The Penny (11 page)
T
he year before, our vice principal, Mrs. Iris Connor, suspended Charlie Bidden and Andrew Scott for sneaking out of class and climbing up to peek through the high windows at the kids in the portables. Rumor circulated that if Charlie and Andrew hadn’t gotten caught, they’d have made good their plans to raid the place and set off cherry bombs underneath the bathrooms.
There had also been stiff punishment for students who ran to the windows to stare at the assembly of rally marchers when they started up. The demonstrators had moved onto the front steps of Harris School for more than a week, men and women, mostly colored but some white, too. They paraded with block-lettered signs and shook them at us. They raised them toward the street every time a car passed. T
AKE
Y
OUR
P
ORTABLES
, the signs read. I
NTEGRATION
D
OESN’T
M
EAN
S
EPARATION
. Any student caught gaping was sentenced to writing “I will not stare out the window” a hundred times.
But when I thought of returning this year for eighth grade, I didn’t care what punishment Mrs. Connor might dish out for me talking to Aurelia. I knew school discipline was a whole lot easier than anything I had to deal with at home. These last few weeks of summer, I missed Eddie Crockett’s horn playing almost as much as I missed my best friend. Impatiently, I counted the days (thirty-nine) and the hours (eight-and-a-half ) until I would see Aurelia and Darnell at school again. I planned on talking to Aurelia as much as I could, no matter what Mrs. Connor’s punishment might be.
Early September might as well have been an eternity away. And I was certain Darnell would use thirty-nine days to his advantage.
“See—I told you, Aurelia,”
he’d say.
“She had a little fun over here is all. She didn’t really think you were good enough to be her friend. Good riddance now
.
”
Until school started, I kept myself busy at Shaw Jewelers. It seemed like everything Miss Shaw did, from the minute I walked in the door of the shop in the morning to the time I signed out in the afternoon, was intended to make me feel good about myself. She insisted I try on jewelry and kept telling me how pretty I looked (although all I saw in the mirror was a downtrodden face with muddy, unlit eyes). She showed me a Grace Kelly two-strand choker and offered to sell it wholesale if I wanted a going-away gift for Jean, somehow knowing I already felt my sister’s absence in ways I couldn’t explain. She solicited my opinion on everything from how to best arrange receipts in the cash drawer to how to best display brooches so the stones would glimmer beneath the spotlights. She occasionally asked if I had found any more pennies and wanted me to recount the story of the first penny that led me to her. She reminded me that God was trying to show me that he loved me and was working in my life.
But every time Daddy came to my room again, I knew that in spite of everything I did in Miss Shaw’s store and all the nice things she said to me, I had no right to the confidence she placed in me.
I operated the cash register with sullen indifference, pummeling the keys with angry jabs of my finger. I went after the workroom floor with a punishing broom, thwacking metal shavings and dust out of my way. When customers were in the store, I plastered a smile on my face because I knew I needed to, but inside I was not smiling at all.
When the bell tinkled over the door one morning and two gentlemen entered, I happened to be out of sight, rearranging the watch display because of the new Timex wristband collection we’d gotten in. The two men couldn’t have looked more different; one wore a brown summer suit with a fedora to match, and the other wore dungarees and a shirt dusted with cement powder. Miss Shaw didn’t hear them, I guess. Her buffing machine kept purring behind the curtain.
The one in the suit lugged a heavy box which he set beside the register with a satisfied
humph
. The man in dungarees yanked the folded hanky from his friend’s breast pocket and used it to scrub his own brow. Mr. Suit retrieved his handkerchief, shook out the wrinkles, folded it into thirds, and returned it where it belonged. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and adjusted his hat with great care.
“You fixing that hat won’t make your face any different,” Dungarees said.
The other tugged at his jacket hem to straighten out the wrinkles. He cocked his knees, moved his jaw to and fro in the mirror and scrubbed his fingers in a V against his chin, looking for stray whiskers.
“Not going to get her attention doing that Creature-from-the-Black-Lagoon imitation, either,” Dungarees taunted.
Intrigued, I switched my weight soundlessly from one haunch to the other. After everything they’d said, it was too late to rise from my hiding place and ask if they needed my assistance.
They exchanged boyish jabs even though the one in dungarees looked older than dirt—older than forty.
“You got to stop making things up in your head, Joe. What makes you think I’d want to get Opal Shaw’s attention, anyway?”
“That thirty-dollar suit from Boyd’s makes me think so. I’ve known you thirty years, Del, and you’ve never owned a suit like that. You never even had a suit like that before your wife died.”
Del brushed off the lapel like he was brushing off his friend’s comment. “I did, too. I had a nice suit when I married Camille.”
But Joe kept going on. “One minute you’re yammering on like a tree jay, and next thing I know, here comes Miss White Gloves looking like a
Life
magazine cover, and you clam up like you have wallpaper glue on your tongue.”
“I don’t clam up, Joe—” the widower said. Then, thinking more of it: “But I don’t yammer on, either.”
Joe wasn’t near finished. “That, and the dozen times you’ve come in here buying charms for your granddaughter’s bracelet. Last time, you let Miss Gloves talk you into buying a charm of the Eiffel Tower. How could an Eiffel Tower be the thing for Donna? You’re supposed to go to Paris to get an Eiffel Tower charm, not Grand Avenue in St. Louis.”
“Can’t come in her store and not buy anything.” Del examined his hat in the mirror meant for customers trying on pendants. He practically had to fold himself in half to see into it. “What if Donna never gets to Paris? The world is full of people dreaming of things they never get to have.”
“Like you. Dreaming about Opal Shaw and not doing anything about it.”
I was new to the world of love and sure hadn’t learned much from watching Jean and Billy. I wasn’t much for romance, anyway. After what Daddy had done to me, I didn’t figure anybody would ever want me. But the idea of Del being sweet on Miss Shaw introduced a whole new realm of possibility. I remembered the lonely way she’d picked at her lunch-counter tuna while folks who must’ve recognized her made a broad circle around her. I recalled the faint regret in her voice when she mentioned that she often invited her housekeeper to eat with her so she didn’t have to eat alone. Picturing Miss Shaw running a gloved hand over a grave, I imagined she might have lost the only person who had ever cared for her.
Miss Shaw gave me rides in her convertible and taught me how to use eyelash curlers. I may have made up my mind not to fully trust her, but even so I couldn’t help wanting her to find true love. Hearing Joe and Del talk made me suddenly ache to help Miss Shaw find someone to stand beside her the way she kept trying to stand beside me. It made me ache for both of us.
“Since when did you get to be such an expert on women, Joe?” Del asked.
Joe poked him in the ribs. “Since I was born, I’ve known more than you.”
I laid out a Timex with a linked gold band and waited for one or the other of them to thump the small counter bell to get her attention. From the back, we could all hear Miss Shaw humming in rhythm with her buffing wheel—a familiar song, although I couldn’t remember where I’d heard it before. She warbled like a bluebird. Even then, when she didn’t know anyone was listening but me, she didn’t hit a wrong note.
Joe said, “And why do you think a woman would ask you for a box of bricks? What would anybody need with a box of bricks in a jewelry store? Could be she’s interested, too.”
Del gave up on his hat. He ripped it off his head and held it like a steering wheel between his two hands. “She asked for the most historical Laclede bricks I had in my possession.” When Del talked about his bricks, his voice took on more authority. “What I got in this box represents the last hundred years of St. Louis.”
“You’ve got to do something about this. I hope you see it.” Joe stood with his hand poised over the bell. “Now, let’s find out if that Boyd’s suit will do you any good.”
“I’m not afraid of Opal Shaw, Joe. I
respect
her. That’s two different things.”
“You ought to ask her to a nice dinner. Maybe take her to Rigazzi’s for Italian. I’ll bet she’d like that.”
With no further ado, Joe thumped the bell.
“Wait. I’m not ready.”
“Time to get the show on the road.”
“Joe.”
But it was too late. The bell had summoned her. The singing and the sound of the buffer subsided in the workroom. Miss Shaw emerged as if she were stepping through the curtain at Carnegie Hall.
“Well,
hello,
you two,” she said with genuine warmth. Del had gone stiff as a stork with his fedora gripped in both hands. I couldn’t tell whether he was going to present his hat to her as a peace offering or use it for himself as a shield. Quickly, he plopped it atop his head at a slant more comical than any he’d tried in the mirror.
“What about you, Delbert? Did you bring me my bricks?”
From the way Del’s face went scarlet, his tie must’ve gone tighter than a bassett hound’s choke collar. He worked his finger inside it as if he were close to suffocating.
“He sure did, Miss Opal,” Joe answered for him.
I saw her quick glance at Del’s red ears. Del cleared his throat again and straightened his tie. Miss Shaw met his eyes briefly, then nodded toward the bricks on the floor. “I could have picked those up at the brickworks, you know.”
“No, you couldn’t have,” Joe said with gusto, obviously exasperated by the silence. He heaved the whole box onto his shoulder, a regular he-man. “Wouldn’t do for any lady to carry something this heavy, especially not a lady like you.”
Del shot Joe a look laden with resentment.
What? You showing off
your
muscles
? If Miss Shaw hadn’t been fidgeting with the ruffles on her blouse, she would have read the whole thing, too.
“Wouldn’t have you mess up that suit, Delbert,” Joe said pointedly and hefted the box higher. “Now, where do you want me to put these for you?”
“In the back by the bench, please.”
She pointed toward the workroom, and while Joe lugged the bricks away, Miss Shaw and Del faced off across the cash register. For a very long time, they said nothing. Each seemed to be waiting for the other to speak up first.
That didn’t work. After several beats of silence, they spoke at the same time instead.
“How are—?”
“You been—?”
Silence again. He darted back into his shell like a turtle that’s been poked with a stick.
“Thanks for bringing in those bricks,” she prompted. “I know you must’ve wondered what on earth I could be using them for.”
“Yes,” he said, tugging the wrinkles out of his jacket self-consciously. “I
did
wonder. What on earth?”
“I’m using your bricks for my display cases. The brickworks are such a part of St. Louis, and necklaces will be beautiful draped over them in the windows. That, and the sense of irony, I suppose. Robbers throw bricks to smash and steal. And here the bricks will be untouchable, in lighted vaults for all to see.”
In a rush, Del asked, “You think you might be willing to help me pick out another charm for Donna? She liked the Eiffel Tower well enough. Maybe I ought to get her the London Bridge.”
“Why, Delbert,
another
one? That girl has so many charms, I’m scared she’ll pop her wrist out of joint when she wears that charm bracelet. If she ever fell into the river with that thing on, she’d sink straight to the bottom.”
He picked up the placard of gemstones beside his elbow. “Maybe we ought to start on her birthstone then. Let’s see. April. May. It says right here, June is alexandrite.” He set the placard down and it toppled over. He had to set it up twice to make it stay. “That’s what she needs. Alexandrite.”
“Maybe your granddaughter would like a pair of roller skates or a paint set or a walking Ginny doll. Something that doesn’t come from a jewelry store.”
“Yes, but—”
“Yes, but
what,
Delbert?” She leaned so far across the cash register toward him, I thought she was going to ring up a sale with her belt buckle.
“Then I wouldn’t have any reason to—”
“Any reason to
what,
Delbert?”
He seemed caught between her question and a deep Ozark gorge. I could almost feel his terror from here. I wanted to jump from my hiding place and shout,
Say it! Say, “Then I wouldn’t have any reason to see you again.”
Miss Shaw opened the register drawer with a light
ding
and immediately slid it shut again. She stood for a long time, waiting, pressing the drawer with her gloves.
When Joe returned from his task, he made it clear he felt as frustrated with Del as I did. “The silence is killing me, Del. I’m leaving. You ever decide to tell Miss Opal what we were talking about, you can let me know.”
“I knew you’d do something nice with those bricks, Miss Opal,” Del said. “You always think of nice things.”
“Why, Delbert. What a lovely compliment.”
“Right.” He slapped his thigh in agreement, narrowed his eyes at her. They both spoke at the same time again. “Well—”
“Well—”
Del turned to go, took another three steps and stopped. He stood stock still, neither turning toward her nor proceeding toward the exit. The seconds ticked past.
She pressed, “What did Joe mean, ‘what you were talking about’?”