Forever Mine, Valentine

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  “Ah.” Charlie took out his handkerchief and wiped his face. Then he polished his gold figure-eight pin and returned the handkerchief to his pocket. “Apparently you don’t believe me.”

  “Charlie?” Gladys said, hurrying over to them. “Is anything the matter? When I noticed that you and Jill had dropped out, I thought I’d better check.” She turned to Jill. “You look a bit distraught, my dear.”

  Jill stared at her. “Since when did you start calling me ‘my dear’?”

  “Perhaps I’ve been around Charlie too long,” she said, laughing. “Couples do pick up each other’s speech patterns, you know.”

  Jill felt instantly protective of this sweet woman who was engaged to a crazy man. “Gladys, could I talk to you?” She angled her head toward a bench a few feet away. “Alone?”

  Gladys glanced at Charlie. “Well, I don’t know…”

  “It’s perfectly fine with me,” Charlie said, a twinkle in his eye, “but before you inconvenience yourself, I should tell you that Gladys knows all about my identity. I had to inform her, of course, before I could propose.”

  Jill blinked. “Of course,” she said, backing away and eyeing them both warily now. “Uh, so Gladys, what do you think of his claim that he’s St. Valentine?”

  “Naturally, I was quite surprised at first.”

  “Naturally.”

  “But when you have time to think about it, it explains so much about Charlie.”

  “Uh, why, yes, it certainly does,” Jill said, edging farther away from the smiling couple. “Would you two excuse me for a teensy moment? I promised Spence I’d stop back at the store and let him know how the replies are going for the bus tour tomorrow. I’ll catch up with you two later, and we’ll talk about this some more.”

  “Certainly, my dear,” Charlie said, nodding. “Incidentally, dress will be quite informal.”

  “Dress?”

  “For the wedding ceremony. Everyone can wear whatever’s most comfortable.”

  “Oh. Right.” In both your cases that might be a straitjacket, she thought as she turned and fled down the wooden staircase. Racing through the lower level of the mall, she dashed into Jegger Outfitters, brushed past several customers and finally reached the safety of Spence’s office.

  He glanced up from the paperwork on his desk and smiled. “What a terrific—”

  “They’re both crazy as bedbugs,” she gasped, closing the door behind her and leaning against it. “The only consolation is that they’re too old to have children, so they can’t breed more crazy people.”

  Spence stood and walked around the desk. “Who?”

  “Charlie and Gladys. He thinks he’s St. Valentine, and she believes him. She’s ready to be the counterpart of Mrs. Santa Claus. I guess she’ll serve him milk and cookies after he comes home from his round of matchmaking.”

  Spence laughed. “Come on, Jill. They’re pulling your leg.”

  “I wish I believed that. I’m telling you, they looked deadly serious to me. I’m trying to figure out our responsibility in all of this. We can’t just let them carry on with these delusions, but I don’t know what to do.”

  “Why can’t we?” Spence leaned against the desk and smiled. “I had a feeling Charlie believed he had some special mission to bring lovers together. Pretty creative, assigning himself the role of St. Valentine. I surely wouldn’t have thought of it.”

  “Yes, but you’re not a candidate for the loony bin, either. And what about Gladys? How can we allow some nice lady who once was sane to traipse around the countryside playing Cupid, or Cupidess, in this case?”

  Spence folded his arms. “How do you plan to stop her?”

  “Well, we could…there must be…I don’t know. Can you help me out, here, Spence? I tell you Charlie and Gladys’s brain just filed a Chapter Eleven. They’re both on a very long lunch break.”

  “So?”

  “So we have to do something.”

  He stepped forward and put both hands on her shoulders. “No, we don’t. We have real problems to deal with. I’ve seen old folks hobbling around the mall today because they hadn’t bought enough stuff to ride the trolley. The melodrama is shut down until further notice, and word is that Tippy the Lip is escorting the representative from Anderson’s Department Store as if he were visiting royalty.”

  “But—”

  “What real harm can someone like Charlie do? All he cares about is spreading love, and I can’t argue with that goal. If Gladys wants to go along with it, she obviously has her reasons, and I wouldn’t presume to tell a sixty-five-year-old woman her business.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Jill admitted reluctantly. “Gladys is free to do whatever she wants.”

  He tipped her chin up with his forefinger. “We all are,” he said, “in the long run. We all have to live as we see fit, not as someone else sees fit. I say let’s leave Charlie alone to do his thing. After all, he worked hard to bring us together, and that wasn’t all bad.”

  Calmed by his compassion and understanding, she gently traced the smile lines around his mouth. “Not even a little bad,” she murmured.

  “As long as the door’s closed, and Stephanie thinks we’re in here smooching, how about one for the road?”

  “Good idea.” She wound her arms around his neck and leaned against him.

  “Oh, but you feel good against me,” he said, rubbing his hands everywhere he could reach. “Maybe we can leave early today.”

  “Not unless I’ve contacted all the tenants we haven’t heard from. We need to fill those buses.”

  “I’d like to fill something else right now,” he murmured, pressing against her. “Come on, give me a good kiss and I’ll force myself to let you finish your rounds.”

  She parted her lips and brushed his mouth in a playful gesture.

  “You can do better than that.”

  “Yeah, I can.” She cradled his head, enjoying the luxuriousness of his springy dark hair, and fitted her mouth over his. Slowly she ran her tongue across his teeth and gradually explored deeper until he groaned and tightened his arms around her.

  She felt the increased tempo of his heartbeat, the arousal beneath his jeans. In a moment they might both forget where they were and begin plucking at buttons and zippers. Quivering, she drew back. “How was that?”

  He took a long, shaky breath. “Not bad. I could suggest one or two areas of improvement, if you’d like to try again.”

  She smiled and stepped toward the door. “Save your suggestions for a little later.”

  “Spoilsport.”

  “Thanks for setting me straight about Charlie and Gladys. You’re right. Oh, and dress casual for the wedding.”

  “Ours or theirs?”

  She gazed at him, speechless.

  “I know which one you meant,” he said softly. “Just trying on the other idea for size.”

  “That idea’s a little big for us right now, Spence.”

  “Yeah, I guess. Well, see you soon. We’ll work on your kissing.”

  “Sure.” She left his office wondering how she and Spence had moved so quickly from “Hello” a mere week ago to “Will you marry me?” or the equivalent thereof, today. Charlie might claim credit for it, of course. Charlie might say that’s what happens when you’re brought together by St. Valentine, and your last names mean “loving” and “witness our love.” Spence’s words from Saturday night marched forward, demanding her to acknowledge them. “I love you, Jill,” he’d said; she’d tried to block them out, but they’d made a permanent mark.

  She walked down the mall and slowly climbed the oak-and-brass stairs. “I love you, too, Spence,” she murmured, safe in the knowledge that neither he nor Charlie Hartman could hear her admission.

  ON TUESDAY AFTERNOON Jill sat at a linen-draped table in the midst of red rocks and scattered patches of snow and took satisfaction in the success of the bus tour. A moment earlier Spence’s father had come by to congratulate her on an inspired idea. The tenants of the
Remembrance Mall were having a great time eating Swedish meatballs, cold shrimp, various cheeses, barbecued chicken wings and bite-size pieces of tropical fruit. Robert had even instructed the caterer to provide plenty of red and white wine.

  “I heard from Spence’s father that this tour was your idea.” Hedda Kramer, owner of the candle shop, approached Jill, balancing a full plate and a plastic glass of white wine.

  Jill smiled and made room at the table. “The tour was, but one of the Senior Striders donated this little feast.”

  “How come none of them are here? They’re obviously very involved in this situation.”

  “After what happened at the meeting they were afraid the tenants would resent having them around. In fact, maybe I shouldn’t have told you where this buffet came from, but Spence told me you were friendly to the cause.”

  “I am, and I won’t tell,” Hedda promised, spreading a napkin on her lap. “And speaking of Spence Jegger—” she added, nodding toward a spot several yards away where Spence stood talking with a group of people “—he really knows some fascinating things about Colorado Springs history, doesn’t he?”

  Jill glanced fondly in Spence’s direction. “I think he feels a responsibility to know the history, considering he’s named after Spencer Penrose.”

  “I loved the story about Penrose driving his pet llama down Tegon Street to protest prohibition.” Hedda lifted her wineglass. “Without men like him, we might not be drinking this today.”

  “Without him we wouldn’t have the Broadmoor Hotel or the Cheyenne Mountain Zoo, either,” added the optometrist, who had joined them at the table. “But my favorite story was the shoot-out with Kansas City Blackie at the gas station. The chase scene, with Blackie in his Marmon and the fire chief in his Stutz Bearcat, roaring up Nevada Avenue, and that crazy reporter, what was his name?”

  “Ford Frick,” Jill supplied with a grin.

  “Yeah. What a name. Sounds made up. Anyway, Ford Frick hanging on the running board of the Bearcat. And then they stopped chasing Blackie because all they had for a weapon was a fire extinguisher. I love it.”

  “Did you know that Katherine Lee Bates wrote ‘America the Beautiful’ after standing on top of Pikes Peak?” asked someone from the end of the table.

  “I knew that one,” Hedda replied. “There’s something about it in the Remembrance Mall museum.”

  “Yeah,” the optometrist said, “and I guess there’s something about Kansas Blackie in the museum, too. I never did take the time to go through the place, but I will now.”

  “Good,” Hedda commented, spearing a Swedish meatball. “Then maybe you’ll also sign the petition Spence drew up to keep the museum where it is. The shoe outlet space is far too small.”

  “Well, I don’t know about that,” the optometrist said, zipping his coat against the cold. “That petition also mentions keeping the trolley free, and the melodrama theater staying rent-free, too. Did you get that memo from Tippy?”

  “What memo?” Jill and Hedda said together.

  “It’ll be waiting for you when you get back, I guess. I’m sure she sent one to everybody. She projects that with Anderson’s coming in, a reasonable rent for the melodrama theater and making the trolley and electric cars pay for themselves, we can expect a ten-percent reduction in rent across the board.”

  “That’s a projection, not a promise,” Hedda said. “You won’t get any ten-percent reduction. She can’t pass on all the savings to us because her goal is to make more money for her corporation.”

  “And even that could be short-lived,” Jill said. “I have a hunch that the more she disrupts the mall, the less people will shop there. I predict business will eventually fall off, and you’ll have sacrificed some wonderful ideas for nothing.”

  “I don’t know,” the optometrist said, rubbing his chin. “I just don’t know.”

  “Besides,” Jill added, “isn’t goodwill worth something? I was so impressed when I first got here and realized that the merchants of the Remembrance Mall cared about things like art and history and helping the handicapped.”

  The optometrist pushed his plate aside. “I don’t know that we were given a choice. That’s the way the mall was originally set up, and we could either take or leave it.”

  “So now you have a chance to make a conscious choice,” Jill said, tensing. “You can strike a blow for—”

  “Time to load up and go home,” Spence called to the group. “Garbage containers are over by the buses.”

  Jill glanced at Hedda in despair.

  Hedda shrugged. “You do the best you can,” she said softly, as the optometrist picked up his plate and left. “Tippy’s got them by the pocketbook, and that’s a tender spot for many of us. I could use the rent reduction myself.”

  “But you signed the petition.”

  “Of course,” Hedda said, gathering her napkin, plate and wineglass together. “And I have an eighty-seven-year-old neighbor whose greatest joy was riding on that trolley, plus a young friend of mine got some valuable acting experience at the melodrama theater.”

  Jill sighed as they walked toward the buses. “I just hope everyone who reads that memo from Tippy doesn’t react the way the optometrist did. Did you see his eyes light up when he talked about a ten-percent rent reduction?”

  “Yes. Of course he’ll never see that, even if Tippy changes everything.”

  “But, Hedda, you wouldn’t agree, even if you were guaranteed ten percent off your rent, would you?”

  The candle-shop owner hesitated. “No,” she said at last, “I guess not.” She smiled at Jill. “But I’m a very noble sort of person.”

  “I’ll vouch for that,” Spence said, coming up behind them. “Hedda’s one of the few people who signed a lease agreement because she wanted to be part of the unique concept. Right, Hedda?”

  “Yes. I’m so wonderful.”

  “And modest,” Spence teased. He glanced at the bus. “I think everyone’s aboard but us. Ladies?” he said, making a sweeping gesture toward the door.

  “I wonder if we should sing on the way home,” Jill mused as they mounted the steps. “Singing builds comradery.”

  “And I wonder if the driver should start this bus,” Spence murmured from behind her. “What’s he waiting for? The other driver’s already taken off.”

  “Maybe he’s waiting for you to tell him it’s okay,” Jill said.

  “Maybe.” As Spence passed the driver he paused. “About ready to fire up?” he asked as Jill started down the aisle behind Hedda.

  “Seems to be a bad connection in the ignition switch,” the driver muttered, and Jill paused. “Can’t get the damned thing started.”

  Jill retraced her steps to the front of the bus. “Uh, Spence, maybe he should radio the other bus. We’d be crowded, but—”

  “Radio’s broke,” the driver said as he continued to click the key back and forth in the ignition. “I told them they shouldn’t have let this buggy out of the garage, but someone needed it real bad, they said, so here we are. Stuck.”

  Jill groaned and glanced at Spence. “And the catering truck just left.”

  “Terrific.” Spence peered out the front windshield. “And before too much longer it’ll be getting dark. That’s why I told everybody to saddle up.”

  The driver stopped turning the key and sat back in the seat. “Looks like you saddled up a dead horse.”

  “How far is it to the main entrance and a phone?” Jill asked.

  Spence grimaced. “A ways. I’ll get started.”

  “First you’d better tell them they’ll be here awhile,” Jill suggested, tipping her head toward the seated passengers, who were laughing and talking and hadn’t seemed to notice the bus was immobile.

  Spence swore under his breath. “I had hopes that some of these people would come around to our way of thinking, but this isn’t going to help.” He glanced at Jill. “No chance you could fix this thing, is there?”

  Jill shook her head. “There are lim
its to my abilities, and working on an engine that size is one of them.”

  “Just thought I’d ask. Well, here goes nothing.” Spence moved past her and called for everyone’s attention. “As you might notice, the scenery outside your window hasn’t changed much,” he said, and got a laugh.

  “What’s the matter?” someone called from the back. “We stuck?”

  “That’s about it,” Spence replied. “I’m hiking up to the entrance to phone for help. I’ll get there as fast as possible, but you’ll all have a wait, I’m afraid. I apologize for the inconvenience. Feel free to get out of the bus and move around, although it is getting a bit chilly out there.”

  “Any wine left?” asked someone else.

  “The catering truck drove away a few minutes ago,” Spence said, amid groans and boos. “Listen, I’m sorry to leave you all in this mess, but the sooner I take off, the sooner we’ll get out of here. I’ll see you all later.”

  “I’m going with you,” said a man from the back.

  “Me too,” said another. “Beats sitting around here, since the wine’s gone.”

  “Yeah, you’re right,” said someone else.

  “Well, then I’ll go, too,” Hedda said, moving into the aisle along with the men.

  “It’s a fair hike,” Spence warned.

  Another woman stood up. “You wouldn’t imply that the guys can make it but we can’t, now would you, Spence?”

  “Never,” Spence said quickly, and Jill smiled. “But some of you have on high heels…”

  “We’ll make it,” said another woman.

  “Spence, they’re all going,” Jill said in amazement from behind him. “Nobody’s staying in the seats.”

  He turned to her and shrugged. “Oh, well. You were the one who wanted to build team spirit. I guess this is it, huh?”

  “I guess.”

  “Then let’s get moving.”

  A few yards down the road someone started singing the dwarfs’ marching song from Snow White, and as everyone joined in, Jill turned to grin at Spence. She mouthed the words “team spirit,” and he grinned back.

  The enthusiasm for their trek lasted through that song and the Marine Hymn, but few people contributed to “This Old Man,” and by “The Ants’ Marching Song” only a few diehards continued to shout out the words.