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“Yep.”
We walked up the steps and all I could hear was my heart pounding in my chest.
When we got to the door, it was like I was having an out-of-body experience. I watched as my arm rose to knock, but I didn’t feel myself doing it.
A dog yapped and I could hear its nails scratching against the door.
“Brutus, hush now!” A woman’s voice shouted before the door flew open.
It took a moment for my eyes to adjust, and even then I blinked several times to make sure they weren’t playing tricks on me.
On the other side of the screen stood a woman who was four-eleven on a good day, with snow-white hair wrapped in curlers tight to her head, wearing a bright pink robe. Her ensemble was accessorized with a cigarette hanging precariously from her lips, and a five-pound Chihuahua wearing a leather studded collar and a purple knit sweater cradled in her arms.
When she saw us standing on her porch she stated flatly, “I’ve already found Jesus so if that’s what you’re sellin’ y’all need to go two doors down to Morton Haines’ place. He’s a womanizing, gambler that hasn’t seen the inside of a church since his third wife Lorraine left him for cheatin’ on her with her first cousin Arlene.”
I glanced up at Cash, unsure of what to say. This woman was a real-life SNL skit. She was a caricature of a person.
Cash being Cash was completely unfazed by her over-the-top appearance and behavior and handled the situation with ease and charm.
“Actually, Mrs…”
“Bloom. Edna Bloom. And there ain’t no Mrs. here. Never been married and never plan to. I need a man like a need a bad rash.”
With that statement, Ms. Bloom pushed open the screen door so fast it almost hit me in the face. Thankfully, Cash had better reflexes than me. His arm snaked around me and guided me to step back before I got a face full of screen.
Not noticing, or maybe just not caring, that she’d nearly hit me, Ms. Bloom set Brutus down and instructed, “Go do your business.”
I watched as the tiny pup ran down the steps to the front yard, lifted his leg, and proceeded to pee like a racehorse. When I looked back I noticed Ms. Bloom was giving Cash the once over and she liked what she saw.
“I might make an exception for you though.” She pointed at Cash with the cigarette she was now holding in her hand as she stepped out onto the porch. “You’ve got Sinatra’s eyes.”
Cash smiled down at his newest admirer and I noticed Ms. Bloom’s cheeks turned as pink as the robe she was wearing.
“Thank you, Ms. Bloom—” Cash began before she cut him off.
“You can call me Edna. I ain’t that fancy.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Edna. I’m Cash Malone and this is Cheyenne Comfort. We’re looking for Wayne Lemont.”
She scrunched her face and tilted her head, leaning forward as if she hadn’t heard what Cash had said. “You’re lookin’ for a what?”
“For Wayne Lemont,” I spoke a little louder than Cash had.
“Well, now, the only Wayne that I know personal like is Wayne Johnson. And he’s been six feet under for this side of a decade. Then there’s Wayne Newton, I saw him in Vegas. I tossed my unmentionables on the stage. If you’re not interested in either of those Wayne’s I’m sorry to say I can’t help you.”
“Can I ask how long you’ve lived here, Ms. Bloom?” Cash voiced the question I was thinking.
“It’ll be fifty years this June,” she stated proudly.
“And there’s never been a Wayne Lemont that’s lived here?” I asked grasping at straws.
Edna shook her head and took a drag of her cigarette. “Like I said, the only Wayne I know of round here was Johnson and that’s all he thought with, his Johnson. He was a mean SOB, too. Never stepped foot in this house.”
Brutus barked at Edna’s feet and she leaned over and scooped him up before opening her screen door and walking back inside. “Y’all want some tea? I just made a fresh pitcher yesterday.”
“Oh, no thank you, we can’t stay.” I would’ve thought I would be more disappointed at the news but I just sort of felt numb.
“Suit yourselves.” The screen door slammed behind her.
