by Roslyn Woods
The rain from the previous day had brought a cold front with it, and Margie buttoned her jacket and tightened the black, angora scarf she was wearing. She locked up the house and headed down the steps of her front porch to get into her Echo. As she drove along the radio promised a cold night with icy roads.
The LBJ Library was on Red River Street, north of Martin Luther King Blvd., and Margie could see a few of her friends walking toward the entrance as she parked her car in the huge parking lot. I’m going to try to enjoy this, she thought, reminding herself that one of the great things about living in a university town was getting to go to lectures like this one even though she was no longer a student. Some of her undergraduate friends had planned on going to this lecture by Maxine Kumin, and Margie had bought two tickets, too—one for Jeremy and one for herself—two months earlier. She had always loved Sylvia Plath.
She got out of the Echo and made her way to the auditorium, hoping to catch her friends in the lobby.
“Hey girl,” said Anna Chavez when she caught up with them. “Glad you could make it. Our writing teacher—Dr. Sorenson—says this speaker is going to be amazing.”
“Dr. Sorenson was my writing teacher a few years ago, too,” said Margie. “I’m looking forward to this. I’ve been reading Sylvia Plath forever, and I’m excited to see Maxine Kumin. She’s gotta be in her eighties.”
“Are you staying after for the reception in the lobby?” Anna asked. Margie had always thought she was an attractive girl with her long dark hair and petite figure.
“I don’t think so. I feel like getting a pretty early night. Shell and I stayed up talking last night. Plus, it’s cold. I heard the drizzle might freeze and give us icy roads later.”
“I’m with you,” said Tilda, Anna’s tall, strawberry blond friend. “Who would want to stay after to talk to the Texas Tribune’s intro person? The old lady isn’t even expected to stay but a few minutes. I didn’t really want to come at all, but Dr. Sorenson told us we had to—”
“Oh, I’d stay if I thought I’d really get a chance to talk to Maxine Kumin! Why are you taking poetry writing if you don’t like poets?” Margie asked. “Besides, it’s an easy way to get credit,” she suggested, searching for the tickets in her purse.
Tilda shrugged. “I thought it’d be easier to write a few poems than a few papers. Turns out, I have to write poems and papers for Dr. Sorenson!”
“Yeah, she’s demanding,” Margie said as she found the tickets. Her younger friends had all bought their tickets early, too. “Hey Anna,” she asked, “do you know anybody who could use this extra pass? It’ll just go to waste. Will your whole writing class be here?”
“Probably,” answered Anna, “but most of us bought our tickets online the day Dr. Sorenson said ‘be there or be square.’ This giant place is actually expected to get pretty full. All the grad students in writing are going to be here, and most of us English undergrads are here, too,” she added, looking back at the line that was forming. “Oh! I see Handsome Carter is in line behind us! He won’t give me the time of day. Just a nod when I say hello.”
“You’re going to have to let that one go,” said Tilda. “He’s not over the death of his wife. That’s what Bobby Hernandez told me.”
“What happened to his wife?” the shorter girl named Ellen asked.
“She was killed in a car crash two years ago. Bobby says he’s not interested in having relationships. Period,” said Tilda.
“Let me see if I can give him your ticket,” Anna said to Margie. “If he hasn’t bought one, and even if he has, this’ll be a good reason to talk to him. Maybe he’ll even notice me.”
“Sure. Here you go,” said Margie, handing her the ticket and turning to face forward as they approached the desk at the entrance to the auditorium. “But hurry. We’re almost to the front of the line.”
Margie wasn’t much interested in Anna’s latest crush, and she didn’t look back as her friend hurried toward the end of the line. In truth, she had only been listening to the discussion of Anna Chavez’s heartthrob with half an ear.
Her friendship with the younger woman had begun a year earlier when they had met in a cake decorating class at a local business, Icing Sugar. As things like that sometimes go, she and Anna had socialized some, and she had become a bit friendly with a few of her acquaintances, but it was Anna who kept up with Margie, kept the friendship from fizzling out. At the moment, Margie was wishing heartily that Shell had been able to attend this event with her tonight. These younger women were far from serious about the lecture they were about to hear, and Margie had no interest in staying after to discuss their responses to it.
In a moment Anna came back with a sly smile on her face. She was just in time to turn in her own ticket, and the group was ushered into the auditorium. They were seated in the middle section about twenty rows back from the front, but the seats weren’t assigned, and Anna and the others were agreeing it was a good spot.
“He’s too old for you anyway, Anna,” Ellen was saying as they sat down. She seemed to have restarted the conversation that had begun earlier. “You’re only twenty-one, and he’s probably thirty-five or six.”
“I don’t care how old he is, he’s hot,” said Anna.
“Who’s hot?” Margie asked, just trying to catch up with the topic they were on.
“Over there,” said Tilda, nodding her head in the direction of the side seats that were quite a bit closer to the stage. “Handsome Carter! The one who got your ticket. He’s just getting a seat by himself in the side section,” she said. “I personally don’t know why Anna bothers trying with him. He doesn’t participate. He hardly talks to people.”
“Hanson?” Margie asked.
“No,” said Tilda with a giggle. “Handsome. That’s what Anna calls him. You remember how Dr. Sorenson calls everyone ‘Ms. Smith’ or ‘Mr. Jones’? Well, all we’ve heard him called is ‘Mr. Carter,’ so Anna gave him a name. We don’t even know his first name.”
“Oh,” said Margie. She could only see the back of the head of the man being discussed, and she noticed his hair was thinning slightly. It was dark, and his broad shoulders rose above the back of the seat a bit, making him appear to be rather tall and strong-looking. Uninterested, Margie turned and looked back at the seats that were filling up behind them. She decided the room could probably seat a thousand people.
And then her heart dropped into her stomach. Jeremy was standing at the entrance she and her friends had just come through, and he was scanning the crowd.
“Oh, no!” she said, turning her face away from the front of the building and sinking lower in her seat.
“What’s wrong?” Anna asked.
“Jeremy is here!” Margie answered in a whisper. She had mentioned her break-up to Anna when the younger woman had called her earlier in the day. “He must have remembered I was coming here tonight. I think he’s looking for me.”
“Well, he’s going to see you shortly. You’re a redhead. Forget hiding that big beautiful hair in a crowd.”
“I’m sorry Anna, but I’m going to have to move. He’s going to see me, and he’s going to come over here to one of these seats that’s still empty. He’ll ruin the evening for you—for all of us.”
“You think he’s going to start harassing you?”
“Yes. He’s likely to make a scene.”
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t know. Someplace where he’ll feel uncomfortable bothering me. I’ll try to call you tomorrow,” she added with a scant wave. She was already up and making her way out of the row. Once in the aisle she was able to stand in front of a group of people who were clustered at the end of a row as they waited to enter the seats several rows behind Anna and her friends. Margie stood just in front of them, hoping to hide from the searching eyes of Jeremy Bird.
There wasn’t much time. She turned and looked frantically around the auditorium. Up ahead and to her right she saw the man Anna and her friends had been speaking of, and she made a beeline fo
r him.
“Excuse me,” she said, arriving beside him a bit breathless from nerves. “Is anyone sitting next to you?”
Handsome looked up at her. For the life of her, she couldn’t remember the real half of his name. His eyes were brown like his hair, only darker, and they were awfully serious. He looked around at the empty seats surrounding his chair. “Are you speaking to me?” he asked, clearly surprised by her question.
“Yes,” she answered, her eyes looking back up the aisle nervously.
He turned and looked up the aisle, too.
“So is anyone sitting beside you?” she asked again.
“No,” he answered with a furrowed brow.
“Would it bother you if I took that seat?” she asked, nodding in the direction of the seat beside his. She glanced again up the aisle behind her, anxiety written all over her.
“No,” he answered again and he stood up to allow her to pass in front of him. She did so and quickly sank down into the seat just next to his before glancing back at a new crowd being seated.
Neither of them spoke for a while. Finally he said, “You’re hiding from someone.” It wasn’t a question, and she didn’t want to explain very much.
“Yes,” she said softly, sinking as low in her seat as she could.
“Is it some kind of game?” he asked, frowning.
“It’s not a game.”
“Are you in some kind of trouble?”
“No, but I don’t want to be harassed. I was a sitting duck next to a bunch of undergrad girls. But I’d still rather not be spotted,” she added.
He glanced back up the aisle, not sure what he was looking for. “Cover your hair with your scarf,” he said quietly. “What’s he look like?”
“Blond,” she answered as she tried to arrange the black scarf over her hair. “About five-ten. Blue jacket.”
He looked around again, then faced forward. “Someone who fits that description is standing at the back.”
“He’s looking for me.”
“Why?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Right,” he answered. “None of my business.”
Suddenly, Margie felt embarrassed. “Look,” she said quietly. “I’m really sorry. I realize I’m using you. It’s just, I’m kind of unnerved by that guy. I thought he’d be less likely to make a scene if—”
“If you’re sitting next to a man,” he interrupted.
“Yes. A man who’s bigger than he is,” she said, thinking for a moment. “I guess I should have gotten a restraining order.”
“I get it. He’s your husband.”
“Boyfriend,” she said. “Ex-boyfriend.”
“You came to a poetry lecture to get away from your ex?” he asked.
“I didn’t expect him to be stalking me,” she said, slightly irritated. “I like Sylvia Plath. So shoot me.”
“I like her, too,” he said seriously.
“Well, I can find another place to sit if I’m going to ruin your evening.”
“You’re not. It’s kind of odd, but I’m able to block you out.”
Well, that wasn’t a very gallant thing to say, she thought, and for some reason she felt rather annoyed. She wasn’t used to being completely ignored by men, and most of them made an effort to be pleasant. Why, he ought to feel flattered that I thought he looked like he’d protect me from my crazy ex-boyfriend. It occurred to her that she ought to tell Handsome that he wasn’t nearly as attractive as the girls in his writing class thought he was, and she was wishing she could remember the other half of his name so she could surprise him with that little revelation. Instead she bit her lip and decided to try to rise above his incivility. She lifted her chin defiantly before she spoke.
“So,” she began, forgetting to keep her face down, “are you one of the grad students in the writing program?”
“No, but I’ve been auditing a writing class with a friend of mine who’s in the program. It’s nice of Dr. Sorenson to let me listen in.”
“Hmm.”
“Are you in the writing program?” he asked.
“No,” she answered. “I just like Sylvia Plath.”
Just then the lights dimmed and someone from the Texas Tribune emerged from behind the curtain on the stage and approached the podium to introduce Maxine Kumin.
“I have the distinct honor,” the woman began, “to introduce one of America’s—” Margie turned her head and looked at the seats behind her. The auditorium had filled in the center section, and many of the seats in front of hers and Handsome’s had filled as well, but Jeremy was nowhere to be seen. She felt herself beginning to relax and sinking back against the seat, glad to be invisible beside the rude man with the big shoulders.
When the old lady finally arrived at the podium, Margie seemed to forget her own circumstances. The lecture began with a funny story, and Margie found herself laughing. In another minute she was lost in the narrative of the old lady, and for the next hour, she was enthralled by the friendship of Sylvia and Maxine and the lines of poetry that were quoted were stirring and inspirational.
When the lecture ended, people were applauding and even standing for the woman who had been the friend of the great poet, and Margie suddenly realized it was time to leave.
“That was great, wasn’t it?” the man beside her asked.
Well look who’s decided to be nice, thought Margie, but she only said, “It was. I was lost in it,” before she started looking around the auditorium to see if Jeremy was still there and if he’d spotted her. “I hope you were able to block me out.”
“Not completely. I noticed you laughed in all the right places. That’s rare. I’ll walk you out,” he said.
“You will?”
“Somebody should. Unless—Are you staying for the reception?”
“No.”
“Do you have a car here or something?”
“Yes. Thank you. Thank you very much,” she said quietly, not wanting to sound overly grateful but feeling relieved that she wouldn’t be alone in the dark parking lot if Jeremy was waiting in the shadows.
She looked up at her companion then, remembering what Anna had said. I don’t care how old he is, he’s hot. It was the first time she had looked at Handsome really directly. She had a sudden, vague sense of memory, a feeling that she had met this man somewhere before. It was a little startling, and she looked away from his face, abruptly conscious of the crowd pressing near them as they headed for the lobby.
Margie kept her eyes peeled for a glimpse of Jeremy, but he was nowhere to be seen, and she was feeling calm again when she and Handsome finally exited the building. It was cold outside, almost freezing, and there was a slight mist falling.
“By the way,” her escort said, “I’m Donald Carter. Have you got a name?”
Margie looked up at him. Yes, his face was certainly handsome with its dark eyes, dimpled chin, and strong jaw. He was dressed in a sort of casual way that managed to look unconsciously stylish and slightly professorial. He wore a cream colored shirt under a brown, corduroy jacket with leather elbow patches. His jeans covered the tops of his cognac cowboy boots. Very Austin. Very relaxed. Not quite warm enough for this weather, and Margie thought briefly that he should have at least worn a scarf.
“I’m Margie. Margie Maxwell,” she answered without smiling.
“And where are you parked, Margie Maxwell?”
“Let’s see, over that way I think,” she said nodding in the direction she remembered parking her car. She was about to step off the sidewalk when there was a sudden roaring sound and a flash of headlights. Donald Carter’s arm went in front of her in one swift move, actually forcing her back a step, just as a yellow Corvette whizzed by the place where they stood, nearly hitting the sidewalk.
There was no disguising the momentary feeling of panic that caused Margie’s sudden intake of breath and involuntary cry, “Oh!”
“Are you all right?” asked Donald Carter, gripping her elbow as she regained her equilibrium.<
br />
“Yes, yes I’m fine, just a bit startled,” she answered, her eyes following the taillights of the car as it retreated in the direction of Red River Street.
“Good thing we hadn’t stepped down onto the pavement,” he said. “That car would have knocked us flat.”
“Thanks,” she said, her breath becoming more regular.
“You didn’t recognize that car did you?” Donald Carter asked, watching her eyes as they followed the moving vehicle as it pulled out of the parking lot.
“Yep. That was my ex. He drives a yellow Corvette. You don’t see them much.”
“He could have killed you!”
“He probably just meant to scare me.”
“Yeah? Well he scared me, too,” he answered heatedly.
They walked hurriedly toward the car, the cold mist urging them forward, but when they reached her parking spot, Margie was both stunned and dismayed. Her windshield had been smashed at regular intervals, as if someone had repeatedly hit it with a sledge hammer, and it was clear there was no way she was going to be able to drive home.
“What an asshole,” the man beside her said.
“Wow,” she answered. “I almost can’t believe he did that.” She stood staring for a moment before she collected herself. “Look,” she said, feeling embarrassed again, “thanks so much for letting me sit with you, and thank you for preventing my death in this parking lot. I appreciate your help. I’m just going to go back into the lobby to call Triple A.”
“And you’ll need a ride home,” Donald said, frowning. “Have you got somebody you can call?”
“Yes. I have a friend I can call. No worries.”
“Okay, but you shouldn’t wait alone. What if that creep decides to come back? He knows you can’t drive your car. He may be planning to—”
“I doubt it. I’m sure I’ll be fine,” Margie said with more confidence than she felt. Then she smiled, “I guess I’m going to go to that reception after all! Listen, thanks again for your help.”
“It was no problem,” he answered as they headed back toward the building.
Margie had the feeling she knew this man from somewhere again, and she felt a strange certainty that he was going to ask her out for a cup of coffee before they parted ways in the lobby, but it didn’t happen.