Chapter 13 – Thinking of Home
The buzz of the phone broke Laleh’s reverie. It was Gwen, who said, “Hi. How are you?”
“Well. Just sitting and thinking a little.”
“So are we. We may be going home soon, we’re not sure.”
“Is the dog all right?”
“Fine. It’s just that we miss home. London is great, but so is Charleston.”
“Home, yes.”
“We don’t know when you’re going home, too, so we thought we'd plan our schedule for the next day or two around yours.”
“Oh, thanks. I’d like that. I don’t have a schedule. I’m not sure what's next for me. Home is not really in the equation anymore. What should we do?”
“How about breakfast tomorrow? Say eight o’clock, downstairs?”
“See you.” Gwen hung up and looked over at Roger, who was watching Coronation Street, the English soap opera. “She’ll meet us for breakfast tomorrow. But that was an odd conversation. Part of it.”
“What’d she say?”
“She said that home wasn’t part of her equation anymore.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Don’t know.”
“You going to ask her tomorrow?”
“Not polite to ask questions; not in this situation.”
“Still, you’re going to find out what she means.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Don’t know.”
Roger went back to the TV, trying to figure out the difference between a Cockney accent and a Yorkshire accent.
“I’m going to call Shimmy," which she did. Shimmy was a friend of the Junes, a writer who liked to housesit for them when they traveled because he wasn’t wealthy like them, and liked staying in their beautiful historic house on Church Street, with their dog. He and the dog got along really well. Having to take the dog for another walk was one of the excuses Shimmy used a lot to avoid writing. The dog never got walked as much when under the care of Roger and Gwen, so he liked it when Shimmy was the boss of the house. Shimmy didn’t have a dog of his own, so he didn’t have that as an excuse for not sitting at the computer and doing what he should be doing, which was writing. Shimmy had retired prematurely from a regular job to be a writer, and now that he was one, he knew he was supposed to write. That’s the deal. It’s just that walking the dog, and preparing dinner, and shopping for new shoes on the internet, was easier than writing. Shimmy actually was sitting at the computer, wondering what the hell would happen next in his novel, having no clue whatsoever, when the phone rang. He didn’t have to answer the phone because the Junes had an answering machine, but he went into the third floor study and answered it anyway.
“June’s residence, Shimmy speaking.”
“Hey Shim. It’s Gwen.”
The only thing Shimmy liked better than walking the June’s dog was talking to Gwen June, especially in person. He really liked her. “Hi. Where are you? Everything here is good.”
“We’re still in London. Thinking of coming home soon, maybe in a few days. I just wanted to check in and let you know. When we decide, we’ll send an email.”
“Ok, I’ll watch for it. The dog misses you.”
“How many women you got in the house, Shim? We also wanted to give you time to boot them out.”
“Only two now, Gwen. The other one left a few days ago, had to go back to Paris for the annual fashion show.” Shimmy wished he had three girlfriends, or even two. He didn’t have any right now, which was weighing on his mind, to say nothing of other parts of his body. “Thanks for the warning. I guess Veronica will have to go to a hotel while they finish rehabbing her mansion, and Cleo will have to go back to the marina and Seventh Heaven.”
“How big is Seventh Heaven?”
“It’s either a 120 footer or 140, I forget.”
“How’s the book coming?”
“Oh, great, great. Lots of progress, despite all the distractions. You can imagine all those distractions, can’t you Gwen?”
“Yes, Shim, I can. You’re not supposed to let that happen, you know. Writers write. But, with Veronica and Cleo hanging around, I can imagine the temptations. Well, give my best to the girls and the dog. See you soon.”
Shimmy went back into the guest bedroom where he had his laptop on the desk. He starred at it for ten long seconds, and then whistled for the dog. Time for a walk.