Miss June Street

"Come on in! Boy, am I glad to see you. There’s a game on later, and I just knew I wasn’t going to get to see it." He was a big black man, and he looked as he wrestled bears for fun.

I pulled the TV away from the wall, took the back off, and busied myself in the back trying to decide what the source of the problem was. We chatted amiably while I worked, and he held a mirror for me so I could see what was happening on the screen.

It was nearly Christmas, the tree was up and a modest pile of presents was stacked under it. Just as I was nearly done, he said, "I have to go out for a while. If you’d like to fix yourself a drink, there’s everything you need in the refrigerator. Just leave the bill on the TV if I’m not back by the time you leave." So saying, he left me alone in the house.

I wasn’t sure about "just leave the bill on the TV," so I called my boss, but he said it was OK. I completed my repairs, and was about to depart when my young mind recalled "there’s everything you need in the refrigerator," and my curiosity got the better of me.

The inside of the refrigerator looked like the back of the bar at the Elk’s lodge. There must have been two dozen bottles of the legal poison that folks like me should stay away from. Every kind of booze I had ever heard of was represented. I was only eighteen years old or so, but I closed the refrigerator, put the bill on the TV, and locked the door behind me.

A week or so later, I was working in the back of the shop, when I heard the owner say "Thank you, Miss Street." I looked out the window to see a young blonde walking back to her car. "Is that June Street?" I asked him. "That’s her, all right." "But you said ‘Miss Street’. Isn’t she married?"

"Not that I know about," he said.

"But there was a big black guy staying there when I went to fix the set," I protested.

"None of my business," Roy said. "She pays her bills."