David's information proved to be correct. Within an hour the two of them could see the first whirls of dust in the distance indicating large numbers of marching men. The orderly ranks of Union soldiers in their brand new uniforms, carrying burnished guns with gleaming bayonets were an impressive sight as they marched into view. They were a marked contrast to the tired, dirty and disheveled Confederates who had come through the night before. A major on horseback rode off from the road toward the couple. He tipped his hat to Kate and turned to David. “Would you folks mind if we topped off our canteens at your well? I don't trust the creek water, and the men have a long march ahead.” David nodded.
Kate glanced surreptitiously at the expression on David's face as the last of the blue uniforms disappeared down the road. It was difficult to make out what he was thinking. He caught her looking at him. Smiling, he said, “It's a great feeling to be marching along like that with your friends. But it's a much better feeling turning over the earth and knowing there'll be new life coming up out of it in the spring.”
Kate turned to watch the dust rising behind the departing solders. Without looking at David, she said, “The nights are getting too cold to keep on sleeping in the barn. It's time you moved into the house.”
____________________
BEAUTY AND THE BOURSE
I've always been a pushover for men with crows’ feet at the edge of their eyes—well, maybe not back in high school, but certainly since I passed the thirty mark. As I looked at Ron sitting across from me at the restaurant table rambling on about the stock market, I wasn't too much concerned about what he was saying. But I was certainly admiring those nice hazel eyes and the setting they were in. The long eyelashes didn't hurt any, either.
“Unicon.com is definitely on the make, Rhoda. The brokers have been ignoring Europe, but it's one-world now. New York isn't everything anymore. And Unicon.com, working out of Paris, has a fabulous future ahead of it. I'm doing more and more investing in the bourse, and the returns are only just now starting to come in. It's a sure thing and then some.”
Well, actually, I didn't know what a “bourse” was. Besides, I'm certain I wouldn't have been much interested if I had known. And, even though Andy has nice eyes, he really isn't much different from all the other men I've known, starting with my own father. They don't listen to women. They just sit back and talk about themselves and what they're concerned with. I didn't mind particularly that evening, though. Andy's ramblings about stocks and bonds and investments didn't make any great demands on my attention, which meant I could ponder over what Becky had told me in private that same day.
“It's time for me to retire,” she'd announced. Phoof! When you've worked in the same place for over fifteen years, hearing the owner's planning on selling out would put a knot in your stomach. Well, I don't know about your stomach, but it did in mine. In those fifteen years I'd moved up from a teenager, who didn't know how to put on lipstick without smearing it, to manager of Becky's Beauty Bar. I wasn't thrilled at hearing I'd have to readjust to a new owner. And that's when Becky about floored me.
“Rhoda! Why don't you buy me out? I know you've been salting away a good share of your earnings, and you've gotten some hefty tips over the years. I'd be willing to settle for a down payment, and you can pay me from your take. We're bringing in plenty, more than enough for you to do that. And you know all the ropes, better than I do.”
“Jeez,” I said, when I'd caught my breath, and after I had looked around at the eight chairs fully occupied, with customers waiting, and knowing we had twelve fulltime employees. I was overwhelmed at the thought of owning the place. “Maybe the business, itself, but I don't know beans about finances.”
Becky laughed. “Neither do I. That's why I turn all that over to my accountant. She charges like hell, but she's honest and thorough. I don't have to worry about that part at all, and you wouldn't have to either.”
So, before I knew it, we were talking numbers. “I'd be lying,” Becky said, “if I told you I wouldn't prefer cash. Isn't there some way you could scare up the whole amount?” She grinned and added, “Discount for cash, you know.”
Stretching it, I knew I could come up with about twenty percent of what she was asking. I also knew owing her meant I wouldn't be able to run things entirely my way, starting with changing the name of the place. “Becky” always sounded to me like something out of the twentieth century, while “beauty” wasn't exactly the best choice for a shop that was trying to cater more and more to men. “Bar” was even worse. Right from the first day I worked there, I always felt it sounded more like a saloon than a salon.
Not that any of that mattered, since I knew there was no way I could come up with all cash. Even the loan officer at the bank, where I'd been plunking down my savings for years, would laugh himself silly at the thought of coming up with eighty percent for a business enterprise. That's when Becky hit me with a drop-dead suggestion. “Why don't you talk that boyfriend of yours into investing? If he was able to cough up the price of that fancy Jaguar of his, he shouldn't have any trouble finding the rest of the money you'd need to buy me out—outright.”
Becky's suggestion was what I was thinking about, even more than those crows’ feet and long eyelashes, as Ron kept rattling on about commodities and puts and calls. If he'd been paying me any attention while he talked, he might have noticed my own eyes narrowing. Becky's idea had a lot to recommend it. And if she'd ever seen the luxury apartment Ron lived in, she'd be even more certain he could come up with the ready.
There would be drawbacks, of course. I was sure he'd want to have a say in the business. Probably figure on being part owner. Probably even want his name to be first. Men are like that. I don't know of any husband-wife business partnership where the man doesn't insist on being the blue-chip decision-maker. Ron & Rhoda's Hair Styling Salon! Not exactly the best choice of names, but that decision could come later. The problem now was to sell him on the idea, and to make him think it was really his. That would have to wait too, since he had switched to a topic which finally caught my attention.
“I'm going to have to go to Paris over the weekend, maybe for five or six days. There's a big meeting of the Unicon.com principals and, since I'm now a major stockholder, I've been invited to participate. They're flying high. Talking about buy-outs and mergers, so I definitely want to be there. Can I get you to drive me to the airport tomorrow night? I'll leave the Jag in your care.”
He smiled—nice smile, too—as he added, “I don't imagine that will hurt your feelings any.”
I'm not much of a car fancier. My beat-up, ten-year old Toyota suits me fine, but I must admit Ron's fire-engine red Jaguar was one of the first things that caught my eye when I met him five months ago. I've driven it a few times, and it's luxury, itself.
The next week flew by. Apparently, Ron was as busy as I was, since I got only one quick phone call and a couple of not very communicative e-mails. I wouldn't have had much time for answering, anyway, since I'd made up my mind to take Becky up on her offer—by hook or by crook. So the whole week was spent boning up on how I would be running a thriving beauty shop business of my own. Becky was pleased at the thought of my buying her out, and she even agreed to let me change the name, whether or not I could come up with the full purchase price.
I was just waiting for Ron to get back, because I had every intention of going all out to get him to finance me. He'd been making marriage noises, and I was going to capitalize on that. After all, there was really nothing wrong with Ron. He wasn't a boozer, didn't show any more interest in other women than the average man, was certainly adequate in bed, and was nice enough looking that I didn't mind hanging onto his arm in public. I wouldn't be marrying him for love, of course, but then I'd never found a man I particularly wanted to marry for that reason. Maybe that would come later with Ron. Besides, as Mom used to say, it's just as easy to fall in love with a rich man as a poor one.
So, when the call came through from Paris for me to pick him
up at the airport, I went all out. I dressed to the nines, made a reservation at the Temple Plaza, which I knew was his favorite restaurant, and steeled myself for an evening of listening to all of his winnings on the bourse or whatever. His plane was due in at just the right time for us to go out for a long and luxurious dinner, which I was sure would put him into a supremely affable mood.
As I look back at that evening, I really should have known from the minute he stepped through the arrival gate at the airport that something was wrong, something was different. Since he had only a carry-on, after a quick peck, we headed for the lot. He surprised me there by letting me do the driving, something he'd never done before when we were together. And there would have been a long silence on the way to the restaurant if I hadn't been chattering away about the goings on at Becky's. Not that I was trying him out yet for the big item. I was just softening him up by letting him know how good business was.
By dessert time I definitely knew something was wrong. I'd done all the talking during the entire meal, and I was rapidly becoming aware he wasn't making eye contact with me. Putting two and two together wasn't hard. A whole week in Paris had replaced Rhoda in those eyes with some cute French chick. Things like that can happen, and I was sure they had happened. Just as the lightning bolt struck me, the waiter came by with the check.
Even though I'd insisted from the outset the meal was on me, Ron reached for the check, mostly through reflex I suppose, and I was too flustered and angry to stop him. The time between the waiter picking up the credit card and coming back was filled with an uncomfortable silence, at least for me. I don't think Ron realized I'd done all the talking during the meal, so he wasn't any more aware of the fact I'd shut up and was glaring at him. The real blow to my ego came with the return of the waiter announcing the credit company wouldn't honor the card.
Ron's face turned crimson. I reached into my purse and handed my card to the waiter, all the time knowing why his card was overdrawn. Some Parisian babe was probably right about then checking out her diamonds and mink coat. Ron apologized and mumbled something I didn't catch. I saw red all the way to the parking lot and would have called a taxi if I'd had enough presence of mind.
It wasn't until we were in the car, with Ron behind the wheel this time, that he turned to me and said, “I guess this is as good a time as any to tell you the bad news.”
A strange way of putting it since he undoubtedly felt it was all good news for him, I thought, but I simply nodded.
“Unicon.com was a scam. Con was a good name for it, because that's what it was. The three executives pocketed all the cash and took off for parts unknown. The bourse put a stop to trading in it. The stock's worthless.”
I wasn't much interested in either Unicon or the bourse, or stocks. The business I wanted him to come clean about was monkey business.
“I gambled every cent I owned on Unicon's coming out on top with all their trades,” he went on before I could say anything, “and every cent I could borrow.” He shrugged and looked miserable. “Only there were no trades.
“I'm going to have to declare bankruptcy.” He pounded the wheel as he spoke. “The repos will be by in the morning for this car. I'm three months behind on my apartment rent…”
I wasn't sure whether to be pleased, or shocked or what, but I broke in. “It can't be all that bad. You've got a good job.” And he did. He was head bookkeeper for the biggest car dealer in the city.
He shook his head. “I was so sure I was going to clean up with my Unicon stock that I quit before I left for Europe. They'll never accept me back, not after how I told them off when I left.”
And that's when it dawned on me. What could be better? A full-time bookkeeper to take care of the finances. Of course, I'd keep a close eye on him and the books, so for sure there'd be no more boursing—and I could call the shop Rhoda and Ron's Hair Styling Salon.
Better yet, Rhoda's Hair Styling Salon.
____________________
CHLOE OF ARCADIA
Hermes was in a foul mood. The last thing he wanted was to see Zeus, but he had been summoned. “Important business,” he'd been told.
Messenger of the gods. Hah! The Greeks had a name for the men who sought out women for other men, and Hermes was feeling more and more that the term applied to himself. There was no important business to attend to. Zeus' wife was off at Troy deflecting spears or scattering plague arrows—a fine pastime for a goddess. So a bored Zeus was left behind to annoy Hermes with his petty demands.
Zeus was all smiles. “Say, Hermes, wasn't there some talk about a beautiful young shepherdess on my last trip to Greece. I understand she's the loveliest woman in the whole Peleponnese.”
Hermes knew it. But why fight it? Now if Zeus had given him Pegasus as promised, he wouldn't mind these silly trips half as much. A flying horse could certainly make traveling more pleasant. Hermes had never really gotten over the snub, but he had to deal with the matter at hand. Someday, though, he'd find a way to make Zeus pay for treating him so cavalierly.
For the moment, he had to work to be civil. “You mean Chloe. She lives in Arcadia. But you won't get anywhere with her. She's completely wrapped up with Timon the Argive. And he's a handsome, strapping lad, I must say.”
Zeus shrugged. “Small matter. That last little lady—what was her name?”
“Europa.”
“That's it! Why, since I could change into a bull for her, I should be able to produce a reasonable facsimile of this Timon for Chloe's benefit. As long as Hera is away harassing the Trojans, I might as well take a little holiday. I'll just pay a visit to Chloe, and the old girl will never be the wiser.”
A visit! Olympian Zeus was indeed a master of euphemisms. Hermes nodded in sullen agreement, then the thought occurred to him that perhaps the time had come for making Zeus pay.
***
There was absolutely no question about it. Chloe was beautiful! Zeus watched her as she came up into the grove leaving her flock grazing along the hill side. The wool garment, carelessly worn, exposed one of her lovely rounded breasts. Her long, shapely legs showed to perfection from under the scant clothing. And her face! Aphrodite, herself, would be insane with jealousy could she see it, and Aphrodite's jealousy was not something to be trifled with. Fortunately, she also was off at Troy wreaking whatever mischief she could on the Greeks who were her favorite enemies. War did have some redeeming qualities.
Chloe was about to sit under a giant oak at the edge of the wood, where she could watch her sheep from its protecting shade, when Zeus-Timon approached. “Ah, Chloe, you are even more lovely now than when I last saw you.”
Chloe stepped backwards. “Who are you who has the appearance of Timon?”
“Appearance? Why, I am Timon. You must be sun struck that you do not recognize me.”
“No. You are most certainly not my Timon. You have something of his looks, but your eyes are not the same. His shine with love when he looks upon me. Yours shine with something very different. Something I do not understand. Who are you?”
“Come, come, Chloe. How could you be so mistaken? Of course I am Timon.”
Chloe smiled. “Not only are you not Timon, but here he comes now.” She pointed her crook toward the flock where a tall young man was coming up the hill toward them. “And I pity you when he finds out you have played the impostor.”
Zeus-Timon decided strong measures were called for, as the young man, a puzzled expression on his face, approached and took Chloe's hand. She gave him a smile—a smile that would have set the whole of Olympus aglow—and began to explain the presence of the stranger who so resembled Timon.
Before their eyes, Olympian Zeus restored his own image, an image unmistakably that of the grim king of the gods. Chloe recoiled. Timon, without hesitation, stepped in front of her and faced the angry god.
Zeus's eyes flashed with celestial fire as he pointed an accusing finger at the young man. “You would challenge Zeus? Step aside! If you do not do so immediately, a lightnin
g spear will cast you down among the shades mindlessly roaming the dark paths of Hades.”
Timon showed no sign of fear, though he knew now he would die as he tried to protect Chloe.
On the verge of launching his thunderbolt, Zeus became aware of sounds behind him in the grove of trees. He turned to see a grinning Hermes, accompanied by Diana, Morpheus and a score of other gods and demi-gods, watching with interest the by-play of a god with a pair of mortals. At that moment their ranks opened to allow Hera, her face contorted in fury, to add to the scene under the giant oak.
Zeus cringed.
It was at Hermes suggestion, after the chastened Zeus had left in the company of his spouse, that Morpheus cast a spell on the young lovers.
“When they wake,” Morpheus said, looking down on the sleeping couple now in each other's arms, “they will have only the confused memory of a shared dream.”
____________________
TO HAWAII, WITH LOVE
I liked Mrs. Huntington, and I was almost sure she liked me. But, in looking back at it, I think she was being especially nice to all the Japanese-Americans in her class because of what they had been through for almost four years. There hadn't been any mass transportation to internment camps in Hawaii, the way there had been on the West Coast of the Mainland, but there had been plenty of hard feelings toward us during the war years. It was only a month since the Japanese surrender, and there were still people around who called us “Japs” to our faces. So, because she was really a very nice person, maybe Mrs. Huntington was just trying to make up for all we were facing.
Anyway, she called me aside one day and congratulated me on how well I wrote. Since we were expected to do an essay, all on our own, before Christmas vacation, she wanted to know if I had started on mine.
Dear Diary, I'm In Love Page 32