Looking for Me (7 page)

I laughed. “Thanks. And thanks for buying me that old vanity bench. I can’t wait to paint it.”

“Ah, what the hell, it was only two bucks.”

We rode in silence for several miles, and then I turned to Mr. Palmer. “The other day I was thinking about how long I’ve worked for you. It’ll be ten years in June. Do you think maybe when you retire, you’d let me take over your shop?”

That question sent him careening toward the ditch. “Jumpin’ Jesus! I give you two hundred bucks and now you want my whole damn shop? Well, don’t go gettin’ any big ideas. I’m not set to retire for a long while. Not even gonna think about it till I’m seventy-five.”

I flashed him a look. “You said you were seventy-five three years ago.”

His cheeks colored up. “Well damn it, I was wrong. But when I do retire, I suppose you could step in and run the place. Guess you wouldn’t mess things up too bad.”

I smiled and looked out the windshield. From Mr. Palmer those words were a big compliment.

Several months after we had that conversation, Mr. Palmer was in his office calculating prices for sterling flatware he’d bought at an auction. Albert was repairing the legs of an antique high chair that had seen one too many chubby babies, while I was creating a decoupage design on the top of a pine chest. It was my first commissioned piece for Miz Tedra Calhoun, a society lady who was a good customer. After cutting pictures of flowers from old issues of British gardening magazines, I glued them into position across the top of the chest, creating a collage of a lush summer garden. I knew that the decoupage had to be perfect or it would end up being my last.

A few minutes before noon, I heard Mr. Palmer’s adding machine go into a rapid-fire frenzy. The
clickety-clickety
kept going, and I looked at Albert and said, “Those silver pieces sure must be expensive.”

Albert chuckled and shook his head. “That old man comes up with some kinda crazy prices.”

I was curious about what Mr. Palmer was calculating, so I put down my brush and headed for his office. I stepped into his doorway and found him hunched over his desk. His right hand was splayed out across the keys of his adding machine, sending a long ribbon of white paper curling down the side of his desk and across the floor.

Mr. Palmer was dead.

At the memorial service, I sat with Albert and Reba, all of us stunned by grief. The preacher, a paunchy older gentleman, spoke endearingly of Mr. Palmer’s curmudgeonly ways and long-standing reputation for driving a hard bargain and being a man of his word. When the preacher mentioned that Mr. Palmer was eighty-six years old, Albert and I looked at each other with surprise. And though I’d known he was a bachelor, I had no idea that Mr. Palmer had had a girlfriend for nearly fifty years. Her name was Bessie Wise. She wasn’t at the memorial service because she was in a nursing home.

“Poor little thing,” a woman behind me said. “Jackson went to see her every Sunday evening, bless his heart. But she didn’t have any idea who he was.”

Mr. Palmer had a nephew named Elgin who lived in Texas. Following the service he spoke to Albert, Reba, and me for a little while, ending the conversation by saying he’d be coming to the shop the next day to tell us his plans. Though I didn’t much care for the emphasis he put on the word
plans
, I did my best not to overreact and jump into a pool of worry.

Elgin arrived at the shop early the next morning. He was nice enough, but when he told us that he was the beneficiary of Mr. Palmer’s estate, which included the shop and everything in it, my stomach churned.

Is he going to run the shop, or will he hire someone? Should I step forward and tell him that I’m sure I can manage everything if he’d give me the chance?

I didn’t know the etiquette of such things, and while I was trying to gather the courage to broach the subject as respectfully as I could, Elgin dropped the bomb: He was hiring an auction company to sell the contents of Mr. Palmer’s shop and would then put the building up for sale.

I rose from my work stool and said, “Excuse me, I don’t mean to be forward, but what would it take to buy this business? Albert and I work well together, and I know we could—”

“I’m sorry,” Elgin said, raising his hand. “I’ll give you both a full month’s wages and any vacation pay you have coming. If you need references, I’ll give you those, too. After the repairs are done, you can go ahead and clear out your personal things.”

And that was that. Not only had I lost a man I considered to be a wonderful, if cantankerous, friend and teacher, but his passing had obliterated my dream of taking over his shop.

When Albert and I left that night, I walked with him to his truck and posed a question. “I have an idea. What if you and I pooled our money? We could find a new location and open our own shop. We’d be fifty-fifty partners. Mr. Palmer’s customers would come to us, I know they would.”

Albert slowly shook his head. “You’re young, Teddi. You got a whole lot of years ahead of you. I started workin’ when I was fourteen. Come November, I’ll be fifty-one. All I want is a decent job that pays my bills so I can go fishin’ on weekends. Me and Reba got ourselves a nice life. I don’t want to mess it up by takin’ on a loan. The money I got saved is stayin’ right where it is—in the bank. And I sure don’t want any tension.”

“What if I promised to take all the tension for both of us? You do your work like always and I deal with everything else.”

Albert opened the truck door, climbed in, and rolled down the window. “That wouldn’t be right. I know you got a big dream in your head, and stubborn as you are, you’ll probably make it happen, one way or another. But, Teddi, you and I got different dreams.”

I glanced down at my shoes. “I understand.”

Albert closed the door and looked at me. For a moment I thought he’d changed his mind and was considering my idea, but he started the engine and said, “Now, don’t go gettin’ all hangdog. My grandpap used to say, ‘
You can’t see the whole sky from one window
.’ You remember those words, all right? See you tomorrow, Teddi.”

Within ten days of that conversation, the last repair had been delivered. As Albert swept the workroom floor and I wiped down benches, Elgin walked in and handed us each an envelope. Then he asked us to return our keys before we left. Albert never said a word as he packed up his tools and hauled them out to his truck, but I let loose and cried while wrapping my sable paintbrushes in a towel.

At four o’clock that afternoon, we walked out of Mr. Palmer’s shop. I blotted my tears on my shirtsleeve and sniffed, “I’m going to miss you so much, Albert.”

His voice thickened when he said, “Won’t be the same without you flappin’ your jaws all day.”

Three weeks later the entire contents of Mr. Palmer’s shop were sold at auction. I couldn’t bring myself to go and watch. Neither could Albert. Not long after, the building was sold to an investor from Raleigh.

It didn’t get any more final than that.

A
lbert took a position at a furniture-repair shop on the outskirts of town. He said the owner ran it like a drive-through and didn’t give a spit about craftsmanship, but the wage was good. Though I tried to find a job working with furniture, nobody had an opening. Well, nobody except Miz Hightree, who owned an antique shop on King Street. She wanted someone to clean her store and rewire lamps for minimum wage. I’d have gnawed on a rock before accepting that job.

While I kept an eye on the help-wanted ads for something good to come along, I began waitressing tables at the same diner where Mr. Palmer and I had struck a deal ten years before. More than once, while filling napkin dispensers and writing the daily specials on the blackboard behind the counter, I thought about the typewriter that Mama had given me for graduation and how much she’d wanted me to go to secretarial school. If she found out about my current predicament, I knew she’d lambaste me with a big
“
I told you so
”
lecture, so I didn’t tell her—or anybody else, for that matter.

A month after I began waitressing tables, I was walking to work and saw a man put a For Rent sign in the window of Mr. Palmer’s old shop. That sign gnawed at me something awful, and I turned around and knocked on the door.

When the man opened the door, I smiled and said, “Hello. My name’s Teddi Overman. I used to work here when Mr. Palmer owned it. I’d like to talk to you about renting this building.”

He eyed me up and down, taking in my baggy waitress uniform and scuffed-up shoes. I had barely begun explaining what I wanted to do when he interrupted me. “What kind of collateral do you have?”

That question brought me up short. “Well, I . . . I have a car, and I’ve saved up almost seven thousand dollars.”

He shook his head and closed the door.

After working my shift, I ran home, changed into my best dress, and set off for the bank where I had my savings account. I pleaded my case to the manager, a bald little man who looked disarmingly like a mole. When I believed I had his interest, I told him I’d need about thirty thousand dollars. The moment that number left my lips, he avoided my eyes and began shuffling papers on his desk. “I’m sorry, Miss Overman. We couldn’t possibly loan you that amount of money . . .”

I left the bank feeling emptied of hope.

Months passed, and still the For Rent sign remained in the window of Mr. Palmer’s old shop. The lettering had faded from the sun, and its edges were starting to curl.

Most days I felt lost, and sometimes I was scared, yet I believed I could run my own business if somebody would just give me a chance. But I didn’t know who that somebody was. It wasn’t until I was in the pharmacy and began talking with Miz Tedra Calhoun in the checkout line that I got an idea.

“You know, Teddi, I had a lovely fund-raising luncheon at my home a few weeks ago, and everyone raved about the decoupage you did on that chest.”

“Thank you. I loved doing it.”

“I’m so sorry Mr. Palmer passed away. This town won’t be the same without him. So how are you doing, Teddi? Where are you working now?”

I felt ashamed when I answered, “Marty’s Diner. But only until I find a job working with furniture.”

Miz Calhoun reached out and patted my hand, “Well, with all your talent I’m sure someone will snap you up in no time. It was nice chatting with you, honey. You take good care.” She gathered her purchase, and with a wave of her perfectly manicured hand she walked out the door.

Tedra Calhoun had something special that was hard to define. I guessed she was in her mid-fifties—one of those women who knew exactly how to apply makeup and dress to perfection. She wasn’t a natural-born beauty, yet she exuded the illusion of beauty, which, as far as I was concerned, was a kind of beauty unto itself. As I watched her move down the sidewalk in a graceful stride, wearing her lime green suit and creamy pearls, I set off after her.

“Miz Calhoun,” I said, running up to her side. “Do you have a few minutes? I’d like to tell you about an idea I have . . .”

We walked slowly as I told her how much I’d learned while working for Mr. Palmer and why I believed I could be a successful shop owner. “I’m a hard worker, Miz Calhoun. Mr. Palmer said I had a real eye for knowing what had value. And I’m patient, too. I never rush my work. I figure you know just about everyone in Charleston, so I was wondering if you might put in a good word for me at one of the banks. If somebody would only give me a chance . . .”

My words bumped into one another, and though I heard desperation in my voice, I couldn’t control myself.

Miz Calhoun stopped walking and turned to face me. “Dreams are powerful, aren’t they? When I was a girl, I dreamed of becoming a prima ballerina. I was a wonderful dancer, but I lacked the one crucial ingredient you need to have at the highest level of dance: courage. Right after I lost the lead role in the most important audition of my career, I met Preston. And when he asked me to marry him, I knew it was what I wanted. But I never danced again.”

Her lips formed a sad smile. “Not that I have any regrets, but there are days when I wonder what might have been if I’d just reached a little deeper and believed in myself more.”

Right when I had started to wonder where this conversation was going, she said, “So you have a dream, and it certainly seems like you have the courage to go after it. But what you don’t have is the capital. Is that it?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She tilted her head, and what I saw in her eyes wasn’t a wealthy woman taking pity on a farm girl. It was kindness. “Why don’t you come to my home this evening? Preston is a very clever businessman. Maybe he’ll have some ideas for you. He likes to relax with a drink before dinner. If you could come by around six o’clock, he’d talk with you then.”

“Oh, thank you, Miz Calhoun.”

She smiled and gave a slight shrug. “I can’t presume to know what my darling Preston will say or do. But I know he’ll listen to your ideas and give you sound advice. That much I can promise. Now, I’ve got to run. See you tonight.”

It took me more than an hour to get dressed and fix my hair. Wanting to look mature and professional, I chose a simple black skirt and a soft white sweater with tiny pearl buttons. After several failed attempts, I managed to get my thick hair up into a stylish knot with about a hundred bobby pins and so much hair spray that I nearly asphyxiated myself.

When I parked in front of the Calhouns’ home, I closed my eyes and tried to calm the thunderous beating of my heart. As I stepped to the sidewalk and opened the wrought-iron gate, I wondered,
Is my outfit too simple? Does it look cheap? Oh, Lord, of course it looks cheap. I bought it at a thrift shop. I should have polished my shoes one more time . . .

Just as I rang the doorbell, several bobby pins sprang from my hair and my knot began to loosen. I tried to quickly fix it, but the door swung open and I was facing a broad-shouldered gentleman with silver hair and wire-rimmed glasses perched on an unfortunate nose.

“Well, I’ll bet you’re Teddi,” he said, offering me his hand. “I’m Preston Calhoun. Please, come in. Lets go into my office and have a chat, shall we?”

My stomach tightened and my hair inched down the back of my head as I followed him down the hallway and into a room lined with mahogany bookcases. The rug was Persian, and the furniture was well-worn brown leather. In the middle of the room sat a double-pedestal desk of solid burled walnut. It was nearly the size of my kitchen.

I smoothed my fingers along its edge and said, “This is English, from the Victorian era, right?”

“You know your antiques. This desk belonged to my great-grandfather. Please, have a seat. Would you like something to drink?”

“No thank you. I’m fine.”

Mr. Calhoun sat down at his desk and poured himself a drink from a crystal decanter. “My lovely wife says you have an idea for a business. So why don’t you tell me about it?”

I couldn’t stop my knees from shaking as I explained what I wanted to do. Mr. Calhoun listened, taking notes on a yellow legal pad and asking all sorts of questions. If he noticed my hair migrating down my neck and bobby pins shooting across the room, he never revealed as much. But it was hard to ignore.

We talked for nearly an hour, and then he leaned back in his chair. “Your ideas sound good, Teddi. Real good. You’ll have start-up costs, rent, utilities, inventory, and more. By my calculations, you’ll need a minimum of eighty thousand dollars.”

I gasped. “That’s a
lot
of money!”

“Yes, it surely is. But if you’re going to start this business and do it right, you’ll need every penny of it. Though without collateral, I doubt you’ll get a loan of this size without a cosigner.”

Cosigner?

I sank deeper into the chair. “I don’t have one. I could ask Daddy. He’s the best farmer in Powell County. But last year’s crops weren’t very good . . .” My voice trailed off. I knew that this meeting had just taken a bad turn.

Mr. Calhoun had a sip of his drink and thought for a moment. “All right, young lady. I’ll study these notes and formulate our strategy. We’ll have to be ready for any questions a banker will throw across the table—and believe me, there’ll be a lot of them. So while I’m thinking, what I need you to do is type out your business plan and drop it off to me when you’re done.”

Mama would just love this. I could see her shaking her head and pointing to the Smith-Corona I’d left behind.

I was too embarrassed to make eye contact with Mr. Calhoun when I said, “I don’t have a typewriter.”

Slowly he stood and looked out the window with his hands shoved deep into his pockets. I knew I’d made a perfect fool of myself, so I rose to my feet and gathered my handbag. I tried to discreetly pluck the bobby pins from the rug, but he turned and saw me. I straightened up, barely able to look at him. “Mr. Calhoun, I’m sorry for wasting your time. I guess I didn’t think things through very well.”

I felt the sting of tears in my eyes.

Don’t cry. Shake his hand and walk out of here with some semblance of dignity.

With a slight lift to his chin, Mr. Calhoun squinted and studied me. “Teddi, there are two things I’ve learned in business that have served me well. One, we get what we negotiate. And two, never show weakness. Those two things will help you more than anything I know. Now, I can see that you believe in your talent, but you’ve got a whole lot to learn about negotiation. The minute you show a sign of weakness, you’ve taken the first step toward losing the game. And that’s what negotiation is—
a game.
”

He tapped the legal pad with his finger and raised his eyebrows into high arches. “Tell you what. I’ll have my secretary type up your business plan, and I’ll meet you at Charleston First Bank & Trust on Monday morning. Nine o’clock sharp. We’ll show them what you’ve got and see what they say.”

I thought my legs might buckle for the gratitude I felt. “Mr. Calhoun, thank you. Thank you so much.”

“Now, bear in mind, it’s a long shot. But you’ll never know unless you give it a try.”

Right then another bobby pin sprang free and landed on the floor, and gentleman that he was, Mr. Calhoun pretended not to notice.