“Maria, how about I stay up here and get dinner started while you go to that tenants meeting.  I’m still too shaken up about that dude offing himself from last time.  I don’t want to go sit down there.”  Valissa is seated at the kitchen table rummaging through her backpack and pulling out all of her school materials.  She’s been conjuring up an excuse to get out of going to the tenants meeting, but not at all for the reason she’s giving.

Maria looks at Valissa sideways.  “Huh…stay here and get dinner started,” she scoffs, unconvinced.  “ I’ve known you all your life, Lissa.  What are you really up to?”  Maria rambles through a drawer to gather a notepad and writing utensil. 

“Ugh, why I always gotta be up to something’?  I’m a teenager-”

“That’s exactly why-“

“I want to move.  I just ain’t got no interest in y’all’s li’l meetin’.  Besides, I have homework and tests to study for and –“

“So what were you planning to serve for dinner then with all that going on?”

“I don’t know.  Probably some ravioli.”

“Ravioli, Lissa?  When have I ever heated something from a can and called it dinner?”  Maria closes the drawer and places her hand on her hip while propped against the counter.

Valissa starts to giggle.  “You could’ve been having ravioli for dinner, Maria.  All you had to do was add some bread and heat up a vegetable or serve a salad.  What’s the difference?”

Maria shakes her head and gives in with a chuckle.  “You get that lesson done and I’ll worry about dinner when the meeting is over.  Hopefully, it won’t run too long.”  Maria cradles her pad and prepares to leave.

“Thanks, Maria.”  Valissa pretends to review her assignments.

“Thanks nothing.  I don’t want any mess out of you, Lissa.”

“Dag, that was quick,” Valissa sighs, noting the sudden shift in tone.  “Why don’t you wait until I’ve actually done something sometimes before you start with that?”

Maria opens the door and turns toward her before exiting.  “Homework and study.  I’m gonna want to know how you did on those tests.”

“And you’re gonna feel terrible when you find out I’ve been doing exactly what I told you I was doing.”  Valissa smiles to try and lighten the mood again.

Maria shakes her head again and laughs.  “I’ll lock the door.”  She eases the door shut and uses the key to lock it, checking before heading to the stairs.  In her heart of hearts she wishes things could be the way they were between her and Valissa before the divorce, when they were a family.  But Valissa has disappointed her so much.  To think too much of anything she says is setting herself up for disappointment.   Yet, Maria dare not mention her role in the deterioration of their relationship.  She could tend to drink too much.  But the reality of it is that she wouldn’t turn to the alcohol nearly as often if Valissa would behave.  And if Gabe had been home more.  But that’s neither here nor there, now.  This is the life that they have now and she can only try to make the best of it.

Meanwhile, Valissa squints trying to look through the peephole on the door.  Just a couple minutes more to make sure she hasn't forgotten anything.  Knowing her the way she does, if she remembers something after she's started down those stairs she won't climb back up to get it.  Kind of lazy.  Seems like the coast is clear.  Valissa dashes to the entertainment armoire where the phone is placed.  Almost without thinking she's dialed and is awaiting a connection on the other end.  Finally he answers.

"What took you so long?"

"Don't trip.  You know I had to wait for Maria to leave.  You close by?"

"I'm exactly where I told you I'd be."

"Give me 10 minutes and I'll be there."

"Hurry up.  I've waited long enough as it is."

"Then 10 more minutes ain't gonna kill you.  See you in a few."

Valissa disconnects the call all smiles.  This is just too good to be true. 

Emotionally exhausted, Juniper collapses on her chaise and carefully removes her heels before relaxing. 

She watches Bethany follow with her duffel bag.  Bethany of course has an open door policy until she can vacate the property she and the deceased shared and get it sold.  Bethany drops her duffel bag beside the davenport and eases down to take a seat herself.  Her eyes remain bloodshot from crying and she moves as if entranced.

“Sweetie, why don’t you relax and I’ll draw you a bath.  The spare room is all made up and you can lay down.  I’ll wake you when dinner is ready.”

“Huh?” Bethany responds in a blank fugue.  

“Oh, honey,”  Juniper rises from the davenport and sits next to Bethany, embracing her.  More tears resume their trail down her face.  “How about you just lay down right here.”  Juniper eases Bethany into a more comfortable position, removes her shoes and covers her with a blanket. 

“Oh, Nip please add the young lady in the building to the list of those needing Thank You cards.  The food was outstanding.”  Bethany snuggles onto the davenport and closes her eyes.

Juniper returns to the chaise and watches as she quickly slips into slumber.  Attendance was so sparse at the funeral that she couldn’t help but wonder if there had been some confusion about the date or time.  Or was he an imbecile in more than just her eyes?  Assisting Bethany with the arrangements because he was disconnected from his family was even more insulting - more difficult than she had let on.  Bethany insisted on a traditional funeral.  Juniper was more in favor of a cremation.  Yes, it seems cruel and void of compassion to think of the deceased in this way.  But how can she feel anything else for a man who repeatedly abused her friend?  A party in memory of this momentous occasion would seem more appropriate to Juniper.   

Apparently the kindergarten scribbles he was able to pass off as art sold enough to pay for burial insurance.  Surprisingly though was that he had a life insurance policy.  With the statements that were given to the police, the death was ruled as accidental suicide.  Insurance remains obligated to make payment and Bethany is the sole beneficiary.  Once she’s cognizant enough to discuss it, Juniper will definitely have a conversation with her to find out the amount and what her plans are for the money.

A knock at the door interrupts her train of thought. 

“Just a moment!”  Juniper scurries to the door to keep Beth from being aroused from her sleep.  After a quick glance into the peephole she opens the door.

“Alesandra, please come in,”  Juniper widens the door, inviting her in.  “I have the check right over here.”  Juniper retrieves her purse and begins rambling for her wallet.  “The food was excellent.  You are quite talented.”

“I hope it isn’t too much of an imposition to stop by, but I have class tonight and I thought it’d be rude to wait much later.”  Alesandra is standing close to the door.  Her eyes fall on Bethany, sleeping.

“No, now is good.”  Juniper finally removes the check from her wallet and extends it to Alesandra, noticing that Alesandra is staring at Bethany.

“How has she been?”  Alesandra accepts the check and awaits a response, not wanting to just accept payment and leave.

“As well as can be expected I guess, under the circumstances,” Juniper nods.

“Please give her my best.  And if there’s anything I can do-“

“Thank you so much, Alesandra.  Oh, and I’ll be calling on you again to do something for the next tenants meeting.  So, keep an ear out.”  They smile and nod at each other.  Alesandra exits and Juniper quietly eases the door shut.  

   

aH

“…and in local news tonight Artist F. Lamar Dollison has died of an apparent self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head.  Dollison showed up attempting to reconcile with his girlfriend Bethany Greggs at a tenants meeting to discuss the city’s decision to convert Millford Estates into luxury hotel “The Millford” as part of the city’s Urban Renewal and Expansion program headed by Councilman Ford.  After Greggs refused to leave with him, he reportedly pulled out his .32 caliber revolver and shot himself.  Investigators say Dollison has recently experienced harsh criticism for his work at an art showing for the esteemed  Tres Noire Gallery over the weekend.  He had also been removed from consideration for a $200,000 contract to provide artwork for the newly redesigned “Millford” and was given the news preceding the incident.  Services for Dollison had not been planned at the time this report was given.  Now let’s turn to Mary Weathers with a look at our local weather and traffic.  Mary…”

“Damned media always giving too much information with subtle inaccuracies.  She said a mouthful, but it sounded like I was at the tenant’s meeting with them.”  Councilman Ford uses his remote to click the television off.  He gets out of his oversized mahogany leather chair and walks over to the bar, reaching for his cognac.  “I have a meeting with the investors first thing in the morning.  Then with the city.”  He pours the cognac and extends an offer to Keagan Trudeaux who refuses with a shake of his head.  “Damned prick probably staged this on purpose because he was withdrawn from the art deal.”  The Councilman takes a swig of cognac. “The way I’m thinking, this could go either way.”

“Yeah.  Hate to do this to you, but let me be the voice of reason here.” Keagan eases further back into the couch. “The truth is that for what we’re planning, and what the investors had in mind, this bit of publicity could put the project on hold at best.  I mean, luxury suites at what has become a crime scene?  The one thing that we were pushing that had us in the running was that the crime stats were low.  And eventhough this guy offed himself, I just don’t think it’ll sit well with what we’re hoping to attract.”

“They don’t necessarily have to know.  How many people research if a renovated business was once a part of a crime scene?”  Councilman Ford is pacing while taking swigs of his cognac.  “Damn, this was my major reelection ticket.  And I want to attract some higher income residents!  These poor, disadvantaged nobodys are comfortably parked at the expense of our city’s progress.  Now, I might not get them out of this district with this deal, but believe me I will eventually make this what I want it to be.”

“Councilman,” Keagan playfully scorns.  “What a way to talk about your cherished voters who have elected you to represent them.”

Councilman Ford stops pacing as if that comment has sobered his conscience.  That is, until he notices the malicious grin on Keagan’s face.  He quietly chuckles as he returns to his mahogany leather chair.  “Keagan, the people elect someone to represent them.  Make decisions on their behalf in their ignorance.  He places his glass on a coaster and reaches in his pocket to retrieve his lighter and a cigar.  Whether they realize it or not,”  Councilman Ford rests the cigar on his lips and lights it, taking a long, deep draw before exhaling a thick cloud of smoke and returning the lighter to his pocket, “ this move is actually what’s best for them.  We’ve already seen evidence of that.  Violence has penetrated their community.  They no longer feel safe there.  They’ll want to move.”

“And we’re just the people to make them understand that.” Keagan smiles.

“Indeed.”

“Beth, why haven’t you answered my calls?”

Bethany stands looking as though she’s unsure of herself.  She’s about to speak, but doesn’t know what to say.  Just as she parts her lips, she notices that he has a pistol tucked in his trousers. 

He notices her eying the gleaming steel.  He draws the weapon from his pants and looks at it.  “I don’t know why I brought this.  It really doesn’t seem necessary, does it?”  He begins examining the gun as if it’s something foreign to him.  As if in some transient state, slightly detached from the reality of the situation.

Bethany can’t take her eyes off of the gun.  Juniper runs into the foyer.  Her pace is abruptly halted when she sees the gun.  “WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!?!”

He points the gun at Juniper, startled by her presence. 

“NO!” Bethany yells, grabbing Juniper and attempting to shield her.  They embrace each other, feeling helpless.

Realizing it’s Juniper, he gives her a unintentional grin.  “What?  Do you think I’m really going to hurt her?  I love her!”  He shifts his focus to Bethany.  “I love you, Beth,” he whispers with pleading eyes.  Noticing that neither of them have taken their eyes off the pistol, he tries to make light of the situation.

“This thing isn’t even loaded,” he assures them as he turns the gun on himself.  “See.”

Gunfire reverberates through the foyer and a warm body collapses to the floor. 

Time seems to have flashed forward, yet moves ever so slowly.  The place is not occupied by police and the media.  Beth stays crouched beside her abuser who has once again managed to make himself appear the victim. Paramedics move in to assist.   Juniper stands staring at her in disbelief, wondering what kind of fool’s love or drugs she could possibly have gotten into to care so much for that man.  Her thoughts are interrupted.

“Ma’am, I know this might be difficult for you, but we need you to try your best to explain what happened while it’s fresh on your mind.”  A female officer places a blanket over Juniper’s shoulders and walks her toward the meeting room, where she takes a seat.    She’s shivering with terror but trying her best to control her body movements.  The meeting room once full of angry tension is now weighed with sorrow and disbelief.  Some others remain present and are also answering questions while talking amongst each other.  The officer offers her a tissue. 

“This maniac just came in here and tried to get her to leave in front of all of us.  He’s been beating her for most their relationship.  But I can’t believe the nerve of this idiot.”  Juniper sniffs and tries to hold back the tears that are forming.  “I tried to get her to leave him, but she wouldn’t.  She kept going back.”

“The two of you are friends?”

“Yes.  Most of my life, since like second grade or something.”  The tears flow endlessly now.

Another officer interrupts and whispers to the officer interviewing Juniper.  Almost simultaneously, a scream can be heard from the foyer, startling Juniper.  She turns around in her chair.  “What’s happening?”

“The man involved has just died,” the officer answers while jotting down notes.  “Self-inflicted gunshot wound point blank range to the head.  Not many survive those.”  The officer hands her a card.  “If you have questions, you can give me a call.  And of course, if we need any additional information I’ll be in touch.”

Juniper takes the card and the officer leaves.  She rushes back to where Bethany is kneeled in the foyer and envelops her in an embrace as the paramedics hoist the body onto the gurney and proceed to exit the premises.  Bethany is crying and rocking back and forth.  “No, Jun.  I never wanted this to happen,” she quietly sobs in a disillusioned hysteria.  “I just wanted him to get some help.  I didn’t want him to…to die.”

Juniper wishes she could offer some consolation, but the moment he flashed the pistol keeps replaying in her mind.  The only thoughts she has are that she’s glad he killed himself and didn’t injure her, Bethany or anyone else for that matter.  As painful as this moment is for Beth, it’s finally over.  He’ll never beat her again. 

A tall, well-dressed statuesque gentleman is being accompanied inside the building by an officer and another gentleman dressed in business attire.  Juniper is distracted, still hoping to get a chance to speak with the owner of the building or some city official.  The gentleman is being brought up to speed by the officer regarding the course of events.  Juniper tunes in to their conversation.

“…and apparently the man 86ed himself because of some disagreement with a young lady that was attending the tenants meeting,” the officer concludes.

“But she doesn’t reside in this building?”

“No, sir.  She’s friends with one of the tenants.”

“Look, we’ve got a pretty decent deal going on this property.  What can we do to minimize the press on this?  I don’t want to jeopardize these negotiations.” 

“Not much can be done, now.  As you can pretty much tell, the press are already all over it.”  The officer motions toward the people taking pictures that are with the newspapers and some camera crew setting up to do a live feed.  He reaches in his pocket and pulls out a card.  “If you have questions, you can call the station.  If you’ll excuse me.”  The officer nods and resumes conversing with other law enforcement personnel.

“Well if they wanted to save the building, this certainly isn’t the right way to go about it.  This has not only potentially ruined our plans, but put a dent in the crime rate and added another thorn to our statistics.  We haven’t had a violent crime in this area in quite a few years.”  The tall, well-dressed gentleman turns toward the other beside him.  They look around seemingly disgusted and puzzled at the same time.  A teenager bumps into them trying to squeeze by.  She’s chatting nonstop on her cellular.

“…and how about some dude shows up trying to get his girlfriend to leave in front of everybody.  She doesn’t at first, but then runs out behind him after he finally decides to go.  Then her friend runs out after her.  And girl the man end up blowing his brains out in the foyer.  I mean, what kind of mess is this?  It’s like some crap you’d see on tv.  There’s police all over the place.  Folks with the newspapers and from the news askin’ questions and stuff.  Ooo, what if they shut the building down and I get to move back home with daddy…”  Valissa strolls beside the refreshment table and reaches past two ladies to get herself another appetizer.  “Hmm.  These things are good.”

“Thank you,”  Alesandra gives a weak smile and watches the teenager make way to a seat beside a woman she assumes is her mother.

“Why did something like this have to happen today?  I had a surprise for you,” Tish scoffs.

“And just what kind of surprise is that?”  Alesandra inquires while beginning to pack up the serving trays.

Tish reaches in her messenger bag and pulls out a flyer, holding it visibly in front of her chest.  “Ta Da!”

“”The Epicurean fine cuisine and pastry,’” Alesandra reads.  “What is this about?”  She takes the flyer and continues reading over it.

“I was going to help you get paid, girl,” Tish squeals.  “You’ve been getting called upon quite often to do these little favors, and it’s time you started raking in some dollars.  After all, this is your chosen profession.”

“Tish,” Alesandra glares at her.  “Let me put you on pause there for a second.  My plate is full just trying to finish school.  I can’t tag on any additional weight right now.  I’m focused on finishing so I can get on at –“

“Ok, let me stop you right there because you’re not making sense.  Aren’t you taking  time to do these favors anyway despite all that you have on your plate trying to finish school?”

Alesandra hesitates for a moment in thought.  “Yeah…” she slowly utters.

“All you’ll be doing is getting paid for what you’re already volunteering to do.”  Tish’s argument is reasonably sound.  “We could start by hitting this guy’s family up to do the food at the repass.”

Alesandra stares blankly at Tish.  “Sometimes I really can’t believe you’re my sister.”  Her eyes catch a glimpse of an elderly lady walking behind her.

Geneva barely can make her way to the foyer because there’s so much commotion.  The few moments she spent watching were more than just to satisfy her own curiosity.  It had occurred to her that an officer might want to speak with her.  She had a bird’s eye view of everything from the back where she was seated.  At first she thought nothing of the gentleman that leaned against the doorway.  He looked a little rough.  Had a five o’clock shadow and bloodshot eyes.  Geneva figured he was just hung over or something.  These young people these days party hard like the world’s coming to an end.  And, she’d never seen him in the building before, but then again she’d not recognized most of the other tenants.  On second thought, he did have a strange kind of wild look in his eyes as he scanned the crowd.  Oh, but what’s an old woman like Geneva know about strange looking men.  Just about every generation is full of strange looks to her nowadays.  No one asked her any questions.  And from what she could gather, the young man probably didn’t survive.  So it probably wasn’t necessary to get any additional information.

It certainly would be a dreadful misfortune if she’s forced to find another building.  It took quite a while to find a place that could accommodate her fixed income.  With all the prices going up it would be too difficult and too much of a financial strain to start all over again.  She laughs to herself.  It’s funny how the citizens can become an inconvenience to the city in the name of progress.  She pauses and takes notice of the people buzzing around, then looks up the stairs.  These cruel stairs.  So steep for an old woman to have to climb.  The elevator hasn’t worked since she’s lived here.  Then she thinks about Quincy.  If he calls, she’d have something to talk to him about.  He’s sure to see the story on the evening news.  Just as she’s about to begin her climb a woman eases past her, a teenager walking alongside.

“So, how about we move back to the west side.  We don’t have to live that close to daddy.  And I can go to that other school if you don’t want me back at the Academy.”

“And have you reunite with those hoodlums?  Absolutely not.  What we’re gonna do is wait and find out what they plan to do about this first.  I doubt any deal is gonna happen now with a mess like this drawing attention to this building.”

“But Maria who wanna walk through the lobby everyday knowing that’s where that man blew his brains out.  It could be too traumatic for me and…”

Maria gives Valissa a sideways glance and laughs.  “Then you are traumatized each and every step you take out there on that concrete.  This is the city, baby.  Lots of folks have met their end right out there on them streets.  Besides, like that lady was saying in the tenants meeting, it’s too expensive to keep moving.”

“Ahhh!”  Valissa stomps up the stairs ahead of her mother mumbling. 

The Life of Orderly Chaos:

An online soap opera

Season 2 premier

January 7

“There are some things we can do.  We don’t have to take this lying down.  We can challenge this decision.”  Juniper has spear-headed a tenants’ meeting in a downstairs common area that none of them even knew existed.  It seems everyone is present.  The tension in the room is so thick it could be cut with a knife.  Some aren’t holding back how disgusted they are with this sudden inconvenience.  Some are hanging around the refreshments seemingly more interested in free food and evening entertainment. 

Geneva creeps in and pushes her way through the crowd, taking a vacant seat near the wall at the back of the room.      

“Some things we can do like what?  Those folks aren’t going to listen to us!  If they cared anything about what we thought, they’d have talked with us before making this decision.”  Maria’s tone leaves no question as to how she feels about the entire ordeal.  Valissa looks at her sideways, then rolls her eyes and shakes her head.  She sits with her arms crossed, hoping this is finally her ticket to return home to her father. 

“Unfortunately, this is what happens when we don’t pay attention to what’s going on in city government.  If suggestions are made and there’s no one there to speak on our behalf or otherwise, we get excluded from deciding upon the outcome,” Bethany echoes.  As any best friend would, she’s volunteered to help organize and whatever else Juniper might need.  

“Then, who’s our councilman? Or is it an alderman?  Whatever it’s called, I’ve never seen anybody around here introducing themselves even around election time.”  Alesandra whirls in with an armful of additional finger foods.  Tish is close behind carrying beverages to put on ice.  They begin to assemble the refreshments on the table amongst the others.

“What about the owner of the building?  He made the deal without telling us anything!  And I just moved in here a couple months ago.  Do you know how expensive it can get moving?  Then transferring mail and all that!”

“Ok, there’re quite a few questions we want answered.  Now, I think the first thing we should do is get an attorney to advise us of what our rights are.  Do any of you happen to know someone or have a family member that could help us out? Cost-friendly?”

The room remains silent.

“Ok, there could be someone that would be willing to do some pro-bono work.  I’ll handle it.  And… the next thing would be to find out who represents us on that council.  Since none of us seems to know, I’ll phone and find out whose district we’re in and ask a few questions.”

“Who should I speak with about possible relocation assistance, since we’re being forced out?”

Juniper’s hands are throbbing from scribbling the tenants’ questions on her steno pad.  “I’ve noted that also, Alesandra.  By the way, let’s give Alesandra a hand for these delicious refreshments that she’s prepared.”  A few tenants chewing on finger food smile and nod in her direction, with staggering applause.  “Thank you so much, Alesandra.”

Alesandra nods with a nervous smile, slightly taken by surprise.  The tenants resume their questions and complaints.

A stranger enters the room, his head swallowed by an oversized chapeau.  He leans against the doorway with his hands in his pockets.  For a moment, Juniper is hopeful that it’s the owner of the building.  She invited him via voicemail and email but never received a response.  He did send one of the maintenance men to open up the room for them, though.  So perhaps he did decide to show.

“Ok, so how many of us would be willing to attend the next city council meeting?”  Surprisingly, most the entire room raises their hands, murmuring among themselves how serious they are about challenging these decisions.  “That’s great!  I’m going to start a contact list.  You can include your name, telephone number, email address and whatever other information you think would be useful.”  Juniper tears out a couple sheets and makes a quick heading before starting the list circulating around the room.   “Beth, do you have an extra pen?  I have more notes to jot down.”

At the mention of Beth’s name, the stranger begins scanning the crowd.  Beth digs through her purse and pulls out a writing utensil.  She taps the person in front of her and asks her to pass it to the person with the list. 

“Beth, can we take a moment to talk?”

“The stranger towering over her shoulder isn’t easily identifiable to the other tenants with the oversized chapeau.  They pay little attention to his quiet request that Beth to excuse herself.  

 Juniper freezes as she watches Bethany try to handle the situation on her own.  The look on her face is clear.  It isn’t the maintenance man, nor the owner of the building.  “Sir, this meeting is for tenants only.  I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“This lady isn’t a tenant in this building,” the man rebuttals, almost with a tinge of humor.   “But we’ll gladly leave,” he smiles as he takes Beth by the hand.  She tries to resist, but his grip is firm.  Some other tenants notice that something doesn’t look quite right.  To avoid further embarrassment, Bethany gets up from her chair and reluctantly walks toward the exit with her escort.

Juniper watches, unsure what to do.  She wants to call out to her friend, but doesn’t want to give away too much of Bethany’s personal matters to the other tenants. 

“Perhaps we can also get the media involved.  They’d have a field day with this story.  Local residents forced out.  All these faces in the news.”  Juniper’s message is clear.  The man looks around at the crowd, some of them still watching.  He smiles maliciously back at them before turning to Beth.

“Are you coming along?  Or should I plan on seeing you afterwards?” 

Bethany slowly turns and makes her way back to her seat, occasionally glancing behind her as if she’s afraid she’ll be threatened with violence.  She doesn’t say another word.  The entire room has an eerie silence.

He never takes his eyes off of her.  “Later then,” he announces before glancing over the room one last time.  “You all have a very productive meeting.  Sorry to have disturbed you.”  He gives another malevolent smile and exits.

“Alright, then,” Juniper sighs.  “Now, let’s make plans to organize a –“

Bethany bolts out of her seat and runs out of the room, startling Juniper and a few others seated nearby.  Some roll their eyes and shake their heads as if they’ve seen this before. 

“Beth, NO!” Juniper calls out to her, watching her run after her abuser.  “Ma’am, do you mind continuing?  I have to-“

“Not at all, honey.  Go see about your friend.”  A lady gets up and starts to make mention of other resources that could be useful to their cause while Juniper goes to assist Bethany.

The tenants all seem slightly shaken.  Yelling can be heard echoing from the foyer.  They glance at each other, not sure what should be done.  Some are fidgeting with their cellulars, contemplating phoning the police.  Others seem all too familiar with this scenario and begin whispering among themselves, ignoring the lady that’s taken the floor. 

“WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!?!”  Someone yells from the foyer.

“NO!!”

Gunfire echoes throughout the place, followed by screams and gasps.  Panic and tension return.  Some run toward the foyer.  Others quickly dial the police.  aH

“These old rags will never do.”  Geneva pushes back the numerous “dusters” and house dresses she has accumulated over the years.  Grocery.  That’s all she’s bought for herself.  Of course, there isn’t much income to purchase clothing.  Still, if she’d have skipped buying a house dress or two, she could’ve managed to buy a new dress over a couple of months, even if only from the clothing barn or community center.  But then, why should she?  She’d never actually expected to get a phone call from Quincy asking her out.  Yet he’d called only moments ago explaining that she’d left a bag of cat food at the Cornerstore Market last week.  He’d suggested they meet for coffee this afternoon so he could return it to her.  A Friday morning date.

 Geneva pulls out an old floral print dress and presses it against her body while looking in the mirror.  As she studies her appearance, her eyes rest on the reflection of a photograph of herself from over thirty years ago framed on her dresser.  She takes one hand and caresses her face.  The years have been bitterly kind.  For a moment time flashes to the last date she can remember.  The silly feelings she had hoping to become Mrs. Wellman on that day so many years ago, only to be told that there was already a Mrs. Wellman.  The pain from that experience seemingly etched in her forehead and around her eyes. 

“Oh, this is so silly, PomPom.  This isn’t a date.  I’m just picking up my bag.”  She hangs the dress over the mirror and turns toward PomPom nestled in the center of her bed. “This silly old ninny left your bag of food at the grocers.”  She pets PomPom’s head and begins unwrapping the clothing from her body.  After a few moments, she’s changed and ready to go.  Her hair is pinned in a neat chignon.  She smooths the sides down once more before tying the scarf neatly over her crown and putting on her coat. 

“I shouldn’t be gone long, PomPom,” she calls out as she shuts her door and makes way toward the stairs.  No chance in hoping that the elevator has been fixed.  It’s been broken so long that she’d be afraid to ride it if it were.  Her knees question if Quincy is worth the effort with every stair she takes.  But it isn’t for Quincy she tells herself.  PomPom has to have his food.

It’s a good thing that the coffeehouse is nearby.  Geneva has never been inside.  She’s only passed by a time or two.  This seems a popular spot.  Lots of people buzzing in and out.  She marvels at them, mostly young and middle aged adults.  People huddled together chatting.  Some sound so serious.  Some laughing.  Quincy stands and waves his cane in the crowd.  He’s seated in the back near a window.  Geneva nods and makes her way through the crowd.

“I hope this wasn’t too much of an inconvenience for you.”  Quincy props himself on his cane and pulls out her chair.

“No, I should be thanking you,” Geneva laughs as she takes her seat and nods in appreciation.  “I’ve only passed by this place going this place or the other.  Never been inside.  It’s really nice.”

“It’s usually not so busy this time of the day.  The morning crowds rush in for coffee.  The afternoons are usually mellow.”  Quincy takes his seat and rests his cane on the back of his chair.  “Oh, before I forget…” he pulls a bag from the seat adjacent to his. “This is yours.”  He extends the bag to Geneva.  “Didn’t know you had a cat.  I can usually tell a cat person from a couple of feet away,” he laughs.

Geneva takes the bag and gives a nervous smile. 

“How long have you had your cat?” Quincy inquires.

“I, eh… I’ve-“

“Your coffee, sir.”  The waitress interrupts, placing coffee and condiments on the table.  Quincy gives her a nod and smile as she leaves.

“I hope you don’t mind.  I took the liberty of ordering for you.  It’s only black coffee.  Decaf.  Medium roast.” 

“That’s just fine, Quincy.  Thank you.”  Geneva and Quincy begin personalizing their coffee with sweeteners and creams.  Geneva takes half and half.  She notices a box in the chair that Quincy pulled the bag from.

“A package?” she motions toward the chair.

Quincy is puzzled at first, until he realizes she’s pointing at the box.  “Oh, yes.  I’m sending a care package to the victims of Hurricane Sandy. ”

“That’s very thoughtful of you Quincy.  I’m sure that’ll be much appreciated.  Did you have family there?”

“No, I just always try to do something to help when I can.”  Quincy sips his coffee.  “That’s just right.  Nothing like a nice cup of coffee in good company.”

Geneva smiles as she tests the temperature of hers that’s now cooled slightly from the cold half and half that’s been added.  There’s a sudden noise that startles them both from a table not too far from theirs.  Some patron emotionally charged over the re-election of President Obama to the point that he has lost his ability to communicate his feelings without all those unnecessary sound effects.

“Guess there are some still unsettled about the election,” Quincy scoffs. 

“Well, can’t please everybody,”  Geneva laughs.  Quincy joins her in laughter. 

The two of them sit for about an hour or so, reacquainting themselves.  Geneva learns that Quincy has been married only once.  A widower for only about five years now.  He has two grown sons that are also making careers as servicemen.  Geneva sits and listens to his stories with not much to share about her own. 

“I’d better get to the post office and get this mailed off if I want it included in today’s shipment,”  Quincy announces, preparing the get up with the assistance of his cane.  “Would you be interested in a walk to the post office?  It’s just right around the corner.”

“No, I’ve got to get back,” Geneva lies, not wanting to seem too available.  She also prepares to rise from the table.  Quincy quickly reaches to pull her chair out.  She smiles at him displaying such qualities of a gentleman, wondering how long that could possibly last.  As she picks up her bag and stands, she extends her hand to shake.  “PomPom thanks you,” she says while holding up the bag of cat food.

Sparked by the mention of her cat, Quincy inquires again.  “You know, this is really the strangest thing.  I’ve been deathly allergic to cats all my life.  Can’t stand to be within a few feet of anyone that owns one.  But…my allergies aren’t the least bit bothered by you.”

Geneva gives a nervous smile. 

The waitress comes to clean the table.  “Is there something else I can get you?”

“No,” Geneva nods.  “We’re leaving.”  She looks toward Quincy.  “Thank you again.”  Geneva begins to make her way toward the door, turning back to wave at Quincy.

Quincy nods and picks up the box from the other chair, never taking his eyes off of her.  “I’ll call again.  Another cup of coffee on another day?”  He asks.

Geneva turns and gives and affirmative nod.  “I wouldn’t mind that at all.”  She waves once more as she exits the coffeehouse.

The stroll back to Millford Estates is one of the most pleasant Geneva has had in quite some time.  Her knees don’t ache quite as bad.  Perhaps the small amount of exercise has helped, if only a short walk to the coffeehouse.  As she climbs the steep stone stairs to the entrance she takes in a deep breath and smiles.  Then she opens the heavy, intricately carved mahogany door and carefully makes her way over the threshold.  Some tenants are gathered near the mailboxes just to the left of the entrance.  Guess now’s as good a time as any to check for her new AARP card.  And maybe her new benefits statement arrived.  She slowly moves around the people near the mailboxes, reflecting on the wonderful time she’s had.  While fumbling with her keys she notices that the conversation from those gathered about sounds upsetting. 

“How can they just do this without telling us anything beforehand?” One questions with disappointment.

“It seems like we should get a vote or some say so about what happens to us!” another angrily protests.

“I just moved here a few months ago.  Look like if they knew about this they wouldn’t have accepted new tenants,” sputters someone else.

“Thank God.  I wonder if they’re going to give us some relocation assistance,” sighs another.

Geneva reaches inside her mailbox and pulls out a neatly folded piece of paper addressed to her and taped together.  She gently separates and unfolds the paper, squinting to try and read the typing that is already in large, bold print.

Dear Tenant,

Millford Estates will no longer be available as residential property effective immediately.  You are being asked to vacate within three months of this date.  Your understanding and cooperation is greatly appreciated as we continue to grow and expand in effort to remain a thriving city.       

aH