Winnie's Interview and Father Gene

I’ve never told Winnie very much about myself, and I don’t know what she would think if she knew I had been married at one time in my life. I’m not ashamed about this point in my personal history, but I don’t talk about it much.

I met Karen at my first real job after college. It was a local newspaper with a circulation that barely drifted past the city limits, but it was a real job. Karen was a copy editor and she kept returning my scintillating articles about road closures and special speakers at the library with red ink marks correcting my screwy grammar and made up words.

“Pot-holeristic is not a real word, you dork,” she would write. I could tell that she liked me.

We dated a bit, lived together for a while, and then got married right before I got fired. I was fine with losing the job because I was bored out of my mind, but writing restaurant reviews for a slick county-wide magazine wasn’t a lot better, except for the free meals. After a couple of years Karen took off with a hotshot reporter who got picked up by the Fresno Bee. I curse Fresno to this day.

I arrived at the End of Time before Winnie, but only by a few minutes. She joined me at our booth, dressed in a gray skirt and a snug, ivory sweater that complimented her willowy figure, which wasn’t usually noticeable because of her typical baggy jeans and oversized long-sleeved shirts. Her dark brown hair was pulled back and woven into a French braid that trailed half way down her back and allowed her pretty face to see the light of day. This was a welcomed change from her usual sensible way of dressing. I hoped that she was doing this for me and not for a job interview.

“You look very nice today, Winnie,” I said.

“Thank you, Maxwell,” she said. “I have a job interview today.”

“Oh. Good for you.” Her sweater had a little smudge of something on her left shoulder. I didn’t care and didn’t plan to point it out to her.

“Maxwell, do think that Mr. Forbish thinks I’m simple?”

“What do you mean? ‘Simple’ as in uncomplicated?”

“No,” she said. “‘Simple’ as in unintelligent. Or ignorant.”

Her green eyes looked so innocent that I was disarmed and released from my petulance.

“No, Winnie, not at all. He doesn’t have anything to do all day except read magazines and newspapers, so he thinks he knows more than anyone. He really likes you. Also, you have a little smudge on the left shoulder of your sweater.”

She looked down and pulled at her shoulder to verify the defilement, tightening the sweater across her chest, which I appreciated. She made a face that radiated discouragement.

“Now I have to go back home and change. I will see you later, Maxwell.” She rose from her seat and headed to the door. A man in a dark suit held the door open for her as she left. When he stepped inside the café, I saw his clerical collar. He walked past my booth, stopped, and stepped back toward me.

“Are you Max Hewes?” He asked?

“Yes, I am,” I said.

He stuck out his hand and I shook it. “I’m Gene McNeal. Father Gene, to my church. I really like your articles in The Telegraph. It’s not the most exciting newspaper I’ve ever read, but your columns crack me up.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“Keep up the good work,” he said.

“Will do.”

Father Gene smiled and located a booth of his own. The Forb suddenly appeared before me, apparently having slipped in the front door while my attention was diverted by the priest.

“Who’s the cleric?” he asked, sitting down without an invitation.

“Father Gene,” I said. “I just now met him.”

“So what is he? Catholic, Episcopalian, or what?”

“I don’t know. Like I said, I just now met him.”

“This place has too much religion floating around in it. You, Winnie, and now the Right Reverend. What is a crusty old heretic like me going to do?”

“Why do you think I’m religious, Forb?”

“Come on, Max. You’re not nut-case religious, but you’ve got the stink of faith on you. It’s a good cologne the way you wear it, so I’m okay with it. I like that about you because I need someone to argue with.”

“So you won’t abandon this place for a diner infested with infidels?”

“Nah, this place needs me. It keeps the universe balanced.”

The Forb did his usual non-ceremonious departure and flopped into his own personal booth and opened up a magazine. Mirna brought him coffee and stopped by to warm up my cup. I wondered if Winnie would get her job. I realized that I didn’t even ask her what it was about.

Maybe I’ll see her later. Or call her. Except I don’t have her number. I don’t think she even has a cell phone.

There’s a lot I don’t know.