Alone With Evelyn
Hank stroked Rusty, Evelyn’s pedigreed toy poodle. He loved how she was making herself at home in his big lap. He slipped her a morsel of Italian bread. She gulped it down and licked the butter off his fingers. He felt a rare contentment warm his belly, warmer than the home-baked lasagna had made it.
Evelyn beamed across her dining room table laden with her finest china and flatware, sipping delicately from a wine glass, pinky finger extended. “She really likes you. She usually isn’t so friendly.”
“Maybe she remembers me from before, right, lil’ Rusty? Right, girl?” Hank rubbed her ears, smelled her perfumed little head, realizing he talked baby talk to animals like he never did to his nieces. He wanted his brother’s kids to hurry up and talk like young ladies. He didn’t care much for babying babies. And he definitely liked dogs better. They never made fun of him or said an unkind thing to anybody.
“Three years? Well, you both grew up a lot since then.” Yeah, Evelyn thought to herself. Hank went from a little husky to big and heavy, and he still seemed slow in his thinking. But he could be fixed. He just needed some good woman’s influences, that’s all. “So what have you been doing since you got out of the service, Hank?”
“Oh, this and that. I took care of my mother the last few years. She was pretty sick.”
“I know. You’ve been a good son.” She sipped some more. “I got a good son, too. Martin got a job with the post office right away and then he transferred out here to the local branch. Good benefits.” She stared at the chunky gold rings on several of Hank’s fingers but didn’t want to seem nosy, although she always was.
“Yeah, where is Martin?” Hank felt uncomfortable eating alone with his school friend’s mother. “I thought he’d be here.” He’d put his stuff upstairs in the ruffled pastel guest room when he arrived, washed up in the little guest bathroom sniffing each of the fresh little fruit-shaped soaps that didn’t really smell like peaches or lemons anymore if they ever had. He wondered which of the boxy rooms was Martin’s. Probably the one with the door closed. The bigger bedroom had a double bed and nice bureau, probably Arnie and Evelyn’s. He hoped he wouldn’t break the single kid’s bed in his room.
“Working nights and overtime for the Christmas rush. Usually gets home about 2 a.m. But we can watch TV and wait up if you want to.”
“Uh, huh. And where’s Arnie?” Hank gestured to the two empty sides of the dining table where he wished other people were sitting. “Thought he’d be at the head of the table, not me.”
Evelyn took a slow gulp of her wine, swished and swallowed it loud. “I thought you knew,” she intoned darkly.
Hank was stunned. “No! Arnie died?!”
“I wish,” she sneered, watching him blush, abashed. “No…but don’t make me spell it out. Anyway, we’re getting divorced. I’m being civil about it because I intend to get every single thing. I got a good attorney.”
“I’m really, really sorry, Ev.” Hank really, really was and his discomfort was growing by the minute. Why didn’t Martin tell him that Arnie was gone and Ev was getting divorced before he came out here?
“You want dessert? I got some Junket Rennet Custard and some cookies.”
“What kind of cookies?” He knew he should just be a polite guest and eat whatever she had on hand, but he loved conversing about cookies. He didn’t really want to know anything more about Arnie. “I like the assortments—lotta choices. Or Pecan Sandies. Anything with nuts in it I like. What about you?”
“Come help me clear and we’ll take a look.” She took her plate and cutlery and the casserole dish and careened toward the kitchen. She knew she shouldn’t drink so much, but she liked the warm flush in her face, knew it made her look young. She was young, goddamnit, not even forty-six, and had a good figure still. She was extra aware of her fullsome backside as Hank carried his plate and the salad bowl behind her and put them in the double sink. She was always more aware of herself and wiggled her hips bigger side to side when there was a man around who she imagined was noticing. Imagining a man noticing got her hot. She opened the cookie cabinet.
“Do you have the Hydrox chocolate and cream sandwich cookies?” he asked.
“They don’t have those out here in California,” Evelyn said, offering a fresh box of Oreos. “But they have these instead. Pretty good. Great to dip.”
The picture on the box looked like his childhood favorites. “Hydrox are the best but, sure, I’ll try ‘em.”
“You want coffee?”
“Am I too old to ask for a glass of milk? Always good with any kind of chocolate cookies,” he chortled enthusiastically. “Ma us’ta say that I’m always going to be a milk and cookies boy.”
“Sure.” She poured some milk from the bottle in the fridge, handed him a glass and a plate piled with cookies. “Let’s take it in the living room.” She poured herself another wine, swayed her way to the parlor, pulled a snack tray in front of the couch. “Make yourself comfy.” She grabbed the remote, turned on the television.
Jack plopped happily down on the couch with his milk and cookies, then was startled when Evelyn plopped down on the couch very close to him, then, leaning against him, she put her wine on the tray and chummily took one of his cookies.
A lifelong stage and screen actor,Melanie Chartoff has recently had articles, essays and stories published in McSweeney's, Medium, Entropy, Crows Feet, The Jewish Journal, Funny Times, Five on the Fifth, Glint, Entropy, Verdad, Bluestem, Evening Street Press, Mused, Jewlarious, Defenestration, Better after 50, Living the Second Act, Goats Milk Magazine, Borrowed Solace, Avalon Literary Review, Eat Darling Eat, The Literate Ape, and five editions of the Chicken Soup for the Soul (Simon and Schuster) books. Her first book, "Odd Woman Out: Exposure in Essays and Stories" is available on Audible, performed by the author, and its paperback and E-book are a 4.5 star hit wherever they are sold
