Chapter Nineteen

Sometimes life gives you a second chance…It’s what you do with those second chances that counts.

—Dave Wilson.

After settling Tejan in for the night, Caitlin, showered, threw on jeans and a blue silk blouse and drove to West Monroe. She parked on Trenton Street outside her gallery. She paused a moment to study the Lost Bazaar’s sign and thought about how good it was to be home and to be back in the art business. The street was crowded with Saturday afternoon shoppers and tourists and yuppie couples with children in tow. Directly across the street from the gallery two transients sat on the curb in front of the coffee shop, a pair of the many homeless nomads who often traveled Highway 80 and wandered onto Trenton Street looking for handouts or a place to spend the night. One of the men fixed his eyes on Caitlin. The face was blank—no anger, no desperation, just the nothingness the homeless must have to live with. She thought the man’s eyes hollow and hungry. He reminded her of Von’s brother Larry. She had seen the same eyes in Sierra Leone. Glancing up into the loft window, she saw Melissa as she bustled through the room picking up, her long red ponytail swinging side to side.

Caitlin walked to the back of the gallery and up the iron staircase to the loft door. She knocked and heard Melissa shout for her to come in. Melissa now sat at her computer desk, dressed in flannel pajama pants and T-shirt. Her notepad was in her lap, and stacks of books surrounded her computer. She typed furiously. Caitlin waited for her to reach a stopping place. Finally, Melissa leaned back in her chair, took off her glasses, and glanced up.

“Hey, Caitlin. What’s up?”

“Not much. Why aren’t you ready?”

“I had to wash my hair, then pick up the apartment so you wouldn’t think I was a complete slob, then I thought of a scene for a story I’m working on.”

Caitlin smiled. “I’m sorry. I broke your concentration, didn’t I?”

“Someone or something always breaks a writer’s concentration. But we get used to it. Where are we going tonight?”

“You are so spacey. You’ve already forgotten. The Back Door Lounge,” Caitlin said.

“Christ, I haven’t been there in ages. Didn’t like it then. I haven’t heard if it’s any better.”

“If we don’t like the feel of it, we’ll leave. I just want to see Hunter.”

Melissa stepped to the bathroom, drying her hair with a towel. “Shit, I still don’t understand what you’re thinking, Caitlin. After what he did? Maybe we should go somewhere else.” She looked at Caitlin’s face. “Oh, all right. We’ll go. And I’ll even be nice to Hunter.”

Caitlin sat on the sofa and flipped through a Time Magazine on the coffee table. “I don’t know why I have such trouble with men. I always seem to attract the wrong type. What am I going to say to Von if Hunter and I do start seeing each other again?”

“Tell him it was fun, but that it’s time for both of you to move on. Caitlin, your only problem is that you are too nice. That niceness works like a psycho-magnet. If a guy isn’t mature enough to understand you aren’t interested, then tough. In Monroe, if a girl is nice to a guy, suddenly she is the center of his life and becomes his possession. I’m speaking from experience. There was a weirdo I dated for a week or so right after I moved into this place. It was like I couldn’t get rid of the bum. He spent one night here once and next thing I know, he’s trying to move in. I had to call an Ouachita deputy I know who came over and straightened the jerk out.

“I also think you could be on the rebound,” Melissa said. “That second bounce is harder than the first. One should always give themselves a year of playtime after a relationship ends.”

Caitlin winced. “Would you please stop preaching? Let’s go play. What are you going to wear tonight?”

Melissa cut off her computer. “As little as possible. I want to dress sexy, even though no one wants to look at my flat chest.”

“You are such an exhibitionist. And nothing’s wrong with your boobs.”

“That’s easy for you to say Miss naturally-born-with-36-C’s. Those puppies of yours are probably ten pounds of your total weight—which isn’t much.”

“Melissa, there’s nothing wrong in being a carpenter’s dream girl,” Caitlin said.

Melissa raised one eyebrow. “Excuse me? What is a carpenter’s dream girl?”

“One as flat as a board and that needs a screw.”

Melissa stuck out her tongue.

“But really, you’re fine.”

“You are such a bullshitter, but thank you anyway,” Melissa said. She walked to her turn – of - the-century chifforobe and reached inside one of its drawers and pulled out a shirt. “Here, how about this? I’ve always liked this one. I know the men love it.”

Caitlin took the shirt from Melissa and held up the tiny piece of knitted fabric against her chest. “It looks like a little girl’s shirt. I don’t see how this tiny thing stretches around your skinny body.”

Melissa put the shirt on and stood and posed dramatically in front of the mirror she had hung on a door. “Maybe I too can meet a musician, and like Caitlin, I mean, Ophelia, be swept away in the river of his music.”

“Yeah, but Ophelia died, didn’t she? I prefer happier endings, Miss Drama Queen,” Caitlin said. “Speaking of happy endings, how’s your romance novel coming along?” Caitlin asked. “Lots of sex in this one?”

“Not yet, but I’m getting close to a love scene. I think it’s going to be really hot.”

Caitlin picked up Melissa’s manuscript and scanned the first page. “Hmmm. Lovers’ Bayou. Am I in this one?”

Melissa reached over and took the manuscript. “You know better than to ask that. I don’t like to talk about my stories before they’re finished. But yes, there is a character in it who resembles you. My heroine falls madly in love with the governor’s son who is extremely handsome and charismatic.”

“A governor’s son?” Caitlin said. “That could only happen in my dreams and in your books, but I love the thought.”

Melissa continued. “But he has a dark side that the heroine can’t detect. Her first true love from her past comes and saves her.”

The phone rang.

“I’ll get it,” Melissa said. She picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“This is Von Vermeer, calling for Caitlin Johnson from New York. Could I speak with her?”

“Uh, hold on a minute.” She covered the phone with her hand and whispered, “Caitlin, I think it’s your African boyfriend. He’s calling from New York.” She held the phone out. “You must have given him the number for the gallery.”

“I might have. I can’t remember.” Caitlin took the phone. “Von, it’s good to hear your voice. I’ve missed you too. No, I don’t know how the store’s doing. Well, I resigned from the store. I know I should have talked to you first, but really, Earl can handle things without me. That new girl he hired is doing fine. I’m very busy. Really focused on my show right now. No, I’m not putting you off. I’m just going to be busy, that’s all. I miss you too. Well, we’ll talk about it at the show, okay? I’ve got to go, Von. My friend and I are going out. No, I don’t have a date, just a girls’ night out. Yes, I swear. Goodbye, Von.” Caitlin hung up.

“Like I said, Caitlin,” Melissa said. “You can’t tell guys what they need to hear.”

“Weren’t you listening? I sort of told him no, I just didn’t…”

“I know. You just didn’t want to hurt his feelings over the phone. Believe me, it’s harder to do in person. Christ, would you grow up? Your Southern sweetness is going to bite you in the ass someday. I hope you don’t feel obligated to say anything about Von to Hunter.”

“Hunter doesn’t have to know all my business,” Caitlin said. “You’re talking like we’re already back together. I’m not even sure Hunter will talk to me.”

“Who are you trying to fool, Caitlin?” Melissa said. “You made up your mind to get back with him the moment you saw his name in the paper.”