Scarlet Oaks and the Serial Caller

by Michaela James

  Scarlet, unloading the trunk, looked up, “Maybe it was his sister.”

  Watching Scarlet struggle into the house with pig paraphernalia, Marilyn said to her daughter’s back,

  “I hardly think that’s likely. All three of my children are good looking, I can’t imagine she was related to him.”

  Walking back out to the car for one more load, Scarlet tried, “Maybe she’s adopted.”

  This idea seemed to satisfy Marilyn, leaving Scarlet to brace herself for their next mundane discussion.

  It took place twenty minutes later, over a cup of green tea.

  “I’m thinking about moving,” Marilyn declared, looking around her living room, wistfully. “I saw a darling house for sale, overlooking the Sea Scape Golf Course. The deck is practically on the green. What do you say to your Mother living on a golf course?”

  Scarlet procured a shortbread cookie. “Really? You would never play when Gran wanted a fourth for her charity events.”

  Marilyn pursed her lips. “Well, of course, I never wanted to do anything to help that old dragon. But, this isn’t about Golf. This is about the men who play Golf.”

  Giving an expression which she hoped resembled interest, Scarlet said nothing.

  Placing a hand on her ankle and subconsciously sliding it up to her knee, Marilyn continued, “Mrs. Snow, who owns the Pharmacy, said I still look like a girl. Can you imagine? What a sweet thing to say. Then Stan, who’s mown our lawns forever, said he can’t fathom how I’m still single.” Giving a strange little smile, she went on, “Picture this my darling ... your mother sitting out on her deck drinking something fruity with an umbrella in it, and all those rich, charming men, walking by on the green. You and your sister will be bridesmaids of course…I’m thinking lilac just above the knee, with loose stems of white roses in your hair.”

  Wanting to scream, you haven’t bought the house or met the man yet, Scarlet instead declared, “Prudence could be the ring bearer.”

  Hearing her Mother laugh and watching her run over to hug the little Pig, Scarlet knew it had been the right thing to say. After setting up a play area and litter box for Prudence, Scarlet joined her Mother in the back yard.

  “Can you believe how much this rose bush has grown?” Marilyn asked, holding pruners in one hand and deadheads in the other.

  Scarlet smiled. “Wasn’t this started from your wedding rose?”

  Lifting the dead flowers closer to Scarlet, Marilyn, voice raised, said, “This is what I am to your Father. Great to have around while I was full of color and life. Now that I’m old and shriveled, he just throws me on a heap.” At this, she dramatically threw the dead roses into a rusting wheelbarrow.

  Trying not to giggle at the theatrics, Scarlet responded, “Mom, you’re not old, and you’re still beautiful. What did you just tell me Mrs. Snow and Stan said.”

  Marilyn pushed her chin out. “That’s true, and those aren’t the only comments I’ve had either.”

  Scarlet linked her arm through Marilyn’s. “I’m sure they aren’t. How’s the pond? Has that netting worked at keeping the pesky Herons away?”

  Mother and daughter marveled at the number of Guppies filling the old pond. After scooping away some algae and tightening parts of the netting, Marilyn went inside to start their lunch. Now solitary, Scarlet took a reminiscent roam around her childhood yard.

  How long had it been since she sat under the willow tree? It seemed so claustrophobic now, but with youth’s imagination, it had been the land of Queen Philippa. Better known as Barbie, Philippa had ruled with an iron hand. Violet, being the older sister, spoke for the queen. Scarlet’s seemingly less attractive Barbies were there to serve her.

  Walking past the faded and peeling shed, Scarlet spotted her beloved swing. Not trusting the old wood with the weight and hips of a woman, she just stood and remembered the girl. For hours and hours, she would swing, and with every leg bend, every lift of her dark wavy hair came immense happiness.

  What happened to that simple childhood joy? Scarlet mused, where did it go, why did it go? Ironic how adults seem to spend their life searching for a happiness children can find on a wooden swing.

  Over a lunch of hummus, crackers, and smoked salmon, Marilyn brought up an often-contentious topic … Violet. Opening a bottle of red wine, needed more than wanted because it pained her so much to talk about it, Marilyn began, “Yes, your sister’s back in the area, but she might as well be a million miles away. This so-called commune is simply a bunch of hippies. They never wash and just go around having sex with each other all day long.”

  Marilyn paused to pull a face.

  Scarlet reigned in a smile. “I thought it was a little farming community, where they live independently off the land.”

  Marilyn almost choked on her cracker. “Farming, my eye. I’ve seen them shopping in Aptos.”

  “You’ve seen Violet in Aptos?” Scarlet enquired.

  Marilyn daintily patted a napkin to her mouth. “No, not Violet. But hippie types!” Taking a decent gulp of wine, she added, “And they were buying beer.”

  “Shocking!” Scarlet retorted, the sarcasm lost on her mother.

  Marilyn leaned back in her chair. “Your brother says he will never speak to her again. You know his wife, Lisa, comes from a very religious family. He can’t risk being associated with this sort of thing.”

  Treading carefully, because with Scarlet’s mother there was only one right opinion and it was always hers, Scarlet suggested, “This really isn’t that scandalous. For all we know they may be a nice group of people who simply choose to live off the grid.”

  Marilynn gave her daughter a you’re so naïve look before asking, “Is it my imagination, or could my Granddaughter be getting a little chunky?”

  Looking at the wine bottle, Scarlet understood why chunky sounded suspiciously like shunky. The bottle was empty, and Scarlet had only consumed half a glass.

  “Mother,” she began, “I realize I’m completely loopy in the way I treat this little pig, but I have to draw the line at you calling her granddaughter.”

  Marilyn giggled. “She may be the only one I get from you. When are you going to bring a nice young man home? I don’t suppose you’ll ever find one as good looking as Max again. You should have held on tighter to him.”

  Feeling the sting, but not wanting to let it show, Scarlet responded, “The tighter you hold, the harder they squirm.”

  With what Scarlet perceived to be a little wave of reality flowing over her mother, Marilyn said she was going to take a nap. Scarlet agreed it was a great idea and after she cleared away the lunch things, joined her mother and Prudence in the living room. There was plenty of room to spread out on the sectional sofa. A combination of warm afternoon sun coming through the large bay window and the gentle hum of a nearby lawnmower, allowed two women and a pig, to sleep contentedly for the rest of the afternoon.

  In the early evening, Scarlet delighted Marilyn with a new mascara.

  “You’re so lucky living in the city with all the best of everything around you,” Marilyn declared. “This place is so tiny, I’m lucky if I can find a decent shampoo.”

  Knowing this to be a great exaggeration, and knowing she couldn’t afford it, Scarlet still offered, “You let me know if there’s anything you need and I’ll bring it to you.”

  Smiling, Marilyn walked to the large ornate mirror above the fireplace and began applying her new mascara.

  “How do you feel about egg drop soup and the first season of Twilight?” Marilyn enquired while fluttering her newly lacquered eyelashes in the mirror.

  “I can’t imagine one without the other,” Scarlet replied with a grin.

  Hours of Vampires and Werewolves made for a late night, and despite the nap, Scarlet slept well surrounded by her childhood toys and boy band posters.

  The next morning was spent patiently listening to more of her mother’s imagined theories about Violet’s new home.

  “You know no man will ever wan
t her now,” Marilyn said as they picked up fallen apples from the pink lady tree. Gratefully accepting a bag to take home, Scarlet said,

  “I’m not sure Violet ever wanted to marry anyway.”

  “All pretty young women say that when they’ve got men chasing them all over town,” Marilyn responded knowingly. “What do you think happens when those young women start to age?” Not needing an answer, Marilyn continued, “The men start sniffing around the younger women, and where does that leave you?”

  “Out in the cold, I guess,” Scarlet answered with a frown.

  “You bet it does,” Marilyn said, eyes narrowed. “You better get a ring on your finger while you can.”

  Consuming one last cup of tea, and hearing how a good daughter would visit more than once a month, Scarlet said her goodbyes before strapping Prudence into her car seat.

  Feeling a little emotionally drained as she maneuvered down the windy drive, Scarlet decided once a month was just fine.

  Going against the sometimes it’s better not to know rule, Scarlet stopped by the radio station the following morning.

  “Forgot my charger,” she dishonestly informed the receptionist with an exaggerated look of dismay.

  Turning in the opposite direction of her proclaimed destination, Scarlet stealthily crept down the long corridor and up to the window edge of her old studio.

  Fighting against a scream forcing its way up her windpipe, Scarlet turned and ran into the nearest restroom. Looking at herself in the mirror, she waited until the expression staring back at her resembled one she recognized, then headed back downstairs.

  “Did you find it?” the receptionist asked.

  “What?” a startled Scarlet, replied.

  “Your phone charger, silly,” Tara responded, smiling sympathetically as if Scarlet were a little senile.

  “Oh, yes,” Scarlet lied, patting her purse. “The red and black stripes in your hair look great,” she offered, pulling on the heavy glass door.

  The young receptionist said something about adding one more color, but Scarlet was already halfway out the building. Despite her original comment, she was in no mood for hair talk.

  “This is Niles,” filled her vehicle before she’d even pulled out of the station’s car park.

  “Niles, I need you,” Scarlet gushed. “Can you get away?”

  “Sure, you want to meet for noodles?” came a voice sounding unfazed by the urgency in Scarlet’s.

  “Yes please,” she replied, relieved she could share her news so quickly. “I’m coming up to Broadway. Can you do China Town?”

  “Getting in the elevator now,” Niles responded. “You want to say Pacific Avenue?”

  “Perfect,” Scarlet confirmed. “I’ll get a table.”

  Clicking the button on her steering wheel to end the call, she breathed deeply, then felt a flood of guilt.

  If Max had been right, being a stockbroker was more stressful than many knew. Niles could be juggling a million problems right now, and yet here she was, cutting to the front of the line with hers.

  Feeling almost calm when Niles strode into the restaurant, Scarlet began, “Before I tell you about my latest issue, I want to say how grateful I am for your friendship.”

  Niles was about to say something, but Scarlet put her hand over his, asking, “Do I listen enough?”

  “Yes Scar, you do,” Niles said with a smile.

  Letting go of his hand as the waiter brought them tea, Scarlet persisted, “Truly Niles? Please tell me if this friendship is ever too one-sided.”

  Niles laughed as he lifted the small clay teapot. “Your life is more interesting. And besides, after hearing about your problems I always feel better about my own.”

  Giving a sardonic smile, Scarlet said, “Happy to help.”

  They were interrupted again by the arrival of two steaming bowls of wonton noodle soup.

  Content to let the dish cool a little, Niles asked, “What’s up? You don’t usually call me in the middle of the day.”

  Sighing, Scarlet replied, “Normally I would be on the air right now, playing Top Forty hits and loving my job.”

  Niles gave a sympathetic nod. “Right, this new gig starts at seven PM, that does suck.”

  Scarlet hastily swallowed a noodle. “My body clock is completely out of whack. A couple of times last week I almost nodded off during the music bed. But wait ’til you hear the worst of it.”

  Deducing his voice wouldn’t be needed for a while, Niles began wielding chopsticks.

  “Did I ever tell you about Candy?” Scarlet enquired. When Niles shook his head, she elaborated, “Her real name is Veronica. She does the traffic.” Scarlet pulled a face. “It’s imperative to have an on-air name like Candy when you do traffic.”

  Wiping a drop of noodle juice from his chin, Niles asked, “Why don’t you have a radio name?”

  Scarlet gave a wry smile. “I’m sure people think I do.”

  Niles nodded. “Good point.” Pushing his bowl to the side, he suggested, “I’m sensing you’re not overly fond of this Candy slash Veronica person.”

  Scarlet narrowed her eyes. “The girl’s tops are so low cut that during our last strategy meeting, one of her boobs actually plopped out onto the conference table.”

  Trying not to laugh, as Scarlet clearly wasn’t in the laughing mood, Niles asked, “Was she suitably mortified? What did she do?”

  “Are you kidding? Scarlet responded. “She just gave her irritatingly-high giggle, and scooped it back in.”

  Niles refilled the small handle-less cups. “We’re not just upset about her unruly bosoms though are we?”

  Deflating slightly, Scarlet leaned back in her chair. “Niles, they gave her my Top Forty show. All she’s ever done is traffic, and now she’s hosting one of the top-rated slots in the Bay Area.”

  Looking intently at Scarlet, Niles said, “That is seriously messed up. What are they thinking?”

  Thanking the waiter as he cleared her bowl away, Scarlet said, “That’s just it…Brian doesn’t think. He just does, then everyone has to scramble around trying to make his crazy decision work.”

  Niles grimaced. “Remind me again why he’s station manager?”

  “Because his mother-in-law owns Bay Radio. She’s super wealthy…even by San Fran standards.”

  “Let me guess,” Niles said, rubbing his hands together. “She’s so wealthy, she cares nothing about the running or the profit-making of the station.”

  Scarlet sighed. “It’s all one can presume.”

  Walking back out into the bustle and noise of China Town, Scarlet thanked Niles for lunch and, more importantly, his time.

  Hugging her and saying he’d be by later in the week with provisions, Niles returned to his job, leaving Scarlet to head home and ready for hers.

  Spirits were lifted slightly, first by the warm welcome from Prudence and then by three messages on the dating site.

  Gary, a civil rights lawyer, and windsurfing enthusiast was, ‘looking for quiet dinners with great conversation.’

  Pete, a high school English teacher, loves to hike and ski. ‘His ideal date is a stroll through Golden Gate Park, ending in a picnic prepared by his own fair hands.’

  Allen, a photographer, professed ‘his perfect evening is seeing a great play, then discussing it over a bottle of wine with a beautiful soul.’

  Chuckling at their posed headshots and flowery declarations, Scarlet decided Gary would get a response. The other two sounded far too light in the food category.

  Two hours later, settling in for the start of week two on the new job, Scarlet reminded herself men weren’t that different from women. They too needed help understanding the other sex and making their relationships work. But why she wondered, must a sports analogy be involved. Were they that shallow? Was it truly the best way to fix their problems? After clicking on every sports analogy she could find, Scarlet routinely adjusted her mic, deciding maybe it was better not to know.

  The station had dea
lt her an unfair hand, but Scarlet was determined to make it work. The curious callers were still alive and well. One man questioned whether Harold had been fired. Two more callers jumped on this bandwagon saying they’d heard him slur his words many times. Scarlet stayed neutral, doing her best to change the subject.

  The last man of the night was her first repeat caller. Flooded with mixed emotions, Scarlet listened to him say, “This is Stewart, but you can call me Stew.”

  “Yes, I recognize your voice, Stew,” Scarlet said, inwardly cringing at the memory. “How are you tonight?” she asked while clicking the mouse to wake up her computer.

  “I’m calling to thank you for your help,” Stewart said.

  “You are?” Scarlet replied, sounding a little too surprised.

  In his painfully slow speaking voice, Stewart reported, “I put my wife in a deep bath, just like you said. Yes, I did.”

  Reliving the humiliation of saying bath instead of shower, Scarlet replied, “That’s great Stew, and things are going well for the two of you now?”

  Following a long pause, Stewart said, “I’m much happier now. She doesn’t belittle me anymore. No, she doesn’t.”

  Feeling elation at this small victory, Scarlet said, “That’s wonderful news, Stew. Thanks so much for calling in and letting us know how well you’re doing. Please stay in touch.”

  Starting the song bed off with Led Zeppelin’s Stairway to Heaven, Scarlet sat back in her chair. Perhaps she’d been too quick to poo-poo the whole sports can fix you concept.

  In a continued attempt to feel more at home in her new studio, Scarlet set about putting up some of her favorite posters. There was always room for Amy Winehouse…rest in peace. Red Hot Chili Peppers were still rocking. Yes, maybe James Blunt was a little six years ago, but what girl hadn’t had an incredible make-out session to, You’re beautiful.

  Feeling she may never be at home with her new hours, Scarlet, at just after midnight, darted to her car. Noticing the outside temperature of fifty-five degrees on the large round Tachometer, Scarlet instinctively rubbed her hands together. While turning up the heat, something caught her eye. There were, what appeared to be, wildflowers under one of her windshield wipers. Reluctantly, getting back out of the car, she lifted the wiper and removed the flowers. If it had been one or two, Scarlet would have assumed the wind had blown them there. But, this good-sized bunch, carefully positioned, certainly had human intervention. Keeping one, she threw the others into nearby bushes. Consumed with thoughts of who’d left them, she made the ten-minute drive home.