Hungry for Love

by Nancy Frederick

Unwilling to let her go, Grady asked, “What about my order?”

  “Yes?”

  “Chocolate shake. And dinner tonight.”

  Annabeth shook her head as she escaped his demands. What was he after from her? A guy like that—a football hero—it didn’t make sense—what could she ever be to him? She waited on the mother and her child, prepared Grady’s shake, then placed it uneasily in front of him. “That’s a dollar-sixty-five.”

  Instead of sipping through the straw, Grady dunked his tongue into the shake, while staring lasciviously into Annabeth’s eyes. Licking his lips, he said, “Mmm, cool and sweet.”

  Once again Annabeth escaped, this time to wait on a couple of teenagers, who ordered cones and took them out of the store. She prayed that Grady would leave. He made her so nervous, although she didn’t understand why. If only Charles would come out, but he remained behind the prescription counter, busily counting out pills.

  “Annabeth.” His voice was deep and filled with self confidence.

  Once again she walked to where he sat. “A dollar-sixty-five,” she repeated.

  “How about a hot fudge sundae?”

  “You’re kidding.” Suddenly filled with nostalgia, flooded with a memory of her husband on the night they met, Annabeth drew in a deep breath. R.J. She sighed for the past that was so long gone, for her youth, and for the chances that would never come again.

  Grady continued, “I’m not going to give up. It’s only a dinner you know. You’ll enjoy it.”

  Annabeth looked down at her feet, up at the ceiling, out the window and down the street. Anywhere but at Grady. She searched in her heart for the answer to this whole situation. Grady’s motives were unfathomable to her, and she didn’t wrestle long to uncover them. Her own hesitation was obvious. She was a married woman. Annabeth winced at the irony. “I’m sure you're a wonderful person,” she mumbled, although she was not sure of any such thing. “I’m just not ready to date anyone. Though I appreciate your offer.”

  There was a bewildering look of determination on his face as he replied, “I’m not giving up on you, Annabeth.” Taking a five-dollar bill from his pocket, he left it on the counter, then reached over to touch Annabeth’s hand. “I’ll be back.”

  She watched him turn to walk away, then said, “Wait.”

  He turned to face her as she said, “Let me give you your change.”

  Once again he smiled at her. “I want a lot more from you than change for a fiver.”

  She watched him stride out of the store, graceful and sure of himself, still the athlete, still the predator. Annabeth pressed her hand to her stomach, and feeling a bit queasy, she sat down on the little stool that stayed behind the counter. Imagine that. Dating. Dates. Kisses. Sex. How could she possibly cope with that? She sat and pondered the future until the next customer came in to rouse her.

  “How do you have the time to do all that?” asked Charles Gleason during his usual afternoon ice cream break. He was by now in the habit of sitting at the counter chatting with Annabeth when Debbie took her lunch break, particularly if he were running the store without his son.

  “Oh, I don’t know. I get up early, shop for unusual things to paint or work on what I’ve already collected, come here, and then when I go home, I paint for a few hours at night. I keep hoping that being so busy will help me lose weight,” Annabeth laughed.

  “I think you look perfect the way you are. You know, Annabeth, I really admire you. You’ve been so brave to start over, and you never complain. And now you're working so hard here and with your painting.”

  She smiled back at him. “I didn’t have a choice. And besides, it’s a lot less lonely to keep busy. Helps me forget the whole thing while I’m painting.”

  “Starting over can be a good thing, I think.” Charles always looked toward Annabeth with a certain degree of yearning, something she couldn’t quite understand.

  “That’s what everyone tells me.”

  He glanced carefully around the drugstore, and in seeing it empty of customers, he continued in a lowered voice. “There was a time about ten years ago when I was going to leave Sara.”

  Annabeth squinted slightly, thinking of another middle-aged woman with her life turned all topsy-turvy, but she remained silent, allowing Charles to continue.

  “It was the worst time in our marriage. We had nothing left to say to each other. The kids were gone. The zip was gone.” Here his voice grew even softer, “I strayed. Found a woman who was interesting. And interested.”

  Annabeth looked at Charles as he spoke, but it was impossible not to focus on her own feelings as well. That’s probably what R.J. thought. But she never stopped being interested in him, no matter what he thought. Feeling that it was rude not to comment, she asked, “What happened?”

  “I struggled with the whole thing for a long time. Finally I realized that I couldn’t sneak around any more. I decided to leave Sara. Only the other woman was fed up by then and she dumped me. Maybe it was for the best. Sara and I had a lot of time invested in each other.”

  “That’s true, you did. Continuity is very comforting.”

  Charles nodded. “I guess.” He smiled, “You’re a good listener, Annabeth.”

  “Thanks.”

  He rose then from his stool as a young woman entered the store. Annabeth cringed as she noticed who it was. Linna!

  “Excuse me,” she said in her little girl whine, “Where are the pregnancy tests?”

  “Right over here,” said Charles, leading her to the back of the store.

  Once more Annabeth sank back onto the stool behind the counter as she watched her husband’s girlfriend search for something that she herself would never need. Her heart began to pound, her head throbbed, and her stomach clenched into a knot that seemed permanent. She had to face facts. Never again would she be with R.J. That part of her life was over. It really was time to move on. How many times did she need to have this realization? In how many different ways had she seen that what used to be would never be again? Sorrow settled over her like a fog, and although Annabeth wanted to be cheerful, she couldn’t.

  She plodded through the rest of the afternoon, waiting on customers, smiling, wishing for all the world that she could sink through the floor into oblivion, that the pain that wrenched at her would finally subside. The later it got, the wearier she felt until it became almost impossible to lift her feet and walk from one end of the ice cream counter to the other. The thoughts ricocheted through her mind randomly and nowhere did she find peace. She worked constantly and had so little to show for her labors. Thousands to pay R.J. and thousands more in debt to a bank—if she could pull it off and that seemed unlikely. She’d never be able to save her home. And why did she need it anyway? She was all alone, and therefore not in need of a three-bedroom house at the secluded end of a bayou. Surely a one-bedroom apartment would serve her needs. R.J. would have to pay her alimony—what did they call it now—maintenance. What a joke. And she could quit this job, concentrate on painting knick knacks, so superior-acting people like Mr. Paris Landry could mock her efforts. Another joke. And then she could be free to date exciting men like Grady Hawkins. A bigger joke. What was it about him? Was she the only suitable kidney donor for him in the state? Surely he had an ulterior motive. R.J. Welner, a man on whom she had lavished nothing but devotion for twenty-five years didn’t want her, and he was overweight, out of shape, and nobody’s idea of a great success. Why would a football hero be so crazy to date her? On and on the thoughts pounded at her, the ridicule generated by her own mind leading her deeper and deeper into depression.

  Pressing her hands to her throbbing temples, she sank down onto the stool behind the counter. Resting her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands, Annabeth was immobilized. Could this be the flu? What difference did it make? She felt like weeping, but that, of course, was out of the question. Knowing that were she to allow herself the luxury of even one tear, the rent in her heart would split further and she would have no way t
o control the flood of emotions that would engulf her. So she sat, frozen on the stool, wondering if she were ill, unable to rise and ask if she could leave early until it was no longer early and Charles came out from behind his window and locked the front door.

  He turned to speak a few words to Annabeth, then spotted her, locked in deep distress behind the ice cream counter. “Are you all right?” he asked kindly.

  She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. She looked at him, her eyes wide with terror, but she shook her head calmly, indicating that she was just fine, which was obviously untrue.

  Charles walked over to her, resting his hand on her shoulder. “Annabeth, what’s the matter?” He pressed his hand to her forehead, which was cool, then asked, “Are you ill?”

  She bit her lip, still unable to speak, but the pain had a calming effect on her and so she volunteered, “That girl, the pregnancy test...”

  Charles’ eyes opened wide. “Oh, no. That was your daughter?”

  Annabeth held both hands to her temples, looking wildly about, then trying to maintain her composure. Shaking her head, she answered, “No, my husband’s girlfriend.”

  “What a fool,” said Charles.

  Annabeth, feeling embarrassed for confiding in him, started to rise, determined to get herself home. Clearly he thought she was overreacting.

  “What sort of fool would leave you for a little tramp like that?”

  She began to tremble then, and holding her hands to her eyes, Annabeth willed herself not to cry.

  Charles, seeing she was in deep need, stepped closer, reached out, and wrapped his arms around her tightly, pressing her head to his shoulder. Annabeth allowed herself to be held, but she did not let go and weep as she needed to. Instead she worked to regain her equilibrium, to compose herself and to show once again to her employer the cheerful, good-natured persona he was used to seeing.

  Taking a deep breath, she stepped back, out of his embrace, and managed a slight smile. “Thanks, Charles. I’m better now.” He looked so helpless, fumbling for some way to offer the assurance she needed that it was all right for her to let go with him, and Annabeth felt guilty to be taking his time and worrying him needlessly. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Oh, my dear, don’t be sorry. I know you’re having a hard time now. And I think you’re handling it so very well. Really. I just wish I could help you more.”

  “That’s so nice of you. You’re very kind. And I appreciate it. I’ll be better tomorrow, I’m sure. It’s just been a difficult day. I’ll just go home now, if that’s all right?”

  “I don’t think you should be alone just yet. Let me buy you dinner at least.”

  Looking at Charles, she felt sorry for him and guilty for what she’d just put him through, and although Annabeth doubted that she’d have the energy to sit across the table from anyone right then, she didn’t see a way to refuse without hurting his feelings. “What about Sara? Won’t she wonder where you are?” Annabeth hoped that reminding him of his wife would provide her out.

  “No, it’s Wednesday. She knows that if I’m late, I’m at the Rusty Lantern, laughing at the crooners. Now I won’t take no for an answer. You need some looking after.”

  “You’re very nice,” she said in a quiet voice, and followed him out the door and up the street, all the while wishing she could forget her manners and race away from him so that for once she could put her own needs first and just be alone.

  Doug Hawkins sat across from Patsy Clark at a table in the Rusty Lantern. When he spotted Annabeth and Charles entering the bar, he waved them over to his table and invited them to join him and Patsy, causing her to sulk a bit.

  “Patsy, Annabeth, you remember each other, don’t you? And of course you two know each other.”

  Charles nodded to both of them, “Patsy found Chuck’s house for him. How are you?” He smiled at her, helped Annabeth to a seat, then sat down.

  “It’s about time he started looking for a bigger house isn’t it?” she asked, “What with the growing family and all.”

  “Oh I think they’re pretty happy.”

  While Patsy queried Charles about the possibility of his relocation to a smaller home, Doug smiled at Annabeth. “Everything all right?” he asked in a low voice, looking closely at her and causing Patsy to glare at Annabeth.

  “I’m a bit tired. Fine though. And you?”

  “I’m glad to see you.”

  “I saw your brother today.”

  Doug’s brow furrowed, “Oh?”

  “Chocolate shake.” Annabeth smiled gently, wishing she could confide in Doug about his brother’s invitation, but not knowing how to broach such a subject, she remained silent.

  “Furniture painting going well?”

  “I’m going to do a show with a friend. Then we’ll see. I’ve sold a lot but I have a hard time setting prices.”

  “What’s your criterion?”

  “Well, the first time, Etta set them, and she paid well, I thought. Better than I expected. Then I sold to a store on my own and just doubled what I paid.”

  “Have you done any research on the market?”

  “Like The Price is Right.”

  Doug laughed, “Exactly. Visit a lot of shops, see how what they sell compares to what you have. Then ask for more than what you want to get. Let the store owners bargain you down—to the price you really want—that way everybody’s happy.”

  Annabeth nodded. “That’s a good idea. I’ll try to remember it.”

  Noticing the way Doug and Annabeth were interacting, Patsy reached over and kissed Doug on the cheek, then focused on Annabeth, saying, “You two have to have some wine with us. We’re celebrating. Seven months together.”

  “How nice,” said Annabeth and Charles simultaneously.

  Doug signaled to Wanda, the waitress, as Patsy said, “And Annabelle, where do you live? I’m always looking for clients.”

  “It’s Annabeth,” said Doug.

  “Oh, sorry. Annabeth.”

  “I live on Old Magnolia Bayou.”

  Patsy’s eyes opened wide. “Oh! I heard the most marvelous story about that street. Years ago—when I was first in the business.” She licked her lips and continued, “Well, everyone knows the Parish Paper Company.” They all nodded, so Patsy went on, “And they owned the whole street, all the land around it, just a pine forest really. This was, oh, in the twenties or thirties, I think.”

  “Here you go,” said Wanda, placing the opened bottle of Chardonnay on the table with four wine glasses. Want to order supper now?”

  “Come back in a bit, would you?” instructed Patsy without consulting the others.

  “No problem,” said Wanda, walking to another table.

  “So! Old man Parish—Tyler was his name I think, though he wasn’t any old man then—he was maybe forty—younger than we are now.” Patsy laughed at this irony before continuing, “In fact, he was the youngest son, but I’m getting distracted here. Anyway Tyler Parish it was, and he got involved with some bootleggers, and one of them had a friend who was a grifter, and that guy had a girlfriend from up North—she was Swedish, I think, one of those pale, shimmery blonde types, stunning, not too bright. So Tyler built a house for the blonde. At the end of the bayou, in fact, he built the street. And he didn’t just keep her for his mistress. He actually lived with her, dumped his wife. The wife had the rest of the town to offer her comfort, and she didn’t much miss Tyler. He was kind of a sleaze.”

  Doug filled the wine glasses and handed them out. Apparently he was far less interested in his girlfriend than she was in herself despite the fact that she was very beautiful.

  “So. The blonde runs off after a couple of years and Tyler eventually drops dead. The house on Magnolia sits empty for twenty years, maybe more. But Tyler and the wife had a son, Buster Parish, kind of a weakling, and he’s into gambling, not that he has a knack for it. And one night he gets into this poker game with some local low life, a guy who everyone knows is a cheater, eve
ryone but Buster, that is.”

  Annabeth swallowed hard on hearing this part of the story, and she wanted to speak up and correct Patsy, but if she were to defend R.J., it would be like calling Patsy a liar, and that would be awkward for everyone, so she chose to remain silent. Instead of commenting, she picked up her wine glass, downed its contents and allowed Doug to refill it as Patsy continued.

  “So. They’re playing five card stud, and the low life is dealing from the bottom of the deck, or whatever it is that cheaters do. Buster is too drunk to know. And the low life bets his truck—a new vehicle—against this house that Buster says he owns on the Bayou. And the cheat wins. He gets the house. So this sleaze, thinking he got a valuable piece of property goes all around town talking about how he beat out a Parish.”

  “What became of the house?” asked Charles.

  “They actually moved into that dump. The guy’s wife fixed it up. Kind of a mousy somebody I heard. Was that who sold it to you?” Patsy asked Annabeth.

  Annabeth blushed when this question was asked of her, and stammered only, “No, don’t think so.”

  “You two here for supper?” asked Doug, changing the subject.

  Charles nodded.

  Doug signaled to Wanda, who appeared immediately.

  “What are the specials?” asked Patsy.

  “We have some nice fish tonight. Grilled Grouper or Snapper. Or you can have it fried or blackened. Also lasagna.”

  “Grilled grouper sounds great,” said Patsy.

  “Rice and salad?”

  Patsy nodded. “And another bottle of wine.”

  Wanda looked toward Annabeth.

  “Oh a burger is fine.”

  “No, come on, eat a proper dinner,” insisted Charles. “You do eat fish?”

  Annabeth nodded.

  “Have that, please.”

  “All right,” agreed Annabeth.

  “Grouper or snapper?”

  “Either is fine.”

  “We’ll both have the grouper, but I want mine blackened. How about you?”

  “No, grilled please.”

  “Rice and salad?” asked Wanda.

  Annabeth nodded, so Charles said, “Perfect. And a beer for me. Want a beer?”