The Woman in the Red Dress
I’m not the sort of guy women stare at, especially good-looking women with nice bodies. Yet, there she was, in a sexy red dress and a big smile. I should have known better. Alarms should have gone off in my head.
We were in Ribs, a small bar on the outskirts of town. It was three o’clock on a muggy summer afternoon. The place was empty except for me, my laptop, a couple of local old timers and her, a woman I had never have seen before. Most weekdays that’s the way it is, that is except for the brunette beauty. Around five o’clock the Barnsley Footwear Factory, located across from Ribs, starts emptying and many of its workers file in here for an hour or two before heading home. At that point in time, I pack up my laptop and head back to my small apartment.
The Barnsley Footwear Factory has a long history, going back to before World War II. When the war broke out, they expanded their operations to serve the military’s ever-growing need for boots for its soldiers. After the war, the next year or so was a time for scaling back. Men and women lost their jobs. However, unlike many shoe factories that would close or move overseas, Barnsley held on and today remains one of the few shoes factories in America.
I tell you this because my dad spent forty-three years at Barnsley. It was his job there that helped put me through college to be the writer I am today. A failed writer, but a writer. I’ve published three novels all of which can be found on the remainder shelves at your local bookstore.
Being a writer, I spend most of my days doing just that. I am working on my fifth novel; the fourth novel went unpublished and now remains buried on my hard drive. Maybe someday, to be resurrected. When I’m not working on my books, I write a few short stories and articles for the local newspaper for which I am paid a minimal salary.
That said, is probably more than you want or need to know. The brunette beauty is sitting a few tables away still smiling at me. Is she flirting? Why, I wonder? I am more Keith Richards than Elvis.
Okay, admittedly I am an idiot when it comes to women. Should I smile back? Maybe get up and approach her? That seems like a guy thing to do. While I was feebly making up my mind, she gets up, and with her drink in hand, walks toward me.
“My glass is empty. How about you buy me another?”
After an awkward moment of silence, I motioned to Tommy Burns, the bartender, for a refill for the lady.
“Okay if I sit down?”
“Oh, yes, please.” I mumbled.
After making herself comfortable, she introduced herself. “My name is Candice, but people call me Candy.”
I bet they do, I told myself.
“Are you going to tell me your name?”
“Oh, yes, of course. I’m Raymond.”
“Nice to meet you, Ray.” She smiled.
“So, do you spend a lot of time here?”
“About three or four hours a day before the rush of the shoe factory workers barge in.”
“You don’t like crowds?”
“Not when I’m working.”
“You work here?”
“Not at Ribs. I’m a writer, so as long as I have my laptop with me, I can work anywhere. When it gets too crowded, the noise becomes distracting. I haven’t seen you here before.”
“I just arrived in town two days ago.”
“Oh, where are you from?”
“Here and there. I’ve moved around quite a lot.”
“For your job?”
“Yes, and no. Right now, I am looking for someone.”
“You’re not a bounty hunter or something,” I joked.
She laughed.
“No, nothing like that.”
I laughed this time. It felt strange, but I am finding her easy to talk to.
“Well, whoever it is, I hope you find him or her.”
“I am getting close, I think.”
Tommy Burns brought over her drink and placed it in front of her. She took a sip.
“Is your father still working at the factory?”
“No, he’s retired now. Quite a few years now.”
“He must be proud of you being a writer and all.”
“He says he is, but I really don’t know. He is secretive about a lot of things in his life.”
“I bet he is.”
What did that mean? And why this interest in my father? How did she know my father worked at Barnsley? From what I learned over the years, my father was a womanizer. There were plenty of fights between him and my mother over his indiscretions. As a kid, I never knew why they fought. As I got older, I learned about his cheating. There were plenty of women who came and went. Along the way, I accidentally met a few. I wondered why my mother put up with it. Why didn’t she leave him? That’s easier said than done. My mother never worked, except for a job as a waitress years ago. On that salary, paying rent, buying food and taking care of two kids would be next to impossible. Besides, she had no idea how to reconcile a bank account or anything else. What she was good at was cooking and taking care of my brother and me. My father was a heavy drinker and would disappear for days at a time. Mom always took him back. These days he’s settled down. He is more interested in watching TV shows than women or anything else.
“So, what does he do now?”
“Nothing really, watches television and still drinks too much. Say, why all this interest in my father?”
“If I told you I knew your dad, would you believe me?”
I stared at her. What the hell does that mean? She is too young to have been one of his side dishes. He liked them young, but she looked a few years younger than me.
“I am not one of your father’s girlfriends, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“How do you know about his girlfriends?”
“Does the name Fran Daniels mean anything to you?”
Fran Daniels? Who the hell is that? “No. I can’t say that it does.”
“She was my mother. She died late last year.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t understand what this has to do with my father or me.”
She was silent, and tears formed in her eyes.
“My mother was one of your father’s girlfriends. They saw each other a few times until Mom got pregnant. Then he split. She never saw him again. Mom was a seamstress who worked from home so she could take care of me and make some money. She had no support from anyone including her parents and the man who got her pregnant.”
“Ray, I’m your half-sister.”
