The Morbid and Sultry Tales of Genevieve Clare (13 page)

“See ya, baby.” He stood up, leaned down, and kissed me goodbye.

“See ya,” I returned and watched as he walked out the bakery door, the little bell at the top jingling as it closed behind him.

When I had gathered my thoughts, grinning to myself like an idiot, I saw that the people in Brewster’s, people I’d known my entire life, were all looking at me. Gone were the faces of sympathy and sorrow I had grown accustomed to, and in their place were the happy faces of hope.

I left Brewster’s with a smile that stayed plastered there the entire fifteen minute walk from the bakery door to the door of The Elms.

“I said…” shouted Bryce in Cheryl’s face, “get the fuck away from me, you fucking bitter cow. I ain’t going anywhere. Cookie called. Cookie is coming in today, and I’m not going anywhere with you, with them,” he motioned toward two ambulance transport guys I recognized. “Or St. Peter himself if he drops in to escort me to the pearly fuckin’ gates. I said no.”

Cheryl stood above Bryce and did not back down. Ruby ran over to meet me in the entryway and explained in a rush. “He had an episode this morning. I don’t think it was his sugar, his glucose levels are fine. I have no idea. But he wasn’t responding when Cheryl tried to check him this morning.”

“Mind if I…?”

“You’ll have to get through that beast of a boss first,” she warned.

“Leave it to me.” I was in such a good mood, no one was gonna rain on my parade. Not even cranky-pants Cheryl.

“Why, Mr. Oskin,” I interrupted. “Didn’t your momma ever tell you not to speak to a lady that way?”

Disarm and charm. Disarm and charm. Not Bryce. I’d already charmed and disarmed him. Cheryl was going to be one tough nut to crack.

This was made crystal clear to me when she greeted me with, “Perhaps today is not a good day for a visit, Cookie.” Ooo, the way she said my name was like venom shooting off her tongue.

Then—and it was another one of those moments I would never forget—Mr. Bryce Oskin stood up from his wheelchair and said quietly, “You apologize to Ms. Clare, right now, ma’am. You don’t, me and my money are gonna move along to another facility. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with me. I was ignorin’ ya this morning. You’ve had a stick up your ass since your husband left you, and the only solution to that problem is for you to remember the woman you were before you married that ass-fucker and find someone else. I’m old, I’m pissed off, and you’ve achieved your goal at makin’ everyone in here as miserable as you. Congratulations. Now, apologize to Ms. Clare, and leave me the fuck alone.”

Cheryl’s bottom lip quivered as she calmly turned and left the common room.

“You were pretty rough on her,” I told him as I put my bag on the little end table.

He sat back down, visibly exhausted from the effort it took to stand up and stand-off with Cheryl. After a few contemplative minutes passed between us, he said, “I was married to the same woman for over forty years. Every time she’d see an older single woman, she’d say, ‘So glad I found a good man.’ I never got that until now. Now I get it. I suppose you hit a certain age, life gets harder. So, whaddya bring me, cookie?”

I left Bryce with slices of German chocolate cake and coconut cream pie. I then made an excuse that I had to pee, left him, and asked Ruby where I could find Cheryl. She motioned to the fire exit which was propped open – a huge no no, especially with some of the residents bordering on dementia.

“Cheryl?”

She was sitting outside, her blazer lying on the back of a bench, a cigarette dangling between her teeth. “What do you want?” she asked, but her bitchiness had disappeared. In its place was resignation.

“I just wanted to make sure you’re all right, that’s all.” I handed her my share of the cake and pie. “Here,” I said, handing her the box with a little plastic fork sticking in the side.

“So, it’s you who pumps up his sugar. I don’t know how I missed that. That’s something else I’m terrible at… I’ll add that to the list my ex-husband gave me.”

“Sorry?”

“Hm.” She took a drag and on the exhale explained, “I’m ditzy, my ass is too fat, I stopped being beautiful ten years ago, and apparently became ‘unattractive’ as he put it five years ago, and I… I… ” She took a shaky drag and, with disgust in her voice, overshared, “I apparently don’t give good head.”

I sat down on the steps, took the box from her hands, opened it, stabbed the little fork in, and snatched the cigarette from her. “Here.”

“This doesn’t help my ass situation,” she said, eyeing the goodies.

“You know that man in there? The one that just yelled at you?”

She said nothing to this. She’d taken her first bite, and I could see the beginning of a love affair with Brewster’s.

“That man, he loves tits, and he loves ass. I’ve been single for ten years.”

Her head shot up at this admission.

“Until yesterday, that is… long story…but, in an attempt to tell you what you have is a commodity, I’m going to overshare.” I thought this was a good tactic to charm and disarm Cheryl. I looked behind me to make sure we didn’t have an audience. “Last night, I was on my knees with the man I have loved since I was eight years old, giving it to me from behind, and you know what he said?”

She shook her head, eyes wide as she chewed.

“He said, ‘God, your ass, baby. Back then and now, I see it and all I wanna do is grab it and fuck it.’”

She stopped chewing. I went on.

“My butt isn’t huge. I’m curvy and blessed to be in good proportion in the ass-tit ratio. I swear to God. Strut your stuff, pretend you have confidence even when you don’t. I had a really rough patch, and that’s what I did. I put on my work clothes, dressed to the nines, and I was the new me. Start with your hair and make-up, buy a new outfit, and the men that matter will want you.”

She began to chew again as I took a drag from her cigarette. I’d smoked briefly for about six months. I enjoyed it, especially with coffee or beer, but I’d had my fun.

Cheryl said, “I’ve had a crush on the fire chief for ages.”

“Yeah?” I said hopefully. “Is he on the market?”

“Divorced. He’s in the same bowling league as my friend, Vicki.”

“Do you bowl?”

“Not in years. Husband hated it.”

“Then I think it’s time you get a shiny new ball.” I smiled and stood up, remembering I had a cranky, old man I had to get back to. “Bryce and I have a deal. He doesn’t overdo it with the sweets, and I keep him happy with reading material as long as he doesn’t drop dead.”

I stubbed out the cigarette, feeling pretty good about myself, trying to spread the joy.

She said, “I heard about you. I only moved here after the divorce was final. You know, this town gossips… Anyway, I’m sorry I was rude before. I apologize, Ms. Clare.”

“You can call me Gen. I think me sharing about my man and my cake indicates a first name basis. Now, I have to see a man about a casket.”

****

Delilah called me a few days prior and said she had an appointment the day after Thanksgiving to buy her casket. She wanted me to help her make a decision then join her and Mrs. Smith for cake and coffee in the afternoon. Mrs. Smith had left Delilah in my care while she went shopping at the Crestville Mall.

“That woman loves a sale. You watch, there won’t be enough room for me in the car. I’ll have to take a taxi home,” Delilah stated.

“We’re having cake later anyway, right? I can take you home. I’m a good driver,” I assured her as I purposefully bumped her wheelchair into a sofa.

“Ha ha,” she mused. “Hey, stop a minute, what about that one?” She pointed her finger to one of the many caskets on display at Everly and Scott Funeral Home.

“It looks like baby Moses should be floating down a river in it,” I commented. It really did. It reminded me of wicker patio furniture.

“That is braided willow, hand woven and environmentally friendly.”

Taylor Scott was a really nice guy. The funeral home had been handed down, one Scott to another, and the two men who ran it had arranged my parents’ and Gran’s funeral. They had answered my funeral and cremation questions over the years, and I’d since attended several Shake N Bakes in their crematorium.

“It seems like it would burn faster. And I don’t need all that fancy mumbo-jumbo. I won’t be in it for very long.” She looked up at Taylor, her eyes suddenly appearing so tired. “You and Gen, you’ll tell me what’s gonna happen? When they burn me?”

I quickly jumped in, full of energy and positive thinking. “Oh, Delilah. We don’t have to do that today. Let’s talk about flower arrangements or something.”

The truth was, I’d grown close to Delilah. I always kept some things to myself, but we were friends. She was my only real friend outside of Rocky. Guava loved me, but she let me lead the closeness of our relationship, never wanting me to think she was trying to take the place of my mother.

Delilah put her hand on mine and said, “Honey… it’s getting to be about that time.”

Damn.

I crouched down beside her chair and, trying to keep the emotion out of my voice, whispered, “Well, let’s take that tour then.”

Derrick Everly had someone in the retort/oven when we arrived. Delilah asked if he could open it so she could have a look, but he explained that, once the door was closed, he couldn’t open it. He did, however, lead her to an open retort in the cremator and explained how and where the flames came out, how they ground up the bones in the end then put them into a container. I was pleased he did all of that. Someone had once asked me to make sure their remains were placed in a can of their favorite coffee, then I was hired to give it to his brother as a joke.

I gave the coffee can to the crematory with instructions. I made the delivery, armed with cake…lots of cake…and instructions to ask the man, “One last cup of Joe with your bro?” He opened the can to see the fine powdery substance that was once his brother.

Luckily, the brother laughed until he cried, because, “That Randy, always a joker. Right until the very end.”

Phew!

I stood at the back of the room while Mr. Everly wheeled Delilah around. Taylor and I watched them until I struck up a conversation. “What do you do for fun when you’re not here, Taylor?”

“Ah, well, I just took up a new hobby,” he replied.

“Yeah?” I asked, inviting more information.

“It’s embarrassing.” He looked beyond me, out to the enclosed courtyard where the deliveries and intakes were made.

“I had a client who wanted me to make sure he was buried with his clogs. He was a clogger, as in dancing. I didn’t really know it existed, but there ya go. I thought it was kinda cool, like square dancing or something.

“Is it clogging?” I grinned as I tried to pry the new hobby out of him.

“It’s not clogging,” he stated. “Fine, it’s bowling. I’m taking lessons. Forty-five years old and I’m taking bowling lessons.” He chuckled. “I suppose it’s better than speed-dating.”

I pushed away from the wall and faced him. “Hold…the…phone…” I said, palm up in a stop gesture. “How do you feel about a blind bowling date?”

“Well, I—”

“What’s your ideal woman? And be honest. You know me, don’t hold back.” I smiled.

“Look at me,” he said, pointing to his belly. “A forty-five-year-old divorcee with a ponch who owns a funeral home can’t be picky.”

I remembered Cheryl said something about Thursday night being league night. “Next Thursday, league night, I’ll set it up. Her name is Cheryl, and she needs a man who can be all…” I wasn’t sure how to sugar coat what I wanted to say, so I just said it. “She needs a man to adore her and make her feel beautiful again. Ex destroyed her confidence.”

“They do that,” he commented blandly.

“Well, then, you’ll have something to talk about, get that out of the way, and then tell her, her eyes are pretty. She has beautiful, green eyes.” I was going to tell her to buy a ball that matched her eyes.

“Genevieve Clare,” he began and I knew something was coming.

When people said your full name, it was usually followed by something of significance.

“Betty Brewster is friends with Iris—that was Derrick Everly’s wife—and she called him on his lunch break, like she does every day…the lucky bastard…and she told him that darling Genevieve Clare was seen getting hot and heavy with whom she was sure was none other than Ahren Finnegan.”

I felt my face heat with a red-hot blush.

“Any truth to that juicy bit of town gossip?”

“Yeah,” I muttered.

“Sorry? I couldn’t hear you?” he joked with his hand cupped around his ear.

“We’re taking it slow,” I said.

Taylor reached out and took my hand. “Gen, you know, this job…well, you do know. You see people, generations of families, say goodbye to grandparents, parents, children, friends…you see the toll grief takes on them. I watched you, the bereaved, you lost so much. There isn’t one person who doesn’t know your story. And I suppose, seeing you reunited with the one person who could have brought you back from that profound loss, back in your life…it kinda gives the rest of us hope.”

I pulled my hand away, knowing if I didn’t, I would probably start crying, and I didn’t want to do that in front of him, his business partner, or Delilah.