Friday night was Mrs. Brodsky's late night. Rita would leave at 6:00 and she would stay to the 9:00 closing. And Saturday night was her date night which she began preparing for upon her arrival home around 9:30 each Friday. Now closing in on fifty, Margaret Brodsky found it took that long to get herself looking her best. There was surely an element of truth in that, but just as likely she enjoyed the preparation and anticipation nearly as much as the hunt. And a hunt it was. Whether she free-lanced with her friend Carol at Mitchell's, the hottest spot for post thirties in Greenport or attended a Parents Without Partners meeting (she was never a parent, but neither were half the people there) or something in between, it was definitely a hunt. Widowed for twelve years, she'd had several relationships (more than three dates) and dozens of one or two timers. Still slender and attractive, she was in demand anywhere she went and went home alone only by choice. She was both a woman who looked good and enjoyed sex, often on the first meeting (not to be confused with the first date, which always followed a meeting and almost always included sex), so her problem was nothing like that of most women of her age and situation. Her problem was she could never find someone to compare with the only real love of her life, her husband of eighteen years, Charlie Brodsky. His death in an automobile accident (his head went through the windshield as he accompanied a woman test driving one of his cars) left her financially solid. As part owner of a Lincoln/Mercury dealership in Bridgehampton, a town just south of Sag Harbor, his share of the business, sold to his old partner, set Margaret up for life. Combine that with double indemnity from his life insurance policy, and it was obvious Margaret was only working to keep her days filled.
Charlie was nothing special to look at -- medium build, medium height, as medium a guy as you'd find. Even his personality was medium and that's why Margaret loved him so. He never got too high or too low, never let her temper get to him, and never complained when she shopped too much or cooked too little. He was a self-confident, content man who loved her for who she was. And, man was he great in bed. That was their favorite thing to do together and after eighteen years of marriage they were still doing it four or five times per week.
When Charlie died, Margaret didn't date for several months and would have waited longer but not for her sexual appetite. "From the old school," she had great difficulty in pleasuring herself; therefore she began dating earlier than she (or her parents and some friends) thought "typical."
It would be an exaggeration to categorize Margaret Brodsky's motivation to date as just sex. It would be accurate to say her philosophy was something like, "I'd very much like to find a man to share my life with and while I'm searching, it would be best to early on determine if we're compatible sexually." The Greenport, Shelter Island area, being as small as it is (she never went to Sag Harbor; too many younger, better looking competitors), Margaret's reputation was widely known. She knew and understood that reputation, combined with her looks, got her dates with most eligible and not so eligible men between forty and fifty and virtually any man she smiled at over fifty. But she was still very particular, only dating on the weekends for the most part and almost always discarding the men after a time or two.
Harold Stoneman had recently found himself coming in earlier and staying later and later at the store. He obviously was trying to savor his time in the position (he never referred to it as a job, always as a position) and this Friday night was no exception. In fact, his hanging around to closing caused Rita to forego her 9:00 dances with Eddie on those nights, something that didn't sit too well with Miss Willis.
Around 8:45 P.M., with no floor customers in sight and just two old women in a booth, Margaret noticed that Harold was what amounted to browsing his own store. She watched him picking up and dusting those cheap off-white lamp shades carried by every Woolworth in the country, inspecting the sewing section and even looking in the record section which stocked very little interesting to what should have been its target audience, teenagers, and absolutely nothing interesting to Harold who didn't know anything newer than Perry Como. She watched him take a five-minute tour and return to the counter and his coffee. Having worked for Mr. Stoneman (that's what she still called him) for about six years, it would be untrue to say she had never looked at him, sized him up. But he was such a plain looking and acting guy (not to be confused with medium) that though she looked, she had never really appreciated his good points. He did have beautiful, wavy, salt and pepper hair she thought; he did have thick arms and strong looking hands; and he definitely wasn't homely, definitely. She wondered why she hadn't gotten to know him, even a little, after all this time. He was, to be sure, a shy man and he had never made anything remotely resembling a pass towards her, but that wasn't necessarily bad. There could be something simmering under that very quiet and reserved exterior. She had met men like Harold and sometimes (well, a couple of times) their interior put their exterior to shame. He looked so sad sitting there, like a little boy who'd lost the key to his house and knew his mom wouldn't be home for hours. She wondered what he was thinking about and decided to ask.
"Penny for your thoughts, Mr. Stoneman." She walked to a position behind the counter directly in front of him. For a few seconds he continued to stare straight ahead till he realized Margaret Brodsky was what he was now staring at.
"Hello, Margaret," he said, not having heard her question. "How are you?"
"I'm well, Mr. Stoneman. How are you?"
He attempted a smile but managed only to curl the right side of his face momentarily giving him the look of a stroke patient healed to the maximum eighty-five percent level.
"Not too bad, Margaret," he said. Now something happened that had not happened in the six years they had worked together. He moved past tiny talk to small talk. Based on what he said it might even have been considered regular sized talk.
"Have you thought about what you're going to do after September 15th," he asked. Well, the fact that he had actually asked her a question didn't escape Margaret. She wasn't exactly startled, but she did lose a beat or two before her reply.
"I haven't decided yet, Mr. Stoneman. I'll probably look over in Greenport in August. How about you?"
He told her he was still waiting to see what Woolworth had to offer and that he had an appointment to visit an employment agency next week over in Riverhead. They continued to talk until Margaret noticed the two old women that had now moved from the booth to a position in front of the register. Their impatient smiles made her glance at the clock. It was 9:15. She had spoken to Mr. Stoneman for over twenty minutes, easily more than the sum total of their conversations over six years. She took care of the ladies with one eye on Mr. Stoneman, but he barely moved a muscle. She returned to her spot in front of him to find him close to tears. She knew that if she required him to say anything he would have not been able to keep his tears to himself.
"I'm going to get my jacket, lock up and we're going to go for a drink," she said and quickly moved away. She felt that if she gave him any opportunity he'd decline her offer so she didn't look back until she was half way across the store. He was still sitting at the counter so she kept moving. In a few moments she was back to the counter with her jacket and his.
"Come on, Harold, we're out of here." At the sound of the word
"Harold" he smiled. She returned his smile and they left.
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Material Copyright © 1998-2003 by Jim Bearden