What a Girl Wants

by Angie Coleman

  “Oh, the one on the left is the toilet. The other is a cupboard, it could be handy to store the things you don’t need on display,” she explains, following my gaze. I smile my thanks and resume looking around. After all, it doesn’t seem to be in need of any major repairs. I could handle all this on my own, which is excellent news.

  “So, this is it dear. I know, it needs a bit of fixing up, but so much time has gone by since it was last occupied,” she says a little wistfully, with a sweeping gesture of her arm.

  “Don’t worry, Mrs Marlowe,” I immediately reassure her. “What was here before?” I inquire curiously, my gaze everywhere in search of enlightening clues.

  “Oh, thirty years ago there was a beautiful tea parlor. My mother managed it, and it was my favorite place as a girl. Then she passed away, and over the years the shop was all sorts of things: a café, a grocery store, an undergarments boutique, and even a doctor’s surgery. In the end it was abandoned, but now that you’re here, I’m sure it will return to its old splendor,” she says with that strange smile of hers that suddenly makes her look a hundred years older.

  “It would be wonderful!” I cannot curb my enthusiasm, because yes, it’s true, the shop needs fixing up, but the more I look at it, the more it feels like the right place; and after all, hard work has never scared me, in fact, it has always helped to ward off bad thoughts.

  “I see you’re determined,” Mrs Marlowe observes, studying me with a stern gaze and a curious expression on her wrinkly face.

  “I am.”

  “I’m glad, dear. And remember, I’m on the third floor. I can’t do much, but you can count on me anytime,” she offers with a wink. Mrs Marlowe is truly odd – odd but pleasant. Talking to her is almost like talking to my grandmother: she is friendly, understanding, and above all very helpful.

  “Thank you from the bottom of my heart, Ma’am.”

  “Call me Jane, I’m not that old,” she scolds me good naturedly. I smile, because she may not be that old on paper, but her appearance tells a different story – no offense. She’s well groomed: her hair is grey but well kept, short and with a fresh perm, her clothes are a bit sixties style, but she is refined and elegant, so much so that the silver shawl on her shoulders looks like it’s real silk. The color of her skin, so fine that you can see the purple and blue of the veins on her wrinkled hands, combined with the infinite number of creases that mark every smile, makes her look older. However, nothing can take away that good natured, relaxed manner, which I am discovering I really like.

  “But Jane, what about rent?” is what I really need to ask her now. Before uncorking the imaginary champagne waiting in my head, I need to be absolutely sure I have something to celebrate.

  “Rent?” her questioning look makes me wonder.

  “Yes, rent,” I confirm. After all, it’s a legitimate question.

  “Why, but I have no intention of having you pay for the shop, dear. It is enough for me that you bring it back to life,” she says, staring at me with eyes so pale they can’t be real.

  “I can’t accept an offer like that, Jane. I have to be able to pay you for the use of the shop,” I insist. I may be arrogant, but it just wouldn’t feel right. She continues to look at me as if she were waiting to see who will look away first, then she takes a deep breath and looks down.

  “Ok, Gillian, here’s what we’ll do: for the entire time it will take you to fix up this place you won’t have to pay a penny; it’s work I would have had to do myself sooner or later, at my own expense, so I’m more than happy for you to take care of it. When you open for business we’ll discuss our arrangement again, does that sound good to you?” I think about it for a moment. If you put it like that, it doesn’t sound like such an odd agreement after all.

  “Do you promise we’ll discuss it again when I open the shop?” I need to know.

  “Absolutely, dear,” she reassures me, extending her hand. I grasp it steadily and our pact is sealed.

  “When do you intend to start working on it? Do you think it will take you long?” she asks calmly, casting her gaze around the room.

  “Next week!” I exclaim with enthusiasm. “The day after tomorrow I’m going to my parents’ house for my mother’s birthday and I’ll tell them the news, then I’ll come back here and get down to work.”

  “Your parents don’t know about this project of yours?” she asks nonchalantly.

  “Well, they know there’s a project, but they don’t know it’s becoming reality,” I reply, amused. I can imagine Father’s face when I tell him. Mother won’t be very happy about it at first, she has always dreamt of office jobs for me and my sister Lillian, she has always found it more reassuring, as if they couldn’t fire you from a job like that. I suspect she still believes it even though Father lost his, after years of honored service, even if it had all the ‘reassuring’ features she cares about so much. It cannot have been all that secure if a stupid mistake – which wasn’t even his – was enough to wreck it all.

  Jane turns abruptly towards me, displaying a surprising agility, and observes me with a flash of worry in her eyes. “They know nothing of it?”

  “It will be a surprise,” I confirm.

  “Well, in that case, dear girl, I think you’ll have to work very hard. You’ll have to prove you can live up to your dreams.”

  “I will, Jane,” I agree, increasingly convinced. Never let the chance of a lifetime like this slip away because of vacillation.

  “I like your spirit, Gillian, I think I’ll have to ask Ernest to give you a hand from time to time, so the work will go faster. If I promise him my famous cucumber canapés, he shouldn’t make too much of a fuss, but you never know… maybe I should throw in some macarons to be on the safe side,” she reflects, drumming a finger on lips so thin they nearly disappear into her round face.

  “Ernest? The man from the store?”

  “Yes, him. He’s the third floor tenant, a good man, trust me, dear. He can do many things, but he has trouble with a stupid dust allergy, as if his incurable laziness wasn’t enough. He could help you fix the place up a bit,” she suggests optimistically.

  “Well…” now it’s my turn to look around. Aside from a few pieces of probably worm riddled wood, I can only see one thing: dust. Plus, if you consider that the first thing to do will be to sand down these walls, I really can’t see how he could help me. Taking into account that I already owe Mr Clancy quite a lot, I don’t think it would be wise to ask him for more help. Jane seems to guess my thoughts, because I hear her sigh.

  “Maybe you’re right… maybe he’ll be able to help you further on when you take care of the furniture,” she deliberates calmly. And here is a new wave of optimism crinkling her face. “Of course, it must be difficult to do everything on your own. Isn’t there anyone who could give you a hand?”

  “Don’t worry, Jane, I’m used to this kind of work.”

  “Really? You’re so slight it doesn’t look like it, dear,” she stares at me with a flabbergasted look on her face and, in fact, you can’t say I have a sturdy physique, but I make up for my lack of muscle with agility. My father is tall, but I take after my mother, so, alas, height isn’t part of the package, either.

  “I always help my father with repair work on our house in Rochester, so I know what awaits me,” I smile in amusement.

  “That may well be, but it still seems like too big a job to do on your own, dear,” she insists, worried. It’s obvious she’s never seen me at work.

  “Trust me: in a month’s time this place will look completely different. Besides, I’m sure my father will be glad to come and give me a hand on Sundays,” I reassure her with a smile.

  Jane smiles back, vaguely reassured, though a shadow of doubt remains on her face. I understand her uncertainty, it’s not the first time I’ve seen that look on somebody’s face. They all change their minds. When I set my mind on something, It happens – no ‘ifs,’ no ‘buts,’ no ‘maybes’ or ‘could bes.’ It might take some ti
me, but I won’t give up until I’ve achieved my goal, which in this case is opening a hand-made hat shop.

  *

  “Welcome back, Gil. So how did it go at Grandma’s?” my father asks as he embraces me at the door.

  “Very productive, I’d say.”

  “What does ‘productive’ mean?” he immediately interrogates me. I knew he suspected something. I begged Grandma not to blab before I got home, but I’m sure Father’s already given her the third degree to glean any information he could. Too bad for him, Grandma’s a trustworthy ally, and her lips are sealed if need be.

  “Come sit in the living room, Father. I have great news and I don’t want to tell you about it on the threshold,” I urge him to be reasonable, showing him the travel bag still hanging on my shoulder. He studies it for two seconds, then gives in and finally lets me come inside and drop my heavy load on the first step near the entrance.

  “Honey, come, Gil has important news for us,” my father yells once we reach the living room. Wow, I dare say, straight to the point.

  “Where’s Lillian?” I try to lighten the expectant air permeating the room. She was supposed to be here for dinner, too.

  “At work. She should be here in an hour or so,” Father calmly informs me, sitting on the couch and beckoning for me to join him.

  “What news?” my mother promptly appears from the kitchen drying her hands on a towel. I go over to her and give her a resounding kiss on the cheek before I go back to sit next to Father.

  “Aren’t we going to wait for Lillian?” I ask, taken aback.

  “No, we’re not waiting for your sister. With her job you never know what time she gets off and you can’t keep us hanging on like this very long. You can tell her everything later,” Father scolds me with a serious expression.

  “Ok. Well, you know how passionate I am about hand-made hats?”

  “Honey, ’know’ doesn’t really paint the full picture. There’s no room left for clothes in your closet!” my mother explains, slightly exasperated.

  “Well, I have excellent news: soon there will be much more room in my closet,” I announce, and I can’t help but smile.

  “Have you found someone who’ll buy all those hats?” Mother inquires in amazement.

  “Not exactly, rather, not yet. I’m going to open a hand-made hat shop in Fall River.”

  “What are you going to do?” this time it’s Father’s eyes that pop out as he leans forward in alarm.

  “I’m going to open a shop. I’ve already found the right spot. It needs some fixing up, that’s true, but nothing that can’t be done with a few weeks’ work and very little money. By chance I saw an antique sewing machine in a shop window and went in. The owner offered to help me with everything I need to begin with in exchange for some part-time work at his place, and he even gave me the address of a good location,” I explain elatedly.

  “And who is this guy?” Father’s expression hasn’t changed a bit after my revelation: he still looks alarmed.

  “His name is Ernest Clancy, he has a second, third, and fourth hand shop.” Defining that clutter of objects is impossible.

  “So he’s a total stranger,” Father insists, not at all reassured.

  “No, Father. I talked to Grandma and she confirmed that he’s a very respectable person. She has dealt with him herself in the past on a couple of occasions, and she has no qualms about him. She says he’s a bit of an eccentric, but a good man aside from that.”

  Wendell Bennett stands stock still, reflecting for a moment. He seems torn, and I can imagine the crazy fight going on in his head. On the one hand the fear of who knows what, a thing that every father takes into consideration wherever his daughter is concerned, on the other hand the reassurance of one of the two women in the world whom he trusts more than himself: his mother. Finally he seems to agree with the second, because he relaxes a bit and leans back against the couch.

  “How much is the rent?” he asks after a moment’s silence.

  “What do you mean ‘how much is the rent’? Wendell, you aren’t taking this thing seriously, are you?” This time my mother is alarmed, and she comes to sit in the easy chair in front of us.

  “Why not?”

  “Why not?! What is that supposed to mean? Honey, it’s a risky job with no guarantees. It’s… a leap in the dark. It’s no good, she needs something more solid, a job as an employee where she will be able to learn to navigate this world full of sharks,” she holds forth. Just as I thought. “Look at Lillian, Gil, she found a good job, and it’s even close by. The veterinary practice is already quite successful and she likes working with Zach. You should find something like that to begin with, learn the ropes, figure out how things work, how to handle being in the market.”

  “Mother, I’m not trying to open a multinational corporation!” I try to make her see reason with a touch too much emphasis. “I know it’s not going to be easy, but I’m good at making hats and I’m sure everything will go well. It’ll just take some time, like it must have taken Zach when he decided to open a veterinary practice here in Rochester.”

  “It’s different, Gil, he has a university degree, he didn’t open a little shop,” my mother retorts. I knew she would be a hard nut to crack, but I didn’t think it would be this hard.

  “What’s the difference?” I ask, feigning the patience I imagine would normally be necessary to keep this conversation reasonable.

  “There’s a huge difference!” she exclaims, foiling any attempt on my part.

  “Oh, come on, Judith,” Father breaks in. “If Gillian wants to make hats, I see no harm in it. There are people cut out to be doctors or secretaries, and those cut out to make hats. She’ll need all our support for it to work, and I intend to give her mine. If she was able to win the County Prize at last year’s fair with one of her hats, it means she’s better than other people at making them, right?”

  “Well sure, honey, I never doubted Gil’s ability, but there’s quite a bit of difference between making nice hats and starting a business,” Mother insists.

  “I realize it’s different, but I want to give it a try. Give me two years: if I can’t support myself within the next two years, I’ll find a job like Lillian’s,” I promise, looking at each of them in turn. I’ve already worked as a waitress for a couple of years, I’m perfectly capable of finding a job, but that’s not my dream.

  “Two years?” my mother asks. I nod with conviction. Two years will be enough to see if I’m capable of supporting myself with my shop, at least that’s what I hope.

  “Ok, Gil. We have some savings, I thought I’d use that money for you and your sister’s weddings, but I guess we’ll use it to help you open this shop. But remember: if in two years’ time we see things aren’t going well, you close it and come back home. I’m certain Wade will always need a waitress like you,” she concludes pragmatically.

  “Ok, Mother, I promise,” I reassure her, crossing my fingers behind my back. The idea of working for Wade my entire life doesn’t appeal to me, his clientele is mainly made up of men who do nothing but watch baseball games and bet on who is going to win at the billiard table. Could be better, right?

  “What state is this shop in?” Father breaks in, leading the conversation back on track.

  “Not too bad, the walls need to be fixed up and there’s no furniture. From what I saw, the electric system is ok, though there aren’t any lightbulbs, and the bathroom fixtures are there, but need to be cleaned, like everything else. Basically, I think that in a month or so I should be able to get most of the work done,” I summarize with optimism.

  “Good, on Sundays I’ll come and give you a hand to get things moving faster, so don’t do anything dangerous on your own. Begin sanding down the walls, we can do the ceiling together. Will you be staying with Grandma?”

  “Yes, I’ve already talked to her, she’s happy to have me underfoot a while longer.”

  “What about the rent?” Mother asks again.

  “Jane, th
e owner, says she doesn’t want a penny while I’m fixing up the place. When I open the shop, she’s promised we’ll tackle the subject again.”

  “Let’s hope she doesn’t ask for a fortune,” Mother complains in her usual pessimistic tone.

  “I don’t think so, Mother, I had to fight to get her to promise we’d talk about it again,” I reassure her before she gets any strange ideas that will keep her up at night until the work is finished.

  “When are you going to begin?” Father wants to know.

  “I was thinking of going back to Fall River on Monday.”

  “It would be better if I drove you there on Sunday in the pick-up truck, that way we can bring everything you need to begin with, and I can see the place before you start working on it.”

  “Ok, thank you!” I embrace him with joy. I knew I could count on him.

  “Ok, ok. Now that’s enough talk of work. Dinner is almost ready and Lillian should be here any minute now, so go and wash your hands and then Gil, you can come and set the table,” Mother interrupts, standing up and going back into the kitchen. Though she almost immediately turned her back on us to return to her realm, she wasn’t able to hide the little smile on her lips from me. I know how hard it was for her to accept my idea and I’m glad she didn’t dig her heals in. I hug Father hard and join Mother in the kitchen. I find her busily shredding the salad.

  “Are you worried?” I ask her while I wash my hands next to her.

  “No, honey, I’m not worried. I just don’t want you to become too attached to the idea before you’re sure it works. You saw what happened to your father, and no parent wants that to happen to their children.”

  “But Father worked at Robinson’s Industries, he wasn’t self-employed,” I remind her, regretting it a second later. I really have to begin thinking before I speak. Never pour salt into the wound, especially on a festive day.

  “I know. And that just goes to show that today there is no security in the future, even if you try to build it with tireless dedication. He had an excellent job, he shouldn’t have lost it the way he did, but it happened. Imagine what a less sheltered job than his is like.”