Bargain Basement, Page 2

Shirley, take your ticket.”

  She pressed her knuckles to her lips, forbidding herself another awkward, intrusive outburst. “Yes, and thanks for reminding me. Rummage sales are my favorite. See you then.” Pulling the door open, she waved the ticket at Mr. Curtis. “Tomorrow, you said. $4.75. And be a good friend and give the pumps a shine. It only takes a minute. And throw in an extra buckle in case they break again. And I could use a pair of black laces for my walking shoes. I’ll be wearing them Saturday night.”

  Four women of a certain maturity, pretending to study recipes for macaroni salad, deliberations on child rearing, and the benefits of organic cat litter, sat in padded pink plastic chairs and enjoyed Angela’s beauty charade. Fear that their smirks would be caught in the mirrors held their chins to their flaccid necks. They choked on their giggles like kindergartners.

  “Mrs. Ryder,” said Angela, “I must say that you look like a prom queen, so glamorous, ten years younger and at least three inches taller. The curls on the top and sides set off your lovely green eyes.” Angela, winking and grinning at the four waiting ladies, worried that they would lose patience and she would lose business. “Don’t you agree?”

  “Just one more touch of a squiggle here on the right side. Be a dear. Tonight’s special for me. It won’t take but another minute.” Shirley swiveled around, twisting her neck, inspecting her new bouffant curls in the hand mirror. “Hold the mirror for me, Angela. Let me see the back.”

  “And what’s special about tonight?” Angela hoped to distract her from squiggles. “You usually come for Christmas, Easter, and your birthday.”

  “And the anniversary of Momma’s death, too. But this year the rummage sale is a fundraiser for the basement, a complete renovation is what I heard so I decided to splurge. I’m a good, steady customer, here and at church.”

  “That you are, Mrs. Ryder. I couldn’t count the years.”

  “It’s supposed to be the biggest ever, fifty-four vendors. Even the mall posted some flyers. That’s what I’ve been hearing all week. Don’t I need another curl over the left ear?”

  “Your hair is perfect, perfect. More would spoil it. One more spray and we’re done.”

  “And how much is it for today, dear? You do such nice work.”

  “$11. $11 and I’ll throw in a hairnet for you. I know you like those little extras.”

  “$11, you said. Well that’s really a bit high but I’m very pleased. So let’s leave it at $11. You have customers waiting for you so I’ll take the hairnet with me. I’ll be back in a couple of hours for my manicure and pay you then. $11, you said.”

  “Mrs. Ryder, really, you know that Saturday is my busiest day. And even on a Tuesday I couldn’t afford to do a manicure for nothing.” Angela watched in the mirrors as her audience of four, relishing the show, ready to cheer, closed their magazines and pointed their ears. They would not leave now. “Come back around four o’clock for your manicure. It’s $7.50 firm, no joking. Everyone pays $8 but I always give you a special price. And I remember your mother always got a special price too.”

  “Yes, Momma always said you were a dear. So I’ll be back around four, and we can discuss it then.” She admired her gray squiggles once more. “Yes, very nice work, you’re a doll. I’ll be back in a little while. Should I bring you a cup of coffee? Only ninety cents today at the take-out.” Angela shook her head, grabbed a piece of gum, and chewed on thoughts that would have straightened curls and squiggles. Shirley dropped the hairnet into her purse, pulled its new zipper closed, and opened the door as the delighted quartet stared. “Angela does such nice work, doesn’t she? She’s worth the wait. Bye for now, ladies. Hope to see you all in church.”

  Shirley locked her old sedan and walked as quickly as she could from the end of the church parking lot, regretting the extra time she had taken to dress, her foolish fussing with lipstick, her search for a convenient parking space. It was still early, barely seven o’clock, but she was frantic. The best bargains, the free coffee and homemade cupcakes, the early bird door prizes always disappeared fast. Bad business, and her own doing. She felt the perspiration on her forehead, below her nose, under her arms. Her curls would fall, her lipstick would smear, her blouse would stain. Omens, her mother had reproved her, were nothing more than silly superstitions; only prayer had real value. But as she panted up the stone steps and through the oak doors, Shirley wondered. Maybe she was being tested. Maybe, tomorrow morning, she would ask her Madonna for extra guidance, but not now. She gripped the banister with both hands, stepped cautiously as children ran up and down and parents warned them to watch for the old lady. The basement was crowded and noisy, lively and festive. Shirley caught her breath for a moment at the foot of the stairs. There was still time. Tonight was serious business.

  Her agenda called for a preliminary peek. Hanging her purse on her right arm, she nudged through the lines with her elbows. A giggle and a shy “Oh, excuse me, so sorry” protected her from occasional sneers and nasty glances. As experience had taught her, these gatherings always lured a few sour, ill-mannered types. She refused to let them interfere with her fun. A display of silver and jewelry, in aisle five, caught her eye, and she planned to check the price on some stockings, and house slippers with red pom-poms in the last aisle. It was exciting, the biggest crowd she had ever seen, but the hall was stifling so she decided to risk a few minutes for refreshments.

  Coffee, tea, orange soda and fruit punch, cupcakes, fig cookies, brownies, all homemade, and cotton candy for the children were offered outside the hall, in the corner near the staircase. Shirley was shocked to see Price List on the wall behind the refreshment table. More bad business.

  “Mrs. Simonson, how can this be? There was never a charge for coffee or cake all the years I can remember.”

  “True, but we’re raising some extra money here tonight. Things are changing. We’re hoping that a new rec hall will attract new members, young couples with children. God knows we could use them. So what would you like? Coffee, if I remember right, and I know you like my cupcakes. That’s $1.75 all together.” Mrs. Simonson watched Shirley scowl. “Would you rather have some punch? It’s so hot down here.”

  “Fruit punch, a dollar it says. I guess you could spare a fig cookie for an old friend. A dollar for a cookie is really a bit high. And I was so looking forward to one of your cakes.”

  “Here’s two dollars, Mrs. Simonson.” Shirley heard Mr. Curtis behind her. “Mrs. Ryder here is a good, steady customer and this is on me. And you’re right. It is too hot for coffee. I had some punch before, Shirley, good punch, good cake.”

  “How kind of you, Mr. Curtis. And I’m so glad to see you here tonight. Is Mrs. Curtis here with you? Have you bought anything? Besides the punch and cake I mean.” Shirley raised her eyes in thanks as she sipped her drink.

  “No, my wife is inside looking around but we’re about ready to leave. This bargain hunting isn’t for us. We just came to look around. We’re on our way to the mall for a movie.”

  “But I’ll see you in church tomorrow.” Shirley took a bite of the cake, thought of hot morning coffee at home and wrapped the cake in her paper napkin. Watching Mrs. Simonson, she dropped it into her purse. “Delicious, really, but it’s too hot down here to eat. I’ll have it a little later.”

  “I see that zipper is working fine,” said Mr. Curtis. “And you’re wearing your new laces tonight. Mrs. Ryder was in my shop earlier in the week, Mrs. Simonson. I think she likes my work.”

  “You know I do. You do perfect work. I always say so. And it’s true. No one else comes close. What would I do without you?”

  “Well, we may find out one day. Right now, who know? Good night then, Shirley, Mrs. Simonson. I’m off to rescue my wife.”

  “Such a nice man.” Shirley swallowed her punch and beamed her eager, satisfied smile at Mrs. Simonson. “Maybe I’ll see you later. Now I’m off to the wars. Delicious punch. Thanks, ever so much.”

  As she pushed toward the swinging doors, she won
dered about Mr. Curtis. “He must feel guilty about overcharging me. But such a nice man. Just too much mall.” Her mood had lifted. “My Lady is always with me. She deserves a thank you. And I’ll ask for a nice deal tonight, a little something. She won’t forget me.”

  But the shelf between the swinging doors was empty. Alarmed, she stood on her toes and stretched her neck. Her hand slid over the shelf; it was empty and she felt stupid. No one seemed to notice. “Calm down, Shirl-girl. Lots of people tonight. They took her for safekeeping, that’s it. In a closet, or a quiet room upstairs. She’ll be back tomorrow morning, safe and sound. She wouldn’t leave, of course she wouldn’t, never.” Her logic calmed her. She closed her eyes for a moment to imagine her Madonna, to thank her for the evening, to request a little bargain blessing. Strengthened by her short prayer, Shirley opened the swinging doors.

  Six tables were cluttered with silver plate candlesticks, tin picture frames, verdigris cake plates, dented soup tureens, chipped china teapots, faux-pearl chokers, dusty crystal champagne glasses, endless delights for Shirley. Two unusual pieces displayed on the table in aisle five had called out to her: a garnet ring set in silver filigree and a pewter candlesnuffer. The vendor, an elderly, unfamiliar gentleman, sat polishing