Georgina sat in the pew waving her program to cool her face. The sun poured through the stained glass creating colorful patterns on the bald heads of the men seated before her. Glancing down at her pink skirt, she recognized the green and red window’s reflection. She too was touched by the light. They all were; no matter where they sat, or no matter how far they strayed from Christ during the weekdays. Here in church, all spirits refreshed with a beam of colorful lights.

The Pastor stepped to the pulpit with a confident tug of his robe. He flipped through a few papers with a lick of his finger and paged through the Bible. “When we feel the pull towards sin and rebellion, we are never allowed to shake our fist at God and say, ‘You made me this way.’ Temptation does not come from the Lord. It has another source.”
 
Georgina tried her best to focus and to be virtuous but as hard as she tried, she could never measure to the piety of the rest of the congregation. Her thoughts drifted from the pastor’s voice, which droned on in a monotonous tone.  She studied the male parishioners, many married and others single and in search of a bride. Georgina was prime real estate for many of the men. None, however, met her strict qualifications—qualifications she had yet to define herself.

There were, of course, the gamblers in the city. She knew they were a losing cause, yet she continued to play them, hoping one day her luck would change. Then one day a drifter entered her life. Earl, the veteran pilot who gave up civilization for a solitary life. Can a man really live as a hermit? Can he really forego love and sex? It was the one thing thought of most besides money.

Feeling an unfortunate sensation between her legs, Georgina slid in the pew and crossed them. Her attention shifted away from the pastor’s sermon to Earl as memories of his sweat-stained t-shirt consumed her mind. Seated in her seat, alongside her fellow churchgoers, she switched her legs, overlapping them on the opposite side. She glanced quickly at the pastor, the cross behind him. Slumped in the pew, she lowered her head with her palm to her face.

In her fantasy, Georgina neared Earl, ran the tips of her flamingo pink-painted fingernails down his tanned ribs and to the hard bulge in his dungarees. He lifted her in his arms and carried her inside to his dilapidated bed where he made vigorous and passionate love to her until the entire shack rattled and rusted nails loosened from the hinges.

“God has redeemed us from this insatiable hunger for our own destruction. Amen!” exclaimed the pastor.

Georgina awoke form her fantasy and yelled out, “Amen!” above the rest of the congregation.

She glanced at the person seated next to her. “Whew, great sermon,” and silently scolded herself for letting her fantasies run wild in a house of worship. This is why people don’t like you. What other cretin is having sex thoughts in church? She looked around the church and grinned. Probably more than I know, more than would care to admit.

Rays of Civilization

Steam wafted from a glazed pottery mug. Twenty-five-year-old Georgina lowered her face to smell the earthy aroma, which awoke all her senses. “Hmm,” she sighed and took a sip. nothing better than a fresh cup of coffee in the morning.

With the cup in her hand, she entered the slender hallway, which led from her home to the little general store, Rays of Sun Groceries. Setting the cup on the counter, she flicked on the transistor radio and tuned into Neil Young’s “Heart of Gold.”

She sang along while sweeping the floor, dusting cans on the shelf and checking underneath to see if the traps had caught any critters. There were was always a field mouse, and sometimes a rattler got into the store. The ringing of the bell grabbed her attention. She quickly turned down the volume seeing a shifty shadow lurch through the aisles of her store.

“Can I help you?” she asked. When the shadow didn’t immediately answer, she grabbed the broom for a weapon. “Hello.” That’s when she saw him—a burned-out hippie, with long brown hair and beard. Believing him to be a derelict, she armed herself with her broom, ready to sweep him outside with any slight indiscretion.  “Can I help you?” she asked again.

The man stared at her without looking at her. “Food,” he muttered, nearly incoherent.

“Well, it’s a grocery store. I got plenty,” she replied.

He nodded and shifted his gaze around picking up various products—SPAM, stew, sardines, and a couple of cans of beans. Georgina stepped back and studied him carefully. Despite his ragged appearance, he smelled of sage, which only mystified her more.

“I’m also gonna need some pots and pans, dishes and utensils,” he said.

“Sugar, this isn’t the Woolworth. I sell groceries.” She eyed him carefully and imagined he would be attractive cleaned up. “What do you need all that stuff for anyway?”

“I moved in down the road,” he said, eyeing a display of Las Vegas postcards and a glass, velvet lined cased filled with crystal rocks.

“Down the road? There ain’t nothing down the road.”

“Old silver mine, ‘bout a mile east,” he said. “Bought the old place from the state. They gave me a great deal.”

“I’m sure they did,” she replied and did not ask any more questions, although there were loads on her mind. She knew there were many things that brought a person to the outskirts of society. “Well look, I go into the mart at least once a week. I can pick some stuff up for you if you’d like.”

“That would be much appreciated.” He pulled out a wad of cash to pay for his purchase of can meats and milk. “How much do you need?”

Georgina eyed his money. Her imagination reeled at how such a derelict looking man had come into so much cash. Again, she questioned his intentions. Is he a thief or, even worse, a killer? Did he win his money in the casino? Is it his life savings? “I’ll pick it up and you can pay me back.” She gazed up into his eyes, which she found quite sultry. They expressed fatigue and sadness. “Should I drop it off at your new place?”

“No,” he replied abruptly. “I’ll be back to pick it up.” He looked down at his purchase on the counter. “How much do I owe you?”

“Twenty dollars and five cents.” He handed her two twenties and waited patiently for his change. “Where are you from originally?” she asked.

He looked at her as if it was an odd question and laughed. “Originally?”

“People come from all over, you know. Just yesterday, I had a couple from Minnesota, and the other day two young lovers from Kansas, who was off to get married. They come from everywhere,” she explained.

He leaned in toward Georgina. “The question is where do we belong? That is the question we must all ask.”
He lifted his purchase in his arms. “Thanks. See ya ‘round and thanks for getting the stuff.” He left with a gentle swinging of the screen door and ringing of the bell.

Even though he had gone, Georgina still felt his presence. His soul remained and it filled Rays of Sun Groceries. She lit a cigarette and dragged. “What a strange man,” she said as her heart beat faster. Many men had walked into her store and her life, but few were so compelling. She was not only going to see him again, but she also was going to make sure he became a staple in her life.

Meanwhile in Brooklyn, a light breeze drifted through the Esposito’s small backyard, swaying the Christmas lights hanging above. Small birds landed on the swinging wires and balanced momentarily before taking flight to another wire or tree limb.

From the kitchen door, Jake watched as Neil, a long-haired man with a soul patch, reclined in a chair and casually strummed a guitar. On the porch, with their backs to the screen door, sat Liza and a svelte brunette named Audrey.
 
Audrey put her arm around Liza’s shoulder. “Just think—you don’t have to be one of Spade’s pawns anymore.”

Liza stretched out her legs and gazed down at her feet. “Yeah. So what am I going to do now—work for the folks, serving pizza?”

“It’s not the worst thing,” comforted Audrey. “You’ll be surrounded by people who love you.”

Neil stopped strumming and laid his fingers on the guitar strings. “should try Brooklyn Theater where talent is truly appreciated.”

Liza dropped her chin into her palms. “It’s not the same; it’s not Broadway. Besides, it’s only a part-time gig; I want sing for the rest of my life.”

Audrey glanced at Neil, understanding Liza’s heartbreak, then spotted Jake in the doorway. “Oh, hello.”

“I’m sorry. Am I interrupting?” asked Jake.

Liza raised her eyebrows, annoyed by Jake’s eavesdropping. Mindlessly and without any care she made the introduction, “Jake, this is Neil and Audrey. They have been staying with us since the Great Manhattan Exodus. Neil used to be the leader of the famous rock band, Yellow Snow. Audrey was a model slash actress slash humanitarian. You may remember her from the Feed the Chilean Children commercials.”

“Hello,” greeted Jake modestly, stepping outside onto the porch. “The Great Manhattan Exodus?”

Neil strummed a chord on his guitar and looked up curiously at Jake. “You’ve never heard of the Great Manhattan Exodus? Where are you from?”

“Wis . . . Queens,” Jake replied, a little too quickly.

“Wisteria, Queens,” interjected Liza.

Neil sat upright. “If you lived in Queens, how could you not have heard of the Great Manhattan Exodus?”

Liza spun toward Jake and gave him a serious look to play along. “You remember—after Spade bought Manhattan, he evicted all the citizens to the outer boroughs.”
 
Jake stared at Liza. I have never heard such a story, he thought, but he didn’t dare contradict Liza in front of the guests. He shoved his hands into his pockets. “All I know is, Spade may not be the most virtuous of men, but you have to give him credit for all his accomplishments. All I’m saying is that Spade, whether you like him or not, is a very successful man. Take his Chincoteague Beachside resorts. Who doesn’t like a good pony parade?”

“Those ponies once ran free before Spade got there,” argued Audrey. “Now Spade houses them in tiny stables and feeds them corn chips that are delivered straight from the Spade corn chip factory.”
Jake laughed and then looked around to see that no one was laughing. “You don’t actually believe . . . I mean look at the financial incentive there is in having such a magnificent place across the river, not counting the jobs he creates.”

Neil glared harshly at Jake. “You don’t have a clue what you’re talking about, do you?” Jake swallowed and said nothing. “I think somebody here needs a history lesson,” said Neil. He leaned forward and sat up to fully face Jake. “Spade slowly evicted all the residents by raising rents so high, no one could afford to live there. Businesses could not afford to operate. And for those who still didn’t leave, he turned off all their utilities and set rats free in all the buildings. You should have heard about this from your parents, unless you’re a Spade spy—or are you one of those Spade wannabees?”

“He lived in a very reclusive part of Queens, protected by the harsh realities of Spade’s real world,” explained Liza. She rose and took Jake by the arm. “We’d better be going now, pal.”  She turned back to Neil and Audrey. “I’ll talk to you guys later.”

“I’m playing tonight. You and your pal should come,” Neil called to her as they left.

“Sure,” said Liza. She led Jake through the back door of the Esposito’s house and took him outside to the front stoop, where she gave him a good reprimanding. “You’re gonna have to shut your trap about Spade!”

“What was all that talk back there?” questioned Jake.

Liza strode quickly up the cracked sidewalk, not allowing Jake to catch up. “What—about the Great Manhattan Exodus?”

He quickened his pace. “No, about you giving up singing!”

She shrugged casually, continuing to walk at a brisk pace. “I was fired. No more streetwalker for me.”

Jake picked up speed. “But that shouldn’t mean you have to give up singing.”

Liza marched onward. “You tourists . . . you all think this is just fun and games—making fun of our lives for your entertainment. You think it’s so easy to come here and pretend to be something for a day or a week, but it’s hard work!”