Winifred

By Charles Souby

In his debut novel, Winifred, Charles Souby tells the story of a despondent, cynical, middles-aged widower who finds salvation and a reason for living in the unlikely form of a young woman struggling with drug addiction, among other demons. What looks like a May-December romance gets turned on its ears by a stunning revelation. Winifred

• Language: English
• Publisher: Charles Souby
• Release date: Aug 4, 2023
• ISBN: 9798218259624

Charles Souby

Charles Souby is a fiction author and poet living in Hawaii. He has published two novels, Winifred (2010) and A Shot of Malaria (2014) and has completed his third, A Long Time Gone, a humorous coming of age story about a Ivy League grad hitchhiking through the Yukon in 1982 before stepping into his father's shoes as a lobbyist for mining and oil interests.

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Winifred

All rights reserved. No part of this book shall be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, is mechanical, magnetic, photographic including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher. No patent liability is assumed with respect to the use of the information contained herein. Although every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this book, the publisher and author assume no responsibility for errors or omissions. Neither is any liability assumed for the damages resulting from the use of the information contained herein.

Copyright © 2023 by Charles Souby

ISBN 979-8-218-14444-9

Printed in the United States of America

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Dedicated to my mother Lois Hagan, Sunny Fisher,

Jamie Tipton and Stephen Kearin—all of whom inspired

me to take a leap of faith.

Acknowledgments

James Tipton for taking time away from his own writing to review this manuscript and Zoe Galvez for helping me discover the rhythm of this work.

A special acknowledgment to Keith Johnstone, who helped teach me the craft of narrative.

Special thanks to Thomas N. Locke and Shastin Grace Snyder for all their effort putting together this revised third edition of Winifred.

Chapter One

The lobby to his therapist’s office looked brighter than usual. Rayleigh couldn’t figure out why at first but then realized that the ridiculous painting of the sad clown had been replaced by a pastoral photo, probably of somewhere in rural Illinois. He wondered if it was Dr. Gruber’s idea or if the photograph belonged to the drug counselor in the office adjacent to his. In any event, it seemed much more appropriate for a psychologist’s office. Especially for people who are seeking a ticket out of crazy town.

As he stared at the photograph, one of his group mates, Norm Harrison, walked in. What are you looking at, Rayleigh?

They’ve changed the picture on the wall, said Rayleigh. I guess they’ve finally decided that a crying clown isn’t particularly helpful for crazy people.

Norm clasped his fingers together and started fidgeting. Who’s crazy?

Oh, I didn’t mean anything by that, Norm; I was just kidding.

Well, maybe we should talk about this in group tonight.

Give me a break; this is practically my last night.

You’re right, Rayleigh. I was just being oversensitive. You know me. And Rayleigh did; Norm was one of those guys who really was hanging out in crazy town, but he would soon be out of Rayleigh’s life. Rayleigh had decided it was time for a different destination.

Going crazy wasn’t a bad thing though. After you’ve been bagged up in your own weird way of thinking for so long, there’s just no way you can punch your way out unless—boom—everything goes wacky-doodle, and a new set of doors opens. For Rayleigh Stern, wacky-doodle happened when his wife, Rachel, died suddenly. They had been married for twenty years—a long time to be connected to a partner and then have her permanently yanked from you. There was an initial period of intense grieving, but for Rayleigh it was deeper than that. Rachel was his one and only love. Without her it was intolerable madness, and he just wasn’t ready to settle down there. When life gets to that point, you have a huge choice to make; you can either let the winds of change take you forward, or you finally just hunker down and be miserable for the rest of your sorry life. Although he wasn’t aware he’d done it, Rayleigh had made his choice; he’d let himself be captured by the winds. In his case, it was the March winds off of Lake Michigan along Chicago’s North Shore, which one spring day gave him a bona fide God shot. God shot was a term Rayleigh grew to love. Winifred taught it to him. Winifred was the unlikely miracle of his life.

This was to be his second-to-last night of group, and consequently they were focusing primarily on him. Rayleigh had decided to call it quits at the end of March. He didn’t say it directly, but the truth was he’d had enough. He wasn’t necessarily through grieving Rachel’s loss, but he didn’t like the direction the group was taking whenever it focused on him. He was especially unnerved by one of the group members, Cindy Perkins, a rather prudish lady who always kept the top button of her blouse fastened. She had been nagging him ever since he mentioned that he used to see prostitutes when he was a sales rep for a magazine company back in the early nineties. It wasn’t a big deal, and it only happened on a handful of road trips. Occasionally he was given overnight assignments to Rockford and other rural hubs. During the trips to Rockford, for example, he would have dinner after work and then hit a bar or two to have a few drinks. Following the drinks, he would cruise West State Street near where his motel was located and find a cute hooker to take back to his (or occasionally her) motel room. Cindy would never let it go. She often brought it back up when Rayleigh talked about the loneliness he’d felt since Rachel died; she warned him that without Rachel, it was his destiny to return to that debauched lifestyle if he didn’t start working on himself.

However, this being his second-to-last session, Rayleigh was receiving some uplifting accolades. Parker Thomas, one of the oldest members of the group, told Rayleigh he had been invaluable to everybody. Every time I have something troubling me, I look forward to bringing it here because I know you’ll have a fresh point of view, he said.

Diane Houston also had kind words, I just love your sincerity, she told him. Rachel was a lucky woman to have you, and I know you will find much joy in your life if you persevere. You deserve it, Rayleigh. It was comments like this that bothered him. As much as Rayleigh loved the encouragement, there was a growing cynicism inside him that made the words sound like idle, mindless cheerleading. In any event, it was better to hear praise than suffer constant digging and theorizing about the dark hidden motives that were going to lead him to the abyss. Fortunately, Cindy Perkins wasn’t there on this night, so Rayleigh didn’t have to endure her exasperated fears. Next week there would be a party, so this was really his final go-round on the hot seat.

At the end of group, Rayleigh stood up and stretched, and everybody began to grab their coats. Dr. Gruber stopped them. Hold on, everybody, he called out before they could leave the room, Remember to bring a potluck dish next week for Rayleigh’s last session. Rayleigh hated potlucks. He was a lousy cook, and he always felt embarrassed bringing supermarket-made vegetable dips to such occasions. Cooking was a skill for which he had always depended on Rachel, and so now, ironically, on the last day of his grieving group, he missed her more than ever. The good news was that the potluck was for him, so he certainly couldn’t be expected to bring much, if anything at all.

As he walked out of Dr. Gruber’s group room, Rayleigh’s eyes scanned the lobby when they suddenly locked on a figure sitting alone on the sofa, impatiently flipping through a magazine. At first, because of the close-cropped hair, button-down shirt, black vest, and big, black leather belt, Rayleigh thought it was just some guy on drugs waiting for consultation with the counselor next door, but as he was about to pull his eyes away, the person glanced up at him. How strange, he thought, as they shared glances. It was a woman—a lesbian, he presumed. Suddenly, something else grabbed him; his eyes became firmly locked on hers. His heart began racing, and he felt a warm, electric rush through his entire body. Overwhelmed, he remained paralyzed for several seconds. She held the locked gaze with him, her eyes now radiating an innocent fear. As Rayleigh struggled to regain his composure, he sensed the fear and awkwardness welling up inside the woman, so he tried to smile and then casually said, How’s it going?

She smiled nervously and responded in an artificially macho voice, Good. Thanks. She appeared to be nearly half Rayleigh’s age, and he could feel her desperate attempt to seem older and more mature.

The door to the adjacent office opened, and a woman’s voice called out, Dear, are you ready?

Oh, she said as if being awakened from a dream. Yeah. Sure. She shot up abruptly, tossing the magazine onto the side table, where it hit a lamp. She was about five feet eight, and though she was rather thin, she didn’t look emaciated—just kind of boyish. She gave him a final glance and offered, Well . . . see ya, bro. Rayleigh recognized that beneath her butch appearance, there was what he deemed to be an oddly and extraordinarily beautiful young woman.

Chapter Two

Just as the door to the office closed behind her, Rayleigh heard the therapist asking the girl, Who was that? The thick door blocked whatever response she had given, and he walked out of the waiting room, wondering what had just happened to him. Did she pick up the same feeling he had? How did she respond to the therapist’s question? Did she tell the therapist it was just another creepy man ogling her because she was a punky-looking lesbian or because she was sexy and now he wanted to sleep with her? He quickly suppressed those thoughts and particularly suppressed any fantasy of romance. Besides, she could have been no older than her early to midtwenties, and even if Rayleigh had the charm to woo a younger woman, she certainly wouldn’t be gay. The girl was undoubtedly a drug addict if she was visiting the counselor in the office next door.

He carried these thoughts home and grappled with them through the rest of that evening. He sat on the white leather reclining chair in his living room and gazed out the window of his Evanston, Illinois, condominium, where, in the reflection of the bright-orange sodium streetlights, he could see the snow lying in patches on the ground across the street. There were still some piles along the curbside that had been shoveled there by the city snowplows after the last big storm about a month back. The trees wouldn’t start budding for several weeks, pending warmer weather.

Rayleigh made himself a tuna fish sandwich and cooked up a can of minestrone soup. He watched TV while he ate his supper and then went to bed. When he awoke the next morning, he fell back into his daily routine of editing legal briefs from around the country. The work didn’t yield him a lot of money, partly because it didn’t entail much work, but that didn’t matter. Rayleigh had written a screenplay in the early nineties that became a blockbuster movie and cult classic that earned him a small fortune. He was living comfortably.

On the day following his second-to-last group, he sat with Carolyn, Rachel’s best friend and confidant for many years, in the Summerset Café. It’s just so depressing being in that group, he said.

Well, I have to tell you, said Carolyn. You seem to be doing a lot better than you were six months ago.

That’s just time. I don’t think it’s the group.

Well, it seems your heart is growing more open.

That statement floored Rayleigh. He thought of yesterday’s encounter with the girl in Dr. Gruber’s waiting room. What do you mean? he asked. How so?

I don’t know; we only meet and talk once or twice a week, but I’ve known you for a long time, and your whole posture, your eyes, your mannerisms, are like someone about to go on a journey.

Rayleigh didn’t say anything.

I wasn’t going to tell you this, Carolyn said, but last night I dreamt I was here at the café having coffee with Rachel.

Did she say anything interesting? Rayleigh asked. He was starting to fidget anxiously at the sound of Rachel’s name, tapping his fingers on the table and alternately lifting his feet on to his toes and then dropping them down to the heels.

Yes, she did. There was a long pause. She was excited and said an explosive new experience was about to take possession of your life.

Rayleigh sighed. Well, we’ll certainly see, huh?

Just then, as Rayleigh tried to focus his mind on more immediate thoughts, the little bells on the café door rang as a customer entered the store. Rayleigh’s eyes instinctively glanced up to discover the young woman from the therapy office walking into the café. She seemed to sense his gaze and looked over at him, giving him a long, strangely fierce glare and then glanced away and walked over to the counter. How weird, Rayleigh thought. He wondered if she intuited that he had been obsessing on her the night before.

I’ve seen that girl sitting in the therapist’s office, he quietly whispered to Carolyn.

Are you supposed to be telling me this? Isn’t that confidential? Carolyn glanced over to the counter to see whom Rayleigh was referring to. Oh, that girl? The one with the butch haircut?

That’s not a butch haircut, Rayleigh blurted, still trying not to be audible beyond their table. I think it’s kind of cute.

It’s clearly dykish, just like the black vest and thick belt on her jeans. Anyway, she comes in here regularly in the morning. She’s a weird one—kind of feisty and restless. That one definitely needs therapy. I’d stay out of her path unless you have to be in group together.

She’s not in my group, and I’m not interested in her.

Oh my God. You like her.

No. I just find her kind of interesting looking, he said almost in a whisper.

Well, I can assure you. She has no interest in you.

I can’t believe you would just assume a woman with short hair is a lesbian.

It’s not the length; it’s the way it’s combed back behind the ears like a guy. Besides, I just know. She’s definitely a dyke.

I don’t know why I’m even getting into this with you.

Because you’re hot for her. Rayleigh, she’s almost certainly a methhead; you should see her twitch. Don’t you have some kind of ethics about chasing after a woman who’s mentally ill? Carolyn seemed to recognize that she was taking the conversation too far and started to laugh.

Whatever. I don’t think ‘dyke’ is a polite term for a lesbian, said Rayleigh.

Oh, come on, Rayleigh. You know I’m just giving you a hard time. Anyway, I’ve got to go. I have a bunch of letters to mail. Keep positive. With that, Carolyn stood up, gave Rayleigh a gentle caress on the back of his neck and then winked at him. He remained seated. You’re gonna be all right, guy.

See ya, he said.

Rayleigh continued to sit there for a few moments observing the girl. She was definitely peculiar looking. She was lanky but clearly had some muscle on her as well. The poor thing was flat-chested, he noticed, which is what really gave her the boyish quality—that and her masculine clothing. She’d almost be homely if she weren’t so pretty, he thought. It wasn’t just her appearance that grabbed him though.

Rayleigh desperately wanted to stay in the café to observe the girl but was terrified of being perceived as some kind of stalker—or was he a stalker? Had he gone mad and lost any sense of decency and dignity? Rayleigh sat still at the table for a minute while he watched her get a cup of coffee and walk over to the milk-and-sugar station next to the cash register. What the hell was he thinking? He surely wasn’t interested in this woman on any level except fascination. Quickly he stood up, grabbed his jacket, and was out of the café before she could turn around.

The rest of the week passed like every other. He managed to forget the girl until the following Wednesday’s party. Instead, due to the various knickknacks around his apartment, like the pair of tiny porcelain cocker spaniels on the living room bookshelf, his thoughts turned back to Rachel and all the simple joys they had shared together.

Early that Wednesday afternoon, he went mulling through the Jewel food store on Green Bay Road and decided to purchase a full deli platter to bring to the celebration. He felt embarrassed in the line at the cash register. What kind of loser would buy a platter of supermarket meats and vegetables to take to a party?

When he got to the cashier, she smiled and said, Potluck?

Rayleigh smiled and shyly answered, Yeah.

Three hours later, he pulled his silver Toyota Prius into the driveway of the medical center where his group met. He was proud of his car and his contribution to the environment; it was the one thing for which he really felt a need to be validated. He used to get out of the vehicle slowly and linger around it so that others could see and connect him with such a progressive idea. But times had changed, electric cars were now the rage, and he was no longer unique.

The group was already assembled even though it was about ten minutes early, and when Rayleigh walked in there was a spontaneous shout of joy and good tidings. He announced his thanks to the group, with his eyes darting down shyly as he set his deli platter down on the corner of a crowded card table that had been set up along the side wall behind the circle of chairs.

Oh, here, said Sylvia, one of the group members, as she rushed over and began rearranging things on the table. Let me fix this up for you. You know you didn’t have to bring anything. The party’s for you, Rayleigh; you are so sweet.

Dr. Gruber walked to the center of the room and tried to get everybody’s attention. Since you’re all here— he said. and then repeated himself. Since you’re all here, let’s sit down and get comfortable; we can start early. If anyone has urgent new business to discuss, let’s bring it up first. If there’s any follow-up from last week that needs to be taken care of, we can do that next, and then the rest of the time we’ll focus on Rayleigh’s party and enjoy all the goodies that you folks brought.

There was no new new business, but there was one new incident to discuss—Norm’s wife had scolded him about toothpaste spit on the bathroom mirror. Norm apparently exploded at her and threatened suicide again even though he really didn’t mean it. He was having difficulties developing more healthy coping skills.

For God’s sake, Norm, said Rayleigh. You’ve been in this group for years and you still threaten to kill yourself every time you get scolded by your wife. Aren’t you a little tired of playing the suicide card?

I’m sick, he said. He always said that, and it drove Rayleigh crazy. Then Norm said, And if you guys don’t let me be, I’ll end up in my car in the garage with a hose running from the exhaust pipe to the window. Rayleigh had to admit he was intrigued that over the past six months Norm continually had thought up new and different ways to off himself.

The only other old business was another marriage issue, this one regarding Suzy Simpson’s infidelity. Dr. Gruber had seriously intimated that she was a sex addict and needed to seek help, perhaps attend a twelve-step group. Suzy was adamant that she couldn’t do that because her husband would become curious as to why she was away an additional night of the week besides coming to the group. Rayleigh had once tried to get through to her that running off screwing other men every couple of nights seemed more likely to arouse suspicion than setting aside time to treat the addiction. Suzy had explained, It’s not always at night, and anyway it’s easier to lie to him about cheating than it would be about going to some stupid program which required rigorous honesty.

So, Rayleigh, what’s on your plate? asked Dr. Gruber when the business with Suzy was settled.

You know, my friend Carolyn suggested I should consider finding a partner, Rayleigh said and then corrected himself. Well, she didn’t actually say that per se, but she said I seemed to be wide open and ready.

That’s so true, Rayleigh, said Suzy. I think we’ve all noticed that in you.

There was a splattering of assents and head nodding.

So, Rayleigh, Suzy added. Do you have anybody in mind?

Rayleigh blurted out, Actually, I’m embarrassed to say this, but last week I developed a crush on this girl who I think is in her early twenties. He immediately backpedaled. I mean I would never try to date her or anything, and besides I think she’s a lesbian. I just found it odd. I haven’t felt this way since, like, high school, I think.

Why, Rayleigh, Dr. Gruber exclaimed, perhaps you can figure out how to channel these feelings into a new, healthy relationship. Dr. Gruber paused for a moment and added, Do you think you might reconsider leaving the group?

Actually, said Rayleigh, I think I need a break, but if anything begins to come together, I will definitely get in touch with you.

Well, everybody, it’s time to party down. said Dr. Gruber.

Suddenly Cindy Perkins chimed in. Wait a minute, she said and then went into her rant about Rayleigh chasing after unrequited love so he could end up in the trash bin cavorting with hookers. God forbid you’ll have another ‘sacred moment’ in the sack like with that down-and-out heroin addict you saw in Rock—

Dr. Gruber interrupted. That’s a lovely diagnosis, Cindy, but today let’s leave the psychoanalyzing to me. Besides, even if safety is Rayleigh’s motive, why shouldn’t it be? He’s had a terrible loss this year. Anyway, you’ve brought some great-looking guacamole; there’s no reason it should sit there when we have a group of hungry stomachs.

Rayleigh sighed when he heard Dr. Gruber’s validation about the girl. Sure, Rayleigh thought, it’s just a little safety net while I adjust to the world as a single man again. Suddenly, life took on a new purpose. He no longer felt closed up and depressed. He was now returning to the world; he was ready to tackle life. Carolyn was right!

The group spent the next hour plowing through the various foods that were brought. Meatloaf, Caesar salad, turkey legs, Kung Pao chicken, and homemade chocolate cake