by Pamela Morsi
By the third martini, Gwen and Derek were definitely taken with each other. His conversation had become all sexual innuendo and they were sneaking feels of each other as if the people around them didn’t notice.
Amber tried not to. She was feeling the early exuberance of alcohol and the conversation was not all that stimulating, so she suggested dancing. None of her comrades appeared overly eager for notching up the night, but everyone agreed.
It was Jeff who actually paid the tab at Swigs. They made their way back along the riverwalk as couples. Brian, the geek, and Kayla in the lead with Gwen and Derek, laughing loudly. It seemed that the more Derek drank the more he talked. He was drinking a lot. Kyle, the odd man out, was joking with them, finding nearly everything that was said to be absolutely hilarious. Jeff, his arm around Amber, brought up the rear. He snuggled up close and pressed a very sexy little kiss to the nape of her neck.
Amber liked the way it made her feel and kissed him back, on the lips.
“You sure you want to go dancing?” he asked her. “We could find someplace a lot more quiet and do some things a lot more fun. I promise, you’ll still get plenty of exercise.”
His grin was leering. Amber was put off by the suggestion.
“I don’t have sex with a guy in the first hour,” she said. Her tone was sarcastic.
He glanced down at his watch.
“It looks to me like it’s already been almost two.”
“Forget it,” she said. “I’m here to have a good time. Not to get laid.”
He shook his head. “Now, how am I suppose to have a good time if I don’t get laid?” he asked.
Fortunately, they’d made it to the dance club and Amber was not obliged to answer.
Polly Esther’s was wild, even in the middle of the week. For dancing, drinking and hanging out with the appropriate peer group, there was no better option. Music spilled invitingly out of the doorway as they made their way inside.
The guys took care of the cover as the girls took a moment to exchange quick pieces of information.
“The other guys are E4s, Brian’s a staff sergeant,” Kayla reported with a proud whisper. “He’s twenty-six and says he doesn’t have a regular girlfriend.”
She said the words as if it were totally amazing. The fact that she was close to the same age and had yet to even keep any relationship going more than a couple of months was lost on her.
“What do you think?” Amber asked Gwen.
“I like your guy better than mine,” she admitted. “I picked too quick, now I’m stuck with Mr. Chatterbox.”
“Jeff is keen on getting laid tonight,” Amber told her.
Gwen laughed. “What a coincidence,” she said. “So am I.”
The men came over and the secret sharing stopped immediately.
Derek indicated the direction of the elevator. “They told me Top Floor is where they rave.”
Kayla, Gwen and Amber were all regulars, but they pretended that Derek’s announcement was news.
With three dance levels, and different decades of music, Polly Esther’s was exciting and noisy. It took them a little time to find exactly the right table and to get drinks ordered. Both Gwen and Kayla, with their respective guys, took to the floor. Kyle quickly found himself a partner as well and Amber and Jeff were left watching purses, attempting to scream out a reasonable conversation over the din.
Jeff only seemed interested in drinking and even after the two other couples returned to the table, he didn’t ask her to dance. That seemed particularly unfair since it was she who had suggested the place, specifically because she did want to dance.
The music continued, the drinks flowed. Amber tapped her foot under the table.
After a while, she escaped to the rest room. Jeff had turned out to be a dud. Okay, that sometimes happened, she reminded herself. It shouldn’t keep her from having a good time. Maybe he was pissed that she didn’t want to have sex the minute they met. Maybe he wasn’t a dancer. Lots of athletic-looking guys just weren’t dancers, she assured herself.
She was reapplying lipstick in the mirror when Kayla breezed in.
“Brian and I are cutting out,” she said.
Amber watched her own brow furrow in the mirror. “Are you sure? You just met him.”
“And I just like him,” Kayla answered with a giggle.
“But you shouldn’t just go off alone with this guy.”
“Oh, puh-leeze,” Kayla complained. “Brian and I are great together. It’s like we’ve known each other forever.”
“It may be like you’ve known each other forever, but you don’t really know this guy at all,” Amber pointed out.
“You are such a weeny,” Kayla replied. “Lighten up, we’re having a good time. You can get another ride home, can’t you.”
“Sure,” Amber agreed. “Gwen and I will be fine. She gave her friend a quick hug. “Call me tomorrow, I want to hear every detail.”
“Deal,” Kayla told her and hurried out with a wave.
Amber took another glance in the mirror and forced a friendly smile. Kayla was right. Everybody was having a good time. If she just tried hard enough, she could have one, too. Jeff was undoubtedly pissed that she hadn’t jumped at the opportunity to sleep with him. Playing hard to get wasn’t necessarily the best way to get by in this town. Well, she was sure she could get a second chance.
Amber walked back to the table, determination in her step. It was late, the crowd was beginning to thin and there were now empty stools around the bar and more room on the dance floor.
Kyle and Derek were seated with a couple of other girls who Amber didn’t know. Her drink was gone and so was her companion.
“Where’s Jeff?” she asked Derek.
He glanced up at her and shrugged. “The last time I saw him, he was dancing with Gwen.”
Derek turned his back on her, diving off into a long discourse full of suggestiveness that made the girl beside him giggle. If Kyle had been odd-man-out before, Amber clearly was now.
She wandered away and checked out the dancing for several minutes. Gwen and Jeff were nowhere to be found. They could have gone downstairs, she thought. Or they could have simply ducked out together. Amber suspected the latter.
She was tired. Her head ached and the music was making it worse. She wished she still had the dregs of her drink, but she was unwilling to spend her last eight bucks. Without even looking at her watch she knew she’d already missed the last bus. Getting home was going to be expensive or a very long walk.
A young, preppy-looking guy stumbled over in her direction.
“Hey, baby, you lost?” he asked.
“No,” she answered.
“’Cause if you are,” he continued, “I am considered quite a find.”
Amber rolled her eyes.
“I’ll bet you are,” she replied.
The guy ignored her dismissive tone.
“You wanna dance?” he asked. “’Cause I can dance.”
Did she want to start all over? It was nearly midnight. Could she meet a guy at midnight and have time to get to know him before closing?
Probably not. But at least she could get a free ride.
“Sure, let’s dance,” she told him. “That’s why we’re in this place.”
4
After three days of leaving frantic midday messages, Ellen was desperate to talk to her lawyer in person.
His secretary was not about to let that happen.
“Mr. Marmer is not available at the moment,” she said. “If you’d like to leave a message…”
“I’ve already left half a dozen messages,” Ellen snapped. “I need to speak to him and I need to speak to him now.”
“Mrs. Jameson, I’m sure he will get back to you at his earliest convenience,” she said.
Obviously convenience was the operative word.
“I have a very, very urgent situation that I need to discuss with him,” Ellen told her. “I’ve got to talk to him right away.”
“I am well aware of that,” Ellen told her. “I am working now and I will be sending you a check at the first of the month, as soon as I get paid.”
“So you’ll be taking care of the remainder of the bill?”
“Well, no,” Ellen hedged. “I won’t be able to pay in full, but I do intend to pay something on it.”
“How much will you be paying?”
“I…ah…I might be able to pay a hundred dollars.”
The secretary actually laughed.
“Do you realize how much you owe on this account?”
“Of course I do,” Ellen answered. “And I’m sure you realize, as does David Marmer, that I’ve just gone through bankruptcy. He got a lot more than most of my other creditors. And he knows me. He knows that I will pay what I owe, but it will be a while.”
Ellen’s money problems never ceased to humiliate her. But she’d already learned that people didn’t actually die from embarrassment, they just wished they could.
“David was one of my late husband’s oldest and dearest friends,” she continued. “No matter what I owe him, I’m sure he would want to help me.”
“And I’m sure he’ll return your call when he has sufficient free time to do so,” the secretary replied. Her opinion about the value of an old, dear friend was obvious, but her emphasis on the phrase free time was deliberate and even more telling.
With a click, the line went dead.
Ellen sat for a moment, the receiver still in her hand, staring into space. She didn’t know what to do or to whom she could turn.
“Come on, God,” she complained to the empty room. “If you were trying to teach me not to take a comfortable life for granted, I swear I’ve learned. This is enough already. I don’t have my husband, our home, our business. If Wilma loses her place we’ll be out on the street. You can’t want that. I’m sure you can’t.”
She said the words, but without the certainty that they meant to evoke. When Paul’s cancer had been diagnosed she’d been anxious and worried, but she’d felt a calm assurance that somehow everything would be all right. That’s the way life was. God was good and life, for those who played by the rules—people who were honest, hardworking, trustworthy—life worked out fine. It was a belief that she’d held on to. It was her own personal brand of religious faith.
Do right by other people and trust that God will do right by you.
It was a simple understanding, not fraught with obscure textuary or intricate ecclesiastical dogma. But it had worked for Ellen for most of her life. Until Paul’s illness came along. Cancer was terrible. But it could be beaten. People beat it every day. Ellen had been determined that Paul would beat it. And when the best therapeutic hopes were not covered on Paul’s insurance, Ellen cashed in their savings to pay for them. She got a second mortgage on the house. She borrowed against the business. She had never even considered not doing those things. Paul was her husband. He was Amber’s father. They loved him. Taking care of his health was expensive, but no amount of money was worth more than his life. The money was well-spent, an investment in Paul’s future.
They had to fight it. She could not let anything happen to Paul.
The thing about optimism is that once it is shattered, there is nothing left to hang on to. People who always expected the worst were never disappointed. For Ellen, disappointment had come as a complete surprise. And one that she had, as yet, been unable to rationalize.
“Please, God, get us out of this mess,” she pleaded.
Mentally reciting the admonition that God helps those who help themselves, she reached for Paul’s ancient Rolodex on the edge of her desk. She flipped through the yellowing cards, hoping for an answer. Or at least another lawyer. There were none to be found, nothing but tax attorneys.
Paul and David Marmer had been more than neighbors, they were friends. They had played chess together, gone on fly fishing trips and sat up late on summer nights speculating on life, money and business. Paul had kept his books and done his taxes. David handled whatever legal matters had come up. He’d written up their wills. Later he’d filed the bankruptcy and helped her sell the business.
David knew her situation. She didn’t want to have to start all over with someone else.
Deliberately, Ellen steeled herself and swallowed her pride. She punched the numbers for his home phone. It rang twice.
“Hello.”
“Peggy?” she said. “Hi, this is Ellen…Ellen Jameson.”
There was a momentary pause that could have meant anything. “My God, Ellen,” she answered. “How are you?”
“I’m all right,” she lied. “I’m doing all right.”
“How long has it been? I can’t even remember when I saw you last,” Peggy said.
“It…ah…I think it was at the funeral,” Ellen said.
“Oh, yes, right.” She sounded embarrassed. “And I meant to call, truly I did.”
“I know,” Ellen said. “I understand. We’ve all been so busy.”
“That’s so true,” she said. “I’ve been taking ceramics at the Southwest School of Art. I’m actually getting quite good. I’m hoping to have a little showing at a gallery in the Blue Star. You’ll just have to come.”
“That sounds wonderful,” Ellen said.
“And what have you been doing?” she asked.
Ellen had been dealing with grief, going through bankruptcy, losing her house, closing her business. None of those things seemed worth mentioning in comparison to the making of clay pots.
“I’ve got a new job,” she said.
“Really? What sort?”
“Same old thing,” Ellen answered. “You can take the girl out of accounting, but you can’t take accounting out of the girl.”
“Oh?” Peggy sounded puzzled. “David said that you’d given up the firm.”
She had known. She’d known what her former close friend had been going through and she had been avoiding her. It hurt, but Ellen tried not to feel it.
“I’m working for somebody else,” Ellen told her. “Another accounting service. Max Roper. Do you know him?”
“No…no, I don’t think so.”
Ellen was certain that she didn’t.
“Anyway,” Ellen plunged on, “I’ve got a really urgent legal matter that I need to discuss with David and I can’t get past his harridan secretary.”
“Oh, well…David has been very busy. I’m sure when he has time…”
“I don’t have time,” Ellen interrupted. “I need to talk to somebody about this now.”
There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line. Guilt is a powerful force. As strong as love or hate, and with fewer defenses against it.
Finally Peggy spoke, “Okay, I’ll have him call you.”
It was barely ten minutes later when the phone rang.
“The girls and I are living with my mother,” Ellen began after the pleasantries and excuses.
“That sounds like a good idea,” David said. “Peggy says you have a job. It won’t be long before you’re back on your feet.”
His tone was slightly condescending, but Ellen didn’t have the luxury of being able to be insulted by it.
“My mother got a letter from Pressman, Yaffe and Escudero. Apparently her stepchildren want the house we’re living in and these lawyers say that it is rightfully theirs. They’ve ordered us to get out immediately.”
There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line.
“That doesn’t sound good,” David admitted. “What brought this on?”
“Nothing that I know about,” Ellen answered. “I’ve met them a few times. My mother was only married to Wilbur about eighteen months. He was not in the best of health. I saw his children at their father’s funeral. They apparently hadn’t kept in close enough contact to even
know that he and Wilma were married. They clearly weren’t happy about it, but with their father already dead, there certainly wasn’t much they could do about it.”
“And that’s all the contact she’d had with them?” David asked.
“I think there’s been an ongoing battle,” Ellen admitted. “His daughters wanted to get things out of the house. ‘Their mother’s things,’ was how they described it. And the son came by a few times to suggest that he would give my mother some money if she would just go away. She didn’t. So now they’ve got a lawyer.”
“Pressman, Yaffe and Escudero aren’t exactly shysters,” David pointed out. “They must feel like they have some kind of case.”
Ellen sighed heavily. “Well, my mother wasn’t married to him for very long,” she said. “And his will predated the death of his first wife. He left everything to her, because she was his wife at the time. It seems to me that since Wilma was his wife when he died, everything should go to her. Right?”
“I’m not sure,” David admitted. “This isn’t my area of expertise.”
“Surely you have some idea,” Ellen said.
David hesitated only a moment. “If the will was executed less than three years before he died and he left everything to his first wife by name,” David told her, “then he intended that everything go to her. If she preceded him in death, which she did, then it’s reasonable to assume that he would have intended that her heirs receive what was meant for her.”
“That can’t be right,” Ellen said.
“Well, right or wrong,” David replied. “It will be what Pressman, Yaffe and Escudero are arguing.”
“Why would they want to do this?” Ellen asked. “The place isn’t worth all that much.”
David could only speculate. “Mahncke Park has gotten pretty run-down over the last couple of decades,” he said. “But with all this talk of the Broadway Revitalization, and the concept of making the whole area from downtown to Alamo Heights a big pedestrian mall, that old house begins to take on some new value.”
“But that plan is years off and it may never happen,” Ellen pointed out.
“And if it doesn’t, then they haven’t lost anything,” David pointed out. “Right now the house is an asset, free and clear. They can borrow against it, rent it for income, or write it off as a loss. As long as it belongs to them. And they seem pretty sure it does.”
