The Mine (9 page)

Ginny laughed.

"Two comedians under one roof. I may have to keep both of you!"

"Would you care for more cake, Joel?" Sandy asked.

"No, thank you."

"You're very articulate," Ginny said. "I like that. It's the mark of an educated man. Why is an intelligent-sounding person like you not attending college?"

"I never had the money," Joel replied.
My parents spent it on a condo
. "I value education as much as anyone, but I'm kind of a self-learner."

"I see," Ginny said. "And what do you hope to learn here in Seattle?"

"Armchairs, sofas, maybe toasters."

Laughter filled the room.

"Dad gave Joel a job at the store," Tom said. "He's going to try his hand at sales."

"Well, I hope you succeed and stay for a while," Ginny said with a warm smile. "You've made quite an impression on Tom. Any friend of his is a friend of mine."

A moment later Joel finished his coffee and put his cup on a saucer. Sandra got up and started pulling dinnerware off the cloth-covered table. No one rushed to assist her.

"Would you like some help with the dishes, Mrs. Carter?" Joel asked.

The matron of the house stopped in her tracks and smiled at her husband.

"I like this boy!" She grabbed two more plates and then looked at her questioner. "Thank you for offering, but I think I can manage with a little help from Brenda."

The teen frowned.

"Can't I stay?"

"No," Sandra said. "Leave your brother to his friends."

"I think that's my cue, too," Mel said. "I'll go check on the trailer. If you are going to stay here, Joel, we might as well make you comfortable."

"I appreciate that, sir," Joel said, thankful that he had left Candy in Chains in the laundry room and not the Airstream.

CHAPTER 23

Joel felt the weight of her stare but did not know what to make of it.

For more than ten minutes Ginny looked at him like she was evaluating a member of a long-lost tribe. She certainly was qualified to do so. As the women's page editor of the student daily and a stringer who often covered university events for the
Seattle Sun
, she was a trained observer of the human race.

"I hope you took no offense to my questions at dinner," she said.

"None at all," Joel said from Mel's throne in the living room. "I expected questions. I just popped into your lives. Of course you're curious."

Tom sat on the couch, next to Ginny, and read Tuesday's edition of the
Barker
, the university's student newspaper. He appeared to tune out everything else, including the woman who had brought the paper directly from the newsroom.

Ginny was not easy to tune out. Tall and lithe, with penetrating brown eyes, long dark hair, and a diamond-shaped face, she commanded attention. Colleagues and friends compared her often, and favorably, to Katharine Hepburn. Outspoken, brusque, and sharp-witted, she held her own even in the toughest assemblies of accomplished men. But those closest to her found her more endearing than intimidating. She placed a hand on Tom's knee and looked at each of her house comedians.

"So how did you boys spend the day?"

"I took him to campus – and both of my lecture classes," Tom said, still reading the paper. "I think he got more out of it than I did."

Joel nodded.

"Somehow I don't find that surprising. Are you ready for finals, Tom? You don't want to flunk anything on the eve of graduation."

"I studied all weekend, sweetie. I'm fine." Tom flipped back to the front page. "I see they ran your feature on poverty in the U-District. Good job."

Joel grinned.

Too bad I wasn't around for your interviews.

"I lobbied for weeks to get that in. My editors thought it was too controversial." Ginny laughed. "Journalism is
supposed
to be controversial."

Joel stared across the room and viewed his acquaintance with newfound respect. She was a committed professional and a trailblazer who was years ahead of her time.

"So are you originally from Seattle, Ginny?"

"Oh, heavens no. I'm from Forest Grove, Oregon. It's just west of Portland." She took a sip of coffee. "My family owns a chain of newspapers. I came up here to make my mark on this glorious city."

Joel turned pale, slouched in the chair, and closed his eyes for a few seconds as he processed the information. Pulling himself together, he took a breath, sat up straight, and leaned forward with an extended hand.

"Can I see that article, Tom?"

"Sure."

Tom carefully stepped around the long coffee table, which stood on a hand-made hooked throw rug, and handed Joel a folded paper. Joel flipped it open and scanned the front page until he found the feature story. He went straight to the byline.

"It says here 'Virginia Gillette.' How come you don't use Ginny?"

"Because Virginia sounds more professional," she answered. "Journalism is a male domain, Joel. Women have to work twice as hard to get half the credit. I don't mind. It's made me a better reporter. But impressions are important. Ginny is the name my sister gave me. Virginia is the name I put on paper. It's my way of saying women matter."

Ginny took another sip and smiled sweetly at her inquisitor.

"But you can call me anything you'd like."

How about Grandma?

CHAPTER 24

The customer was not pleased. Sitting on a corner of a full-sized bed, the woman of thirty folded her arms and tapped her toes. Wearing a floral print sundress, wide brimmed hat, and a scowl the size of Texas, she threw daggers with her eyes at the cow monopolizing the salesman.

Joel sensed trouble even before Old Bessie decided on a nightstand. Carter's was unusually busy, even for a Friday afternoon, and the sales staff of three was stretched thin trying to cover a showroom of ten thousand square feet. When the fat woman left to find her husband, Joel drifted over to the dark-haired diva.

"I'm sorry for the wait, ma'am," Joel said. "It's been kind of hectic."

"That's quite all right," she said. She stood up and put the strap of her purse over a shoulder. "I know that sales bring everyone out of their shacks."

"What can I do for you today? Are you looking for a bedroom addition?"

The woman smiled thinly as blood rushed to her face. But the color quickly passed. She glanced down at the mattress and ran a hand across one of its seams in a swirling motion, then redirected her well-appointed sea green eyes to the hired help.

"As a matter of fact, I am. But I'm rather picky about my bedroom additions," she said, raising an eyebrow. "What can you tell me about this mattress?"

"It's our very best, ma'am," Joel said. He placed a hand on the cushion and slapped it twice. "It features hundreds of coil springs – all encased, of course – and an upholstered foundation. This particular model also has ventilators."

"Ventilators?"

"Oh, yes, ma'am. Ventilators. They're here on the side. Every time you depress the mattress, the ventilators breathe in stale, dirty air and expel fresh, clean air. So you get a good night's rest
and
help the environment."

"Fascinating." The customer got off the mattress, dragged her unadorned left hand across the fascinating product, and walked to another a few feet away. "And this one?"

"It's even better."

"Even better than your very best?"

"Absolutely," Joel said. He rushed over to the far side of the second bed, leaned over, and pressed down hard on the product several times with both hands. "This mattress has twice as many coils as the first. It's firm, very firm. It holds up well."

"That's good. I like things that hold up, Mr. . . ."

"Smith. Joel Smith."

"You're very knowledgeable, Mr. Smith. My name is Doris. Doris Delamarter."

"It's nice to meet you," Joel said.

Doris sat down on the edge of the mattress.

"You're new here, aren't you?"

"I am. I started on Wednesday."

"I thought so. I haven't seen you before. Are you from Seattle? It's not every day that someone calls me ma'am, much less a handsome young man like yourself."

"Oh, no. I just moved here from Montana."

"Montana? How interesting. A cowboy. What brings you out here?"

The chance to sell cots to cougars.

"Opportunity, ma'am. There's not a whole lot where I come from."

Doris kicked off her sandals, slithered to the center of the mattress, and rolled to one side. She propped her head up with one arm and petted the upholstery with the other.

"And have you found the opportunities you are looking for?"

"Yes, I believe I have," Joel said. He smiled and adjusted his tie. "The mattresses are really moving today."

"So it seems." Doris slowly got off the bed, slinked over to Joel, and lifted her head inches from his face. "And how much does this 'better than your best' mattress with ventilators and coils cost?"

"Forty dollars."

"Does that include delivery?"

"Indeed, it does."

"Do you deliver the merchandise personally, or does someone else?"

"We have others who make the deliveries, but if you purchase this today I'll make sure that you
get it
tonight. In fact, I'll guarantee it."

She smiled and blushed again, as Joel saw her wheels roll to a stop. Doris Delamarter had met her match.

"Then in that case, Mr. Smith, you have a sale."

"Thank you, ma'am. You won't be disappointed. I'll ring you up now."

* * * * *

Moments later Joel rolled the sleeves of his borrowed dress shirt, leaned on a post near the dining room sets, and wiped his brow. Despite three consecutive nights of restful sleep, he was beat. He peered down a long aisle of sofas, chairs, and end tables when he heard raucous laughter from behind. He turned around and saw a familiar face.

"I like things that hold up? Bedroom additions? Good grief! We're going to have to get security for you. I'm surprised she didn't jump in your lap," Tom said, catching his breath. He smiled, shook his head, put a hand on Joel's shoulder. "That was the best show I've seen in months. Cary Grant couldn't have finished like that."

"You heard us?"

"Every word. I was standing on the other side of the divider." Tom walked across the hardwood floor to a dining table and pushed a few chairs into their places. "You got the sale, though. That's more than the rest of us can say. Doris comes in here at least twice a month to bounce on the beds but never buys anything."

"Yeah, she was a bit over the top," Joel laughed.

"So how is it going?" Tom swept the showroom with his eyes and saw several customers exit the store. A standard wall clock above the front doors read five to five. "Dad said you've been doing real well and are starting to get comfortable with this place."

"I am. It took a while. Wednesday and Thursday were kind of rough, but I think I've figured it out. The customers don't want mattresses and couches; they want attention. Give them plenty of that and they'll buy a swamp."

Tom laughed.

"You're getting it."

"Why are you here? Didn't you have classes today?"

"I just got out of my last one, my last one ever. All I have now are four finals next week and I'm out the door."

The comment hit Joel with surprising impact. He had forgotten about his previous life and what he'd be doing right now had he listened to Adam. He'd be preparing for his own finals, mailing resumes, and mapping out a career. He had already landed one interview, with an oil company, on June 12.

Maybe I'll show up when I'm eighty-one.

"Aren't you planning to work here this summer?"

"I am. I'll be back to forty hours after graduation," Tom said. "I'm going to stick around the store at least until next spring, when Ginny gets out, and then see how things look. Dad wants me to take over in a few years, but there is no way I'm ready to make that kind of commitment. Not now, anyway."

"Makes sense. You'll have a business degree and a lot more experience in a year. You can go places with that," Joel said. "But I wouldn't write off the store just yet. Your dad's sitting on a gold mine. Two hundred people must have come in today and at least a third of them bought something."

"I know. Believe me, I know. It's that way most days. That's what will make it tough. I can play it safe and make a bundle here or venture out and see the big, blue world. Thankfully, I don't have to decide today."

Joel glanced toward the front of the store and saw Mel remove sale signs from windows as a clerk directed a patron to the door. A few feet away, an old man examined a floor lamp, turned it on and off, and headed for the exit. Lights flickered in the distance.

"Looks like the store is shutting down. I should get back to work," Joel said.

"Good idea. And I'd better go home and get cleaned up. I'm taking Ginny to a show tonight. She's as tired of the books as I am. We both need a break."

"Have fun."

"I will."

Tom started for the door and then stopped.

"Say, what are you doing tomorrow? The weather's supposed to be great."

"I have nothing planned, except to eat, sleep, take a leak, turn twenty-two."

"A birthday! Oh, Lord, that's perfect." Tom scratched his chin and grinned. "You like boats, Joel?"

"I do."

"Then be ready at ten. The lake awaits."

CHAPTER 25

Joel was no stranger to fine watercraft. His seaman father had taken him sailing to the San Juans several weekends a year in his gadget-rich twenty-five-foot sloop. But even that seemed to pale to the toy Tom Carter took out of Portage Bay.

The mint-condition 1935 GarWood Runabout sported a varnished mahogany hull, chrome fittings, leather seats, and a peppy Chrysler six-cylinder, 135-horsepower engine. At twenty-two feet, the inboard was small enough to maneuver through tight spots and large enough to blow away half the boats on Lake Washington.