A Love of Her Own

by Bettye Griffin

  She put the coffee on and filled a plate with a variety of the thin tea cookies she kept on hand for her customers. It was going to be another slow day. To help kill the time, she ran the vacuum cleaner over the deep blue carpet and did some general straightening up.

  Her assistant, Winifred Woods, showed up promptly at eleven. Woody, as she was called, was in her mid-fifties with three grown sons. Theirs was an alliance that worked well. Woody only wanted to work part time, where she could do her housework in the mornings and be able to get home and prepare dinner for her husband and the one son who still lived at home; while Ava needed someone who was capable of running the show if she needed to go out in the middle of the day, as well as allow her to keep Beginnings open on Saturdays, the busiest day, but a day when she sometimes coordinated weddings. Woody was the type of person who always knew the proper etiquette for any situation, and she loved weddings. “But with three boys, this is about as close to wedding planning as I’ll be able to get,” she had explained when Ava interviewed her. She was also an accomplished seamstress and did all the alterations. Her impeccable taste was quite handy when it was time to get a wedding organized, as well.

  “Any customers this morning?” Woody asked now.

  “Not yet. I’m glad you’re here. I was fighting the urge to go next door and indulge in some gossip, just to have someone to talk to.” The holiday party season in full swing, and Vanessa’s beauty shop was already busy when Ava arrived at work.

  “Don’t you worry; it’ll pick up,” Woody said confidently. “I’m going to make myself a cup of coffee. Then you can tell me all about Catherine’s party.”

  Catherine’s party. Immediately Ava had a mental picture of the handsome Hilton White, which brought a smile to her lips.

  Just as Woody had predicted, Ava had a customer just moments later. A beaming young woman in her early twenties, accompanied by a female friend, came through the doors and greeted her.

  “Hello. How can I help you ladies this morning?” Ava offered.

  “Well…” The first girl giggled…“I’m getting my ring Christmas Day, and I just thought I’d come in and see what kind of gowns you have.” Her eyes quickly scanned the walls of the shop, which were lined with built-in air-conditioned closets with glass doors, the inside of which held gowns, gowns and more gowns.

  “Just about every kind,” Ava replied warmly. “What type of gown were you interested in?”

  “Oh, something with a fitted top and a real full skirt.”

  “Like a fairy princess.”

  “Yes, that’s it!”

  “Why don’t you have a seat in here?” Ava suggested. She led the pair to a sleek white leather sofa. “Pour yourselves some coffee. I’ll pick out a few gowns you might like.” Her seasoned eye did a quick appraisal of the slim young woman. “Let’s see…you’re a size eight?”

  The prospective bride confirmed this, again flashing the smile that was almost foolish-looking. Ava grinned back; the young woman’s happiness was infectious. Seeing all these happy brides-to-be was the nicest part of her work. Although her own marriage didn’t live up to the fairy tale, she would never regret having taken the step. Planning her wedding had been one of the happiest times of her life, when her whole life was in front of her and anything was possible…or so she had thought at the time.

  Both young women thanked her and took seats. Woody, coffee in hand, came and offered help.

  “Ball gown, size eight,” Ava said.

  “I’m on it,” Woody replied, and Ava knew she would be. That particular style of gown was in the higher-priced echelon, and they loved selling them.

  It took the two of them less than two minutes to pick out four selections, including one with a tight-fitting bodice with V’d front and back and plenty of sparkles sewn into both the bodice and skirt, giving it a fairy princess look. “Let’s save that one for last,” Ava suggested as they went to present them to the customer.

  Ava let Woody handle the prospective buyers. In addition to a salary, she paid Woody a commission on each gown she sold based on its retail cost. Woody was a wonderful salesperson. She had a way about her of making people feel immediately at ease. Ava supposed she would have that same flair in another fifteen years or so, when she would be old enough to project that motherly image…not that she was particularly eager for that to happen. Sometimes she could hardly believe she was thirty-five. Where had the years gone?

  She looked up expectantly when the door chimes rang. It wasn’t a customer, but her friend Kendall Lucas. “Hi there. I know you’re not in the market for a wedding dress,” Ava said. Kendall was a newlywed herself, having exchanged vows with the love of her life just a few months before.

  “Afraid not,” Kendall said. “As the saying goes, I was just in the neighborhood.”

  “Kind of early to be checking up on lunch, isn’t it?” Kendall owned Soul Food to Go, a drive-through restaurant just two blocks down Main Street.

  “No, I’m not here for that. We’re so busy with the Sundowner and Robinson’s, I’ve hardly had time to look at the books lately. I hope David’s not skimming.” Kendall laughed. Her younger brother was running both of her restaurants, the original one on Main Street and the larger one in Nile Beach. Kendall and her husband, Spencer Barnes, operated Nile Beach’s leading night spot and were the new owners of Robinson’s Bar, which had been a fixture in downtown Palmdale for nearly a half century, having purchased it from original proprietor Harry Robinson after he retired.

  “How was the party?” Ava asked.

  “Oh, it was fun. We had a full house. Tonight we’re having Prime Cut perform. More than half the tables have already been reserved.” Prime Cut was a popular local band who performed classic R&B material. They usually filled the house wherever they appeared. “You should come by for a while.”

  “I might do that. So what brings you downtown?”

  “I need to go by the art store. You know how we decorated the walls of the Sundowner reception area with pictures of well-known black folks?”

  “Yeah. I thought that was a nice touch.”

  I thought so too, but so many people were grumbling about Clarence Thomas’s picture being up, Spencer got annoyed and took it down. I have to get a replacement to fill in that space.”

  “You mean you couldn’t come up with a picture of somebody else besides ‘Uncle’ Clarence?” Ava asked, laughing. “My father used to say he was the darkest white man he’s ever seen in his life.” It had been three years since her father had passed away, and it felt good to remember the many humorous things he used to say and laugh about them.

  “All right, so maybe he was a controversial choice. So was Louis Farrakhan, but nobody complained about him. It’s just that I didn’t want to go too heavy on the sports and entertainment figures. We have all the people we used to learn about in school every Black History Month, plus more recent people, and of course Barack Obama. Those pictures are small, Ava, only five by seven, which is why we need so many to display. It’s hard coming up with politicians and historical figures that people recognize without having to read the fine print.”

  Ava’s thoughts went to Hilton White. With the prominent cheekbones that gave him an almost sculpted look, he’d look great on anyone’s wall.

  She chided herself for thinking about Hilton again, for the second time in a very short period. She’d better get hold of herself.

  Then she remembered something. “Oh, Kendall, my car’s in the shop. Do you think you could give me a ride home tonight? I walked in this morning, but it’ll be dark when I leave at six, and I need to stop at the bank to make a drop.”

  “Sure. I’ll be back at six. Maybe we can grab some dinner and chat for a while before we get tied up with Christmas and Vicky’s wedding.”

  “Sounds good.”

  ****

  Although the young bride-to-be was fascinated with how she looked in the fairy princess gown, she said it was still a little early in the game to actually purch
ase a dress. She did verify with Woody that the dress would still be available in the spring.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if she comes back for it,” Woody said. “She looked absolutely gorgeous in it. Even her friend said so. But I suppose she does need to make sure she gets her ring first. No sense in putting the cart before the horse.”

  A number of prospective brides came in to browse. This was certainly a good season for jewelers, Ava thought as she noticed all the sparkling solitaires. But she wasn’t envious, for she knew business would pick up after New Year’s, when the spring brides traditionally came out in full force.

  She did sell one gown, an off-white tea-length lacy creation, to a woman who planned to be married for the second time on New Year’s Day. “I was going to do the beige suit thing,” she confided to Ava, “but everyone talked me into getting a pretty dress instead.”

  “You won’t regret it, I’m sure. Especially when you see the look in your intended’s eyes,” Ava assured.

  “It’s lovely, isn’t it? And entirely appropriate for a small ceremony at my parents’ home. I’m just glad I was able to find something on such short notice. I can hardly believe how excited I am. You know, when I was divorced I swore I would never do this again.”

  “I guess time really does heal all wounds,” Ava remarked. She wished the woman well, and after she left wandered to the window and looked out at Main Street. She felt a little hypocritical making that statement. It was true she no longer loved her former husband, but walking away from him had been the hardest thing she’d ever done. Still, she was convinced she had done the right thing, especially now that she’d seen what he had accomplished with her out of the picture.

  It had been nearly ten years since her marriage fell apart, and although she dated occasionally, in all that time she had never once considered remarrying. She was firm in her belief that marriage was not for her. Her wounds may have healed, but the pain still lingered…and the memory was so strong she knew she would not risk a recurrence…at least not until it was safe to do so.

  Downtown Palmdale was really shaping up to be a nice area, she thought as she noticed someone in the jewelry shop across the street cleaning their windows. It had been a full decade since it was deemed a historic district, but only a few brave souls had dared to invest in the stately but decayed Queen Anne and Victorian-style homes that lined the streets, and in those early days they spent a good deal of time dodging bullets. But now houses were being snapped up, refurbished and sold at a steady pace, and the area had been cleaned up considerably. Ava was confident that her modest two-bedroom home would one day be worth considerably more than what she’d paid for it once the real estate market rebounded.

  She was still looking out at the street scene when she saw the child mugger from the previous night. He was walking down the street, eyeing everyone he passed. Ava knew right away he was up to no good.

  She watched as he spoke briefly to an unsavory-looking bearded man wearing dark glasses and with massively thick hair worn in long dreadlocks, then continued on his way. Something about his body language suggested desperation as he studied the passers-by. That was one emotion no child should ever experience, Ava thought.

  She ran to the back room for her purse. When she returned he was almost in front of her store. “Woody, keep an eye on things for me, will you?” she called. “I’m going to get some lunch.”

  The boy saw her approach. He slowed down and looked dead at her.

  “Looking for more trouble?” she asked.

  “Hey, I didn’t do nothin’ to you. Why you givin’ me a hard way to go?”

  In spite of his street manner he really was a cute kid, she thought, taking in his chocolate brown complexion and expressive eyes. There was even something cute about the crooked incisors on the right side of his mouth. “Okay, let’s call a truce. Actually, I was going to get lunch. Want to come?”

  His eyes brightened visibly at the prospect, so much that Ava wondered when he had his last meal. He glanced up the street in the direction he had come from, as if checking something out. “You buyin’?” he finally asked.

  “Yes,” Ava said with a chuckle. She gestured with her head, and he fell into step beside her.

  “Where’re we going?” he asked.

  “I told you, to get something to eat. What’s your name, anyway?”

  “Marcus. What’s yours?”

  “Ava.”

  “That’s pretty.”

  “Thanks. So do you live in Palmdale, Marcus?”

  He shrugged. “Nearby.”

  Ava decided not to press it. “Do you like ribs?”

  “Oh, yeah! I looooove ribs. I can eat a lot of them, too,” he said.

  “Good, because that’s where we’re going.” Ava pointed toward Wilson’s Rib Shack, which had been in the same location as long as she could remember. Palmdale had as many fast food chains as any other small city, but it also had plenty of family-owned restaurants that had been around for years and remained popular.

  “All riiiight!”

  But Marcus hedged when he saw the police car in the parking lot. “Cops are in there!” he exclaimed, pulling back.

  Ava looked at him sharply. “Are they looking for you?”

  “Well…no, not really.” Marcus reached up and removed his hat, tucking it under his arm. His hair was neatly trimmed close to his head.

  Ava was curious, but she let the matter drop. They went in, took a table and looked at the laminated single-sheet menu. “Can I get the platter?” Marcus asked.

  “If you think you can finish it, sure.”

  “Are you kidding? I can eat two.”

  Her eyebrows arched. “When was the last time you ate, Marcus?”

  “Grandma fixed breakfast for me this morning.”

  “You live with your grandmother?”

  He scowled. “Why you as’ so many questions?”

  They talked about general topics as they ate. True to his word, Marcus demonstrated a healthy appetite, cleaning the bones of the ribs until they gleamed, unlike most children his age who tended to trash bones that still contained plenty of meat. He ate all his onion rings and the small container of cole slaw, but when Ava offered to get him more ribs he grinned and said he’d rather have dessert.

  Ava, full from her riblet sandwich and corn on the cob, merely watched him eat his chocolate cake. “How old are you, Marcus?” she asked, hoping he wouldn’t consider that too personal a query.

  “Nine. Well, almost.”

  Ava frowned. Judging from his love of food, here was a typical eight-year-old boy, but instead of indulging in things like skateboarding and bike riding, he was busy stealing women’s purses. Why, she wondered.

  Her thoughts went to the bearded man who Marcus had spoken to on the street. She remembered the glimpse of panic she had caught in Marcus’s eyes after their brief exchange; and somehow she knew this man had a lot to do with making Marcus into a prime candidate to be a future resident of the city jail.

  She had never been much for community matters, but now she found herself pledging to do what she could to save this child’s future.

  *****

  “So how old are you?” he asked as they walked back to the shop.

  Ava hedged. “Why do you want to know that?”

  “Hey, you asked me and I told you. It’s only fair you tell me how old you are.”

  “I’m thirty-five.”

  Marcus scrutinized her for a few moments. “You look pretty good. I wouldn’t have guessed you were that old.”

  “Thanks…I think,” Ava replied with a chuckle.

  “Do you dye your hair to cover up gray?”

  “What makes you think I dye my hair?”

  “It’s almost the same color as your skin. I never seen anybody like that, all reddish.”

  “My brother and sister both happen to have this same complexion. It’s a family trait from our father. She didn’t add that she was the only one who had also inherited their fath
er’s cinnamon-like hair color, or that she had hated it when she was growing up because it made her different from everyone else whose hair was either black or sandy brown. Too bad she couldn’t have known that years later the color would be duplicated by colorists and become a popular choice for those who sought to change their look or soften it as they grew older. She chuckled every time she saw boxes of hair dye graced by models whose hair matched her natural shade. “I do not dye my hair, and I certainly don’t have any gray!”

  “Sorry,” he said with a shrug.

  “Don’t worry about it,” she replied, suddenly ashamed of having spoken so harshly. She supposed the issue of gray hair was a touchy one for all women.

  Ava thought carefully before asking him another question; she didn’t want to antagonize him by getting too personal. “So what are you doing the rest of the afternoon?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Just hang out, I guess.”

  “There’s trouble on the streets, you know.”

  He shrugged. “Nothing I can’t handle. What about you?”

  Ava hid her amusement. She recognized the pattern and knew she could expect to be asked the same every time she had a question for him. “I’m going back to my shop.”

  “That wedding gown place. You own it?”

  “No. I pay rent each month.”

  He turned to her impishly. “You make lots of money?”

  “I do all right. You certainly seem preoccupied with money to be so young.”

  “I’m not so young. I told you, I’m almost nine.”

  “That old,” Ava replied solemnly.

  They stopped in front of Beginnings. “Are you going to stay out of trouble?” she asked.

  “Yep. Thanks for lunch, Ava. It was fun.” Marcus broke off into a run. “‘Bye!” he called over his shoulder.

  An amused Ava went inside.