Forever Friday (9 page)

Earlier that Saturday morning, Gabe awakened in the bedroom of his small garage apartment and couldn’t go back to sleep. He glanced at the
bedside clock. Four a.m. Usually he woke early due to worry, and he’d wrestle the sheets for hours in anxiety. If he tried hard enough and didn’t allow his mind to become too anxious, he could refocus his thoughts on something pleasant, eventually drifting back into slumber. But this time, the “something” pleasant was a “someone”—Miss Huck Huckabee to be exact. So he lay there a wide-eyed-while longer, tapping his fingers to the clock’s tick, finally deciding to get up. Since he had the day off, it might be wise to spend some nonworking time at his office watching for Huck. Most women shopped early, and this was the most popular errand day of the week.

Gabe threw back the covers, sat on the edge of the bed, and scratched the stubble on his chin. He wasn’t in the mood but had promised to meet his friend Charlie downtown for a late breakfast. He rubbed his eyes and sighed. He’d much rather be meeting Huck.

After stumbling into the kitchen, Gabe put some water on to boil while he showered, shaved, and brushed his teeth, all the while concocting sequel scenarios about why Huck had never returned to Cecil’s. He slapped on a little aftershave and remembered it had been over a month since they’d met. After donning clean boxers, socks, and a freshly laundered dress shirt, he dripped a pot of coffee, then sulked through two cups, the first black and the second with cream. Between sips, he wondered not for the first time if his oyster comment had offended her. She might already have a diamond … and a fellow to go along with it.

He rinsed out the coffeepot and cup, then slipped into a gray linen suit. Standing before his dressing table, he faced the mirror and picked up a bottle he’d purchased the previous day. Wildroot Hair Tonic promised to help “if your romance hung by a hair.”

“What romance?” Gabe mumbled at his reflection. He rubbed a sprinkle of Wildroot through his hair and combed it into place.

His hat and suit jacket felt good in the cool morning breeze as he exited down the stairs of his apartment a little before seven. Mr. Blane, his landlord, was already up, tinkering with the engine of a rusty Model T Ford. The Model T lived in the garage below and would backfire when cranked, shaking the entire structure. The apartment was an okay place to live and had met his needs and those of his mother. However, his plans were to eventually sell his parents’ small ranch and buy a nice house in one of Houston’s newer residential neighborhoods.

Gabe stepped softly, hoping Mr. Blane wouldn’t hear him leave. The man was a talker with spider-like characteristics, capturing innocent victims in his web of words, then boring them to death with the same stale stories.

Making a clean getaway, Gabe then walked down the street to the nearest trolley stop. As predicted, the Model T cranked, then backfired. He’d considered buying his own car, but decided that public transportation was adequate until he met the right woman. Now, he imagined providing Huck with some of the finer things life had to offer. That is, if he ever saw her again.

When Gabe disembarked the streetcar at Market Square, the vendor booths were already bustling with activity, which lifted his spirits. He walked a block to Cecil’s, entered from the rear, and climbed the stairs to his office unnoticed. He usually didn’t smoke before breakfast, but lit a Lucky and peered out his window into the store below. “There’s not a
single
woman down there who even resembles her,” he said aloud. “Nor a
married
one either.” He grimaced at his own bad joke, the renewed hope from a few minutes prior escaping like air from a child’s
poorly knotted balloon. It was foolish to think he’d see Huck today, especially from his office window. He knew better than to try to recapture a magic moment. Life just didn’t work that way. But this was where he’d first been drawn to her wit and obvious intellect, not to mention electrified by her beauty. Perhaps she was like lightning and never struck the same place twice.

At eight o’clock, Gabe gave up and walked down Main toward Benny’s Diner. Yesterday evening, after he and Charlie had finished their smokes on the loading platform, Charlie suggested they meet the next morning for breakfast. He didn’t say why, never did; probably just wanted some time away from his hectic home life that didn’t involve work. Every now and then, the two men would get together on a Saturday morning for biscuits and gravy, which usually meant discussing something interesting in last evening’s
Chronicle
.

A block away from Benny’s, Gabe could smell bacon frying. Just like sourdough biscuits browning in a dutch oven, it was a comforting aroma that normally meant everything was right in his world. But that was before he’d lost contact with the woman of his dreams. For that matter, he’d never even established contact. A man pitiful enough to not ask for a phone number didn’t deserve someone like Huck.

He stepped into the diner’s smoky hubbub, located Charlie at a corner booth, and hung his hat. The waitress whose husband left her was nowhere in sight, and he wondered if she’d ever returned to work. He couldn’t see Benny but could hear him barking orders from somewhere in the back.

“Hey. Wait until you see this.” Charlie looked up from the newspaper with a sly smile as Gabe slid onto the opposite bench. “What’s the matter?”

“What do you mean?” Gabe righted an upside-down coffee cup and pushed it to the edge of the table.

“You look lost.”

“I couldn’t sleep last night, that’s all.” It frustrated him that he couldn’t shake his obsession with Huck and move on, at least long enough to enjoy breakfast with his best friend. But not seeing her again was like losing a twenty-dollar gold piece in an ocean of pennies.

An attractive waitress appeared with a pot of steaming coffee. “You boys need a menu?” She filled Gabe’s cup and topped Charlie’s off.

“Nope. Already know what we want,” Charlie replied. “Two eggs over easy, sausage, biscuits, and gravy.”

She looked at Gabe. “And you, sir?”

Silence.

“Sir? Do you know what you want?”

“I thought I knew.”

“Don’t listen to lost boy.” Charlie winked at the waitress. “He’s read that menu a thousand times, knows the plot and the ending. Bring him what I’m having, except bacon instead of sausage.”

The waitress glanced back at Gabe.

He nodded.

Charlie watched the waitress walk away. “Ain’t it a beautiful day?” he whispered. “Don’t you agree?”

“Agree to what?”

“Okay.” Charlie leaned forward. “What’s the matter? I know something’s happened.”

“Nothing’s happened. It’s been an entire month and
nothing’s
happened.”

“Oh, I get it. You’re still bellyaching over Miss Huckabee. I thought we’d already fixed that situation … several times.”

Gabe scowled. They hadn’t
fixed
anything, but had discussed Huck out on the loading platform at Cecil’s until Gabe grew weary of hearing Charlie’s pat answer. Why did married men always think there were hundreds of extraordinary women waiting to replace any single man’s girl who didn’t work out?

“So, what did you want me to see?” Gabe asked, changing the subject. He raised the coffee to his lips and tasted the captivating color of Huck’s hair and eyes.

“Oh yeah. Wait till you read this.” Charlie pitched the paper across the table. “Editorial section, ’bout middle of the page. Written by some bishop.”

“I’m really not in the mood to discuss Prohibition.”

“That’s not what it’s about.” Charlie grinned. “It’ll take your mind off what’s bothering you. Guaranteed.”

“Then read it to me.” Gabe slid the newspaper back, suddenly in no hurry to forget his obsession. “I didn’t get much sleep, remember.”

Charlie lowered his voice. “Guess what today is.”

“I know what today is.”

“Ever hear of the International Pageant of Pulchritude?”

“When did you start speaking Latin?”

“Just answer the question.”

Gabe shook his head. “Never heard of it.”

“Me neither. That’s ’cause they changed the pageant’s name this year.”

“Who is ‘they’?”

“Folks in cahoots with my jealous wife.”

“Why should Chloe care about a beauty contest?”

“Because this one,” Charlie said mockingly, “has become an evil tradition that destroys a woman’s sense of modesty.”

“Are you talking about the Bathing Girl Review in Galveston?”

Charlie nodded big. “And the opening of beach season, Splash Day, gorgeous dames.”

“I went one time, way back, because of all the flak about it then.” Gabe set down his coffee cup. “Nothing to see but a few local girls in the latest swimming attire. You’d think with all the gambling and bootlegging down there, folks wouldn’t notice a little beauty contest.”

“Well this year, the flak returns with a vengeance.”

“How’s that?”

“ ’Cause it won’t be just local gals competing anymore.” Charlie cleared his throat. “And there’s a lot less attire, if you catch my meaning. There’s gonna be parades and fireworks and …” Charlie paused, a huge grin lifting his cheeks.

“And …?” Gabe asked.

Charlie picked up the editorial and lowered his voice even more. “This bishop fellow is trying to talk women out of strutting their God-given goods. He says, and I quote”—he looked down at the paper, reading—“ ‘If you come here, you will be asked to parade only in a bathing suit before a motley crowd who will scrutinize you at close range.’ ” Charlie’s eyes grew round. “Know what that means?”

“The tradition becomes even more evil?”

“That means from only a few yards away, a man can witness world-class cleavage. And some of them gals will be wearing those new French bathing suits that reveal an entire leg.”

“What about the other leg?” Gabe chuckled.

“Joke all you want, but the winner gets $2,500 in cash. That’s gonna be one expensive pair of thighs decorating the Galveston seawall.”

“Are you suggesting we go?”

Charlie smirked. “Right. I’ll just ring up Chloe and tell her I won’t be home this afternoon because I’m helping forty half-naked young women destroy their modesty. Don’t you remember what happened the last time I helped a female?”

“Destroyed her modesty?”

“Very funny. You know all I did was take her to a mechanic’s garage.”

Gabe sipped his coffee. Charlie had an eye for skirts but would never cheat on Chloe. Several years ago, she’d accused him of having an affair and threatened to make him sleep in his delivery truck—the scene of the crime—until he could convince her of his innocence. In truth, he’d done nothing more than give a stranded young woman a ride after her car broke down. To show her appreciation, the woman blindsided him with a kiss, smearing lipstick on his collar.

The sly smile reappeared as Charlie thrust the newspaper back across the table. “Doesn’t mean
you
can’t go, then tell me about each fine feminine detail. So don’t be late. Starts at two.”

Gabe sighed. “Wish I could go, but I’ve got some things back at the office that need my undivided—”

“Forget the stinkin’ office,” Charlie interrupted. “Go buy a straw hat and spend your day off at Galveston Beach. That’s where the beautiful women are.”

“Yeah,” Gabe replied thoughtfully. “Where the beautiful women are.” He repeated the phrase again, as if hearing the words for the first
time, allowing them space to slip in between his troubled thoughts. “Where the beautiful women are,” he said a third time. As a fan of numbers, he’d always been fascinated with the law of probability. When flipping a coin, there was a fifty-fifty chance of guessing the outcome. Not a great percentage. But betting on a relatively sure thing, like a good poker hand, was a different matter. The chance of winning multiplied.

And then it hit him. A new plan. One with much better odds, steeped in tradition. Instead of trying to recapture a magic moment, he’d make a new one.

Finding Huck meant looking where he’d see the most women. Watching from his office window had been like flipping a coin. Main Street would be like holding a royal flush.

The waitress appeared with a tray, unloading several hot plates and refilling coffee.

“Benny says he’ll join you two outlaws directly.” She smiled. “Y’all holler if you need anything else.”

When she moved to the next booth, Gabe stood and dropped several coins onto the table.

“Ain’t you going to eat?” Charlie asked.

“Give my plate to Benny.”

“Then you’re off to …?”

“Where the beautiful women are,” Gabe interjected. “It’s a tradition.” He retrieved his hat and headed for the door.

“I want details,” Charlie called. “And remember the straw hat. A wide brim will keep the sun out of your eyes so you can see.”

The bongs from the clock on Market Square echoed nine o’clock as Gabe paced toward the nearest streetcar stop. That very morning
he’d convinced himself to go to his office and watch for Huck because Saturday was the traditional day most women ran their errands.

Where the beautiful women are
, he kept repeating, imagining every detail of Huck’s essence. Her smooth oval face. The fullness of her lips. Her exotic scent. With hundreds of stores on Main, the odds of eventually spotting her walking somewhere along that street were good. She’d be smartly dressed, loaded down with shopping bags, and would hopefully accept his offer to help.

So he’d ride the streetcar up and down Houston’s busiest thoroughfare until he found her. Ride it all day if he had to. And if he didn’t see her, he’d do it again the next Saturday. And the next. And even the one after that. The winning cards were in his hand, and it was no time to fold.

Gabe boarded a streetcar at the corner of Main and Rusk, paid his token, and shuffled through the crowd toward the rear platform. From that vantage point, he’d be able to smoke and watch both sides of the street with ease. Midway up the crowded aisle, an elderly gentleman dropped a hand-carved cane, and Gabe paused to retrieve it. He handed the cane back to the man as a large woman struggling to carry a shopping bag and stack of hatboxes plopped into a nearby seat. Before Gabe could move, the woman thrust the boxes in his direction.