A Country Rag
Whole Woman

She woke to a shuddering reality. Cooped up in the apartment with its tiny windows, looking out on the grime of the city, two small rooms holding everything she owned in the world. Tiredly, she got up to turn on the coffee and open the closet to find something to wear to work. Not the green dress. She'd worn that two days ago. She needed to go to Good Will and buy some new/old clothes. These were wearing out. The purple had a stain in it that wouldn't come out and the pink was becoming threadbare. In the light, she saw, you could see through the top. She took it off and put the green on after all. At least it fit and looked presentable. There didn't seem to be anything she could do about her situation. She'd tried to find a better job, more pay, often and failed. The donut shop was her fate apparently. If only, as her sister said, she could meet the right man. The right man would love her and save her. He'd see the beauty deep down under the freckles and chubby legs and pendulous breasts. He'd want her to have a beautiful home to take care of and healthy children to run around in it. He was as elusive as the perfect job, she thought. All the ones who'd shown any interest in her were losers really, borderline in every way. Some had been abusive, and she had a few scars to show for their unwelcome attentions. She had some inside too, she reflected pensively. Scarred inside and out by the wrong men: the ones who borrowed money and never returned it; the ones who screwed her and then disappeared; the ones who drank too much and hit her; the ones on drugs who didn't make any sense and tried to drag her into a world she didn't want. Where was the good one? The one who would love her and take care of her? He was out there somewhere, she told herself determinedly. She just hadn't met him yet. As she'd aged, she'd felt more and more despairing of her life. Soon it would be over, she reminded herself, and the best would never be. Meanwhile, she sighed, picking up her purse from the small table by the old flowered couch, it was time again to get to work.

"Hey, Lindy. How are you today?"

"Same-same."

"Didn't meet him last night, huh?" Her fruitless quest had become a subject of near-derision at the shop.

"I dreamed about him."

"What did he look like?"

"He was tall and blonde and thin."

"What was his name?"

"I don't remember."

"Maybe you need to remember, to look for him. It wasn't Ralph, was it?"

Linda smiled wanly. "No. It might have been Robert. I can't remember."

"How will you find him if you can't remember his name?"

Linda forced herself to some cheer. "I think it was Robert. I'll look for a Robert today."

"Sometimes dreams are omens."

"I don't believe in omens."

"Maybe you should. Maybe that's what's been wrong. You haven't been paying attention to the signs. Let's see what your horoscope says for today."

"Yeah, okay," Linda responded wanly.

"It says you'll meet someone called Robert and live happily ever after."

"It does not."

"Not exactly."

"What does it say?" she found some curiosity deep inside her.

"It says you need to be careful at work and not spill anything or something terrible will happen."

Linda laughed. "Sure it does." She wiped the counter and checked the donut trays, rearranged the napkins and paper plates. "Been busy yet?"

"Just a few." The donut shop wasn't doing as well now that the strip mall had opened down the road. "The regulars."

The bell on the door clanged and Steve walked in.

"Too bad your name isn't Robert," John teased.

"It could be. Why?"

"Lindy here found her dream man. His name is Robert."

Steve shook his weathered gray head, set on a wiry small body. He'd been after Lindy off and on, but she wouldn't have any of it. "Hey beautiful," he greeted her. "How are you doing today?"

"Just fine, Steve. Here you go." She handed him a plate with his usual cream-filled and sugared donut and a cup of coffee with cream. "That'll be...."

He handed her forty cents. "That enough?" he joked.

"The price ain't changed," she announced dourly.

"Why don't you reach in my pocket and get it?" he asked with a wry smile and a wink.

"Why don't you..." She paused. "...get it yourself, old man."

Steve shook his loose pants a little with his hands in his pockets. "Come on. Give it a whirl."

"You're crazy, old man."

Steve sighed, as he had many times before. "Okay, here you go," he said, tossing four more dimes on the counter. "Nice dress." He said that nearly every day.

"Thank you," Lindy answered with a tired grimace. She'd nearly worn it out and hadn't liked it much to begin with, but it fit.

"When are you going to say, yes?" he teased.

"Never. Forget it."

"Aw. Can't do that. You're too good to pass up," he commented, taking his coffee and donut to a small table by the window. "Looks like it might snow."

"They're calling for it," John said.

"Tell me about this rival, Robert," Steve demanded.

"Ah, the man of her dreams. He's coming to take her away from all this."

"Anytime soon?"

"Today," John informed him. "She had a premonition."

"She did?"

"In her dreams."

"Aw. That don't mean nothin'."

"Well, we're on the lookout. He'll be coming through that door any minute now."

Just as John said that, a new customer came in. He was tall and blonde and thin. Lindy gasped a little and her eyes opened wide. He came to the counter.

"What'll you have, sir?"

"Just a plain glazed donut and some juice," he said. "How much is it?"

"That'll be one dollar even, sir."

He reached into the pocket of his suit and pulled out a black leather wallet. "A dollar?"

"Right."

He laid it on the counter while Lindy wondered how to ask his name.

"New in town, mister," John called as the man sat down by the soda machine.

"Not really," he answered. "I just haven't stopped in here before."

John walked over and held out his hand. "I'm John, the owner," he said.

"Paul Scorby," the stranger answered.

Lindy's heart sank. Paul. Then she thought, maybe I got the name wrong. It was a common name. Maybe it was Paul, not Robert.

"Nice day out," she commented to him.

"Looks like it's going to snow."

"They're calling for it," Steve piped up.

"Seems like we've had enough of that," Paul commented, gulping his juice quickly. "Hey, hon. Would you bring me another donut," he asked.

Lindy pulled the plastic top off the tray and reached inside. "Sure, mister."

She brought it over to his table.

"You look familiar, girl. What's your name?"

"Lindy," she answered, blushing.

"Where would I have seen you, I wonder," he asked.

"Just out on the street, I guess," she conjectured.

"You live around here?"

Lindy pulled a fresh napkin out for him. "Right down the street."

"Yeah. I've seen you walking. Lived here long?" he asked, munching on the second donut.

"Oh, a few years." Lindy didn't want to reveal her age.

"How long have you worked here?" he wondered.

"Just for awhile." Lindy couldn't seem to focus.

"Why don't you sit down with me for a little?" he asked.

Lindy looked at John and he nodded his head. "Sure." She leaned back into a chair and thought of lighting a cigarette, then thought better of it. "Wait a minute. I'll just get myself a cup of coffee." Lindy was back from the counter quickly.

"So," she inquired, "do you like it here?"

"It's a nice town."

"Where are you from?"

"Oh, down the road apiece, as they say."

"Elgin?"

"No," he laughed. "Further than that."

"Where?" she insisted.

"A long time ago I'm from Worster. Next state over."

"I know Worster."

"You do?"

"I was there for a fair once with some friends."

"Did you like it?"

"It was all right."

"What's a pretty thing like you doing working here?" Lindy blushed. "How 'bout coming for a ride with me when you're off this evening?"

"A ride to where?" she asked dubiously.

"A ride to the stars," he answered jovially.

Lindy smiled. "That would be nice," she answered.

Steve coughed. "Sure your name isn't Robert?" he asked suddenly.

Paul frowned. "Who's Robert?"

"Some guy she dreamed about. She dreamed he was coming to take her away."

"I'll take her away," Paul offered again. "I'll take her to the moon."

"Sure you will, brother," John interrupted. "You work around here?"

"I'm a tire salesman for Gringle Automotive."

John felt paternal, that he ought to protect Lindy. "Been there long, bud?"

"Three years, give or take a few months."

"Doing well?" he asked.

"Doing fine," Paul frowned, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

"Like picking up shop girls, do you?" John felt hostile.

"Never did it before in my life."

"Yeah, right."

"I'm serious."

"What's so special about this one then?"

"I don't know. Something about her." Lindy seemed wistful, like she needed to be hugged and kept out of the rain.

"I know what that is."

"No, it isn't that. Honest."

"What then?"

"I don't know. Maybe I always wanted a redhead," Paul said in some exasperation.

"You come back in here a few more times. Get to know us before you be taking her anywhere," John stated flatly.

"What does the lady say?" Paul asked, looking toward her hopefully.

Lindy looked down. "He's probably right."

"Okay," Paul said, resignedly. "Can I have your phone number though?"

"I haven't got a phone. Don't need one," Lindy informed him somewhat defiantly. "I work right down from my apartment and everyone, everything I need is right here, within walking distance."

"That's nice," Paul assured her. "Convenient."

"And safe," she added. "I'm right here on State Street with lots of light around and cops around the corner."

"That's good. You don't need to be afraid of me, though. I'm just plain old Paul."

Lindy relaxed a little, as he pushed his chair back. "Well, I'll be seeing you all," Paul said opening the door.

"See you, Paul." Steve said with a grin.

"You ain't goin' out with him, are you?" he asked with conviction.

"I might," Lindy replied.

"He ain't Robert."

"Well, he might be."

"How do you figure?"

"Well, I might have gotten it wrong. Or," she added, as an afterthought, "it might be his middle name."

John put an arm around her shoulder. "We'll ask him tomorrow, okay kid?"

"If he shows up," Steve chimed in.

"He'll show up," Lindy declared.

"How do you know?" Steve turned back toward her from the door.

"I just feel it," she answered.

"A premonition?"

"No. More than that," she explained. "I feel it in my bones. He'll be back."

"We'll see, kiddo," he said nearly closing the door. "We'll see."