Ralph Hayes  Retrograde

We first met Willa when she appeared at our door selling Avon products. I was about to turn her away when Jody invited her in, probably because of the neat little print vest, the neatly groomed long, dark hair and the look of quiet desperation barely hidden behind the brown eyes.

Willa didn't talk much about Avon on that hot, airless afternoon in June. She seemed anxious to talk about herself. It seems she was living alone in a tent on Stock Island, across the first bridge north of us, where her husband had deserted her and hi-jacked a plane to Cuba.

At that point I'm wondering what possessed me to allow this young lady into my house. But she had captured Jody's interest, and she kept talking.

Willa was married to a fellow named Michael Jennings who was the grandson of an obscure American diplomat and had inherited a substantial sum on that minor luminary's passing, which he and Willa had blown through in just a few years. When it was gone Willa discovered that Michael had little interest in actually working for a living.

Bad times got worse, and they drifted onto the Keys and ended up in a camping tent at a trailer park with hot streets and topless palm trees, living on food stamps,

Fortunately they hadn't started a family.

"So Michael is in Cuba?" Jody asked incredulously.

"Oh, no," Willa explained brightly, "He's in federal prison. He was arrested in Cuba and sent back here."

Some of the excitement left Jody's face. "Alan, Why don't you get Willa a cup of ice tea? She looks a bit warm."

"Oh, no, thanks," Willa said in her mellifluous voice with its slight British accent. We learned later that she had spent years in London through her teens while her executive father kept his family there to do his business, and that Willa allegedly had dual citizenship. "! still have calls to make."

There was a brief silence then Willa began talking more to herself than to us. "I should have known something was coming. He would go all night without sleeping. Then he just stopped talking to me."

"I'm sorry." From Jody.

"He's trying to get an early parole date. We write all the time. I can't wait till this is all over, and he's back here. He's very sorry for what he did."

"I'll bet," I put Jody gave me a look.

We all sat there, and I studied Willa's rather pretty face, which seemed a little worn with fatigue. We found out later she was a year younger than Jody, in her late twenties. I wondered if this was a con job, but Jody never thought so. Before Willa left that day Jody bought a couple of skin creams she didn't need, and confided to Willa that she was doing some painting on canvas.  When Willa expressed art interest Jody invited her to join a small group of women who painted together on site. And that was the beginning of our casual friendship with Willa.

In the following months Willa obtained art supplies with Jody's help and learned the rudimentary elements of putting paint on canvas, and would join Jody when she took her paintings down to dockside when the cruise ships came in. Willa almost never sold anything, and Jody would come home feeling bad despite her own sales.

It also became apparent during this period that Willa had little more interest in working at a real job than her incarcerated husband. Jody introduced her to several job opportunities but Willa always found something about them that didn't suit her.

Also, after some additional time had passed, Jody heard from an art friend that several young men had been seen leaving Willa's tiny apartment at very odd hours, and I wondered if that was how Willa was helping pay her modest rent. She also began attending services at a small church and received irregular charitable donations from that source, as well as an occasional loan from Jody.

It must have been almost a year after that first introduction to Willa when she came directly to me for help.

"I think it's great you're a writer, Alan, I admire that. Jody tells me you do articles for all the big magazines, So I got this idea. That maybe you'd write a letter for me."

I asked her what kind of letter.

A small hesitation, "Michael is going to ask for an early parole board hearing. He needs a letter from me, and at least one other person to vouch for Michael's character. A person with standing in the community."

I laughed. "I have no standing."

'You're a respected writer. And you're the only one I know who fits their requirement."

At that point Jody came in, because she had heard some of this from the kitchen. She sat down beside me with a concerned look,

"it would just be a brief character evaluation, saying you think Michael would be a good candidate for parole."

"But I don't know Michael I've never met him." I told her,

"I know," apologetically. "But I've told you all about him. What a basically good person he is. How sorry he is that he went a little crazy for a while because of our situation. Couldn't you say that?"

I shook my head. I'm not a lawyer, Willa, but I think they would consider that kind of statement hearsay and throw it out."

Jody gave me a plaintive look. "But it couldn't hurt And it's not much to ask, Is it?"

I had little choice.  I drafted a letter, making it clear that the comments about Michael were not from personal observation.

Sixty days later, to our great surprise, Michael Jennings was paroled. 

Willa expected Michael back on our little island at any moment. But several weeks passed without any correspondence from Michael. Then a letter came. Willa brought it over and read it to us. Michael wouldn't be returning to Willa. He had been corresponding with a young woman while in prison, and she had fallen in love with him, and upon his release they had gone off to California together.

He was asking Willa for a quick divorce so he could marry his prison-flowered lover. He was sorry about now things had turned out, but knew Willa would understand.

"I don't understand," she said to us, puttng the letter down.

"Oh, God, Willa," Jody mumbled.

"Maybe we should have left him where he was," I suggested.

Jody gave me one of her 'For God's sake, shut up!' looks.

Willa saw it. "No, it's all right. I've had the same feeling. Why would he do this to me? After all we had together. After those sweet letters from prison. What was all that about? Was he writing to her at the same time?"

"How did she know about him?" Jody wondered,

"He says in the letter that she was part of some social rehab group. She's a Lutheran and he's considering taking up that religion,"

"Good God," I muttered

Willa looked over at me, and I looked away. She took a deep breath. "Well. It's over, I'm alone now. I have to face up to it"

Jody took her hand. "You have friends here, Willa. You're not alone. You have a new life here. It's up to you what you make of it."

"I hear you've met some men already," I ventured to be helpful.

Jody threw one at me that could have blistered paint.

Willa missed that one. "Oh, I have a couple of friends. They've treated me to a few lunches at El Siboney. It helps me get along."

"Of course it does," Jody agreed quickly. "Do you intend to answer Michael's letter?"

"I have to. To say whether I'll give him a divorce."

"What are your thoughts on that? I offered cautiously, watching Jody's reaction.

"I suppose I'll give him his freedom," Willa, responded. "Otherwise, he's only really half-free, isn't he?"

"Well," I said.

"I understand perfectly," Jody said.

"He'll be sending me some papers to sign," Willa mumbled. Her eyes teared up, and I felt crappy.

"Alan will help you with anything like that," Jody promised her for me.

"Of course I will," I agreed quickly, relieved to be exonerated.

Jody took Willa to breakfast at the Fisherman's Cafe several times during the next few weeks, and Willa received the papers from Michael and returned them signed.  She never heard from him again, Jody introduced Willa to everyone at the Art Center down at Mallory Square, and soon Willa was chosen to be treasurer of the group, and accelerated her painting, and was hanging her work at the Center. One would sell occasionally, and I think that pleased my wife more then it did Willa,

In the meantime, Jody was making regular loans to Willa that we never expected to be repaid, and Willa started going with a fellow who was writing a book on Bigfoot, and expected it to be a big seller. He claimed to have photographic evidence of the existence of the creature which he would not show anybody. I think this was his first attempt to write a book.

Things went along fairly well for Willa for a time after that. We figured the would-be Bigfoot advocate was paying her rent. Unfortunately he received a rejection letter from a New York publisher one day, burned the manuscript in a trash burner, and left town without a word to anyone, including Willa.

Willa stopped by our place to commiserate. Jody was preparing a goulash dish for supper and I was at the typewriter doing an assigned article for a travel magazine when I heard Willa come in. I joined the two women in our sitting room.

"He was so talented," Willa was telling Jody, "The way he talked, he had a best setter in that book. Everybody is interested in Bigfoot."

'Well,"I said.

"I'm sure it would have had a wide audience," Jody assured her.

! always thought Jody was playing a bit too much of Willa's game.

"Wade had a way of putting words down right," Willa told us. I wish you could have seen the pages he showed me, Alan."

"I'm so sorry i missed that," I told her.

Jody waited for those words to be assessed by Willa. "We thought he was taking good care of you," she suggested

"I've never met a nicer man. Not even Michael."

"Well, that's saying something," I commented.

Jody slipped a suspicious look my way. "And he didn't tell you he was leaving?"

Willa shook her head, "I think it was embarrassment, the book and all. I don't blame him."

"Maybe he'll write you," Jody said.

"Maybe," Willa said. "I've never met a nicer man."

Willa talked about Wade for another week or two and then was seen out at the Pier House bar with a thin young man with red hair and acne. She stopped coming by as often, and then some money went missing from the petty cash at the Art Center, and Willa had the only key to the box. A couple of Jody's art friends told her there was good evidence that Willa had made off with the funds, but Jody wouldn't believe it.

Finally one cool January afternoon Willa ran into us by accident at Mister Donut.  We asked her to join us,  bought her a cup of coffee, and asked her how things were going. It was she who raised the subject of the missing money.

"I suppose you've heard the rumors."

"What rumors?" Jody asked innocently.

"You know. About the missing petty cash, down at the Center. A member I shall not name has accused me of taking it. Can you believe it?"

'Well, of course not," Jody quickly replied, That's silly. I wouldn't pay any attention to such gossip, Willa."

"Just ignore it," I added.

Willa looked down at her coffee cup. "I took it," she said.

A heavy silence felt onto the table like a lead weight.

"Oh," Jody finally said.

Now Willa acted angry. "It was only fifty-five dollars, for God's sake. Fifty-five lousy dollars! And they want to make a federal case of it? After all, I intended to pay it back. It wasn't a theft, it was a loan."

"That's what it sounds like," Jody said in a subdued tone.

I sighed. "We can pay it back for you, Willa. Don't worry about it."

Jody grabbed my hand under the table.

Willa took a sip of coffee, and then wiped a tear from her eye. "What the hell, don't I have just a little entitlement? Look at me. Living hand to mouth. Does this make me Jack the Ripper?"

Now Jody's hand reached across the table and touched Willa's. "We'll stand by you, Willa. We can manage some regular help out of our income. Can't we, Alan?"

I nodded "I'm sure we can help."

But surprisingly Willa shook her head. "I know what good friends you are. But I couldn't take any more from you. Especially not you. I've made up my mind. I'm leaving."

"What?" Jody exclaimed. "Leaving the Keys?"

"I got a letter from an old friend. From when Michael and I were in Washington. She heard about Michael and what he did. She says she can probably get me a job in Santa Fe doing commercials on their radio station. She says they'd like my voice. I've almost got enough to take the bus out there."

"Is this something you really want?" Jody asked her.

Willa nodded. "I need a second new start.  I just have this feeling about it, I'm sure you know what I mean, like there's something big waiting for me out there."

Jody sighed. "I'm sure of it," she said. "We'll give you enough for the bus, and a little more. A grubstake."

"Oh, God, I'll miss you. Both of you."

Less than a week later, Willa was gone.

It must have been about a month after her departure that one of our local friends returned from a vacation out west and had passed through-Tucson. She had stopped at a Holiday Inn there just for one night, and had run onto Willa.

Willa had taken a job as a back-up hostess in their dining room, but had somehow offended a patron. She had been taken off that Job, and to stay there, had accepted a position as a room maid. She looked a little thin, and embarrassed.

She explained that the job was just temporary. DSS

 

Ralph Hayes of Grand Rapids, MI was a lawyer who became a professional writer. He has written dozens of stories, articles and novels. 

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