Runaway Mistress

by Carr, Robyn

  “Bucked?” she asked with a laugh.

  “Isn’t that what you called it as a kid? That’s what I called it. You jump up on the handlebars and I do all the work….”

  “We used to do it the other way—one sitting on the bicycle seat and the other one standing to pedal.”

  “Girl stuff. We did it the dangerous way. Come on,” he said, taking her hand. “You don’t weigh hardly anything. But those legs…” He looked down the length of them. “Spoke material. You’ll have to keep them out of the way.”

  “I don’t think this is a good idea….”

  “What the hell, Doris. From what little I know of you, I thought you were the fun-loving type.” She blushed despite herself. How was it, she wondered, with her level of experience with men, that this simple guy on a bike could make her blush? He dropped her book in a leather pouch fastened on the back of the bike. “Come on—live a little dangerously.”

  Little did he know…“I’m heavier than I look.”

  “You’re actually pretty skinny. But another month of eating Adolfo’s food should get you right. Come on. Jump on.”

  “Really. There’s a hill and everything—”

  “Nothing I can’t handle,” he said, puffing up a little. At least he didn’t flex his muscles.

  She struggled onto the handlebars, gripping the bars on each side and tucking her feet back out of the way. “This is so nuts,” she said.

  His voice was that of an excited kid. “I haven’t done this in years.” He pushed down on one pedal and the bike went a little off balance. Jennifer flipped right off the handlebars and tumbled onto the dust. She rolled over and looked up at him from a sitting position on the ground. “Whoops,” he said.

  “Whoops?”

  “That was a bad start. I’ve got it now.”

  “Oh, puleese,” she returned. But she got up and situated herself on the handlebars again, giving him a second chance. This time when he put his weight on the pedal he kept the bike from going off balance, but it did twist and turn and cause her to laugh and scream and giggle until he got it under way.

  After a little while he was in balance and she was comfortable. But there was a hill to climb and she could hear him start to breathe hard. She said, “You’re right, this is very nice.”

  “Yeah,” he said breathlessly. “Great.”

  “Want me to get off and walk a bit, until you’re up the hill?”

  “No. I…got…it.”

  “You sure? I know I’m heavy.”

  “Got…it…”

  “So, how long have you been going to the park to watch the sheep? And by the way, when do you work?”

  “Talk…later…”

  She smiled. She knew that. It was just a little of the devil in her. After all, he’d seen her in her underwear, she’d like to see him at least struggling up the hill.

  But damned if he didn’t make it, impressing her, knowing it was a difficult thing to do. Once he was on flat ground he sat back on the seat and began to whistle. She didn’t know the song at first, then she recognized, “I’ve got the world on a string, sitting on a rainbow,” and she squealed with laughter wilder and louder than she’d indulged in for ages.

  “I knew it—you’re a cad!”

  He began to sing the song. Before long she was singing along. This somehow caused him to swing wide in an S pattern down the middle of the street. She had to grip extra hard in the turns. Down the road they went, laughing and singing and almost toppling at each turn, looking more like teenagers than their actual ages. Then they got to Louise’s house.

  She jumped off. “Thanks, Alex. That was actually fun.”

  “You are heavier than you look,” he agreed.

  “You’re stronger than you look,” she said, but she said it with a very big smile. She grabbed her book out of his bike pouch. “See you around, pardner,” she said, jogging toward her front door. She turned once she got there and added, “Oh, by the way. Would you mind letting me know when you’re going to be doing the yard? Just a knock on the door would help.”

  “Awww…”

  “Now, be mature. Although I know it’s hard for you.”

  “All right.”

  “And…you know…thanks.”

  “Anytime.”

  She went inside, gave Alice some love and a trip out back, and got right on the computer.

  Dear Louise,

  I had the most magical afternoon of my life. I had decided on a park for an afternoon of reading and…

  Alex put away his bike and closed the garage door. He opened the window over the kitchen sink and heard, from the house next door, the soft strains of “I’ve Got the World on a String…” He smiled to himself. He went to the desk in the bedroom he used as an office, opened the drawer and looked at the face on the flyer.

  He had been coming out of the barber shop a couple of weeks ago when he ran into a man who was showing the flyers to passersby. Alex asked if he could have one. On first glance, the resemblance wasn’t obvious, but a couple more breakfasts at the diner assured him. It was her. It didn’t take him long to decide what he’d do—he was very good at playing his cards close to his chest. He’d watch her, maybe check her out, but no way was he going to tip someone off about her whereabouts. If she was in hiding, there was probably a good reason.

  “Jeez, Doris—it must have been pretty scary to drive you to such lengths….”

  And then he gently closed the drawer on her face.

  The way she behaved around him, especially today, he suspected she didn’t yet know what he did for a living. Louise must not have told her. The old girl was pretty good at keeping her hand to herself, as well.

  But it was going to come out pretty soon.

  At the end of Jennifer’s shift, as she was getting ready to leave, Buzz looked up at her from where he sat at the counter, his checkbook, calculator, canceled checks and bank statement spread out in front of him. The expression on his face indicated he faced sheer chaos.

  “Doris,” he said, frustration drawing out the name. “I have to figure this out. Do me a favor? On your way home, drop off a take-out order? It’s for Mrs. Van Der Haff. It’s only a block out of your way.”

  “Sure, boss.”

  “Adolfo’s getting it ready.” He grabbed a napkin out of the dispenser and wrote the address on it. “Just go left instead of right at the corner.”

  “Do I know her? Has she been in here to eat?”

  “No. She doesn’t get out.”

  Very soon she realized she had been by this house before, on one of her many walks. It was one of those that seemed to be falling apart. The front porch, obviously added on many years earlier, sagged dangerously. A cyclone fence bordered the yard, which was nothing but dirt and dead weeds, and there was an old red metal sign on the gate that read Beware of Dog. The windows were too grimy to allow even the faintest light within.

  “Yoo-hoo,” she called into the yard. Nothing. She had never seen a dog in the yard that she remembered. At least not a scary one. Surely Buzz would have mentioned if there were something to be concerned about. She looked around for a sign—anyone who let a yard go to such ruin was obviously ill-disposed to pick up droppings.

  Still, she entered cautiously. She tested each step onto the porch and tried to step lightly; it looked as if it might give way. Once she was on the porch, she found it was firm enough. It didn’t even squeak—it just listed.

  She knocked on the screen door and waited. And waited. And waited. She couldn’t find a doorbell. She pressed her ear to the door, knocking again, and finally she heard some stirring inside. Very, very slowly.

  “Who is it?” came the feeble female voice from within.

  “Doris. From the diner. I have your takeout.”

  The door creaked open and there stood the tiniest woman with very sparse, kinky white hair on her head. She wore a flowered cotton dress that hung on her bony frame and it had a couple of tassels on the zipper pull. “Takeout?” she asked faintly.


  “Buzz asked me to bring it by.” Jennifer smiled at the woman.

  “You’re not Buzz,” she said.

  “No. I’m Doris. I’m one of the waitresses.”

  “Oh,” she said, making no effort to open the door.

  “Can I bring it in?” she finally asked.

  “Oh. I suppose.” She moved away from the door very slowly.

  When Doris got inside she found the place was barely furnished, but full of newspapers, magazines and books, stacked on the floor, in corners, filling the hallway. There were a couple of trash bags, full of either trash or something else. In the little living room there was but one chair, a recliner that seemed to be losing its stuffing and its will to live, and an ancient metal TV tray, bent and rusted at the kinks. There wasn’t another chair or sofa in sight. The whole place was musty, dirty, cluttered and falling apart.

  “Why don’t you sit down and let me put it out for you. I can set it on the tray here.”

  “Oh,” she said. Head down, she shuffled back to her chair, which took her some time, and finally began to lower herself. After just a short trip downward, she let herself drop with an oomph. “All right,” she said. Then she looked up at Jennifer with sad, rheumy eyes and smiled, showing slippery dentures.

  Jennifer put the bag on the tray. “Now, let’s see what we have. “She pulled out the napkin, shook it out with a flourish and draped it across Mrs. Van Der Haff’s lap. She pulled the cardboard container out of the bag and opened it up. “Ah, the house special, I see. Meat loaf, mashed potatoes, lima beans. Mmm. It looks like you’re going to need some utensils. In the kitchen?” she asked.

  “I suppose,” the old woman said.

  The kitchen was in a pretty bleak state. There was a kettle on the stove, a cup with an old, wilted tea bag in it, dishes in the sink, an open cracker box on the counter. Even though she knew it would be intrusive, she opened the refrigerator. There was a brown banana, a small carton of milk, an opened can of green beans and, staring out at her, several cardboard containers from the diner. She closed it gently, so as not to be heard.

  There was a can opener lying on the counter and Jennifer opened the cupboard door above it, afraid she was going to see cat food. She sighed in relief to see four cans of tuna, thank goodness!

  In the drawer she found a few utensils, and she chose a spoon and fork, then returned to the living room. “Now, I think you’re set. Would you like me to take the food out of the carton and put it on a plate for you?”

  “No. No, don’t do that,” she said, grabbing the box in both hands as though it might be snatched away from her. “That would make a dirty dish.”

  “You’re right. We have to be practical. By the way, where’s the dog?”

  She kind of ducked her head and said, in nearly a whisper, “There hasn’t been a dog in years. Keeps the burglars away.”

  “Certainly,” Jennifer said. As if there was anything to steal. She looked around uncomfortably. She wondered what Buzz did after putting out the food.

  Mrs. Van Der Haff began to slowly pick at the food, one delicate bite at a time, chewing carefully. Jennifer watched this for five minutes or so, the woman not looking up from her lunch even once, when she said, “Well, I believe I’ll get going, unless there’s something more I can get you.”

  Fork in hand, she waved Jennifer away without looking up.

  Once outside, she felt her heart threaten to collapse in sadness. This is what happens when you’re old and left entirely alone with no one to look in on you, no one to help out. And clearly the woman lived in abject poverty.

  This could happen to a person like me, she thought. If I don’t plan carefully and make some sort of arrangements for myself in old age. Because I have no one.

  She went back to the diner instead of going home. “Mission accomplished,” she told Buzz. “Anytime you need me to deliver, it’s fine.”

  “Makes you feel kind of spoiled and lucky, don’t it?” he asked.

  She nodded and thought, even me. Even me.

  “Has she no one at all?”

  “There’s a son somewhere, but I don’t think he comes around. I drop by and check on her from time to time.”

  “Someone should take out the trash,” Jennifer said. “I guess I could’ve done that while I was—”

  “Trash? She has trash to go out?”

  “Well, there were several big bags, tied off. I just assumed…”

  “That’s not trash,” he said, looking back at his mess of calculations. “That’s stuff she can’t stand to part with.”

  “Stuff? Like what kind of stuff?”

  “I’ve never had the guts to ask.”

  Jennifer’s brief visit with Mrs. Van Der Haff stirred deep thoughts about the future, and not entirely pleasant ones. But then she thought about Rose, unmarried and independent and not in any way pathetic. In fact, she was empowering as a role model.

  There was a wine shop in town. New, according to Buzz. Jennifer decided to take a bottle of wine to Rose’s house to return the favor, but more to have her company for a little while. She had messages to pass on from Louise, questions to ask about Alex, and just being with Rose gave her a lift, a feeling of optimism.

  As the door to Rose’s house opened, Jennifer presented the bottle as a maître d’might. “I know you have the glasses.”

  “Perfect,” Rose said. “Absolutely perfect.” She held the door open.

  Jennifer stepped inside and instantly felt she was intruding; Rose had her dining table very richly appointed with china, crystal and tall tapers, not yet lit. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I should have asked. You’re having company.”

  “No, I’m not,” Rose said, taking the bottle from her.

  “But your table…”

  “I’ll set another place. I won’t be having dinner for another hour. We can have a leisurely glass and then I’ll split my Cornish game hen with you. I never eat more than half. You’ll love it, especially after weeks of that diner food.”

  As Rose went into the kitchen with the wine, Jennifer looked around. Rose’s small house, the floor plan identical to Louise’s, was coordinated in perfect country French, right down to the lace runner that lay down the length of her light oak table. Her wallpaper was a pattern of dark green and terra-cotta flowers, and the plates on her table were rimmed in the same dark green. There was an oak buffet that matched the table upon which sat a silk flower arrangement that matched the wallpaper.

  Louise’s house was comfortable and serviceable, but this was absolutely stunning in its perfection. Like Rose.

  She came back first with the opened bottle and two glasses. “Have a seat in the living room and pour for us, will you?” She went again to the kitchen and came out with a place mat, dishes, flatware and a linen napkin. She made a place for Jennifer at the opposite end of the table.

  Jennifer looked down at her sweatshirt and jeans and felt she should have dressed so much better than this to come to Rose’s house. But then, she didn’t actually have anything better. “Are you sure you aren’t expecting company?”

  “I hardly ever have company. I go out, but I don’t have men in—it gives them ideas. I have a few friends over for cards now and then. Retired dancers and floor managers, you know. But otherwise it’s Louise and Alex and the occasional out-of-towner—the out-of-towners less often every year.”

  “But your table—“

  “I’m very good to myself, Doris. It’s a very important custom.” She plucked a glass gracefully off the table and glided down into a sitting position. “Every night that I eat at home I set a proper table and make a civilized meal. Single women—especially old ones—tend to skip meals or eat out of opened cans. Louise is especially guilty of this.”

  “Oh, that reminds me. My reason for coming over. I had an e-mail from Louise today and she specifically asked me to tell you that she spent the day in Piccadilly and saw female impersonators whom you would have loved.”

  Rose made a face. “Phoo! Th
at witch! She did that on purpose. Trying to make me envious. She always tries to get me to go with her and I can’t.”

  “Can’t?”

  She leaned forward. “That would involve an airplane. I don’t believe in airplanes.”

  Jennifer laughed in spite of herself. “Fortunately, they believe in you.”

  “Don’t be pert.”

  “Is it the claustrophobia?”

  “No. It’s being hurtled through space in a tube going hundreds of miles per hour.”

  “It’s very convenient,” Jennifer pointed out.

  “Ptui.”

  “I’m amazed. You seem so fearless. So…brazen.”

  She smiled broadly, showing her beautiful teeth. Clearly she was flattered by the remark. “Thank you, dear. You know, I’ve been thinking about you lately.” Rose leaned forward and studied Jennifer closely, the slightest frown wrinkling her brow.

  “Have you?”

  “Yes, actually. I think we need to find someone who can shape up that haircut of yours. Take the ‘go navy’ look out and put the chic in.”

  “Oh, Rose,” she laughed. She rubbed a hand over her hair, which had grown in quite a bit in the several weeks since she’d shaved it. “You’re too much.”

  “Honestly, Doris, do you have any real objection to looking like a woman?”

  “I’m not very prissy, Rose.”

  “Of course not, but we can work with this,” she said, reaching across the short distance that separated them and grasping Jennifer’s chin. She turned her head left, then right. “This shorter-than-short look has potential. Not many women have the cheekbones for it.” She held Jennifer’s chin still and stared deeply into her eyes. “Although you try to hide it in the most horrible clothes, you’re very beautiful. With just the smallest effort, you could present a stunning look.” She leaned back again. “I saw you on his handlebars, laughing your ass off.”

  She colored a little in spite of herself. These people all seemed to have a gift for catching her unawares and leaving her slightly embarrassed. This flush had nothing to do with being caught with a man, as Jennifer was more than experienced in that arena. It was being caught at anything that drew attention to herself. She should be keeping a lower profile, just to be safe. “Guilty,” she finally said.