Hildreth 2-in-1

by Denise Hildreth Jones

  “Hard to keep women away from a good-looking man, Savannah.” Mervine spoke with a sly smile.

  “Oh, that’s disgusting.”

  I heard Mervine laugh . That was about all she offered. Probably wouldn’t hear from her for another week.

  As I walked out to my car, I could hear my mother’s voice talking lively and loudly . Turning slowly so as not to attract attention, I saw the top of her red mane shooting out above possibly ten microphones. It was when I heard my name mentioned that red blood cells in me began to swim upstream and land inside my face. I was tired of being her topic of discussion. She wanted me to interview her for my article . There was no need to. She had given me everything I needed to know in her sound bites.

  “Gave up on the heels today, huh?” my office partner asked as he stared at my brown leather flip-flops. “And the pearls? Where are the pearls?”

  “Do you monitor everyone’s clothes, or do you just need someone to irritate at the crack of dawn?”

  He couldn’t hide his perfectly white smile, even though he tried to feign disinterest.“Well, only the attire of those who like to dangle beneath cars, and it is nowhere near the crack of dawn.”

  I sat my Coke down on my strip of desk that ran from one end of my Styrofoam heaven to the other . The metamorphosis of my cardboard world to some semblance of an office was slow, menial, and probably impossible.

  “You are such the comedian . Do you work or just walk around?” I turned my back on him and sat down to cut on my computer.

  He produced a pathetic mimic. “Do you work or just walk around? Actually, I work while I walk around, and bike and sit and all kinds of things. So what are you going to write about?” He pulled up a chair.

  I turned to look at his black curls, which were drooping into his eyes. His tanned and masculine hand pushed them away, leaving his black eyes to stare at me . The richness of them caught me off guard and I looked away. “Did I invite you here this morning?

  Because trust me, I’ve met my irritation quota for the day.”

  “No, but I’m not invited to most of the places I end up.

  Anyway, you’re too young to be irritated so early in the morning.

  So quit avoiding the subject . What are you going to write about?”

  I began to check my e-mail so I wouldn’t have to look at him.

  “I’m going to write about what everyone is talking about. It would be rather odd for me to act as if nothing is happening around here, wouldn’t it? Especially after I was highlighted in the paper! ”

  “Well, I’m sure there is plenty to say. So are you going to talk about your mother?”

  I finally turned to him. He sat there with his elbow leaning on my desk and his face resting in his hand, like a two-year-old just needing to talk. “You can read it with the rest of the city. Now, would you please go away?”

  “You don’t look like you want me to go.”

  His words startled me. I stopped, not knowing where he was getting his imaginary information.“You . . . you are beside yourself this morning, mister . Trust me, I want you to go!” I said, adding a little push to his arrogant arm that rested underneath his chin.

  His face fell but he lifted it with an evil smile and got up, returning his chair beside the door. “I gotta get to a meeting anyway. I’m going to cover the chamber of commerce.”

  “I thought you couldn’t cover them anymore since you referred to my mother as Vicky in your first coverage.”

  He peeked back around my opening.“She won’t be there now, will she?”

  “Touché.”

  “Adios, Ms. Phillips. Adios.”

  Adios,Ms. Phillips. Adios. I don’t want you to go? You must be out of your mind. I am a woman in love with a wonderful man who is going to be thrilled that I have finally come to my senses . You need to get over yourself and join up with the woman who loves you. Miss Amber Topaz . You wll be perfect for each other . Then she can finally be Mrs. United States of America.

  The pace of a newspaper seems consistently frantic. There is always the sound of a printer echoing in the hall . There is the sound of the pecking of computer keys. The smell of coffee. The fizzing of Coke. And the chatter of televisions. I wasn’t used to this pace. I was a person who stole away and wrote in parks . Who sat in cafés and sipped Coca-Cola and snacked on chips. Most deadlines I created for myself. But now things were different. Life was different.

  I stared at the computer screen in front of me and could make out my own image in its black reflection. Even though I had just written a story one week before, the simple task of turning yesterday’s stream-of-consciousness efforts into an article suffocated me. I turned my hands over and watched as the dampness seeped its way into the lines on the palm of my hands. I had expected different things in my life.

  I had expected Grant to marry me. I had expected to be a novelist. I had expected the circle of life to end up, well, in a circle. But somewhere Savannah’s train had missed the junction, and I was heading into a land of uncharted territory and frightening change.

  My fingers crawled gingerly up to the keyboard. And with the steady well of irritation that had been pent up for the last five days, the dam burst. What I had feared, flowed. I typed like a crazy woman. I typed and laughed and grimaced and typed. It was downright cathartic. I didn’t need to make a revelation of ideals. I just needed to talk about the human factor. After all, I was a writer of human interest. And nothing was more of human interest than interesting humans. And my word, there was a human factor on that square bigger than all get-out.

  By my two p.m. deadline,my third human-interest article was printed and tucked neatly away in a folder and placed on Mr. Hicks’s desk . The truth about this city would be revealed by one of its very own, Ms.“Savannah from Savannah.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  My stomach was calling for lunch. A Greek salad sounded good today, so I walked across to River Street and headed to Olympia Café. The lunch rush was gone. But tourists lined River Street at any time of the day in the summer. Passing by Savannah’s Candy Kitchen, one of my childhood staples, I saw the floral-clad Ms. Joy staring into the window.

  “What do you see?” I asked.

  She turned to look at me and her face lit up. “Oh, I was just admiring those caramel-covered apples.” She turned back to stare into the window. “I used to eat those all the time when I was a little girl.”

  “Well, go get you one,” I encouraged her, not wanting to tell her I was headed to get lunch, lest she want to make it a family affair.

  “Yeah . . . yeah, I’ll do that.” But she didn’t move.

  I felt such sympathy for this woman. I wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was the same dress, or the old straw bag. Maybe it was the direct words encompassed by the compassionate tone. But I was certain why she wasn’t moving. It was the same reason she wanted to know what I was having to eat every evening for dinner.“You know, Ms. Joy. I was thinking how good a caramel apple would be too. Why don’t you come in and let me get us both one.”

  She let her head dip low and said,“Oh, baby, no, that’s okay. I can get one later.”

  “No, you won’t,” I said, putting my arm through hers.“This is my treat to you today.”

  “Well, if you really want to.” She giggled and we walked inside.

  Savannah’s Candy Kitchen is two storesful of any kind of candy you could want or remember . We filled up two large bags for her of all different kinds of gumdrops and jawbreakers and caramels from the huge barrels that sit on one side of the store. As we walked to the middle of the store, we got her a small, ice-cold, glass-bottled Coke from the large barrel that held the pieces of heaven amid the cold ice cubes . Then we got her some homemade fudge and topped it off with a caramel-covered apple.

  She stared in amazement at the taffy conveyer belt, which made taffy on one side of the room and wrapped it and sent it across a conveyer belt that runs across the ceiling and deposited it in another barrel.

  Then
she and I strolled to the other side of the store and took in the wonderful ice creams and watched for a few moments through the paned glass that allows curious eyes to survey the culinary masters at work on indescribable fudge. She missed nothing. She was like a child having her senses filled with every pleasant part of childhood. When I left her at the small iron table that sits outside in front of the window, she had her two bags of candy, a small Coke, and was chowing down on a caramel apple, with her fudge tucked safely in her straw bag. She would save that for later. She never even noticed me leave.

  The smell of Greece was so inviting that the Greek salad I chose required accompaniment. I added some gyro meat, pita bread, onions, and sauce to my salad. I didn’t care who I had to talk to the rest of the day . This child was hungry.

  Mr. Euzinidas came over to say hello.

  “This protest thing driving you crazy?” I asked.

  “Honey, I’ve made more money these past few days than we make most of the summer . Your mother can keep this up until January for all I care.”

  He could tell by my dejected expression that didn’t interest me in the least. He left me to look out the window at the waterfront and enjoy my lunch. Until I saw the curly head flash by the window. He saw me too.

  “Savannah!” he panted, doubling over at the entrance of the door.“Come on! I’ve got to take your car.”

  I sat my fork down and looked at him. “I just stopped to eat.

  Can’t people leave me alone for two seconds and just let me have lunch?”

  He came over to my table and grabbed my plates with one hand and my arm with the other.“You can eat in the car.” He informed me. He asked Mr. Euzinidas to wrap up my lunch quickly so I could take it with me.

  I jerked my arm from his grasp.“Joshua North. I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to sit down here and finish my lunch.” I tried to get my plates back from Mr. Euzinidas.

  “No!” Joshua took them away from me and gave them back to the poor man behind the counter who was ready to go sit down and eat my lunch himself. “I have to borrow your car.”

  “Why in the world do you need to borrow my car?” I asked, reaching one last time for my plates.

  “Savannah, please.” He calmed down yet kept pulling my hand away.“Trust me, please. I need you to just take me up the street. It will only take a minute. I just need your help, Savannah!” he finally said, exasperated.

  I could tell he was serious . We grabbed my lunch and headed to the car. I handed him the keys, then snatched them back.“Do you even have a license?”

  He reached for them. “Yes, Savannah. I ride a bike because I want to.”

  I offered them back hesitantly. “Where are we going?” He came around to open my car door.

  “There’s apparently been a shooting,” he said as he climbed into the driver’s seat.

  “Joshua.” I unbuckled my seat belt. “I am not going to any shooting.”

  He pulled the seat belt from my hand and buckled it back in, but I held on.“I’ve got to go. If I ever want to cover anything other than meetings with people who are half-dead or half-crazy, I’ve got to prove I can do something more.”

  I noticed something in his face that I had yet to see. A vulnerability. Mr. Curly Locks had passion.“Okay,” I said, taking my hand off of the seat belt.“Go wherever it is you feel you need to go.”

  “Thank you.” He started the car.

  We drove about five minutes outside of the Historical District. And I turned to look at his face. His complexion was olive and baby smooth. His dark eyebrows framed his black eyes as if they were made for his face . Well, you know what I mean. And his eyes were focused today, not dancing like they normally do. He was thinking about something other than his bicycle or my issues.

  I broke the odd silence.“Do you have any idea who got shot?”

  “Not sure of his name, but apparently it is the boyfriend of whoever is Miss Chatham County United States of America.”

  “You’re kidding . Wonder if she knows?”

  “I’m almost certain. If my sources are right, she’s the one who pulled the trigger.”

  “Oh my Lord, have mercy.” I stared straight ahead . We drove for what felt like another long, awkward silence.“So what are you trying to accomplish with this?”

  “I’m trying to get this story first.” He glanced over at me to see if I had a response. I didn’t. “I want to get it written and on Mr. Hicks’s desk before anyone else, so he’ll take me as a serious journalist.” He stared straight ahead now.

  I turned in my seat to see him more clearly.“You don’t think he takes you seriously?”

  He paused for a long moment. “Honestly, no, I don’t. I don’t think many people around there take me seriously . They see me as a guy who can’t afford a car and who wears flip-flops. Mr. Hicks has even said as much, so I’ve heard.” I could see a glint of something in his eyes. Some remnant of frustration.

  “Don’t believe everything you hear. Lord knows I don’t.”

  He laughed.“I bet you hear all kinds of things. Like how you only got your job because your mother agreed to buy lifetime advertising.”

  I raised my right eyebrow.“Actually,no, I haven’t heard that one.”

  He looked at me and winked.“Well, don’t believe everything you hear, right?”

  I changed the subject.“How long have you been at the paper?”

  “Almost two years. I started after I graduated from the University of Florida.”

  “Oh, is Florida where you’re from?”

  “Yeah,my family’s from Jacksonville. Lived there my entire life.”

  “How in the world did you get to Savannah?”

  “Insanity, I have come to believe.”

  “Me too,” I said under my breath.

  “Needed to get away from home. Find my own space. I’d driven through here quite a few times and just thought I’d try it. Got a job pretty quick. Liked the people and haven’t left. But Mr . Hicks told me he would let me start doing hard news stories last year, and I’m still covering school-board meetings.”

  “Shoot, I hear those can be hard news themselves anymore,” I offered.

  “Mr. Hicks doesn’t give me the time of day. So I figure the only way to make him notice my work is to give him some work to notice.”

  He pulled the car over to the curb on a narrow side street and cut the engine.“Okay, let’s go see what we can find out.”

  Before I knew it he had grabbed his satchel and was around to my side of the car with the door open. I got out and looked at him. “Thank you,” I said, trying to avoid the awkward moment.

  “Let’s go.” He turned to walk up the alley, making it clear it wasn’t any big deal.

  We came out directly opposite a house that had more activity going on around it than any square in downtown Savannah. Except the one my mother occupied, of course.

  Two police cars sat in front of the house. And people strained to catch a glimpse at the activity. About the time we emerged, a van passed us with “City Morgue” written across the side.

  I felt every part of my body go weak.“Uh-uh, no, brother, this sister don’t do dead people.” I turned on my heels and headed in the direction of the car. I wasn’t even sure if my legs would get me there.

  He grabbed me and swung me around.“It’s okay . We won’t be here long.” I wasn’t reassured.

  “Serious.” I tried not to sound as afraid as I really was.“Dead people scare me. Like that movie when the little boy said, ‘I see dead people.’ Just the preview made me drive home with my interior car lights on. I had to call my dad to meet me at the curb and walk me to the house.” I bounced up and down trying to stay as calm as possible. Failing miserably.

  “Are you seriously that afraid?” Glints of compassion and laughter passed through his eyes at the same time.

  “Yes, I’m serious.”I tried not to look at the morgue van and tried to hide the burning tears that were rising to the surface of my eyes.

/>   “Okay.” He placed his hands on my shoulders. “It’s okay. I’m sorry I brought you out here. I had no idea. Really. Just go sit in the car . You won’t be able to see anything, and I’ll be back in just a few minutes to take you back to the office.”

  “Promise?” I said, looking at him for a moment as if he would really protect me.

  “I promise.” And I believed him.“I’ll be back in one minute.”

  I tried to gather my composure and turned around to head back to the car. But as much horror faced me in that direction. Because I spied, with my little eye, something coming up the street fast and fabulous. Miss Amber Ruby Diamonique, driving up the street in her Mercedes coupe, and I was with her man.“This can’t be happening!” I said loud enough for Joshua to hear.

  “What? What’s wrong now?” he asked, coming back to me. I think the poor man was afraid I was about to hurl.

  “It’s Amber. She’s coming up the street!” I said, doing one of those yelling whispers as if she could hear me inside of her car.

  “So? Don’t worry about her. Just go on to the car.”

  “Don’t worry about her?” I yellspered.“She is in love with you and she thinks I’m her new best friend. If she sees me with you, she will think we . . . we . . .” I said, moving my index finger back and forth between us frantically.

  “Think what? That we like each other?” he asked incredulously.

  “Yes, Mr. Ambulance Chaser! That we like each other!”

  “You worry way too much.” He turned his attention back to the scene in front of him.“Now, either go back to the car or stand here while I go get the information that I need for this story.”

  I jerked his tablet from his hand and threw it up in front of my face. Amber had just gotten out of her car and was headed in our direction. I could only pray her two-and-a-half-inch heels would get stuck in a crack in the concrete and contain her until I could get to the car. No such luck. She spotted Joshua. Then she spotted me. Only after Joshua jerked his notebook from my hand and proceeded to leave me. She gasped. I did too. Both for entirely different reasons.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX