Scarlet Oaks and the Serial Caller

by Michaela James

  Draining her cup, Scarlet continued, “It appears Cynthia was a period of insanity for Max, but when he came to his senses he still didn’t want me.”

  No appropriate words from her friends were forthcoming, leaving a thoughtful silence hanging in the air.

  “Oh looky, looky!” Tom exclaimed, changing the room’s mood in an instant. Niles and Scarlet looked down to see a glow from Tom’s laptop illuminating his and Prudence’s face.

  When his friends made no effort to get up from the couch, Tom slowly unfolded his body into a vertical position, before squeezing himself between them.

  Hitting the enter button to reawaken his computer, Tom said, “Guess who?”

  Closing his eyes, Niles said, “Really, Tom. Really?”

  Crestfallen, Tom began to close his laptop.

  “No!” Scarlet rushed. “I want to see what Mrs. Max Devin looks like. I want to move on. I want to stop being so pathetic.”

  Color slowly returned to Tom’s face as he began scrolling through the images of Max’s new wife. With each new picture, he mimicked her facial expressions. Encouraged by Scarlet and Niles’ laughter, he stood, moved to the opposite side of the room, and attempted to recreate one of her poses. Head and shoulders awkwardly leaning against the wall, he thrust the rest of his body up and out, his arms dangling down and feet in ballet points.

  Amid howls of laughter, Niles said, “Perfect, except you weren’t showing enough anguish.”

  Standing, Scarlet said, “I’m seriously about to pee! I’ll be right back.”

  She returned to find Niles and Tom in the kitchen, searching in vain for some real food. Hanging up with the local Chinese takeout, Niles said, “If I’d known Max was looking for a lean body with not a curve on it, Tom and I could have hooked him up a long time ago.”

  Scarlet smiled warmly at her friends. “Honestly guys, I’m okay. I admit it came as a bit of a shock last night, but my keep it real side knew it was over. This is good closure for me. Besides …” she added, “I’m very grateful to Max. I met two incredibly wonderful men through him.”

  Tom beamed, leaving Niles to say, “Do you remember that first night? You were in here. Your hair was a fright, no makeup on, and you were desperately trying to find something to feed us.”

  “Oh yes, I remember,” Scarlet responded dramatically. “Max comes home from work with, surprise, four colleagues in tow. No warning phone call, nothing.”

  “What a douche!” Tom volunteered, shaking his head.

  Niles placed his hand on Tom’s arm. “That’s not the best of it. I saw Scar was panicked and tried to lend a hand. Fortunately, she had buttermilk biscuits and sharp cheddar cheese in the fridge. We found some garlic powder in the recesses of her pantry and voila, garlic cheddar biscuits were born.” Smiling in remembrance of his resourcefulness, Niles paused long enough for Scarlet to elaborate.

  “So here we are producing these little miracles and having so much fun in the process, because yes, we did have wine. Mid giggles and garlic powder, in walks Max, demanding to know what we’re laughing about.”

  Tom’s look of horror was comically paired with the ringing of the doorbell and Prudence’s subsequent squeals. Eagerly exchanging cash for hot and delicious smelling Chinese food, they returned to the comfort of Scarlet’s living room.

  Tom, barely allowing them time to sit down, enquired, “Then what happened?”

  Scarlet, mouth crammed full of noodles, let Niles reply.

  “Scar and I were dumbstruck. If it hadn’t been for the thunderous look on Max’s face, we’d have assumed he was kidding. Scar tried explaining to him how I’d saved the day with my three-ingredient appetizer. But Max didn’t even let her finish before accusing me of hitting on his girlfriend.”

  Tom let out a scarily Prudence-like squeal. “He didn’t?”

  “Oh yes he did,” Niles said while perusing the selection of entrees.

  “How have we neglected to tell Tom this story?” Scarlet, twirling more noodles around her plastic fork, enquired.

  Niles procured an egg roll. “Probably because between the three of us, there are plenty of current dramas to be discussed.”

  Tom, eyebrows raised nodded his agreement. “So how did you manage to become such great friends?”

  Giving a piece of his egg roll to an attentive Prudence, Niles replied,

  “I left after his outburst. Didn’t even take a garlic cheddar biscuit with me. Scar walked me out, apologizing as if she were in any way responsible. I gave her my card and said call me if you ever need a friend. Scar, of course, knew my orientation, but her dumb ass boyfriend who’d worked with me for years had no idea.”

  “I called Niles the very next day,” Scarlet said with a big smile.

  Tom leaned back into the couch cushions, a hand resting on his full stomach. “Niles tells me you’re going to give Rocket Man a try.”

  The rest of the evening was spent with Scarlet, Niles, and Tom trying to outdo each other with clever David Bowie song references. A great deal of laughter ensued. So much, in fact, no one heard the late-night delivery deposited on Scarlet’s doorstep.

  “I didn’t know you had the paper delivered,” Tom exclaimed, clicking the remote to start their car.

  “Delivered!” Niles repeated, “Scar doesn’t even read the paper.”

  “Does anyone anymore?” Scarlet enquired, looking down at the foreign object.

  Niles bent down to retrieve the paper. “Hang on a minute. This wasn’t here when we arrived. Even presuming it was deposited on the wrong doorstep, I’m pretty sure papers aren’t delivered at night.”

  Frowning, Scarlet suggested, “Maybe the takeout guy dropped it.”

  Deciding this was a dilemma to be fixed, Tom switched off the car. “That doesn’t seem very likely.”

  Catching a look of concern on her friend’s faces, Scarlet gave a half laugh.

  “Guys, it’s just a paper.” She took the offending object from Niles. “With old news. This is dated yesterday; they’re talking about the upcoming game.” Stepping into the house, Scarlet threw it towards the couch and missed. “You two gave up your entire Sunday for me, now go home. And thanks for bringing my car,” she called out as the men folded themselves into Niles’ Nissan Leaf.

  Scarlet awoke the next morning with a renewed feeling of determination. She was going to have the best call-in show in the Bay Area. Max was just a distant memory and … how were Prudence’s clothes shrinking when this particular outfit hadn’t been washed yet?

  As Scarlet stared at her – not so little anymore – pig, Prudence looked right back as if to say, What?

  “You are beautiful!” Scarlet proclaimed, scooping up Prudence and cuddling her all the way to the kitchen.

  Pouring them each a bowl of muesli and promising her pig she’d pick up more sow nuts on her way to work, Scarlet walked into the living room and placed Prudence’s bowl on a plastic mat. Noticing the much talked about paper on the floor, she picked it up. While crunching, in unison with Prudence, on granola and flax, Scarlet read the headlines.

  Two topics on the front page piqued her interest. The first being the upcoming 49ers game with the Oakland Raiders. She knew the outcome, but it wouldn’t hurt to read some of the sports terminologies. The other article was on the hunt for a Bay Area woman who’d been missing for two days. This caught Scarlet’s eye because two days didn’t seem long enough to panic. Turning to page six, she began to read more. The first paragraph talked about the woman’s job as a visiting angel. Scarlet assessed this to mean she visited seniors in their homes and helped where needed. The second paragraph went into depth about the Angel Organization, how they’d been active in the Bay Area for over twenty years and the scope of services they provided.

  The third paragraph explained the perceived need to panic after just two days. One of the seniors the missing woman, named Velma Ordman, visited on a twice-weekly basis was mother to a person of interest in a recent Bay Area murder.

  Th
e fourth and last paragraph sent a chill through Scarlet, despite warm midday sun streaming in through her living room window. It recapped the horrific incident of a woman being drowned in the shallow waters of the bay. The victim’s mouth had been stuffed with local wildflowers and repeatedly secured with duct tape.

  Scarlet threw the paper aside. Taking deep breaths, she attempted to push aside the unwelcome memory of those exact flowers being deposited twice on her windshield.

  Reaching for her cell phone with a slightly shaking hand, Scarlet pressed a preset number before hearing,

  “You must be psychic! Your father and I were just talking about you. We’re hoping you’ll join us for Thanksgiving next week.”

  “Oh my goodness, that is next week, isn’t it?” Scarlet conceded.

  “I’m going all out this year,” Rose said with a chuckle. “I’m constructing a Turducken! It’s a chicken in a duck in a turkey.”

  “Wow, Gran,” Scarlet exclaimed. “Don’t you normally do some veggie inspired type dish?”

  With more laughter, Rose continued, “I do, but I have a man in the house this year. He wouldn’t be too amused with all my lentils and quinoa, so I thought why not go all out and stuff some birds into each other.”

  The visual of her Gran’s slender and frail fingers pushing a chicken into a duck enabled Scarlet to almost forgot the reason for her call. “Gran, you didn’t happen to leave a newspaper on my porch last night, did you?”

  “Why no dear,” Rose replied. “Why would I do that?”

  “Well, it’s only that last time I saw you, we chatted about those wildflowers I found under my wipers. You’d read that article about the murdered woman.”

  “I remember,” Rose responded, all the laughter now gone. “You’re referring to the article in yesterday’s paper. The missing woman who the police believe may have a connection to the elderly lady’s son.”

  Neither one wanting to bring up the word, Franciscan Wildflower, the conversation hastily returned to chickens, ducks, and all things Thanksgiving.

  Struggling to shake off her morbid thoughts, Scarlet re-read stats on the 49ers’ loss to the Raiders and predictions for the upcoming game against the Seahawks.

  She’d arrived at the radio station an hour earlier than normal. All part of her new day, new me philosophy. If only she could stop those damn wildflowers from popping into her head every five minutes.

  Almost jumping out of her skin, Scarlet looked up to see the knuckles, having just rapped on her studio window, belonged to Sylvia the P.I.B.

  Motioning for her to come in, Scarlet observed the girl’s eyes to be red and swollen.

  Despite suspecting she may regret it, Scarlet asked, “Is everything okay?”

  Shaking her head, Sylvia pushed herself up onto the guest stool. When it became evident the source of the girl’s misery was Scarlet’s to determine, she enquired, “Do you want to talk about it?”

  Over a loud sniff, Sylvia began, “He was just using me. He never liked me. It was all lies to get into the station.”

  Checking there was enough time before going live, Scarlet asked, “Are you talking about the guy I saw you with a couple of times?”

  Nodding, Sylvia said, “He liked you, though. Said you were his next girl.”

  Not wanting Sylvia to see the look of horror on her face, Scarlet looked down at her hands. “Young men tend to show off Sylvia. I wouldn’t put too much stock in what he said.”

  “Stock?” Sylvia repeated crinkling her nose.

  Feeling like an old fuddy-duddy, Scarlet rephrased,

  “Don’t believe half the crap that comes out of their mouths.”

  Smiling for the first time since entering Scarlet’s studio, Sylvia said, “I’m sorry I wasn’t around like I shoulda been.”

  Softening to the girl, Scarlet responded, “It’s okay. I probably overreacted that evening ’cos I got a little spooked.”

  Sylvia, reaching for a Kleenex, mumbled, “He did a lot of bad stuff.”

  “Like breaking into the vending machine?” Scarlet suggested.

  Looking sufficiently embarrassed, Sylvia nodded. “He stole from all the studios, too. Except yours,” she added quickly.

  Struggling to maintain an aura of calm, Scarlet asked, “Because I’m here late at night?”

  “No, he was here way later than you.” Her face coloring, Sylvia continued, “He said he had other plans for you.”

  Feeling quite ill suddenly, Scarlet enquired, “Did he mention what those plans were?”

  Sylvia looked down at her feet. “I think he wanted to scare you.”

  Knowing she had to appear relatively unphased, or Sylvia may clam up, Scarlet casually asked,

  “Did he call my show that night?”

  Still looking at her shoes, Sylvia nodded her head slowly.

  Her voice, unnaturally high, Scarlet said, “So scaring me was just something to do, just for kicks kind of thing?”

  “I guess,” Sylvia replied. Then, seemingly noticing the change in Scarlet’s composure, added, “But he’s gone now. The idiot’s back in San Diego.”

  With a million questions and the need to throw something or shake a certain someone, Scarlet instead viewed the person sitting across from her. Feverishly picking at already chipped nail polish, Sylvia kept her head down. Imagining the young girl was lonely and somewhat broken, Scarlet heard herself suggest she return later to share a hot chocolate.

  Revealing a lovely smile, Sylvia said she’d be waiting, just down the hall, for the next break.

  Two of the three callers on hold wanted to vent about the 49ers’ loss to the Raiders. The third caller was a young man named Justin from Brentwood. He’d just moved to San Francisco and felt terrified at the thought of talking to city girls. His grandmother had cautioned him they were fast and loose. What did that even mean? he’d asked. Scarlet did her best to explain the old expression, without offending Bay Area women or Justin’s grandmother.

  Flipping the switch to start nine songs in a row, Scarlet leaned back and allowed herself a moment to digest her earlier conversation with Sylvia. A moment was all she got. A plastic cup in each hand, Sylvia gave the unspoken universal sign for, please open the door.

  Intermittently checking her board, Scarlet listened. Only an occasional nod of encouragement was required while Sylvia narrated a life seemingly on a fast track to disaster.

  When the fifth song began to play, Sylvia reached the part where, Mr. I like to scare women, made his entrance. Scarlet wondered if it were her life story, how many songs it would take before Max arrived on the scene. Mentally shaking herself with the reminder of starting a new chapter, she focused on words candidly spoken by her new studio companion.

  Sylvia had met Andree in a club on Utah Street. Scarlet doubted Andree was his real name. He looked more like a Lenny or a Vince to her. Sylvia recounted Andree appeared more interested in her friend at first. But when her friend was chatted up by another dude and Andree and Sylvia had a chance to talk, he seemed super interested in her.

  Trying to speed the details up a little, Scarlet asked, “Did you talk about your grandmother owning this station and your uncle managing it?”

  Sylvia nodded. “He was desperate to see it. Once he did, he wanted to spend all our time here. I kept asking him to take me to a movie or dinner, but he wouldn’t.”

  “What did he steal from the studios?” Scarlet asked.

  Shrugging her shoulders, Sylvia replied, “Just the shit they give away at Remotes.”

  Scarlet glanced at the console. “Like CD’s and t-shirts.”

  Sylvia nervously chewed on her lower lip. “He said he could flog the CDs. Sometimes there was cash in the desk drawers, and he’d take that. He even stole Janet’s hand lotion. He said he’d give it to his mom for Christmas. Isn’t that so weird?” she added pulling a face.

  Scarlet wanted to scream, it’s way past weird, but instead, in her continued attempt to speak like Sylvia, said, “That’s pretty messed up.
”

  One song left on the bed before she was live again and thankfully it was Purple Rain, a nice long one.

  “You two seemed pretty into each other.” Scarlet, remembering the face sucking, suggested.

  “Like that was so weird too,” Sylvia began as she took the last gulp of hot chocolate. “He said I was too immature and didn’t have plans like he did. He said he’d wasted his time on a kid when he shoulda been with a woman.” Opening her mouth wide for added effect, Sylvia concluded, “He was only two years older than me.”

  Prince sang, but you can’t seem to make up your mind, and knowing the song well enough Scarlet said, “Less than a minute and I’m live.”

  Offering moderately sincere sympathy for the breakup, Scarlet watched Sylvia, head low, shoulders sagging, quietly exit the studio.

  Sighing, Scarlet moved her mic into position. “Thank you for calling Mending Men, this is Scarlet, how can I help?”

  Settling back in her stool she listened to Adam from Oakland’s outrage at hearing the two 49er fans whine about losing to the Raiders. “Outplayed,” he said three times with increasing degrees of loudness. “Plain and simple,” was said twice but the second time, again, with increased volume. When he turned his outrage to the type of people who support the 49ers, Scarlet happily cut him off.

  Her last caller was Rod from Modesto. Scarlet was surprised he hadn’t called in earlier. Typically, he liked to be the first to enlighten her listeners on how the game should have been played. Tonight, despite being a little humbler, he chose to point out some serious errors the Raiders had made. Scarlet felt this was redundant as they’d won by eleven points, but what did she know.

  Feeling emotionally spent on the drive home, Scarlet had a little trouble keeping up her new day, greatness ahead, state of mind.

  Scarlet felt as if the fog weaving its way through the cables of the Golden Gate Bridge was also snaking its way into her place of work. The minute she stepped through the double glass doors, she felt panicked and disorientated. Ascending the steep stairs to her studio, Scarlet now likened to walking the green mile. But worst of all, every time the light on her console signaled a caller on hold, she broke out into a cold sweat.