Chapter 21: Trouble in paradise

I was taking an inventory of the few remaining items from the Perryman estate when Berry tracked me down. He apologized for the sudden way he'd told me that there was no job for me, explaining that he'd only recently decided to stay in town. I took that to mean 'recently' was after Phyllis left for college, and when Claire became available.

"That was callous of me. I know you'd been planning to take over as soon as the reenactments season came to an end. I should have come to you the minute I decided to stay in town and keep the job."

"I'm glad you made the decision to stick around, Berry. You're doing an excellent job and everyone likes you."

"What will you do? Have you considered taking Mr. Teague up on his offer?"

"I think it's time I move on. I'm answering ads for employment in other parts of the state, but I'd prefer that you keep that bit of information under your hat. The job market is cold right now, especially for liberal arts majors."

"Don't sell yourself short, Mickey. If you need letters of recommendation, I'm sure the town..."

"I'm not ready to tell anyone I'm leaving, remember?"

"What is Kitty's reaction to your leaving?"

"I haven't told her. She has everything under control now, and she can manage on her own."

"You've got to tell her. She's bound to have something to say about you taking off."

"Just between you and me, Berry, she hardly knows I'm alive. That baby is her whole being. It's only been recently that she's ventured out of the house. The town council meetings got her started, and since then, she's become interested in helping with the reenactments. She's back in charge of the gift shops."

He walked from one side of the room to the other, like he was deep in thought. "That's another thing. You can't leave the reenactments to Kitty. It's too much for one person."

"Sharon will be back next summer."

"That's not good enough. You're the mainstay. It's your project. Sharon and Kitty will be lost without you."

I was tempted to tell him the real reasons that I was leaving Perryville. Living in the same house with Kitty was becoming unbearable. She didn't need me; she'd become self-sufficient. Also, I was running low on money. The town had sent me to college for four years. I'd labored to get the most for the crap from the Perryman estate, and I'd helped put on the reenactments, which had been successful. I'd paid my dues by working without receiving a penny. He told me to think about it before I did anything rash, and left. Mom called, inviting us to have dinner with them on Saturday night.

"Kitty doesn't like to take the baby out at night," I said, trying to sound convincing. Mom saw right through my excuse. She knew that Kitty took the baby to the town council meeting every Thursday night.

"Let me speak to her," Mom said. I handed the phone to Kitty, who told her the real reason I was trying to turn down the invitation.

"Mickey's truck isn't running right now," she said, handing the phone back to me. I heard my mom talking to Phil and he came on the line.

"What's wrong with the truck, Mickey?"

"The front end collapsed. The springs must have busted."

"Replacement springs are available. Do you want me to help you install them or ... I know a mechanic that will fit you in tomorrow?"

This was embarrassing. I lowered my voice, hoping Kitty wouldn't hear me. "I'm kind of short of cash right now."

"How the hell did that happen? I thought the town reimbursed you for the tuition you paid."

He was putting me in a difficult position. I didn't want Kitty to hear me say that I'd been footing the bills for our living expenses, and with no income, I was running low on cash. Phil must have known that my silence indicated that I couldn't explain where my savings had disappeared to.

"I'll pick you up. Be ready at six," he ordered, and I told him we would be ready to go.

"Why didn't you say something? I have money. How much do you need?" Kitty asked, sounding annoyed that she was just now learning that I was out of money.

"I said I was running low, not completely broke," I admitted, wanting to avoid telling her that I'd need every cent to make a new start, and hoping she would drop the subject. She did, and I was grateful that she didn't ask questions, such as how this could have happened. The next morning, I found five twenty dollar bills next to my plate, along with a list of groceries she wanted me to pick up.

Claire came to see me. I got the impression that Berry had told her that I had been answering ads for employment, but she didn't question me about that. She had an idea to publish a commemorative booklet, which would show the actors' pictures and give accounts of the highlights of the season. "It will be their reward for volunteering," she said.

"That's a good idea. They paid for their own costumes and showed up when they were scheduled to perform. I'll check with the town council," I offered.

"Mickey, why do you need to check with the town council? How much do we have in the advertising account? Can't we spend some of it for a photographer and pay for the copying costs?"

"I suppose we could print one hundred copies, give the actors a copy and pass out the rest to the merchants. The advertising will probably cover the costs, anyway," I said. What the hell, I'd be gone before the town council found out I'd acted without getting their approval.

We arranged for a photographer to take pictures on the last weekend of the production season. I expanded the scripts to give all forty-four actors a part in at least one of the four productions we'd be putting on.

I had to tell the merchants about our plans to publish the booklet when I made the rounds to collect advertising orders. One of those merchants was Mr. Teague, who was also a member of the town council, and that must be how the council found out about the commemorative booklet. My request for a photo of his daughter for the booklet may have distracted him, and I don't believe it occurred to him that I had not sought the approval of the council until later. I told him that Sharon's drama experience and her resourcefulness had played an important role in the success the reenactments had enjoyed. Mr. Teague proudly produced a photo of his daughter, and doubled the size of his restaurant's advertising. For once, he didn't press me to accept the job he'd offered. Had his business slowed down, or had he given up on my accepting?

The Saturday morning production was interrupted several times, partially because the actors were distracted by the photographer snapping pictures, and partially because I'd expanded the scripts to include all the actors, and that created confusion. The photographer took pictures of the actors, and then turned his camera on the crowd, Kitty, and me. The afternoon production was performed more smoothly and several people in the crowd asked why the actors were being photographed. When told of the booklet, they expressed interest in purchasing a copy. That's how I got the idea to offer the booklets for sale instead of just handing them out.

I noticed that my truck was missing, and when Phil picked us up, he admitted that he'd had it towed to his mechanic's shop. There was no more discussion about my truck or that I was running short of cash.

My mom had prepared a lavish meal. She said that she was enjoying her new job at the school, and that she was attending both home and away football games. She talked about the players like she knew all about them, which ones were getting good grades, and who was dating whom. She also knew if they had younger siblings that would go out for football next year.

I asked Phil what he'd heard from Phyllis, and he was telling me about an e-mail he'd received that morning when I felt a soft package in my lap.

"Hold her while I help Matilda with the dishes," Kitty said, as she collected plates and silverware from the table.

Little Matilda may have been as surprised as me. She wiggled until she realized that she was being restrained. At eight months of age, she was heavier than I'd imagined, and more alert than I thought possible. We both followed her mother with our eyes, as she moved from table to sink, to dishwasher, and back to the table, smiling at us. It only took the two women fifteen minutes to clear the table and put the kitchen in order, but I was relieved when it was over, happy to have kept the baby entertained for that short time.

We stayed another hour before Kitty said it was the baby's bedtime. Phil drove us home, and my mom rode along. He mentioned that rain was in the forecast, and Mom said she'd come over to watch Matilda so we wouldn't have to take her out in the rain. As we thanked them for the meal, I was happy that my financial situation had not been discussed. So far, Berry and I, and possibly Claire, were the only ones who knew I was looking elsewhere for employment.

We awoke to a light mist, which for late October, was understandable. It did not deter the actors or the audience, but the photographer complained that moisture was collecting on his lens. Someone in the crowd held an umbrella for him at the morning production and again, there were questions about purchasing the commemorative booklet. I circulated a sign-up sheet for them to leave their name and address if they wanted to receive information about the booklet's availability.

We quickly built a makeshift shelter to protect the photographer's camera during the afternoon production. It worked well, and although the actors and the audience had to put up with a steady drizzle, the camera was dry, and I noticed the sign-up sheet for information about the booklet was being kept under cover as it was passed around the crowd.

Something happened that afternoon that I hadn't thought of before, two things, really. A woman stepped from under the umbrella her husband was holding to address Mr. Sizemore.

"That's disgusting; you'll influence young children to use tobacco. Look at where you're spitting. Can't you at least hit the spittoon?"

The crowd cheered, like it was agreeing with the lady. Mr. Sizemore had been ridiculed before for his use of tobacco, but that was at the beginning, before he'd become a seasoned performer. He smiled as he pulled a sign from his pocket. It read: 'I ain't supposed to talk.'

The crowd laughed, but the lady persisted. "You can't talk, or you ain't supposed to?"

Mr. Sizemore looked at me, almost pleading for me to tell him to say something. I announced, "Mr. Sizemore has a non-speaking part, but since this is the last show, we'll make an exception."

"In the first place, this ain't real tobacco. If you'd kept up with the newspaper reviews, you'd know its chocolate flavored chewing gum. I would never advocate that kids should use tobacco. I miss the spittoon on purpose to show kids that using tobacco is a nasty habit. If you'd read the newspaper reviews, you'd know all that and you wouldn't be keeping me out in the rain to explain it to you."

Mr. Sizemore tipped his hat to the lady, the crowd cheered, and I directed the action to continue. When the actors appeared for the final curtain call, the applause for Mr. Sizemore surpassed everyone else's. One of the actors took the microphone from me and told the crowd that I was largely responsible for the production. After the applause subsided, I informed the audience that I was not solely responsible for the production. "There are two ladies who helped make the reenactments a success. The town is indebted to Mrs. Perryman and Miss Teague for their contributions. You'll find their pictures in the commemorative booklet which will be available for purchase in the coming weeks."

The photographer promised to deliver his work to Claire on the following Tuesday or Wednesday.

"When did you decide to sell the booklets instead of handing them out?" Kitty asked, as we walked home.

"I got the idea yesterday, when I saw how interested the crowd became when they learned of the booklet. That's the reason I collected the names and addresses of those wanting to order a copy. There must be forty names from today's performances."

Kitty was silent, probably contemplating the costs to produce the booklet. Fifty sales would not amount to much, even at ten dollars per copy. We dropped the subject when we saw my truck parked next to my mom's car.

Phil explained that the mechanic had finished the job on Saturday, but that he'd waited until today to deliver it. Kitty went to the bedroom to check on the baby and my mom followed her. I waited until they were out of earshot to pose my question.

"How much do I owe you?" I asked.

"I thought you were out of money," Phil said, in a jocular way.

"I'm not completely busted. How much was it?"

"Let's just call it a gift, for now. I'll hit you up for it after you start working for pay. By the way, when is that going to be?"

I spoke in a whisper so Phil would pick up that I didn't want Kitty to hear me. "I've answered some ads, but you must know about the employment picture. I haven't had a nibble yet."

"I could put out some feelers," he offered, but stopped talking when Kitty and Mom came back.

Kitty offered to make something for us to eat, but my mom noticed that we were both damp from being out in the drizzle and said for us to take a hot bath and get some rest. I thanked Phil for delivering the truck. His smile made me happy that Mom had found such a kind and generous mate.

With the reenactment season over and the antique store closed, I didn't have anything to do but drive Kitty and the baby to the gift shops and hang around in case she needed my help. Business was so slow that she gave each of the clerks a day off, saying that between us, we could manage. For the next three days, we were together constantly; except for the time it took for me to give the other two clerks their breaks.

On Monday night, I began writing a fourth version of the reenactments. It was called; 'The Water Dispute.' Kitty laughed when she read it, because I'd incorporated a number of signs for Mr. Sizemore to hold up.

"Sharon can do a rewrite when she comes home for Thanksgiving," I said, wondering if I would still be here for the holiday.

On Wednesday, Claire received the photographs and I invited her to come to the house to work on the booklet. She brought Berry with her and he had his briefcase, which he held up for Kitty to see.

"We have an offer on the house. May I discuss it with you in private, Mrs. Perryman?"

Kitty bristled. "If you want me to agree to the sale, I'd like Mickey to hear the terms before I sign the contract," she said, more emphatically than I was accustomed to hearing from her.

"Do you want me to leave?" Claire asked, and Kitty told her to stay.

Berry laid out the terms of the contract. The offer fell short of the price being asked, but he and the other two members of the town council had agreed to absorb the shortfall because the buyer was a medical doctor who was going see patients at the clinic two days each week. I thought the council was being more than fair and urged Kitty to accept one third of the proceeds.

Claire and I sorted the photographs, and I made notes as to the parts each actor had played over the three months of production. We featured Mr. Sizemore on the cover, and Claire insisted that the second page be comprised of my photo, along with Kitty's and Sharon's pictures. In addition to the photos, we included a history of how the town got its start, some of the more memorable productions, Claire's reviews of the weekend performances, and a brief synopsis of each version of the reenactments. We stopped short of admitting that the entire production was a spoof. All in all, we had twenty-eight pages.

I asked Berry for a statement from the members of the council to be included in the booklet, and he said that he would have something ready to show the others at their meeting the following night. Claire said she would help Berry write something flowery, and that made me think that we had forgotten to give her credit for her tireless work.

"Did the photographer catch you taking notes?" I asked.

She sheepishly admitted that he had, and produced a picture of herself, wearing glasses, and scribbling feverishly. Berry said he would make sure she included the photo in the booklet, and they left, presumably to work on the council's statement.

That was Wednesday night. Thursday became my private hell. I worked in the antique shop, getting the building ready to turn back to its owner. I was moving one of the display cases back where I'd found it when Kenny paid me a visit.