A Light in the Window (51 page)

“Shouldn’t be any skin off your nose,” said Mule. “You never ran your presses ‘til after seven o’clock, anyway. Midnight’s more like it.”

“Whenever I bloomin’ well please should be the big idea here,” said J.C. “She also said the stairs to the Grill would be blocked off and I’d have to use the back entrance.” He wiped his face with his handkerchief. “Witch on a dadgum broom ...”

“Who’d want t’ walk down th’ steps into a shop full of women, anyway?” said Mule.

J.C. looked around the quiet room. “Where’s Percy?”

“Down th’ hatch,” said the rector. “I saw him go down there a minute ago.”

“What’s this going to do to Velma? We know it’ll kill Percy, so that’s th’ end of that deal,” J.C. said.

Mule drained his coffee cup. “Velma said she’d have to go to work. They’ve got savings, but not much. You know how they’ve done with their kids, settin’ ’em up in college, buyin’ one that little house ...”

“Here he comes,” said the rector.

Percy slid in with a coffee mug, looking glum. “On top of everything else, my back’s out. Not only that, they shipped me white grits instead of yellow—I can’t sell white grits.”

“Just want you to know I’ve been talking with someone who handles real estate,” the rector told Percy. “I believe he’s got the perfect place for the Grill, whether it’s right here ... or out there.”

“Who is it?” Mule scowled.

The rector grinned. “God.”

“Oh,” said Mule.

“He’s th’ very one that put my daddy in this buildin’ fifty-two years ago,” Percy said, brightening. “They claimed my daddy was crazy to go to feedin’ people with a war on. But he was a prayin’ man, and when th’ good Lord opened th’ door of opportunity, my daddy walked through it and went to cookin’. Bread was fifteen cents a loaf, tomatoes was four cents a pound, and rent was ten dollars a month.”

“Oleo margarine,” said Mule, “was white, came in a plastic bag with a little colored capsule in there. You popped that capsule and out oozed this colored stuff and you mashed it all around in that bag ’til it colored your oleo and you thought you had butter.”

“Don’t think I haven’t prayed a time or two myself,” Percy said, “especially in ’74. There was a whole week when th’ single biggest ticket I wrote was for a fried-egg sandwich and a Baby Ruth candy bar.”

The conversation slacked off, and they all looked at the rector.

“I’ve got to get out of here,” he said, meaning it.

“When are you goin’ to do it?” asked Mule.

“Today.”

He planned everything he’d say when she called about the “weensy” matter she mentioned. He also worked out what he’d say when they drove to lunch ... in
his
car.

He wrote it all down, working on it like a sermon. Then he paced the floor, speaking his lines.

He would plead for a dramatic reduction of the proposed rent hike, stating that the Grill had been a faithful, long-term lessor who had paid its rent on time and never asked for anything more than a little paint and a new toilet. What would a dress shop demand? Everything from wallpaper to carpet, not to mention the repair of the water stain on the ceiling that had been spreading like a storm cloud ever since the blizzard.

If she wouldn’t budge on the rent hike, then he’d plead for more time, to the end of June, say, until Percy found another situation.

In case she called, he didn’t go out for lunch but drank a Diet Sprite and ate a package of crackers. He dusted his bookshelves, tried writing a note to Cynthia but failed, and wrote notes instead to some of the kids at Children’s Hospital. Since he refused to let Emma get call waiting, he made no calls in case Edith tried to get through and was brief with whoever phoned the office.

He wanted to be ready, and he was ready; he was champing at the bit. He even found two positive things he could say to Edith Mallory about herself and wrote them down in case he forgot what they were.

He would ask her to lunch in Wesley, tomorrow, at that place with the green tablecloths—and he’d give it everything he had, once and for all.

As for strategy, he would keep it simple. And-he would stay in control.

There was just one problem.

She never called.

He waited two days.

When she didn’t call, he called her. Magdolen said she’d gone to Florida unexpectedly, something about old business of Mr. Mallory’s. No, she didn’t know when Miss Edith was coming back, and yes, she was going to Spain in May, the minute that new shop moved into her building on Main Street.

He asked for her number in Florida and carried it around in his pocket like a hot potato.

He also dodged the Grill.

Thumpetythumpetythumpthumpthumpthumpety
...

He pounded on her door. “Cousin Meg!”

Silence.

“Blast it, move your typewriter off the floor!”

He had turned away from the door when she opened it a crack and glared out at him. “If you don’t
mind
,” she said, “I work better on the floor. I cannot
think
in a chair.”

A chair isn’t the only place you can’t think, he said to himself. He turned and looked at her. “Off the floor.”

It must be hard to slam a door when it had been opened less than three inches.

He was doing his homework.

He spent several hours on the phone, compiling a list of schools and contacts, including a priest who helped socially and economically disadvantaged boys get into major boarding and prep schools.

Dooley would need testing, along with English, science, and algebra placement. Clearly, he would need tutoring in English. And no, it wouldn’t be the way he spoke that could make or break him but the way he pulled an English composition together.

Last but certainly not least, they would need the strong approval and support of two or three current teachers.

At three o’clock, he left the whole exhausting task and, for refreshment, went to make hospital calls.

If making hospital calls was his idea of refreshment, he later realized, he was in trouble.

Joe Ivey was out of town for the day, with a
Closed
sign on his door at the top of the stairs. Feeling like a sneak thief, he called Fancy Skinner who had a cancellation and could take him.

“Good grief! I can’t believe what’s goin’ on with this stuff over your ears. It’s that chipmunk look again. I thought I cured you of that.

“If I was a man and saw Joe Ivey comin’ down th’ street, I’d cross to th’ other side. What did he use to cut your hair, anyway, a rusty saw blade?

“Do you know how much coffee I’ve had this mornin’? You won’t believe it. A potful! I n’ever drink a pot
ful
of coffee! I declare, it makes me talk a blue streak. Look how my hands are shakin’. I hope I don’t cut your ear off or jab a hole in your head. Hold still, for gosh sake. See what I mean about those clumps over your ears? There you go! Look at that. A hundred times better—and I’m not even finished.

“I guess you know what’s goin’ on at the Grill. Mule is so depressed, you wouldn’t believe it. Youd think he was losin’ the roof over his head. He said you’re goin’ to work on changin’ her mind. Bein’ a preacher and all, you can probably talk her into whatever. I personally don’t care if we get a dress shop. I order everything out of catalogs. That is the latest thing, orderin’ out of catalogs, which is fine except for shoes. I wouldn’t order shoes out of a catalog, would you?

“Oh, no, can you see that little bitty nerve jumpin’ in my eye? That is so embarrassin’. I forget that happens if I drink a potful of coffee. Why I did it, I don’t know. I don’t have the slightest idea. Mule said, ‘Don’t drink this potful of coffee,’ but then he went to the Grill and I drank it. Do you ever do somethin’ somebody tells you plainly not to do, and you know they’re right, but you can’t help yourself?

“Your scalp is tense. You should try to relax. I bet bein’ a preacher is hard. I mean, all those people lookin’ to see if you’re walkin’ what you’re talkin’, right?

“I never did ask if you want a Diet Coke. Or would you like a Sprite? You tell me. I offer cold drinks as a courtesy. I would offer coffee, but it’s a mess to clean up—like a fireplace. Mule said, ‘Do you want to burn the fireplace this winter?’ I said, ‘No, it’s a mess to clean up.’ I bet you burn a fireplace, though. You look like you’d burn a fireplace.

“Oh, mercy, wasn’t that some winter we had? Have you ever? I am not over that yet. A blizzard! Can you believe it? And snow in April. Or was it March? I don’t know. Since I opened this shop, I can’t keep up.

“I declare, look at you. You are handsome as all get-out. Do you have a girlfriend? Mule told me somethin’ about your neighbor. What was it? Let’s see. Oh, yeah. I shouldn’t tell that, but what the heck—he said she has great legs. Do you really like her? You don’t have to answer—I know that’s a personal question. But I hope you do, because people shouldn’t live alone. It’s not good for your health. Of course, you’ve got a dog. They say that helps.