Forever Friday Page 6

She opened her eyes. Under different circumstances, Gabe might have placed twenty Maypoles outside her window and danced love’s madness around each one of them.

  Ignoring her tug-of-war conscience, she smiled at the dizzying thought and gave herself permission to ponder further, this time an extended moment. When it passed, she’d turn her thoughts toward the day at hand.

  Actually, she’d awakened early to go “a-maying,” a medieval tradition of spending the day in search of flowers and tree branches to use for home decoration. Even though she couldn’t carry much and would be going alone, she’d made the decision after reading the words of William Shakespeare to her classes:

  Away before me to sweet beds of flowers:

  Love-thoughts lie rich when canopied with bowers.

  Huck laughed again, picturing Gabe and herself picking flowers and sawing off tree branches in front of Houston’s City Hall … a daring imagining she’d never even considered with Clark. She whispered Shakespeare’s words, wondering what she still saw in her fiancé. In his last letter, he’d mentioned coming for another visit. He’d purchased an elegant new sedan called the 1926 Vertical Eight. It was a luxurious upgrade of the Stutz Bearcat, and he couldn’t wait for her to see it. At first she thought he’d intended to drive down for May Day, but after a dull and detailed explanation of a hunting trip he’d be on with his father, she realized he meant coming the following Saturday. Huck was relieved. Now the entire day belonged to her.

  The aroma of brewed coffee wafted from Mrs. Thompson’s kitchen down the hall. On weekends, the girls were allowed to do their own cooking; however, all the boarders but Huck were away until Sunday night. Even Mrs. Thompson would be leaving shortly for an overnight visit to an ailing sister.

  Huck turned her head in the direction of the kitchen. She was too excited to prepare and eat breakfast. Market Square would be crowded with food vendors offering free samples. She enjoyed browsing the colorful booths, sniffing appetizing aromas, and munching on a bite of whatever intrigued her. And since she’d be in the neighborhood of Cecil’s Fish Market & Seafood Emporium, it might be interesting to pick up some canned anchovies to have on hand. See if Gabe worked on Saturday. See if he’d still remember her. It had been over a month since she’d playfully turned down his dinner invitation. She’d heard her housemates gossip about how some men viewed female rejection as a challenge, begging for dates over and over. How these men were usually insecure, arrogant pests. Other males, they said, developed prideful amnesia, conveniently forgetting a girl’s name and pretending they’d never asked.

  “Those types of men,” Huck said aloud, “are not Gabe.” At least, that’s what her intuition said. Her mother had taught that a woman of conviction must have a faith courageous enough to act on her God-given insight. It was only proper. Huck nodded now in respectful agreement. This was one instance where they concurred one hundred percent. And even when they disagreed, Huck admired her mother’s passion and overall good sense. If any woman could stand tall on her own experience, it was Annise Huckabee.

  After putting on a robe, Huck grabbed a washcloth and her toothbrush. The bathroom was directly across the hall. Since she’d bathed the night before, it wouldn’t take long to wash her face and brush her teeth.

  Back in her own room, she chose a lightweight dress of pastel yellow with a waistline that dropped to the hip. Most women she knew who were middle-aged and older considered the low waistline brazen. Huck smiled. Poor old-fashioned ladies. If they only realized that a sleek modern slip must be worn underneath instead of a drab underskirt. She removed her gown and dropped the dress over her head. It fit perfectly and would match her new shoes and handbag.

  Sitting at her vanity, Huck gathered her hair into a tidy bun and pinned it into place. She studied her reflection and added one more hairpin. The whole unpleasant hair-cutting affair came to mind again and made her frown. Clark would allow her to cut her hair shoulder length because he loved her? She’d grow it down to her heels before she’d agree to a controlling compromise.

  And what about makeup and perfume? Clark had already voiced disapproval with the exciting new colors and the mysterious Oriental scents. She flung open a drawer and applied ruby lipstick, bold rouge, and a hint of jasmine perfume—her new favorite. The final touch came from her jewelry box. A fashionable long necklace of sparkling glass beads.

  In less than five minutes, it would be eight a.m. Shops around Market Square were already open, including one that specialized in native flowers and greenery, but it usually sold out in a few hours. If she hurried, she could board the next Bissonnet Street trolley to Montrose Boulevard, then walk one block east and catch a Main Street trolley all the way to the business district.

  The Bissonnet Street trolley was half full, and she had no trouble finding a place to sit. The Main Street trolley was a different matter. Eager passengers pushed and shoved into any available space. Women balanced children on their laps, while men stood in the aisle or crowded upon the steps and rear platform to smoke. Huck shared a seat with a woman holding a baby girl and twin toddler boys. The baby fidgeted, drooling a steady stream, while the toddlers tried to unwrap a smashed chocolate bar. The mother looked tired and seemed oblivious to her surroundings. Shopping with this energetic brood probably meant she couldn’t afford a sitter. Huck sighed. It was a problem she’d never have the opportunity to worry about.

  An image of Mister Jack filtered into her thoughts. Meeting him seemed eons ago. Each year, it became harder to distinguish between what had actually happened and what she’d conjured in her childhood imagination. Experience and maturity reasoned he was probably some kind of deranged drifter instead of her guardian angel. But her heart and soul begged to differ.

  Her secret glen, where she and Mister Jack talked that day, was destroyed shortly after her revelation to teach. Huntsville and the State of Texas bulldozed and rerouted the creek in order to develop a park surrounding Sam Houston’s woodland home. Unable to revisit the glen, she’d had two vivid dreams about Mister Jack and the Anacacho orchids. In the first, he stood in the center with arms stretched in opposite directions and hands cupped, an Anacacho blossom resting on each palm. The second dream happened the night after she’d met Gabe. It was the same scenario as the first, but this time Mister Jack pulled his hands together so that the blossoms touched. He never spoke, his face a blur except for a wide white grin.

  “Tommy, Jimmy, no!”

  The exhausted mother’s consternation whirled Huck’s thoughts back into the streetcar, but it was too late. The toddlers had smeared chocolate all over her new dress.

  “I’m so sorry,” the woman said. “They were just trying to share. I dug the bar out of my handbag to keep them busy. The wrapper was stuck to the chocolate, and I didn’t think they’d get it off.” She pulled a spit rag from her shoulder, and the baby began to wail. “If we found some water, I could—”

  “It’s all right,” Huck managed to reply as the streetcar bumped to a stop. “You need it worse than I.” She nodded to one of the little boys. “Tommy’s painted his brother.”

  “You mean Jimmy,” the mother said.

  “Of course.” When Huck disembarked at the corner of Main and Preston, all three children were crying.

  She fought back a frustrated groan and scampered across Main to the trolley stop on the opposite side, hiding the worst of the chocolate smears under her purse. The dress was her May Day outfit and she’d wanted Gabe to see her in it, that is, if she happened to run into him. Now she’d have to rush all the way back home and soak it, even though the stains had probably set. A better choice, although impossible, would be to drop it off at the nearest laundry. That would mean parading down Main afterward in her slip, and Clark thought short hair was the definition of a floozy. Strolling through the city scantily clad was a daring imagining she wasn’t quite ready for. She managed a slight smile. It would almost be worth telling Clark her scandalous musings and watching the horror erode his face. But then, after the hai
r-cutting episode and the way he’d hurt her wrist …

  She shivered.

  Perhaps she’d just keep such additional thoughts to herself.

  Huck joined the anxious throng awaiting the next streetcar. In the future she’d be more careful where she sat. Even though it was rare for ladies to stand in the aisle or on the rear platform, it would be preferable to sitting with sticky children. She took a deep breath and slowly released it. By the time she could get home, soak her dress, wash it, hang it out to dry—not to mention ironing—the greenery shop would be long closed. May Day had started so full of promise. Dancing and imagining. The chance to see Gabe the most daring dance of all. She peeked beneath her purse at the chocolate handprints. At least he wouldn’t see her in this embarrassing condition.

  She managed to squeeze onto the next streetcar, several passengers behind a matronly woman carrying a large shopping bag and a stack of hatboxes. The woman plunked into the last available seat. Huck couldn’t see very well, but she heard the woman order a man standing in the aisle to hold her boxes while she dug something out of the bag. As the streetcar began rolling, Huck decided the rear platform would be better than the stuffy aisle, so she moved in that direction. It was awkward to keep her purse over the handprints and steady herself at the same time.

  “Pardon me,” Huck said, maneuvering along the crowded aisle.

  The man holding the hatboxes, his face hidden, was just a few feet ahead, blocking her path.

  “Pardon me,” Huck said again. The matronly woman, still digging, was blabbering too loudly for anyone else to hear.

  As they picked up speed, the man shifted slightly toward Huck. Suddenly, the streetcar swayed, then jerked, and she lost her balance. Dropping her purse, she turned to grab the nearest seat and slipped, falling backward into the man. The next thing Huck knew, she sat in the aisle amid crushed hatboxes … in the lap of a total stranger.

  “My hats!” screamed the woman. “You’ve ruined my new hats.”

  Someone helped Huck to her feet. “I’m so sorry,” she said to the woman. Then turning toward the stranger she asked, “Are you all right?” Huck looked down. The man’s sea-sky eyes and crooked grin met her gaze.

  “Nice dress,” Gabe Alexander said casually. “I have a passion for … um … chocolate.”

  Earlier that Saturday morning, Gabe awakened in the bedroom of his small garage apartment and couldn’t go back to sleep. He glanced at the bedside clock. Four a.m. Usually he woke early due to worry, and he’d wrestle the sheets for hours in anxiety. If he tried hard enough and didn’t allow his mind to become too anxious, he could refocus his thoughts on something pleasant, eventually drifting back into slumber. But this time, the “something” pleasant was a “someone”—Miss Huck Huckabee to be exact. So he lay there a wide-eyed-while longer, tapping his fingers to the clock’s tick, finally deciding to get up. Since he had the day off, it might be wise to spend some nonworking time at his office watching for Huck. Most women shopped early, and this was the most popular errand day of the week.

  Gabe threw back the covers, sat on the edge of the bed, and scratched the stubble on his chin. He wasn’t in the mood but had promised to meet his friend Charlie downtown for a late breakfast. He rubbed his eyes and sighed. He’d much rather be meeting Huck.

  After stumbling into the kitchen, Gabe put some water on to boil while he showered, shaved, and brushed his teeth, all the while concocting sequel scenarios about why Huck had never returned to Cecil’s. He slapped on a little aftershave and remembered it had been over a month since they’d met. After donning clean boxers, socks, and a freshly laundered dress shirt, he dripped a pot of coffee, then sulked through two cups, the first black and the second with cream. Between sips, he wondered not for the first time if his oyster comment had offended her. She might already have a diamond … and a fellow to go along with it.

  He rinsed out the coffeepot and cup, then slipped into a gray linen suit. Standing before his dressing table, he faced the mirror and picked up a bottle he’d purchased the previous day. Wildroot Hair Tonic promised to help “if your romance hung by a hair.”

  “What romance?” Gabe mumbled at his reflection. He rubbed a sprinkle of Wildroot through his hair and combed it into place.

  His hat and suit jacket felt good in the cool morning breeze as he exited down the stairs of his apartment a little before seven. Mr. Blane, his landlord, was already up, tinkering with the engine of a rusty Model T Ford. The Model T lived in the garage below and would backfire when cranked, shaking the entire structure. The apartment was an okay place to live and had met his needs and those of his mother. However, his plans were to eventually sell his parents’ small ranch and buy a nice house in one of Houston’s newer residential neighborhoods.

  Gabe stepped softly, hoping Mr. Blane wouldn’t hear him leave. The man was a talker with spider-like characteristics, capturing innocent victims in his web of words, then boring them to death with the same stale stories.

  Making a clean getaway, Gabe then walked down the street to the nearest trolley stop. As predicted, the Model T cranked, then backfired. He’d considered buying his own car, but decided that public transportation was adequate until he met the right woman. Now, he imagined providing Huck with some of the finer things life had to offer. That is, if he ever saw her again.

  When Gabe disembarked the streetcar at Market Square, the vendor booths were already bustling with activity, which lifted his spirits. He walked a block to Cecil’s, entered from the rear, and climbed the stairs to his office unnoticed. He usually didn’t smoke before breakfast, but lit a Lucky and peered out his window into the store below. “There’s not a single woman down there who even resembles her,” he said aloud. “Nor a married one either.” He grimaced at his own bad joke, the renewed hope from a few minutes prior escaping like air from a child’s poorly knotted balloon. It was foolish to think he’d see Huck today, especially from his office window. He knew better than to try to recapture a magic moment. Life just didn’t work that way. But this was where he’d first been drawn to her wit and obvious intellect, not to mention electrified by her beauty. Perhaps she was like lightning and never struck the same place twice.

  At eight o’clock, Gabe gave up and walked down Main toward Benny’s Diner. Yesterday evening, after he and Charlie had finished their smokes on the loading platform, Charlie suggested they meet the next morning for breakfast. He didn’t say why, never did; probably just wanted some time away from his hectic home life that didn’t involve work. Every now and then, the two men would get together on a Saturday morning for biscuits and gravy, which usually meant discussing something interesting in last evening’s Chronicle.

  A block away from Benny’s, Gabe could smell bacon frying. Just like sourdough biscuits browning in a dutch oven, it was a comforting aroma that normally meant everything was right in his world. But that was before he’d lost contact with the woman of his dreams. For that matter, he’d never even established contact. A man pitiful enough to not ask for a phone number didn’t deserve someone like Huck.

  He stepped into the diner’s smoky hubbub, located Charlie at a corner booth, and hung his hat. The waitress whose husband left her was nowhere in sight, and he wondered if she’d ever returned to work. He couldn’t see Benny but could hear him barking orders from somewhere in the back.

  “Hey. Wait until you see this.” Charlie looked up from the newspaper with a sly smile as Gabe slid onto the opposite bench. “What’s the matter?”

  “What do you mean?” Gabe righted an upside-down coffee cup and pushed it to the edge of the table.

  “You look lost.”

  “I couldn’t sleep last night, that’s all.” It frustrated him that he couldn’t shake his obsession with Huck and move on, at least long enough to enjoy breakfast with his best friend. But not seeing her again was like losing a twenty-dollar gold piece in an ocean of pennies.

  An attractive waitress appeared with a pot of steaming coffee. “You boys need
a menu?” She filled Gabe’s cup and topped Charlie’s off.

  “Nope. Already know what we want,” Charlie replied. “Two eggs over easy, sausage, biscuits, and gravy.”

  She looked at Gabe. “And you, sir?”

  Silence.

  “Sir? Do you know what you want?”

  “I thought I knew.”

  “Don’t listen to lost boy.” Charlie winked at the waitress. “He’s read that menu a thousand times, knows the plot and the ending. Bring him what I’m having, except bacon instead of sausage.”

  The waitress glanced back at Gabe.

  He nodded.

  Charlie watched the waitress walk away. “Ain’t it a beautiful day?” he whispered. “Don’t you agree?”

  “Agree to what?”

  “Okay.” Charlie leaned forward. “What’s the matter? I know something’s happened.”

  “Nothing’s happened. It’s been an entire month and nothing’s happened.”

  “Oh, I get it. You’re still bellyaching over Miss Huckabee. I thought we’d already fixed that situation … several times.”

  Gabe scowled. They hadn’t fixed anything, but had discussed Huck out on the loading platform at Cecil’s until Gabe grew weary of hearing Charlie’s pat answer. Why did married men always think there were hundreds of extraordinary women waiting to replace any single man’s girl who didn’t work out?

  “So, what did you want me to see?” Gabe asked, changing the subject. He raised the coffee to his lips and tasted the captivating color of Huck’s hair and eyes.

  “Oh yeah. Wait till you read this.” Charlie pitched the paper across the table. “Editorial section, ’bout middle of the page. Written by some bishop.”

  “I’m really not in the mood to discuss Prohibition.”

  “That’s not what it’s about.” Charlie grinned. “It’ll take your mind off what’s bothering you. Guaranteed.”

  “Then read it to me.” Gabe slid the newspaper back, suddenly in no hurry to forget his obsession. “I didn’t get much sleep, remember.”