Tales of Bette: Blast From The Past

December 2024

The notification went off on Bette's phone and the she pulled up the pop up from her doorbell security ap. She had it programmed to not go off for squirrels or anything smaller, she knew the neighbors weren't home, and it couldn't capture the cars in the street. She didn't even hear any footsteps on the porch - because there weren't any. She rushed to the door, opened it, and could see the delivery drone taking off. It was unusual to say the least. On the doormat was the package, so small it was nearly an envelope. The shipping label addressed to her had wrapped all around the package, so much so that it covered up the sender's information. She hadn't ordered anything recently, it wasn't her birthday that month, nor was it her wedding anniversary with Mark. It was a literal gift from the sky and there was no way of telling from who. She brought the package inside, stared at it for a bit before deciding to open it. She pulled out the small card first, opened it; the message seemed irrelevant at first. It was the name at the bottom that caught her attention. She took a deep breath as the warm feeling crested through her body, she was transported to the memories tied to the name, and suddenly, she was 27 again.

Late summer 2014. Ten years earlier...

Bette attended the renaissance festival a few times in the last few years with her roommate and friends, but this was the first time she felt confident enough to go on her own. Maybe it was because she had her own full costume she put together herself. Maybe it was because she saved up money to spend for multiple visits. She made the effort to be there for opening day for the gate show. She chatted up strangers in line, but none of them were really strangers, they were renaissance festival people, 'festies.' Warm, friendly, dressed-up weirdos like her. She had only visited a few times, but a place she paid to get into never felt more like home.

After the cannon went off and the gates opened, she went straight to a quieter spot in the open fields. The 'village' was still getting set up for the day. She could see workers all greeting each other; true old friends. People she didn't want to interrupt with early morning browsing, she didn't intend to buy today, not unless something really spoke to her. Out in the open event field, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath in through her nose, taking in smells and sounds of the festival. The morning sun felt different there somehow- softer, yet still bright, the deep inhale of dusty-dirt, horses, leather, frying foods smelled like nowhere else, and the sounds of the gate show, shop hawkers, and metal on metal. It was a perfect symphony to her senses and Bette put her arms out wide and spun in a few short circles. I'm home.

Bette purchased a Scotch egg and ate it during the first showing of a comedy show. She caught part of it the year before and promised herself to see the whole show this time. The audience was sparse that morning and was able to get a good seat. She enjoyed the show and her breakfast and it put her in an even better mood. She tipped the performer for his show and began to make her way into the row of shops along the stage one by one: leather accessories, chainmaile jewelry, walking staffs, linen clothing, blown glass, and more. Nothing caught Bette's eye enough to make a purchase, but she made mental notes of items she liked. She strolled next door to the jewelry and accessory shop. There was lots of reasonably priced costume jewelry with references to movies, tv shows, and comic books. There were hats, goggles, pocket watches, rings, and lots of things made out of gears. Several necklaces hung from an old bird cage and Bette ran her fingers over the charms and let them make delicate jingling noises when they bumped into each other. "Good morning, My Lady. You seem to be unadorned. Can I assist with changing that?" He leaned back against the counter in the shop. Bette held a charm of a lightning bolt and cloud and looked over at the man: tall brown boots, baggy black pants tucked into them, brown shirt, black vest, and a brown tam hat draped to one side. He was wearing at least five pieces of jewelry from around the shop: a necklace around his boot ankle, three necklaces, earrings, and a pin in his hat, all of the charms were the various Celtic knots. He was 10 or more years older than her with brown hair, long side burns, only a few silver hairs were peppered in it. He had a roguish smile.

This guy knows what he's doing. She wasn't sure if it was the festival, or being in a costume again, or being there solo, but she felt bold. This guy was trying to sell her something, that much was true, but she decided to have some fun with this charming man. "Currently unadorned and unaccompanied. Which one can you help with first?"

The man let out a laugh and took a step towards her. Bette was 5'7", this man was 6'3" and when he approached, she smelled the musky-cologne wafting off him. He reached up to the top of the empty birdcage on the hook and gave it a spin, the top of it was well out of reach for Bette. The necklaces and charms spun like a carousel near her shoulders. "Usually, pieces speak to the wearer. Something to go with your current ensemble? Or something that will brighten your day for days to come?"

"What would you recommend?" Bette asked with an open hand to the shop.

He took a moment, briefly looking her over. "Nothing steampunk, right?"

"Not today," Bette said as she fanned out the skirt of her dress, looking briefly down at her woad blue renaissance garb, then back around the shop. She almost curtsied, almost.

He looked at where her eyes glanced and he followed her stare across the shop. He stepped to the wall to the hair clips. There were three of them all together: a red jeweled one on a black clip, a light blue jeweled one on a silver clip, and gilded gold leaves on a black clip. He looked to her and back to the hair clips, got a little grin on his face and picked the black and gold one. "This one. If you put your hair up right with it, you'll only see the leaves. They will look like they're floating in your hair. You can try it if you wish, My Lady." He held it out in his palm. Bette took it and intentionally ran her fingers across his palm as she took it. She reached into her bag with her free hand and pulled out a comb she had with her. She combed back her hair looking in one of the many mirrors in the shop. She twisted her hair and inserted the clip vertically, but it didn't feel like it sat right, and it read all over her face. "If I may be so bold? I think I can twist you up well, if you would permit me."

Bette raised her eyebrows, "Now, I'm just curious." She unclipped her hair and handed it back to him with her comb.

He carefully ran her comb through her hair. "I have a daughter. She's 13. I've had a little practice at this." He swept her hair, twisted it, and slid the clip in horizontally. His hands were warm, gentle, and thoughtful in his touch. He grabbed a hand mirror off his counter and held it up behind her. "How does that look?"

Bette saw the double reflection and the way he did her hair. It looked effortless, and just as he described, the golden leaves looked like they were floating in her hair. "It looks like you made a sale," she said turning around with a smile. He walked around the counter and she pulled out her wallet. "Let's be real. How often does that work on women? How many more times do you think you're going to do that today?"

He took Bette's card out of her hand and looked at it. "Truly?" He ran her card and laughed in an embarrassed way. "Um...maybe twice...ever."

"No way."

"I kid you not." He ran her card. "I don't offer to do that for women, too intimate." He handed her card back to her. "That and you had a comb. Most people don't have combs."

She put her card back into her wallet, signed the credit receipt, and handed it to him. "You could have recommended a necklace or earrings. You offered to help me with my hair. I think I passed two hair braiding places before I came in here. You picked the black and gold clip instead of the blue and silver one next to it which would have matched the outfit better. Why? Why me?" She felt the redness in her face grow as she spoke. What has gotten in to you?

He leaned on the counter, forward slightly, and gestured that he wanted to whisper in her ear. She leaned over the counter so he could talk in her ear, "I've been doing this a while. I'm not often so struck by those who let me touch them." His voice was like warm honey in her ear and she felt the vibrations of his voice all the way down her back. He leaned back and he was as red in the face as her.

Bette looked around the shop, there was one other mother and young daughter looking around being helped by another employee. "You're kidding," she laughed.

"No. I'm Roger." He spoke. "And I hope to see you again Bette."

"I think you're looking for another sale," she dismissed. "I-I think you say this kind of thing to all the ladies."

"Believe what you will. I believe there's more to you than what I can see." He took his business card from the counter, and wrote his personal phone number on the back of it. "Ask around, I hope you come to a different conclusion." Bette had a big, awkward smile on her face. It was something she couldn't hide; absolute shock, speechless.

The shock began to wear off when she walked down a few more shops to an art booth, one that sold fantasy art paintings. She started flipping through prints in a rack, "Bette? Bette Wheelan?!" Her head snapped up to the old, familiar voice behind the counter. It was Marisa. She had known her in college when Marisa was still in high school. They worked at the same restaurant for nearly a year in 2007. She looked like she had stepped out of a forest meadow wearing and outfit of various greens and soft lavender. "My Goddess, Bette. How long has it been?" She stepped out from behind the counter and embraced her.

"Seven, eight years almost? You look spectacular!" Bette said. "Is this your booth?"

"No, but I manage it for the artist. I'm going to business school online; working towards having my own shop one day. I made this outfit, I'm going to sell my own clothes."

"Even more spectacular." The pair of old friends caught up on life between Marisa's customers. While Marisa rang up one customer, Bette went to a mirror in the shop, pulled out her lip balm from her pocket and reapplied it in the mirror; along with Roger's card. She admired the way her hair looked and thought of the warm feeling he gave her. She wondered how small the world was if her old coworker knew the other shopkeeper from down the lane. After the customer left and it was just the two of them again, Bette asked Marisa, "Do you know Roger from 'Fynders Keep'?'"

"Jolly Roger, yeah."

"Jolly Roger?" Bette both asked and stated in a confused way.

"He's the best. He's like everyone's big brother around here. When security can't escort someone for a cash drop fast enough, Jolly Roger is there. He has a coffee pot and electric hook ups, I bring coffee. Our other neighbor in the horn shop brings the fixings." Marisa sighed. "He makes our little neighborhood a community."

"Really? So he's not some serial womanizer or something?"

"Goddess, no. Total brother-friend energy. He's a good guy, I know him here and a few other festivals. I know he's divorced, he has a daughter, and if he's not taking care of her, he's taking care of his business, or anyone else he can help. Why did you ask me about Jolly Roger anyways? Do you know him?" Marisa asked.

"No. I bought the hair clip. I think he flirted with me." She was embarrassed as soon as she said it. "He was just trying to make a sale. It worked." She turned and showed Marisa the hair clip.

She took a sip of her coffee and stepped out from behind the counter and looked out the door and down the lane from the shop. Marisa was quick and took the business card out of Bette's hand looking at it. "You're a patron: not cast, not a vendor, not a worker here. If he gave you his phone number, he's interested. He wouldn't do that if he weren't."

"Huh. Is that a cultural thing around here?" Bette asked.

"Absolutely," Marisa answered. "Patrons are money. You don't date your money."

Bette scoffed a laugh, hugged Marisa, again and went along with the rest of her day. She enjoyed food, shows, and street performers. She felt alive, the best she felt all year.

...The memory of the day faded as Bette held the torn brown paper package in one hand and the item inside in the other hand: a long, woven ribbon, nearly long enough to be a belt, and read the card.

Bette,

I saw this and thought of you: the black of your hair, the pale white of your skin, the green of your eyes, the gold leaves in your hair you once let me put there, and how you once 'blue' through my life. There are things in life that always belonged to people, this woven ribbon was always yours, all I did was complete its journey.

Until our journeys cross paths again,

Roger Cooper

Bette sat at the table holding the ribbon and memories of Roger flashed through her mind. Calling Roger the next day. She stood up. Roger came to her apartment to do a load of laundry. She walked across the living room. The hug they gave each other when he left. She climbed the stairs. Seeing him over the next several weeks. She opened her home-office door. The night Roger let her stay with him in his RV. She opened her closet door. How warm he felt under his cloak; how deft his hands were. She found her renaissance festival costumes hanging in the closet, slid them to the side. A warm shudder ran through her body. Roger's voice groaning in her ear. She held up the ribbon, woven upon itself and in her fingers. Roger's fingers in her hair. She moved the hanger to the side and saw her accessory belt. The look on his face. She tied the ribbon to the handle of her leather mug. The talk they had knowing that their tryst was finite. She closed the closet door. The last kiss they had. She walked to her bedroom. He didn't renew his vendor contract for the festival and sold his products at other shows closer to his daughter's home. She loaded up a basket of dirty laundry. He got married after COVID around the same time she did. She went to change a load of laundry and brought up the basket of clean clothes, setting it next to the coffee table to fold in the evening with Mark. She looked at the card again: There are things in life that always belonged to people... all I did was complete its journey.

There was a moment when I was his and he was mine. Our journeys continued. Then again, I guess we both needed a good Rogering along the way.