Short Story by Phil
Richardson
Whim of Iron
There were times during the first few years
of my marriage to Melissa when I thought I was controlling things,
but in the end she always outmaneuvered me. This was brought
home to me once more last summer when Melissa announced she was
quitting her teaching job. My salary as a college professor wasn't
all that great, so I decided to discuss the decision with her-I
have never won this type of discussion, but I keep trying.
"What will you do all day?" I
asked after she told me she had already sent in her notice.
"I thought I might paint," she
said
"I'm allergic to paint smells, you
know."
"I'll keep the window open,"
she shrugged her reply.
"What about when it gets cold?"
"I'll wear a sweater. By the way, I'll need to buy a few
things..."
Within a week the parcel delivery truck
was making almost daily trips to our house. The driver, Pam Sands,
a very cute blonde, seemed to get a kick out of the number and
the variety of packages.
"Boy, Professor Killian," she
said, " Your wife sure needs a lot of stuff to start this
painting gig." (I wondered how she knew)
"I'm sure she'll get tired of it,"
I replied.
"I don't know, she seems pretty determined
to me."
(Young women can be very perceptive)
Two weeks passed and I kept my den window
open to avoid the fumes while Melissa worked in her studio--she
had decided she didn't like to paint with the window open as,
"the bird sounds distract me."
"I've finished my first painting,"
she announced one day "I'm not satisfied. I've got to take
a painting class."
Shortly after the painting class started,
the delivery truck arrived and Pam knocked on the door with an
armful of packages.
"Here I am again," she smiled
as she handed over the packages. "Looks like we've changed
from art to fashion. They're all from clothing stores."
"I know," I replied. "It
seems you have to have a smock and clothes to match when you
attend a painting class."
"It's a woman thing, " Pam said.
"I'm glad I don't have to buy uniforms for my job though.
I'm a subcontractor. so I use my own truck and dress as I like."
(From my perspective, she dressed very nicely) "Well, as
usual, you're the last customer for the day. It's back to the
stable for me." She smiled and walked to her truck, her
blonde ponytail swinging in synchronization with her hips. She
was a very attractive young woman.
After a month of being consumed by the
painting bug, Melissa told me she wasn't making progress. "I
don't think the art classes here are taught right. I discovered
a great painting workshop in Mexico on the internet."
"Mexico!"
"Don't get excited, it's a really
cheap workshop. I already have my painting materials. The airfare
is only $500 and the workshop is just $300."
I have been married to Melissa long enough
to know it is not just the trip that's expensive, it's the clothes.
Last summer's dresses and shorts would not be suitable for Mexico.
Special walking shoes would be needed and, of course, hats to
protect her from the sun.
"Melissa," I said. "Why
Mexico? Why not Cleveland? It would be a lot cheaper and you
could come home for weekends."
"Mexico suits my soul," she said.
Melissa went into her computer room and
began making airline reservations, signing up for the workshop
and hunting for things to buy on the Internet.
A few days later, while Melissa was in
class, the parcel truck arrived and Pam got out with more packages.
"Hi, there," she said as she
sat the packages down outside the door. "Some of these have
to be signed for."
She handed me the electronic notepad and
I scribbled my signature on it.
"More stuff for the painter?"
she grinned.
"Well, it's for her, but it's not
about painting. It's about traveling. She's going to Mexico next
week for a workshop. Even though I've got the summer off, I'm
not going. I hate Mexico."
"Too bad, I hear you can have a great
time down there. Particularly a single woman." With that
she flashed me a knowing grin, got into her truck and drove away.
I hadn't thought about Mexican men. Melissa
was a very independent woman, and...no, she'd be too busy with
her workshop.
When I took Melissa to the airport she
had two large bags stuffed with clothes and her art supplies.
Given the nature of the latter, I imagined it would be interesting
when she went through security at the airport.
For several days I enjoyed being by myself.
Since I wasn't teaching, I planned to do some work on a paper
I was presenting, but I built some shelves in my den instead,
and read some detective novels by Nancy Batholomew.
After a week I began to worry because I
hadn't heard from Melissa. I knew the Mexican phone system wouldn't
be easy to cope with, but I hoped Melissa would try. The workshop
hadn't given out any contact telephone numbers, and I got no
response from the emails I sent to their site. My second reaction
was to get mad. How could Melissa do this to me? I had to take
care of the house and the dog and cook for myself while she was
off having a good time, and if I really needed to know if she
was okay, I couldn't reach her.
After rattling around the house for a while,
I decided to go to my favorite bar, eat some supper and have
a beer (or two).
I was drinking a pre-dinner beer (or three),
when a voice said, "Mind if I join you?" It was Pam.
I should have told her I was just leaving, but my judgment was
somewhat clouded by the beer, so I motioned for her to join me.
"Looks like you were thirsty,"
she pointed to the three empty bottles lined up on the booth
top.
"Would you like a drink?" I asked.
"I wouldn't mind."
A waiter arrived and Pam ordered a Margarita,
which made me, think of Mexico again so I ordered another beer-I
would get something to eat later.
After our drinks arrived, we sat silently
for a while, and then Pam said, "I guess I won't be seeing
you much anymore."
"Why? Did you quit your job?"
"Oh, no. I need my job. I plan to
enroll in college, and I have to support myself. I just meant
since your wife is gone, you won't be getting packages."
"She does order most of the packages,
doesn't she? I guess it's my turn."
"Don't wait too long. The summer's
getting short."
I wondered what she meant by that. I looked
at her and decided she was very attractive. It wasn't just her
figure either; she had a bright, eager smile and seemed quite
intelligent.
Just then, Bob Jones, one of my colleagues
came into the bar. He saw me with Pam, gave me a big grin and
went back outside. Not good. My judgment had not improved with
the fourth beer, however, so I decided to stay anyway.
"Have you heard from your wife-her
name's Missy, right?"
"Don't ever let her hear you say that-it's
Melissa, and, no, I haven't heard from her."
"You'd think she'd call."
"I guess the phone system is pretty
rotten there."
By this time, Pam had finished her Margarita,
so I ordered another one for her and a final beer for me. We
stayed in the bar for another two hours, and then I gave her
a lift home.
"That was fun," she leaned across
the seat and gave me a kiss on the cheek. "If you get lonely,
just give me a call and we'll do it again."
"Okay," I replied, but, having
recovered some judgment, I was sure I wasn't going to do this.
(Well, not too sure) There seemed to be some promise in that
kiss and, after all, Melissa had left me alone.
When I woke up the next morning, I was
feeling a little under the weather and again decided not to do
any work on my paper. I switched on my computer to read my email-hoping,
I might hear from Melissa. No mail, except spam. I started browsing
the Internet and I decided it was my turn to order some things.
I ordered a new book on Scott's Antarctic expedition and several
DVD's. I was in kind of a hurry to read the book, so I selected
overnight delivery.
The next day when Pam arrived, I happened
to be sitting on our front deck drinking a beer. She gave me
one of her glorious smiles as she stepped up on the deck. She
was wearing a short brown skirt and a T-shirt with "We Deliver"
imprinted on it...interesting.
"So you decided to bring the bar home?
Tired of going to bars by yourself?"
"I don't like to drink by myself,"
I said. "Are you done for the day? Would you like a beer?"
Pam hesitated and then pulled up a chair.
"Sure, but only one. I've still got
to drive that truck home, you know."
It was a very hot day and when I returned
with the beer, moisture had condensed on the silvery sides of
the can.
"Wow," Pam said. "I can't
tell you how good this is going to taste."
I thought it tasted pretty good myself.
I was glad to have someone to talk to, and only briefly wondered
what Melissa would say about me being with this gorgeous woman
while she was gone. Melissa seemed so far away right now.
We talked for a while and then I asked
Pam if she wanted another beer.
"Sure, why not?" she replied
and tossed her empty can into the waste basket.
As is usual under such circumstances, our
conversation turned to our own situations--she was divorced.
She had married an Appalachian type who decided that when she
got a good job, he would quit his, stay at home and watch Jerry
Springer. Pam kicked him out. Then she got angry phone calls
from his mother who did not want him living with her either.
"What about you?" Pam asked.
"How do you feel about Melissa's trip to Mexico?"
"I'm not sure I like it much,"
I said. "Right now I'm worried because I still haven't heard
from her."
"She'll be fine. Your wife is a very
strong woman."
Didn't I know it? Melissa had, as one of
her friends described her, "A whim of iron."
After an hour or so of talking (and drinking),
I decided Pam should have something to eat before she drove home,
so I fixed some burgers and beans. I burned the burgers a little
bit (I don't do my best cooking when I'm drunk) but we ate them
anyway.
I don't know what caused me to do it, but
when Pam stood up and said it was time to go, I reached out and
pulled her to me.
"I don't think so," she said
with a smile as she pulled away.
I felt a bit foolish, but she patted me
on the shoulder and told me I was just feeling lonely.
"Let's just be friends," she said.
I watched her drive off and thought about
how stupid I had been. What if she told Melissa? What if she
didn't come back? One way to find out. I placed some more overnight
orders because. I needed to see Pam again. My dreams were strange
that night. They involved a delivery truck and a shadowy woman
and a pile of packages that made up into a bed.
I was sitting on the porch the next day
when it was time for Pam to deliver, but I was very nervous as
I watched her drive up.
"Hi there," she called out as
she walked up to the deck. "Your packages are always books.
You must read a lot."
I was immensely relieved.
"I'm done with my deliveries and I'm
thirsty. How about a beer?" she asked as she sat down--I
guess I was forgiven.
I was even more relieved.
I brought the beer and we talked for an
hour.. I was careful with my drinking this time, and I didn't
invite her for supper.
Over the next week I got three more packages
and, of course, three more visits. I learned more about Pam.
She was very bright, and she was ready to move on from her delivery
job. She had been an honors student in high school, so I talked
to her about attending college. I told her that with her background,
she could probably get a scholarship, and I'd be glad to help
her with the application. She agreed this wasn't a bad idea.
"I've been able to save some money-particularly
after I dumped that worthless ex of mine. I can probably manage
to pay room and board."
The next day we filled out the scholarship
forms. It took a long time and we didn't finish until about eleven
p.m.
I walked her to her truck and she turned
and gave me a big hug.
"Thanks so much for your help. I couldn't
have done all this without you. I may not get the scholarship,
but at least I will have tried."
" My pleasure," I replied (and
I meant it)
I watched her drive away, still a little
aroused by the hug, and then I noticed Mrs. Carlin walking her
dog down the street. If she had seen Pam leaving, I might be
in big trouble. She talked to Melissa a lot, and I was sure she'd
mention it. I could just hear her asking if Melissa knew that
the delivery woman made very late deliveries…
Two days later I went to the airport to
meet Melissa's plane... I felt a little guilty about the Pam
thing and worried that Melissa might find out. I was extremely
nervous by the time she walked through the security exit.
"Hi, dear." She smiled and rushed
forward to hug me.
"Great to see you! Why haven't I heard
from you?"
"You know the mail down there just
doesn't work and we didn't have a phone I could use. The operators
only speak Spanish, and I couldn't cope with it."
On the trip home she told about her workshop
and all the fun things she had done. Her class was very small--just
her and two other men. This bothered me until she told me the
men were "together." She held my hand all the way home
and that was reassuring. I debated about telling her about Pam's
visits, but decided to put it off.
We stayed up late talking about Melissa's
trip and about my time alone. She was very interested in what
I had been doing. I thought it best to leave out some things,
so I told her about the paper I was working on (or should have
been working on). She asked about my pile of unopened packages
and I said they were for my research.
The next morning we got up late and Melissa
spent time unpacking while I cleaned up the kitchen. She finished
before I did and came into the kitchen to inspect my work; she
found the trash can full of empty beer bottles and said it looked
like I had found at least one thing to pass the time. I hadn't,
of course, drunk all that beer myself, but thought it best to
take the blame. No use getting into the Pam thing if it wasn't
necessary.
About the middle of the afternoon, I realized
there was one package that still had to be delivered. I started
thinking of ways to get Melissa out of the house before Pam brought
the package, but she seemed determined to stay.
I decided to work in the yard in hopes
I could head Pam off when she made her delivery. (I did more
yard work that day than I had all year) Finally, I heard the
familiar sound of Pam's van as it pulled into our drive. So did
Melissa.
Pam got out of the truck, but she didn't
have a package. "Oh, oh!" I thought. "This is
not good."
"Hi, Bob," (Not "Professor
Killian") Pam greeted me. "Hi, Melissa."
"Hi, Pam." Melissa responded.
How did she know Pam's name?
As though she had heard my thoughts, Melissa
turned to me with a smile. "Pam and I share the same hairdresser.
We see each other all the time at the beauty shop." (This
did not bode well.)
"How did it go?" Melissa asked
Pam.
"Just about like you said it would,"
Pam said with a grin. "We had a good time. He was a perfect
gentleman."
Pam looked at me with a big smile. "You
didn't know that Melissa and I planned your little adventure,
did you? You didn't think I was going to leave you all alone
with nothing to do in a town filled with young college girls?"
Melissa smiled at me. "Pam was so nice to help me out."
"Yeah, and Bob helped me too."
Pam grabbed my hand and gave it a big shake. "I'm going
to college thanks to him."
You might say I was dumbfounded but relieved--all
that worrying for nothing. Melissa had her ways.
Pam chatted for a while and then drove
off. Melissa stood next to me and watched her go.
"I've got something to tell you,"
she said. "I'm giving up painting."
I grinned broadly. No more turpentine.
No more deliveries. No more trips.
"I've decided to take up writing instead.
Now, the first thing I'll need is a new computer…"
Phil Richardson is retired
from Ohio University in Athens, Ohio. He met his wife there in
a creative writing class and they both continue to write. He
publishes genre fiction, flash fiction, and literary fiction.
He is currently working on a novel. His work has appeared in
Elf: Eclectic Literary Forum, Fantasy, Folklore and Fairytales,
Northwoods Review, The Storyteller, Cafe Irreal, Digitalis Obscura,
Big Pulp, Muzzle Flash, and Writing On Walls Anthology.
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