Mrs. Beltran appeared upset, but Henry comforted her. “That’s okay. I’ll stake you the money.” Henry grabbed a pen nearby and scribbled her name and an amount on the pad. “I’ll keep a note here of how much you owe. You pay me later.”
“Oh, what a dear you are,” Mrs. Beltran said.
“Hey. I know how important hair spray is to women.” He was about to relate his experience as a father of two daughters, but he caught a disapproving look from Mr. Kruchuk who had been watching Henry all this time. He decided it might be best to tell her, “Have a nice day,” and let her go on her way.
Mrs. Beltran smiled, grabbed her items, and left.
Just then, he spotted Dixie and Jason coming out of the dark alleyway across the street. They seemed to be having an argument. Jason was crowding Dixie, menacing, shoving. Henry walked from behind the counter, rushed to the exit door and opened it for Mrs. Beltran. She thanked him again and left. He kept the door open and was ready to bolt across the street if he had to.
“You better pay me by Monday,” Henry heard Jason yell.
Jason swung Dixie around, and it appeared that he might strike her. Instead, he grabbed her CD player and removed the CD that was in the ‘play’ chamber.
“Don’t,” Dixie shouted. “That’s my favorite CD.”
Jason took the CD and broke it into two pieces and tossed it at Dixie. “That’s what’s going to happen to your leg if you don’t get me my money,” Jason scowled.
Jason walked away and Dixie picked up the broken disc and walked away, sobbing. She casually dropped the broken pieces in a nearby wastebasket and sauntered along in slow, stiff strides. Lifeless.
“Henry,” Asa yelled from inside the store.
Henry came back inside. Customers were waiting at the register.
* * *
DIXIE STOOD outside the pawnshop wiping her tears. She inspected some of the items through the window. After a moment of reflection, she dried her face with the palm of her hand and went inside the store. She walked into a gust of cigar smoke and saw the owner puffing on a large stogie; a milky haze surrounded his head.
He looked up from the newspaper and puffed out a short blast of smoke. “I don’t want you in here unless you intend to do business.”
“What? You think I’m going to steal something?” Dixie shot back with a little attitude. “You got everything locked up behind a glass counter. It’s like Fort Knox in here.”
“Thieves have ways,” the owner said.
Dixie bent over and inspected a 1913 twenty-five-cent piece. “How much does this go for?” she asked.
“Fifteen dollars.”
“Really. What if I had the whole set? You know, in that folder thing.” She spotted a folder with pennies and pointed to it.
“If it were in mint condition … more money than you ever made in a year.”
“I know someone who has a whole collection only he’s missing this one coin.”
“Really. Tell him to come in. I’ll make him a deal.”
“How much did you say this was again?”
“Twenty-five dollars.”
“I thought you said fifteen?”
“It just went up. Inflation.”
Dixie just stood there and stared at the quarter.
* * *
MRS. CURTIS put several items on the counter for Henry to check out. While Henry began scanning the items, she leaned in and whispered, “Mrs. Beltran says you might consider putting some of this on a tab.”
“I’ve seen you around,” Henry said. “You live on Pelham South. In The Projects, right?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
Henry knew all too well about the projects, the development on the south side of Main from Fleck through Sabastine Street. Pelham Street fell somewhere in-between.
Years ago, the title ‘The Projects’ was a global name used by the mayor during a campaign speech in describing his grand plan to improve the living conditions of the citizens on the south side of Main Street. The mayor only intended the name to be used in association with this construction project but, over time, ‘The Projects’ settled into the town’s vernacular to describe a six-block area where there were more addicts and drug dealers per capita than any other area between Coalsville and Philadelphia.
In The Projects it was a luxury to have cable and cell phones, a measurement of affluence among the residents there. Most parents struggled to keep their children off the streets. They worked hard pinning their hopes on the school system and praying in front of their TV sets every Wednesday and Saturday at 7 PM when the PA Lottery hosted the Pick-6 drawings on Channel Five.
This was where Dixie’s mother lived, as did Mrs. Curtis who was currently whispering to Henry, “I need baby formula, and I don’t have enough money. I was told you might be able to help me.”
Henry noticed the items Mrs. Curtis had on the counter. Some were not as important as the baby formula. “Do you really need pipe tobacco, Mrs. Curtis?” Henry asked.
“Oh, Henry. You don’t know James. If he doesn’t have his pipe tobacco, he’s one swift pain in the ass. He gets very violent sometimes, too.”
“Well, I don’t know, Mrs. Curtis.” Henry looked around. He didn’t see Mr. Kruchuk anywhere, and Asa was nowhere in sight either. He looked up at the overhead camera and struggled with his owns thoughts of what to do.
“I can’t do it, Mrs. Curtis,” he finally said. “You have to give a little here. You give a little; I’ll give a little. What’s more important? Pipe tobacco or formula for your baby?”
“Well, I … er…. I do see your point.” She pushed the pipe tobacco to the side.
“Good choice,” Henry said. He finished checking the items and the total came to fifteen dollars and thirteen cents. Mrs. Curtis searched her wallet and scrambled through her pocket book but could only cover ten dollars.
Henry scribbled the items and the amount she owed on the note pad, and told her not to worry, that he’d cover the rest of the bill for her if she couldn’t come up with the money. After all, the baby formula was very important, he told her, and she needed to focus on the health of her child. What was five dollars compared to that?
Mrs. Curtis thanked Henry profusely and gave him the ten dollars. He took the money and put it into the register.
Just as Mrs. Curtis left, Asa came out from the back room and walked over to the exit door and locked it. He looked dejected as he ambled over to Henry. Kruchuk had already positioned himself next to the register crowding Henry a bit.
“Henry,” Asa began. “I saw you on the monitor. You rang up items for Mrs. Curtis and she didn’t pay for some of them.”
Henry looked at Mr. Kruchuk who had his hands on his hips, as if a major crime had just been committed and he was trying to block all avenues of escape.
“Yeah, I know, Asa,” Henry said as he reached for the pad. “I’ve been keeping track of what I’ve been doing. Some of the customers will come back to pay. And some don’t have enough money to pay. So, here.” Henry handed Asa the list.
Asa scanned the list of items. Each item had a price and a name of a person next to it.
“I was going to tell you about Mrs. Curtis, and I wanted you to take the money she owed from my pay next week. Or you could wait for them to pay. Or I could pay for it right now.”
Henry started to reach in his pocket, but Mr. Kruchuk shouted in Henry’s ear. “That’s it,” he said. “You’re outta here.”
“Hold on, Kruchuk. I’m handling this.” Asa said.
“Well, do what you said you were going to do then,” Mr. Kruchuk shot back.
Asa looked at Henry and frowned deeply. “Henry,” he said. “I can’t keep you here any longer. I cannot run a business, not successfully at least, if you give items away. I have to make a profit. I have bills. Mr. Kruchuk here has a family. Two children. You may not understand this fully, but I can’t be giving things away or else, eventually, I won’t have a business anymore.”
Henry took off
his apron, slowly folded it and placed it down on the counter. “You have a very successful business here, Asa.” Henry put his jacket on. He was going to offer a rebuttal and explain to Asa that he could afford to be a little generous, but Henry also saw Asa’s point of view. “I understand,” he said, opting for the short answer. Henry then walked around the register and towards the exit door.
“I know it’s only a few days until Christmas, Henry, and I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, Asa. I understand.”
“If you understand, then why did you do it, Henry?”
Henry thought for a few seconds and was slow to give an answer. “Because it was the right thing to do, Asa.”
They both remained silent for a moment and then Henry added, “I guess I should’ve told you what I was doing or asked for your approval first.” Henry then left.
* * *
ASA WAS STUNG by Henry’s comment that it was the right thing to do. He questioned himself about the correctness of what he just did. Maybe Henry should not have to pay such a heavy price for ‘doing the right thing’.
Asa went to work on filling out prescriptions, but his mind was not on it at all. He couldn’t reconcile the conflicts between Henry’s simpleton view of business and his own. The words ‘it was the right thing to do’ rang in his mind and wouldn’t go away. Of course, thoughts of Robin were not far away either. He cringed at the thought of having to tell her why he had to fire her father. “You should have told me,” rang in his ears as he remembered his last encounter with her.
Chapter 14
Henry walked across the street and joined other window-shoppers, became one of the consumers he had been viewing from the north side of the street for so long. Christmas was approaching fast and he wasn’t going to allow what just happened with Asa destroy his spirit.
Before long, he saw a beautiful dress in a window that he thought would look stunning on Sharon. Henry felt a sense of pride in his ability to shop for women’s clothes. Mary allowed him to pick her clothes because he had such a keen eye for women’s fashion. Henry put no effort into this talent because he simply looked in the window, or walked back and forth in the women’s clothing department, up and down the aisles, and if something caught his eye - if he got this special feeling - then he knew Mary would like it.
Henry called the special feeling the ‘twang factor’. If he felt a little ping or twang in his gut, he knew he had found something special. No one in the Wolff family understood this phenomenon. Henry certainly didn’t understand it, but it didn’t matter. He would just tag along with Mary while she shopped and if he felt the twang he would point like a Golden Retriever. Mary would usually love it and try it on. Most of the time she bought it.
Sometimes Mary let Henry shop for her without her being present. In fact, during the last several years of Mary’s life, she would not go shopping for clothes herself, but would rely solely on the ‘twang factor’ to stay fashionable. However, she wouldn’t let Henry do that for the children. Their fashion tastes when they were younger were on a different dimension cultivated by teenage fads or heavily influenced by tweenie media. Henry never was successful in picking out clothes for his daughters when they were younger. Nevertheless, for a man, he had an unusual knowledge of women’s clothes and, as his daughters grew up to be adults, they were more likely to wear Twang Factor clothes.
Henry used his gift while he window-shopped. He spotted a beautiful pair of pants in the front window of an exclusive woman’s store. He read the advertisement on the wall behind the mannequin which stated: Materials: Warm brown-hued wool with very fine forest-green and brick-red woven-in coloring.
He walked in to get a better view. A saleswoman spotted Henry while he was inspecting the pants.
“You have good taste,” she said, like it was part of a sales pitch. “If she needs a great pair of pants that go with everything, this is it. A fabulous pair of classic pants …”
“Wait,” Henry interrupted. “This pair doesn’t give me a gurgle.”
The lady leaned back, apparently confused. “Oh,” she said politely. “You’re the guy …”
“You’re new here,” Henry asked?
“Yes and I heard about you. Take your time. I’m here if you want me.”
Henry saw another pair of pants that gave him a little grumble inside. He pulled them off the rack and showed them to her.
“Oh, yes. Another excellent choice. A great fabric with vintage details. Look at this, side-seam pockets. Belt loops with a front zip. Very versatile!”
“Yes, I see,” Henry said. He took the pants from her and maneuvered them while he talked. “I really like the flat front. A stitched front pleat to the hem. Look at here; the two-inch pant cuffs are notched in the front, made to lay flat. Hook-and-eye closure. Very nice. Button closure on single back pocket. And look! They’re lined; pants with lining hang better.” Henry read the label. “Dry clean, imported. I like it.”
Henry chuckled to himself as the sales woman’s eyes bugged out of her head. She apparently never heard a man from the street describe a piece of woman’s clothing before with such accuracy. Henry felt proud.
“Well, you do know women’s clothes, mister. Are you in the textile industry?”
“No.”
“Is this for your wife?”
“Daughter.”
“What size is she?”
“Forty-two regular.”
Henry had no idea what size she was, but the woman laughed.
“Okay. Really. What size?”
Henry just shook his head and pointed to a woman in the store. “About that size, maybe a size smaller than her.”
The saleswoman took a size eight off the rack and told him that his daughter could come in and exchange the item if the pants didn’t fit.
* * *
In the matter of an hour, Henry had spent most of his money. He thought about what other shopping he needed to do and wondered where he was going to find the money to do it.
He glanced across the street and was startled to see Sharon talking to Mr. Kruchuk who was in the process of closing the pharmacy. Henry ducked into the archway of the store and watched for a few seconds. He imagined Kruchuk happily giving her the worst possible news. A cold chill ran through him as he watched them engrossed in conversation.
Henry bolted out of the archway, walked in the opposite direction and took the long way home. While walking his mind raced through thoughts of what the upcoming week would be like. He envisioned Sharon pointing her finger at him in court yelling to the judge, ‘You see. My father can’t even hold down a job. Irresponsible! I told you all he was emotionally unavailable.’ He stopped short. “Stop thinking these things?” he told himself out loud. He thought about being emotionally unavailable for his kids during their younger years. How that must have affected his girls, he thought? Had to get through the holidays, and then make a New Year resolution to be emotionally available to his children. He would do this. He would not let the failure at the pharmacy get him down.
I’ll think about this more later, he promised himself as he entered his house. Right at this moment he needed to find money to continue shopping. He checked the usual spots, scouting around the house for some loose change. There was ten dollars in the top drawer of the china cabinet. He found five dollars in his sock drawer. Certainly, there had to be some money in the laundry hamper. Two dollars there.
After searching the house top to bottom, he found enough to continue with his Christmas shopping. He walked to the front door to go back to town when he heard Hootie cry out. Henry walked into the kitchen and noticed his neglected cat stoically sitting by his bowl crying out for food. There was no squirming on the floor today and making a fuss over Henry weaving in and out of his legs. Today Hootie was like a Victorian school master patiently waiting for the right thing to be done.
Henry snapped open a can of cat food and his feline friend just sat there with his head turned in the opposite direction, ignoring Henry altogethe
r - a punishment for Henry neglecting him. Henry knew when Hootie got this way there was no communicating with him.
“Don’t give me a hard time, Hootie” Henry barked. “I’m not having a particularly good day either.” Henry fed him and left.
* * *
HENRY MINGLED with the holiday crowd on Main Street. It was early Saturday evening, the weekend before Christmas. People rushed from one store to another and Henry became one of the last minute shoppers looking for bargains.
When he left the music store he spotted Robin driving very slowly down Main Street. The town seemed infested with bodies, like the Mardi Gras Festival almost, and she nearly hit someone who bolted in front of her at a light. While she was stopped at a red light, Henry walked up to the passenger side, opened the door and got in.
“Hello, Sweetie,” he said. “Where did all these people come from?”
“Dad! I’ve been looking all over for you. Asa called me and told me what happened, and I’ve been trying to get you on the phone.” Robin pulled over to the side and parked.
“Well, I’ve finished my Christmas shopping all in one day,” and he held up a bag stuffed with presents. “Am I good, or what?”
“That’s good, Dad.”
Henry looked out the car window and saw Dixie walking crisply, soberly, carrying a couple of presents in her hands. A few stores down, he spotted Sharon walking towards Dixie - on a collision course if they continued walking on the same paths. Sharon leaned into the shop’s window alternately looking at the display and in Dixie’s direction as she approached. Sharon jumped to the next store like a chess piece being maneuvered for strategic reasons. Dixie was still walking towards Sharon in quick, measured strides. In a matter of seconds, they would collide.
“Daaad!” Robin shouted. “Please pay attention to me.”
Henry focused on Robin and said, “Well, I guess I’ll need to start looking for another job.”
Robin sighed. “What am I going to do with you?”
Henry looked through the car window and witnessed Sharon’s great surprise at bumping into Dixie.
South of Main Street Page 23