Breaking the Ties That Bind

by Gwynne Forster

  Sam had a feeling of satisfaction. An hour of his time in exchange for a comfortable trip home didn’t require a second thought. “Sure. Do you live near Rooter’s?”

  A sheepish expression settled on James Enders’s face. “Six or so blocks. I confess to being addicted to those little hors d’oeuvres they serve during happy hour.”

  Sam laughed. “You could be addicted to worse.”

  “Yeah. That’s what I tell myself. Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it—my observations of the effects of alcoholism as a child were sufficient to ensure my devotion to sobriety. One drink of anything is as much as I’m comfortable with.”

  “You’re a wise man. You may be genetically predisposed to alcoholism. These are things we can’t predict, though it seems to me that if you were, you’d know it by now.”

  It was Sam’s first ride in a jeep, and to his way of thinking, it wasn’t bad. They walked into Rooter’s, where four or five men, two women, a bartender, and a uniformed messenger conversed as a group. Jim ordered gin and tonic in order to get a tray of free hors d’oeuvres and, since he wasn’t driving, Sam ordered a vodka comet.

  “I’ve passed here plenty of times,” Sam said to Jim, “but never been in this place before. It’s rather pleasant.”

  “That’s because the snow has kept most of the regulars at home. It can be very noisy.” Sam glanced at the mirror behind the bar and frowned. A woman was gazing at him as if she wanted to get to know him. She was decent-looking, but near the age his mother would have been if she were still alive. She smiled at him, and a strange sensation shot through him. When the woman smiled, she reminded him of Kendra. He motioned for the bartender.

  “What’s the name of the woman who’s wearing the gray tweed coat?” he asked the bartender.

  No one had to tell him that he’d asked that man the wrong question. “What’s it to you, buddy? No pick-ups allowed in here. If that’s what you’re looking for, you can leave right now.”

  “No offense meant,” he said. “She looks so much like my girlfriend that I’m curious about her.”

  “Looks like your girlfriend, huh?”

  Sam looked the man in the eye. “Yeah. She does. They could be mother and daughter.”

  He could see that he’d piqued the man’s interest. “Her name’s Hunter, Ginny Hunter, but if you try to pick her up, buddy, you’re gonna be in big trouble.” Sam’s lower jaw dropped. The woman looked at him, lowered her lashes and winked.

  “What’s your problem?” the bartender asked.

  “That’s my girlfriend’s mother. That’s her name.”

  The bartender narrowed his eyes. “I gave you information, so you give me some. How old is your girlfriend?”

  Aware now as to the reason for the bartender’s interest and behavior, Sam looked him in the eye. “She’s thirty-two years old. I hope I haven’t created any problems for anybody.”

  The bartender brought him another drink. “No, you haven’t, but you’ve answered some questions. The drinks for you and your friend are on me.”

  Sam stirred the drink, looked at Jim, and said, “Were you following my conversation with that guy?”

  “Only snatches of it. As soon as we sat down, I figured he had something going with that woman who’s wearing the gray coat. He looked at her as if . . . as if she dances to his tune, but she’s looking for an opportunity to meet you.”

  “In that case, I just screwed things up for her.”

  “That, too. I’m waiting to see what his reaction is.”

  Sam didn’t look at the woman, but gazed at her reflection in the mirror as the bartender spoke to her in what appeared to be a less than friendly manner.

  “That’s a lie.”

  “No, it isn’t,” the bartender said. “You’re over fifty, if you’re a day, and you’ve got a daughter who’s only four years younger than I am. You’re almost old enough to be my mother, and you were lying when you said you were forty. I knew I’d catch you. And another thing. That lie you told me about being independently wealthy. I’d like to know how you manage your lifestyle.”

  She jumped up from the bar stool and glared at him. “No two-bit gigolo of a bartender is going to look down his nose at me.” As if she didn’t need to make another point at the man’s expense, she shoved the drink toward him. “Here. Dump it out. It didn’t cost you a penny. Old man Dunner puts you in the shade.”

  “If saying that makes you feel good, fine with me,” the bartender said, “but if you’re smart, you’ll shut up. I’ve had it up to here with you.” He sliced the air above his head.

  She tightened her coat, headed toward the door, and stopped when she reached Sam.

  “You don’t believe what that ridiculous man was saying, do you? Why don’t you and your friend come by my place for a drink? It’s not far, and it’s very warm there.”

  Sam stared at Ginny Hunter, feeling his lips curl into a snarl. “You’re not my type.” He turned his back to her as raw pain seared his insides. What kind of life had Kendra suffered during the years that she lived with her mother?

  “I’m sorry, man,” James said. “I wish I’d suggested some other place.”

  “Actually, you’ve done me a favor. I can’t imagine how I would have gotten home if you weren’t taking me there in your jeep.”

  “I’m glad you feel that way,” James said. “Anyway the problem concerns a student who’s got two-year-old twins. She’s an A student, left her husband because he’s nonsupportive, abusive, and cheats. I suspect she doesn’t even get enough to eat and that she gives what she has to her children. But her concern doesn’t seem to be with her health, only with getting her degree.”

  Sam put the glass down, dragged his attention from Kendra’s mother, and frowned. “You mean Melody Jenkins? Yeah. I’ve been concerned about her, and I’ve been wondering if I should ask the Dean of Women to check whether she’s getting adequate food and health care.”

  “That’s an idea. The university has money for helping needy students.”

  “Yeah, but they have to ask for it. I’ll speak with the dean tomorrow. You do the same.” He drained his glass. “It’s getting dark.”

  “So it is. I don’t suppose they give doggie bags full of these goodies,” James said.

  Sam couldn’t help grinning. “Next time, bring a big plastic Ziplock bag.”

  “Right,” James said. “Wonder why I never thought of that.”

  The bartender walked over to Sam. “I’m called Asa. You helped me out of a hole I’ve been telling myself I had to get out of. It made no sense, and I was taking advantage of her. I hope your girlfriend is not a chip off the old block.”

  “No, she isn’t, and as you may imagine, her life has not been an easy one.”

  “I wish you luck, man,” Asa said.

  “Thanks. I suspect I’ll need it.”

  As James drove the jeep through snow and ice, the two men hardly spoke. Sam had locked his mind on Ginny Hunter and her brazen invitation to bring his friend to her home for a threesome sexual romp with her, a complete stranger. He had refused to give her the satisfaction of knowing that she had propositioned her daughter’s boyfriend. And he did not doubt that she would have rejoiced in having done it, that she would delight in any pain she could inflict on Kendra.

  He thanked James for getting him home in comfort. “Don’t forget to contact Dean Watkins tomorrow.”

  “I’ll get it done before noon. Thanks for your support in this.”

  “I’m glad you brought it to my attention. The woman needs help, and it’s our duty to see that she gets it. You can’t let a straight-A student fall through the cracks. See you tomorrow.”

  He wanted to talk with Kendra; indeed, he had a driving, gnawing need to protect her, but something was eating at him that he suspected wouldn’t let him have a normal conversation with her. He wished he hadn’t gone to Rooter’s Bar and Grill and that he hadn’t encountered Ginny Hunter. His estimation of her had not be
en high, and now, he didn’t feel that he could comfortably be in her company for even five minutes. Any man with the tiniest of brains would know that if he continued the relationship with Kendra, both of them could be miserable as a consequence.

  Because of the weather, Lettie hadn’t been able to get to work. He prowled around the kitchen looking for something to eat. Exasperated after half an hour of searching, he telephoned his housekeeper.

  “Lettie, this is Sam Hayes. I’m starving. What can I find to eat?”

  “I called you a couple ’a times, Mr. Hayes. Who’d ’a thought you went out in this weather. Look in the freezer. You’ll find quiches, pizzas, beef pot pies, and chicken pot pies. All you have to do is select one, turn the oven on to four hundred, shove it in, and wait twenty minutes. I made all of ’em and froze them for just such times as this. There’s cold beer on the bottom shelf of the refrigerator in the back. And you can have apple pie à la mode for dessert—but warm the pie. It’s on the top refrigerator shelf. I’ll be in tomorrow, ’cause my son said he’ll bring me. He couldn’t get his car out of the garage this morning.”

  “I didn’t expect you here today, Lettie, and with all that food in the freezer, stay home tomorrow if your son can’t bring you.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Hayes, but he’s good as his word.”

  This was one thing that Sam did not want to discuss with his father. On the other hand, Bert Richards would understand, but what man wanted to be reminded that he’d made such a gargantuan mistake with a woman? “Suck it up, fellow,” he said to himself.

  He finished a delightful meal of beef pot pie, Pilsner beer, warm apple pie, and vanilla ice cream, made a cup of coffee, turned on the television, and sat down to watch the news and sip coffee. “This won’t due,” he said to himself. “What if she needs me?” He dialed Kendra’s home phone number, got no answer, and dialed her number at the studio.

  “WAMA, KT speaking.”

  “Hello. How’d you get in?”

  “The show must go on, as they say on Broadway. All lines are open tonight, because only three of us were able to get through this weather. How are you, friend? We’re doing everything tonight, manning the phones, reading the news, even reading the commercials. I’ll get to you as soon as I can.”

  “Nice going, KT,” he said. “You’re absolutely number one. If you get a chance, please play ‘Everything I Have Is Yours.’”

  “You bet I will. Any way you cut it, you’re the greatest, friend.”

  He thanked her and hung up. He felt a little better after talking with her, but now he worried about how she’d get home. Why the devil had he given her the impression that he wanted to cool down their relationship? Granted, it had been moving too fast, but what had he solved? Nothing. In fact, he’d interjected unnecessary complications. He looked at his watch. Bert should be home, if indeed he’d left in that blizzard. He dialed Kendra’s father’s telephone number.

  “Richards speaking.”

  “Mr. Richards, this is Sam Hayes. Kendra is at work tonight, but all of her lines are open, and I couldn’t ask her how she’ll get home. Do you know?”

  “Good to hear from you, Sam. One of my customers has a towing service. He took her in this afternoon, and he’ll take her home tonight.”

  “I take it you trust this guy.”

  “If I didn’t, you bet I wouldn’t have called him. I’ve known him for fifteen years. He’s as straight as they come. Thank you for your interest. And it’s all right if you call me Bert.”

  “Thanks. Kendra is important to me, and I care about everything that concerns her.”

  “I know that, Sam, and I hope she does, too.”

  Immediately after he hung up, his cell phone rang.

  “Hello, Kendra. Thanks for calling me back. I wanted to know how you’ll get home, but I called your dad, and he told me. I’m impressed that you’re practically running the station tonight.”

  “It’s not too bad, but I wouldn’t like it as a steady job. I’ll play your request in five minutes. Let’s get together someplace this weekend.”

  “I’d thought we might explore Alexandria. We hardly saw the old town and, except for the cotton picking, plantation slavery of the Deep South, it’s a living history of African American life from the early eighteenth century onward. What do you think?”

  “I’d love it. If I had a car, I think I’d spend my free time getting acquainted with the nearby historical places. Would you believe I’ve never been to the Chesapeake Bay?”

  “Then I’m going to have a wonderful time introducing you to Maryland’s Eastern Shore. I’ve got my boat docked over there, but it’s down for the winter. I may go to my place over there around the first of the year or for a quiet New Year’s Eve.”

  “My papa said that your family is to spend Christmas Eve with us. He has a really nice apartment in Silver Spring. But he’ll tell you about that when he sees you next week at your dad’s house.”

  “I’m looking forward to that. From the time Mom died, Dad and I are usually alone at Thanksgiving, and it’s been a rather sad occasion. But this year will be different, and I’m going to enjoy celebrating the holiday.”

  “At least you miss your mother. I’m not sure I’d ever miss mine.”

  He didn’t want to think about Ginny Hunter. “Let’s not dwell on anything that hurts you right now, Kendra. You’ll reflect it in your tone when you’re on the air.”

  “You’re right, and the five minutes are about up. Here’s your song. Bye for now.” He’d have her understand that it was their song, but time enough for that.

  Ginny struggled home through the thick snow, unable to feel her heels or her toes. Once home, she filled the bathtub with hot water, sat on the side of it, and let the water bring her feet back to life. She had been almost oblivious to the discomfort as thoughts of Asa and his cruel remarks pained her. She’d like to know who told him about Kendra and how he found out about her situation. For two cents, she could maim him. He was hell in bed, but other than that, he wasn’t much of a man. She rubbed her tingling left foot against her right instep in an attempt to get rid of the numbness.

  Now what was she going to do? If those men had come home with her, she’d have gotten at least fifty dollars from them, maybe more since they looked prosperous. She took her feet out of the tub, dried them, and padded barefoot to the kitchen. She had to go to that awful salon the next morning or lose that means of getting a few dollars. Her untidy refrigerator contained milk, half a loaf of bread, three eggs, and butter. She knew that in her pantry she’d find a can of corn, a box of oatmeal, a sweet potato, four white potatoes, and a small can of Vienna sausages. She hated Vienna sausages, but it was meat, and it filled her up.

  Luckily for her, the clerk at the court house had accepted her plea of a cold and high fever as reasons for not being at her court hearing at the scheduled time, and she’d been let off on probation. But that meant she had to toe the line for the next five years, considering her past offenses. Damn him! Damn everybody! She washed a cotton uniform, hung it up to dry, and went back to the kitchen to cook her supper.

  Scrambled eggs, toast, Vienna sausages, and a baked potato. She sat down to eat, realized she’d put too much salt in the eggs, and a tear trickled down her cheek. She wanted to call someone, but she hadn’t paid Angela back, and neither Bert nor Kendra wanted to hear from her. Nobody had to tell her that she’d been with Asa for the last time. If only she hadn’t lost her temper and said those things to him.

  Desperate, she phoned the old man. “Hi, Mr. Dunner. This is Ginny.”

  “Ginny? You were just here. What’s the matter? You must be needing money. Sorry, I can’t accommodate you tonight. My daughter is here, and it looks like she’s gonna have to spend the night. Call tomorrow afternoon. If the coast is clear, you can come over.”

  “All right. Call you tomorrow.” She hung up, disgusted. She hadn’t wanted a session with him, and if he thought she was strapped for money, he’d make her do everythi
ng he could think of, the depraved old coon.

  She put her dishes in the dishwasher, cleaned the kitchen, and went to the living room to watch television. One of these days she’d shake the Washington, D.C., dirt off her shoes, take the first train north, and never come back. Damn! She couldn’t even do that, because she had to stay in Washington for the next five years. The court had been ready to throw the book at her. Everything she’d ever done wrong was there in front of that judge. One false move and she’d go to jail. She shrugged first her left shoulder and then her right one. “I’ll deal with it when I get to it.”

  Kendra looked out of her bedroom window the next morning, saw that much of the snow had been removed from the sidewalks, and prepared to get ready for school. After turning on the radio, she learned that school was open and that students were expected to attend class.

  Her phone rang. “Hi, Papa.”

  “What time do you have to be at school?” She told him.

  “Fine. Be downstairs in about forty minutes. We’ll take you in one of the tow trucks, and from the looks of things, we’d better pick you up after your classes and take you on to work. It’s not snowing, but it’s bitterly cold, and it’s icy underfoot.”

  “Thank you, Papa. I have a nine o’clock class. I don’t know how I’d manage this without you.”

  “You would. Incidentally, Sam called me last night to see if I was bringing you home. I have a feeling that you are not playing your cards right with him.”

  “It takes two to tango, Papa, as you well know.”

  “Yeah. This is true. See you in about forty minutes.”

  She hung up and released a long, deep sigh. If her mother were half as supportive as her father, how much easier her life would have been. Well, it was too late to try repairing that damage.

  Her first class was with Professor Hormel, and she was one of the few among his students who attended that morning. Hormel entered the room and closed the door, but not tightly. “I expect we’ll have a few stragglers,” he explained, “and on such a day, that’s considered normal. Thank you all for coming. First, let me say that names of the winners of the journalism writing trip are on the bulletin board in the dean’s outer office. We are all very proud of the winners.”