Her Thirties Part 49

I couldn’t wait to leave the university and drive to Marilyn’s place.

I arrived at the bookshop about five-thirty and parked down the street as usual.

I saw lights on in the apartment above the store, but noticed the store lights were on too. That was weird. I hurried on to investigate.

When I opened the shop door, the jangle of the bell brought Ella out from the storeroom at the back.

“Well, hello Scott—what a pleasant surprise!”

“Good afternoon, Ella. Helping out in the store today?”

“Oh, I get so bored sitting around the house—some days I don’t know what to do with myself.”

I laughed. “I hope I feel that way when I’m your age.”

“Age is just a number, Scott.”

“You’re a walking advertisement for that saying. Hey, how would you like to attend a party with Marilyn and me on Sunday?”

“What kind of party?

“It’s a costume party with a 1930’s theme. You’d probably get a kick out of it.”

“Well, I think I can still do the Charleston,” she laughed in her raspy voice, “—at least I could ten years ago—that was the last party I attended.”

“Ten years between parties is too long. What do you say, Ella—will you come?”

“Of course I will. I’ve even got a dress I wore in the Thirties—ha-ha, I don’t even need a costume.”

“Excellent. I’m sure you’ll enjoy yourself. By the way, where’s Marilyn?”

“Oh, she was driving me crazy with questions about the shop again. I sent her upstairs to give me a break. She’s up there cleaning the apartment with her music blaring.”

“Do you think it’d be okay for me to drop up and see her?”

“Sure. I’ll get the key and open the door for you—she’d never hear the doorbell over that phonograph music.”

I smiled at Ella’s quaint use of the term, ‘phonograph’ music.

She got the key and unlocked the door. I waited until I made sure it was secure behind me before starting up the stairs.

I wondered how Ella was able to navigate the stairs, but then, she continually surprised me.

As I neared the landing, I could hear trumpets and swing music. There was a girl with a Doris Day voice singing, and I caught the words: when I first saw you I had but one thought, and then you chased me until you were caught.

I recognized the song—Ain’t We Got Fun.

At that point, I had made it as far as the living room and was stopped dead in my tracks.

Swing music was coming from an old phonograph—the kind the RCA Victor dog would howl at—but what was more shocking was the girl with the saucy voice was Marilyn, merrily singing along to the music with her back to me as she mopped the kitchen floor.

I stood mesmerized.

Somehow, she sensed my presence and turned. When she saw me, she blushed and ran to the phonograph and shut off the music.

“I’m so embarrassed. How long have you been standing there?”

“Not long,” I laughed, “just long enough to realize you’re quite a singer.”

“Who me? Not likely. Some sing in the shower. Me? I like to sing while mopping floors.”

She whirled around using the mop as her dance partner.

“I’ll sit and listen to you mop floors anytime.”

She smirked. “Listen? I thought you mostly liked to watch.”

“That too,” I smiled. “You’re not hard on the eyes you know.”

“Well, thank you, kind Sir,” she said in the perky Doris Day voice. I wanted to hug her, but wisely hung back.

“I thought I’d drop by and talk. I’m sorry, I didn’t think I’d be interrupting anything.”

“This?” she said, with a sweeping gesture at the cleaning supplies, “you call this interrupting? I call it a break to go out for dinner.”

“You’re on,” I grinned. “How about I help you finish up here?”

“A man who mops floors and does chores—who could ask for anything more?”

I tried to disarm her with a lopsided grin.

She cocked her head to one side and scrutinized me. “Say, you haven’t been married before, have you?”

“Nope. Just lived on my own for too long.”

A look of compassion swept over her face. She put down the mop, came over and kissed me gently on the lips.

I tried to prolong it but she stiff-armed me, pushing me away and fixing me with a stern look.

“I just thought there was more where that came from,” I offered.

“In your dreams,” she scolded and headed to the bedroom to get changed.

In my dreams, I mused—that’s exactly where I’ve been living.

I smiled, as I grabbed the mop.

To be continued...


© 2018, John J Geddes. All rights reserved

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