March 18, 2019 Monday
“You hear that, that people sometimes know when they’re going to die.” Suzann stood books upright on the round table across from the cash register.
“My grandmother always said she would die when she was eighty-three.” Roni, behind the counter, double-checked her Post-it notes by the side of the register.
“Did she?” Martha, listening on her way to the small accounting office, inquired.
“No. She made it to eighty-nine.” Roni smiled.
“Close enough,” Jean said. “I think people know.”
“Guess some do. I mean, if you’ve had a heart attack or something like that maybe you become more sensitive.” Suzann wasn’t sure she wanted to entertain such a premonition.
“There are perfectly healthy people who tell others maybe a week or two before they die.” Jean came out from behind the counter, a clean cloth in hand, to wipe down the books that Suzann had stood up. “Fingerprints. People pick them up. I can’t stand it.”
“So I see,” Suzann wryly observed.
“Do you think Harry had a premonition? Marion said Sister read her the note,” Roni asked.
Marion, in the store early, had gone to pick up new velvet pillows for the zebra-covered chair at the entrance. One of her Scotties had chewed the corner of one, which wouldn’t have offended most people but Marion wanted things perfect.
“Yes,” Jean said with conviction. “How many years have we all known Harry?”
“Ever since I started working here, thirteen years ago,” Roni added.
“And I knew him years before that from foxhunting. He had a feeling. It was in keeping with his character that he would leave the desk to Sister.” Jean finished her wiping.
“And if he had lived he would have finagled the money out of her somehow.” Roni laughed. “A born salesman.”
“Look who’s talking!” Suzann teased her.
“I’m not a born salesman, but if something looks good on someone, I tell them. Now, Jean, there’s the born salesman. Can you imagine if she and Harry owned a business together?” Roni pointed to Jean.
“What you do is notice what people wear, how they talk, jewelry. If it’s a man, look at his watch. Does he wear a signet ring? Nothing born about it. Who doesn’t want to look good? Some people have no idea about colors. So hold the color up to their chin. You all can do that.” Jean put her hands on her hips.
“Not as well as you can. You probably took one of those color lectures.” Suzann laughed.
“What is a color lecture?” Roni was confused.
“Oh, she’s talking about years ago when there was this ‘what season are you?’ fad. Winter color or fall color? Red, pink, stuff like that was assigned to a season. Well, all you have to do is look at someone’s hair color and skin color. Nothing seasonal about it. You don’t pop a dark-haired person in beige usually. That’s for blondes.” Jean returned to behind the counter.
“Well, Jean, what do you pop a black-haired person in?” Suzann was having fun with this.
“Red. All dark-haired people look good in red and blondes rarely do. It’s not difficult.”
“For you, Jean. I get sidetracked on the fit. I mean, I can’t stand baggy coats, baggy hunt coats. If it fits across the shoulders, if you can move your arms forward with the horse, then I tell the person to consider tailoring the sides. A nip, you know,” Roni said. “Unless it’s a side-saddle. That has to be perfection.” She mentioned warm weather coats.
“Hear, hear,” Martha called out from the small office.
“Oh, Martha, you can wear anything.” Roni laughed.
“That figure.” Suzann, herself well made, nodded.
“Back to Sister’s letter. What do you think truly?” Roni, having seen Harry, wanted feedback.
“He knew.” Jean didn’t hesitate.
“Knew he would have an accident?” Roni asked.
“Maybe not that. Maybe he felt his time was close. You don’t need to know how. I don’t think so anyway. Someone suffering in the last stages of cancer, that’s different. But he knew.” Jean folded her arms across her chest. “I think Dad knew.”
“Speaking of someone who could talk a dog off a meat wagon.” Roni smiled. “You had to like Mr. Roberts. He’d come into the room and you were glad he was there.”
Jean, who loved her father, smiled broadly. “You had to like him because he liked you. He liked people. Wanted to know all about them.”
“You’re like that,” Martha called out.
“I don’t know, Martha, the older I get the more doubts I have about the human race.”
“Don’t we all.” Suzann shrugged. “But I like to think people are trying their best.”
“Pollyanna.” Roni flipped a rubber band at her.
“Oh, Roni, you’re a mushball,” Suzann teased her.
“There’s a song about her. ‘I’m just a girl who can’t say no,’ ” Jean teased her more. “Not about sex. But you can’t resist a hard-luck story.”
“Look who’s talking?” Martha again called out, couldn’t stand it so she joined the group.
“Well, none of us could resist Harry, that’s for sure. We chatted away when he left the store with me. How he could make me laugh.”
Roni nodded. “A man who can make you laugh is already on second base.”
“Maybe third.” Jean smiled then changed the subject. “I don’t think winter is done with us.”
“Don’t say that.” Suzann took the cloth Jean had to wipe the top of the glass case. “I have had it.”
“We all have.” Jean thought she would scream if she saw another snowflake.
“While we’re talking about liking people, about selling to people, who do you like better to sell to, men or women?” Suzann knew that would arouse them.
“Men. Women are too picky.” Jean laughed.
“Well, when it comes to clothing, women are raised to be picky. Looks are everything. Most men have no idea about color, your expertise.” Roni was right.
“You’d think they’d learn.” Martha laughed. “Actually, it is interesting, in that many great designers were men. Balenciaga, Worth, even today, many more men are designing than women.”
“Halston. Versace. All gay.” Roni liked fashion, not that she wanted to spend a fortune on it.
“Givenchy wasn’t gay. I don’t think so. But I’m willing to bet they learned that stuff from their mothers.” Jean paused. “But hey, Charlotte Ford. Jil Sander. Women are moving in. Diane von Furstenberg, Donna Karan. Granted, I haven’t named any young women.”
“Young women have to be out there. We’re showing our age,” Martha teased all of them.
“Okay. Would you rather work with men or women?” Suzann bedeviled them.
“Suzann, we’re all women. We work together fine.” Martha liked the “girls,” as she thought of them, and vice versa.
“We do get along. We can talk about anything.” Suzann sighed.
“And do,” Roni shot back at her.
“Harry was like that. Not that he was one of the girls but you could talk to him about anything.” Jean’s voice softened.
“Isn’t that something about him having a wife? No one knew.” Roni leaned on her elbows on the case.
“Marion said that Sister liked her and she, Kathleen, said nothing bad about Harry. They didn’t fit but neither one felt like dragging the other through a divorce. I believe that,” Jean replied.
“Think about it. If you marry and it’s not what you wanted but it’s not awful, okay, you separate, but not being divorced you aren’t tempted to marry again. I think for all his charm Harry must have lost his confidence. This was a form of protection. He wouldn’t make a mistake.” Suzann had thought about this obviously.
“I wonder.” Jean wrinkled her brow for a moment. “If we were logical, no one would take the chance. Love has to override logic.”
“And when it works, it’s great,” replied Roni, happily married.
“We delude ourselves. I don’t think humans are all that logical. We parade it but look at what we do, look at who we elect to public office, only to find out we’ve been betrayed?” Jean picked up another cloth to wipe the glass case on the other side of the cash register from Suzann. “We want to believe, you know.”
“What’s life if you don’t take chances?” Martha wondered.
“Exactly.” Roni backed her up.
“I wonder if I’ll have a premonition about my death.” Suzann’s voice drifted off.
“Oh, bull, Suzann. If you have a premonition it better be about the winning lottery ticket.” Jean flicked her rag at her.