THE BOUQUET

A multi-character story

By Atonia Walpole

Let’s dip into the neighborhood for awhile. It’s raining and a little breezy and mid-September. A few wet leaves lie plastered on the cars parked along the street. Light jackets and umbrellas seem to be the uniform of the day. It’s Saturday so the urgent momentum usually moving along this time of the day is absent. It’s a damp meandering kind of morning.

The coffee shop on the corner is doing a brisk business. The green striped canvas canopy is sheltering several patrons with their newspapers, books and coffee along the walk. It was a good idea setting up those tables out there. The smell of coffee is strong and an occasional cigar or pipe tobacco smoke hits the breeze as it passes by and brings the aroma to the next shop.

Gifts and flowers here. A young man has just exited from the shop with a large bouquet of red roses wrapped in paper. He’s forgotten his umbrella and he dashes across the street mid stream of traffic, nearly causing a wreck. With his bouquet held high, he snags a tree limb and damages several blooms sending them onto the pavement. He seems oblivious to this destruction as he sprints along the walk. We’ll follow him for a bit and see what’s up.

Steve opened the narrow door, bounded up the stairs and banged on the door. “Marcy, let me in!” He leaned his head on the door and watched water pooling up at his feet. He was dripping wet and the wet bouquet hung at his side, clasped in his fingers. “Marcy?”

“Go away!”

“Aw, please, let me explain. I was on my way, I swear I was. Come on, open the door. It was old Stoney, you remember him. I was only going to stop for one beer…Marcy?”

“Forget it, Steve. You’re very good at that anyway. I don’t want to talk to you. Go away.”

Perhaps he knew it was a lost cause all along. He righted himself and descended the stairs at a much slower pace.

The young man tossed his battered bouquet into the trash bin next to the curb. Hands in his pockets, he walked off down the street.

Miss Alma Ruffin emerges from her basement apartment with her pink shopping bag and blue fuzzy bedroom slippers. Perhaps not quite the thing for today’s weather but Miss Ruffin is not quite like other people. She stops at the trash bin and stares into it for a moment before taking out the bouquet.  It might be a rather garish smile that spreads across her face trying to catch the lipstick applied earlier to the general region, but her vacant eyes and sweet manner decry any garishness at all.

“Why, Ralph, you remembered,” she says sweetly and takes the arm of an imaginary man as she walks down the street carrying the bouquet. Soon, however, Ralph fades and the roses are forgotten and dropped onto a planter outside the meat market. Let’s watch that bouquet for awhile.

Ah, this should be interesting. Hando, the local skinhead, has come out with his carrier bag full of sausages no doubt. He’s seen it…well, well, well.

Hando thought about the girl back at the flat. Wouldn’t he look the proper fellow carrying in a bunch of flowers? He looked around and picked them up, tossing out a few of the broken ones as he went along the sidewalk.

He trudged along for awhile and stopped at the corner. He thought about the flowers in his hand then tossed them in the bushes. It wouldn’t do…bad for his image and there was O’Brien coming his way. It would be all over town.

Like any small town there are the ruffians like Hando and the ones that lived on the edge like Colin O’Brien. He works in the local garage for his brother-in-law. Shame, really. He was a smart lad in school but he fell in with the wrong crowd. He got caught with a stolen car and did a little time at the state penitentiary.  He’s spotted Hando.

“Hiya, mate. What’s up?” He offers Hando a cigarette.

“Checkin’ out the market.” Hando is glad he’d ditched the flowers.

“Yeah, well, see ya around.”

“Ta, mate.” Hando moved on down the sidewalk with his head down.

Colin crosses at the corner and stops to finish his smoke. He’s headed for the bottle shop. Out of the corner of his eye he spies the red roses in the bushes. He takes them out, glancing from side to side. He takes one from the battered bunch and slips into the bottle shop.

“Hiya, Jannie!” He produces the rose from behind his back along with a wide smile.

“Colin, oh, how lovely! That was sweet of you. I don’t know as I’ve ever had a rose given to me before.”

“You should have roses. They match your red lips.” He was fascinated by her full red lips. “What time are ya getting off?”

“4:00,” she smiles coyly.

“I’ll be around for ya, okay?”

“I’m looking forward to it.” She smells the rose.

Colin emerges from the bottle shop without a bottle but he has a date.

There are some fallen roses getting a little attention now. Let’s check them out.

Professor John Nash left the book store and fell in behind Fred Grover with his dog, Windy. When he stopped to sniff something so did Fred and so did Professor Nash.

“Oh, hello, Professor.” Fred looked carefully at Nash. You never could be certain if he was there.

“Good morning, Fred.” But his eye was taken by something red. Windy had also noticed it and stopped to give it a sniff.

He had to have it. Something red and colorful on this gray wet day. Windy passed it by after a tug on his lead and Nash stooped to pick it up. A sodden wet rose. He looked up at the sky as if to see it raining roses. He smiled to himself and carried it carefully down the street in the palm of his hand until he came to the crosswalk. A woman was there with her little daughter.

“For you,” he said and smiled, handing the rose to the little girl.

“Hey!” The woman tugs the girl closer to her. “Throw that away! Throw it away. It’s dirty. You don’t take nothing from that man.”  And the little girl sadly tosses the rose onto the street as she crosses.

Nash shakes his head and keeps his distance on down the sidewalk.

Andy’s a nice young man, hard worker ,too. He’s just come on the scene…

Andy has come out of the grocery where he works part time when he’s not washing dishes down at the restaurant on the next block. He’s pushing Mrs. Weymouth’s buggy full of groceries. She has her hands full with twin babies and a three year old running along beside the cart. They pause at the corner and the child sees the roses in the bushes. Andy pulls them out and with a deft hand he rewraps the bouquet, which now appears to have five roses left. Once they reach her vehicle he presents the roses to her.

“Oh, thank you, Andy, but I’m allergic to flowers…really, I am, anything that blooms.”

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t know.” He loads the groceries in her car while she loads the kids.

“Thank you for thinking of me,” she smiles and closes the back door of her car.

Andy closes the trunk and pushes the buggy back toward the store. It aggravates him a little. He wanted to do something nice for her. She wasn’t much older than him and with three kids. When he gets to the store he holds the door open for Miss Ruffin. Her pink shopping bag looks heavy to him but when she’s not looking he pokes the roses in her bag.

The rain has let up now and more people are moving about. The coffee drinkers are thinning out. There’s the banker, Max Skinner, with his newspaper under his arm. I’ll bet he’s worked the crossword already and the Sudoku. At the light he pulls out his cell phone and picks up a rose from the street before he crosses to the other side. He appears to be soaked to the skin and must have been caught out in the rain for some time.

“You’re where?” He wants to know.

“I can see you from my car.” Tonia Skinner pulls up to the curb. “So where did you leave your car?”

“It’s behind the bank where it always is.” He buckled up.

“You’ve never lost your car keys before. Did you look…”

“Everywhere, darling, everywhere. They are gone.”

Tonia looks at him, arches a brow and drives three blocks to the bank and around to the parking lot. She hands him the spare set of car keys. She’s sorry he had to walk down to the coffee shop in the pouring rain but she had no way of knowing he’d be locked out of his car while she was having her nails done and one didn’t answer the phone when one’s nails were wet.

“Where did this come from?” She picks up the rose from his lap. He’d forgotten it.

“Just something I picked up for you, love.” He smiles winningly, sweetly and gives her a kiss before getting out and going to his car.

She sits in the car for a moment and smells the rose. She’s smiling when she restarts her motor.

 We pan back across the street and up a few blocks. What do you make of this?

 

Richie Roberts, town solicitor, comes out of the narrow doorway and moves to the curb and lights a cigarette. He goes to flick his ashes in the trash bin and finds a rose. He pulls it out and smiles.

The window opens upstairs over the furniture store and a woman leans out. He looks up for a moment. “Marcy, catch!” He throws the rose to her and she catches it. “You are a rose,” he says.

“You’re a romantic.” She smiles down at him and takes the rose inside.

There’s a commotion down the street in front of the grocery. Our fine Sheriff is on the job.

“All right, what’s going on here?” Sheriff Biebe sees Miss Ruffin with a plastic bat in her hand and her pink shopping bag by her feet. “Miss Ruffin?”

“It was Ralph that put them there!” She’s yelling at the store manager.

“Okay, let’s get this, Ralph, out here and settle it.” He’s yelling back.

“Everybody calm down and tell me what’s going on.” Biebe tries again.

The manager has a go. “Miss Ruffin, who is a regular customer of ours, comes through the line and Charles rings up her purchase. He asks for the flowers to add them to the order and she went ballistic on him.  She picked up this blue toy bat and hit him when he tried to take the flowers from her basket.”

“Did you get these flowers inside, Mrs. Ruffin?” the Sheriff asks nicely.

“Ralph put them there but not inside,” she answers with her chin in the air.

“May I have the bat?” John Biebe takes the bat from her hand. “May I see the flowers? I don’t want to take them, just have a quick look.”

Alma Ruffin takes the flowers from her pink plastic shopping bag and looks at them a moment, touching a petal, and then she hands them to John Biebe. “I give them to you. You can have them now.”

John looks at the flowers and recognizes the wrappings. “You don’t sell these, Mr. Pippin. They come from the flower shop across the street. Your employee should have known the wrapping paper.” He hands the bat back to the store manager.

“But…who is Ralph?” he asked.

“Ralph is her husband. He died thirty years ago,” John quietly answers and ushers Miss Ruffin away from the door. “Have you got your shopping?”

“It's here.” The manager takes the bag from his check out person. “No charge today, Miss Ruffin.”

“Thank you,” she replies and walks away toward her end of the street.

Now the Sheriff has a bouquet of roses. I wonder what he will do with them? Uh oh…

“Hey, you can’t park that thing here!” The sheriff is walking toward the street, motioning to a man sitting high up in a Hummer. John never could understand why people bought such vehicles to sport around town in.

M.D. Meridius looks imperiously down at the sheriff. “Where do you suggest I park? My wife only wants to run in for a moment.”

“You can’t block traffic,” John adds.

“I’ll keep a watch out,” he smiles down at the sheriff. “Go on, Joimus.” He turns to his wife. "I’ll be right here when you return.”

The sheriff bangs the flowers against his leg and sends another look up at Maximus but there is nothing he can do about him.

Maximus grins up in the cockpit of his Hummer. The sheriff almost drew a rose on him. He laughs out loud.

Joimus was quick and back out within a few minutes. Biebe was still hanging around in front of the market. “Thank you ever so much for keeping an eye out for us, Sheriff Biebe,” she smiles as she walks past him.

“Yeah, sure.” He raises the roses at her. “Wait a minute!" He runs over to the side of the vehicle. “Have a rose.”  Joimus only takes one before climbing back up into the Hummer.

“Oh, hey…take them all.” But the blacked-out window is rolled up and he backs away.

John Biebe stands on the sidewalk with the roses.

He probably won’t be standing there long. Rocha’s Kitchen is open for lunch and the smell of fresh baked bread and vegetable soup is now wafting out of the back of the building where the door is open and Maria Rocha is feeding a cat on the back door step. In the windowsill is a red rose in a short glass. Now how did we miss that one? Let’s rewind here a minute.

He’d come out of the drug store next to the grocery while Miss Ruffin was swinging her bat. He saw the sheriff’s vehicle pull up and so he moved on. No need to draw attention to himself. While waiting for the traffic on the corner he saw a red rose. A few petals were missing but it was a pretty little thing lying there underneath the bushes. He took it with him.

He had the medical supplies he needed and a box of bandaids for Maria. He knocks on her back door.

“Ben Wade, what are you doing here?” She throws her arms around him.

“I’m only passin’ through. I brought you some bandaids. I know how you are here in the kitchen. And I found this and thought you might like it.” He hands her the rose. “It’s a little tattered.”

“Like me,” she looks up at him. “I’d rather have a tattered rose from you than dozens of perfect ones."

He kisses her deeply. “I have to go, Maria. Don’t start nothin’ now.”

“How, where?”

“By water and I don’t know where yet. Feller says his captain will give me a ride. I’ll be in touch as soon as I can.” He kisses her again. “Bye now.” He walks swiftly down to the end of the road. Down to the dockside.

The sheriff has made his way across the street and down the hill toward the dockside. He steps in here and there, speaking to the residents and patrons. He’s at home here, knows everyone. He steps into Le Boutique and there are several people waiting to pay. A young woman is ringing them up as fast as she can.

He asks after Catherine Duvalier and the girl blushes. “Ah, she is not here at present.”

“Okay, uh, give her these when she returns.” He lays the two roses on the counter.  Sheriff John Biebe crosses the street for Rocha’s Kitchen and some of that good smelling soup.

Sheriff Biebe is buttering his bread when Catherine Duvalier and a certain Captain descend the stairs in the back of the boutique. He follows her into the shop.

“Ohh, you have been busy!” Catherine looks at the stack of receipts.

“Yes, Madame, very busy.”

“Why don’t you take your lunch break?” she smiles and the girl disappears from the store. The Captain comes now from behind the curtain and takes her in his arms again for a lingering last kiss.

“It’s come to good-bye, I am afraid, my dear.”

“Jack, I shall miss you, as always.”

He smiles for he knows it is not true. His eye falls on the roses. “Roses for you.”

“How thoughtful you are.” She kisses him again. “One for you and for me.”

“But what shall I do with a rose,” he laughs. “I can’t very well take it aboard ship.”

“Press it in a book…this book.” She hands him a book of short stories.

If you didn’t know better you might think he was punch drunk, oh, the man running up the hill. See how he runs with his arms up like a boxer. He is a boxer and a damn good one, too. He doesn’t give up, not ever, not when he loses a fight or a job. Rumor has it he’s training again so something is in the works for him. He pauses when he reaches the more populated area of Main Street. He has to switch to the sidewalk now and walk like everyone else. He’s a nice guy, too. Does he see that splash of red there in a puddle?

James J. Braddock is hardly winded at all considering he’s just run three miles. He’s a little damp and thirsty. He steps into the grocery store for a cold drink. He speaks to the people in line and thanks them for letting him go ahead since he only had a bottle of water.

People ask after his wife and kids. Everybody is fine, everything is fine. But it isn’t, really. No, it isn’t fine at all. He’s got a fight coming up and it’s one he has to win. He needs the money desperately or he’s going to lose his house. He’s already three payments behind. It wasn’t his fault, just the way things fell. It happens that way sometimes. He’s forgotten to bring any change with him to pay for the water. A woman behind him pays. He thanks her and walks out of the grocery.  He’s standing at the curb taking a long drink and looks down because there’s something red and lovely at his feet.

It’s beginning to rain again and he looks at the rose for a second longer before picking it up gently in his hand. He’ll walk home with it stuck in the last drop of water in his water bottle. He’ll give his wife a rose because he loves her.

And what’s become of the young man who bought the roses in the first place? Is he home crying his heart out? No? He’s down at the end of Main Street near where the street meets the docks. Down there where the bars are located.

Ah, yes, there he is over there at the round table by the big screen TV. He’s not alone on this rainy Saturday afternoon. We see the debris of chicken wings and other things on the table along with several empty beer bottles. He’s with his friends, Alex Ross, who works at the same newspaper he does. Oh, Steve is a photojournalist. I don’t think I mentioned that. Cal McAffery has joined them too, I see. Yes, there they are gathered around the TV watching the Steelers play football. Cheering and cursing in turn and arguing over whose shout it is.

So one would assume he’s not too broken-hearted. I’ll bet he would be interested to see what happened to his roses. He’ll wonder when his credit card bill comes in.

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