Harbor Nights

by Marcia Evanick

  Joanna glanced up and down Main Street at the assorted shops. While she couldn’t readily see any “Help Wanted” signs, she wasn’t deterred. For Misty Harbor being a small town, there were quite a few businesses she could try. Claire’s Boutique showed promise, as did The Pen and Ink.

  Books or clothes? She loved them both, but Claire’s looked busy, and The Pen and Ink was closer. With that decision made, she set her straw tote on a bench, gently released Zsa Zsa from her leash, and placed her inside. The little Pomeranian loved to be carried around, and she seemed to feel safer within the depth of the tote than she did, out in the open where those vicious gulls could swoop down at any moment. Most of the time, people didn’t even realize there was a miniature dog inside her bag, and Zsa Zsa was very fond of napping in the tote.

  “Now, you be a good girl, and don’t chew the lining.” Joanna placed her wallet and keys safely in the pocket inside the tote. She zipped it closed and then playfully tapped the dog’s nose. Just last week, Zsa Zsa had chewed her way into her change purse and almost choked on a dime. She wasn’t taking any chances today.

  The tote and two others just like it were brand new additions to her summer wardrobe. She had found them in the swimsuit department in J.C. Penney’s over in Bangor and had known they would be perfect for Zsa Zsa; they also had a zip pocket large enough to hold all her items. Today’s model was made out of natural straw and had yellow and purple silk flowers attached to the front. It probably would have looked better on the beaches of Waikiki, instead of on the rocky coast of Maine, but she liked it. In the large scheme of things, that was what really mattered. She wasn’t out to impress anyone.

  Okay, maybe she was at least out to make a good first impression on her potential boss. But somehow, she didn’t think a little fashion faux pas would keep her from being hired. If she could just find anyone willing to hire a forty-five-year-old woman who had never held a paying job before in her life. With one last scratch behind Zsa Zsa’s right ear, she picked up the tote and headed for The Pen and Ink.

  The store was just as she had pictured it would be from the outside. It was all dark wood, masculine, and dusky, as if someone was afraid that sunlight would ruin the merchandise. A bell chimed above the door as she stepped inside, and a deep voice called from the depths of the shop, “Look around; I’ll be there in a moment.”

  She shrugged her shoulders and looked around. The atmosphere reeked of old musty books and cigar smoke. She wrinkled her nose. The entire shop smelled like the bottom of an ashtray. Floor to ceiling bookcases were jammed with everything from hundred-year-old hardbacks to Spiderman comics. There was no rhyme or reason to the order that she could detect. She lightly ran her fingertips over the spines of some childhood favorite Nancy Drew originals that were scattered throughout old issues of National Geographic when it hit her. There was a system after all. Whoever stocked the shelves placed the books or magazines by color.

  A quick glance at the other shelves confirmed her suspicions. Everything was indeed arranged by color. How in the world did anyone ever find anything? More importantly, how did anyone stand the stench of what had to be a century of cigar and pipe smoke that penetrated every square inch of the shop? Who would buy a book that reeked of her Uncle Fred’s den, which she remembered from her childhood visits?

  She didn’t know what would be worse—working all day in such gloom or heading home at night smelling like one of Uncle Fred’s stogies. Either way, there was no way she’d spend more time than necessary in this particular shop.

  A glance into the back connecting room of the shop explained the smell. The back half of The Pen and Ink was a tobacco shop. Two ancient leather chairs sat on either side of a small, round table. A chess board, apparently in mid game, and two overflowing ashtrays filled the table. Whoever was moving the white pieces seemed to be winning. An old globe took up one corner, and an expensive area rug covered most of the dark wooden floor. The faded rug had a few burn marks. Someone should be counting his or her lucky stars that the whole place hadn’t been burnt to the ground. Glass jars containing pipe tobacco filled half the shelves. Cartons of cigarettes and boxes of cigars were jammed everywhere else.

  How was it possible that this room looked worse than the book section?

  Deep within the tote, Zsa Zsa sneezed. The poor baby didn’t like the smell any more than she did. The owner obviously had better things to do than wait on a customer. It was time for her to head over to Claire’s Boutique and see if they were accepting applications.

  She was halfway to the door when footsteps sounded behind her at the exact instant that Zsa Zsa sneezed again.

  “God bless you.” A deep voice broke the silence.

  She turned and politely smiled. Since Zsa Zsa couldn’t thank the man, she would. “Thank you.”

  “Can I help you with anything?”

  “I just stopped in to have a look around.” She felt a little guilty for leaving so quickly. “I just moved into town, and I was out for a walk. It’s such a beautiful day.”

  “That it is.” The gentleman held out his hand. “I’m Gordon Hanley, and this is my domain.”

  “Joanna Stevens.” She shook his hand. Gordon Hanley was at least six feet, two inches tall, and he was in his mid fifties. Her first impression was that she should invite him home and give him a good meal with an extra slice or two of pie. The man was pale and entirely too thin. With an old book in one hand and a smoldering pipe in the other, he looked as if he should be wandering the hallowed halls of academia. There was something scholarly about Gordon Hanley.

  “Welcome to Misty Harbor, Ms. Stevens.”

  “Thank you, and please call me Joanna. It’s a wonderful town. Everyone is so nice and pleasant.”

  “To you, I can’t imagine them not being nice.”

  She wasn’t sure, but she got the feeling Gordon Hanley might be flirting with her. It was a new experience. She had noticed him glancing at her bare left hand. “You have a very”—she searched for the right word and came up with—“unique store, Mr. Hanley.”

  “All my friends call me Gordon.” His hazel eyes seemed to brighten at her use of the word “unique.” “If you’re ever in the market for a book or a good cigar, you know where to come.”

  “That I do.” She smiled and turned to go.

  Zsa Zsa sneezed again before she could make it to the door.

  “Oh, Joanna?”

  “Yes, Gordon?” She slowly turned and faced him.

  A smile was tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I do believe your pocketbook sneezed again.”

  “I know. She’s allergic to smoke.” With that, she turned and walked out of the door. There was no sense in explaining Zsa Zsa. Because if she did, she would have to haul the sneezing Pomeranian out of the tote and subject her to more smoke, which would make her reaction worse. Better to keep Gordon guessing as to what was in the bag.

  Being a woman of mystery held a certain appeal to her this morning. If she was starting a new life in Misty Harbor, she might as well add some excitement to it. Even if the mystery was only a sneezing dog.

  She slowed down as she passed Bailey’s Ice Cream Parlor and Emporium. On the sidewalk directly in front of the shop, both white iron tables with matching chairs and pink umbrellas were empty. Inside the shop, she could see two teenagers scooping out ice cream to what had to be half a dozen more teenagers. The ice cream parlor was obviously the local teenage hangout.

  The shop next to Bailey’s wasn’t open for the season yet. Fishing net, red plastic lobsters, and assorted seashells were in the display window. Through the window, she could see a woman and two teenagers unpacking boxes of what appeared to be T-shirts and other tourist merchandise. She bypassed those shops and headed for Claire’s.

  Claire’s Boutique was the total opposite of The Pen and Ink. Where Gordon’s store was dark and gloomy, Claire’s was white and bright. All the display racks and shelves were painted a crisp white. The walls were a pale yellow, and the floor w
as gleaming golden oak. Merchandise in an array of summer colors and fabrics was everywhere. Wide windows, each displaying a well-dressed mannequin, allowed in an abundant amount of sunlight. Two crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and there were even a dozen yellow roses in a antique silver vase near the cash register. Elegant described the shop and the merchandise.

  Joanna didn’t know what she wanted to do first—ask if they were accepting applications, or try on the gorgeous silk skirt with matching sleeveless blouse the mannequin by the front door was wearing. The calf length skirt was a swirl of blues and greens, while the top was a solid blue with big silver buttons. She already had the perfect shoes and bracelet to match the outfit.

  The temptation bore a designer label and was one hundred percent silk.

  The fact that both dressing rooms seemed occupied curbed her temptation for the moment. Job first, shopping spree second. She walked over to the distressed white armoire filled with lightweight summer sweaters and wanted to drool. Thoughts of employee discounts started to dance through her head.

  “May I help you with something?” A pleasant-looking, middle-aged woman wearing pearls and a classic linen suit stood beside her.

  Joanna glanced around the shop and counted one other sales clerk and two other customers. Claire’s was doing a nice, brisk business this morning. Hopefully, they would need some extra summer help. “I’m Joanna Stevens.” She held out a hand. “My daughter and I just moved to town.”

  The woman shook her hand as her mouth turned up into a warm, friendly smile. “Claire Bonnet, and welcome to Misty Harbor.”

  “Claire Bonnet, as in Claire’s Boutique?”

  “The one and the same.” Claire glanced around her store with pride. “Twenty years in business, and I still marvel in wonder every morning when I open up.”

  “It’s a magnificent shop, and I’m already in love with three different outfits.” The white capri pants matched with the red, white, and blue Americana sweater would be perfect for a cool summer day. And who could resist the lavender sundress displayed in the front window?

  Claire beamed. “Well, what would you like to try on first?”

  “Oh, I didn’t come here today to shop. I stopped in to see if you were hiring.” She watched the expression on Claire’s face. She knew what the answer was before the boutique owner spoke.

  “I’m sorry, Joanna; there aren’t any openings. My sister, Emma, works here full time, and during the summer months, we both have daughters who help out when needed.” Claire gave her an apologetic smile.

  “That’s okay, Claire. I was just walking around town, and your shop struck me as being a wonderful place to work.” She glanced at the mannequin by the front door, the one wearing the stunning blue outfit. “I’ll make you a deal. If you can give me any leads on who might be hiring, I’ll stop back in to buy an outfit.” The type of clothes she would be buying would depend on what kind of job she landed.

  “Oh dear,” Claire fingered the pearls at her throat. “I can’t think of anyone who is hiring off the top of my head. Most of the places in town hire teenage help for the season. Have you checked the local paper?”

  “Not yet.” There were a dozen copies of last week’s paper sitting at home on the coffee table. Norah’s first byline in Maine was in that paper, and she wanted to make sure she had plenty of copies for posterity’s sake. She should have pored over the “Help Wanted” ads while drinking her morning cup of coffee.

  “You could check down at The Catch of the Day, the local restaurant. Gwen might be looking for some extra help. She had a baby a couple months ago, and her business is thriving.”

  “Great.” She turned away from the temptation of the blue outfit. “Thanks for the tip, Claire.”

  “I hope to see you back.”

  “Oh, you’ll see me back. As soon as I have a special occasion to dress up for, I’ll be here.”

  Claire chuckled. “I’ll be open.”

  She walked out onto the sidewalk. The temperature had gone from pleasantly warm to hot. What she needed was something cool to drink before heading over to the docks where the restaurant was located. Bailey’s Ice Cream Parlor and Emporium seemed to be the logical choice, as well as being the closest.

  Five minutes later, she found herself sitting outside at one of the white iron tables under its pink umbrella and drinking a root beer float. Zsa Zsa sat on the chair next to her daintily licking at a scoop of vanilla ice cream in a plastic bowl. As Zsa Zsa was in the shadow of the umbrella and the table, the sea gulls weren’t visible to the dog, and the special treat was keeping her mind off their occasional cry.

  “Joanna?”

  She glanced up and smiled. “Karen, what are you doing in town without the boys?” Her neighbor Karen Harper was seldom seen without her three boys in tow.

  Karen sat down in the empty chair. “They are fishing with their grandfather today while I’m at work.”

  “Taking a break?”

  “More like taking an early lunch. I forgot to pull something out of the freezer for dinner tonight. So I’ll grab a quick lunch, figure out dinner, and take the three loads of laundry off the back line and fold them, all before heading back to the gallery.” Karen glanced at her watch and sighed. “I really need to be going. What brought you into town—just enjoying the day?” Karen reached over and scratched Zsa Zsa behind the ear. The dog never looked up from her frozen treat.

  “Actually, I’m looking for a job.” She toyed with the long-handled plastic spoon in her cup. “I tried Claire’s, but she wasn’t hiring.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.” She tried to sound upbeat. “Claire said she had enough help for the season.”

  “What I meant was, are you really looking for a job, and what kind?”

  “Yes, and I’m open to any suggestions on what kind. I have no experience, but I’m willing to learn.”

  “Full-time, part-time, or seasonal?”

  “Doesn’t matter. Full-time would be great, but beggars can’t be choosers. Do you know of anyone hiring?”

  “The gallery.”

  “Wycliffe Gallery where you work? I’m afraid I don’t know anything about art, Karen.” Oh, she knew what she liked when she saw it, and she could tell a Rembrandt from a Picasso, but that was the extent of her knowledge.

  “Neither did I when I first started working for Ethan. He prefers to handle all the special customers, and he does all the buying. I handle the average tourist and some of the locals. They know what they like when they see it, and I ring up the sale and wrap up the merchandise.”

  “I could do that.” She was confident she could work a register. She hadn’t had a chance to visit the gallery yet, but she was hoping it wasn’t the kind that displayed all that modern art a lot of galleries were fond of. The modern kind of paintings that looked as if five-year-olds had thrown paint at a blank canvas or mixed concrete with bicycle tires and toilet seats and claimed it was the meaning of life.

  “What kind of hours can you work?” Karen asked. “The job would require some evenings till eight and weekends.”

  “That’s no problem. I’m free to work any and all hours necessary.” Norah was big enough to get her own dinner, and if she wasn’t there at night, maybe her daughter would accept an invitation or two from some of the local bachelors.

  “Ethan’s wife is due to have their first baby in August, and he really wants to spend more time helping her out right now and after the baby is born. With the three boys out of school for the summer, I can’t commit to any extra hours. I barely have enough time as it is.” Karen glanced at her watch again and got to her feet. “Listen, Joanna, I have to run. Go down to the gallery and talk to Ethan. He’s there now; make sure you tell him I sent you.” Karen gave a quick wave and then hurried away.

  Joanna sat there staring at the glob of ice cream melting in her float. Working in an art gallery sounded a lot more exciting than asking people if they would like fries with that. The way Karen described t
he job, she wouldn’t need a college degree in art to handle the customers, nor had she mentioned computers. It had taken Norah almost a year to get her comfortable enough to use her computer to e-mail distant family members. The one time she had tried surfing the net, she’d ended up at a porn site. She considered herself lucky that she hadn’t had a heart attack when a certain picture had popped up on the screen.

  Any job that didn’t require computer skills was fine with her.

  Joanna took one last sip of her float and tossed it and Zsa Zsa’s vanilla ice cream into the trash can. She placed the dog back into the tote, touched up her lipstick, and headed for the gallery. It was her first hot lead of the day, and she wasn’t about to waste the opportunity.

  Three minutes later, she studied the exterior of the renovated building that was now Wycliffe Art Gallery. At one point in time, it must have been some sort of marine building. It was sitting right on the docks, and it was large enough to house a boat or two. Recently, someone had added huge windows and had painted the wooden structure a deep crimson red with glossy white trim. An intriguing wooden sculpture of a pelican stood by the front door, along with a couple miniature trees in massive concrete, seashell-encrusted containers. It was the perfect building in which to house an art gallery in a harbor town.

  She peered into the tote, saw that Zsa Zsa was indeed napping after her morning snack, and walked into the light-filled gallery. Thankfully, no unrecognizable sculptures or dayglow-orange paint-splattered canvases greeted her. The sound of a mother trying to hush her child could be heard over the soft classical music that was being piped in through small speakers. The walls were a cool white, and the antique wide-plank flooring gleamed. An occasional area rug was scattered throughout. Wide windows overlooked the harbor, and what appeared to be some original wooden walls were being used as partitions and added wall space to display more paintings. Plank stairs with a rope railing and banisters led to a second floor.