If you missed part one, please click here and read it first. Thanks!
*****
Joshua Miller despised The Hat Lady with every ounce of his being. He hated the way people fawned all over her. He watched in disgust as people held doors open for her and greeted her on the street. He cringed every time he saw a teller open up a lane for her at the bank. When Joshua's favorite pizza parlor, Tony's Pizza & Subs, placed an autographed photo of The Hat Lady by the cash register, he stopped eating there.
It wasn't that Joshua hated famous people. Like everyone else in America, he worshiped at the altar of celebrity. You could find him at the cinema every time a new film premiered that starred his favorite actor, Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson. He bought every new release by his favorite bands. He watched his Eagles play every Sunday afternoon. But these were real celebrities. These people were famous for their talents, not for collecting hats.
Joshua believed he should be the one known around town. He should be the one in the newspaper. It was his picture that should be hanging at Tony's Pizza & Subs.
Joshua was a writer. And a damn fine one, too. His friends would sit around for hours as Joshua read his latest tale. As he told his story, the women would move closer and closer until they were practically on his lap by the time he got to the ending. His words were an aphrodisiac. If it was a sad story, there wasn't a dry eye in the room. A funny story would leave his listeners' sides aching from laughing so hard. His friends would stay for hours afterward, sipping wine and discussing Joshua's latest opus.
At least that's how Joshua imagined his life. The truth is, no one knew Joshua was a writer.
No one knew Joshua at all.
Joshua Miller led a fairly solitary existence. The only person he spoke to on a regular basis was Nancy Jameson, the elderly woman whose basement apartment Joshua rented. He ate dinner with her every Wednesday night. It was a fair trade: he received a home-cooked meal in exchange for listening to Nancy tell of the recent deaths of people she knew and the various maladies of those still living. But Joshua didn't mind; her turkey pot pie more than made up for it.
Joshua worked at the textile mill on the outskirts of town. Because of the noise, the only time he could converse with his co-workers was during breaks and lunch. But since he didn't have much in common with the women who popped out way too many kids entirely too soon and the ex-jocks intent on reliving their glory days on the softball diamond, half of which still referred to him as "Pizza Puke," a name bestowed upon him after an unfortunate lunchroom incident in the sixth grade, this was not really an option. Joshua often sat alone in the corner of the break room, his nose in a book, peering up every so often to check the bulletin board.
At first glance, this bulletin board was like any other bulletin board in any other break room in the country. But this one held Joshua Miller's published work. Every month, he produced a company newsletter which detailed promotions, birthdays, anniversaries, and other minutiae, items no one except those mentioned cares to read. Joshua would stare at the newsletter, which went largely unnoticed amongst the flyer touting experienced babysitting services and another advertising a slightly used futon, waiting for someone, anyone, to walk up to the bulletin board and read his words, as if he were expecting the reader to turn around and say, "Who wrote this… this… masterpiece? I've seen plenty of company newsletters in my time, but this one is truly magnificent! I must meet the author!"
"That'll be $14.11," the cashier said.
"Huh?" Joshua was too busy watching George fend off another bagboy for the privilege of carrying The Hat Lady's groceries to the car.
"$14.11, please."
"Ok." Joshua mumbled as he fumbled for his wallet.
As he walked to his car, Joshua noticed George standing beside The Hat Lady's car. "Thank you, Miss Gentry. It sure was nice taking to you today. You drive safely and come back to see us!" George said.
Joshua had finally had enough. "This is bullshit," he thought. "This old woman shouldn't be famous. I'm the one who should be famous!" Jealousy had reared its ugly head and wanted blood.
Joshua got in his car and followed her Buick. "Goddamn it! I'm so tired of all this Hat Lady crap! It's time to put an end to it!"
He turned up the radio and lit a cigarette. "Wait! How in the hell am I supposed to get inside her house? Think, think, think!"
He looked over at the passenger's seat and noticed his tape recorder, the one he used to record plot outlines and character expositions. As he followed her into the Arbor Manor Condominiums' parking lot, Joshua decided to pose as a reporter to gain entry into her home. He decided to use her love of celebrity to put an end to it.
"Ma'am? Are you The Hat Lady? Ma'am?" Joshua asked as he ran to her car.
"That's what they call me. But you can call me Mrs. Gentry."
"Hello, Mrs. Gentry. I'm Joshhhhh... Smith. I'm from The Daily Local and we'd like to do another piece on you. It's been eighteen months since we last interviewed you and our readers would like to know what you're up to these days."
"Oh, my. I don't know…"
"Please, Mrs. Gentry. It'll only take a few moments."
"Ok. Can I can trouble you to bring a bag?" she asked as she nodded toward her trunk.
"Sure thing!"
As he got to the door, Joshua turned and surveyed the parking lot. No one was watching.
Joshua closed the door behind him.
*****
More later.
And unlike last time, this is a cliffhanger.
The Hat Lady (Part Two)
