"Clive Finch is a pig," I thought, walking home for lunch.
I'm truly happy to have such an easy job at the bank. Seriously. I am paid extraordinarily well to work two days a week. It makes it easy to stay straight. Plus, most people in this town are complete marks like Clive Finch, or nice enough in their own right.
That's when I heard the footsteps. I was being followed. Short. Man, definitely male. Confident male, but stooped, so old, very old. Why would an old man be following me home for lunch?
I stopped and turned around abruptly, squared off my posture, and crossed my arms across my chest, just in case. I had met geriatric assassins before. They were nothing to trifle with. 50 plus years of killing made one quite efficient at one's job. It's doesn't take strength to kill, just savvy and an advantage. An older, more experienced killer only kills when s/he has that advantage. Even at my comparatively youthful vantage point, I knew exactly how dangerous that much experience could be.
It was Mr. Golden, the florist. He stopped two yards from me. I dropped my stance. He was armed, but not in a way that he was coming to kill me. "Mr. Oyster," he began, "I am happy to find you are not yet hard of hearing."
I smiled in response.
"I was wondering if I could speak with you about my employee, Caroline. Perhaps over tea? Are you taking your lunch break now?" he asked.
"Well, that is exceedingly polite," I thought, "and considering she has been hurt, I like the fact that her boss is looking out for her. I'll see where this goes."
"Do you like turkey on rye?" I asked.
"Hmm?" Mr. Golden said in response, perhaps not understanding or being hard of hearing himself.
"Turkey on rye. It's what I'm having for lunch. I'd be happy to make up another sandwich for you, if you'd like to join me."
"Did you buy the turkey from the butcher, or did you buy it in one of those disgusting little baggies that sits in the water and preservatives until you eat it?" Mr. Golden asked.
I smirked. Mr. Golden liked good food. "I roasted the turkey this past weekend, and sliced the breasts up myself for sandwiches this week. I find it's fresher that way."
"I would be happy to enjoy such a sandwich," Mr. Golden replied, walking towards me. "I hope your house is not too far from here. I'm not a young man anymore, Mr. Oyster."
"It's not far," I said. "I can run ahead and get my car, if it would be more comfortable for you. I just prefer to walk. It's a beautiful day."
"I don't mind walking," Mr. Golden said. "I just worry I will slow a young man like you down."
I smiled at him. "Everything has been slower since I moved here," I said. "I think it's healthier." I began walking at exactly the pace he had been walking behind me.
Mr. Golden noticed immediately, smiled, and remarked, "What brought you to Nowhere, Mr. Oyster?"
"You may call me, Clem, Mr. Golden," I said. "I wanted a fresh start. I was in a rough line of work in Chicago. I was fortunate enough to get out when I did, and I don't want to waste my chances at a quiet, normal life."
Mr. Golden laughed. "No life is quiet or normal, kid," he said. "If your life here so far has been either, count your blessings. It won't last, especially if you are interested in Caroline."
"I am," I responded without hesitation, "but I am not certain she is interested in me. My intention was to get to know her better over several mornings, probably for at least a month or more, just sitting next to her while she read. It is very rare to meet an honest girl."
Mr. Golden cocked an eyebrow at me, "Do you have any further intentions?" he asked, almost with a threat under his breath.
"Not at this time," I responded openly. "If she's not interested, I'm not either. I like girls who like me, Mr. Golden. There is no reason chasing a girl who doesn't want to be caught. I like my life here. I'm happy by myself. No reason to change anything for someone who would only be trouble."
"Were you ever married, Clem?" Mr. Golden asked, as I walked up the steps to unlock the front door.
"No," I said. I hesitated. I really didn't want to talk about her. I was honest: we weren't married. I just wished we had been. I unlocked the door, and held it open for Mr. Golden to pass through.
"So, you bought my old house," Mr. Golden said, walking into the living room. "Seems you have kept the place up beautifully. Do you have a maid service that comes by?"
"No," I said. "I'm a bachelor. I have lots of time on my hands. I'll go start fixing the sandwiches now so we both get back to work by 1."
Mr. Golden followed me into the kitchen, and sat in one of the chairs I had at my breakfast table. He was silent while I got out the turkey, rye, mustard and mayonnaise for the sandwiches. I chopped up the turkey into smaller pieces, and assembled the sandwiches quickly. I felt Mr. Golden watching me. "Work in a kitchen?" he asked, as I brought him his sandwich.
"No," I said. "I just like good food. It's hard to have good food in a small town, if you don't make it yourself."
"I'm happy to see someone is using the kitchen. Jeannie could work miracles in here, little kitchen that it is. I sold the house after she died, and moved into an apartment. Easier to have a smaller place to care for by myself. I could use any advice you may have for keeping my new place clean though. You seem to have it down to a science. After fifty years of someone taking care if you in that way, it's hard to change. I could use all the help I can get."
"I'd be happy to help," I said earnestly. "How long has she been gone?"
"Four years. She died just after my 80th birthday. There was no pain," Mr. Golden said with a quiet smile.
I stood, realizing I had forgotten the tea. "I forgot the tea," I muttered. "Would you prefer hot or iced?"
"What is the house blend? Is it usually served hot or iced?" Mr. Golden asked with a wry smile.
"I usually have black iced tea with my lunch," I said quietly. I immediately liked Mr. Golden. That put me on edge. I did not want to reveal something that would cause me to have to leave Nowhere, especially when I had the potential of making a new friend.
"Then, that's what I'd like," Mr. Golden said, taking a large bite out of his sandwich, then continued, after swallowing, "Clem, this is really good!"
"I'm glad you enjoy it," I said, returning to the table with the tea. "It's one of my favorite sandwiches." I took a swig of iced tea. I was nervous. Damn it! I wasn't ready to have something to lose, again.
"Clem," Mr. Golden said gently. I looked him straight in the eyes. He returned my gaze. "Man to man, are you ready to start dating after whatever you have been through? I don't need to know what it was, but at my age, it is easy to see when someone else is hurting."
I chuckled, looking away. "I must have been fooling myself then," I said, with a smirk. "I thought I was hiding it pretty well."
"My concerns only reflect my relationship with Caroline," Mr. Golden continued. "While your sandwich is delicious, you have treated me with respect, and I could see the two of us getting along quite well, you are not yet a friend of mine, and I am here to make sure it's not just a situation where Caroline will be set up for a fall. I don't want her hurt, because you're not ready to start dating."
I sighed, and looked out the window. I could see her in the garden. She would have loved it here. Then, my daydream changed, and it was Caroline in the garden. Maybe I was ready, maybe I wasn't, but in any case, you don't meet an honest girl every day. "That's why I don't have any intentions, and I'm just going to see her, if she wants to be seen, tomorrow morning, while drinking my espresso," I said, continuing to gaze out the window.
"If your past finds its way here," Mr. Golden said darkly, "will you be able to protect her?"
I quickly turned to face him. "Yes," I said, looking at him directly without blinking.
Mr. Golden smiled. "Do you have paper and a pen, young man?" he asked.
"I'll be right back," I said, walking over to my office and picking up a piece of letterhead and a pen. I walked back to the breakfast table, and handed the pad and pen to Mr. Golden.
Mr. Golden accepted both, and began writing. "This is my phone number at my shop, and at my home," he said, writing both down in beautiful script. "Phone at any hour if your past comes to Nowhere."
I looked at Mr. Golden, hard. I had not told him anything about my past. He was armed, and he wasn't afraid of me, but he was also 84 years old. I needed clarification on what type of help he was offering. "If my past comes for Caroline, or for any reason my past comes to town?" I asked.
Mr. Golden smiled. Suddenly, he wasn't stooped anymore, and he looked 30 years younger. "Young man," he said, "how do you think I kept my wife safe for 50 years in my line of work?" Then, he readjusted his posture to look 84 again. "Call, for any reason at all," he finished with a big smile. "Especially if you have left over turkey!"
I gulped. I was speaking to The Mr. Golden, not A Mr. Golden. I had heard stories about him for years! This man was a legend! There was so much I wanted to talk to him about... in a field I was no longer in... because I had gone straight... Damn it! I regained my composure and asked, as politely as I could, "Mr. Golden, it is such a pleasure to finally meet you. You have been an idol of mine, for years. Since I now know you have no illusions about my former line of work, are you positive you are all right with the prospect of my dating your Caroline?"
"Yes," Mr. Golden responded, finishing his iced tea. "I'm an old man now, Clem. I love to reminisce. If we both didn't have to get back to work, I would happily answer any questions you may have. However, that will have to wait for another time. I trust you with Caroline, because I can see that you are genuinely interested in her, and you have loved and lost once before. I do not think, after that experience, you are a man to take anyone else's heart lightly."
"No, sir, I'm not," I said, looking deep into his eyes.
"Fantastic," responded Mr. Golden, standing up. "Then, I have good news for you, Clem: Caroline is very interested in you. I think you should ask her out tomorrow, for dinner perhaps, at Marcie's. It's not as slow as you intended, but I think you missed her skipping into work today."
"I did, sir. I was a bit preoccupied with my own thoughts."
"Very well, then," Mr. Golden responded. "It was a pleasure having lunch with you, Mr. Oyster. Let me know when you would like to come over for tea, and to talk about cleaning."
"Yes, sir," I said, standing up quickly, and walking ahead of him to get the front door.
Mr. Golden walked out and down the steps, his stoop back, and his former practiced pace. "And Clem?" he said, just as I was about to close the door.
"Yes?" I asked.
"It can be done," he said with a wink, and walked back to work.
I smiled. That was the best news I could have asked for.
A screenshot of a Clem custom miniature from HeroForge.com
I'm truly happy to have such an easy job at the bank. Seriously. I am paid extraordinarily well to work two days a week. It makes it easy to stay straight. Plus, most people in this town are complete marks like Clive Finch, or nice enough in their own right.
That's when I heard the footsteps. I was being followed. Short. Man, definitely male. Confident male, but stooped, so old, very old. Why would an old man be following me home for lunch?
I stopped and turned around abruptly, squared off my posture, and crossed my arms across my chest, just in case. I had met geriatric assassins before. They were nothing to trifle with. 50 plus years of killing made one quite efficient at one's job. It's doesn't take strength to kill, just savvy and an advantage. An older, more experienced killer only kills when s/he has that advantage. Even at my comparatively youthful vantage point, I knew exactly how dangerous that much experience could be.
It was Mr. Golden, the florist. He stopped two yards from me. I dropped my stance. He was armed, but not in a way that he was coming to kill me. "Mr. Oyster," he began, "I am happy to find you are not yet hard of hearing."
I smiled in response.
"I was wondering if I could speak with you about my employee, Caroline. Perhaps over tea? Are you taking your lunch break now?" he asked.
"Well, that is exceedingly polite," I thought, "and considering she has been hurt, I like the fact that her boss is looking out for her. I'll see where this goes."
"Do you like turkey on rye?" I asked.
"Hmm?" Mr. Golden said in response, perhaps not understanding or being hard of hearing himself.
"Turkey on rye. It's what I'm having for lunch. I'd be happy to make up another sandwich for you, if you'd like to join me."
"Did you buy the turkey from the butcher, or did you buy it in one of those disgusting little baggies that sits in the water and preservatives until you eat it?" Mr. Golden asked.
I smirked. Mr. Golden liked good food. "I roasted the turkey this past weekend, and sliced the breasts up myself for sandwiches this week. I find it's fresher that way."
"I would be happy to enjoy such a sandwich," Mr. Golden replied, walking towards me. "I hope your house is not too far from here. I'm not a young man anymore, Mr. Oyster."
"It's not far," I said. "I can run ahead and get my car, if it would be more comfortable for you. I just prefer to walk. It's a beautiful day."
"I don't mind walking," Mr. Golden said. "I just worry I will slow a young man like you down."
I smiled at him. "Everything has been slower since I moved here," I said. "I think it's healthier." I began walking at exactly the pace he had been walking behind me.
Mr. Golden noticed immediately, smiled, and remarked, "What brought you to Nowhere, Mr. Oyster?"
"You may call me, Clem, Mr. Golden," I said. "I wanted a fresh start. I was in a rough line of work in Chicago. I was fortunate enough to get out when I did, and I don't want to waste my chances at a quiet, normal life."
Mr. Golden laughed. "No life is quiet or normal, kid," he said. "If your life here so far has been either, count your blessings. It won't last, especially if you are interested in Caroline."
"I am," I responded without hesitation, "but I am not certain she is interested in me. My intention was to get to know her better over several mornings, probably for at least a month or more, just sitting next to her while she read. It is very rare to meet an honest girl."
Mr. Golden cocked an eyebrow at me, "Do you have any further intentions?" he asked, almost with a threat under his breath.
"Not at this time," I responded openly. "If she's not interested, I'm not either. I like girls who like me, Mr. Golden. There is no reason chasing a girl who doesn't want to be caught. I like my life here. I'm happy by myself. No reason to change anything for someone who would only be trouble."
"Were you ever married, Clem?" Mr. Golden asked, as I walked up the steps to unlock the front door.
"No," I said. I hesitated. I really didn't want to talk about her. I was honest: we weren't married. I just wished we had been. I unlocked the door, and held it open for Mr. Golden to pass through.
"So, you bought my old house," Mr. Golden said, walking into the living room. "Seems you have kept the place up beautifully. Do you have a maid service that comes by?"
"No," I said. "I'm a bachelor. I have lots of time on my hands. I'll go start fixing the sandwiches now so we both get back to work by 1."
Mr. Golden followed me into the kitchen, and sat in one of the chairs I had at my breakfast table. He was silent while I got out the turkey, rye, mustard and mayonnaise for the sandwiches. I chopped up the turkey into smaller pieces, and assembled the sandwiches quickly. I felt Mr. Golden watching me. "Work in a kitchen?" he asked, as I brought him his sandwich.
"No," I said. "I just like good food. It's hard to have good food in a small town, if you don't make it yourself."
"I'm happy to see someone is using the kitchen. Jeannie could work miracles in here, little kitchen that it is. I sold the house after she died, and moved into an apartment. Easier to have a smaller place to care for by myself. I could use any advice you may have for keeping my new place clean though. You seem to have it down to a science. After fifty years of someone taking care if you in that way, it's hard to change. I could use all the help I can get."
"I'd be happy to help," I said earnestly. "How long has she been gone?"
"Four years. She died just after my 80th birthday. There was no pain," Mr. Golden said with a quiet smile.
I stood, realizing I had forgotten the tea. "I forgot the tea," I muttered. "Would you prefer hot or iced?"
"What is the house blend? Is it usually served hot or iced?" Mr. Golden asked with a wry smile.
"I usually have black iced tea with my lunch," I said quietly. I immediately liked Mr. Golden. That put me on edge. I did not want to reveal something that would cause me to have to leave Nowhere, especially when I had the potential of making a new friend.
"Then, that's what I'd like," Mr. Golden said, taking a large bite out of his sandwich, then continued, after swallowing, "Clem, this is really good!"
"I'm glad you enjoy it," I said, returning to the table with the tea. "It's one of my favorite sandwiches." I took a swig of iced tea. I was nervous. Damn it! I wasn't ready to have something to lose, again.
"Clem," Mr. Golden said gently. I looked him straight in the eyes. He returned my gaze. "Man to man, are you ready to start dating after whatever you have been through? I don't need to know what it was, but at my age, it is easy to see when someone else is hurting."
I chuckled, looking away. "I must have been fooling myself then," I said, with a smirk. "I thought I was hiding it pretty well."
"My concerns only reflect my relationship with Caroline," Mr. Golden continued. "While your sandwich is delicious, you have treated me with respect, and I could see the two of us getting along quite well, you are not yet a friend of mine, and I am here to make sure it's not just a situation where Caroline will be set up for a fall. I don't want her hurt, because you're not ready to start dating."
I sighed, and looked out the window. I could see her in the garden. She would have loved it here. Then, my daydream changed, and it was Caroline in the garden. Maybe I was ready, maybe I wasn't, but in any case, you don't meet an honest girl every day. "That's why I don't have any intentions, and I'm just going to see her, if she wants to be seen, tomorrow morning, while drinking my espresso," I said, continuing to gaze out the window.
"If your past finds its way here," Mr. Golden said darkly, "will you be able to protect her?"
I quickly turned to face him. "Yes," I said, looking at him directly without blinking.
Mr. Golden smiled. "Do you have paper and a pen, young man?" he asked.
"I'll be right back," I said, walking over to my office and picking up a piece of letterhead and a pen. I walked back to the breakfast table, and handed the pad and pen to Mr. Golden.
Mr. Golden accepted both, and began writing. "This is my phone number at my shop, and at my home," he said, writing both down in beautiful script. "Phone at any hour if your past comes to Nowhere."
I looked at Mr. Golden, hard. I had not told him anything about my past. He was armed, and he wasn't afraid of me, but he was also 84 years old. I needed clarification on what type of help he was offering. "If my past comes for Caroline, or for any reason my past comes to town?" I asked.
Mr. Golden smiled. Suddenly, he wasn't stooped anymore, and he looked 30 years younger. "Young man," he said, "how do you think I kept my wife safe for 50 years in my line of work?" Then, he readjusted his posture to look 84 again. "Call, for any reason at all," he finished with a big smile. "Especially if you have left over turkey!"
I gulped. I was speaking to The Mr. Golden, not A Mr. Golden. I had heard stories about him for years! This man was a legend! There was so much I wanted to talk to him about... in a field I was no longer in... because I had gone straight... Damn it! I regained my composure and asked, as politely as I could, "Mr. Golden, it is such a pleasure to finally meet you. You have been an idol of mine, for years. Since I now know you have no illusions about my former line of work, are you positive you are all right with the prospect of my dating your Caroline?"
"Yes," Mr. Golden responded, finishing his iced tea. "I'm an old man now, Clem. I love to reminisce. If we both didn't have to get back to work, I would happily answer any questions you may have. However, that will have to wait for another time. I trust you with Caroline, because I can see that you are genuinely interested in her, and you have loved and lost once before. I do not think, after that experience, you are a man to take anyone else's heart lightly."
"No, sir, I'm not," I said, looking deep into his eyes.
"Fantastic," responded Mr. Golden, standing up. "Then, I have good news for you, Clem: Caroline is very interested in you. I think you should ask her out tomorrow, for dinner perhaps, at Marcie's. It's not as slow as you intended, but I think you missed her skipping into work today."
"I did, sir. I was a bit preoccupied with my own thoughts."
"Very well, then," Mr. Golden responded. "It was a pleasure having lunch with you, Mr. Oyster. Let me know when you would like to come over for tea, and to talk about cleaning."
"Yes, sir," I said, standing up quickly, and walking ahead of him to get the front door.
Mr. Golden walked out and down the steps, his stoop back, and his former practiced pace. "And Clem?" he said, just as I was about to close the door.
"Yes?" I asked.
"It can be done," he said with a wink, and walked back to work.
I smiled. That was the best news I could have asked for.
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