Spare Change (Wyattsville #1)(3)

“No,” she answered, “I’ve simply come to the realization that marriage and children are not for me.” She then kissed poor Herbert and escorted him to the door saying it was her hope they could remain friends.

“Friends?” Herbert replied, but by then she’d closed the door.





Olivia Ann Westerly

I told people the thought of being tied down to a man who expected a clean shirt every morning and dinner on the table at the dot of six was something I simply couldn’t face; but the real truth of the matter is that I’ve grown petrified of babies. They look all cute and cuddly in their little pink and blue buntings, but I’ve seen what they do to women.

Just look at poor Francine, and Alma, and Sara Sue, even my mama—every single one of them, left without dreams, without hopes, bent like apple trees heavy with fruit and yet still expected to bear more. The thought of such a life gives me hives and makes me itch from head to toe. Why on earth, I ask myself, would any woman want babies stuck to her like so many leaches?

But, even with feeling as I do, I miss Herbert something terrible. Many a lonely evening, I’ve lifted the telephone from its hook when I was on the verge of asking him to come back; then I remember poor Francine with those five kids hanging onto her. After that, I put the telephone back and find myself a book to read. A year after we’d said our goodbyes Herbert married Polly Dobelink; and when that happened I cried for weeks on end.





Never too Old

In the years that followed, Olivia had her fair share of suitors, but whenever the issue of marriage came up, she’d disappear leaving them flat as a run-over nickel. That was until the spring of 1956, when she met Charlie Doyle, a man with silver hair and a powder blue Chevrolet convertible.

Charlie had eyes the color of spring blueberries and twice as tempting. “Now, wouldn’t I just love to have him slip into my bed on a cold night,” the women of the Wyattsville Social Club whispered to one another. Women who had been married for forty years would start thinking of divorce when they looked at Charlie. Widows showered him with baskets of homemade cookies then giggled like school girls when he planted a kiss on their cheek. Some were out-and-out flamboyant in vying for his attention. The widow Mulligan on more than one occasion indicated that she would be willing to add his name to her sizable savings account were he to ask a certain question. And, Gussie Bernhoff, daring as ever you please, invited him to spend the night at her apartment. Yes, you could easily say Charlie had everything a man could wish for in Wyattsville; and he probably would not have gone over to Richmond, were it not for his pal Herbert Flannery’s retirement party.

As he and Herbert were sipping martinis and reminiscing, Olivia swished by in a rustle of green silk. “Who’s that?” Charlie whispered into Herbert’s ear.

“Her?” Herbert replied, “Forget her. She’s a career woman with no interest whatsoever in men.”

“We’ll see,” Charlie said; then he marched over and introduced himself. From afar he had believed her to be a woman in her thirties but close up he could see the cluster of lines crinkling the corners of her green eyes. Of course, by then it was already too late, he’d been captured by a smile that made him feel younger than did the powder blue convertible.

Suddenly Charlie developed an overwhelming need for the excitement of Richmond and he began driving to town three times a week, even though it was seventy-seven miles each way. He’d start out thinking he’d go to the museum, or shopping for a new suit, or any of a dozen other destinations, but he’d always end up standing in front of the Southern Atlantic Telephone Company office at the very moment Olivia walked out. “Have you seen the new movie at the Strand?” he’d ask nonchalantly. If she’d already seen the movie, he’d suggest the ballet at the Civic Center or a concert over at the Music Hall. They’d start with dinner then stroll across the park so engrossed in each other that they took no notice of time. On numerous occasions they missed both the coming attractions and the newsreel; and on one particularly starry evening they missed the entire first act of the ballet.

Olivia was as taken with Charlie as he was with her. A full hour before quitting time, she’d begin to powder her nose and smooth back her hair. She’d get to wondering whether or not he’d be there and miss a meeting or forget to post a report that was scheduled to be sent off in the day’s mail. In the midst of dictating a letter about employee benefits or training programs, she’d drift off to picturing his smile and the way he’d stroke her face with his fingers. Day after day she walked around with a goofy-looking grin curling the corners of her mouth and her heart beating three times faster than usual. “It must be love,” the office clericals whispered to one another; but, oblivious to their gossip, Olivia simply continued to float around looking happy as a Fourth of July parade.

This continued on for three months until one night in late July. After a particularly romantic evening at the Starlight Lounge, Charlie, lost in the green of her eyes, blurted out a proposal. “Marry me,” he said, at the very moment she was about to swallow a chocolate truffle.

Olivia gasped with such a huge intake of air that the chocolate became lodged in her throat. “Well?” Charlie said as she sat there turning red-faced. When the chocolate melted to the size of a penny and slid down her throat, she told him that she was a bit shaken and needed to go home.