Women of Washington Avenue

by Linda Apple

“That guy?”

  “You know, that Wolfe fellow.”

  She shook her head and laughed.

  “I don’t mind telling you, I’m kind of nervous about writing him.”

  “He’s really nice. Don’t worry.”

  “Right. Slamming the fraternal order of men probably isn’t best way to approach him.”

  “He’s got a devilish sense of humor. It’s all good.”

  When I returned to the office, I spent the rest of the afternoon reading emails and growing more indignant by the minute. After work, I fumed all the way home. Good thing I walked. Driving with this much anger would be illegal. Somebody had to do something. And that somebody was me. Exposing those sorry excuses for men became my mission. I sure hoped that Nathan guy would have some good ideas, and I prayed he was as broadminded as Avalee claimed. Seconds after the thought about Nathan crossed my mind, a text from Avalee chimed with Nathan’s email address.

  My mouth went dry. All my bravado evaporated. I had no idea what to write this guy, where to begin. How to begin? He was a perfect stranger who lived in New York and worked at the Times for crying out loud.

  Was I crazy? I calmed my nerves by telling myself he was probably some flunky. Some poor guy pounding on the keys. Just like me.

  So what should I write him? Maybe start with an introduction, send a photo, and a couple of my past articles. Then humbly ask for his opinion and advice. Humbly? Ha. Like that was going to happen. Turn on my Southern girl charm? That I could do.

  When I got home, I went straight to my office and turned on the computer. Tonight I had to break my promise to myself and work from the house.

  After thirty minutes of start-overs, I wanted to pound my head against the screen. My words came in a mangled mash and made no sense at all. Perhaps a Coke Zero liberally laced with bourbon, enjoyed on my porch swing, would smooth things out. Couldn’t hurt.

  Outside, I clicked on the oscillating fan and stretched out on the swing. Would summer ever be over? Even the hummingbirds had a hard time staying airborne long enough in this hot, wet air to sip the sap from my drooping Hibiscus shrub.

  Good luck little fellow.

  I noticed dead ants floating in the feeder that hung in the dogwood tree. Clearly, I’d been negligent. Oh well, I needed another drink anyway. Might as well make one for my hummer friends.

  Bleh. I hated washing out dead ants. While the cleaner dried, I mixed four parts water, one part sugar for the hummer, two parts bourbon, one part diet coke, one part ice, for me.

  When I returned to the porch, I set my drink on the rail and strolled to the dogwood and replaced the feeder. Then I surveyed the yard. My flowers needed watering, so I turned on the hose and gave my plants a drink as well.

  Okay, I knew what I was doing. Procrastinating. I really didn’t want to write Mr. Wolfe. Even if he was a flunky, he was still eons ahead of me. On the other hand, what an opportunity. And by some far-fetched chance he might like my work and put in a good word for me. I might be syndicated. I could be the next, oh, I don’t know...a cross between Ann Landers and Erma Bombeck.

  That thought sent thrills through me and bolstered my courage. I sashayed back to the porch and sipped my drink. Maybe I could tell him my goals, my writing style. Little by little ideas came into focus. I jumped up and hurried back inside. I needed to get all of these ideas down before my mid-fifties brain went totally blank. Deep inside I knew this Wolfe guy would love my idea. Thank goodness for friends like Avalee. I hurried to my office, sat at my computer, and began typing.

  Dear Mr. Wolfe,

  A mutual friend, Avalee Preston, gave me your name and contact information. She suggested that you might be willing to give me your opinion as well as advice on a project I’m contemplating.

  I am a reporter and a columnist for the Moonlight Community News. It is a small publication that has a circulation that covers three counties.

  Okay, I can feel you rolling your eyes. I know it isn’t anything compared to the New York Times. However, I believe I have an idea for a column worthy of syndication—an advice column for women over fifty that encompasses relationships, self-worth or lack thereof, and emotional coping. My writing style is a cross between Ann Landers and Erma Bombeck.

  I’ve attached my photo, bio, and a few of my more popular columns, including my most recent that sparked my idea.

  Thank you in advance for any thoughts and advice you may have to give.

  Sincerely,

  Lexi Lowe

  I sat back and finished my drink while I reread my email. Not bad. Not bad at all. With great flourish, I hit send. That’s when the paranoid questions attacked me. What if he’s bald? What if he has hair growing out his nose? What if he’s...flaccid? Oh Lord. Why couldn’t these questions have surfaced before I hit send?

  I needed another drink.

  Chapter 11

  JEMA

  Taking Chances

  “Happy anniversary, hon.” I lifted Ray’s photo from the mantel and kissed it. Today would have been our thirty-sixth. I stared at his face smiling back at me and thought of all the plans we had made. Plans that dissolved in an instant with one slip on a sweaty cement dock.

  Truth be known? He was probably in Heaven congratulating himself for dodging the Italian vacation he’d promised me. What a wonderful guy. Even though he hated to travel and hated the idea of international travel even more, he had promised me a trip to Florence on our fortieth anniversary. To prove his sincerity, he had grudgingly got his passport and started an Italy savings account. But he didn’t have to go after all. It wouldn’t have been the same going to Italy alone, so I used the money in the savings account to apply toward Amanda’s and Olivia’s college expenses.

  I placed the photo back on the mantel. He was taken from me way too early, but I was grateful for the years we had together. I had a lot to be grateful for, two incredibly loving and talented daughters, as well as friends who were as dear to me as family.

  The hall clock chimed nine interrupting my reflections. This was my day to help with lunch at the shelter. While I dressed, I wondered if that mysterious man would show up. I knew it sounded unreasonable, but I sure hoped he’d be there. Something about him stirred me. The intensity in his eyes? His gentle manner? Even though he had the same stringy hair and torn clothes as a lot of the other men, somehow he was different and Lord help me, I was attracted to him.

  The half hour sounded. I checked once more in the mirror. Oh why did I agree to bangs? They already needed a trim. I swiped them off my glasses. As an afterthought, I daubed Chanel Chance Eau Fraiche on my wrists. Not because of him...exactly. I just liked the fragrance.

  Who was I kidding?

  Normally, I would have walked to the shelter but with the sun burning down and daring anyone to breathe, I didn’t want to get there all sweaty.

  Just in case.

  I can’t believe I’m being so stupid. This guy could be—and probably is—a total loser. He could be the type who preys on lonely widows who have houses. He could be a rapist, even a murderer. He…

  I got in the car and switched on the ignition. While backing out I looked in my rearview mirror and rebuked my image. “For heaven’s sakes, Jema. More than likely he is a nice guy down on his luck.”

  At least I hoped so.

  Ricki had laid out everything we needed to prepare for lunch. I took an apron and hurried toward her.

  “Hey. Sorry I’m late.”

  She sniffed the air. “Girl, you smell good. What is that?”

  “Channel Chance. My new fragrance addiction. What’s on the menu today?”

  “Chicken salad sandwiches, potato salad, cookies, and ice cream. It’s just too hot to eat anything heavier.”

  “Sounds good. Where do you want me?”

  She pointed her knife in the direction of the counter where she had set a large pot full of boiled potatoes, a platter of eggs, and stacks of vegetables. “Potato salad needs making. I’ve already boiled the potatoes and eggs.�
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  “Will do.” I pulled out a cutting board. “You’ve gotten a lot done already. What time did you get here?”

  “Oh, about seven. I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I might as well get an early start while it was cool, especially since I was boiling thirty pounds of potatoes and five dozen eggs.”

  “You should have called me.”

  “I didn’t mind. Besides, I had coffee and a chat with that Levi fellow.”

  “Levi?” The potatoes were still hot, so I started stringing celery.

  “The new guy. The one with the long hair and those sexy dark eyes? I’m telling you, a girl could fall into them.”

  Her last statement irked me. I didn’t like her talking about him like that. “What do you think about him?”

  “Interesting. And I’m sure if he’d clean up and shave off his beard, it wouldn’t just be his eyes that were sexy.”

  There she goes again. Was I jealous? Of a man I didn’t know? Sakes. But it did bother me. She was newly divorced and pretty darned sexy herself. And she was ten years younger than me. “What did y’all talk about?”

  “Me, mainly. He didn’t say much about himself. When I asked questions, he dodged them.” She turned toward me and put her hand on her hip. “If you ask me, he’s hiding something. I don’t know that I trust him.”

  “Could be. But on the other hand, I find it gentlemanly for him to be more interested in the person he’s talking to.” I chopped the celery and commenced on the onion.

  “I’ll allow he acts like a gentleman. But you never know about these transients. He may have eyes that could hypnotize a cobra, but he could be a real bugger, too.”

  My eyes watered from cutting onions, and my nose threatened to drip. I snatched a paper towel.

  Ricki frowned and strode across the kitchen. She put her arm around my shoulder and pulled me into a side hug. “Honey, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” I held up the onion. “Onions always make me cry.”

  “Well, that’s a relief. I thought for a moment you were getting all moony over that Levi fellow.” As she walked back to her bowl of chicken salad, she said over her shoulder, “But I know you are smarter than that.”

  “You know it.” While I sliced eggs, I couldn’t help but wonder, was I?

  When everything was ready, Ricki sounded the dinner bell. Men, women, and children lined up. Even though I had seen this line form countless times, my heart still hurt. How could so many people be homeless in our small community? How? Where did they stay? And why hadn’t I taken the time to find out. Ricki had told me that some who came here were not homeless, but all their money went to pay the mortgage and utilities. This would probably be the only decent meal they’d eat all day, such as it was.

  Until now, I had congratulated myself for feeding them. For smiling and speaking pleasant platitudes while serving them. But I wanted to do more.

  While I handed sandwiches to the folks in line, I caught a glimpse of Levi. He spoke with the couple ahead of him and their little girl reached up for him. He lifted her in his arms and said something to her. I wished I could have heard what he said because she patted her little hands together and squealed, obviously delighted.

  “Jema? What are you staring at with that nutty grin?” Ricki crossed her arms over her chest. “Not that Levi, I hope.”

  “Not really. Well, not just him. Have you noticed how long the line has been lately?”

  “Yep. I think the word has gotten out among folks in the surrounding counties, and they’ve migrated to Moonlight. Sure would be nice if the counties without feeding programs pitched in. This is getting expensive, and the quality of our meals is showing it. I don’t know how long the funding will last.”

  Ricki’s comment worried me.

  “That’s terrible. What on earth will these people do? Lord love them, they have enough strikes against them already.” I made a mental note to put this on my Whine Wednesday list.

  “You got that right.” She nodded at the line. “Just remember, watch yourself around that Levi fellow. He may be handsome and all, but you don’t need to be getting emotionally involved. We don’t know anything about him, and he obviously ain’t telling.”

  Her warning made sense, but I couldn’t help it. I felt drawn to him. When Levi’s turn to be served came around, I gave him two sandwiches and an extra serving of potato salad. “Hope you are hungry. We don’t like to waste food around here.”

  “Thank you. I am.”

  I desperately scrambled for something else to say, but couldn’t think of a thing. For a moment our gazes locked. Then he broke the spell. “I appreciate the shelter feeding us like this.”

  Stupidly, all I could say was, “You are welcome.” Before he moved away, I pointed toward the table at the end of the counter. “Don’t forget the cookies and ice cream over there.” He nodded. “Thank you.” He walked off, and I fought to keep from staring after him.

  When everyone had been served, I decided to make good on my little epiphany earlier and introduce myself to a few of the regulars. Maybe by getting to know them, I might be able to do more for them.

  I picked up a pitcher of tea and walked from table to table, offering a refill and introducing myself. I sat with those who were receptive and chatted a bit. Surprisingly, most whom I spoke with were very open about their lives. I learned there was a tent village by the railroad tracks east of town. I also found out many of them had false addresses so the children could go to school without the shame of being homeless.

  While I listened to their stories, my eyes felt warm and moist, but I held the tears back. It would never do to add the disgrace of pity to their situation. How I wished I had a cut up onion in my hand so I could have an excuse to cry.

  As the lunch hour waned, the crowd in the room thinned, and only a few people remained at the tables. Levi sat alone in the far left corner of the room. Before I went to him, I looked around for Ricki. She was nowhere in sight. Thank goodness.

  “Tea?”

  He glanced up. “Yes. Thank you.”

  While I filled his glass, I mustered up my courage and said, “Mind if I join you for a few minutes?”

  He held his hand out to the seat across from him. “Please. It would be my pleasure.”

  Right away I picked up on something about him. He had an accent of sorts. “I’m Jema.”

  His dark brown hair fell in matted curls over his brow and shoulders. “I’m Levi.” He fingered a strand out of his face. “Excuse my appearance. It is hard to find a place to shower.”

  Lord, I’d never thought about that. Actually there were a lot of things I’d never thought about. How were these people supposed to apply for jobs if they couldn’t bathe, or wash their clothes? And what about those poor children I served each week? Did the kids in their school make fun of them because of how they dressed? Did they smell bad? I’d never noticed. This time the tears came.

  Levi furrowed his brow. “It’s not that bad. Truly.”

  I waved it off. “Never mind me. I’ve been fighting tears all day.”

  “Do you need someone to talk to?”

  Yes. “No, I’m fine. It’s just that I’ve been talking to these families, and I guess I’m a bit overwhelmed with their stories.” I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. “And when you mentioned the showers, I realized how I take things like that for granted. It makes me so ashamed of myself.”

  “Perhaps you could turn the shame into something positive?”

  “What do you mean?”

  He scanned the building. “Maybe put in showers? Washers and dryers?”

  “We’d love to, but there isn’t any money. Ricki said just this morning how the funds are getting low.”

  “Seems to be a problem for a lot of us.”

  “It is a dilemma and yet, what do we do? It is so frustrating, and it doesn’t help that most of the city’s funds are earmarked for rebranding Moonlight into a tourist town. It’s all so frustrating. I guess that’s why I’m so w
eepy today. Well, it isn’t the only reason.” The peppershaker blurred. “Today would have been my thirty-sixth wedding anniversary.”

  Now why did I tell him that?

  “I’m sorry. Did your husband die recently?”

  “Ten years ago. But I still get a little emotional when this day comes around.”

  He looked away. “I understand.”

  Before I could ask him how he understood he turned his attention back to me.

  “Are you employed here at the shelter?”

  “No, I volunteer. I work at the Piggly Wiggly across the parking lot.” I shook my head and let a self-deprecating chuckle escape. “Checking groceries wasn’t what I saw myself doing with my life, but you do what you have to do. Even with the little insurance policy Ray left, there isn’t enough money to live on, especially with two girls in college.”

  That’s it, Jema, just spill your guts. Tell this perfect stranger all your business.

  For some reason Levi had a strange effect on me. I just couldn’t stop blabbering.

  “In this economy, money doesn’t go as far, does it?”

  I shook my head, determined to keep my mouth shut.

  He reached over to put his hand on my arm, but when he glanced at his fingernails he pulled it back. “I admire you for your dedication to your girls. I don’t meet many who are willing to sacrifice their dreams for others.”

  “Oh, I didn’t have many dreams. Well, except for going to Italy. Ray, he was my husband, hated to travel, but he promised to take me one day. We even had an Italy fund. But after the accident I transferred it to the college fund. I’m afraid to travel by myself.”

  Good grief. Was I going to have to stick tacks in my shoes and press my toes against them to shut myself up? The next thing I knew, I’d be giving him my social security number or inviting him to the house to shower while I washed his cloths.

  “It can happen. I hope it will.” He broke a cookie in half. “I’m looking for a job. Do you know of anyone hiring? Even if the applicant needs a shower and is wearing dirty clothes?” He grinned and popped the piece of cookie in his mouth.

  “I’ll check around. You are welcome to come by my place and take a shower. I could wash your clothes for you, too, if you like.”