Lila Blue

by Annie Katz

Another officer came in after us and started listing the damage. They found a bullet hole through the back of Lila's barber chair and another through the wall into the back room, which was a combination laundry, restroom, and storage area. The bullet had just missed the mirror over the sink. It was lodged into the wall next to it. The officer took a few pictures of it then carefully pried out the bullet and let it fall into an evidence bag, which he labeled and dated.

  After we walked all around, and they couldn't find anything else, Randall said, "We'll tape off the area tonight and keep one of the cars here until the hardware store opens and you can get some plywood to block off the windows. We've got enough pictures, so we can help clean up glass, if you're ready."

  "Thanks, Randall," Lila said. "I think Cassandra and I can do that in the morning. I really appreciate all you've done. Thank you."

  "We'll keep Fred for forty-eight hours, long enough for him to sober up and for Veronica to get over homicidal tendencies. We've got him for drunk driving and reckless endangerment. You can come down any time to press charges."

  "Thank you," Lila said again.

  As he was leaving, Randall said, "I'm sure sorry about your barber pole, Lila. They don't make 'em like that anymore."

  She nodded and gave him her sad tired smile. I reached out to hold her hand, and she took my hand and held on. "Everything's going to be okay," she said, and I believed her.

  Lila and I went home, but we couldn’t settle down to sleep much. We went back to the shop at first light with old brooms from Lila's garage to clean all the glass from the sidewalk. We barely got started on that when Paul, Donny, and Ronny came outside with a tray of coffee and fresh Danish sweet rolls. Marta came with her camera and took pictures and interviewed Lila and Donny.

  Donny and Ronny volunteered to get plywood to nail over the windows, and Lila gratefully accepted their help. By the time we'd had our coffee, Marge and Molly joined us, so it looked like a block party instead of a crime scene.

  "I heard the shots," Molly said, "but Mom wouldn't let me come down last night." From their living room window overlooking the highway, they had seen the police lights flashing and Lila's car when we arrived in the night.

  Marge said, "Lila, is there anything we can do? You know you can count on us."

  Lila shook her head. "We're fine," she said. "I really appreciate knowing you are watching out for us."

  "Come on then, Molly," Marge said. "You can come back down after we get the guys up and fed."

  With both of us working, it didn't take long for Lila and me to clean up. We avoided cutting ourselves by carefully picking chunks of glass out of the window frames. Then we swept the window frames, the shop floor, and the sidewalk. After that, we went over everything with old damp towels to pick up any shards we'd missed.

  Lila decided to leave what remained of the barber pole. I don't know if she couldn't bear to take it down and throw it away or if it was a statement of some kind, a reminder of how dangerous guns are. By leaving it up she could make a point without having to use her mouth or her pen.

  The brass base was still beautiful, but the glass cylinder had all shattered and fallen on the ground. The painted heavy cardboard cylinder, the characteristic red, white, and blue barbershop spiral, was ripped and hanging down, exposing the metal spool inside that rotated. At least Lila left it turned off, so the poor thing didn't keep revolving. That would have been pathetic.

  Herbert showed up then, even though it was barely seven and he normally didn't come in until eight. One of his neighbors had told him about the shooting. He listened as Lila gave him the short version of what had happened, and he examined the bullet holes in the door, Lila's chair, and the wall.

  The neon open sign in the small window above the door still worked, so he turned it on and got his workstation ready. Within five minutes, there was someone sitting in his chair. Apparently Herbert had decided it was business as usual. He loved cutting hair.

  It was strange standing inside the shop and having no glass in the windows. The frames were so low you could step in and out of the shop that way, and when Molly came back down, we made a game of chasing each other in and out through the two window openings until Herbert stopped working, loudly cleared his throat, and looked at us.

  "Sorry," I said, and we jumped outside the windows and went to find Lila.

  She was talking with Paul in the bakery.

  "I was afraid Fred might do something stupid one day," Paul said. "After he lost his job down at the lumber mill, he's been spending more time at the pub. And now that Veronica's working at that law office, instead of being happy about the money, he's jealous."

  "Too bad we can't all be happy drunks," said Lila, and Paul laughed.

  Lila continued, "Hearing the shots must of have been pretty scary for you and Donny."

  "I knew right away it was a gun, and when I heard the glass fall, I thought it was our display case in the front. Donny went running before I could stop him."

  Molly said, "Donny could probably run as fast as Fred's truck."

  "He's fast," Paul said. "He started running when he turned one and hasn't slowed down since."

  "I'm so glad no one was hurt," Lila said.

  While we were chatting, Ronny and Donny got thin plywood nailed over the windows so the shop would be secure at night until the glass was replaced.

  Molly went back home to help her mom get ready to open their business, and Lila and I went home, too, since there was nothing more to do. When we got home, Fred's wife Veronica called Lila. They decided to go together to talk to Fred after he'd sat in jail for a couple of days.

  "What's going to happen to him, Grandma?"

  "Good comes out of everything, Cassandra. I'm sure it'll be something good."

  We were both tired from all the excitement, so we took naps before Lila had to go in to work at two. I decided to stay home with Chloe and Zoe. I went for a long walk on the beach, and I was the only one there besides the seagulls. The wind was blowing so hard it picked up the heavy damp sand and blasted it against me. I had to walk with my feet in the water to get some protection from the sandblasting. Still sand struck my ankles and spattered against my legs. Walking into the wind was work, and I kept my eyes nearly shut even with my sunglasses on, in case a gust brought sand up to my face.

  Although it was work, it was really fun to forge ahead into the cold, fierce wind. Part of the fun was knowing as soon as I turned around, I would fly home.

  Some of the seagulls loved the wind, too. Half a dozen of them hovered over me, their eyes tight against the wind like mine. They held their wings at exactly the correct angle to sail upwind, like skilled sailors tacking ahead in a current. We were a team of explorers, the birds and I, braving the elements, all for the fun and adventure of it. Sometimes the gulls were slightly ahead of me, sometimes they dropped behind, maybe testing the variations in wind currents caused by my body. Finally I'd had enough, and I turned, yipped like a coyote, put out my arms, and ran flying back home with the sand hitting the back of my legs and the gulls soaring and dipping down in front of me, letting me know they could win any race.

  On the porch before going back inside, I took some time to shake all the sand out of my clothes. The sun threw thousands of brilliant diamonds off the white-capped ocean. I stood there, somewhat protected from the wind by the neighbor's house, and watched drifts being built all over the beach. Every log became a covered ridge, every clump of seaweed a mounded dune.

  When I went back indoors, Chloe and Zoe climbed all over me and sniffed every part of my legs and feet they could reach. They opened their mouths and wrinkled their noses, so I knew they were tasting all the smells I'd brought them from far off places. It took them several minutes to be satisfied, and then they jumped in the middle of the couch and groomed themselves and each other for another nap.

  The image of my mother came back, of her kneeling on the broken glass, and I wanted to hear her voice, to know she was okay. I called her number but th
ere was no answer. There was no answer at Grandma Betty's either. I tried the only other number I had, Janice's friend Barb from work, and she answered on the second ring. I introduced myself as Cassandra and then realized she didn't know that name, so I started over.

  "This is Sandy, Janice's daughter?" I said, hoping she'd remember me.

  "Sandy," she said. "You sound so grown up. Your mother's not here. I haven't seen her since she, you know. We don't work together anymore."

  "I've been trying to call her, but I can't connect. Do you know anyone who might know how to reach her? I miss her. I'm worried about her. Please, is there anyone I could try?"

  "Oh, hon’, I don't know," she said, sounding as if she would help if she could.

  "How about that man Roger?" I asked. "The older guy she was friends with when I left in June? Do you know how I could call him?"

  "There may be someone at work who knows his number. Let me check around. Call me back in fifteen minutes, okay?"

  "Thank you so much. Yes. I'll call. I really appreciate it. Thank you."

  "Listen, you take care of yourself, okay hon’?"

  "I will. Really. I'm doing great. I'll call you in fifteen minutes."

  I paced around the house until the cats meowed at me to settle down, so I got out my trusty hardback dictionary and settled on the couch with it to savor words. When I checked the time, it had been exactly fifteen minutes.

  "I found a couple of numbers you can try," Barb said. "Here's a number where Janice and Roger went to a meeting. She gave it to me in case I needed to call her in for work. And there's another gal who used to work with us who dated Roger before he met your mom. She might be able to help."

  I wrote the numbers down, made sure I'd copied them correctly, and thanked her again. Then I took a deep breath and dialed the first number. It was the number for an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting, and the man said he couldn't help me because it was anonymous. He wished me luck and said he'd pray for my mom. I thanked him and hung up.

  Good comes out of everything, Lila says, so now I had an alcoholic stranger praying for my mom. That was good. I crossed out the first number.

  At the second number a lady answered the phone. There was noise in the background, a TV I guessed. It made me realize that I hadn't even thought about TV in the past few weeks. I explained who I was and how I got her number, and when I thought she remembered my mom, I told her I was trying to find anyone who might know how to reach her.

  "How old are you?" she asked.

  "I'm twelve. I'm staying with my grandma in Oregon. I really miss my mom and need to find a way to talk with her. Do you know anybody I might call?"

  "I didn't know your mother very well. I'm sorry."

  "Do you know a man named Roger? One who stopped drinking a few years ago? My mom dated him a few weeks."

  "Roger. Yea. Your mom dated him?"

  "Just friends," I said. "Just a little while, but I was hoping for anyone who's seen her lately."

  "Okay, yea, I have an old number for Roger. He might still be there."

  She gave me a number for Roger Hillmen, so as soon as I hung up, I dialed Roger.

  He answered, and I sighed with relief. "Hello. I'm so glad you answered," I said.

  Before I could tell him my name, he said, "Janice? Is that you?"

  "No. I'm Sandy, Cassandra Blue. Janice is my mother. I'm trying to find her."

  "Sandy? The little girl Sandy?"

  "Yes, I'm twelve. I'm in Oregon with my grandmother. Did Janice tell you about me?"

  "She did, yes."

  "I need to talk to her. Do you know where she is? How I can call her? I'm worried about her. I miss her." When I said it, I knew it was true. It really threw me for a loop that he thought I sounded like her. I didn't sound at all like my mother.

  "No, Sandra, I haven't talked with her since the first of July. If you like, I'll take your number and call you if I hear from her."

  "Yes, please," I said. I gave him Lila's number, and I told him how grateful I was for his help.

  "Listen," he said. "Are you okay there? Do you need anything?"

  "I'm more than okay," I said. "I'm better than I ever dreamed possible."

  He chuckled. "Good," he said. "We like to hear that."

  "Mr. Hillmen," I said, "I really hoped she would stop drinking. I hoped you could help her. Thank you for trying."

  "Now don't you give up on her," he said. "Sometimes all it takes is one really bad experience to wake a person up forever."

  "Thank you," I said. "I'll keep hoping and praying."

  "I will too," he said.

  When I said goodbye, he said, "God bless you."

  After I hung up I thought, There are so many good people in the world. Now I've got two alcoholic strangers praying for my mom. Good comes out of everything.

  After I hung up from talking to Roger, the phone rang, and I hoped it would be Janice. For a moment I imagined all of us talking about her had attracted her to me, but I was wrong.

  It was Shakti, and she was crying. "What is it?" I asked. Shelly rarely cried, and then it was usually mad crying not broken hearted crying. "What happened?"

  "Ian left for England," she said, but she didn't sound like herself at all.

  "Shelly?"

  "Sandy, he broke up with me. He took me out to lunch and recited this whole elegant speech. I didn't know until after he was gone all his beautiful words meant he was dumping me."

  "That's impossible," I said. "No one in his right mind would dump you. Impossible."

  "He did," she said. "He said he would always remember me, that I was his jewel of the summer sun, that I was sweeter than rain in the dessert, that I was the moon on virgin snow. He got me all twisted up with poetic metaphors, and I didn't realize until he said goodbye that all the metaphors said goodbye too."

  "Oh, Shakti, I'm so sorry." She cried some more and all I could do was twist the phone cord around my finger and look out onto the ocean, this vast ocean bigger than anything else on the planet. Like grief. Like love.

  "He loved me," she said. "He did. I loved him. How could he end it? How is that possible?"

  "I don't know," I said. "I could never stop loving you."

  "I'm so miserable," she said. "I trusted him. We'd planned to write and see each other at Christmas. Now he's going to be kissing some other girl and I'll just be his summer trinket."

  "He's a jerk," I said. "He's a deceiving jerk. If it was just for the summer, he should have told you."

  "Maybe he got tired of me," she said. "Maybe he got tired of my kisses."

  "Impossible," I said. "He's a jerk. He's not worthy of you."

  "I should have known," she said. "I should have realized that a gorgeous fifteen year old genius would get tired of a kid like me."

  "Stop it," I said. "You sound like my mom when some jerk dumps her. You're wonderful. Don't put yourself down. If you want to be mad at someone, be mad at him. You didn't do anything wrong. He did. I'm mad at him and I don't even know him. Give me his address. I'll write him a hateful letter. Let me punish him."

  "I don't have his address, Sandy. He left me nothing." She started weeping again, and I wanted to find this Ian fellow and punch him in the nose. Hard.

  "Cassandra, talk to me," she said. "Take my mind off this. Tell me something funny."

  "The only news around here is Lila wrote a column in the paper about guns and some drunk shot up her barber shop."

  "Oh no," she said. "Lila's hair shop?"

  "Yea, the police called and we went to the crime scene at three in the morning. They had flashing lights and evidence bags and everything."

  "Were you scared?"

  "First I was, but after we found out no one was hurt and they caught the guy right away, it wasn't scary."

  "What did Lila write?"

  "Oh it was very reasonable, just that everyone should get together and talk about handgun safety. That's all. She worked really hard to not feed opposing opinions. I saw the first draft. I'
m glad she didn't publish that. The whole town would have been shot up."

  "Wow," Shakti said. "Talk about the Wild West."

  "The guy's name is Fred. He's in jail."

  Shakti started laughing. "I should have stayed in Oregon," she said. "It was dull here this weekend. Except for Ian dumping me, of course."

  "He's a jerk," I said. "A mean jerk."

  "Eloquent, though," she said. "I never knew someone could tell you to get lost in such a pretty way that you don't get it until they've been gone an hour."

  "That's skillful," I said. "Lila says good comes out of everything. Maybe you should write down his parting words in case you ever need to dump someone without him knowing it."

  "I don't need his exact words. Knowing the concept is plenty."

  "Knowledge is power," I said, the lead in to one of our favorite word games.

  "Power is sweet," she said.

  "Sweet is life," I said.

  "Life is light."

  "Light is love."

  "Love is knowledge."

  "Bingo!" We both said, and then we laughed our old kid laugh, and things were better.

  We shared a little more news about our families and promised to talk more often. She started school in September, too, so we only had three more weeks of summer.

  "Remember the assignment I gave you," she said.

  "How could I forget?" I asked. "Now I'm giving you the same assignment."

  "No problem," she said. "If Ian thinks I'm going to waste seventh grade pining away over lost love, he really is a jerk."

  "He's a jerk," I said.

  "Good. We got that all settled. I love you Cassandra, Prophetess and Truth Speaker," she said.

  "I love you Shakti, Goddess of Feminine Energy."

  After I hung up, I thought, If Ian has any brains at all, someday he is going to realize he was an idiot to let go of that girl.

  By then I was tired of phone calls, so I looked for something useful to do. When Lila and I were getting brooms for the window clean up, I noticed the garage could use a good sweeping, so I went out to do it while Lila's car was gone.

  There were boxes of canning jars stacked on top of an old desk over in the corner, and I moved the jars to make sure I got all the cobwebs out of the area. The desk was a pretty one, with drawers on each side and curved sturdy legs. The top was scarred with water marks and a burn ring, as if someone had put a hot skillet on it. The rest of it seemed pretty good. As far as I could tell in the poor light of the garage, the wood was reddish and fine grained.