Kirk's Reflective Glass & The Laundromat
by Rick Tornello
I
The sky had darkened suddenly and the wind was picking up. There was no
rain, just wind, strong wind that seemed to come out of nowhere. Spud
The Cat, my mouser, ran off and hid somewhere. That was not like him.
He would calmly wash his face during the most violent thunderstorms.
He’s a cat; oh well.
It was just my luck. One of my regular college student customers broke
the glass on the door of The Laundromat. That was the name I gave my
place. It was the only one in town. It wasn’t really his fault. He was
carrying a load of clean laundry back to his car when that unusually
strong gust of wind blew the door out of his tenuous grip. He had one
hand on the basket of laundry and the other wrapped around the basket
pushing the door open.
The wind was so strong that it pulled the pneumatic stops and slammed
the door into the outside wall. I had never seen that happen. The two
adjoining shops where their walls jutted out acted as a shield
sheltering The Laundromat. This never should have happened, but it did.
I had assumed the glass was tempered. It may have been, but that was
one big gust of wind. I walked outside to check the damages.
“Frankie, you okay? I asked the kid. He was visibly shaken. He was a
nice kid, always polite.
“Mr. Kirk, I didn’t mean to break the door,” he said. “I can pay you
for the damages; not right away, though,” he added. He always called me
by my first name. Some people do that.
“Frankie, it wasn’t your fault. I saw the wind pull it from your hand.
It’s okay, really.” I looked down the street and a few other
establishments had broken glass all about the sidewalk and street. I
guessed it might have been a derecho. The sky was getting lighter. I
turned back to Frankie.
I tried to make him feel a bit better. He was the type to take the
blame for anything that occurred in his proximity. I had seen that
personality in many people.
“Let me make sure you’re not cut. Tell you what. Let’s re-wash all
those clothes to make sure there is no glass in them. Don’t worry, I
have insurance for such things, and the wash, well, it’s on the house.”
I gave him a once over. Luckily he wasn’t even scratched. I took his
load of laundry. “You’re okay. And Frankie, don’t you worry. I’ll just
purchase the replacement glass from that old glass store just around
the corner. Come back in a few hours or so. I’ll take care of your
clothes. Go get something to eat.” I gave him ten dollars.
“Thank a lot Mr. Kirk. I really appreciate it.” Frankie left in a
hurry. It was free food.
I got some plywood from the back. After cleaning up the mess, and
getting Frankie’s clothes into the washer, I nailed the plywood into
the open maw where the glass had been.
Pointing to the wood window, “What an eyesore,” I said, to a patron who
had said nothing as this whole episode transpired. She nodded and kept
folding her laundry.
II
ALICE WHITE
CUSTOM/ANTIQUE GLASS & MIRRORS
Est.: A While Ago
That’s how the gold lettering painted on their display window read.
I like to keep my business local as much as I can. It’s good for the
community. Beside, I was hoping to avoid traveling to a big box for
what I assumed would be a simple piece of tempered glass.
I went in. The store was old and smelled of wood, dust and the
accumulation of age and stuff. The store was not as well lit as I would
have liked. I wandered about. Glass mirrors, antiques and all sorts of
unrelated nick-knacks were organized in a not so organized fashion.
“How can anyone locate anything?” I whispered to myself.
I was rummaging about in the back. It was darker than most parts of the
store. I saw a collection of glass panels thickly covered with dust.
One I saw looked like a close fit. I turned to the young man who was
busy dusting and rearranging the stock in the front and questioned,
“Son, how much for this piece of glass? I own The Laundromat around the
block. The windstorm that just blew through town pulled the door out of
a customer's hand. It was so strong that it slammed the door into the
wall, breaking the glass.”
"I'm not sure," he said. "I'm really just filling in today while my
uncle is away ..." He looked outside and said, " That was a big wind. I
never saw anything like that just come and go so quickly. From the size
of it and the type of glass, I think it would be a hundred fifty bucks.
But you can come back tomorrow to make sure I haven't overcharged you.
My uncle will be back then. Just tell him that Kit Soone--” and he
spelled it out, “--sold you the piece. I'll leave him a note, along
with a copy of the invoice."
Kit pointed out, stating, “This piece had been in the back storage area
under a cover. I just moved it out front to see if would sell, and was
going to put it back in storage if it didn’t. You can have it. I don't
know why they don't make better use of their display space," he said.
He pointed to the obvious hodge-podge method of displaying goods. "In
my marketing class, they said a small business has to 'stack’em high,
stack’em deep, and sell’em cheap' to survive. They also need more
light. And if they would just computerize the stock, the help wouldn’t
have to guess the prices.” He shrugged his shoulders and smiled a wan
smile. “I’m the help.”
I nodded. He seemed like bright kid who had ideas. I gave him cash and
got a receipt. The cost was below my deductible. There was no sense in
claiming it.
Kit covered the glass in cardboard and bubble wrap. “ No need to break
this piece,” he said adding more bubble wrap. “Be careful,” he added as
I left.
“Thanks, and I will.” I headed out the door back to The Laundromat with
my prize.
III
I have a good eye for fit, and the newly purchased glass slid into
place with no need for any trimming or shimming. The clarity between
the old and the new pane in the two-paneled door was a tad different,
just enough to look a bit odd, but I liked something about this new
piece. It seemed to just grow into the opening, and I thought I would
purchase a matching piece if they had one, when I went back there to
thank them and even things up if necessary.
The next day as I was walking past my "new" glass on the way to the
coffee shop, the glass seemed to shimmer like a half-silvered mirror.
It must have been the relatively dark interior of The Laundromat that
allowed for the reflection. Maybe it was the extreme bright noonday sun
reflecting off the concrete sidewalk versus the relatively darker
interior that made that appearance.
That’s not what got my attention as I stared into my store. What I saw
was not quite an exact reflection of my here and now. There was a
strange somewhat blurred image behind me of the outdoor restaurant
across the street. I go past this place every day on my way to the
coffee shop next door for my morning dose and friendly chat with
neighbors. But that was not the strange part. I saw myself entering the
restaurant in the company of a well-dressed, professional-looking
woman. It was if I was watching a video of me. But I was standing in
front of my own door, not across the street entering the restaurant. I
was alone, and not with any attractive anybody. I turned to see if my
long-lost twin brother (so long lost that I'd never heard of him) was
across the street on a date. Either I'd imagined the whole thing, or a
Then guy looking too much like me, and that woman, vanished.
I was wondering about my sanity. I chalked it up to caffeine-deficiency
syndrome, or maybe a very old effect of LSD from my hippie days. I
continued on my way.
When I returned with my coffee--two shots of espresso with a splash of
fresh brewed coffee, and strong--I again passed my new glassed door.
The light was different now and there was less reflection due to the
sun's position. I stepped back to the curb. There was nothing unusual,
no matter how I looked, and from what angle I viewed the door.
Then, as I reached for the door to let myself in, I didn't see my twin
on the other side of the street, but I did see the same attractive
woman as before. I turned around to get a better view. She was gone--if
she had ever been there to start with--I have no clue. Apparently,
coffee alone hadn't done the trick of clearing my head.
IV
The day following the image incidents, I returned to the glass store to
finalize the sale. I would have done it sooner, but a few machines
needed new motors. I keep the place up, clean, and address any problem
immediately.
I entered the ALICE WHITE ANTIQUE GLASS & MIRRORS establishment and
was greeted by a friendly large hobbit-like person. He appeared quite
affable and welcoming, with a smile/twinkle in his eyes. You’ve met
this type before, I’m sure.
"Welcome to Alice White Glass. I'm Fred Spiegel. How can I help you?"
"My name's Kirk, Kirk Stevens" I said. "I run The Laundromat around the
corner. I bought a piece of glass yesterday from--your nephew? Kit?"
He nodded. "Yes, yes, I found the note Kit left. That nephew of mine
never listens. He was not supposed to sell anything except what was out
front, no matter what business model he prefers. That item was not for
sale. But done is done, and you appear to be a nice person."
That seemed like an odd thing to say--I'd purchased a piece of glass. I
wasn’t adopting a cat. "Was it a custom piece, already spoken for? If
so, I’ll make arrangements to return it.”
"No--it was just--not for sale," he said.
Hoping he wasn't going to ask me to return it, I changed the subject. I
asked him, ”What’s with the window sign and the established date, or
lack thereof?”
"Oh," he laughed, "That dates back to the original owners, Alice and
Blanche White. They were cousins, making a go of it as businesswomen
before it was fashionable. This place was one of the first businesses
in Old Town."
“From what little I know of our town's history, that must have been around the 1850s, or a bit earlier,” I offered.
"Alice and Blanche made all their own glass," he continued. "Being the
only locals in the business, they succeeded in spite of any fuss about
them being women doing men's work--and they found ways to confuse the
issue of who was really running things. The daughters and
granddaughters have kept the business alive, with a little help from
relatives of the male persuasion. It keeps us out of trouble by giving
us jobs, I guess." He looked up, smiling again as he said that.
"Most of the real work we do now is custom restorations, antique work
and occasionally some commercial high end enterprises. Things being
what they are, for regular repair and construction jobs we purchase
run-of-the-mill stock from suppliers and sell wholesale."
Fred made no mention of offering to exchange the glass for a piece from
regular stock, or asking for a premium price. I figured this was not a
good time to inquire about buying a second piece so the door panels
would match.
Since I was in no real hurry I asked him, “Would you like a drink from XYZ?” XYZ is the local caffeine dealer of choice.
I was interested in hearing more of the history of this odd little
shop. I noticed the dust on many items. I assumed there was not too
much traffic this time of year. He accepted my offer of a drink, asking
for some kind of tea I'd never heard of.
I returned with my coffee, and the special tea for him. The staff at
XYZ knew exactly for whom this was, calling it "a Spiegel Special". I
guess he must be a regular there too, although I never noticed him.
As we sipped our beverages--his smelled sweet, yet at the same time,
there was an odd perfume, a bit like sweetened medicine--he continued:
"Many years ago, well over a century and a half, Alice and Blanche
started out making glass beads, glass doll figurines followed by small
hand mirrors. As they matured, so too did the business. They began
making custom replacement glass for churches and government structures.
They had talent. They could duplicate almost anything. It was said that
the replacement glass they created was better than the originals, and
the glass seemed to give the object a feeling of life.”
I thought of the glass in my door and had to agree. There was something
about it that seemed to complement the place. Maybe it was the slight
color of the glass itself.
Fred continued, "Back then it was considered immoral, and therefore
illegal, for a woman to be in business or own anything outright. The
story of how they managed that aspect is still a bit dusty. They
initially staffed the storefront with men in the family.
“They were the bosses and everyone knew it. They made all the business
decisions, had the formulas for tinting or hardening glass. They called
it their 'potions' if you will. The skills were only passed on to the
girls in the family."
I asked, “How did they find men in those days that would agree to terms
like that?” What I was thinking was maybe some of their 'potions' and
'skills' weren't only for working with glass! That thought I kept to
myself, too.
Fred ignored my question. "Alice and Blanche seemed to come into their
own when they added larger and larger mirrors to their collection of
offerings. Their success was due in part to being the only mirror
makers in the area, and they knew how to run a business, too. We still
make small mirrors that people take a real shine to … when they come
in. I see you noticed the dust."
I hastily removed my hand from a dusty shelf where I had been
absent-mindedly tracing the words ‘Please clean me’. “I’m sorry, I just
did it not thinking,” I apologized.
Fred Spiegel gave me a look of disapproval, shook his head adding to
the history, "No, we don’t have a lot of custom business at this
location any more, except during the school seasons. Students break
things -- like your door, but windows and mirrors, too. We have enough
to maintain and keep busy during the rest of the time. Summer is
usually time to restock and take inventory, as well as project any
trends that may affect us."
V
This is a college town. A Laundromat is almost as important as a
library, a gymnasium, and a bar. I took over the business from an older
couple when I retired from my business as a consultant, a recruiter in
a rather large firm in the National Capital Region. I was paid a large
sum of money and I was gone. The old couple didn’t have the time or
possibly the desire to keep the place up. I renamed it The Laundromat.
I had a background in mechanical and electrical repair, too. I had
tools. Too many people just trash what ever it is and replace it.
I strive to keep all the machines in good working order, the place
clean, and the prices high enough to make a profit but not a rip-off.
Business is naturally good during the main school year and drops off a
bit in the summer when the campus is quiet. It was during the summer
when I installed the glass pane in the door that had been broken by a
college student. I paid for it. These kids don’t have extra money. It
was an accident, and not his fault anyway. And as I mentioned, the cost
for the glass was below the insurance threshold.
My customers claimed that the feeling here in The Laundromat had
changed since I took it over. They felt that it was part of them and
they were a part of it. I wrote off that sentiment to too many
drugs--many are college students, after all. All I had done was to
install a few new machines, gave the place a coat of needed paint, and
replaced some broken tables. The funny thing is that I have warmed up
to the place too.
Yes, it is next door to the XYZ Coffee shop. That may have a lot to do
with it. But a few of the locals said they would rather do their wash
here and put off purchasing a new machine at home. They can always get
coffee at XYZ.
Oh, well … as I mentioned earlier, the place seems to reflect the mood
of the people here in the store, and the town in general. It’s just a
feeling; I can’t be specific as to why.
Lately I’ve begun to notice that people walking down the street look
into The Laundromat, stop for a moment or two, shake their heads or
laugh, and move on.
One couple, just married, said they were coming home from a movie and
as they walked past the store they thought they saw sparks in their
reflection in the glass. It was a dark moonless night. Go figure.
Little kids just stand in front and giggle. I asked once, “What's so
funny? Please tell me. I’d like to know because I don’t see what you
do.”
One kid gave an answer, “You should see all the animals”. The others
looked at me like I was a kook. They would laugh and point to the door,
yelling, “Ha-ha, we see it, you don’t”, and then run off. Kids and cats
see things "regular" people don’t, I suppose. What sort of filters do
we have in our minds as we grow?
The other day, a regular customer claimed that the day he received a
notice of audit from the IRS and was reading it as he waited for the
dryer to finish its cycle, the glass I had installed seemed to darken
as he looked out the window.
One of my other customers came to complain about that same door today.
She said, “That door,” she pointed to it “stuck closed. I couldn’t open
it. It took a good thirty seconds to get it open, and then a car ran
the stop sign where I would have been. Lucky for me, young man" she
said. "But you still need to fix that door, young man," wagging her
index finger at me, just like my mom used to do.
The regulars all say there is something about this place that is
comforting, something in the color of the light. They claim the
establishment reflects them somehow! I mean you are airing your dirty
laundry for everyone to see, you think. I never say that of course. I
just nod and smile.
VI
I stopped in the glass store. Fred was there. He smiled as I entered. "Mr. Spiegel, good day to you" I said.
"Good to see you Mr. Stevens, in fact it is always a pleasure."
I’m sure it was, since I always came with a pastry and his favorite
tea. We sat and spoke about the weather, the school teams, the comings
and goings of people of distinction. We never spoke of politics. The
one time I did bring up the subject, his mood seemed to darken; he
muttered about seeing "the same damn things" too many times.
I don’t know how, but we got on the subject of his life and such.
Fred sat on a desktop, his feet hanging, not quite touching the floor,
and began. "I never told you much more about the founders of our dear
shop, did I? Blanche was the originator. Then with her cousin Alice it
expanded ...
"Blanche's mother died when she was young. Her father adored both of
them. Blanche had the best tutors and went to the best schools outside
the country. A girl who could read was odd. A girl interested in the
sciences, math and such was an anomaly in those days. In addition, she
had an incredible love of the arts and was drawn to glass making. She
claimed later that the local sand was the best in the world, and used
it exclusively in the beginning, only importing other silica as the
business grew. But her sand, wherever she got it, was reserved for
special projects later on.
"One day she decided to make some mirrors for the doll collections and
as a gift for her father's current lady friend. She slaved over books
and methods. Eventually she discovered some formula that allowed her to
make mirrors that possessed a quality not found anywhere else. Most
people who looked into them seemed to be attracted to the way they
reflected their image.
“Her future stepmother loved her enterprise and encouraged her to
pursue even more study and experimentation, to the point of building
her a small lab. It’s difficult to imagine a traditionally bred woman
encouraging Blanche to step outside a woman's usual role to undertake
schooling and this trade! Blanche took to it and never looked back.
"A little while after Blanche's mother died, her cousin, Alice, came to
live with them. Medicine not being what it is today, the mortality
rates were so much higher. A similar fate befell Alice’s mother, and
her father could ill afford to keep her. That aside, the bond between
the two girls was electric. They fed each other with challenges and
encouragement. It was as if they were made of the same DNA. They
finished each other's sentences, knew beforehand what needed to be
done. They almost seemed to communicate without speaking..."
VII
I returned the next day. We sat sipping our drinks and nibbling on the
pastry I brought. Fred continued as if we had never stopped the day
before. It was story time:
"I mentioned that the girls hit it off. Alice, too, had an interest in
similar subjects, but she was more the scientist than the artist. She
was also a bit more of the loner. She would bound off into the woods,
wander around for hours--but always come home for dinner. Sometimes she
arrived home somewhat disheveled, but with a smile. We never got the
whole story of where she went or how she spent her time. Alice would
sometimes mention something about playing cards with friends or
something to that effect. At that I do remember the girls would both
break out into uncontrollable laughter."
There was something odd about the way Fred talked about the girls. The
shop had been established by Alice White around 1850 ... or earlier. He
told the story as if he had been there. He never gave me a date. I
figured I’d ask some time later. Maybe it was his manner of story
telling. It was captivating. I wanted him to continue.
"The two of them would work in their work shed in back of the main
house for hours on end. One day they almost burned the place down. They
claimed they were attempting a new metal-to-glass bonding technique,
but never spoke more about it. Would we have understood? Not likely."
He continued, "These incidents I mentioned are not in any particular
order of events. The mirror bonding process, I do believe, came before
Alice’s woods wandering. But I do know Blanche's stepmother just loved
the mirrors they made for her. She thought it was "magic" the way those
mirrors reflected everything. They seemed to talk to her, she would
tell them. They--all three of them--would fall over in laughter."
Fred shook his head. "There is just something about the women in this
family. They seem to have a form of communication, and or,
understanding, that is beyond the ken of us men."
I interrupted. “Fred, let me get a large coffee and your special tea.
I’ll get more treats too. Give me a few minutes.” The fact that Fred
talked about them as if he had been there from the start--even before
the shop had been opened ... It had to be … otherwise, he would have to
be--how old? I wanted to know. I figured that question was out of
bounds. I’d wait for the right time.
I returned. We both took the tops off the containers and let the drinks
cool. I handed Fred an apple Danish. I had one for myself. I love apple
almost anything, especially if it’s made with Granny Smith apples.
He took a slow long sip, looked about the store to see if anyone was
in--there wasn’t--and began again. "One day the girls asked if they
could sell their glass trinkets and such. As I mentioned, girls and
women were not allowed to own or run businesses, although they could be
clerks and such, that is, with the approval of their fathers or
husbands.
“However, Blanche's dad had no backbone where Blanche, Alice, or his
wife were concerned. That was especially so when Blanche would bat her
eyes and pout. He figured a way to get this fledging business off the
ground. The boys "ran it" but when it came to answering technical
questions, they were a silent as rocks.
"Eventually, all the local girls wanted Blanch and Alice’s glass beads
and mirrors for their dolls. The mothers were also taken by the clarity
of the mirrors, and requested adult-sized products. So, as the girls
grew into women, so too did the business mature. It matched the age of
the customer base. But they never forgot the origins of the business,
and as you can see, we still carry doll stuff."
I didn’t mind his repeating parts of the story. It fleshed out little
bits here and there. A quick glance confirmed that there were indeed
boxes of glass beads, faceted and smooth, colored and clear, on some of
the shelves, along with miniature framed mirrors suitable for
old-fashioned dolls. They were among the dustiest things in the
shop--not the kind of thing those college girls and the boys chasing
them were likely to buy.
Fred took a few more sips and a bit of the Danish. A big grin broke
out. I got a show of white sparkling teeth. “This is good,” he said his
mouth half full of Danish. “I love the full load of fruit they put into
their pastry.” He waited a second or two to swallow picking up where he
left off.
"The mirrors got bigger, the jewelry expanded into a glass-making
business. We made glass for church restorations, older building
restorations, custom pieces for artists and other here and there
things.
“The girls claimed the best sand was from this area. The business
managed to purchase huge tracts of land, each of which--they
stated--had sand with different properties that, when mixed properly
for a particular project, produced the ideal glass for that purpose.
"One day there was an accident and some of the specialty mirrored glass
sand got mixed up with the regular glass stock. They were very upset
and instructed that this finished glass was never to be sold by anyone
to anyone. They never destroyed it either. Why? We still aren’t sure.
But you, because of our "dear nephew", managed to purchase a piece for
your Laundromat door. And I can see no harm done."
I decided that Fred was a great teller of tall tales. His recounting of
the history of the shop was like a fairy tale and corporate history all
rolled into one, with Fred himself as the immortal family retainer.
Maybe he caught me rolling my eyes--he ended that day's story by saying
that had some paper work to do.
"After all, the women still run the business--I'm just the bookkeeper and manager."
I’d be more polite next time. “Sorry,” was all I said. He waved it off like nothing happened.
VIII
The stories made me think about the glass I purchased. Early the next
morning when I opened The Laundromat, I stared at and through the
"special" pane of glass from the inside looking out. There was nothing
unusual to mention. It was a bit wavy, either due to age or because it
was cast in a mold whose bottom wasn't quite level.
People walking past appeared a bit different when viewed through that
piece rather than through the other door-glass panel. They seemed to
tint a shade or two to the light or dark side of the spectrum. I
assumed again that this was caused by the refraction of light and the
position of the sun. The hue change was interesting, whatever the
cause; I wondered if that was what the little kids laughed about?
I’d apologize again to Fred for being rude, over coffee and his tea. I
liked the old guy. I was just getting ready to go to XYZ for coffee, a
few Danish pastries, and my morning down load from Fred.
Just then The Laundromat seemed to lighten up. A well-dressed woman was
walking by. She was new to this part of town, yet strangely familiar. I
had seen her somewhere before. That much I knew. She looked at the
glass, looked at me, looked at the glass again, and then came in.
"Did you forget your laundry?" I asked, knowing full well that wasn’t the case.
She looked around, and said, "No--I was here on business, and when I glanced at the reflection in your door--"
I said, "Yes, it seems to affect most everyone differently. Most people like what it does."
Her eyes narrowed for just a second and then she dropped a bomb. "Our work seems to do that," she said. "It’s The Art."
She said it just like that. I could hear the capital letters in her voice.
"Even our flat panes have a bit of The Art to them, but especially this
piece of glass." She pointed directly to the new pane. “I was looking
in and couldn’t believe you had one of our oldest custom pieces in your
door! I’m here on business; possibly making some changes, some physical
alterations to our operations, and couldn’t believe what I saw. I just
had to come in.”
I told her the story about Kit selling me the piece some time ago, and her uncle being very upset but trying not to show it.
“He’s your brother, cousin, or nephew?” I asked. “Fred never set that
straight.” I said, “People seemed to take to the glass panel,
especially the children. The kids love it. Just thinking about their
faces when they walk past and looked in is a hoot. I wish I could see
what they do.”
She said again, "It’s The Art. Our work, especially some of our older
work, does that to people, especially the children". She finished up
with a smile.
She was blushing a bit--or was it the reflection of light off the
glass? "I’m sorry I was so abrupt earlier. I was taken aback when I
noticed you had one of our Custom Pieces". She held out her hand and
shook mine and said "I’m Dr. Louisa Karol White. I head R&D
operations, Mirror Works in Corning NY. We’ve actually done work for
the space telescope at Kitt Peak Observatory and we’re working on new
projects that will bring more of the universe to light, pardon the pun.
You may call me Louisa.",br>
"Hello Louisa," I replied, "I’m Kirk Stevens, no Ph.D. Former business
consultant from the National Capital area, and now owner of The
Laundromat, located in this pleasant college town. I'm also the owner
of a piece of glass that seems to have magnetic qualities. It brought
you in."
She smiled again, this time without the hint of tension around her
eyes. She suddenly looked down, patted my orange tabby, Spud the Cat,
who by the way was going nuts next to her as if he was getting
something special, making all sorts of wacko cat noises and rubbing up
against her legs. Then he just rolled over like he had inhaled a large
dose of catnip.
What a strange family. I watched the effect she had on my cat. I wondered what her cousins are like?
I took my shot, "If you're going to be in town for a while, I've heard
so much about the family business from your uncle, I would love to have
lunch or dinner with one of the current principals--if you don't mind
the company of semi-retired older men, that is."
Her eyes narrowed as she answered, "Yes. I love Italian or Japanese
food, if you know of a place--I haven't been here for a while. I know
my favorites may have changed ownership."
"Hmm," I said, "There are some okay places in this town, but I’m a
better cook then any of the establishments here. After all, they mostly
cater to the palates of college kids. Maybe I could make you dinner?"
"Let me get back to you," she said. "I do need to see my uncle first.
I’ll call on you in an hour. Maybe we could just have drinks first?
Across the street? By the way, you’ve done wonders here. This is a nice
establishment."
An hour or so later the phone in my office rang. “Hello, The Laundromat,” I answered.
“Rick, I’ll be there in a few minutes. Uncle Fred speaks highly of you. See you.”
I looked at the phone. I hung it up. Then it came to me, a
rocket-through-the-brain type thought. She was the woman I had seen
reflected in the glass the day I had installed it. Mirror, mirror in my
door--the ‘Art’, indeed.
THE END
© 2019 Rick Tornello
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