"George! It's The Hat Lady!" shouted an enthusiastic female voice.
Joshua looked up from the tabloid headlines and turned his attention to the adjoining lane. The checkout girl was beaming at the elderly woman in the pillbox hat.
Bitch.
Shirley Gentry was the closest thing the town of Exton could claim as a celebrity. She was the librarian at Chester County Library's main branch for forty-two years. She assisted every patron with equal amounts of zeal, be it the person looking for a trashy novel, the middle school student writing a report on the Bismarck, or the young woman working on her GED. Likening herself to a surgeon or a paramedic, Shirley was fond of saying, "Words change lives. Words save lives."
Words also take lives. Shirley's husband, Gene Gentry, died three days after the low-key ceremony honoring Shirley's retirement. Gene, the proud owner of Gene's Chevy Emporium, was built like a fire hydrant with the personality of a firecracker. Located off Highway 30, Gene's Chevy Emporium was once Exton's premier car dealership. The completion of the Highway 30 Bypass shifted the economic center of town seven miles to the north. Unable to afford the prices for land off the new bypass, Gene was forced to reinvent himself as Generous Gene and rechristen his business Generous Gene's Used Auto Emporium, the kind of place adorned with streamers, inflatable monkeys, and banners with catchphrases like "Bad Credit? No Credit? No Problem!" Gene became a quasi-celebrity due to his over-the-top television commercials, which often involved hideously tacky props and costumes including, in one ill-fated ad, an XXL tutu. Gene's late-night acting career was tragically cut short when his Accord was hit by a pickup truck, its driver too busy glancing at his newspaper and talking on the cell phone to notice that his light had turned red seven seconds ago.
After an appropriate grieving period, Shirley immersed herself in clubs: book clubs, gardening clubs, and even a walking club which haunted Exton Square Mall before business hours. She would often meet friends for meals or coffee. "The girls," as she called them, were a group of widows that shared common interests, chief amongst which was combating loneliness. Her social calendar was filled with activities that would rival any retirement center, only without the bedpans, macramé, and the lingering stench of death.
To her friends, Shirley was just Shirley. This changed when Estelle Moore, a member of the widows' club, mentioned Shirley's hat collection to her son, Zachary, a reporter for The Philadelphia Inquirer. Thinking it would make a great human interest story, Zachary made the thirty-mile drive to Exton to interview Shirley and photograph her hats.
Pillbox hats. Cloche hats. Berets. Bonnets. Trilby hats. Beanies. Newsboy caps. Kentucky Derby hats. Fedoras. Leather hats. Fur hats. Cloth hats. Straw hats.
Shirley had 429 hats.
Like anyone's obsession with possessions, Shirley's hat habit started innocently enough. As a young girl, Shirley took the train with her mother, Audrey Hupp, for a weekend trip to New York City. Wanting something to commemorate their trip, Shirley's mother let her pick out a hat from Robert Dudley Originals. After what seemed like hours, Shirley finally settled on a red velvet beret.
Shirley adored the hat. She stored it in a flower-covered hatbox in the family coat closet. While she rarely wore it in public in fear of damaging the fine velvet, Shirley felt downright glamorous when she donned the beret and would often prance in front of the bathroom mirror, transforming into Shirley Hupp, Hollywood Starlet. After catching one of her daughter's impromptu performances, Mrs. Hupp bought Shirley a more sensible hat for everyday use. That Easter, Shirley's grandmother presented her with the most stunning yellow bonnet the young girl had ever seen.
Shirley was hooked. While most children spent their money on candy or movies, Shirley saved hers for hats. Every Saturday morning, she begged her mother to take her down to Woolworth's to see if a new shipment had arrived. Over the years, Shirley added to her collection on every holiday, vacation, and special occasion until she discovered, with Zachary Moore's assistance, that she was the proud owner of 429 hats.
Moore's article in The Philadelphia Inquirer dubbed her The Hat Lady and mentioned that she wore a hat to her job interview for Chester County Library. Believing it was a good luck charm, she wore a hat every day thereafter. The photo that accompanied the article showed Shirley standing next to four hat racks, with towers of hatboxes rising from the floor. A few days later, Action News, the ABC affiliate in Philadelphia, picked up the story and sent a camera crew to interview Shirley.
She was an instant celebrity. While most people in Exton couldn't tell you her name, they all knew she was The Hat Lady.
And it infuriated Joshua.
*****
More later.
P.S. This is not a cliffhanger. It's just all I had time to write today.
The Hat Lady (Part One)
