by N. C. Lewis
Chapter 4
The doorbell pinged and in hurried Millie. The barista, still looking over at the woman in the dowdy gray dress, tilted his mango shaped head toward the entrance. "Hello Millie," he said moving back toward the bar, "what will be your pleasure today?"
Millie ordered her drink and scurried across the café to the table where I sat.
"It's not fair," she cried in a distressed voice.
"What's not fair?" I replied.
She sniffed, reached for her handbag and pulled out two sock puppets. One was purple and wore a white shirt with a little black tie—Professor Purple. The other, blue with frizzy, brown curls and a pleated skirt—Madame Bleu.
"Oh Ollie," said Millie as she opened and closed the mouth of Professor Purple. She was no ventriloquist; her lips moved with each word and the deep male voice quite clearly came from her throat. "The newspaper owner has asked Millie to cover the high school homecoming parade."
"What's wrong with that? Millie's a reporter, isn't that what reporters do?" I was confused.
Madame Bleu spoke up, "ooh la la." She had a rich French accent. "The owner of the newspaper treats Millie like a farm laborer. When the fruit are in season she must pick, no matter that she has plans to spend the evening with her boyfriend, Bob. Such a life leaves no room for joie de vivre, how you say in English, the joy of life."
"Now, now," said Professor Purple, his eyes narrowing. "It is not wholly unreasonable for the owner of the newspaper to ask Millie to cover the high school homecoming parade."
"If the owner had a heart, he would never do such a wicked thing," replied Madame Bleu. "Writers need space to be creative, time to relax with their loved ones. Millie must write, how we say in French, avec passion!"
"Yes," nodded Professor Purple. "But if Millie is to become a full-time reporter, she must take every opportunity to impress the owner of the newspaper even if it means missing a date with her boyfriend, Bob."
Madame Bleu's eyes grew wide, and she spoke with a furious intensity. "C'est un non-sens. Life is about passion and emotion. What we do is often based more on emotion than practical consideration anyway. Millie must, as we say in French, vis avec passion, live with passion. When she learns to do this, a full-time position at the Medlin Creek Times will appear."
Professor Purple's brow wrinkled into a deep frown. "That, Madame Bleu, is illogical."
"Oh, non non," cried Madame Bleu. "The universe runs on emotion; its fuel is passion. C'est simple."
There was a moment of silence as the two puppets stared at each other, neither willing to back down. Then Millie spoke up. "Oh Ollie, silly old me talking about my problems. What's going on with you? I want to hear all about your morning."
I hesitated for a moment, trying to think of a way to make insurance sound exciting. I failed. But since she asked I would tell her anyway.
"Don't look," she whispered before I could form my thoughts into words.
I immediately swiveled my head from left to right to look around the café. I noticed nothing unusual. The barista was behind the bar tidying up; the café filled with a larger than normal crowd of patrons.
"What am I supposed to not be looking at?"
"Turn your head slightly to the right," said Millie in a subdued voice.
I did so.
"Now focus your eyes just past my left ear," she continued.
"Yep, done that. I can see lots of people sitting at tables drinking coffee. Now what?"
"See the guy, all muscles, the hunk of a man with a baby face?"
"Yeah, I see him," I said and continued, "and he's wearing a figure hugging T-shirt talking to three giggling women."
"That's Hank 'Teddy' Tumpin."
"Teddy Tumpin?"
"Yes, Medlin Creek High's most winning quarterback. The school won the state championship four years in a row, and Teddy was the quarterback."
"Oh," I said. "He keeps in shape. How old is he?"
"Probably in his sixties by now. He coaches an afterschool team in Austin. Teddy Tumpin is still famous around these parts though."
"Okay, I've got it." I said, mentally noting the name. "Now, why did you point him out?"
"If I can interview him before the homecoming parade, my article will make the front page of the newspaper. Teddy Tumpin is going to be my ticket to a full-time position at the Medlin Creek Times."
Millie's cell phone rang.
"Yes, yes, I've got it covered." She stood up and signaled with her eyes it was the owner of the newspaper. "I can be in the office in five minutes," she said, giving a little wave and scurrying toward the doorway. "I've got an interview lined up with Teddy Tumpin. It'll be good enough for a first page feature." She hurried out of the café.
On the tiny screen of my cell phone I checked for text messages. Nothing. I took a sip of coffee then checked my email messages. Nothing. When I looked up, the woman in the dowdy, gray dress was gone.
Chapter 5
The rest of the afternoon went by in a blur. Student assignments graded, teaching notes prepared, appointments booked, and email messages answered. Preparation of lecture notes is a sedentary activity. I use the hourly chimes of the clock to remind me to move my body; at the top of each hour I get up and stretch. But today I was so focused I didn't hear the chimes until five p.m.
Up I got and stretched. One final downward-facing dog, and I finished my short routine by lying flat on my back, relaxing into the ground, dead man's pose.
It was close to five-fifteen by the time I climbed into the Tahoe. Plenty of time to get to the special meeting of the Speaker Circle by six p.m.
Fifteen minutes later I pulled into the library parking lot. It was almost full, and I had to drive around several times before finding a spot. As I made my way to the library, the humid air was heavy with the pungent odor of warm tar, but the heat was easing. At the entrance, I listened to the melodic chirp of an unseen bird high in a live oak tree. The chatter of excited children greeted me as I stepped inside.
The Speaker Circle meeting room was off to the side, down a narrow hall lined with a billboard which advertised free services to the local community. It was still early, and the room was empty except for Bob Lukey, Millie's boyfriend. Bob, a tall, thin man with a long, black beard and even longer flowing gray hair twisted into dreadlocks, waved me over.
"The early bird catches the worm," he said, tightening the straps on his open-toe leather sandals. His footwear complemented his orange, baggy shorts and tie-dyed T-shirt.
"Yep, how are things with you?" Bob was some sort of hotshot defense attorney who worked for a nontraditional law firm in Austin.
"Busy, busy, busy, you know how that goes." But I could tell from the gleam in his eye there was more he wanted to say.
"It's still early," I said, leaning in to encourage him to talk. "I don't suppose any members will show for another five or ten minutes."
Bob glanced anxiously around the room and lowered his voice to a whisper. "Listen Ollie, I've got a problem."
That got my attention.
"A problem? What sort of problem?"
"Millie," he said in a soft whisper. "Not so much Millie, but the puppets. They seem to have, well..." He paused several moments collecting his thoughts. "Taken on a life of their own."
Now I was as interested as a hungry dog staring at a bone. Bob and Millie had been together for several months. I assumed by now he had gotten used to having puppets in his life. Maybe I was wrong.
"How so?" I asked.
Once again, he glanced around the room. "I'm at a loss for words about how to explain it…" His voice trailed away.
A lawyer lost for words, impossible, I thought. But said, patting him on the shoulder, "Dear Bob, tell me all about it, and I guarantee I can help. As Millie's friend and confidant, I am certain the answer is at hand."
"You're sure you can help?"
"Oh yes," I said, curiosity taking over my mouth as my mind told me don't get involved.
"Well," he
said hesitatingly, "they're intervening…"
"Intervening?"
"Yep, Professor Purple has taken it upon himself to set up dates between me and Millie."
"Professor Purple is setting up your date nights?"
"Yeah, the Purple brute is even leaving voicemail messages at my Austin law office. Last week he spoke with the receptionist, Kate Wilhelm. He made out he is a human who lives here in Medlin Creek. Kate got very upset when he wouldn't give her his cell phone number."
"Oh, I see."
"He's started calling me Bobby Boy. We have to put a stop to this," Bob said in an urgent tone.
"We?"
"Ollie, I'm relying on your advice in this matter. Whatever you suggest, I'm game."
"Oh," I said thinking fast but coming up with nothing.
"I'm happy to take your advice. I don't want to lose Millie." His eyes became glassy. "Ollie, I'm all ears. What do you suggest?"
Just then, the door flew open and in walked a little, bright-eyed, bald, old man, stooping on bandy legs. It was Roger Romantic, a longtime member of the Speaker Circle.
"Well hello darling," he said looking in my direction. He nodded at Bob who gave him a little wave. "I hope y'all will enjoy my presentation. It's a sample of what I'm going to deliver tomorrow night at the high school homecoming reunion."
Roger was so excited his voice had a high-pitched squeak. He scurried, lightly treading to the front of the room to set up his equipment.
"Now," whispered Bob turning back to our conversation, "what is your suggestion about the puppets?"
"This is a difficult one," I said, stalling for time.
Again, the meeting room door swung open. In walked a puffy-faced man with slender, long fingers and a broad blob for a mouth. He was immaculately dressed in a dark suit and walked quickly with little bouncing strides, pushing himself high on the tips of his toes, with an air of importance and confidence, toward a seat at the front of the meeting room.
"Roger, I'm here," he said as he sat down in the front row.
Roger swiveled around. "Dominick, Dominick Leiden, is that you?"
The two men embraced, laughing and patting each other on the back.
"Bob, Ollie, come over here and meet Dominick Leiden," cried Roger wiping tears from his eyes. "We attended school together."
"Yes, we were both at Medlin Creek High, although Roger was a senior when I was a freshman. How did we meet again, Roger?"
"At the dojo," replied Roger. "Your mom wanted you to toughen up, so she sent you to Master Takahashi's karate class."
Dominick blushed. "Oh yes, I remember now. Fortunately, there is not much need for martial arts fighting skills in my business."
"And what business is that?" asked Bob extending his hand.
"Hedge funds," replied Dominick as he pumped Bob's hand vigorously.
"What's that?" I asked extending my hand.
"I buy stocks, bonds, and shares of companies in the hope of making a quick profit," he answered, taking my hand. "And I've been very successful at it. I'm in town for the high school homecoming reunion."
The meeting room was filling with members. Dominick returned to a seat in the front row. Bob waved me to a seat next to him at the back of the meeting room to continue our conversation. I pretended I didn't see him and sat in the front row. What do you tell a man whose date nights are set up by puppets?
Members filled the room. It was a larger crowd than usual. Excited chatter about the upcoming homecoming parade dominated the conversation.
"I wonder if Sheriff Hays will lead by firing the starting pistol this year?" asked Doug Allyn, a short, round man with a thick, black beard.
"Nope," replied Doctor Tobias, an occasional visitor to the club." Sheriff Hays is out of town, at a conference somewhere. I think it is overseas."
Finally, Millie, the club president bustled in. She gave a little wave to Bob, then sprinted to the front of the room, a small gavel in her hand, tapped it on the lectern and the meeting began.
Roger strode to the front of the room, his arms swinging lightly. At the lectern he paused for an instant, nodded at familiar faces and smiled.
"Now, the moment you have all been waiting for, the homecoming motivational presentation…"
Chapter 6
It is somewhat of a tradition after the Speaker Circle for the members to go for a meal and a drink at the College Arms. The Arms, as locals call it, is a public house or pub run by an English couple that serves all British food and brews.
A group of us gathered around a large solid oak table sipping beer and eating our meal. I chose a plate of cod and chips with mushy peas, washed down with a pint of Bishop's Finger. Millie and Bob shared a large Balti pie with a side of chips. She sipped a lager and lime while he gulped down a pint of Guinness.
Roger talked excitedly with Dominick about their high school memories. It was like a history lesson on local places and prominent people who made up the community when they were teenagers. Some names were familiar. The Lilly family being one such example. They were part of the old wealth of Medlin Creek whose family went back to the founding of the Republic of Texas. Rita Lilly, whom I had met, owned the Lilly building, an event center in the heart of Medlin Creek.
"I hear Crystal Healy is going to be this year's homecoming reunion queen," said Dominick. "Crystal broke the hearts of many a teenage boy back in the day."
Roger frowned and drank deeply from his beer. "Yep, I was one of them. I fell in love with her during my final year of high school. The feeling wasn't mutual, and she ignored my advances."
"Not just you, Roger, every other boy in the senior year." Dominick laughed. "Do you remember the red rose she always wore in her hair?"
"Oh yes," said Roger grinning. "I remember it well."
Bob leaned forward resting his elbows on the table and steepling his hands. "I've never met Crystal, and she is not a resident of Medlin Creek today, so what happened?"
Roger sighed. "She left the Hill Country for California—Hollywood—to make a name for herself in the movies."
"Crystal certainly had the looks," Dominick said with a smile on his face.
"Have I seen any of her movies?" Millie asked.
"I doubt it," Dominick said. "She couldn't even get a bit part. Hollywood is flooded with wannabes. Even with a pretty face and talent there are no guarantees."
"How did she make a living after Hollywood?" I asked.
"No idea," Dominick replied. "Must be over forty years since I last saw her."
"Same here," said Roger with a curious glint in his eye. "But we have been in correspondence recently."
Everyone turned to look at Roger.
"Correspondence," muttered Dominick his lips as thin as a line.
Roger sighed and signaled the waiter for beers all around. When they arrived, he sunk deep into his chair and took a long swallow of beer. "Guess I may as well announce it here," he said, dropping his voice a pitch. "Crystal and I are to be married, ten days after the homecoming parade."
A stunned silence fell over the table. The clink of knives and forks against plates, the gentle tinkle of beer glasses, and a low, muted rumble of conversation at other tables filled in the void. Out of the corner of my eye, on the far side of the bar, I noticed a short, fat man with a jolly, round face straining to overhear our conversation. He wore a green button-down shirt with blue jeans and white sneakers.
Dominick shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "But you haven't seen the woman in forty years."
"That's right," smiled Roger. "When I was nineteen, I proposed to her and got rejected. Crystal wrote to me several months ago. I proposed and she accepted."
"I wonder what she looks like now," I blurted out.
Millie fiddled with her phone. "I'll find her Facebook profile."
"It matters not to me, I am in love with her soul not her physical form," uttered Roger like a classical poet.
"Roger, are you sure?" I said, shaking my head. "It's been a long time s
ince you last saw Crystal. What if you're not compatible anymore?"
"Crystal and I are kindred spirits which fate cannot keep apart," he said dreamily.
We all fell silent.
Suddenly, a voice with a cockney accent yelled out, "For he's a jolly good fellow and so say all of us." I swiveled around to see the short, fat man with the jolly, round face standing at the end of the table with his hands on his hips.
"Hi Rodney," said Roger in his politest tone. Then by way of explanation continued, "Rodney Trotter and his wife, Cynthia, own this place."
"That we do," said Rodney, giving a little bow. "Overheard your conversation, Roger, and want to wish you a very happy marriage." Rodney slapped Roger on his back, turned, and wandered back to the bar.
"Arrrgh!" cried Millie, "Crystal Healy doesn't have a Facebook profile. The only picture I can get of her is from high school."
We peered at the picture on Millie's phone. A faded color photograph of a young girl with a pretty face smiled back. She wore a black dress which amplified her wide shoulders. A pang of jealousy surged through me. Yes indeed, Crystal Healy was a rare beauty.
"She'll be here tomorrow. I've offered her my apartment. I'll sleep in the spare bedroom until after the wedding," Roger added.
Dominick folded his arms across his chest and rocked from side to side.
"Well done, Roger, you're going to be very happy," said Millie.
"To Roger and Crystal Romantic," said Bob, raising his glass.
"To the Romantics," we all said as one.
"Congratulations," Dominick uttered through gritted teeth as his eyes narrowed.
Roger smiled and turned to look at me. "Crystal and I would love to get married at Ealing Homestead. Is the venue available?"
"Oh yes," I said. "Oh yes."
Chapter 7
Excited chatter about Roger's upcoming wedding continued throughout the rest of the evening. As often happens with large groups, the conversation fragmented into several topics, rejoining later to a common theme.