Out of the Easy(63)

“I can’t say that I have,” said Miss Paulsen. “Louise, your daughter is quite impressive. You must be very proud.”

“Yeah, she’s a real good girl. She just needs to learn to doll herself up more, classy-like. Did you know she’s named after the classiest madam in Storyville?” She nudged my arm in pride. “Is there any vodka? I think I’d like a Bloody Mary.” Mother wandered toward the kitchen.

There I stood, turned completely wrong side out in front of Miss Paulsen. A dignified professor, an alumna of Smith, and my filthy laundry flapping in her face.

She reached out and gently took my hand. “I think we understand each other very well now, Josie.”





FORTY-TWO


Still no mail from Smith. I received another letter from Charlotte asking if I’d like to join her family in the Berkshires over the summer. I had no idea where the Berkshires were and had to look it up. It sounded expensive and would certainly be costly to get there. And then I’d need appropriate clothes, clothes that I didn’t have and couldn’t afford.

The door opened and Betty Lockwell sauntered into the shop with her sour-apple smile and rail-thin limbs poking out of an obviously pricey dress. I thought I had knocked her arms off back at the tree.

“Hello,” she said, looking around the shop for Patrick. “Remind me of your name.”

“Jo.”

“That’s right, Jo.”

“Patrick’s not here,” I told her.

Her bottom lip pouted. “Oh, that’s a shame. He recommended a book he said I’d like. But it was out of stock. Ted Capote.”

“It’s in now.” I pulled the book from the display and handed it to her. She turned it over and saw the controversial photo of the nubile Capote, lounging on the back cover, staring into the camera.

“Wow, he’s young. When will Patrick be here?”

“Perhaps you haven’t heard, Betty. Patrick lost his father. The funeral was last week.” I couldn’t help myself and added, “He may go to the West Indies to see his mother.”

“The West Indies? Well, that’s no good.”

John Lockwell burst through the door, his scowling son, Richard, in tow. “Come on, Betty, I told you we didn’t have time. The car is running, and I’m burning gasoline.” Mr. Lockwell saw me and stopped. “Well, hello there, Josephine. How are you?”

“How do you know her?” asked Betty.

I jumped in quickly. “I met your father when Charlotte invited me to your party.” Mr. Lockwell gave me a grin. “I’m fine, Mr. Lockwell, how are you?”

“I’m just fine, too.” He sauntered to the counter. “What’s news?” He loved the secret elasticity between us. Richard watched, eating his fingernails near the door.

“No news on my end. How’s business?” I asked.

“Better than ever. Lots to celebrate. Have you heard from Charlotte lately?”

“Yes, just yesterday. She’s invited me to the Berkshires this summer.”

Betty looked from me to her father, disgusted by our comfortable conversation.

“That sounds mighty fine. You’ll need some nice shoes for the Berkshires, won’t you?”

“I imagine I will.”

“What are you talking about?” Betty asked her father.

He ignored her and leaned on the counter. He pointed to my arm. “That’s a nice watch. Did one of your boyfriends give you that?”

I shot a look at Betty. “Patrick gave it to me for my birthday. He’s so good to me.” Richard Lockwell laughed. “Can I ring that book up for you, Betty?” I asked.

Mr. Lockwell took the book from Betty, saw the photo, and tossed it on the counter. “You’re not getting that. That’s trash.”

“You would know,” said Betty. She turned and stormed out of the store. Richard followed.

Lockwell shook his head. “Lilly has completely ruined that girl. Well, I’ll be going. It’s good to know you actually do work here.” He lowered his voice. “I have a place just over on St. Peter now. You let me know if you’d ever like to . . . meet up.” He grinned and left the shop.

Betty Lockwell and I actually agreed on something. I put my knuckles on the counter, signaling trash.

Cokie arrived at closing time.

“You about closed up?” he asked.

“Just about. Do me a favor and flip the sign in the window.”

Cokie turned the sign to read CLOSED. He locked the door.

“Now, I got some business,” said Cokie. He marched to the counter and held out his hands. “See these?”

I looked at Cokie’s palms, lined deep and weathered.

“Them is some mojo hands. After Mr. Charlie’s funeral, girl, I was so blue I had to get me some fun. So I jumped into a couple games and, oooeee, I was rollin’. For three days straight, I was doublin’ and winnin’. Cornbread say he ain’t never seen nothin’ like it. I quit just when I felt the devil himself tempting me to bet it all. I knew right then why I won that money and what I was goin’ do with the pot. Josie girl, pack that thermos, you goin’ to Smith College.”

He pulled an envelope from his jacket and laid it on the counter.

I stared at the fat, wrinkly envelope. “Cokie, what is this?”