Hot Summer

by Judy Powell

  Summer stepped back involuntarily and stared up at the man, totally ignoring his outstretched hand. While he had been seated she hadn’t noticed just how tall he was. Now, as he towered over her five feet four inch frame, she could see that he was well over six feet tall.

  Suddenly realizing that he was still holding his hand out to her she took it and immediately felt his latent power as he enveloped her hand in a firm grip. As he shook her hand he gave her a delicious, dimpled smile. “I’m pleased to meet you, Summer Jones.”

  She did not return the greeting but simply dropped her gaze to his chest and pulled her hand none too gently from his grip. “Aah…are you ready to place your order now?”

  “Summer, Summer,” he chided playfully, “so businesslike. You’re the type who never gets distracted from her work, right?” He sat down again and looked up at her.

  “I do my job.” Her curt response was given with the intention of shutting him up. She was good at that. Many men had suffered from her sharp tongue and she was prepared to use it on this one, no matter how smooth and charming he thought he was. He was an arrogant one to think that he had succeeded in getting on her good side. It hadn’t worked. She still remembered how embarrassed she’d been as he’d grinned at her that night. She would never let this man have the advantage over her again.

  “Now,” she said, staring at him firmly, “are you ready to order, sir?”

  “Fine,” he smiled, “I can see you’re not ready to be friends. I’ll place my order now.”

  “Yes?” Her pen was poised over her order pad.

  “For starters, bring me some of your natural fruit punch, but tell them to go easy on the bananas. I love my juice pulpy and rich, but not too thick.”

  “Yes?” She did not take her eyes from the paper as she wrote.

  “I’ll have your Pepper Pot Soup, baked chicken and collard greens with cornmeal dumplings. That’s it, thanks.”

  “Will anyone else be joining you?” She stared pointedly at the empty chairs around the table for four.

  “No, I’m alone.”

  “I see,” she said, and wondered why her heart suddenly skipped a beat. Her strange reaction perturbed her and she frowned.

  “Is something wrong?” He looked up at her curiously.

  “No,” she replied quickly, “nothing’s wrong. I’ll be back with some bread rolls in just a second.”

  She whirled quickly, almost bumping into a server whose tray was laden with drinks. Her breath caught in her throat but the man skillfully swerved to avoid her and, without pause, continued on his way. She breathed a sigh of relief that Lance hadn’t had the pleasure of seeing her in yet another embarrassing situation.

  When Summer returned with the soup he was peering at sheets of paper under the dim lights of the lamp overhead. As soon as he saw her he pushed the papers aside and leaned back in his chair, waiting on her to serve him. He looked so smug that she almost felt like a maiden in a harem serving her master his meal. She set the bowl down more sharply than she had intended and a little of it splashed over into the plate beneath it.

  “Careful,” he said, and shifted it slightly so that she could rest the bread rolls beside it. As she pulled her hand away he picked up his spoon and took a sip of the soup.

  “Yeah, man, this is just how I like it.” He closed his eyes, savoring the spicy broth.

  Summer was about to leave but, on hearing his comment, paused and watched as he took a second sip. He was obviously enjoying the food immensely. She had intended to be cold and businesslike with this man but her curiosity got the better of her.

  “Excuse me,” she said , conscious that he was so focused on his soup that he hadn’t noticed that she still stood there.

  “Hmm?” He looked up then set the spoon down and dabbed at his mouth with a napkin.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, but…are you from one of the islands?”

  “Islands?”

  “I mean, the Caribbean. From the first time I heard you speak I noticed that you had an accent and then when you said ‘yeah, man’ just now it made me think of how those Caribbean people talk.”

  “Those Caribbean people?” He raised one eyebrow, smiling.

  “You know what I mean,” she said, exasperated. She knew he was making fun of her description. “People from islands like Jamaica, Barbados, Antigua?”

  “Well, don’t we know our geography,” he said with a chuckle and Summer didn’t know if she should get angry or give in and laugh with him.

  “For your information, I know those islands. I’ve been on a cruise.”

  “You’ve been on a cruise and that makes you an expert on the Caribbean, right?” He was grinning openly now.

  “I didn’t say that. I’m just trying to tell you that I’m familiar with how the people there talk. And anyway, my grandfather was an English teacher in Barbados so I have connections…well, sort of.” Summer smiled as she recalled her beloved Grand-Dad. “He always used to speak ‘the Queen’s English’, as he called it, and was always correcting my grammar. Now I can’t even use slang without feeling guilty.” She tilted her head and looked down at the man before her. “Now, are you going to tell me, or aren’t you?”

  “Tell you what?”

  “If you’re from one of the islands!”

  “Okay, okay.” He laughed. “Don’t hit me over the head with your tray. You have a short fuse, you know that?”

  She didn’t answer, but put a hand on her hip and waited.

  “Alright, since you’re so curious, I’m a naturalized American and have been since I was thirteen years old. I’ve spent the last twenty years of my life living in Chicago’s south side. South Holland, to be exact. However, as you guessed, I’m originally from the Caribbean.”

  “I knew it.” She grinned, exultant. “Which island?”

  “Jamaica.”

  “I could have guessed. It seems like everybody in Jamaica says ‘yeah, mon’.”

  “I guess it would seem that way to tourists but Jamaicans don’t even notice it. But anyway,” he leaned forward again, obviously forgetting the soup which he had relished a little while before, “now it’s my turn.”

  “Your turn?”

  “Yes. You know my name, where I grew up, my origin. Now it’s my turn to learn a bit about you.”

  “Well, there’s not that much to tell,” she shrugged.

  “Regardless, tell me about Summer Jones.”

  She had to think quickly. She didn’t want to divulge too much of her personal life. “I’m a final year graduate student at Chicago University, just trying to hang in there till I can complete my Master’s thesis, graduate and start on my career path.”

  “And what path is that?”

  “For my Bachelor’s Degree I did a double major in English and Journalism but right now I’m doing my Master’s in Communication. I love anything to do with talking or communicating with people. I would love a job with a PR firm.”

  “Sounds like you made the right choice. You certainly have the talking part down pat.”

  Summer recognized the jibe but decided to ignore it. She realized that the man who sat before her was very perceptive and was reading her like a book. He already knew how to touch the buttons that would get her heated up and she couldn’t afford to let him have such control over her. No, she would stay calm and manipulate him instead.

  “It’s not only that I love communication in whatever form - verbal or written - but I also love interacting with people. That’s why I decided to study communication. It gives me a chance to broaden my scope and my understanding of different cultures.”

  “I see.” His look was enigmatic as he asked, “Now tell me - what does waitressing have to do with communication or even journalism? Could it be that you’re secretly observing people interacting in a restaurant setting? Sounds like a probable subject for a thesis.”

  “No, I’m not observing people for my thesis. I’m simply trying to survive while I complete my studies. And what
’s wrong with being a server, anyway?”

  “Hey, calm down. Don’t get so sensitive.” He put his hands up as if to defend himself from her ire. “I never said there was anything wrong with it. I simply asked your real purpose here because, if I were a Communications Major, I would’ve looked for a job that could enhance my knowledge of the subject in some way, say, working with a newspaper or a PR company or even with a non-profit organization.”

  “Yeah, but do you think it’s so easy to get part-time jobs in those organizations? I’ve been all over Chicago trying to get myself a job like that. And where did I end up? Right here in this restaurant. Nobody wants to hire someone without experience, not even for a part-time position. I tried but it didn’t work. If you think it’s so easy to get those choice jobs put yourself in my shoes and you go walking the streets with my lack of experience and see where that gets you.”

  “Damn,” he whispered, “you are one hot chili pepper, d’you know that? It doesn’t take much to tick you off.”

  “I’m sorry,” she muttered quickly, realizing she had fallen into the very trap she had been trying so hard to avoid. “I was rude and I’m sorry.”

  “That’s okay. You have the right to speak your mind. But it seems to me that you’re very sensitive about your job without even realizing it. Do you enjoy working here?”

  “Yes, of course,” she answered quickly, caught off guard by his question.

  Then she said more calmly, “Well, actually, I’m not enjoying it too much because it doesn’t challenge me. The only good thing about it is that I get to meet lots of people although I don’t get a chance to talk to them much.” She paused, feeling slightly embarrassed. “Except for now, of course.” Then she added quickly, “Because it’s slow today.”

  “Well, Miss Summer, let me just say one thing. I think your talents are being wasted here. It would be one thing if you were here for a purpose, such as conducting research for your thesis, but I think it can only do you good to be working in an environment that can provide you with experience in your area of interest. It may help you submit a great thesis. Do you know what I mean?”

  “Yes, I do, but where am I going to find a job like that?” she asked, exasperated. “It’s not that I haven’t been looking. But in the meanwhile I have bills to pay.”

  “Here,” Lance dug into his pocket and pulled out a thick, leather wallet. He pulled a black and gold card from it and handed it to her. “Take my card. I have a project coming up and a Communications Major would be ideal for the job.”

  “Take it,” he prodded as she hesitated. “It’s not going to bite you.”

  She took the card and, without looking at it, folded it into her palm.

  “You have my number,” he said, “so if you’re interested we’ll do an interview and you can get the details on the project while I get more information about you and whether you suit my needs.”

  “I don’t think this would be right for me,” she began, but he cut her off.

  “You’re not being forced to do anything you don’t want to. Just keep the card. You may get tired of all this,” he waved his hand at the people in the restaurant, “and want to try something new.”

  When Summer just stood there, her tray in one hand and the card in the other, he looked down at his soup then back at her. “I don’t mean to be rude but I think I’d better get back to my soup now.”

  He dipped his head and slurped a spoonful of the soup that she was sure had grown cold. Serves him right, she thought ungraciously as she flounced away, still gripping the card tightly in her hand.

  3

  “What do you mean, thirty days? I can’t find a place in thirty days!” Summer’s voice was sharp with frustration.

  “ ‘Course you can.” The landlord’s face was impassive. “There are lots of places in Chicago and if you don’t want to stay in the city there’s always the suburbs.”

  “Yes, but those rates are going to be way more than I can afford. I won’t be able to find another studio apartment like this, Mr. Williams. That’s why I jumped at this one when you offered.” Summer closed her eyes to ease the tension. She couldn’t deal with a headache just now.

  “You know you got a really special price because of my sister-in-law.” The plump man shrugged. “She insisted that I give you a discount on the rent because you’d helped her out so much that time when she was sick. That wasn’t the real price on this apartment.”

  “I know that, and I appreciate it. But can’t you see your way just to extend my lease?” She knew she sounded desperate but she didn’t care. “I’ll be graduating in just a few months and then I’ll be able to get a good job and pay you more.”

  “No, no.” He shook his head insistently and his jowls trembled with each shake. “This has nothing to do with you or the money. I gave you a good price, didn’t I? I’m a fair man. I keep my word. But I told you, my daughter is coming back to Chicago and needs the place.”

  “But…so soon?”

  “Yes. She just graduated last week and decided she wants to start job hunting right away. I can only give you thirty days past the lease and even that’s pushing it. She and her stepmother don’t get along at all.” He rubbed his brow and muttered, “My life is going to be a living hell as long as those two are under the same roof.”

  “But, Mr. Williams…”

  “No, don’t say anything else.” He put his hands up to stop her and the eyes behind the thick glasses were resolute. “It’s done, so just start looking for somewhere else. I’ll give you a great recommendation but I just need you outta here by the second week of August.”

  After James Williams left Summer went and sat down heavily on her bed. She looked around the small studio apartment which had been her home for almost two years. The place was small but comfortable. Outside of her bed and chest of drawers the only other pieces of furniture in the room were a small oak table on which a computer sat, a four-shelf book case and a small sofa. An eating counter with two bar stools separated the bedroom from the tiny kitchen. An abstract painting adorned the wall above the television set and a standing lamp illuminated the corner by the window. The apartment was neat except for the papers which were strewn all over the kitchen counter. A heavy dictionary sat on top of the pile of papers.

  Well, so much for working on her thesis this evening. After her conversation with Mr. Williams she would never be able to concentrate on schoolwork. She might as well just pack up her papers for the night.

  With a sigh she rose slowly, went to the counter and gathered the papers into one stack. After placing the dictionary on top of them she went over to the closet and pulled out a pair of khaki Capri pants and a white cotton shirt. She pulled white strap sandals from a cardboard box and grabbed a white baseball cap. She felt she couldn’t stay inside the apartment one more minute. She dressed quickly, grabbed her purse, and headed for the elevator.

  The soft breeze from the lake was just what Summer needed to clear her aching head. She sat on a low wall and watched people jogging, rollerblading and cycling by. Others walked along the path, some of them briskly for the exercise, while others simply strolled, enjoying the warm summer evening.

  She enjoyed watching the couples, young and old as they walked hand in hand, sometimes pausing for an embrace or a kiss. As a child she would often wish that her own parents had shared such a loving relationship but all she had ever seen them do was fight. No matter how hard she tried she could not recall any occasion on which she had seen them embrace or even exchange loving words.

  Eventually Summer had grown to accept the relationship that her parents had - one in which her father clearly dominated his wife who, despite his abuse of her, loved him immensely. Pleading with her mother to reject the tyrant was useless. She felt it was her duty to stay by his side.

  Summer, on the other hand, had grown farther and farther away from the parent she had adored as a young child. She felt that her father had betrayed her and had trampled the love she’d had for him. Sh
e felt she could never trust another man with her love and resigned herself to the fact that she may never be one of those couples walking hand in hand along the shore of the lake. Beautiful to see, she thought, but definitely not for me.

  She turned her back on the people along the shore and stared instead at the wide blue lake. She didn’t know what mysteries lay in the depths but its surface was placid and beautiful. Sometimes the lake reminded her of herself. None of her college mates, none of the few people she considered friends, had ever guessed the turmoil that lay beneath her composed demeanor. She’d always stayed in control of her emotions except when her fiery temper had gotten the better of her. She was grateful for the way she was - practical, unemotional, and tough.

  By the time she got back to her apartment building it was almost eight o’clock. The days were long in the summertime and darkness was just beginning to fall. She was heading for the elevator when she remembered that she hadn’t checked her mail for the past three days. She went back around the corner to the mail room and retrieved a handful of envelopes and papers. She guessed it was all junk mail, as usual.

  When she got to the apartment she threw herself down on the sofa and went through the stack. As she flipped through she tossed them one by one in a pile on the floor: life insurance solicitation - junk, credit card solicitation - junk, membership to local gym - junk, sale flyer from Furniture Land - junk.

  But the next one was not junk. It was from Chicago University. Strange. She’d received all her registration materials already and was not expecting anything else. She quickly opened the envelope and read, ‘Dear Ms. Jones: We regret to advise that you will not be allowed to submit a graduate thesis to the board until you have cleared the outstanding balance of five thousand two hundred and fifty dollars in tuition fees.’

  Summer’s heart jerked. Her mouth fell open in disbelief. Thinking that she must have misread she went over the sentence again, slowly. No, she’d read it right the first time. But this had to be a mistake. How could she have an outstanding balance on her tuition? All that should have been covered by her scholarship and federal grant.