Cora Hammond stood inside Becky’s Blooms on Witherspoon Street and admired the colorful Gerbera daisies, alstroemeria, hydrangeas, and roses, among others. A wet nose poked her hand, and she glanced down at her service dog, a sable collie named Daisy.
“They’re all so nice, I can’t make up my mind.” She gave the dog a gentle pat.
“I’ll be right with you!” said the young brunette at the desk. She made change for a customer just as a handsome young man entered the small shop.
Cora, like a wilted magnolia blossom, disappeared from the clerk’s radar. Sadly, it had become the norm since she passed sixty. Society ignored seniors these days — unless they were pitching products at them — useless lotions and creams that promised eternal youth. And, if those didn’t work, there was Botox and plastic surgery. Whatever happened to “With age comes wisdom?”
Cora and her friend Shirley had frequent discussions about how they were treated as if they had little value or intelligence. Such an unfair assumption. Just wait until these “youngsters” hit their golden years, she thought.
While the man and the clerk laughed and flirted, Cora spied some figurines on a glass shelf. A multitude of birds surrounded a lone cat. Not for the first time, Cora fancied herself as the poor feline — ignored, but also underestimated.
She removed a water bottle from Daisy’s service vest. The impressive design featured ample padding and cooling mesh, while the deep pockets provided lots of storage. After having a few sips, Cora offered a drink to Daisy from her own pet bottle.
She shot a final glance at the rude clerk and thought, Well, I hope Prince Charming gives you a sale. You’re not getting one from me.
Cora left the flower shop and walked a few doors down to Data Divas, a local shop that carried computers, cell phones, cameras, and accessories. She needed a memory card and wanted to look at some polarizing filters. Her senior art show was in a few weeks, and she’d be taking lots of photos.
A young man approached her, warily eyeing Daisy. “Help you?” His nametag read Miller.
Cora smiled inwardly at the unusual first name. “Did your parents like beer?”
“Excuse me, what?”
“Or Arthur Miller? Big band?”
When that failed to register, Cora continued, “I need a few things for my Nikon. My memory card is full and — ”
Miller darted down an aisle with racks of accessories, Cora and Daisy close behind. He stopped abruptly in front of an array of SD cards. “You can offload your pics, you know, and free up space. Do you have a computer? We offer help for seniors.”
Cora was well aware how storage and computers worked. She just didn’t want to transfer her photos right now, not that it was any of his darn business. “And I’m thinking of trying out some filters…”
“Filters, yes. I don’t want to confuse you, but there are all types of filters,” he began to mansplain.
That was the last straw. Cora gave Daisy a hand-signal and she barked loudly. Miller jumped and ended his monologue.
“I’m terribly sorry,” Cora said. “I think my dog might need a potty break. I hope she didn’t startle you.”
The clerk smoothed the front of his tie and turned to go. “I’ll be up front if you need me.”
Hmph. That’ll be the day, Cora thought. She reached into Daisy’s vest and brought out a biscuit. “Good girl.”
Cora and Daisy left the tech shop and blended into the crowd. Or, at least, Cora did, with her white tee shirt, black joggers, and gray bob haircut. Daisy, with her beautiful sable coat, attracted attention wherever she went.
The line at The Creamery stretched out the door. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one in the mood for a summer treat.
Daisy, as she’d been trained to do, remained at Cora’s side as they snaked their way through the crowd. Two little girls focused their attention on the Collie and began to tease her. One poked her vest, while the other boldly grabbed her fur. Cora was fairly certain that the young couple ahead of her were the parents, even though they could pass for The Odd Couple — he with his slovenly appearance and she with a high-end Gucci tote bag.
“Girls,” Cora gently said, “you can’t interrupt a service dog. See that vest? That means she’s working.” But her words went unheeded, and the children now began to emit high-pitched cries and even mimicked barking. Daisy was not amused and tensed at the end of the leash.
Cora locked eyes with an elderly man sitting near a window. He sported a POW/MIA ballcap, and unlike the rest of the shoppers, the veteran seemed upset by the drama. So much so, that he left his ice cream on the table and approached the couple. “Excuse me, but the lady behind you has a service dog, and your kids are being rude.”
The woman ignored his remarks and answered her pealing cell phone. Just then, a table near the window became free, and the two girls knocked Cora off-balance in their rush to grab a seat. She bumped into the woman and would probably have fallen, if not for Daisy acting as a brace. That finally got a response of “Hey!” and an eye roll from the indifferent mom.
Daisy nudged Cora’s hand, prompting her to look into the Collie’s brown eyes. Are you okay? she seemed to ask.
“I’m fine,” Cora assured her. She bent to grab her wallet from the pup’s vest.
A minute later, they’d reached the cashier. Cora ordered a pup cup for Daisy and a small vanilla cone for herself. On the way out, she’d intended to thank the veteran for his service — to his country and to her — but he’d already left.
Later that evening, glad to be home, Cora removed Daisy’s service vest and set it on the kitchen table. From its many pockets, she removed her treasures — each one a reminder of how she’d been treated that day.
The cat figurine from the florist shop where she’d been ignored.
The SD card and polarizing filter from the camera shop where she’d been treated like a child.
And the wallet she’d snatched from the woman’s Gucci bag at the ice cream shop. That one was for Daisy.
Cora’s phone rang and her friend Shirley’s name appeared on the screen. The woman’s stress was evident when she opened with, “You won’t believe the day I had. I popped into a little beauty shop on Nassau Street because their sign said ‘walk-ins welcome’. Then I stood at the counter for twenty minutes. Maybe they wanted me to notice all the high-end beauty products for sale. But, nobody acknowledged me. It was like I was invisible.”
“You don’t say. Which shop would that be?”
Cora added it to her list.
Chelle Martin is a member of Sisters in Crime, Mystery Writers of America, and Dog Writers Association of America. Her romance and mystery short stories are published in numerous anthologies, with other short stories, humor pieces, and poetry in previous editions of US1. Chelle enjoys visiting book shops and coffee houses, knitting, photography, and is working on a humorous mystery set at the Jersey shore.
