Proposal
Two weeks had passed. The finishing touches were finalized on the sale of the Silver Screen Salon. Six stylists, three barbers, the new and the past owner had a farewell dinner at Red Lobster, since the exiting Queen had a thing for their cheese biscuits. The novelty drinks there were fun, too.
Elsie would continue to be a customer even after the transition where she would be there less and less, allowing Barbara to ease into the reins in the clientele’s eyes. Her continued patronage for at least one year would be seen as a positive on client retention, and for that benefit, there would be no charge in that year for services. Tips though were still likely, as long as the quality of service still met Elsie’s standards.
It was a Friday night and Sam’s porch was the rendezvous local. Elsie seemed moody, preoccupied. She wasn’t angry or morose...but more melancholy. If either was like that, then conversations could take a turn into left field. Tonight was no exception to the rule.
“Sam? What do you remember about Gracie’s wake or funeral most?”
“One of those nights, huh? Hmmm. I remember thinking that Gracie’s spirit must be bored out of her skull, given how somber most people were. That wasn’t her. You remember. Gracie would always be singing, laughing, chatting. The woman smiled at things that would have anyone else grumpy for a week. So I had the funeral director pull that god awful dirge music off their CD player and switch to Dorsey. The change for the better was the thing I was most proud of doing for her services. Why do you ask? You know you gotta take a turn answering yourself. Them’s the rules for whack-a-doodle questions.”
Elsie rocked, sipped Sam’s slightly stronger coffee and nibbled a toll house of her own design. “I remember sitting there in the front row, looking at Raul’s shell. I knew he wasn’t there, and yet, there he was. Sort of like someone seeing a house they grew up in, but abandoned and lifeless. There was the body I slept next to for so many years, the body that warmed my cold toes in winter, now itself cold. It’s funny, but I couldn’t bring myself to touch him. I could look at him, but not touch him. Why do you think that was so?”
“Elsie, I claim one maudlin point and that means I get the last two cookies. Don’t argue. You came up with that one yourself. I don’t know. Maybe you couldn’t bring yourself to touch him because he wasn’t there to touch. Why try to do something that’s impossible, and what’s more, would be guaranteed to cause you just more frustration and grief? Elsie? You ever think you’d get married again? You’re healthy, and still full of life. Maybe find someone you could travel and see the world with, do charity work with, I don’t know, paint landscapes up in the mountains with.”
Elsie eyed the last cookie with slitted lids. Sam generously left a peace offering of half the cookie, which was gratefully received and quickly dispensed with. “I thought about that a bit, but I’m not sure it would be a good idea. I don’t like being alone and all that any more than you do. Raul seemed just right for me, and it wouldn’t be fair to any new partner to feel always compared to him. Maybe I wouldn’t do that consciously, but it might be there under the surface. Besides, I’m pretty set in my ways. Not sure I want a lot of changes in my life anymore. Adventure just doesn’t have the appeal it used to. I like being home.”
Sam could tell where Elsie was coming from, for he pretty much felt the same way. Male widowers could enjoy a spate of popularity among single women. Available men at his age had to have some reason they were available. At least with the death of a spouse, availability didn’t have as much likelihood to be due to alcoholism, sports addiction, weird hobbies, or playing bagpipes nightly. Sam had also been doing some thinking along other lines.
The friendship between the neighbors was such that Sam wasn’t even nervous in bringing up something that might have another man sweating from palms to toes.
“Elsie?”
“Yes, Sam?”
“You’re my best friend, and we get along pretty good for older folk.
“Pre-emptive weird and awkward question point. Give me the last cup.”
Sam poured the last of the carafe. “What would you think about you and me? You know, married? Heck, the way we see each other most nights, the neighbors think we’re having a gray old time anyway. We’re both tired of sleeping alone. What do you think?”
“You know, Sam? That idea isn’t too bad. Let’s think about it and talk more tomorrow. Might be fun, but might be dangerous, too. You’re my best friend, too, and I wouldn’t do anything that would put that at risk.”
“Fair enough. Hey, look. Elmer and Louise’s tabby caught another mouse.”
Elsie laughed. “Remember when she screamed when Boots left the mouse on the front porch and she stepped barefoot on it when she went out for the paper?”
Sam chuckled. “Yeah. Good times.”
One More Time Page 3