Victoria smiled, “I'm sure you are exaggerating.”
He made a face, “You haven't seen my boat!”
There was a long pause. Victoria obviously wanted to know more but was trying desperately not to ask. Finally she said, “I can't stand it. What have you found out about her?”
He paused and pursed his lips. “Well, here's the thing, Miss Victoria, Marcella told me some things about her past, but she told them to me in strict confidence. I don't know what came over me, but I promised her I wouldn't tell anyone her story. I also specifically asked her not to tell me anything that pertains to her late husband or to Techtron that has not been published.”
Victoria chuckled, “Are you falling in love with her?”
He shook his head, “I don't think so. I think she intimidates me way too much to fall in love with her. I am, however, fascinated by her and I enjoy her company. As much as I enjoy spending time with you and my other friends, I have to tell you I rather like spending time with a woman who is sort of in my age group. Not to mention one who shares my passions for running and boating.” He decided not to mention the fishing part.
Victoria nodded and put down her cup. She put her hand on his arm and said, “As well you should. It has been a long time since you have been in a relationship with a woman. I just hope you will be careful.”
“I am always careful where women are concerned. Maybe too careful ... which is why I have been alone so long.”
“On that note, have you heard from Deborah?”
“Actually, I received an email from her last week. She said she was feeling very weak and tired. She has hospice care at her home. I don't think it will be much longer.” He stopped and cleared his throat.
Victoria poured him some more tea, patted his arm and promptly changed the subject.
As he was leaving, she said, “This is awkward, but I'm going to say it anyway. According to the newspapers, Marcella Wilson is broke, but she doesn't live like it. I am planning to host a fund raiser during the holidays to raise money to expand the children's wing of the hospital. As you know the pool of money in this town is very deep, but it is not very wide. If Marcella has any money, I'd love to tap into it. If she really is broke, I don't want to embarrass her. What I want to know, if you can tell me without giving away confidences, is should I invite her or not?”
He chuckled, “I don't know how much money she has, but she is not broke. I think she would appreciate an invitation. I have the impression she is lonely, although she hasn't said so in those words.”
Victoria suddenly got a strange look on her face, “Suppose I invite you. Bring her as your guest. You are my friend. It won't look like such a crass maneuver to get my hand in her pocket.”
Ray laughed, “Miss Victoria, it is a crass maneuver to get your hand in her pocket, and she'll know it the minute she gets an invitation whether it comes directly from you or through me. What is more, you have never invited me to a charity function before so I find myself interpreting your suggestion as crass maneuver to get your hand in my pocket as well.”
Victoria opened the door and put her hand on his shoulder, “It most certainly is. The date is December 14. Please mark it on your calendar, and please consider inviting Marcella to be your guest.”
He gave her a quick peck on the cheek, “I could never say no to you, even when you are being conniving and manipulative.”
She looked at him with a wide-eyed silent-screen-star-surprised look and said, “Moi!?”
He had set his cell phone on silent while he was visiting with Victoria. When he got in his car, he noticed he had two messages. The first one was from Marcella; she had left a message to the effect that she was just checking in and asked him to call her when he had a minute. The second call was from Carl Bashears. He said simply that Deborah had passed away. She had been cremated and her ashes scattered in the mountains behind their home. Ray felt as though he had been punched in the stomach.
Without even thinking about it, he immediately dialed Marcella's number. She answered on the second ring and sounded sincerely glad to hear from him. He blurted out, “If you are not busy, would you mind if I stopped by your place? I just got some bad news and, quite honestly, I just don't want to go home alone. Would I be imposing if I stopped by?”
She paused for only an instant, “Not at all. I made a pot of soup for dinner but haven't eaten yet. If you wouldn't mind stopping at a store for some good bread and a bag of mixed greens for salad, we can have dinner here.”
He stopped at the store for a baguette and mixed greens. He also bought some gorgonzola and pine nuts because he liked them in salad.
A few minutes later he pulled into the gatehouse of her complex. The guard waved him through. He pulled into the driveway and Marcella opened the front door before he got out of the car. She waited for him to come in, taking the grocery bag from him as he entered. She took his arm and ushered him into the living room. A bottle of wine was open on the coffee table. Marcella headed for the kitchen with the groceries, calling over her shoulder, “Pour us some wine. I'll be right back.”
She came back a minute later and sat down beside him. He had not poured the wine. In fact, he sat there sort of staring off into space. She asked, “Would you rather have a beer?”
He shook his head. She poured wine for each of them, but he didn't taste his. She took his hand and asked gently, “What is it?”
He leaned back on the couch and closed his eyes, wondering how in the hell he was going to be able to say it out loud. What was he doing here anyway? Why had he come here? Marcella still had his hand between both of hers. He felt her willing him to calm himself and to tell her what had happened. Her strength helped him regain just enough composure to say, “It may have been wrong of me to come here right now, but I found out today that my ex-wife died recently. We have been divorced for a long time and she had remarried, but I always cared about her. I can't explain it. I just feel as though I have lost her all over again. It isn't like we were ever going to be together again. It's just that I am sad to know she is gone forever.” He paused, swallowed to stop a sob, and continued, “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come here tonight.” He started to get up.
She pulled him back on the couch and put her hand on his chest. “You most certainly should be here. As you should know, I know a thing or two about grief. Everyone I have ever loved has died and I am prone to wonder if it's my fault. Sometimes I feel like the Grim Reaper. I know that's crazy. In any case, I know how it feels to lose the people you love, or have loved at one point in your life. I am honored you came here tonight.”
He relaxed and closed his eyes. She quit pushing on his chest but did not move her hand. Instead of holding him in his seat, it rested on his chest, comforting him and supporting him. She leaned close and whispered, “It is okay to cry.”
He tried not to cry, but the tears came as if responding to her invitation. She put her arms around him and rested her head on his shoulder. She did not look at him, for which he was grateful. She simply held him while he cried. When he stopped, he said simply, “Thank you.”
She tightened her arms into a firm and yet tender hug, and said, “It's what friends do.” She sat up and sipped her wine. She added, “I'm going to go stir the soup. Are you ready to eat or would you rather wait a while.”
He smiled with an odd expression, “Amazingly, I am very hungry.”
She patted his hand. “I'll finish dinner.”
She went into the kitchen. He sipped the wine, which was, not surprisingly, very good. In a few minutes, Marcella beckoned him from the doorway. She had set the table in the kitchen, which was much more intimate than the dining room and seemed more appropriate for the casual dinner of soup and salad. Ray moved like an automaton from the living room to the kitchen, following her instructions.
They ate their soup and talked very little. When they had finished dinner, Ray said, “I hope you don't think it is rude of me to invite myself to dinner and then eat and run, but
I think I need to go home now.”
Marcella smiled and led him to the door, “Not at all. I agree that you should go home now. I am grateful you came to me when you received this news. Now, however, is not the time for us to cling to each other. As painful as it may be for you to be alone, you need to go.”
She walked him to the door, holding his arm. When they reached the door, she gave him a quick peck on the cheek, and closed the door behind him.
The next morning he knew his guardian angel had helped him get home because for the life of him, he could not remember driving there. It was Friday, which meant he had to attend the local football games. He decided to sleep in.
About nine o'clock he awoke to the ringing of his cell phone. Marcella was calling to ask if he planned to go for a run today and if he wanted company. He hadn't thought about it, but it sounded like a good idea. He told her he had to go to a couple of high school football games in the evening so his day was free. She suggested that they meet in the early afternoon at his house for a run followed by supper at Cap'n Dick's. He agreed.
They ran about twice as far as they usually did. He needed the extra exercise. She seemed to enjoy it, too. After their run, they returned to his house where they showered and changed clothes. They arrived at Dick's a half hour or so before sunset. The waitress asked if they wanted their usual beer. Ray shook his head. “I have to make the rounds of football games tonight and file at least one story, perhaps more, by the 2:00 a.m. deadline. I need all my faculties. I will have tea, sweet, with lots and lots of lemon.”
The waitress said, “You mean half lemonade and half tea?”
“That sounds good.”
Marcella raised her hand, “I'll have tea also, unsweetened, no lemon.”
Ray made a face and said, “Bleck.”
Marcella laughed. “While I technically grew up in the South, I never learned to drink tea. In my youth we only consumed only three beverages: coffee, in huge quantities, was the fuel on which we ran every day; water, which we drank mostly in the summer when it was hot and we sweated a lot; and, beer. I can't remember a time when I didn't have beer in the evening. I guess today they would probably take a kid away from a parent who would have her work in a dangerous occupation like fishing and let her drink beer. (I smoked, too, from the time I was maybe twelve or thirteen. I smoked what my dad smoked: Pall Malls.) I never developed a taste for Southern-style tea-syrup. I learned to drink tea when I got to Chicago, where it comes diluted and unsweetened.”
Ray chuckled, “That's funny. My dad ran a bar, but I never saw him drink alcohol. Maybe he had a drinking problem early in his life and had quit or something. I don't know. I do know that he drank tea from morning till night. Sweet, thick and very, very strong tea. We had a lemon tree in our back yard, so my mom would often make lemonade for me. To this day lemonade and tea are my favorite beverages. I didn't really drink beer until I went to college.”
“Did you work in the bar?”
“Sure. I worked for my dad same as you did for yours. I don't know that it is true now, but it used to be if your parents owned a business, you worked there. I can remember pulling draft beers when I was so little I had to stand on a chair to reach the beer taps. I suppose that was illegal even then; today I am sure the state of Florida would jerk my dad's liquor license for that.
“My main responsibilities as a kid involved busing tables, sweeping up spills and helping the bands set up. It was a great life, let me tell you. Dad's place catered to local fishermen, but there were always some tourists, many of whom were serious anglers, who came in to hang out with the fish-heads.” He laughed, “You'd think that someone who has been around great fishermen his whole life wouldn't suck so bad at actual fishing.”
She smiled and patted his hand, “You drive the boat beautifully and you know exactly how to maneuver it when someone has hooked one. That's important.”
He made a face, “I guess that's something. Anyway, it was a swell life.”
“Did your mom work in the bar, too?”
“Sometimes during busy spells she would come in to help in the evenings. She was a cook in one of the restaurants at the harbor. She worked the breakfast and lunch shifts. God, she was a fabulous cook....” His voice trailed off.
“You use the past tense for both of them. When did they die?”
He swallowed slowly and laid his hands flat on the table for support. “They were killed in an automobile accident on Alligator Alley when they were on their way home from my college graduation.” He paused, sipped his tea and continued, speaking rapidly in order to get to the end of the story as quickly as possible, “The highway patrol determined that a late afternoon thundershower blew up, possibly with a tornado or maybe just a microburst. Dad lost control of the car, apparently due to the high wind and driving rain. The car flipped over and landed upside down in a ditch beside the road. It was pretty wet that summer and the ditch was full. The car sank, so it was more or less invisible from the road unless someone was looking closely. There wasn't a lot of traffic at the time and apparently no one witnessed the accident. When they didn't check in with me by the time I thought they should have arrived home, I started calling their house.
“When they didn't answer, I called the bar and someone went to their house. They weren't home yet. Their night manager got on the phone and called all the restaurants in the Keys where he thought they might have stopped but nobody had seen them. They were already several hours overdue.
“I called the highway patrol and they found the car a few hours later. Both my parents had drowned.”
At some point while he was talking, she reached across the table and took his hand. She did not let it go when he stopped talking. The sunset show was about to begin. They watched it in silence, holding hands. By the time the waitress brought the food, Ray had recovered his composure. Marcella patted the back of his hand.
After dinner, he said, “Well, I'm starting at the game in Bradenton, so I can drop you off at home.”
She nodded, but then said softly almost wistfully, “You know I've never been to a high school football game.”
He looked at her, surprised, “You're from Florida and you've never worshiped at the altar of the gridiron god?”
She shook her head, “Recall that I was not particularly involved in my high school. Choctawhatchee High had a decent football team and I followed their results, but I didn't go to the games. I went to a couple of college games at Northwestern, where football involved bundling up like an Eskimo, drinking hot chocolate and praying I wouldn't freeze to death. I've been to a lot of pro games, generally sitting in sky boxes drinking incredibly expensive liquor and eating gourmet food. I've never experienced the sweaty Friday night frenzies in Florida.” She paused, “Would you mind if I tag along?”
He tucked her hand in his elbow, and said, smiling, “C'mon, Sugar, you are about to be belatedly initiated into the Ritual.”
They pulled into the high school parking lot, which was packed. The game was between Bradenton Manatee and Bradenton Bayshore, a crosstown rivalry that always drew a crowd. There were more adults than students in attendance. Ray recognized a lot of members of the press, and saw a few others he knew to be college scouts. He flashed his press credentials and pushed Marcella ahead of him before anyone could ask about her credentials or a ticket. They sat in the press booth for a while, but Ray wanted to get down on the ground and pick up some local color. He also wanted to get Marcella out of the press booth before someone recognized her. They wandered around the sidelines on both sides of the field. They drank sodas from the booster club wagons. Ray bought some Buddy Poppies from the VFW. On a whim, he bought Marcella a Manatee pennant, as a souvenir of her first Friday night football experience.
She grinned, “I'll put this in my scrapbook.”
They laughed like teenagers.
All evening long, Ray's blackberry buzzed constantly with messages coming in from stringers who were attending other games around the state. By the
end of the third quarter, it was mathematically impossible for Bayshore to come back and win, so Ray suggested they go down the road and catch the end of the Bradenton Christian game. They arrived about midway through the fourth quarter of a slaughter in which Bradenton Christian had trounced Leesburg Christian Academy by a score of 67-3.
Marcella commented, “So much for Christian charity. What about the issue of running up the score on a team that is down?”
Ray led her back to the car, laughing, “Let me explain, my dear. Obviously your sports education is woefully lacking in some of the basics. The whole idea of it being bad form to run up the score on another team is either an invention of television, where they like the games to be close so people don't turn them off, or the polite and misguided folks in the Midwest, who operate under the delusion that sports is a game. In Florida, football is not a game: it is combination of religion and gladiatorial combat. The faithful do not come out to see their team play a good game. They come out to share in the experience of annihilating the enemy. If it is possible to run up the score in order to add humiliation to the defeat, all the better.”
She shook her head, “I guess I don't get it.”
He opened the car and helped her in. He put his lips next to her ear and whispered, “Yes, you do.”
She looked up with a question in her eyes. He closed the door and walked around to the driver's side. He got in and smiled at her. She said, with an edge to her voice, “Would you care to explain?”
He said, “Close your eyes. Think about when you've got a really big one on the hook, and you battle him for a long time. Then there comes the moment when you've won. The fight might not be totally over, but you know you've got him. Sometimes, just sometimes, don't you play him just a little more, just to feel the thrill of subduing him all over again .... ?”
He watched her face by the light of the dashboard. She smiled and opened her eyes. She whispered, “Yeah.”
Baiting & Fishing Page 12
