From Riches to Rags (10 page)

“I’d love to see it; do you have a copy we could watch sometime?”

“No, unfortunately I never got around to buying a copy. In fact, I don’t have copies of any of my movies, mores the pity. Anyway, time has passed quietly, no one remembers me anymore.”

I patted her back and said, “Well, now someone will.”

She offered me a cup of coffee in a fine China cup, and we chatted for quite a long time. She told me how she had outlived her only daughter, and lost contact with her grandchildren. She got up and took a framed picture from the shelf and handed it to me.

“This is the last picture of my dear daughter, Rebecca.”

“I’m so sorry, Norma.”

“Sadly she died giving birth to her second child, and then her husband was transferred so he took the children and moved away. Over the years the children grew up and married, to busy with their own family to think of me.”

She had such a forlorn look in her eyes and it was then that I truly understood what loneliness really was. I may be struggling, but my parents are still living. I know in my heart that I will see them again one day, and I will make them proud. I have hope, I have goals, and I have a future to look forward to. Even though it looks bleak at the moment, it is still obtainable. Norma could only look back at her memories, she couldn’t see a future worth looking forward to. That broke my heart.

But she refused to linger on it, and changed the subject. Before I realized it, we had talked the morning away and I needed to get ready for work. When I told her that I had to leave, she invited me back tomorrow for breakfast. I explained that I worked until two A.M., and tended to miss breakfast because I was usually asleep at that time. She smiled and put her soft, dry hand on my arm and said I was to come to lunch then, and she wouldn’t take no for an answer. I told her I would look forward to it, and that was the truth.

Making Friends ‒ Melinda
aka
Blackie Blackstone
and
George Kirk

“George, got a minute?”

I never had the need to seek advice from other people before. I either did what my parents told me, or paid people to do it for me. But this thing with Chris and morals had me confused, and at a loss.

“Sure, what’s up, Blackie? Are you still in Memphis?”

“No, I’m back in Vegas.”
And after two days, I’m ready to go back to Memphis.

“That’s an interesting development. Want to tell me about it?”

Suddenly the flood gates opened up and I told George everything, sparing him nothing. When I told him that Chris said we couldn’t be friends I think I even cried a little, like a silly school girl.

“I’m uh, not sure what to do next, George. I mean I got her kitten back, but she still walked away from me.”

“What were you expecting?”

“I don’t know, I guess that she would at least talk to me. Was that too much to ask?”

“Yes, it was.”

“Why the hell do you say that?” If he wasn’t pissing me off, I might have appreciated his insight a little more.

“Because, when you did something nice for her, you accomplish it by doing something wrong. I told you, when you can do something nice for her, and not expect a reward for it, she will be able to see past your larger than life reputation, and learn that there’s a caring person underneath it.”

“I think that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me, George.”

“It’s my job to‒”

My eyebrow arched sarcastically and I sneered, “Oh, yeah, should have known.”

“You didn’t let me finish. It’s my job to peel away the layers and get to the heart of the person so I can write honestly about their life. Blackie, you have a lot of layers that Chris has to look through before she can see your heart. You need to help her out with that.”

“How?” I asked.

“You’re off to a good start with the cat, do more things like that, only this time don’t buy your way into it, like you did with the landlord, do it because you want to, not because you think it will get her to talk to you or confide in you. Just be a friend to her.”

“I, um, apparently don’t know how to be a friend. I’ve never had a friend before, not like you’re talking about.”

“I’m your friend, Blackie.”

“Yeah, well, you have to be, don’t you?”

“No, not at all. Your parents pay me, not you, and they are not my only client. Even if you had them fire me, I would be just fine. So you see, you have no strings to pull with me. When I say that I honestly want to help you succeed with Chris, I mean it.”

Is that what he means by being a friend?
It’s so much easier to just buy a friend for however long I needed them. But that’s not what I want this time.

“Well, it doesn’t really matter anyway, I mean about Chris. She doesn’t want to be my friend.”

“But did she say that she never wanted to see you again?”

“No, no she didn’t.”
Was he onto something?

“There’s your window of opportunity. She may have closed the door, but she didn’t shut the window.”

“Huh?”

“It’s a play on words. She is giving you another chance, so take my advice and go slow. Don’t see her every day or she may not understand your intentions and turn you away permanently.”

“Okay, that’s good advice, George, thanks.”

My head was racing so far ahead that I hadn’t heard a word he said. I know that she doesn’t have a car and that getting to and from work by bus had to be frustrating at the very least. I could pick her up and take her myself. And I could also take her home after her shift.

“Blackie, did you hear me, I said don’t stalk her.”

“What? Stalking? No, I’m not going to stalk her per se. I just want to help her out.”

“Just don’t overdo it. Too much of a good thing is still too much.”

“I understand, George,”
but I’ve got to be me,
“I’m running late, talk to you later.”

Making Friends ‒ Christine Livingston
and
Melinda Blackstone

After talking with Mrs. Shelby for so long, I was running terribly late. I kissed my kitten, grabbed my purse, locked the door behind me and ran out onto the street. I was in such a rush that I started across the street without looking for traffic first. I heard tires squealing and instinctively covered my head with my hands. Although I hadn’t seen the car yet, I certainly heard the cussing.

“Gal-damn, whadda ya, blind or sump thing, dumbass!” He bellowed over the sound of his horn blaring at me.

For a brief second, I thought of feigning blindness, just to make him feel bad, but instead, I apologized and moved out of his way. Thankfully, my bus pulled up behind him, and I jumped on as soon as the doors flew open. I hadn’t intended on taking the bus to work, but had run out of time and had no choice. Granted, it’s only a couple of dollars and two transfers, but that’s food money that I was reluctant to part with. At least today was payday. This restaurant pays every week, which is very helpful, and this was my first check at my new job.
Had it been a week already?
I was encouraged by the tips I was bringing home at night. I stuffed them in a jar to use for emergency funds, like having to take the bus to work.

My bus pulled up in front of the restaurant and I climb out, swinging my purse over my shoulder, and finger combing my hair out of my eyes from a sudden gust of wind. That’s when I saw her.

“Chris, fancy meeting you here.” Melinda said with a crooked grin on her lips.

I refused to smile, although I was smiling in my mind. I had not seen her in a couple of days and was beginning to worry, although I certainly had no right to. Surprisingly, I had felt her absence.

“Melinda.” I said, and walked toward the back of the restaurant, where the hired help enter.

“Have you got a second?”

“No, I’m sorry, I’m late for work.” A little white lie, I had at least ten minutes to spare.

She looked at me disbelieving, but was quick to ask, “I just wanted to say that I will be happy to take you home after your shift, if you would like?”

“Thank you, Melinda, but that isn’t necessary. I am perfectly fine taking the bus.” I wasn’t going to tell her the truth, that I absolutely hated taking the bus at night. Drunks, hookers and drug dealers were the only ones on the bus at that hour.

“But I don’t mind. I’m up at that hour anyway.”

“I can only imagine what
you
are doing prowling around at two A.M. in the morning.”

“Yeah, I used to prowl up and down the Vegas strip and loved it.”

“Used to?”

“It’s not fun anymore.”

She stated it with such finality that I wondered why it wasn’t fun for her anymore. Curiosity got the best of me and I asked, “Why isn’t it fun anymore, Melinda?”

“Because I always ended up feeling empty and used, and in both cases, and I realize now, it was my own fault.”

Her sincerity seemed genuine, which led me to ask again, “Melinda, why are you
really
trying so hard to be my friend?”

“Because you said no.”

Truthful and to the point, and finally, I believed her. “All right, just this once, you may pick me up after work.” I saw a big cheesy grin on her face, as if she had just swallowed the mouse, “But it doesn’t mean anything has changed between us.”

“Nothing has to change, Chris. I don’t want anything more than friendship. And friends help each other out, right. That’s all I’m doing, helping my friend.”

“Uh-huh, we’ll see.”

*

Yes ma’am, we certainly will see.
I watched Chris walk into the restaurant and then I let out a jubilant yell that scared the pigeons right off the stoop.
She finally relented!
  It was a small concession, but if I stayed calm, and charming, I might get another one, and then another one, until she succumbed to my charming ways, and trusted me enough to accept me as her friend. I could see the light at the end of the tunnel, and although it was a very long tunnel, and the light was no larger than a pinhead, it was the most beautiful light I had ever seen. I think I just made a new friend tonight.
Don’t screw it up!

I went back to my hotel room and pulled out my laptop. Since I couldn’t get the detectives to cooperate, I would search for Carl Livingston myself. The first link that came up led me to the company he worked for, Memphis Investment Funds, which had a complete bio on him. He’s married, with one child, Chris, and his net worth is so substantial that the company put it in big, bold letters. All things consider, it wasn’t on the same scale my father’s billions, but then my father had help from his ancestors. Mr. Livingston made his millions all by himself.
Impressive.

Ideas began flashing through my brain like a freight train through a tunnel. With this knowledge there were so many opportunities I could take advantage of, like hiring Livingston to invest for me, or contracting with Mrs. Livingston to hold a fundraiser for me, or…, suddenly I became angry, with myself.
Damn it!
I realized that I was trying to buy my way in again.

So then, what should I learn from this information? He is rich, Chris is not. Perhaps they had a falling out, a really
big
falling out. Still, what happened between them that ended up with Chris living in a dump, working her ass off for every penny? The more I thought about it, the less it mattered. I’m curious, who wouldn’t be? But how would knowing what happened affect my being friends with her? It wouldn’t. I realized, I am her friend whether she wants me to be or not, and as her friend, I must support her however she wishes to be supported, even if it’s by waiting for her to confide in me.
Damn… I think I’m starting to understand this friendship thing.

A Good Deed ‒ Melinda Blackstone
and
Christine Livingston

“Were you busy tonight?”

I had waited down the road from the restaurant for over thirty minutes, because I didn’t want to appear eager, and when it was time for Chris’s shift to be over with, I pulled up in front of it.

“About as you would expect, mostly drink orders from people listening to the music. And you know what that means.”

I shook my head. I had an idea, but decided to let her tell me.

“It means more tips for me because they get a little liquor in them and they loosen their purse strings.”

Yep, that was pretty much the answer I had in mind too. I watched as Chris wrapped her jacket around her tighter, so I offered to turn up the heat. She said she was fine, but I turned on the seat warmer anyway, and adjusted it to low heat.

“What do you do with all that money you bring home in tips?” It was a stupid question, but I was trying to start a conversation.

“It mostly goes in my cookie jar in case of emergency. But I’ve started a separate jar, for a special project I’m working on.”

“Is it a secret project, or can you tell me about it?”

She looked at me for a moment, as if trying to decide if this crossed her boundary.

“Well, it’s kind of a secret, but only to my neighbor. You know, Mrs. Shelby, whom you got a kitten for, it’s for her.”

“You mean you’re getting her a present or something?”

“Something like that. I’m hoping to locate her grandchildren, or maybe even great-grandchildren. You see, she only had one daughter, now deceased, and she has lost contact with her grandchildren. It’s sad, really.”

“That is sad.”

“What’s just as sad is all that history and knowledge she has, and no one to share it with. Did you know she was a movie star in the forties?”

I don’t think Chris meant for me to reply, because she plowed on with her story, and I couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm for an aging actress she’d only just made friends with. Then I felt the slightest twinge of jealousy beginning to take hold of me. Chris had made a friend. One who was able to penetrate her wall of distrust, and rather easily too, and that’s what made me jealous. But then my heart lashed out at my brain and told me that if I were truly her friend, as I claim to be, I would be happy for her, not jealous. I listened to my heart.