Penniless Hearts Read online

  Black kohl eyeliner accented her almond shaped green eyes, matching her black Doc Marten boots. Pastel chiffon dresses from the Salvation Army store or green fatigues were her fashion statements. Her nails were short and clean, but she usually had various shades of ink on the tips of her fingers. Penny's favorite sweater had multiple colors and various types of yarn, crocheted lovingly by her mother into stripes of varying widths. A sweater she had worn almost every day in college. She often thought about crocheting a replacement, identical to the frayed one sagging on the back of her office chair at work.

  She missed her college years and all her wild, silly shenanigans. Slightly devious, she had fun helping her friends in college cheat, by coming up with ways to bring the answers to class. Her crafty invention consisted of using newsprint printed on white paper as book covers. When she needed to give someone answers, she merely taped a strategically typed piece of paper with various fonts onto the spine of their book and it blended into the design. Being good at typing and graphic art helped her create wonderful book covers full of hidden answers throughout the year. Frustrated teachers offered rewards, and consistently tried deciphering her ingenuity, which consisted of multiple choice answers sprinkled throughout the titles in different calligraphy styles and curlicues. Soon, her classmates were paying top dollar for the answers and her popularity soared. When color copies came out, she could design and bind the actual book cover with a whole semester of tests and quizzes built right into the flourishes of the regular looking text. The income supplemented her allowance, until the school implemented some rules, calling for all books to be left in the cubbyholes in the back of classes on examination day.

  Ironically, her art teachers were so impressed with her talent at bookbinding, offset lithography, silk-screen printing, block printing and letterpress that she graduated with honors.

  One day, she met John at the hardware store. A tall, vulnerable looking carpenter with strong hands and warm eyes that wrinkled in the corners when he smiled, making his face light up like a holiday tree. Somehow, he knew how to tame her inner leprechaun and kept her out of trouble. Even the thought of their routine, disciplined life made her yawn. Every day the calendar flipped into the next, with the same monotony and predictability of life making her feel like that favorite worn out sweater. Creating another sweater didn't sound hard, but what about her life, her freedom and the essence that made her Penny? She had disappeared into the earth like a hibernating tortoise. A lost soul buried alongside her mother. The corporate, newspaper-world only made it worse, making her feel like her identity was lost somewhere between passwords and identification numbers. What kind of lunatics, she wondered, yelled and screamed over typographical errors? John's tenderness and concern didn't solve her desire to be free and pulling her head into a figurative turtle-shell didn't make things better.

  John always came to hold her hand, to cheer her up. He was the most dependable and stable man she had ever met. Romantic, however–well, somehow the years had changed their relationship into comfortable companionship. They'd bring home pizza and always agree on the toppings. On Thursdays, he would take her out for spaghetti accompanied by her dad. Sometimes they would cook together and set the table for the three of them like some old married couple that had fallen into a boring routine. John wore tee shirts and jeans and big construction worker style boots. His idea of dressing up usually meant he would throw a plaid, short-sleeved shirt over his tee shirt. Occasionally he shaved, and sometimes he combed his messy hair, but what John lacked in grooming, made him seem so…adorably pet-like. He hung around their house for attention, like a lovable Labrador, wondering why those who loved him were too busy to play.

  Meanwhile, her dad made jokes at her expense regarding marriage, reminding her about the ticking time bomb in her ovaries and how she should get married so he could finally get some practice being a grandfather. John and Carl had become good friends and when Penny worked, Carl could count on John to pick up a few things for him in a pinch. He was like the son he never had. A good boy.

  Tall, lean, loyal, and handsome, John had everything most women desired, but he had one giant flaw that he didn't even know about. Penny's dad always thought that if he knew about it maybe he could fix it, but he didn't have a clue on how to advise either one of them. Her dad's theory rested on the fact that John's kindness made him too sweet and that girls wanted trouble. They liked the edgy, movie heroes that drove fast, cursed, smoked and took rebellious risks with life. Women, he figured, generally loved bad boys and John was just too much of a good boy.

  Yesterday, unbeknownst to her father, a stranger picked Penny up in a white Jaguar and brought her pink and red roses for what could only be described as the date of a lifetime. The date that young women fantasize about in their wildest dreams, unfolded slowly, like the wings of a butterfly. He stared at her the entire evening and filled her head with fanciful stories of travel and adventure. When the soft music faded out in the background of the restaurant, she heard nothing but his soothing voice telling her about how he wanted to swim under waterfalls with her in Hawaii. His allure hypnotized her and she fell under his spell watching his sexy eyes and sun bleached hair. A long sleeved, white linen shirt billowed around him luxuriously, giving him an otherworldly stature. Her nose immediately picked up the scent of his ginger-scented aftershave. When it came to the food, she stared at it and inhaled the aromas, hardly touching any of it. Her appetite disappeared, but in its place, her eyes floated up to the charming hunk sitting across from her who seemed to be smiling at her obvious discomfort.

  Trembling, her hand reached for the water goblet, accidentally tipping over her wine glass. “Sorry,” she whispered, “I don't get out much.”

  Mopping up the wine with his napkin, he took her hand and said, “That's all right, neither do I.”

  If Penny could rate her date on a scale, she'd give this one a ten, even with the strange abundance of awkward silences and uncomfortable moments that made his eyes sparkle with hidden mischief. He gets out plenty, she thought, staring at his smooth hands blotting the tablecloth.

  Quietly, after a tiny kiss on the cheek, Penny said goodbye and closed the front door. Shivers ran up her spine, coaxing her back to reality. The lingering scent of ginger kept twitching her nose, quickening her heartbeat into a sound she had not heard for a long time. A sound she thought filled the whole house, yet reverberated only in her head.

  Walking towards her father's room, she heard snores. “Dad, are you awake?” She opened the door and watched him stir before interrupting his dreams. “Daddy, can you hear me?” She whispered.

  A muffled voice replied, “Yeah, what's up?”

  “I picked up your medicine,” she hesitated.

  “Okay, doll, I'm going back to sleep now,” he grumbled, turning onto his side.

  “Dad, can you hear me?” Her voice increasingly louder, she tried to communicate, urging herself to tell him about leaving.

  “Yes, what time is it?” He asked, turning again. It was eleven-thirty in the evening and she would be gone before he got out of bed in the morning.

  “Dad, I'm going out of town for a few days,” she said in a hushed, but audible tone. Listening for a response, she heard nothing but a wheezing sound coming from the bed. “I'm going to Hawaii,” she said increasing her decibels, “and I've stocked the freezer with all kinds of goodies so you don't starve without me.” Quiet. A ticking clock and a drip in the sink. A few seconds later, she asked again. “Dad? Can you hear me?” Closing the door, she tiptoed into her bedroom to pack.

  * * *

  Chapter Eight

  John didn't know too much about relationships, but he knew when someone acted in an unreasonable manner. Penny enjoyed her routine flow: like work, cleaning, errands and minor home repairs, but any changes taking her off course, made her feel out of control. The more he tried to help her, the more anxious and worried she became. In fact, John had noticed a tiny frown developing right between her eyebrows. T
he more she talked about her wild days, the more it seemed she was pushing him away, avoiding any discussions about a permanent relationship.

  “My biker boyfriend took me up to the Garlic Festival in Gilroy one year. Have you ever been there?” She asked him, while he hovered above her, watching her scrub the floor. The strong fumes of the cleaning fluid filled the kitchen and he went over to open the window, and sighed because she already knew the answer to her question.

  “No, Penny, I've never been out of Southern California. Where's Gill…row?”

  So she wasn't as pure as falling snow, he knew it and it had never mattered to him. He tried doting on her, he tried cooking for her but mostly he preferred putting her on a pedestal and worshipping her. The virginal queen thing never even crossed his mind because she completed every dreamy element of feminine beauty and harmony he could ever wish and hope to find in a woman.

  “By Carmel,” she said, “it's cool, never mind.” The 'never' came out sounding like a struggle, probably because of the sticky spot not coming up from the linoleum.

  “Have you tried that stuff they advertise on TV?” John asked, stepping aside and trying not to get in the way of her feverish cleaning. Beads of perspiration slowly dripped down her neck into her top.

  “No, I don't watch TV much, unless you come over and we all watch a movie.” She got up and rinsed her brush in the sink. When she knelt and returned to the stain, he almost got tears in his eyes thinking about her bony knees on the cold floor. “Remember I like reading my fantasy fiction while dad watches his cop shows?” She blew upward at her bangs, and focused on the challenging task, putting all her energy into the stubborn dirt. “What the hell did we spill here? It's like glue,” she said more to herself than to John.

  “Yeah,” he mumbled, thinking about her only escape–the books that were stacked throughout the house. “Can I get you a pillow?” John asked, trying to help.

  “I'm almost done sweetie, why don't you go find dad and ask him what he wants for an after dinner snack?”

  Again, and again, she was always thinking of others and preempting their needs, even while multi-tasking. It seemed every time he thought he could help her with something, or make her comfortable, she would abruptly remind him how late it was, or how they needed to go help her dad, or how she needed to go fetch something for Tina at work. Penny faced all her responsibilities seriously and those 'wild days' lay behind her like hidden old movies in dusty archives. Occasionally, she'd try to impress and entertain him with half-forgotten fantastical escapades, so he wouldn't think she was dull or boring. Boring, however could not be used in the same sentence as the word Penny, and he could tell she repressed her fun side so she could juggle everything that came her way. Lately, her make-believe stories were increasing and her real life 'wild' adventures had come to a screeching halt.

  “Forget it,” she shouted, standing up in the kitchen and looking into the living room where John waited patiently. “I think it's a permanent stain.” She looked down at her drenched t-shirt, laughed and said, “I'll be back in a minute.” His eyes followed her shapely hips and pin-up girl thighs wearing old tattered cut-off jeans, out of the room. A minute later he heard her singing a sixties song in the shower.

  Last week, he offered to help her pull some weeds. The story she told him involved good fairies and bad fairies that lived under the sod. She explained their endless battles in detail and how they used a specific type of crabgrass as a shield from the giants. Latin names rolled off her tongue when she talked about plants and she talked about the plant world as if it were a far off country she had visited. When she spun another tail about the Chanterelle princess who hated mold, but loved the shadows of the red hawks circling above, he laughed, kicking the silly mushrooms sprouting on the lawn.

  Her imagination made his life worth living, but he wanted to be the one she connected with on a real level. She was a real princess, not just some fictional heroine, and he wanted to be her soul mate. Therein sat his horrible problem, the dividing wall, the elephant in the room, the truth that loomed above him on a daily basis, reminding him that he was but a mere mortal, a finish carpenter, helplessly holding onto someone from another world, another realm perhaps, miserably out of his league. While she escaped into her rabbit holes and stories, he was left turning the pages, waiting to find out what would happen next.

  He thought back to their early dates and how it had taken him almost an entire month to give her a kiss. Kissing her neck, heading down her shoulder blade, he looked into the crashing green waves in her eyes and asked, “Penny, why do you have a tattoo of a pitchfork with a halo hanging from the third tine?”

  “Because, John,” she whispered in a sweet, sing-song voice, “I'm always trying to be good, but sometimes I have a little bit of trouble. Maybe someday I'll show you my groovy, turtle tat.”

  “You? Trouble?” he gulped, trying to catch his breath before returning to her neck and kissing her, until both of them were gasping for air. “Did you say turtle?”

  * * *

  Chapter Nine

  After Tina walked out, Ron started looking for Penny's vacation request form on his desk. He turned over papers, mugs, his blotter and finally found it stuck between a Chinese restaurant take-out menu and a memorandum about the upcoming Christmas party. Prying it apart, he fumed at Tina's arrogance and glared at the area where Penny had written her emergency contact information. He was in trouble. Possibly, up to his ears in Louisiana swamp water, but exactly how much trouble needed some sort of investigation on his part. Martin Toyota meant about a million dollars to their newspaper and replacing that much revenue quickly would be next to impossible. Not replacing it would be the Grand Canyon of career suicide.

  A bundle of nerves, Ron had to get a hold of his—balls, and figure out what to do. His immediate plan focused on seeing Darin personally, then finding Penny somehow, or having another graphic artist come up with a completely new campaign. He had to make a point, and it had to be convincing about how he and the managerial staff full of newspaper executives honestly cared for Martin Toyota and all their future success. Usually the car dealers liked getting specialized attention, but with Tina poisoning Darin's mind, he had to have a solid presentation. Being a manager would obviously help because he could fall back on discounting or trade-outs for even more advertising, which could propel his bottom line and send his numbers soaring over the leader board into positive revenues. It all simmered down to confidence. The magical substance, that flowed out of Tina like a wild river. He dialed Penny's number and after ten rings or so, an older voice spoke into the phone. “Hello?”

  Ron hesitated, “Is Penny there?” He didn't expect someone else answering her phone.

  “Nope, 'fraid not, she's at work.”

  After a momentary pause, Penny's dad squinted at a piece of paper next to the phone and somewhat gruffly asked, “Do you have that number?”

  “I'll call back, thanks.” Ron hung up. Perspiration made his genitals itch. He realized that maybe Penny didn't want everyone in the world knowing her plans. “Shit. Shit. Shit. What am I going to do?” He pleaded aloud to no one in particular, when the phone started to ring. Under the desk, his privates felt inflamed.

  “Ron, this is Ivy from H.R.”

  Ivy had a calming, familiar voice, but one that made him sit straight up in his chair. “Yes, Ivy.” After a sip of cold coffee, he asked, “What can I do for you today?”

  “Ron, I just wanted you to know Tina came in, gave us a resignation letter and filed a formal harassment complaint against you this morning.”

  Ron couldn't believe his ears. Bitch had him by the balls, he thought to himself. “Ah–well—Ivy,” he stammered, “Thanks for letting me know.” Standing up, he turned away from the window, unzipped his fly and scratched the part of his anatomy that drove him crazy. He had to sound like a cool block of ice. Everyday stress, daily deadlines, ridiculous accusations all had to be taken in stride. Ivy knew his voice very well, “Let me
know what I need to do?” He asked, with an ultra-professional sounding intonation. Zipping up his fly, he looked around to make sure no one had observed his private moment. “Okay?”

  “Sure Ron. I'm sorry, don't worry, the truth always comes out,” Ivy said, trying to console him. This had been a busy month for her department. The mediators, arbitrators and company lawyers were wearing her down.

  “You are such a sweetie,” he inhaled quietly, buckling his belt and sitting back down. “By the way, do you happen to have another number for Penny Himmel?”

  Ivy went to check, and as Ron sat listening to the tinny, recorded version of a Strauss classic playing in his ear, he surmised that there are certain times in a person's life when even the soothing sounds of The Blue Danube Waltz can't lower blood pressure or cool nether regions. When Ivy came back and read him the same number he already had, he wondered how his day had evolved into utter chaos.

  * * *

  Chapter Ten

  The day she met Dan, Southern California felt like a refuge for migrating ducks from Portland, Oregon. Rain accompanied Penny to and from work. Splashing across mud and puddles, Penny ran into the warm, welcoming drugstore to pick up her Dad's medicine. The decorative atmosphere, holiday lights and colorful gifts made her forget about her disheveled hair, the broken windshield wipers on her car, her soaked clothes and squeaky red tennis shoes.