“Ick,” Allie said, and wrinkled her lightly freckled nose.
“I didn’t say you had to eat it. I said bring some so I can eat it.”
“Fine. Whatever. Will you just be patient a little longer while I finish? And not drive off without me?”
“You’re lucky I have my mouth all set for that chicken now. I’ll wait for that.”
The girl sighed and turned away.
Bea found a spot on a corner, about two blocks from her van, with a suitable storm drain. There she waited for a target. Someone not only with an expensive cell phone, but clearly enough wealth to purchase another.
It didn’t take long.
A family of three strolled by, a mother and father with a little girl who looked no older than ten or eleven. Granted, Bea was finding it harder to judge, and thought they all looked younger than they probably were.
And the little girl was staring at one of those modern phones as she walked, unheeding of what she might plow into.
Now why on earth would a girl that age need such a fancy phone? Bea could almost imagine that grown-ups and their phones had some larger purpose. Keeping in touch with work or not missing a call from the nanny. But a child?
“Excuse me,” she called.
The family stopped immediately and stared at Bea.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but my granddaughter and I . . . my granddaughter just went into that little store down the street to use the restroom . . . we were supposed to meet her mother here, and it’s getting late, and we have no idea where she is. I wanted to try calling her cell phone, but, well . . . you can never find a pay phone anymore. Used to be there was a pay phone on every corner, but the world is changing so fast . . .”
“Right,” the mother said. “Everybody has a cell phone now.”
Before Bea could say more, the little girl moved in Bea’s direction, the phone extended in her hand.
“You can call her on my phone.”
“That’s very sweet of you, honey,” Bea said in her best grandmotherly tone.
Meanwhile she was thinking, Damn you for being nice. I hate it when the people I’m about to scam turn out to be nice.
Bea almost aborted the plan. But the little girl had handed her the phone. And Bea had no idea how to fake a phone call. She didn’t even know enough about using the phone to pretend. If she let on that she knew nothing, some member of the little family would take it from her and ask for the number she wanted to call, and then what? Bea could make a number up, but a real person might answer.
No, she felt she had no choice but to move forward.
She turned away from the family and slid the phone into the inside pocket of her big, loose jacket. There she had stashed her reading glasses, which she pulled out and placed on her face, as if to peer at the phone. But it was only her bare hand at which she was staring.
That was the trick, Bea had found. Probably the hand-in-the-pocket motion could be seen from behind—though she’d gotten away with it that first time—so Bea was careful to come out of her pocket with reading glasses to explain the motion. Also she was careful to hold her hand as though the phone was still in it.
She pantomimed the drop.
Just as she was reaching down desperately for the invisible phone, she looked up to see Allie standing not five feet in front of her, holding a brown paper bag and looking suspicious and notably unhappy.
There was no time to be distracted, but Bea did feel her face redden with something like shame.
“Oh no!” Bea cried, and turned back to face the family. “I’m so sorry! I dropped it. I didn’t mean to drop it. I feel just terrible.”
For good measure, Bea sank to her sore and creaky knees on the grate of the drain and placed her hands, fingers spread wide, on its iron surface. She stared down at close range, as if anxious to somehow undo her error.
A moment later she felt a small presence by her side. It was the owner of the phone. The little girl. She placed a hand on Bea’s shoulder as if to comfort her.
“I can’t tell you how bad I feel,” Bea said, her voice just a soft breath of air.
“It’s okay. My parents will buy me a new one.”
Right, Bea thought with a sigh of relief. If it’s not that they’re awful people I’m stealing from, it’s the fact that they can well afford the loss. I remember now how I make this work.
“I still feel just awful. I’d pay for it if I could, but I don’t have very much money.”
“Don’t worry,” the girl said. “We always get that insurance thing with a new phone.”
“You can get insurance on a phone?”
“Oh yeah. I lose them a lot, so my folks always get that. Then if you lose the phone, or break it, or somebody steals it, you get another one pretty cheap.”
“Well, that’s good to know, but I still feel terrible.”
Bea raised her gaze, careful to avoid the eyes of Allie, who still stood close by holding what Bea hoped was her fried chicken dinner. She turned to face the parents, who hovered closer now, looking more than a little distressed.
“I feel awful about this,” Bea said. “If I could afford it I would pay you for it.”
The mother eked out a smile, but it looked forced. “We’re used to it. She loses two or three a year. But now how will you make your phone call?”
“Oh, don’t worry about me. I’ll walk down to that little market and ask the clerk if I can borrow their phone. Seems the only ones I can be trusted with are the ones attached by a cord to a wall.”
“No phones are attached to the wall with a cord,” the little girl said. “Well, maybe the base, but not the part you’ll be holding.”
Bea started to say her phone at home was. But she felt ashamed to admit that she could not follow the changes outside her own tiny world. And besides, it hurt to think about the trailer, with its understandable telephone, and its bathroom and refrigerator and electric lights. And anyway the family was walking away down the street.
The little girl looked back over her shoulder and waved at Bea. Bea waved in return.
Then Bea did what she had been dreading. She turned around and faced Allie, who at least had been smart enough to keep her mouth shut while that little endeavor played out.
“Thank you,” Bea said.
Allie held the bag out in Bea’s direction. It smelled wonderfully of greasy fried chicken. Once Bea had taken it from her, Allie turned and marched toward the van without a word spoken.
They stopped at a little restaurant that served salads and smoothies, and ate outside, Bea with her fried chicken, Allie with her bird food. All fruits and vegetables.
Still Allie never said a word.
Bea made a right onto Highway 1, the coastal route, going north.
She felt self-conscious and uncomfortable because Allie still had not spoken to her.
“How much did that woman pay you?” she asked.