’t ever recall him asking for coffee and I know he drank the stuff.”

  “Yes, we’ve got a coffeemaker, if you can call it that. It looks to be twenty years old and the coffee tastes like it too. Sharon said Rick never wanted her to wash it. He said he’d done that once and the coffee tasted like soap for a week afterwards. It’s on my list of things to replace. As for the water, Sharon’s started some new diet—which she says is the fourth one she’s tried this year—and she has to drink . . . I don’t remember how many bottles of water it is a day, but plenty. Luckily I caught her on the second stair before she killed herself trying to lug a case of it up those steep stairs.”

  “Women can be so dern determined,” Lester said, shaking his head. Jacob nodded in agreement.

  “Since she’s not drinking coffee, I’d rather do without than deal with that disgusting coffeemaker. I was going to pick one up, then I realized there’s no longer an appliance store here in town. Guess I’ll have to go to Hethrow.”

  “Wal-Mart,” Lester said, his tone implying, Duh!

  “Never been inside those hallowed doors. I’ll have to go with Mom, I guess. I took her recently, but I stayed in the car to make a few phone calls. She can be my tour guide.” Lester threw Jacob a puzzled look. For somebody so smart, Lester wondered how it was Jacob’d never been to a Wal-Mart, but he kept the thought to himself.

  “We sure are mighty glad to have you, Jacob. I don’t know what we’d have done without you coming to our rescue.”

  Jacob looked thoughtful. “Thank you, Lester. You know, maybe Partonville’s come to my rescue.”

  Even though Lester found that a curious statement, it wasn’t his nature to ask personal questions. “Herb find you a place to live yet?”

  “Not yet.” Jacob set a couple of bucks on the counter. “See you next week. Who knows, you might start seeing me as often as you did when I came here after grammar school for French fries. Remember the mob of us kids you used to have in here every day?”

  “I surely do. I miss the sounds and energy of youngens in here. They don’t come around much since the town’s schools closed and the kids all ride the bus to Hethrow. The bus drops them off right by their front doors now.”

  “Funny, my perception as a kid was that you never seemed too glad to see us.”

  “Is that so,” he said more than asked. “Now you’re starting to sound like one of my complaining regulars and you don’t even live here yet,” he said flatly, but a twinkle escaped from his eye.

  Jacob chuckled, gave Lester a farewell nod and off he went. Just before he opened the door leading up to his office stairwell, he saw Gladys trudging into the front door of the old Taninger building, now under reconstruction for the new mini mall. His eyes scanned her obvious trail since one of her posters leered out of every window . . . except for Hornsby’s. Hm. Wonder what happened there?

  He’d noticed earlier from his upstairs office window, which was across the square from the Taninger building, that Katie’s SUV was gone, but now he saw it was back. He took a sip of his coffee and mulled over whether or not to pop in and say hi, but then Gladys was there. He stayed put, rather enjoying the fresh air even though it was cold outside. His office always smelled . . . dusty, stuffy. Something. Maybe he’d have to get one of those air purifiers he’d seen advertised in the Sharper Image catalogue.

  He stood sipping, thinking about how he hadn’t seen Katie his last couple of trips. When he’d stopped by the Taninger building last week, he heard the construction guys banging away, but Edward Showalter came to the door and told him Katie wasn’t around. Jacob’d left a message at the farm, but Katie hadn’t called him back either. His mom said Katie’d gone back to Chicago for a spa day. That had been her routine when she lived in Chicago (born and raised there), before she moved to Partonville about six months ago. “Since it’s a five-hour drive,” his mom had explained, “she’ll be gone two nights: one to make sure she’s on time for her first treatment, then she stays the night at a hotel in Chicago to soak in the afterglow, as she puts it, and do a little shopping.” Ah, another city person finding her way, doing what needs to be done to stay sane, he’d thought.

  “I’m glad she took a couple days off,” Dorothy said. “She’s really been stressed. She ended up having to replace the boiler in that old building with forced air heat, quite the undertaking, what with also subdividing the interior into store spaces and incorporating that atrium. Yup, that heating issue was quite the expensive and time-consuming project—not to mention the whole asbestos surprise! Those things surely did set her budget and rehab schedule behind, which, as it turns out, were only the first in a string of glitches. Now there’s some structural issue with the atrium; one of her anchor store lessees backed out when she told them the grand opening would be postponed until mid-April or possibly even early May; and about the time constr
uction got back on track, the stomach flu ripped through her gang of construction workers, who, by the way, are quite the interesting lot.” Jacob raised his eyebrows but Dorothy said no more.

  “Surprising,” Jacob had said.

  “What?”

  “That she’s leaving Josh alone at the farm on two school nights.” He wondered why Josh hadn’t mentioned it in an e-mail. Not that they kept in constant touch since they’d started e-mailing, but something that big. . . .

  “HA! She surely is not allowing that child to stay on his own, not with him dating Shelby and owning those hot wheels!” Dorothy chuckled. “I’d offered for him to stay here but she knew you were due in and didn’t want to intrude so she got him a room at the Lamp Post, both of them knowing full well Jessica will report any tidbit of questionable behavior. I don’t know if you remember or not, but Josh and Katie stayed at the Lamp Post for several weeks when they first moved here since school had already started and they were waiting to get into the farm after my auction and all, so it’s kind of like a home away from home for him.”

  “I bet you miss our old Crooked Creek Farm more than ever, now that spring’s not far off, huh, Mom?”

  “Oh, I’m doing okay. And Josh and Katie have me out to visit as often as I like. But staying on topic, Jessica called to tell me it’s working out more than fine with Josh staying at the Lamp Post a couple days since he’s baby-sitting Sarah Sue tonight while she and Paul have dinner at the Wal-Mart and do a little shopping. She couldn’t remember when they’d last had a big night out!”

  “A big night out at Wal-Mart? Wal-Mart serves food?” Jacob asked, his face scrunched in a sour look. “No wonder Katie’s staying an extra night in Chicago.”

  “Hey! Wal-Mart is one of Jessica’s favorite places to eat, buster. Since when did you get too high and mighty for Wal-Mart?” she teased, sort of. He explained to her they didn’t have Wal-Marts in the middle of big cities, at least not yet, and how she’d have to show him around one day, but not too soon.

  Sometimes, Jacob thought, while taking another sip of coffee and reaching for his office door, Partonville felt like another world. How would he adjust after so many decades away? Something else to talk to Katie about on his next trip. Maybe she could give him a few pointers for transitional survival. But for now, he had work to do. After next week, you’ll have plenty of time to catch up with Katie.