Wrong Memories

by Edna Curry

  “I see,” she said. “None of those look right. Thanks for your help, anyway. I guess I need to take some classes on computers.”

  “That’s a good idea. I’m not sure how you got through school without learning to use computers?” the librarian asked.

  She left the question hanging, but Lucy said nothing. She knew the woman would assume she’d flunked out of school, but how could she explain what she didn’t understand herself?

  “Well, anyhow, everyone needs to know to use computers, nowadays.” The gray haired lady smiled at her kindly. “The high school has inexpensive basic courses for adults in the evenings. You might try those as a starting point.”

  “Thanks,” Lucy said and fled from the library.

  Taking refuge in a coffee shop, she sat in a booth and ordered coffee.

  “What kind?” The young girl pointed to a huge menu on the wall, offering a ridiculous array of options with equally ridiculous prices beside them, all done in colorful, curly letters and numbers.

  “Don’t you have plain black coffee?” Lucy asked, irritably.

  “Yes, of course,” the startled waitress said. She turned to a machine behind her. “Coming right up.”

  “Thank you.” Lucy ignored the girl’s stare and was pleased she didn’t ask about the bruises. Explaining them was getting to be a pain.

  She thought back to high school. She’d enjoyed school and distinctly remembered working on the school paper. How different that had been from the librarian’s computer. Typing up the articles on a stencil had been a pain. The typewriter had made holes in the stencil the shape of each letter. Each mistake was visible to everyone, since correcting it left a round hole in the stencil instead of a letter shaped one. Then you had to fit the stencil onto the big drum of the mimeograph machine, trying not to get all the ink on your hands or clothes. Each hole in the stencil made a black dot when you put it through the mimeograph machine. She remembered her arm getting tired as she counted the number of copies. One turn of the handle for each page as turning the big drum forced ink through the holes in the stencil to print letters on each sheet of paper. How different from the librarian punching a key on the computer and a printer turning out the page with pictures and words in seconds.

  Then she’d had to lay out the stacks of pages on a table and staple them together to make the school newspaper. They probably did that on a computer now, too.

  She sighed and asked the waitress if she knew of any rooms to rent.

  “Well,” the girl answered, “There are lots of them, but the college kids keep them full most of the time. But people are always moving in or out. There’s a list in the paper.” She moved to a newspaper lying on a nearby table and opened it to the classified section. “Here you go. Another customer left this paper, so you can keep it.”

  “Thanks,” Lucy said, giving her a smile. At least the classified columns were still printed in the paper, she thought to herself. Then her smile faltered as the girl said, “But you can find a more current list online.” She might have known that was on the computer as well.

  She read the list in the newspaper and found a couple of addresses on streets she recognized as being nearby. After marking those, she decided to walk around, to see what the houses looked like before calling the numbers given.

  A couple of the houses looked very run-down and she crossed them off her list. If the outside was awful, the inside was bound to be worse.

  She wandered down the street, wondering if she should find a job first? It would get expensive taking a cab to work every day. While it was close to spring, March in Minnesota could have ice or snow, so it could still be nasty to walk very far.

  She took a cab back to her motel and spent the rest of the day mourning and trying to figure out what to do next. Should she take the bus back to Minneapolis and check out this Lucille’s address? But if the detective had gotten nowhere doing that, wouldn’t she get the same results? Her stomach was too upset to eat much, so she made do with a banana she’d saved from the breakfast bar. There was a small coffee pot in her room and after reading the directions, she made coffee.

  The next morning, she awoke with a headache and again had coffee downstairs in the breakfast room. She bought a paper and once more checked the classifieds for rooms to rent.

  Then she slipped into her coat and went in search of a room to rent. She took a cab to the business area of Mankato, knowing she’d find more apartments and rooms to rent there than in the residential areas that were mainly nice single-family homes. The day was cold, but sunny.

  She walked the streets, stopping at a drugstore to buy aspirin for her headache and a soda to wash it down. Then she remembered she needed some basics like a hairbrush, toothpaste and a toothbrush. She bought them, stuffed them into her purse and went back outside. The sun was still shining, but the wind had picked up and whipped around her, making her eyes water.

  She walked a few blocks and checked out a couple of the addresses she’d gotten from the paper. None of them looked suitable.

  Shivering in the cold wind, she ducked into a nice looking restaurant to warm herself up. It was packed with customers, but she spotted an empty small table near the kitchen.

  The delicious smells of fried chicken and French fries made her stomach growl and she realized it was lunch time. An older waitress hurried over and put down a glass of water and a menu. She smiled, but looked harried and tired. “Welcome to Hometown, Miss.”

  She wore a nametag saying, ‘Sally.’ Lucy grinned at her friendly welcome. “Thanks, Sally. My, you’re busy today. There’s hardly an empty table.”

  “Yes,” Sally said with a sigh. “It’s always crowded at lunchtime, but today seems worse because we’re short-handed. Two of our college girls didn’t show up. We hear there was a big party on the hill last night, so I suppose they have hangovers.”

  “That’s too bad. Makes it hard on the rest of the staff, doesn’t it?” Lucy sympathized. “Don’t you have back-up staff you can call to come in when that happens?”

  Sally eyed her. “Not right now. We need to train more. You sound like you really understand about this. Are you a waitress?”

  Lucy nodded. “Not right now, but I was, back in college.”

  “I see. What would you like to eat? I shouldn’t stand here jawing. Have to keep hopping today until we can hire some new girls to fill in.”

  “Oh, really? You’re hiring? May I apply for the position?”

  Sally’s face lit up. “Of course. I’ll bring you the application form along with your food.”

  “Thanks. I’ll have a ham and cheese omelet and whole wheat toast. And coffee, please.” She folded the menu and handed it back.

  When Sally returned with her omelet a few minutes later, she also handed her an application form to fill out along with another paper. “You also need to take this simple math test.”

  “A math test?”

  “Don’t worry, it’s just ordinary math, to see if you can add and subtract well enough not to make mistakes on the bills.” She scrunched up her face. “You’d be surprised how many girls can’t pass it.”

  “I see.” Well, math had always been easy for her. She’d even enjoyed algebra, which most of her fellow students had hated. No, math wasn’t her problem.

  Lucy read the form while she ate, her stomach churning into a worried knot. What name should she use? She couldn’t use Lucinda Johnson since she was dead. Using that social security number would surely raise red flags and get her in trouble. Dare she use the info in her purse? Would the real Lucille Denton find out? At least her number would be a current one.

  She decided to take a chance. Making up her mind to be Lucille Denton for the present time at least, she opened her purse and copied the info from the license and social security card in there, putting the local motel where she was staying as her current address.

  When Sally returned to collect her empty plate, the crowd had thinned. Dirty dishes still covered many of the tables, though.<
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  “Mrs. Hanks would like to talk to you now, if you have time?” Sally said. “I took the liberty of telling her you were here and were an experienced waitress. I hope that was okay?”

  “Yes, of course,” Lucy said. “Thanks.”

  “She’s in her office, back through that door,” Sally said, pointing to a door along the back wall. “You can just go on back.”

  Lucy paid her bill at the cash register and then made her way to the office. Her lunch threatened to come back up. Would Mrs. Hanks ask for references? Everyone she’d worked for or with was long dead. She had no idea whether Lucille Denton had any local connections. The librarian had found no local connections for her.

  Lucy straightened her shoulders and took a deep breath. Waitress jobs were low paying jobs. Not many people wanted them. If she didn’t get this one, she’d apply at other places until she found one that would give her a chance.

  Mrs. Hanks’ office door was open. Lucy could see her sitting at her desk, eating a sandwich. That bright red hair done up in braids on top of her head were a giveaway, so Lucy recognized her as one of the servers she’d seen earlier, bustling about with trays of food. Why did she look familiar? Obviously, she worked on the floor as well as in the office.

  She hesitated in the office doorway and said, “Hello. I’m Lucille Denton. Sally said to come on back.”

  Mrs. Hanks laid the half-sandwich back onto her plate and rose, extending a hand. “Hi, Lucille. I’m the owner. Sally said you want a job?”

  “Yes. I just came back to town and need to find work.” Lucy offered the application forms and took the chair the woman pointed to opposite her desk. “I prefer to be called Lucy.”

  Mrs. Hanks barely glanced at the form. “Where have you worked?” She sat and took another bite of her sandwich and chewed while Lucy explained she’d worked in several restaurants in Minneapolis while in college. Luckily, Mrs. Hanks didn’t ask for references, she just nodded.

  “What happened to your face? Did your boyfriend beat you up?” She watched Lucy’s face with narrowed eyes.

  Lucy gasped in consternation. “Oh, no. I was hit by a car in St. Paul. I was crossing the street and I didn’t see it coming. It’s really not as serious as it looks. I mean, I spent a couple days in the hospital, but I feel fine now. It just takes time for the bruises to fade. I’ll be able to work all right. I’ll try to cover it better with make-up.”

  Mrs. Hanks smiled. “That’s okay. I was just worried that we might have a man coming here to attack you again. I’m sorry if I sound unfeeling, but I have to look out for my staff as well as my customers.”

  “Nothing like that, ma’am. In fact, I hardly know anyone here anymore.”

  She looked down at the form Lucy had filled out, then back at Lucy. “Where are you living? The Super 8 Motel? That’s a ways from here, as well as pretty expensive for a server. Do you have a car?”

  “No, I don’t have a car. I’ve been using the bus and cabs. I’m looking for a room to rent nearby so I can walk to work. I’m sure I can find something soon.”

  “Well, I can recommend a couple.” She wrote down a couple of addresses and phone numbers on a notepad and handed it to Lucy. “Try these. Be sure to tell them I sent you. When can you start? We’re short-handed, so the sooner the better.”

  Lucy’s pulse sped up. “Tomorrow is fine. I have the job?”

  “Yes, on a two week trial basis. It’s just minimum wage to start, plus tips of course. And you get your meals here also, whenever you’re at work.”

  “That sounds fine.” Joy surged through her. She had a job. She could earn her own way.

  “Good. Then, if you can come in about seven in the morning, Sally will work with you to train you in. We have our own ways of doing things here, you know.”

  “Of course.” No surprise there. Every restaurant she’d ever worked in had had its own quirks and rules.

  Mrs. Hanks sipped some coffee, then said, “She’ll find you a uniform. We should have some that will fit you. We use a laundry service, so you can just come to work in your own clothes, change into a uniform for your shift and then change back when you leave.”

  “How nice. Thank you. I’ll be here at seven.”

  Mrs. Hanks rose to shake her hand. “All the staff calls me Vi. It’s short for Viola. Oh, and I’m sure you know you need to wear comfortable shoes.”

  “Of course.” Oops. Another thing she had to buy immediately. The ones she had on were okay, but wouldn’t be the most comfortable to walk in all day.

  Vi smiled at her. “In the meantime, maybe you can check out those rental places.”

  Lucy nodded. “I’ll do that this afternoon. Thanks again.”

  “Welcome aboard, Lucy.”

  Lucy hurried out, elated. Yes, it was only a waitress job and minimum wage was a far cry from her teacher’s salary. But it should cover her basic expenses until she got her memory back or if she didn’t, could relearn all the things she’d forgotten.

  Both the addresses Mrs. Hanks, no, Vi, had given her were nearby. She wondered again why Vi seemed so familiar to her. Maybe she just looked like someone else she’d known.

  A lady at the first house said she’d just rented her last room.

  The next address was a block farther away from the restaurant, and was a large, three story Victorian with lots of gingerbread decorating the windows and roofline. A very thin, elderly lady answered the door marked ‘office’ just inside the main door. Her hair was white and pulled back in a tight bun. Bright blue eyes peered curiously at Lucy. Instead of the housedress Lucy thought most women her age wore, she wore blue slacks and a matching sweater set.

  “Hello. I’m here for a room to rent,” Lucy began.

  The lady frowned and Lucy’s heart tightened, then she remembered Vi saying to be sure to tell them she’d sent her and said, “Vi Hanks at the Hometown Restaurant recommended you.”

  That brought a smile and she said, “I’m Martha Lallen. I’m afraid the only room I have left is on the third floor and I don’t have an elevator.”

  “That’s okay,” Lucy said with a smile. Whoever heard of an elevator in a house?

  Martha eyed her face. “You’re going to be working for Vi?”

  “Yes. I start tomorrow morning, early.”

  “Hm. How’d you get those bruises? Your boyfriend beat you up? Will he be coming after you here?”

  “Oh, no. I was hit by a car.” She explained about the accident and her hospitalization in St. Paul, carefully omitting the amnesia part of the story. “I’m fine, now. Really.” She swallowed hard. All this talk about an abusive boyfriend was making her nervous.

  “Hm. Okay. Just a minute, I’ll grab my keys,” Martha was saying. She ducked back into her apartment/office and reappeared in a minute.

  “This way,” she said, leading the way up the staircase. It had a landing for the second floor, then switched directions and went on up to the third. The walls were painted beige instead of covered with the wallpaper Lucy had expected in a house this old. “It comes furnished. I hope you don’t have a pet? I’m sorry, I don’t allow pets here. I’ve had too much damage from them.”

  “No, I don’t have any pets,” Lucy said. She was pleased to hear the room was furnished. She didn’t want to have to spend any more of Lucille’s traveler’s checks than she had to.

  The room was large, sunny and clean. It was actually two rooms plus a bathroom. The small bedroom had a good-sized closet, a large bed and dresser and a small bedside chest. Pillows and a lovely floral bedspread covered the bed. The bathroom had towels and even small soap and shampoo samples. That was much more than she’d expected.

  “I left a few basic linens, but if you want more, you’ll have to buy them yourself,” Martha said.

  The other room had a medium sized desk with a chair, a blue stuffed sofa and matching chair. They weren’t new, but were clean and looked comfortable and in good condition. A small television on a stand faced the sofa. And along one wall
was a kitchenette with a small table, a small refrigerator, hot plate and a funny looking oven that sat on the counter. She could even fix food here.

  “There’s central heat and air conditioning,” Martha said, “and there’s a coin-operated washer and dryer on the end of the hall on each floor for doing your laundry. There’s cable TV because I have it myself, so I just pay for the whole house. But if you want internet or phone, you have to pay extra for those. I stopped having the landline phone ’cause everyone seems to use a cell phone now.” She named the monthly rent. “Will this do for you?”

  “Yes, it looks fine. May I rent it beginning today?”

  “It’s all yours as soon as I get my cash,” Martha said.

  “I only have traveler’s checks,” Lucy said, opening her purse and showing them to her.

  “I can’t take those. But, you can stop at any bank and change them to cash,” Martha said.

  “Oh. Of course,” Lucy said, tucking them back into her purse. “I’ll do that. And while I’m out, I’ll stop at the motel where I was staying and get my things.”

  They went back downstairs. After thanking Martha and telling her she’d be back in an hour or so, Lucy dug in her purse for her cell phone and the number she’d copied from the side of the taxi she’d used earlier.

  The taxi arrived shortly and she stopped at a bank and cashed in more travelers’ checks to pay the rent, then thought about carrying all that money. What if her purse was stolen? So, she opened a checking account and deposited the rest of the travelers’ checks. The only social security number she had was Lucille’s, so she gave the bank that one. She was really worried about doing that, but reasoned that, wherever this Lucille was, she couldn’t object to having the money in a bank in her own name, could she? All she had to do was prove she was the real Lucille Denton and she could claim the money again.