Dollar Daze

by Gillespie, Karin

  But Rusty’s tears unexpectedly moved her. Here was a strong, strapping man unabashedly grieving over an animal. It was touching. Without thinking, Mrs. Tobias got up from her side of the booth and scooted next to Rusty. She gently squeezed his arm as he continued to cry softly over his empty coffee cup.

  Mrs. Tobias didn’t leave the diner for another hour and when she did depart, it was on the back of Rusty’s motorcycle.

  “Who are you?” she now asked the lively-eyed woman staring back at her in the vanity mirror. Up until last week, there would have been a simple answer to that question: widowed matriarch. President of the Augusta Garden Club. Upstanding, dignified, and proper.

  All her life she’d done everything to the letter, from the details of her debutante ball to the flowers at Harrison’s funeral. She didn’t ride in canoes, she’d never gone roller-skating, and she most certainly did not hop on the back of motorcycles.

  Yet when she was with Rusty, such activities seemed more exciting than inappropriate. He’d unearthed facets of herself that she’d been unaware of until now. Who knew she could be so spontaneous, or that she had such a lusty appetite for adventure?

  Mrs. Tobias got up from her dressing table and changed into her blue jeans. Just as she was slipping into a pair of loafers, her doorbell sounded and she hastily fluffed her caramel-colored bangs.

  She went to the door to find Rusty standing on her front porch, a beribboned package in his hands.

  “What do you have there?” she said, ushering him in.

  “It has to do with our outing tonight,” he said with a wink. “Open it.”

  She tore off the wrapping paper and lifted the lid off the box. “Shoes?” she asked in bewilderment. They were white athletic shoes with pink lacings.

  “They’re bowling shoes,” Rusty explained. “I thought we’d go cosmic bowling at the Bowl-A-Rama. And I couldn’t ask a classy gal like yourself to wear other people’s shoes.”

  “Oh, Rusty.” She held up a shoe to examine it. “They’re lovely. I’ll be the belle of the bowling alley.”

  He eyed her with a wide grin as she tried on the shoes. “That, my dear, is an understatement.”

  Cosmic bowling was a surreal experience involving psychedelic lights, thick billows of fog, and loud, pulsating music. The pins at the end of the lanes glowed in lollipop shades of pink, yellow, and green, while Mrs. Tobias and Rusty were bathed in an eerie blue laser light. Mrs. Tobias enjoyed herself, despite the fact that her ball rarely made contact with a pin.

  Later, as they relaxed in a booth in the bowling alley’s coffee shop, Rusty shook his head and smiled at her.

  “I can’t believe you’ve never been to a bowling alley before.”

  “That accounts for all my sewer balls,” Mrs. Tobias said, stirring her tea.

  Rusty laughed. “You mean gutter balls.” He touched his mug to hers. “What do you think about antiquing?”

  “It’s one of my favorite pastimes. Why?”

  “Tomorrow’s Saturday. I thought it’d be fun for the two of us to poke around in a few of the shops around here.”

  “What about the flea market?” Mrs. Tobias picked up her cup. “I thought you worked there on Saturdays.”

  “Not tomorrow. The roof’s been leaking, so management is closing it down for a couple of months.” He grinned. “So how ‘bout it?”

  “Antiquing sounds delightful.” She took in the strong planes of his jawline and admired his almond-shaped eyes. Fearing that she was staring, she transferred her gaze to the salt and pepper shakers. “You’re constantly surprising me, Mr. Williams.”

  “I aim to please.”

  She’d never imagined that a man could make such a satisfying companion. Looking back on her marriage to Harrison, she realized that she and her husband rarely spent leisure time together. He had his golf game and skeet-shooting, and she preferred bridge and gardening. Occasionally he’d sit through a Puccini opera with her, but he’d treat such an outing as if it was an enormous sacrifice on his part.

  From previous conversations she knew that Rusty loved the performing arts, and now he claimed to enjoy antiquing as well. He was almost too good to be true!

  Rusty laughed, snapping her out of her private thoughts.

  “Those guys crack me up,” he said.

  “What guys?” Mrs. Tobias asked.

  “Those guys on Modern Family. There’s a TV behind you.”

  “I’m not familiar with that show.” Mrs. Tobias turned around to glance at the screen mounted above her and watched for a moment.

  “My,” she said, turning back to face Rusty. “Those two men seem rather... effeminate, wouldn’t you say?”

  “That’s one way of putting it. They’re gay. It’s funny stuff. I catch the show when I can.”

  “I see.” Mrs. Tobias shifted in her seat.

  “By the way, tomorrow when we go antiquing, I know of a little bistro about twenty miles south of here. Serves a delicious shiitake mushroom quiche.”

  “Quiche?” Mrs. Tobias said.

  “Yeah.” Rusty downed the rest of his coffee. “I’m a big quiche fan.”

  Suddenly it dawned on her why Rusty seemed so different from other men she’d known. Was it possible that Rusty was gay? And this was his subtle way of telling her?

  Mrs. Tobias tried to mask her dismay. She didn’t want Rusty to think she was judging him.

  “I don’t care what anyone says,” Mrs. Tobias said, trying to recover her composure. “Quiche is a perfectly lovely dish.”

  “I’m glad you think so,” Rusty said. His attention had once more wandered to the television suspended above her head.

  What a pity, Mrs. Tobias thought. Rusty was the first man she’d felt any attraction to since Harrison’s death. It would hardly be fair if he turned out to be a homosexual.

  Fourteen

  What if the hokey pokey is really what it’s all about?

  ~ Sign in the break room of the Bottom Dollar Emporium

  Mavis sat in the break area of the Bottom Dollar Emporium nibbling on a stale Lorna Doone cookie and listening to the crop bulletin on the AM radio station.

  “Soybean and sorghum harvest are completed,” said the male announcer through a flurry of static. “Overall pecan poundage was good, but quality was poor.”

  Mavis leaned over to snap off the radio and glanced up at Attalee, who was sweeping the tile floor near the soda fountain.

  “I’ve made my decision. I’m going to call her, and I’m going to apologize,” Mavis said.

  “Stay away from that phone.” Attalee looked up from her broom. “She’s the one in the wrong, not you.”

  Mavis’s knee joints creaked as she rose from her chair. “I don’t care. Birdie hasn’t come in for days, and I miss her. We’ve known each other since elementary school, and I’m not going to ruin our friendship because of a—”

  The bell jingled over the door, and Brewster Clark entered the store wearing a gray overcoat and a forest-green muffler that complemented his eyes.

  “Hey there, Mavis.” He wiped his feet on the mat just inside the door. “Do I smell a pot of coffee perking?”

  “Brew!” She brushed cookie crumbs from her chin and the front of her candy-striped uniform. “Long time, no see.”

  “I know.” Brew removed a felt Indiana Jones-style hat from his head. “I kept saying to myself, ‘Brew, get yourself over to the Bottom Dollar Emporium and have a visit with that pretty filly of an owner.’ So here I am.”

  “I’m delighted to see you.” Mavis was already pouring him a cup of coffee in the only mug without any chips. “How do you like your java?”

  “Black as a gypsy’s heart, m’lady,” Brew said.

  “Coming right up.”

  Attalee stole out from behind the soda fountain and grinned at Brew.

  “
Brew,” Mavis said. “I’d like you to meet Attalee Gaines, my dear friend and employee.”

  “You’re a vision, madam.”

  Brew leaned down to kiss Attalee’s gnarled hand.

  “Thank you kindly,” Attalee said, with a provocative flick of her sausage curls. “Must be my new lip gloss. Nude pink. When I wore it at the picture show last night Dooley couldn’t keep his hands to himself.”

  “Dooley is Attalee’s boyfriend,” Mavis explained.

  “That’s right, tiger,” Attalee, said showing off her toothless gums. “I’m taken. But Mavis here is free as a bird.”

  Mavis cast an annoyed look at Attalee.

  “Whoopsie daisy.” Attalee covered her mouth. “I forgot. Birds are a ticklish subject ‘round here.”

  “Don’t you want to finish your sweeping?” Mavis said in a small voice.

  “You don’t have to hit me on the head with a two-by-four,” Attalee said. “I can take a hint. I’ll finish my sweeping so you two can finish your sparking.”

  Once Attalee had disappeared into the back of the store, a pink-faced Mavis handed Brew a coffee cup.

  “Sorry. Attalee can be a handful. Don’t take her seriously.”

  “She’s a character all right,” Brew said with a smile.

  “Would you like to have a seat in the break room?” Mavis asked.

  “I’d love to, but I’m expecting a lumber delivery at my house in a few minutes. But while I’m here, I wanted to run an idea by you. What do you think about having a high school reunion? We’re coming up on our forty-fifth year since graduation.”

  “A reunion?” Mavis leaned against the checkout counter. “I don’t think we’ve had one since our twentieth. Gladys Hobbs used to organize them all, but she moved to Knoxville about ten years back.”

  “I’ve been thinking a lot about our high school days,” Brew said, stroking his beard. “Wouldn’t it be great to relive them?”

  “Well, maybe.” Mavis’s high school days hadn’t been all that memorable. She’d fretted constantly over blemishes and was forced to purchase her poodle skirts from the chubbette department.

  “Bottom line is this,” Brew said. “What with working on my aunt’s old house I just don’t have the time to put together a reunion all by myself. I need a right-hand woman. Someone with the organizational skills to tackle a project like this. And someone who can pull it together fast, since I don’t know how much longer I’ll be here.”

  “Me?”

  “Exactly. But I warn you.” He laid a hand on her shoulder and gazed into her eyes. “We’d have to work pretty closely together. I don’t know if you’d mind being around me so much. Just the two of us.” His voice dropped to a lower pitch. “Alone.”

  All Mavis could think about was the pressure of his hand on her shoulder and the masculine smell of his lime-scented aftershave lotion. How long had it been since she’d felt a man’s touch?

  “Sounds wonderful,” she stammered.

  “Great. Why not come to my place tomorrow night, and we’ll discuss it over dinner?” He stuffed his hands in his pocket. “Not that I’m much of a cook. Scrambled eggs are my specialty.”

  “Nonsense,” Mavis tutted. “I’ll fix dinner for you at my house. Are you a fan of rib-eye steaks?”

  He chuckled.

  “Darling, you’re playing my song.”

  The bell over the door jingled once again and an agitated-looking Mrs. Tobias bustled inside. She wore a double-breasted jacket and a pair of blue jeans.

  “Mavis, I was wondering—” Mrs. Tobias stopped short. “Oh, forgive me. I didn’t notice you had a customer.”

  “I’m not a customer.” Brew clamped his hat back on his head. “I’m more like family. Call you later, Mavis?”

  “Yes, Brew,” Mavis said with a good-bye wave.

  “My goodness, who was that?” Mrs. Tobias said after Brew had exited through the front door.

  Attalee popped up from behind a display of cast-iron pots. “That was Brew. Mavis’s main squeeze.”

  “You were spying,” Mavis said.

  “‘Course I was.” Attalee put her hands on her hips. “I needed to stay close in case he got fresh.” She eyed Mrs. Tobias. “Creation! You’re wearing dungarees.”

  “I don’t see what the fuss is all about,” Mrs. Tobias said, pulling her jacket down over her hips. “I simply want to be comfortable in my dotage.”

  “Dotage jeans, are they?” Attalee said, looking them over. “I ain’t never heard of those. I wear Wranglers, and nothing comes between me and my—”

  “Attalee.” Mavis sighed. “It’s much too early in the day.”

  “So you have a new beau, Mavis?” Mrs. Tobias asked, settling into a chair in the break area.

  “Well—” Mavis began.

  “She and Birdie were feuding over that feller,” Attalee said. “But it looks like Mavis won by a cup size.”

  “Gracious,” Mrs. Tobias said. “I’ve been away from the Bottom Dollar Emporium for only a few days, and I’ve missed all the scuttlebutt.”

  “You’ve haven’t missed a thing.” Mavis sat next to Mrs. Tobias. “Brew and I went to high school together back in the dark ages. We’re just friends.”

  “But she’s angling for more,” Attalee said.

  “He’s quite handsome,” Mrs. Tobias remarked. “You never can tell. Maybe those friendly sparks will burst into flame.”

  “I’m not betting the farm on it,” Mavis said. “But I wouldn’t mind a little male attention now and again.”

  “Speaking of males,” Mrs. Tobias said, “there’s a gentleman I’ve been seeing—”

  “Who?” Attalee demanded.

  Mrs. Tobias held up her index finger.

  “I’d prefer to be discreet about his identity for now.”

  Mavis dragged her chair closer to Mrs. Tobias. “I thought you were done with dating. Isn’t that what you said at the Sweetheart Dance?”

  “I did, and I genuinely believed that part of my life was over. But then I met this man.” Mrs. Tobias let out a long exhale of breath.

  “Good-looking?” Attalee inquired.

  “Absolutely,” Mrs. Tobias said. “But his appeal goes far beyond his appearance. He’s witty, kind, and sensitive.” She bit her lip and scanned Attalee and Mavis’s attentive faces. “There is one small problem, however.”

  “I’ve been in your shoes, ma’am.” Attalee draped an arm around Mrs. Tobias’s shoulder. “And whoever says size don’t matter can’t tell their huckleberries from their scupper-nongs.”

  “Attalee Gaines!” Mavis said. “If you can’t behave yourself, I’m sending you home.”

  Mrs. Tobias was so distracted she didn’t react to Attalee’s comment.

  “I’ll just come out and say it.” Mrs. Tobias gritted her teeth together. “I think my new beau is... gay.”

  “Oh my,” Mavis said. “What makes you say that?”

  “There’s several things,” Mrs. Tobias said. “He enjoys cooking and antiquing. And quiche. Isn’t a fondness for quiche a dead giveaway these days?”

  “I’m not so sure,” Mavis mused. “I’ve heard there’s something telling about track lighting. And listening to Barbra Streisand records.”

  “None of them things matter anymore,” Attalee interjected. “Nowadays, it’s perfectly normal for menfolk to act like a pack of pansies. I read it in Cosmo. They’re called mezzosexuals.”

  “Heavenly day,” Mrs. Tobias said with a raised eyebrow.

  “I saw something about that on Entertainment Tonight,” Mavis said. “Only I think the word is metrosexual.”

  “Mezzo, metro. Nowadays it’s plum hard to tell if a man’s a Bambi or a bull,” Attalee said. “Luckily, there’s still the fingernail test.”

  “The what?” Mrs. Tobias asked.

 
“The fingernail test,” Attalee explained patiently. “You ask a man to take a gander at his fingernails. If he bends his fingers and stares at them close up, he’s a Mickey. If he stretches his arm and looks at his fingers from a distance, he’s a Minnie.”

  “That doesn’t sound very reliable,” Mavis said.

  “It’s based on scientific fact.” Attalee flounced up from her chair to make another pot of coffee.

  Mrs. Tobias shook her head. “Who would have imagined courting in the twenty-first century would be so complicated?”

  Fifteen

  If God Is your Co-Pilot, Switch Seats.

  ~ Sign outside the Rock of Ages Baptist Church

  Elizabeth and her friend Chiffon sat beside each other in the Dazzling Do’s beauty parlor waiting to get their nails manicured.

  “I’m torn between Mocha Mauve and Feisty Fuchsia,” Chiffon said, surveying a row of nail polish bottles on the manicurist’s tray. “What are you going to get, Elizabeth?”

  “Parchment Paper,” Elizabeth said in a pinched voice.

  Chiffon made a sour face. “That’s beige. Why in the world would you want beige fingernails?”

  “They’ll match my mood.”

  “I thought you sounded dejected on the phone. That’s exactly why I suggested this outing.” Chiffon extended her hand for the manicurist. “There’s nothing like pretty painted fingernails to cheer a girl, and Dazzling Do’s has a two-for-one deal on Wednesdays.”

  “What color have you selected?” the white-coated manicurist asked Elizabeth.

  “She’ll have Hothouse Pink.” Chiffon turned her head to her friend. “So are you going to tell me why you’re so blue, or do I have to wheedle it out of you?”

  Elizabeth sighed. “It has to do with Timothy.”

  Chiffon snorted. “I could have guessed that. Whenever a woman has a problem, there’s always a man at the root of it.”