Dearest Dorothy, Who Would Have Ever Thought?!

by Charlene Baumbich

  “Oh, come on, Jessie. Let me treat you. After all the cooking you’ve done for us while we’ve been here, I insist. Pull on over to Harry’s. Look, there’s a spot right in front!” Vera was being so insistent that Jessie veered into it just to settle her down.

  “Alright. But we can’t stay long. Just a quick coffee and dessert and we’re on our way.”

  “Got it.” When the ladies entered, not another soul inhabited the place, so Vera plunked herself down at the counter so they’d be close to Lester’s work area. “I haven’t sat at a counter since the dime store shut down in our little town. They used to have the best soda fountain. Cherry sodas. That’s what I loved. It’s kind of fun sitting on a stool, isn’t it?” Jessie just looked at her.

  “What’ll it be, ladies?” Lester asked while swiping a damp cloth in front of Vera, who had selected the only seat at the U that hadn’t been wiped down after the last customer.

  Vera (on high alert for signs) thought he seemed more animated than usual and tried to decide if that meant anything. “I’d like black coffee and a piece of that pecan pie I saw in your dessert case there,” she said pointing.

  Lester turned his eyes to Jessie. “And you?”

  “Just coffee for me, thanks.”

  Vera’s first bite of pecan pie was on the fork tines two inches from her mouth and Jessie was watching coffee stream out of the decanter and into her cup when Arthur burst through the door, Herm quick at his heels.

  “WELL, IF THIS DON’T TAKE THE CAKE!” Arthur boomed as he planted his hands on his hips and stared first at Lester, then at his wife.

  “Don’t have any cake today,” Lester said in a voice as flat as a fritter. “Pie and tapioca pudding’s all I got left. No pecan either. Vera got the last piece. Just apple.”

  “I ain’t talkin’ ’bout no desserts!” Although Arthur had lowered his voice, it was still loud. “I’m talkin’ ’bout my wife sittin’ right there big as you please while some termite makes googly eyes at her.”

  “Googly eyes?” Lester asked Arthur, trying to get it to register. He stood as still as a post, coffee pot poised over Jessie’s mug. Vera’s forkful of pie was still in front of her lips; Jessie’s cheeks turned beet red with anger over what was clearly Arthur’s ridiculous insinuation; Herm looked like he might faint. Arthur and Lester—who had now figured out what Arthur was talking about and whose own cheeks had reddened—stared one another down for what seemed to Jessie like an eternity but which really amounted to only a couple of seconds.

  Herm tapped Arthur on the shoulder and squeaked out of his dry throat that it was time to go. Unbelievably, Arthur turned on his heels and said, “Fine! I spoke my piece!” and out the door the Landers men went, one tromping and the other scuffling behind him. Vera looked at her bite of pie and decided there was just no sense in not putting it in her mouth, so she did. She didn’t dare look at Jessie who she was sure was mortified. And she sure wasn’t going to look at Lester. But, of course, she couldn’t help it. She needed to see if he looked guilty. Her glance revealed he looked shocked, dismayed and angry. Now she couldn’t help but look at Jessie, whose lips were sucked inside her mouth. To Vera’s instant chagrin, it was perfectly clear she’d been dead wrong in her speculations. What on earth had she been thinking? She was sorry she’d ever mentioned such a ridiculous thing to Herm. And now, had he gone and told Arthur? Oh, Lordie, Lordie!

  Lester finished pouring Jessie’s coffee, scribbled up their bill, ripped it off his pad and set it between them, then disappeared back into his storeroom, not to return. Thank goodness nobody entered the grill during any of this time. As though nothing had happened, Vera took one more bite of her pie, then said she thought she better save room for bridge mix and doughnuts and why didn’t they just pick up a bucket of chicken or something on the way home so nobody had to cook or clean up. Jessie nodded her head, her lips still inside her mouth, as though if she let them out they might say things too terrible for anyone to hear. Vera picked up the ticket, looked at it and left a five-dollar bill on the counter. Lester could keep the change. He’d earned it. Without another word, they exited Harry’s Grill.

  After Jessie backed the car out of the slot, she tromped on the gas pedal and laid a patch of rubber, right there on the square. It was the first time she’d ever been glad Arthur insisted on big engines. She squealed around the first corner of the square, then got hold of herself, slowing down before the next corner and exit off the square. Killing herself wasn’t the answer. Killing Arthur . . . now that was another thing.

  Vera kept her hands clutched together all the way to Kmart. Although Jessie wasn’t speeding by much, they were going plenty fast, according to Vera’s standards, who always did five miles an hour under the limit, just to be safe. Thank goodness Kmart had the bridge mix, but Jessie thought she’d never get Vera out of the housewares aisle where she’d disappeared the moment they entered the store. Truth be told, Vera was trying to stall, just to catch her breath and to keep Arthur and Jessie apart from one another. But sooner than later, Jessie got them moving toward home. When Vera saw the sign advertising Long John Silver’s, she suggested they stop and get to-go food, her treat. It seemed the least she could do, she said—although she never explained about what. Aside from a little conversation in Long John Silver’s about the choices in side dishes (during which time Jessie thought she would lose control more than once), they’d barely spoken a word to each other since the scene in Harry’s.

  When they arrived home, thankfully Arthur’s truck was nowhere to be seen. Vera let out a loud exhale, realizing she’d been holding her breath all the way up the drive. The one thing she feared for sure was that Jessie and Arthur might get in a knockdown, drag-out fight if they saw each other too soon, before her apologies could be rendered in front of both of them.

  The women went straight into their preparations and suppertime came and went and the men never showed up and suddenly it was time for the Hookers to arrive. Although for obvious reasons they were both glad the men weren’t around, Vera wasn’t used to not knowing Herm’s whereabouts. He’d always been so good about such things; it was just one more thing she loved about him. For him to be stuck with Arthur in that kind of a mood—it was no telling what they might be up to, which fretted Vera as much as anything else. But mostly, she sure hoped Arthur didn’t come storming into the Hookers’ meeting tonight and cause a ruckus. Now wouldn’t that be something!

  Dorothy phoned Maggie Malone for a ride to the Hookers’ meeting soon after Jessica called to tell her she wouldn’t be attending so she couldn’t pick Dorothy up. The very moment Dorothy and Maggie arrived at Jessie’s, the phone rang. It was Jessica phoning with huge personal apologies that she was giving such last-minute notice, but Paul had to work late and there was nobody to watch Sarah Sue. Although that had been the truth, Jessica was also too tired to drag herself out anyway, even if she did feel better—which she didn’t. She’d learned from her humiliating exit from the meeting at St. Augustine’s that it was best just to bow out of things until she was past this phase—or at least until everyone knew. The women would ask too many questions. Figure it out. She didn’t want word spreading until she was absolutely for-sure positive, which would, at this point, undoubtedly be confirmed after her appointment next Tuesday morning with the new young Doctor Nielson since Ellie, both the young and the old doctors’ receptionist, had informed her that in Doc Streator’s bid to begin bowing out of his practice, he was no longer seeing new maternity patients. Although Jessica was highly disappointed she’d have to learn the news from someone she didn’t know— who didn’t know her—at least she’d kept her promise to Paul and made the appointment.

  When Jessie got off the phone with Jessica, Dorothy and Maggie said their hellos, having spent the first few moments chatting with Vera, who was just learning from them that Jessica couldn’t attend. Vera hoped she looked sad enough, although she was really cheering inside. Dorothy’d already noticed the box of doughnuts on Jessie’s
kitchen counter. Had there been any doubt as to who was hosting the Hookers this evening, the doughnuts would have been a dead giveaway. Jessie served the same thing every time—and usually right out of the box—which was fine since Dorothy liked doughnuts any way they came at her. But she knew she’d have to listen to Gladys say, “Doughnuts, again?” That would be okay, though, since what could Gladys be if not Gladys? And, as usual, the prizes were lined up on the counter in a neat little row of brown paper lunch bags with small words written on the outside like “Booby prize.”

  Seventy-two-year-old Maggie, sole owner and designer at La Feminique Hair Salon & Day Spa, eyed Vera’s hair and noted how thick it still was for a woman of experience, which is what Maggie referred to rather than age. Maggie’s own hair was at this particular moment in time—although it could and did change on a whim—a chestnut color, her eyebrows the exact same shade of pencil. It was clear, Maggie thought to herself, that Vera did her own home color, but it wasn’t bad. “You ought to come in to the shop if you’re looking for something to do before you go home. I could give you a Thanksgiving trim, wash and set. Got a dollar-off coupon in this week’s Press.” Maggie had heard all about the length of Herm and Vera’s stay from one client or another, each speculating how none of them would care to have company for that long. She’d also heard from two clients who’d witnessed Jessie laying a patch of rubber when she’d left Harry’s, Vera riding shotgun. She wondered if the two women were at each other’s throats. One had even asked Lester about it but said he’d been closed-mouth like he always was.

  “I just might do that,” Vera said. “Maybe Monday or Tuesday? Think you might have anything then?”

  “I bet I do. Just give me a call,” Maggie said, retrieving her metal card case with the flip-top lid from her giant handbag, which had long shoulder straps and a pumpkin made out of sequins appliquéd on it. She flipped out a card and handed it to Vera. “Here ya go, honey. Even if I’m booked solid, I’m sure I could squeeze you in. What with the holiday everybody wants to look her best for family gatherings, but I’m used to working longer hours then. And if Jessie already tossed the paper, I’ll give you a dollar off anyway, since you’re a guest and all. We ladies have got to keep up our appearances, right?” Maggie had cocked her hip, placed her hand on it and tossed her head back when she’d said the word “appearances,” as though to strike the perfect pose to depict them. She was wearing black slacks and black suede flats with a black sweater festively embroidered with colorful turkeys. Vera thought she’d seen one just like it at the Wal-Mart in her hometown. Too flashy for her, she’d thought at the time, but it looked terrific on Maggie, whose earrings purchased at the Pumpkin Festival craft fair dangled all the way down to just above her shoulders. Vera noticed that the turkey on Maggie’s sweater looked like he was watching the bottom round bauble of her earring sway, as though he were thinking about nabbing it.

  “Knock-knock,” Gladys said as she walked in. She’d no longer closed the door than out of her mouth came “Doughnuts. Could have guessed. I was hoping you’d have May Belle bring something, like her snickerdoodle cookies.”

  “May Belle! Hey, where’s May Belle?” Jessie wanted to know. “Didn’t she ride in with you and Dorothy?” she asked Maggie.

  “Why, didn’t Arthur tell you?” Dorothy asked.

  “Tell me what?”

  “That May Belle can’t come. She’s laid up with her back, poor thing. And you know it must be terrible sore for her to miss a Hookers’ meeting. She said she left a message with Arthur. And speaking of Arthur, where is the rascal, who obviously did not do his job very well? Think I’ll give him a piece of my mind.” Dorothy and Arthur had always been swell friends; she was one of the few people Arthur would listen to, should somebody need to talk sense into him.

  “He’s out with my Hermie,” Vera said, jumping right in. “Who knows what those two are up to!” She only hoped it didn’t involve Lester!

  19

  When Nellie Ruth arrived at Jessie’s, Dorothy smiled at the gentle glow of love she recognized shining in Nellie Ruth’s eyes. Even after all Dorothy’s years of widowhood, she could still remember the warmth of the man who had made her life so lovely, her cool November evenings so much cozier. Gladys’s booming voice interrupted Dorothy’s reverie. Gladys was looking at her watch and counting heads. “Where’s the rest of the Hookers?”

  “May Belle’s down with a sore back, Paul’s working late and Jessica can’t get a sitter, so we’re two down,” Jessie said. “But Vera here is subbing so we’re only one short. We’ll just play with a blind.”

  “Where’s Ms. Durbin?” Gladys asked. “I mean she lives right next door. Goodness, you’d think she could be on time.” Just then there was a loud knock at the door. Jessie ushered Katie right in.

  “I’m here, Mayor,” Katie said to Gladys, her voice having been heard loud and clear through the door. “And by my watch I’m right on time,” Katie said, checking her expensive trim wristwatch as she spoke.

  “You’ve got perfect timing, Katie.” Dorothy sidled up to greet her and take her coat. “I guess those of us who have been in the club since the beginning of time are just used to everyone showing up early,” she said over her shoulder as she headed toward Jessie’s bedroom to put it on the rest of the pile.

  “I’ll do better next time, Gladys. I promise.” Gladys pursed her lips and nodded her head in approval. It occurred to Katie how easily Gladys could be manipulated.

  “Shall we get to it?” Jessie asked as she led them toward the living room where the card tables were set up.

  This was Katie’s first time in the Landerses’ home, which she’d already started surveying. Although it was relatively clean and the decorating was sparse (not a tchotchke in sight), aside from two cheap halogen floor lamps, it was like stepping into a time warp from the seventies, with shades of the fifties thrown in for good measure. Although she felt cramped in her mouse house since it was so much smaller, or at least chopped up, than her spacious and open brownstone in Chicago had been (she’d had extensive remodeling done on the brownstone the moment she’d moved in, turning two units into one), the Landerses’ home was considerably smaller than Crooked Creek Farm.

  As everyone was being seated, Katie took note of the missing spots of plaster and the worn carpet, the uneven floors. Should the Landerses decide to sell and move into town, since they didn’t seem like the Florida type, this would undoubtedly be a knockdown for sure, although it would be worth it to hold an estate sale first. The kitchen table and dining room sets, she observed, were so old—and yet not antique—that they were currently popular in the retro trend. She’d seen them in a store in her Chicago neighborhood selling for outrageous dollars. And yet in this setting they just looked outdated. She also knew that if a demolition sale for this house were held in the Chicago area, solid bucks would be shelled out for some of the stunning moldings. It would be a shame to see them go to waste. She doubted, though, that anyone in Partonville had a clue what things were going for in the city. As she scooted her chair up to the table she concluded this whole place, molding aside, didn’t have near the character as the mouse house, which was, it occurred to her, the first time she’d thought of her home as having character.

  “Okay, let’s see who goes first,” Jessie said. Of course, Gladys had seated herself at the head table. Dorothy said Vera got to be Gladys’s partner first since she was a guest. Nellie Ruth and Maggie teamed up to form the other head-table pair, leaving Katie and Dorothy paired at the second table. Jessie said she’d play with the first blind, or ghost player, or whatever they were calling it. Maggie said she thought it would be more fun to say she was playing with an imaginary friend, a handsome friend, which was what she was planning to do when it was her turn with “the blind—as in blind date. I think he’ll be six-foot-two, eyes of blue and have huge biceps and curly blond hair.”

  The highest roller at each table would start the round. Jessie spoke as she picked up the dice an
d rolled a two. “Maggie Malone, you are too old to be dreaming up things like that. Too old,” she said as she passed the dice to Katie.

  Back at the head table, Maggie picked up the dice, cupped it in her left hand and topped it with her right. She blew into a space between her thumbs, then said, “Come on, honey! Mama needs a six!” She turned her head toward Jessie. “If I get a six, I can have any imaginary friend I want.” She shook her hands together and gave the dice a side-winding roll. “SIX!”

  “I’m telling Ben,” Dorothy quipped.

  “Well, in case you don’t recall,” Maggie said, “I just described Ben to you! I never said my imaginary friend was young now, did I?”

  “No men allowed at a Hookers’ meeting,” Dorothy teased. “And that is that.” Everyone had a good chuckle while Jessie and Vera hoped it was the truth.

  Now that Katie was done rolling the dice and Jessie was keeping score for their table, she had time to think about her announcement—which was off. Jessica wasn’t present and she was too good a friend to end up the last to hear. In fact, Katie was a little miffed at herself when she realized she hadn’t already called her. She made a mental note to never let business get in the way of her new friendships. She’d already lived too many years in Chicago doing just that.

  Suddenly Dorothy hollered BUNCO! having rolled three ones in one roll. Nobody could believe how quickly sounds of that first yelping BUNCO! had introduced itself into the evening. One for the record books, Nellie Ruth declared. While they were chitchatting, changing tables to begin rolling for twos, Katie’s eyes landed on a Victrola pushed right up against the front door. “Does that old Victrola still work?” she asked Jessie, who was her partner this round.