Wild Stars Seeking Midnight Suns by J. California Cooper Page A

people stared. She never looked ugly to me as she became grown.
    The Epitome Cleaners was way across town in the best shopping section of the city. She could walk and save the carfare, or she could take the public transportation and just sit, resting. Her heart lightened at the thought. “And I can look out the windows at the shops and people in the free world. I can even stop at the library, and steal an hour or so for myself.”
    Lily Bea had decided, with Maddy’s approval, to wear gray woolen pants, a fresh, lightly starched white blouse, and a fresh white band around her hair. She was so pleased to be out in the fresh air with no steam in her face, and the sun shining through a light misty rain. Devil whipping his wife, they used to say where I came from.
    She sat on the slowly moving bus holding tightly to the box filled with the delicate garments she was to deliver. Bright shops along the street had her full attention. Windows were full of colorful, inviting items: clothes, lamps, food, shoes, hats, and such. Her eyes were filled and spilling over with her thoughts of owning any things so beautiful.
    The Epitome Cleaners establishment was, if you can imagine it, a grand place of business. They served the best people, the rich. They handled the uniforms of the best places, their sheets, satin bedspreads and drapes, napkins and linens of the best hotels and restaurants. As well as the gorgeous clothing of the rich. The shop was not extravagantly outfitted, not gaudy. It was simple, but everything was of the best: fine drapes at their wide windows, the polished, shining counters were of mahogany, the shelves were of cedar. You could see on a rack billowing skirts, ruffled somethings half covered with plastic covers, and all like that. Oh, you knew you were around money.
    When Lily Bea reached her stop, she was amazed at the rich array of shops. She slowly made her way to and entered the Epitome Cleaners, her mind in awe at a place grander than any home or place she had ever seen. An ocean stood between her knowledge of the rich, and her own poor life.
    She stepped, hesitantly, to the counter where two older men were talking together. One of the well-dressed men was the owner, Mr. Weldon Forest; the other was an old customer and friend of the owner. Lily stood there silently, waiting to be shown what to do next.
    The counterperson was, momentarily, in the back of the store. So the owner, Mr. Forest, turned to her and asked, “Yes? May I help you?”
    Lily looked at the slightly grey-haired man, in the steel gray suit, and said, “I have brought your . . . order?”
    He turned his full attention to her. “What order? For what?”
    She answered, and the sound of her voice entered his brain. He was a very sensitive man, a lover of classical music. The voice that was soft, smooth, silken, low, and dreamy enchanted him. He looked her over, without seeming to; she looked nothing like her voice sounded.
    Weldon Forest was a tall, fifty-three-year-old, wealthy, married, bored, and lonely man. He loved his wife of thirty-three years, but there was no surprise, no excitement, there. The son he adored had his own business on the East Coast. For years now, his pleasures in life were art, music, and his business. He liked the touch and feel of certain materials. He loved beauty.
    Mr. Forest decided to transact his own business with her . . . so to hear more of the sound coming from her lips. The lips through which the beautiful sound had come, in his eyes, were beautiful. He forgot the friend he had been talking to, giving all of his attention to Lily Bea. He prolonged his questions.
    “Who are you delivering for?”
    “Maddy Nettles. We do your delicates.”
    “Oh, then you are his helper?”
    Lily Bea hadn’t known how ashamed she was of Maddy; she looked down at the box still in her arms. “Well, yes sir. I did these things.”
    “Where do you live? Is this your home, this city?”
    “I was born here. I live . . .