by Mary Monroe
“Yum-yum. If I weren’t married, I’d follow him myself. He’s hotter than a stolen car.”
“I guess he is,” I said, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. Camille turned back around and bit a plug out of her sandwich. I immediately changed the subject. “By the way, I hope you won’t get mad, but I’m probably not going to have a bunch of folks come over to celebrate the holiday and my birthday this year. I might spend the day with just family.
“I hope you won’t get mad, because I wasn’t going to be there anyway. I was going to tell you today. Nick booked a suite for us at a beachfront hotel in Santa Cruz. He’s going to have one of his drivers haul us down there and back in one of his newest stretch limos.”
“Ooo-wee. That sounds so romantic. I wish I could go with you.”
“What you’re going to do sounds just as nice. I’m glad you decided to do something more intimate this year.” When Camille started talking about one of the high-profile cases her firm was working on, I tuned her out. Most of the cases she told me about sounded pretty much the same. Her stories about the antics of the spoiled celebrities that she had met through her husband were much more interesting. Like the A-list star of a hit TV show who had rented one of Nick’s limos to take him to Burger King, two blocks from his hotel. But Camille didn’t have anything interesting or funny to report on that subject this time.
“Why is that silly grin on your face?” I asked when she finally stopped talking. I should have known what she was up to, because she was staring at Charles again. He was seated at a corner table, drinking his coffee and reading a newspaper.
“Why don’t you go over and ask your hot friend to join us?”
I gulped and reared back in my seat. “You must be joking!” If Camille hadn’t come in, I would have invited him to join me. She was the last person I would introduce him to. He seemed well-adjusted and stable, but after all he’d been through, a nosy, loud, pushy woman like Camille could push him over the edge. “Why do you want to meet him?”
“Why not? I’d like to see if he’s as nice and articulate as you said he was.” She snickered. “Go get him. I’m going to grill him like a cheese sandwich.”
“That’s exactly why I don’t want you to meet him. The man has been through too much already. A barracuda like you might make him snap.”
Camille cackled like a wet hen and gave me an exasperated look. “Okay, then. Keep your homeless bum to yourself.”
“He’s not a bum!” I protested.
“Then what is he?”
“Charles is just temporarily down on his luck.” To calm Camille down, I told her everything he had shared with me. There was a sympathetic look on her face the whole time.
“My God. I wish I could do even more for the homeless,” she said with misty eyes.
“You’re already doing more than a lot of people. You donate money, food, and clothing to the shelters and help with a lot of fundraising events several times each year. And it’s making a difference in a lot of lives.”
“Poor Charles. I’m surprised he’s still able to function. I hope I don’t scare you, but I’m going to tell it like it is. If everything he told you is true, every screw in his head must be loose. That soup kitchen could be a straight-up nuthouse in disguise. And Charles could be one of the biggest nuts.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. If that’s the case, there would have been all kinds of chaos at Sister Cecile’s by now. Charles and all the rest of the people we feed have always been very nice to me.” I immediately thought about Russell, the scar-faced man who smiled at me every time I saw him. He had recently started winking at me too. I hadn’t mentioned it to any of my coworkers because I didn’t think there was anything to be concerned about. Russell had been homeless for years. I would never want to kick a person who was already down. But if he ever said or did anything inappropriate, I wouldn’t hesitate to report him. “And don’t you dare talk to me about nutcases. What about that drug dealer’s wife that called your office and made a death threat because one of your bosses lost her husband’s case? You want me to go on? I can think of at least a half-dozen more nutcase situations at your workplace that happened just this year alone.”
“You don’t have to go on. I get the picture. And it’s true. But at least I get paid for putting my life on the line. You’re doing it for free!”
One of the few complaints my friends and family made about my work was that I was not getting paid—I was a volunteer. I reminded them that I had not liked any of the previous jobs I’d been paid to do. If Eric didn’t mind supporting me, I would continue to work for free. If something happened to him, he had a life insurance policy that was worth more than one-anda-half million dollars. Besides having that to fall back on, I’d inherit my parents’ house, their life insurance, and everything else they left behind. “I work for free because I’m doing something I enjoy.”
“Then keep doing it. Just be careful around those men. If they’re already homeless, they have nothing else to lose. To them, going to jail for assaulting somebody would probably be a blessing compared to living on the street.”
“What are you getting at?”
“Don’t be naïve, Bea. We’ve both been around the block, so we know that women are always on some men’s minds, right next to sports and beer. Some of the ones you deal with—including Charles—probably haven’t enjoyed either one in months. They’re human, so they still want the same things every other man wants. You may not realize you’re on one of those poor soul’s agenda until it’s too late.”
I blew out an exasperated breath. “Why do you always go off the rails?”
“I’m just telling it like it is. What you consider being nice could mean something totally different to them. One day when I was having lunch, I smiled at my waiter. The next thing I knew, he introduced himself and told me he’d been looking for a woman like me all his life and wanted to know when we could get together. He didn’t leave me alone until the manager intervened. If a simple smile and being nice got me in that much trouble, I don’t even want to think of what could happen to you. You’re a good-looking woman. I’d hate to hear that one of the ones you trusted followed you outside and got too friendly, if you know what I mean.”
I made a mental note not to smile at that Russell man the next time I saw him. “Let’s change the subject,” I suggested with a dismissive wave.
“Fine with me. But I advise you to take my warning seriously,” Camille said sternly, wagging her finger in my face. She bit off a large piece of her sandwich and started chewing. I was glad she didn’t look so serious now. “I think it’s nice that you want to spend this year’s holiday and your birthday with just family. I hope your kids show up. ”
“I hope they do, too.” I sighed, toying with the straw in my drink. “Now that I know I was smothering them, I won’t show up at their places without calling first, and I won’t call them as often as I used to. I just wish they’d call or visit with me more.”
“We should both be thankful that our babies are not doing some of the things a lot of people their ages are doing.”
“I am, but I really miss them.”
“Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it,” Camille assured me. She finished her drink in one long gulp and then a wistful look crossed her face. “Bea, you know I don’t mean any harm when I talk about you working at that soup kitchen. If anything, I admire you for being so caring. I know you said you were going to spend the rest of your life doing things to help other people, especially the less fortunate ones. But—”
“But what?” I was prepared to get defensive.
“Think back to all you’ve done so far. Right after you recovered from your accident, you immediately started doing things to help people. You worked at a women’s shelter, helped clean the church, organized food drives, volunteered to help out at that rescue mission, and so on. The only time you slowed down was when you were pregnant. But once all three of your kids started school, you got busy again—collecting ol
d clothes and canned goods for the needy—with me helping you a few times. In your spare time, you helped serve meals at a couple of other soup kitchens before you hooked up with Sister Cecile’s. You started out there working three or four hours, a couple of days a week. Then you went full-time. You’ve repaid your debt to the universe a thousand times over. It’s time for you to spend more time doing things for yourself. Maybe you should forget about cooking on Christmas Day and spend it alone with Eric in a nice hotel. It won’t be easy to get a hotel suite this late, but you should at least try. Make this holiday a very special one.”
I gave Camille a thoughtful look. “You know, I just might do that.”
“I’m going to . . . Oh! Your friend is leaving!” Camille hollered. “Are you sure you don’t want to introduce him to me?”
“I’m sure.”
CHAPTER 20
Charles didn’t come to Sister Cecile’s on Monday or Tuesday. I had taken all three of my breaks with Reyes and Gayle at the deli both of those days, and he had not shown up there either. It was just as well. It would have been awkward and probably not appropriate for me to invite him to sit with us. So far, I hadn’t mentioned my encounters with him to my coworkers. For one thing, I didn’t have any funny stories about him to share.
I returned to Iola’s alone for lunch on Wednesday. Reyes had taken the day off, and Gayle had a date to meet up with her third ex-husband at a nearby pizza parlor. Mrs. Snowden and two of our other servers had decided to eat at a newly opened Chinese restaurant in the vicinity. I’d invited one of our dishwashers and two other servers to join me, but they’d declined. They were among the workers who rarely spent money on food when they could eat all they wanted for free at Sister Cecile’s. Charles arrived fifteen minutes after I’d finished my roast beef sandwich and coffee. Now I was glad that I had come by myself, after all, because I was anxious to talk to him again.
When he saw me, he immediately headed in my direction. “Hello, Bea. I was hoping I’d see you today. Are you expecting someone?” he asked, looking around.
“No, I’m not. Please have a seat.” He pulled out the chair directly across from me. “I thought maybe you’d already left for Pennsylvania.”
“No, I’m still working on getting the money to pay for my bus ticket.”
“I noticed you haven’t eaten at Sister Cecile’s in a while.”
“I had a couple of jobs, and I had a little shopping to do,” he explained. And then he removed two white envelopes from his backpack and handed them to me. My name was on the front of each one, and it had been written in the most elaborate penmanship I’d ever seen. “It’s not much. But for now, it’s all I can afford to show how much I appreciate your spending your valuable time with me, when you could be doing so many other things.”
I opened the smaller envelope first. It contained a generic Christmas card that he had only signed. There was a birthday card in the larger envelope with an African-American female angel on the front. Inside he’d written:
Bea,
The world had almost destroyed me. But your kindness restored my faith in humanity. I will always remember you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. God bless you.
Love,
Charles
“Thank you. You didn’t have to do this. You need your money,” I said, wheezing like an elderly woman. I stared back and forth between the two cards, and didn’t realize I was crying until I felt tears on my face.
“Bea, are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” I replied, almost choking on a sob. “I just get real emotional this time of year.” I sniffled and forced myself to smile.
“I do too.” He squeezed my hand. “I hope I’m not getting too mushy and sentimental. But knowing you the short time I have means a lot to me. Some of the people I’ve met since things went south for me treated me like I had a deadly disease. You’ve always treated me like you cared about me.”
“I do care about you.”
“And I care about you. I was really sorry to hear about your unhappiness. I wish there was something I could do, or say, to change that.”
I sucked in a deep breath and told him, “I’m not really unhappy. I’m just a little bored with my husband. And I’m working on that.”
“Okay, bored.”
I sniffled and looked into his eyes. “I appreciate all the nice things you’ve said to and about me. You’ve given me a lot to think about. I only wish that I could have heard those insightful things when I was younger. I think that I would have looked at life from an even more positive perspective than I have so far.” I swallowed hard and gave him a wistful look. “Too bad we didn’t meet a long time ago.”
Charles hesitated and then blurted out, “We did.”
“Excuse me?”
“We did meet ‘a long time ago.’ Well, we sort of met. Twenty-five years ago this month . . .”
My heart felt like it was doing push-ups. The next thought that came to my mind was the possibility that Charles had been one of my boyfriends during my teenage, club-hopping days. The thought made me nervous and a little embarrassed. “Um . . . I hope you’re not one of the dudes I borrowed money from and never paid back,” I said with a straight face.
He shook his head. “The first time I laid eyes on you was at the intersection of Alcatraz Avenue and Sacramento Street.”
I squinted and stared at Charles, trying to figure out what he was trying to tell me. I knew what it was, but I had to hear him say it. “I got hit by a car at that location twenty-five years ago this month. I would have died if . . .” I couldn’t finish my sentence.
“If I hadn’t performed CPR on you that morning.”
CHAPTER 21
People all around us were talking. But I was so disoriented, it sounded like they were speaking gibberish. My vision suddenly got so unfocused, it looked as if they were moving in slow motion. My own body felt like it weighed a ton and I couldn’t move a thing on it, not even my mouth. I was literally speechless. So many years had passed, and I had given up on ever meeting the Good Samaritan who’d saved my life. The first few years after my accident, whenever I encountered in public a handsome black man who looked at me a certain way, I wondered if he was the one. I’d even wondered if that scar-faced Russell was the one because of his excessive smiling at me! The real one was finally sitting inches away from me, and I didn’t even know what to say to him.
“Say something,” Charles prodded. I stared blankly at the wall and sat as stiff and mute as a sphinx. He was still holding my hand. When I returned my attention to his face, he was smiling. “I’m sorry, Bea. I should have told you sooner.” He released my hand.
“That was you?” I asked dumbly. He nodded. I blinked, but fresh tears still formed in my eyes. I had to blink harder to hold them back. “I wanted to thank you, but I didn’t know your name, or how to find you. Why did you leave when you did?”
“The ambulance had arrived and there was nothing else I could do for you. Besides that, it was my first day at a new job and I couldn’t be late.”
“I wish you had checked to see how I was doing.”
“I did. I called the hospital two or three times a week until they released you.”
“How come you never visited, or asked to speak to me?”
“That was a bad time for me. My relationship with my fiancée was shaky, so I was going through a lot of different emotions.” Charles let out a loud sigh. “Once I found out you had fully recovered, I got married and went on with my life.”
“How did you know I was the same woman? My last name was Curry back then.”
He dipped his head and said very gently, “You haven’t changed much. I recognized you the first time you dished food onto my tray at Sister Cecile’s. I’ll never forget how you smiled and winked when I asked if you could give me an extra slice of bacon.”
“All this time, I thought you were just another homeless person.”
“That’s exactly what I thought I’d always be, until I met y
ou. Your kindness and encouragement gave me the confidence I needed to do something drastic, such as leaving the area. My cousin had been asking me to come work for him for weeks, but I didn’t make up my mind until you took time to talk with me.”
“I . . . I . . . I’m s-sure other people have been kind to you,” I stammered. “What about the man you share the tent with, and the people who hire you to do day labor?”
“Other people have been kind to me. But you’re a lot easier on the eye,” he said with a wink.
“I . . . I don’t know w-what to say.” I laughed, hoping it would make light of my stuttering. My head was swimming and I felt so confused, I couldn’t tell if I was coming or going. Maybe I’d fallen down the rabbit hole too. “I hope I don’t sound like an idiot.”
“There is nothing idiotic about you. You’re a wonderful woman and I’m sure your husband thinks so too.”
“He does,” I said firmly.
“Let me ask you something. Has he ever been abusive, physically or mentally? Has he ever cheated on you?”
“He’s never been abusive in any way, and I don’t know if he’s ever cheated on me.”
“Is he too alcohol-friendly, and a little too familiar with the casinos?”
“Not at all.”
“Okay. So far, your husband sounds like a righteous dude. Do you agree?”
“Yes,” I said, nodding.
“You love your children and the rest of your family? You wouldn’t want to hurt them, would you?”
“Why are you asking me these questions?”
“I’m trying to figure out why you’d want to make any changes in your life at all.”
I gave Charles a sheepish look. “Maybe I am an idiot, after all.”
“No, you’re not,” he insisted.
My face felt so hot, I had to fan it with both hands. I couldn’t tell if it was another hot flash, or a wave of embarrassment. Charles glanced at the clock on the wall. “I can’t stay long. I’m supposed to meet a dude to help him clean out his garage.”