by Allan Cole
"Calm down, Ellen," she said, very soothing. "I can call you Ellen, cant’ I?"
"Of course you may," Ellen said. She was still frantically digging in her purse.
Ruth stopped her. "Never mind that," she said. "Today’s mail didn’t come yet. It’s sort of a holiday weekend, you know? But not official. It’s Cinco de something down in South America, or Mexico, you know? Like the banks and post office will still be working on Monday, kind of holiday. Hey, don’t worry. We’ll get it cleared up later, okay?"
Ellen nodded gratefully. "Okay," she said.
Ruth took her by the arm and led her toward the building. "Come on," she said. "I’ll show you your new place."
As they approached the front porch, Sam nodded at Ellen pleasantly. Ruth opened the door and motioned for Ellen to go first.
At the same time, she leaned in close to whisper, "Hand’s off… He’s mine."
Ellen was startled, blurting, "Oh, Sure. Sure."
*****
As she went inside Sam eyed her trim figure wrapped in such tasty clothes. "Nice," he said softly.
Then chauffeur lumbered up the steps, bags under his arm. He gave Sam a wary look.
"Boo," Sam said.
The guy paled and rushed inside.
Sam laughed. This was getting to be a pretty damned good day.
*****
CHAPTER THREE
APARTMENT SIX WAS nice enough in a "For Rent- Furnished" sort of way.
The furniture was nondescript, the carpets elderly but cared for. And the walls were decorated with yard sale prints – some of which might have been okay, except they were badly framed. But the place was quite clean, Ellen noted. Not a speck of dust or cobweb in sight. And it smelled fresh, as if it had just been sprayed with a lemony scent.
"Be it ever so humble," Ruth said, waving a hand to take in the apartment.
Ellen kept a poker face as she looked around. The yard sale prints put her teeth on edge. "Very nice, thank you," she said. "I’m sure I’ll be comfortable here."
She didn’t entirely fool Ruth. "Used to much better, huh?" her new landlady said.
Ellen was embarrassed. "No, honestly," she said. "It really is very nice. I’ll have it looking like Ellen’s Place in no time."
"That a relief," Ruth said. "For minute there I thought you hated it."
And Ellen realized that her poker face hadn’t really been up to snuff. "Please forgive me," she said. "I’m dirty and tired from traveling and I was only looking at the apartment as a nice clean place where I could take a nice hot shower."
Ruth nodded understanding. "I’m a clean freak, myself," she said.
"It was really the very first thing I noticed," Ellen said, making certain she nodded approvingly at dust free corners and dirt free carpets.
Ruth smiled at her, mollified. She started to speak, but then stopped so she could step aside and let the chauffeur dump the last of Ellen’s stuff on the floor. Then, without word, the man got the hell out of there as fast as he could.
Ruth laughed at his undignified exit. "He’s scared Sam’s going to show up and criticize his work," she said.
Ellen almost said something clever, then realized Ruth probably wouldn’t get it, plus there was a very good chance she’d be insulted as well.
Instead she said, "You’ve both been most hospitable… Thank you."
"Tell the truth," Ruth said, "I’ve never done a rental like this. Sight unseen on both sides. Everything by long distance phone and overseas mail."
She gave Ellen a look. "Jamaica, right?" she said. "Your last address, I mean."
"Right," Ellen said. "Jamaica."
Ruth waited a second and when nothing more was forthcoming, she said, "I didn’t know you from Adam. Still don’t."
Again, Ellen remained silent. She felt uncomfortable at the clumsy attempt to prod into her affairs.
Ruth laughed – silly me. Quite aware she’d made things uneasy. "On the other hand," Ruth said, trying to make a joke out of it, "I’m not acquainted with Adam, either."
Ellen smiled politely, but didn’t reply.
Ruth looked at the easel and painting gear heaped by the window. "You an artist?" she asked.
"I like to think so," Ellen said, feeling a little guilty for acting so reserved. "I had a gallery in Jamaica," she continued. "It was just getting popular when I had to… uh… you know – leave."
"Had to split in a hurry, did you?" Ruth said, an all-knowing smile on her lips.
"There was just… you know… a business misunderstanding," Ellen said, clearly uncomfortable.
Ruth gave her a woman of the world look. "I hear you, honey," she said. "Didn’t mean to pry. Hells bells. There’s nothing Ruth Castro doesn’t know about business misunderstandings. Been on my own since my husband died and I tell you, it’s shameful how ready people are to cheat a woman alone. You really have to watch yourself, you know?"
Ellen started to warm to Ruth. "Absolutely," she said. "I never realized… until.. well… recently… what some people are capable of. I suppose I was naïve."
Ruth eyed her speculatively. "That was quite a car you showed up in," she said." The neighbors have never seen anything like it. Me neither, as a matter of fact."
"I hope I didn’t give them the wrong impression," Ellen said. "My brother arranged for the car to pick me up at the airport."
"By arranged, you mean he paid for it?" Ruth asked.
Ellen laughed. "He’d better," she said. "I don’t have that kind of money. Especially after… well, you know… Jamaica."
"The business misunderstanding?" Ruth said.
"Yes, it was, um-"
Loud music from outside suddenly blared, interrupting her. Ellen shut the window, cutting the sound, then decided not to go on.
"There’s a street party tonight," Ruth said. "Check it out, if you want. Meet some of the neighbors."
"Thanks," Ellen said. "I’ll do that."
Ruth started to leave, then stopped in the doorway. "About Sam," she said. "He’ll probably come on to you. You know how men are." She said that as a statement, not a question.
Ellen smiled in friendly understanding. "I should just slap his face and send him home, right?" she said.
Ruth suddenly became very serious. "Oh, honey," she said. "You don’t want to slap a man like Sam Barr. Not ever."
*****
CHAPTER FOUR
RUTH WENT OUT the door, shutting it carefully behind her.
Ellen stared blankly around the room, emotion building up – piling onto her travel weariness. Her hands suddenly started to shake. Then she very deliberately forced calm.
"Come on, girl," she said. "Get a grip,"
Then she turned, really looking around the living room, now. Trying to think positive thoughts. But the place felt so closed in, she could hardly get a breath. The air conditioner thundered on and the oppression became even more unbearable.
Ellen went to the main living room window and threw it open, breathing in the breeze that flowed in – feeling stimulated, no matter how hot and humid the day. She could smell the salt air from the nearby beach and the tropical perfume of the foliage that grew along banks of the neighborhood canal. Just outside her window she was presented with a large tree, with many fern-like branches that shaded the extensive garden.. To her delight, the whole tree was shot with fabulous red blossoms. Ellen drank in the color in along with the fresh, tangy air.
Somewhere down the street a Jimmy Cliff song was playing: "You can get it if you really want. You can get it if you really want…"
Ellen smiled and turned back into the room, humming the song.
The picture over the couch caught her eye. It was a pseudo last century Saturday Evening Post thing: a boy and a dog napping under a tree. It was so ugly it made her laugh.
While she studied it and thought, she sang, "But you must try, try and try… Try and try…"
Ellen came to some sort of a decision about the print. She went to the couch, stepped up on the pillows and gi
ngerly lifted the picture off its hanger.
Then she went to one of the mailing tubes and popped off the end. She shook out a large poster and unrolled it, revealing a fabulous tropical montage swirling with fiery colors – not too unlike the tree outside her window. She found some tacks in one of the boxes and stuck the poster up on the wall, singing as she worked.
She stood back to admire the effect. The poster was an advertisement for the opening of her former gallery in Jamaica. But advertisement or not, it wouldn’t have taken more than one glance to confirm that Ellen was a very talented artist indeed.
The caption on the poster read: Catch A Fire At Ellen’s World. And almost as if it were ordained, the music outside changed to Bob Marley’s "Catch A Fire."
Ellen smiled as she heard the refrain, bending her head to listen to the haunting words and music float through the window. "… The table is turn, baby, now; Catch a fire…
She studied the poster, then nodded to herself. "And you don’t even have a damned brain tumor, Ellen," she said. "So what the hell are you complaining about?"
She got busy, unpacking her things and putting them away, singing softly to herself: "You can get it if you really want… really want… really want…"
*****
The block party really started heating up when night came. Barricades were set up to stop cars, colorful lights were strung across the road, smoky barbecues were crammed with good things to eat and washtubs and coolers were packed with good things to drink.
Kids were shouting, tossing balls and chasing each other. Skateboarders were doing minor tricks like curb hops, warming up their bearings. Adults were either joining in on the games, or drinking and carrying on, getting ready for the real action.
On the bandstand, a local garage band was tuning up and already several teenagers were trying out some new dance steps. And in the shadows, several others were smoking a little grass and nipping a little beer. The boys showing off, the girls laughing.
In front of Ellen’s building, Sam captained a big barbecue grill, flipping oversize burgers and swigging from a bottle of orange juice. A knock-out girl in a thong bikini was nuzzling up to him and Sam was clearly enjoying her moves. He whispered something in her ear and she giggled and shook her head. Sam whispered again – more giggling and head shaking.
Finally, he set the spatula down, took the girl firmly by the elbow and escorted her to a little alleyway between the apartment building and the adjoining house.
She did not protest.
A moment later Ruth emerged. She looked at the untended barbecue. Then up and down the street, searching for Sam.
She called out, "Sam? Sam?"
There was no response.
She frowned at the untended burgers, some of which were starting to burn. Ruth hurried to the grill and started turning the meat over and shuffling the patties around. The fire flamed up, burning her fingers. She eeked and dropped the spatula, sucking on her fingers.
"Damn him," she said.
*****
Inside Apartment Six, Ellen had put on a burst of energy and totally transformed the place. The walls were covered with her artwork, the easel placed by the big window that overlooked the back yard. Swatches of colorful fabric hid the ugliness of the furniture.
Pleasantly tired from her efforts, Ellen had adjourned to the shower to wash away nearly twenty-four hours of hard travel.
When she was done, she cut the water, grabbed a towel and stepped out onto the tile floor. At the mirror, she rubbed the steam off and studied her image for a minute. Then she looked very sternly at herself and shook a finger at the mirror.
"We’re getting a whole new start, right, girl?" She laughed. "Even if I don’t have a Mary Tyler Moore beret to throw…"
A sudden thump against the outside wall startled her and she whirled around to see what had happened. Nothing showed itself. Just the blank wall and the closed bathroom window. Then there was another loud thump. Boom. Right up against the wall. Then another.
The rhythm became all too familiar and disturbing. Annoyed, Ellen went to the bathroom window and cracked it open. The thumps became louder.
"Hello," she called out. "Who’s there?"
The thumps continued.
Ellen started to become angry. "Get away from there, you hear me?" she demanded. "I’ll tell your mother."
Someone laughed. Ellen couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman laughing. She started to become nervous and she backed out of the bathroom, the towel pulled tight around her.
*****
Ruth moodily filled plates for neighbors, nodding when they spoke to her, but hearing nothing that was said. She kept looking around, trying to spot Sam.
Ellen came out. She’d changed into stone-washed jeans shorts, decorated with small hand-sewn wild flowers. She wore a matching blouse, tying the ends to show off her narrow waist and girlishly flat belly. Her bare feet were shod in simple leather sandals.
For a moment, Ruth hated her for looking so good. So classy. She didn’t notice the edgy look in Ellen’s eyes.
"Have you seen Sam?" Ruth snapped, very accusatory.
Ellen was taken aback by her tone. "No," was all she said.
"He didn’t come knocking at your door, asking if maybe you needed something," Ruth demanded.
"Certainly not," Ellen said, getting a bit miffed. "As a matter of fact I was just taking a shower, when-"
Loud laughter interrupted Ellen’s complaint. It came from behind her. She and Ruth turned to see Sam and the girl emerging from the alleyway. They both spotted Ruth, who was staring daggers at them.
Sam held up several large avocados, as if they were some sort of an explanation. He strolled over to the grill, while the girl made herself scarce.
"Little Kimberly there wanted to see your avocado tree," Sam said.
"Avocados, huh?" Ruth said angrily.
"Sure, baby," Sam said. "How else can we make guacamole?"
He chuckled, as if he’d just made some sort of a joke. He juggled the avocados, quite skillfully, Ellen thought. Then he handed them to her with a flourish. She was so surprised, she almost dropped them.
"You know how to make guacamole, don’t you Ellen?" he said with a wink.
Ellen gave a nervous laugh. "I’m afraid I missed that issue of Martha Stewart Magazine," she said.
"Is that so?" Sam said, and now he was tired of his own jokes and started to lose interest. He stretched and gave an elaborate yawn. "I think I’ll go take a little nap," he said.
Sam leaned forward and kissed Ruth on the cheek. Then strolled off. Ruth stared after him – absolutely furious. Ellen tried to pretend that she hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary.
Finally, Ruth sighed philosophically, gave a little laugh and went back to flipping burgers. "I shouldn’t get so mad at him," she said. "He’s like a little boy. Wants everything he sees."
She shifted some patties around. "It’s those bitches like Kimberly who are to blame," she said. "Wagging their bikini thong asses at him all the time. What’s he gonna do? He’s a man, isn’t he?"
Ellen didn’t say anything. She glanced at the avocados Sam had given her. For some reason or other, the sight of them made her skin crawl. She shivered – ugh – and got rid of them quickly, dumping the fruit on a fold-out camping table.
"How long have you and Sam been together?" she asked, casually as she could.
"Six months," Ruth said. "Ever since he got out of prison."
Ellen tried to hide her shocked reaction, but without much success. "Prison?"
"Sure," Ruth said. "Where’d you think he got those hunky muscles?"
Ellen didn’t know how to respond to a statement like that.
"I know what you’re thinking," Ruth said. "You’re wondering what he was in for."
"Well, I have to confess that I’m just a weenie bit curious," Ellen said with a nervous laugh.
"He was a bank robber," Ruth said. "Not a common thug, but a real class act, you know?"
"Uh… well… I suppose so… sure…" was Ellen’s inept reply.
"He’s not into that line of work anymore," Ruth said. "Besides making all those nice muscles, he got himself two years worth of college credits while he was in prison."
"I see," Ellen said, not really knowing what kind of comment was called for.
"Soon as he gets enough money saved, he going to get his degree," Ruth continued.’ You watch and see. Sam is a determined man. He’s going places, that’s for sure."
"Very admirable," Ellen said.
"He’s gonna get his degree in psychology," Ruth said. "Then open a clinic to help troubled kids."
"What kind of work does Sam do now?" Ellen asked.
Ruth shrugged, then waggled an open hand. "Little of this and a little of that," she said. You know… self employed. He does very well, believe me. He’s a real go-getter."
"I’m sure he is," Ellen said. "Sam certainly has the appearance of… uh… an industrious man."
If Ellen had looked up right then she’d have gotten an idea of just how industrious Sam was.
Because at that very moment he was in her apartment, peering out at her through a gap in the curtains.
*****
CHAPTER FIVE
SAM CHUCKLED AT the little trick he'd played Ellen, then turned away, letting the curtains fall back in place. He strolled over to the couch and studied the "Catch A Fire" poster hanging on the wall. He checked the artist’s signature on the right hand corner, noting that it was Ellen’s.
"Not bad," he said, nodding approval.
Then he moved around the room, picking up things, examining them and humming a little tune to himself.
He entered the bathroom, spotted the open window and went to it, sticking his head out, looking this way and that.
When his head came back in he had a big smile on his face. "Naughty boy," he said.
Sam opened the medicine cabinet. Popped it open, picked up each item one by one, looking them over.
He even examined the toothbrush and tested the toothpaste tube to see if it were real, and not one of those hollowed out things they sold in dope shops.
