The Last Bachelor. Judy Christenberry
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slowly opened his eyes. He normally rose early each morning, but he’d stayed up last night, lingering over the pizza with Ginger. Too late, actually. Ginger should have been in bed several hours earlier. But she’d seemed to enjoy the late-night snack and his company.
They’d compared childhoods, hers in difficult circumstances in Estonia, with little to eat and almost no money. She was an only child of a single woman, shunned by many of the people in their town. Her mother had decided to marry an American. She was only thirty-four now, having had Ginger at fifteen.
Joe hadn’t really thought about his family and his younger days when he and his brothers had played and laughed together. His heart-breaking romance with his fiancée seemed silly now. He had a loving, supportive family, a good education, a profession he enjoyed. He had nothing to complain about. He was glad he’d decided to help Ginger. She deserved to stay in America.
He grinned and swung back the cover. They had a lot to do today. He wanted to get her things out of that one-room apartment she had called home. They had to go to the jewelry store to pick out some diamonds to go with her wedding band. He wanted to introduce Ginger to his friends. He needed to go to the closest INS office and give them a copy of their marriage certificate.
He also wanted to buy Ginger a dress for the opening of the Men’s Grill. As the architect’s wife, she’d be in the spotlight.
His life was suddenly much more exciting than it had been on Friday.
Fifteen minutes later, he came out of his room, following the scent of bacon and coffee. He expected to see Ginger, of course, but he was hungry, too. He was glad she felt at home enough to cook this morning. Not that he expected her to cook every meal, but it was a good way to start.
Ginger wasn’t in the kitchen. There was a note on the counter that made him frown.
Joe,
I have to be at work and it takes me a while to walk from here. Your breakfast is keeping warm in the oven. I made you a sandwich for lunch. It’s in the refrigerator. There’s also a casserole in the refrigerator for your dinner. I work until six-thirty and my class starts at seven. I will be home by ten-thirty. Leave the dishes for me. I’ll finish the laundry tonight. I dusted the furniture but did not vacuum because I didn’t want to wake you.
Thank you.
Ginger
He looked at the clock on the kitchen wall. It was only nine-fifteen and she’d already done all that work? That was more than most people did in a full day. Not to mention she intended to be on her feet until six-thirty and go to school after that.
He grabbed his car keys. Then he went back and opened the oven to find a plate of scrambled eyes, bacon and toast there. He made a quick sandwich with it and hurried out to his car.
He’d hoped he’d find Ginger on the street and could pick her up, but he didn’t see her anywhere. He parked in the lot of the Lone Star Country Club and hurried into the building.
Harvey Small was entering his office when he caught sight of Joe.
“Joe, I was going to call you. I have some questions about the opening. Come right in.”
“No. I need to find Ginger.”
“She’s working. Now, about the flowers we’re—”
“Where is she?”
“She’s in the Yellow Rose Café, setting up for lunch. Now, about the—”
Joe ignored the man and hurried to the café. There were several waitresses setting the tables, but he didn’t see Ginger. Then she came from the kitchen, carrying a tray of salt, pepper and ketchup for the tables.
“Ginger!” he exclaimed.
She stopped and carefully set the tray on the nearest table. “Yes, Mr. Turner?”
He couldn’t believe she was calling him Mr. Turner. “What did you say?”
“I asked what you wanted.”
“It was the ‘Mr. Turner’ bit that bothered me,” he growled.
“Joe, I was talking to you,” Harvey called from the door, moving toward them.
“I know, but I need to talk to my wife.” It was Ginger’s reaction that had him turning to stare at Harvey, who appeared stunned.
Then he managed a small laugh. “Come on, Joe, if you want a cup of coffee before we talk, just say so.” He turned to Ginger. “Get Mr. Turner some coffee and bring it to my office. And maybe a Danish, Joe?”
“No. I’ve had breakfast. My wife fixed it for me.”
“What are you talking about? I know you’re not married, Joe. Your mother complains about it all the time. Now, what I needed—”
“Meet Ginger Turner, my wife.” While Joe said those magical words, he slid his arm around Ginger’s waist.
Harvey stared at them as if he’d seen a ghost. “Ginger…Ginger is your wife?”
“Yes, we got married on Saturday. I’ll need to talk to you about her hours.”
“No, Joe, you mustn’t!” Ginger protested.
“Yes, sweetheart, I must. You can’t keep the schedule you proposed for today. It’s too much.”
“But I fixed all your food. I’m sorry the casserole is not very good, but you didn’t have much food in your refrigerator.”
“Ginger, I’m not complaining about the food. I’m complaining about how much you’re trying to do.”
It frustrated Joe that she didn’t seem to comprehend his concern.
It was Ginger who spoke next. “Mr. Small, if you will excuse me for five minutes, I need to talk to Joe, er, Mr. Turner, and then I will return to work.”
Joe hated her kowtowing to Harvey. “We’ll take as long as we need, Ginger. Harvey doesn’t mind, do you, Harvey?” He shot the club manager a determined look as he took Ginger’s arm and led her through the doors into the Men’s Grill.
“Joe, Mr. Small will be mad at me. He may dock my wages,” Ginger said with fear.
“I’ll bet he doesn’t,” Joe said grimly.
“But what’s wrong? I’m only doing what you said,” Ginger said, a plea in her voice.
“What are you talking about? I never said for you to work yourself into the ground. And walking to work from the condo? That’s ridiculous.”
“But I had to get to work.”
“That’s just it. You don’t have to come to work.”
She stared at him, panic in her eyes. “You said I could continue to work, to save my money if they send me back.”
“Honey, I said you could work, but not all the time. You’re taking nine hours a week at the community college and working every other minute here. You need more time to relax. I’m going to tell Harvey to cut you back to…to twenty hours a week. Okay?”
“No!” Ginger cried, tears in her eyes. “You promised.”
She had him there. He had promised, but he’d had no idea how many hours she put in. “How many do you usually work?”
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