“I know what you mean,” responded Alyx, scowling. “You don’t suppose she’s seeing a married man, do you?”
“Of course, it’s none of our business as her employers but yes, I think it’s possible, and she doesn’t want us to know who it is.”
”Then it’s probably someone we know. Don’t you think?”
“It could be but it would surprise me; she’s too smart to get involved with a married man,” noted Alyx, then she added, “Anyway, at Charvette’s age, she should know better.”
“You’re right,” agreed Maggie, “but some women never learn, believing the situation is different for them––and sometimes it is.” She said this last with a slight sigh.
Maggie then said she had an appointment, but before she left, she asked Alyx if she had dinner plans.
“No, why?”
“Let’s try that new place down the street. I hear the owner is really good-looking!”
Alyx couldn’t help but smile, “How about the food?”
“Oh, I hear that’s real good too,” she answered, not missing the good-natured dig.
“No, heaven will not ever heaven be; unless my cats are there to welcome me.”
––Unknown
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT: A Blooming Romance
Alyx was sitting in a wing chair by the store’s front door, taking a break while contemplating something. She looked up when a customer walked in, smiled and said, “Take your time looking around, I’ll be right here if you need anything,” and made no move to get up, allowing the customer the freedom to look around at her leisure.
The older woman hesitantly smiled back and moved away, heading directly towards Alyx’s favorite English antique––a late eighteenth century George III, slant-front desk on display in the front window. The inlaid oak desk had a narrow rectangular top above a hinged slant top, opening to a gilt-tooled leather writing surface. A variety of small drawers and pigeonholes flanked a central banded door. It had four long, graduated, and inlay-banded drawers with pierced batwing brasses.
About five minutes later, the woman was still admiring the desk, lovingly running her hands over the surface. Holding on to me, Alyx approached the customer.
“This is my favorite piece, too,” Alyx said, looking at the woman who appeared to be in her early seventies with short, silvery hair and a pink complexion. She spoke in an odd way, somewhat hesitantly. “I used to have a desk like this one in my home. I had to leave it behind when we moved back to America. How did you acquire the desk?”
“I found it at an estate sale,” replied Alyx. “It was my understanding that the woman who owned it had brought it back from Africa.”
For just a moment, the woman’s eyes seemed to glaze over, and then she looked at me.
“He’s a handsome cat, isn’t he? I have a lovely cat at home,” she said, reaching out to scratch my ear.
“What kind is it and what’s his name?” Alyx asked.
“He’s a Siamese and his name is Simon,” she said affectionately. Her gaze went back to the desk. “I probably can’t afford it, but how much is it?”
“We’re asking two thousand five hundred,” answered Alyx, almost apologetically.
“That’s more than I can spend right now. Maybe someday…”
“Is there anything else I can show you?”
“No. I saw that piece in the window and I just wanted to take a closer look. I would like to wander about, if you don’t mind.”
“Sure. As you can see, we have many nice things to look at. By the way, my name is Alyx Hille; I’m part owner of the store. Please feel free to come back and visit anytime.”
“Thank you, Alyx, and my name is Althea Burns.”
Other customers had entered the store, and Alyx saw one of them looking around for assistance, so she headed in that direction. When she had an opportunity, she looked around again for Althea and saw that she was gone. Alyx walked over to the desk the woman had been admiring, scratched out the price and wrote “Sold” on the tag. Maggie would understand.
The rest of the day was a busy one. The variety of people I encountered fascinated me. Some ignored me and others put up too much of a fuss, wanting to pet me or hold me. When I couldn’t take it anymore, I hid under the counter. At one point, I came out from behind the counter just in time to see a heavyset man about sixty with dark button eyes peering in the window––it was Dan Ramsey.
Alyx and Maggie didn’t get a chance to speak again until Maggie came back to the store around dinnertime.
“I stopped in at Angelo’s on the River to make reservations for later today but they close at five today,” said Maggie. “The restaurant is fancier than other restaurants on Ocean Street; it actually has starched, white linen tablecloths and real flowers on the tables. Charlie, the owner, looks like the hero on the cover of a lusty romance novel. His voice is as gentle as a breeze. ‘Are you ready to be seated or are you waiting for someone?’ Yikes, Alyx! He’s gorgeous. And when he smiled––he has these perfect white teeth in a perfectly tanned face. I was totally tongue-tied and could barely answer his easy question. He said to be sure and come back another time.”
“Why does he call the restaurant Angelo’s if his name is Charlie?” Alyx asked.
“I asked him that too––between drools. The short answer is that his father’s name is Angelo and evidently a much more descriptive name for an Italian restaurant. He seemed nice,” Maggie said with a wink.
“And very savvy about marketing,” noted Alyx. “He’s just what we need on our side.”
“I mentioned to him that we’re the owners of Antiques & Designs down the street and we hoped to see him at the Downtown Merchants Association meeting next month. I said that you and I are going to propose that we get involved in sponsoring community events such as the Annual Arts Festival usually held at Beachside Community College, and that we’ve already spoken with the key organizers, and they’re very enthusiastic about moving it downtown.”
“Did he have any thoughts on it?”
“He said it sounded like a good idea and looked forward to hearing more about it at the meeting.”
Alyx smiled broadly. “Well, it should be an interesting one,” she said.
“He asked if we expected some resistance. I said, ‘let’s just say not all merchants on Ocean Street share our same vision, and leave it at that.”
“That’s good,” added Alyx, “we can use another business on our side.”
“So…it was too late for dinner,” said Maggie, “but he said there was time for a take-out order just because we’re neighbors and also so we’ll recommend the restaurant to our customers.”
“Did they have eggplant cannelloni on the menu?”
“Yes, they did,” replied Maggie. “I ordered that for you and chicken Alfredo for me. I said I’d pick-up the order at closing.”
“You’re coming to my house. Right?”
“Yes, if you don’t mind, that way the food will still be hot when we sit down to eat.”
After dinner that evening, the two women moved to the living room, and the girls and I finished the leftovers in the kitchen. Yum! I meandered out to listen to their conversation, my tummy delightfully full.
“Maggie, that was the best Italian food I’ve had in a long time.”
“I’m glad this worked out, and I’m glad you’re back home,” said Maggie. “I’ve wanted to talk to you about something.”
Alyx was puzzled. “What is it, Maggie?”
“Well,” she began, lowering her head and looking up shyly, “How do you feel about George?”
“George who?”
“What do you mean George who? Our George. George Lucas––the man who creates those wonderful things for us,” Maggie answered, somewhat exasperated.