Spinsters ch 1

Spinsters

“Age?”
“Forty-three.”
“Marital status?”
“I’m a spinster.”

“You said that?” I asked.
“Oh yeah, why not call it what it is? After all it’s better than ‘Old Maid’”

This is true, I thought, but only Julie would call herself a spinster at 43.  Besides, whoever heard of a spinster named Julie.  Julia, maybe, but Julie?  We were sitting at the table in a crowded restaurant on a Friday night.  The movie didn’t start for another 30 minutes, so we had a little time.  Julie and I regularly went out on Friday nights.  Except of course on the rare occasion one of us had a date.  We worked together, but lived about 70 miles apart.  I was 30 miles to the East of where we worked; she was 40 miles to the West, so catching dinner and a movie after work was the best option. 

We worked at a pharmaceutical firm.  My background was science, hers was English.  It was a fascinating job really – learning about all of the new drugs as they came on to the market – and a little scary for the same reason!  Knowing about all the trials and the ones that were published vs. the ones that weren’t, was not always a good thing.  Fortunately, the firm we were with was reputable, and even tended to do longer studies than a lot of companies.  Currently, the push was for new anti-virals.  The impending threat of a new influenza pandemic had every company that produced vaccines or anti-viral medications scrambling. 

This had been a good meal at the local “fish camp”.  I think fish camps must be a regional thing.  I know a lot of people who have never heard of them before moving here.  My sisters and I had grown up coming to Freddie’s Fish Camp.  We had all cut down on visits, though, as we got older.  At a fish camp, almost everything is fried.  You get your “choice of two” trout, perch, clams, oysters, shrimp, etc. served with hush puppies, and cole slaw.  (The aroma of grease and fish you take home is free.)  Usually, it was all you can eat.  Rather dangerous for the ol’ cholesterol levels. 

We were sitting at a long wooden table, like an industrial-sized picnic table.  The large windows were open, covered only with screens that always seemed to need repair.  For this reason there was always at least one fat, slow fly that moved lazily from person to person buzzing around your plate.  Bare light bulbs and ceiling fans completed the décor.  And of course, the obligatory line out the door on Friday nights.  Our waitress, Alma, seemed stoic.  I recognized her from the many years I’d been coming here.  Nothing fazed her.  I’d seen her yelled at, hit by small children, and even hit by food when a child really got out-of-hand.  The only reaction I’d ever heard to all of this was a single comment about 5 years ago when I overheard her say, “Well, hell! He could at least have left me a tip.”  Now we sat at a table with a family of seven at the other end.  The kids appeared to range from about 2 to 14.  I’m hoping the two year old doesn’t send any food our way.  I’m not sure I can put up with as much as Alma does.

“I like provoking reactions.”  Julie continued, picking at the last hush puppy.  “People are still so intent on women being married here in the south.  It’s hard to believe, we’ve gained so much in the last 40 years and now on the verge of the 21st century, people will still say ‘when are you going to settle down with a nice man?’”

“I know. Sometimes you want to tell them you’re a lesbian, just to shut them up,” I added. 

“But, how many people would actually shut up, if you said that?  Here in the Bible Belt, you’d just get all the reasons why ‘God hates homosexuals.’  My friend Lynn gets that every time she goes home.  Her family’s cool with it, but her married friends from high school feel like they have to ‘save’ her every time she visits.”

“They’re probably jealous.  She gets to go back to her TV writing job in L.A. while they go home to a house full of kids and their perfect hell of a marriage.”

“Wow, you’re cynical tonight. That’s usually my job.”

“It just seems like I’ve heard a lot of complaining lately from one of the women at church.  I want to tell her just to ‘leave the asshole’, but of course, I’ll be a good girl and control my language at church. . .  At least until the next time she complains,” I added.

“You should join a nice Catholic church like me.  Just slip into mass on Saturday night, and slip out.  No muss, no fuss.  At least you get left alone if that’s what you want.”

“Maybe, but I do know that I can’t stay where I am for much longer.  Every time I turn around there’s another meeting about something.  I work in the corporate world and when I get to church, it doesn’t seem any different.  And, everybody’s smiling and ‘upbeat’ whether they feel like it or not.  Like Christians never have bad days, yea right!  But, if you do, it means that your faith isn’t strong enough.”

“Well, honey, they probably think that, if your faith was strong enough, you’d have a husband by now.” Julie smirked. 

“Oh yeah, I forgot!,” I laughed.  “You want to head on over to the movie?”

“Sure, is it my turn to pay or yours?”

“Um, let’s see.  It’s the 14th, so it must be yours.  Sorry, have you got it?” 

“Sure, I’m fine this month.”

We alternated paying.  Julie’s mortgage was due on the 1st of every month, mine on the 15th.  If it was time for me to pay the mortgage out of this paycheck, it was her turn to pay at dinner.  This worked pretty well since we got paid every two weeks. 

“Hey Laura, have you got nineteen cents?” 

“I’m sure I do, I have lots of pennies,” I said, as I dug into the bottom of my purse.  “Here you go.  I’m going to head on over.”  She knew that I wanted time to catch a cigarette before the movie. 

“OK. See you out front.”

The high humidity made the air tangible as I walked to my car.  It had been a scorcher today, about 97 in the late afternoon, but at 8:30 pm it was beginning to cool off.  The moon was full and a few wispy clouds drifted across the sky casting thin shadows.  Freddie’s was set back from the road in a patch of woods not far from the interstate.  In a few minutes I was merging into traffic, smoking a cigarette, and thinking about the day at work.  There was something going on that people weren’t talking about.  As technical writers, Julie and I weren’t exactly ‘in the know’.  She was more tapped into the grapevine than I was, because she cared to be, but even she had no idea what was going on.  When we left, the parking lot was still almost half full.  Very unusual for a Friday night.  I guess, if I got really desperate to know I could call Mike, but that might open up a can of worms that I wasn’t sure I wanted to open again.  Mike and I had dated for about 10 months and I had ended it.  We were still friends, of sorts, but he always seemed to want more. 

I pulled into the parking lot and figured I had time for another cigarette and one more Led Zepplin song on the radio, before Julie got there.  The movie was an action flick.  We both preferred to get our vicarious romantic adventures through books rather than the movies.  Another advantage to action movies is that they always provide good ‘fantasy fodder’ as Julie calls it.  This movie had one of each – her type and my type.  We were both looking forward to it. 

****

We walked out of the lobby without saying much, but when we got about half way to the cars we looked at each other and laughed. “Those weren’t real,” we said in unison.  The movie had the obligatory strip tease and we, of course, were commenting on the woman’s breasts. 

“I’m still jealous,” I laughed.  “I always thought it was a trade off, size or perkiness.  It doesn’t seem fair that some get both.”

“Only if they’re not real.  I’ll take my small perky boobs any day.”

“And I guess I’ll be happy with my large, non-perky ones.  Even though gravity has been cruel since I turned 40.  Speaking of . . . We need to invite Judy with us one Friday,” I added.

“You are terrible!”

“What? It’s not anything I haven’t said to her face.  She won’t admit it, but you know they aren’t real.” 

“Of course not.  I just can’t believe you said it.  And you’re right, you either get size or perkiness, not both.  Especially after 30,” replied Julie.  “Hell, not after 25.  There’s not an underwire in the world that could hold those up if they were real, but I’ll deny I said it if you tell.”

“On another note,” she continued.  “Laura, you should call Mike and ask what’s going on in the research department.  They were all still there when we left.  Was there a meeting or something?” 

“Or something.  I have no idea, but I don’t think I want to know badly enough to go that route.”

“Yea, I guess so.  I still don’t know what possessed you to stay with him for that long.  Was it just the idea that he was in love with you?”

“More like sexual deprivation.  It had been a long time,” I said. 

“Like that worked out well for you!,” she laughed.

“Yea, you’d think it would occur to a man that 80 mg of fluoxetine would put a damper on things.  It’s a little discouraging when ‘Mr. Happy’ isn’t all that happy to see you.  It wasn’t all bad though.  He did start to get a little more creative there near the end.” 

“Why did you end it then?”

“He wasn’t THAT creative.  Besides, it wasn’t going anywhere and he really wants kids, so it was the only fair thing to do.  I do wish he’d find someone else though.  He’s driving me nuts stopping by my desk to say hi to his ‘buddy.’”

“You worry to much about being fair.  It’s not like men are ‘fair’ to us.  Saying they're going to call when they don’t really intend to.”

“Now there’s the cynical Julie we all know and love.  Haven’t heard from Jim lately, huh.”

“No damn it!  He’s on a business trip out of the country, but hell he calls me from San Francisco, what’s an extra 3000 miles when you have the internet?”

“He’ll call.  You still planning on flying out there over Labor Day weekend?”, I asked. 

“Yeah, if I hear from him.”

“Don’t worry. You will.  Well, its late and I have to get going.”

“Yea, it’s been fun.  Be careful driving home.”

“You too.  Bye,” I said as I got into my car.  As I pulled out of the parking lot, I thought, hmm, maybe I could call the new guy in Quality Control.




I would appreciate any feed back at all, from "continue with it" to "stick to non-fiction" or anything in between. Thanks