Red Earth Review #2

“I’m glad I caught you.”

He offered her the room’s sole chair and he went to his nightstand and quarter-filled two Styrofoam cups with Scotch.

“Thank you,” she said, taking one cup.

“It’s nothing special.” He rubbed the red welt on the side of his hand and then feeling self-conscious sunk his hand into his pocket.

“I’m sure it’s fine.” Anna examined the exposed back panel of the painting above the bed. “Why is that picture turned around?”

“Bad art,” he said, detecting the wisp of a smile on Anna’s face. But then she closed her eyes, as if to purge his last words. When she reopened them, she dug out a tissue from her pocketbook. Her eyes were wet.

“I’m sorry about my father,” she said, weighing the tissue in her hand. “The truth is we need to sell the violin to pay for his medical costs.”

“My family went through something similar. They were tough times.

If I can be of any help…”

“I don’t need you to get mixed up personally with this. I just need a lump sum. The sooner, the better.”

“I see,” said Phillip.

Anna folded the tissue into a small square and tucked it under her cup. She touched her earlobe, massaging the gold stud between her thumb and forefinger, “This is an ugly room.”

Phillip grinned. “It matches the painting.”

“Will you come back?” she asked.

“I understand your situation, but I have business in Chicago.”

“That’s to be expected,” she said, returning the cup.

“I can recommend someone.”

“That would be helpful,” she said, an air of regret coloring her words.

As Anna stood, Phillip smelled the jasmine soap on her skin and the sandalwood perfume on her nape. He missed the small touches that women enacted, the unconscious effort they went to. Anna’s reluctance to accept his help beyond his middleman role frustrated him. Perhaps, he reasoned, he needed to approach the situation in a different way. “Do you want to go somewhere?” he asked. “Get a proper drink.”

Her eyes looked directly into his and a shy smile curved her lips.

While they walked to a local bar, Anna worried aloud about her house—how she spent half the day cleaning it and dealing with the bills.

Her tone was matter-of-fact, the details just details, but now unloaded on a new audience. He listened respectfully, glad she trusted him enough to tell him her problems. At the end of Main Street, Phillip jerked his head toward the Landmark, a refurbished turn-of-the-century inn with lead glass windows and dull mahogany furniture. He ordered two Tom 58