Kismet

Saturday, May 29th, 1954

Dean settled back in his seat on the trolley. It was mid-morning and he had shopping to do. This time he was going further than the corner market. Ms. Abney had recommended a nearby business when he asked after a good butcher shop.

“I would suggest L&C Meats, down on Eighteenth Street,” she had answered, “I buy a roast from them once a month.”

He could have walked it, but the day was already warm, and he was moving through his book at a rapid pace. He had found himself stuck in the doldrums, unable to focus on his new manuscript and tired of the endless book tour for the first one.

Let’s face it, I need some down time.

He relaxed into the seat, he figured he had at least five minutes to read. His lips spoke the words quietly as his attention dipped back into the text, “What are we? Humans? Or animals? Or savages? What’s grown-ups going to think?”

“Mr. Edmonds, what a surprise!”

A familiar voice brought him back to present. The trolley slid forward, shaking slightly. Dean looked up surprised to see Maggie standing in front of him.

“Maggie! What a pleasure! I didn’t know you lived up north.” He slid over, opening up the aisle seat, “Please, sit down, sit down.”

Maggie was wearing a pretty yellow dress with red piping and starched cuffed short sleeves. It fit her form, flattering her small waist. The dress swirled gently as she moved, sitting down next to him.

“Thank you.”

Her cheeks held the slightest hint of blush and her Yardley English Lavender perfume washed over him in a gentle breeze.

“I actually live south of here, but I make a special trip to this little bakery on Independence Avenue every once in a while.” She held out a brown paper bag, “They make the perfect beignet. Would you like one?”

“I don’t have a clue what that is, but sure, why not?” Sitting this close to her, he felt tongue-tied all over again.

Get a grip on yourself, man, you are gawping like a school boy.

She handed him a pastry and he examined it for a moment. It was square in shape and dusted liberally with confectioner’s sugar. He took a small bite and a puff of sugar blasted away, dusting his trousers. Inside, it was filled with a rich chocolate paste.

Maggie stifled a giggle and handed him a napkin. He shook his head, smiled back, dabbing at the sprinkles on his leg.

“What did you call it?”

“A beignet. It’s practically a food group in New Orleans.”

“I’ve never been to New Orleans.”

“I went to visit my aunt Beulah one summer as a child. She lived in this tiny shotgun house on Dublin Street.”

Dean took another bite and growled in frustration as a cloud of sugar dusted his pants. Maggie giggled again.

“If this wasn’t one of the most delicious pastries I’ve ever eaten, I would be rather put out right now.”

“Well I suppose there is that.” He had seen her eat one as well, yet her clothes and hands were free of mess. “How did you eat that without it ending up everywhere?”

“We walked down the street to the local bakery every morning of my visit, except on Sundays, and had them for breakfast. I guess I learned the trick of eating them along the way.”

Her smile warmed him. The other occupants of the trolley, even the scenery rolling by, faded into the background, lost to a set of crayon blue eyes and lips which held a hint of gloss.

“Kismet.”

She tilted her head at him, “What?”

“It means fate.” Dean explained.

“I know what it means. It also comes from the Arabic word, qisma, which is portion, or lot.”

He winced, feeling rather foolish. Of course she knows what the word means, you pompous fool. “I was just thinking that it was kismet seeing you here today.”

“Ah, I see.” Her eyebrows arched, “I’m glad to see you too.”

Dean looked away from Maggie as the trolley jerked to a stop.

The driver called out, “Thirteenth Street!”

An old woman and two children disembarked, the old woman steadied on each side by the boy and the girl. Her grandchildren, possibly? A bevy of young teenage girls spilled up the steps, giggling. The doors closed and the bell clanged three times before the mammoth green and butter yellow machine jerked and then began to advance again, sliding down the street at a steady pace.

Maggie broke the silence, “So where are you headed?”

“To the butcher out on Eighteenth Street, L&C Meats. My landlady, Ms. Abney, she told me that their cuts of steak are the best quality.”

“Really? Did she say anything about their roasts?”

“Actually, yes, she did. She buys one every first Saturday of the month. She mentioned that they were small, but definitely high in quality.”

“I had been headed home, but perhaps I will come and see this butcher. Do you mind?”

“Not at all!”

The trolley lurched every so often and Dean breathed in the delicate wash of lavender each time Maggie moved. She pointed to the book that Dean had shoved into his satchel when she sat down. “Lord of the Flies?”

“Yes, by William Golding.” He pulled it out and handed it to her.

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“It’s new, and there aren’t any reviews yet.” He watched as she looked over the front and back cover.

“It looks like a children’s book.”

Dean laughed, “Believe me, it’s not. There is some pretty heavy stuff in it. My agent wants me to read it and write a short review for the guy, he says the book has only sold a few hundred copies, and he owes him a favor.”

“Is it good?”

“Yes, but it is more disturbing than anything else. I’ve not finished it, but it seems to be headed down a dark path.”

“Interesting. I might need to check it out.” She handed it back to him and her fingers brushed his.

Dean sucked a breath in. “Indeed.” Her eyes met his for a brief moment.

The trolley lurched to a stop and the driver called out. “Eighteenth Street!”

“And this is our stop.” He stood up, satchel in hand, and Maggie stood with him. “The shop is down the street, a block from here, according to Ms. Abney.”

They disembarked, climbing down the steep trolley steps, crossed the street and walked along the sidewalk, still damp from the morning rain. The heat of the late spring day had evaporated most of the puddles, the air was still heavy and thick. It would be a muggy day and, looking at the sky, Dean expected it would be another wet, stormy night.

“No wonder I didn’t know it was here, that’s a pretty small sign,”

Maggie commented as they approached the store front. The glass was etched with the letters, L&C Meats, est. 1948.

The display window showed steaks and pork chops, cut thick, and nestled on a bed of lettuce.

Inside, the wood floors were spotless, despite the damp outside, and the walls were bare except for a handful of pictures of charts - the outlines of cattle, sheep, goat with precise lines indicating which cuts came from where. The counter was clean, and the gentleman behind it had just finished ringing up a customer.

He nodded and called out, “I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Dean held the door, first for Maggie and then for the customer who was leaving.

The butcher wiped down the counter, and his hands, drying them on a thin white towel when he was done.

“How may I help you today?”

Maggie spoke first, “I would like a roast, please.”

A few minutes later, the butcher had wrapped a small beef roast for her and then showed Dean some of the steaks.

“I have a thicker cut in back if you would prefer, sir.”

“This Kansas City strip will be just fine, thank you.”

The clerk glanced over at Maggie and then back at Dean, “Will you be needing any more, sir?”

“No, this one will do.” Dean said and handed the man cash.

The heat hit them with a blast as they stepped outside. Dean pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his brow. “The summer didn’t waste any time getting here, did it?”

Maggie smiled and shook her head, shading her eyes from the glare of the sun from overhead.

“I had better get home,” she said, and glanced across the street. A trolley car had just pulled away down the street. “And it looks like I’ll be waiting a while.”

Dean felt the moment slipping away from him, it was now or never. “Maggie, wait, I...”

How long had it been since he had asked a beautiful woman out? Since college?

“Yes?”

“Could I buy you lunch?” He laughed self-consciously, “I know we both bought meat, but I know this deli off of Independence. It makes the best Reuben sandwiches I have ever eaten.

“I couldn’t.”

“Please, I could use the company.” He smiled at her, “Besides, I’ve hardly eaten all day. You would be doing me a favor.”

Maggie sighed, and looked up at him. “I can’t.”

Dean flushed red. “Of course. I do apologize, I’ve been presumptuous and overstepped.”

He turned to step away, half embarrassed, half mortified. What was he doing? She had been his nurse, after all. He wanted to tell her how much her words had meant to him during those dark days in the hospital. How many times had he thought of her in the months since? Her smile and gentle touch?

Maggie reached out her hand and stopped him.

“Mr. Edm...Dean...I'm sorry. I didn’t explain myself well. I would love to have lunch with you. It’s just that...”

Her words petered out and he could feel the warmth of her touch through his shirtsleeve.

Dean turned back towards her.

“It’s just that I have to pick up my son from my neighbor. And that’s why I can’t join you for that Reuben, which sounds fantastic by the way.”

A son. But no ring. Not on either hand. He stood there, and it all fell into place. Of course.

“Would you...would you care to have dinner with us instead?” Maggie blurted out, her fingers falling away from his sleeve.

Dean smiled. “I would like that.”