David Halliday - The Hole

“I thought what’s-her-name did this stuff?”

Mary smirked. “She went out to lunch with her new boyfriend. Remember that asshole I told you about, the one that couldn’t keep his hands to himself?”

Margaret nodded.

“Apparently he was in here the other day and chatted it up with our favorite secretary. I spotted him. Kept myself hidden in the back room while he was here. Anyway, maybe the girl will have better luck.” Mary looked at the pile of papers in front of her. “Brennan needs these invoices today. I don’t know why I’m protecting her ass.” Margaret picked up a magazine from a nearby rack and took a seat.

“Jesus, these magazine are ten years old,” Margaret said with a laugh.

“Look at these prices.”

“Brennan won’t replace them.” Mary continued her typing. “God, I wish I hadn’t booked that hair appointment.”

“It’ll do you good.” Margaret leafed through the magazine. “Look at these dresses.”

“I keep thinking about the money.”

“You can’t take it with you.”

“My hair?” Mary said.

Margaret laughed. “Your money!”

Mary stopped typing and turned toward Margaret.

“Do you ever worry about getting old alone?” Margaret looked up from her magazine.

“As long as you’re breathing, some man will take a run at you.” Mary laughed and returned to her typing.

Margaret picked up a second magazine.

“Has he asked you yet?” Mary asked.

Margaret shook her head. “And he’s a detective! You’d think he could pick up on the clues. I’ve been tossing enough of them his way. Sometimes I think I could serve him his coffee and toast stark naked and he wouldn’t notice.”

Mary laughed.

“Look at all these ads for cigarettes. Nine out of ten doctors recommend Lucky Strikes. If he doesn’t ask me out soon, I’m going to do the asking. Only one thing bothers me.”

“What’s that?” Mary asked.

Margaret looked up from her magazine. “What if he says no?”

Sam Kelly waited patiently in the Canadiana Restaurant for his blueberry pie. Several customers stood at the cash register, paying their bills and talking to the waitress. Margaret smiled warmly as she handed back their change, glancing apprehensively toward the detective. Completing the transactions, she turned to the kitchen and picked up several plates.

She moved confidently across the room and delivered them to another table of guests. When she returned to the police officer she apologized.

The detective sipped at his coffee. Margaret remembered the pie and moved over to a nearby refrigerator.

“Been looking forward to this all morning,” Sam Kelly said.

Me too! Margaret smiled.

“Did you pick the berries yourself, Margaret?” Margaret giggled and slapped the detective’s hand playfully as she slid the pie onto the counter.

“Is it always this busy here in the morning?” He looked around the room.

“Some days,” Margaret sighed, “it’s dead in here. But if there’s a funeral over at Our Lady of Peace we can get pretty busy. I like it 61 busy-not that I wake up hoping someone has died. But time passes by faster when it’s busy.” Dirty shirt collar. Good sign.

“You don’t have any other help?” Sam made sure to keep his mouth closed as he ate.

“Susan comes in mornings. But she’s got kids and there’s always some emergency or other that makes her late. Or so the story goes. But the boss likes her. She’s a single mother and he thinks that he might get lucky. She doesn’t have four kids for nothing. That’s what the boss tells me. Men are such optimists.”

Sam shook with laughter. Have to tell that one to Jack. Shaking his head with delight, he smiled as he washed down the pie with a swallow of coffee.

Margaret took an ashtray out and set it on the counter.

“You don’t mind?”

The detective shook his head and continued to eat his pie. Margaret watched. Love to watch a man eat. Tells you something about how they touch a woman. Meticulous and tidy. Finishes what he starts. I like that.

When Sam finished he pushed the plate aside, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and sighed.

“Wonderful,” he said with a smile. “A pie like that deserves some kind of prize.”

Margaret drew deeply on her cigarette and slowly let out several smoke rings. Do I have to bat my eyelashes?

The detective sipped at his coffee and watched in wonder as Margaret’s rings rose toward the ceiling and dissipated.

“Never could do that,” he said.

“It’s just one of my talents,” Margaret responded with a wink.

The detective blushed. Margaret laughed and patted his hand.

“You lived in this area all your life?” he asked.

Margaret nodded. “Mostly.”

“Ever been married?” he asked.

“Once. No kids. No prospects.” Margaret sucked on her cigarette.

“Sorry,” the detective apologized. “Hazard of the job.”

“What’s that?” she asked.

“Being nosy.” He smiled.

Margaret smiled. “I like people who are curious. Some people. What about you, Detective?”

“Call me Sam. No on all charges.” He smiled, bowing his head.

Margaret laughed. “Well, it ain’t a crime to be single! Not yet anyway.”

The detective smiled. He liked Margaret. She seemed down to earth, lacked any pretensions. When she smiled, she was quite pretty.

“I like it when it’s quiet,” he said.

“Well, you picked a great place to be a cop,” Margaret said, butting out her cigarette. “Nothing ever happens here in the Six Points. You could be born, live, and die in this area without making a ripple.”

“You sound disappointed,” the detective said.

“Well,” Margaret smiled, reaching for the coffee and topping up the detective’s cup, “I like a little excitement. Gets my juices going.”

“How come you haven’t moved into the city?” he asked.

Margaret smiled. “Always intend to, but I never get around to it.” The detective smiled and stared into his coffee. There was a long pause. Should I ask her? A customer stepped into the restaurant. Margaret moved down the counter. The detective shook his head and laughed to himself. God, I’m acting like a teenager.

Duke’s

Cathy backed away from Terry. She shoved her hands into the back pockets of her jeans and leaned provocatively against the variety store’s front. “I think you should go upstairs. By yourself. I’m not going to let you talk me into going up with you. I just couldn’t handle it. You, Johnny, my parents, your mother. It’s too much. I need some space. I can hardly breathe.”

“Why couldn’t you just have told him?” he cried. About to smash his fist on the front door leading up to his apartment, Terry turned away angrily.

“Keep your voice down,” Cathy pleaded, her voice sliding into the accent of a southern belle.

“Jesus!” Terry complained. “The accent.”

“You know I get that accent when I’m nervous,” Cathy explained.

“And I’m not being histrionic.”

“I didn’t say a thing.” I hate this melodrama!

“No…But I know how you think, Terry.” Quit sulking!

“You think you know me? You should get real, Cathy. Little rich girl fucking with everybody’s head. You’re an actress, Cathy. You love this shit!” Fuck! Why did I say that!

“I do not like this,” Cathy responded angrily. “Why do you always bring up my parents’ money? You’re the one who’s preoccupied with it.

And I’m not trying to fuck with your head. I love you, Terry. I just need some time.” I need a cigarette.

“You should have written Johnny. I thought you guys had an arrangement before he left. Christ, I’m crazy about you. Can’t you see that? I’ve been fucking the guy’s girlfriend for months and now I’m supposed to disappear. He’s the one that should get lost. You think he’s been an altar boy at college? You think he hasn’t been double-dipping into every pussy coming his way?” I’m driving her away. I can feel it. Got to shut up.