Millie’s Dilemma–Text

What the hell are you doing here? Millie shuddered as she thought of the words that Jerry would soon yell into her face. No matter. It had to be done.

Though Millie’s unconscious reminded her that she was dreaming, she sensed the urgency. The bus would leave in ten minutes. Yes, she had her purse, her heaviest jacket, her gloves, and most important, her gun.

Millie had bought the firearm weeks earlier. Obtaining the silencer had been more difficult, but a casual inquiry here and there soon put her in touch with people in the know. It took ten more days, but that hardly mattered. She had been anticipating this event for some time. An extra week or so wouldn’t make any difference.

The July air felt cold outside her apartment on 48^th Avenue—nothing unusual, by San Francisco standards. Millie walked quickly to keep warm. She arrived at the bus stop with only seconds to spare, jumped aboard, paid her fare, and moved to the rear. As the old machine lumbered down Balboa Street, Millie’s thoughts went back five years, to the summer of 1976.

Millie had been a younger woman then, in body by only a few years, but much more so in spirit. Moving from a farm near Bakersfield, California, to the big city proved to be a significant change for her, a first for anyone in her family. The remainder of her family had either stayed and worked on the dairy farm or lived within driving distance of the original homestead.

The promise of San Francisco, although a small city by world standards, had been more than Millie could ignore. Of course, she did have talent, and so her move made sense. Her proficiency in piano and voice made Millie ready to take advantage of what the outside world could provide that Bakersfield could not.

The bus continued past the Avenues—18^th, 17^th, 16^th. Millie reached into her large handbag and felt the reassuring grip of the .38 special with its short barrel. She smiled to herself: she did know how to use this weapon. Except for the shorter barrel, this firearm duplicated her father’s. She remembered fondly those weekends in high school when he had taught her to shoot. Guns were common in her community, and, surprisingly, she had been the best pistol shot in her family. Nonetheless, Millie counted on the fact that she wouldn’t have to fire the gun. But only by carrying this rather persuasive instrument would Millie have any leverage.

Millie stepped from the bus at Turk and Parker, three blocks west of Kittredge Terrace, the street where her target lived. Her breathing was labored from the exertion. She really did need to start those exercise classes. Twenty-eight years was too young to start acting old.

Millie used the old trick of following someone in after the door had buzzed open. She didn’t want to alert him that she was on her way. She knew he was still home because, after exiting the bus, she telephoned from a pay phone, hanging up quickly after his answer. She had made the same call from her apartment.

Millie arrived at the door she knew all too well. She rang the doorbell, but then had the sudden desire to bolt around the corner. Biting her lower lip until it hurt kept her focused. She heard muffled footsteps. The door opened. Jerry stepped back in mild shock.

“Millie, what the hell are you doing here?” Jerry said angrily as he dragged her inside the door. “Don’t you remember what I told you?”

“Surprised to see me, huh Jerry?”

Millie surveyed the living room, remembering the few happy moments shared there. The green sofa still sat beneath the window overlooking the street. The piano, the odd-looking floor lamp, the hideous wallpaper leading into the kitchen. Nothing had changed in the past year.

And there, on the windowsill, like a stuffed animal, lay Chester, the bastard Siamese cat. Millie did a double take to make sure the animal was indeed breathing. It would have been too much to hope that Chester had joined his feline ancestors, leaving only a stuffed facsimile. Millie had convinced herself she was allergic to cats.

Millie decided there was no need to waste time on small talk. She took out her .38 and pointed it directly at the astonished Jerry, backing him into the kitchen and against the refrigerator.

“What the hell?” Jerry trembled at the sight of the weapon.

“Did you think I would just dismiss our little agreement and live the rest of my life waiting for you? I want my share, and I would prefer to have it right now. Fifty thousand sounds about right to me. Does it to you? If that isn’t good enough, I’ll just take my share of the diamonds.”

Millie took a deep breath and backed up, assessing the reaction on Jerry’s face. Millie knew that Jerry’s mind was racing, as was hers. She recalled their six months of indifferent romance, followed by an ingenious, if simple, plan to steal diamonds from the small jewelry store where Millie had worked for three years, postponing the start of her singing and acting career.

On a bimonthly basis, the owner, an older, trusting gentleman, purchased diamonds overseas. Mr. Rich trusted Millie and did not question her story that she had been held up by armed robbers before the store’s closing. The broken display table and bruised forehead reinforced the scam.

Mr. Rich’s insurance company covered his loss, and no one doubted Millie’s story. In fact, to make sure his trust in her would not be questioned, she continued to work in the same shop. Millie thought to herself how foolish most thieves were to split and run, making themselves appear all the more guilty.

“Are you out of your mind? Didn’t we agree that we’d sit on the diamonds?” Jerry blurted back. “And that we would separate for a while, to make sure there was no chance we could be implicated together? Do you remember that, Millie?”

Millie stood her ground, still pointing the gun at Jerry’s chest.

“Oh yes, Jerry, I remember that well. Where are the diamonds?”

 * * *

Millie bolted upright in bed as if she were spring-loaded. Perspiration ran down her face and chest. It was only a dream, although a repeat performance. She looked to her right, and through the dim light from the street, she could see Jerry sleeping peacefully, his dull snore the proof. And by his side, Chester.

Millie couldn’t understand why she would have such a stupid dream or why it continued to recur. Two weeks had passed since the jewelry heist. The police and insurance company completed their investigations, and no one was the wiser. Jerry said he put the diamonds in a safe place. And Millie trusted Jerry.

Millie cuddled up to him in their usual spoon position. Sleep came quickly. And so did the nightmare.

 * * *

“I’ll give you one more chance; it’s your choice.” Millie’s hands shook, but she kept the barrel of the gun dead center.

Suddenly, Jerry lunged and the weapon exploded in front of Millie’s face. The effect of the silencer made the scene appear surreal, as if in slow motion. What appeared as less than surreal was Jerry clutching his upper chest and falling back toward the refrigerator and to the floor.

 * * *

Millie screamed. Jerry jumped out of bed, coming to his senses in a microsecond.

“What the hell? What’s wrong?” Jerry yelled. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“I’m sorry, Jerry. I keep having this horrible dream.” Millie hadn’t told Jerry the nature of her nightmares and didn’t think she should start now. “Go back to sleep. I’m really sorry.”

From the lighted numerals on the bedside clock, Millie read four o’clock and decided she’d better not take any more chances. She would stay awake until the six-thirty alarm.

It wasn’t to be. Millie soon returned to the dream in the kitchen.

 * * *

Although the bullet had done a commendable job on his left shoulder, Jerry remained among the living. Millie couldn’t decide if that was good or bad. She had waited too long to pull the trigger.

And then—to make the scene even more bizarre—as if nothing had happened, Chester walked casually around the corner, making Millie consider, briefly, that she had shot the wrong bastard in this apartment.

“Well, Jerry, I hadn’t intended you’d still be alive. But, since you are, maybe it’s better this way. Give me my share of the diamonds, and I will take you to the hospital where you can explain how you accidentally shot yourself cleaning your gun. I’ll come along to give you moral support.”

“Okay, okay! You win. Go to the cabinet to the left of the stove. Look for a can of breadcrumbs. Pry off the plastic lid and pour out the crumbs. At the bottom, you’ll find a plastic bag. I swear, they’re all there!”

 * * *

Millie awakened and looked at the clock. Two minutes more and the alarm would ring. They would both rise and go to work. Millie would make her usual trek to the jewelry shop, making sure it opened promptly at nine o’clock. Chester would do nothing, as always, except eat and sleep.

Jerry and Millie had been living together for just five months. Her new living arrangement proved acceptable, and she thought she knew Jerry fairly well. In the back of her mind, though, she realized that Jerry had told her precious little about himself. Too trusting, she was. Millie’s parents always said so.

Millie arrived home after five, an hour before Jerry. Details of her dream continued to flash through her mind. Steeping a cup of tea at the kitchen table, Millie suddenly whirled to face the stove.

She threw open the cabinet doors. Sugar, salt, various spices. And bread crumbs in a hard paper container! With fingers shaking, she pried off the plastic lid, poured the contents into a cereal bowl—and almost fainted when a plastic bag fell on top. Millie returned the diamonds to the can and said nothing to Jerry that evening.

For days, Millie waited and pondered the situation. She could think of three explanations for what had transpired. Was it possible she saw Jerry hide the diamonds in the can, or could Jerry have discussed it with her? Ridiculous, thought Millie. I would remember. With these possibilities negated, Millie contemplated, but dreaded, the remaining option—that her dream foretold the future.

Weeks passed, and no lingering problems surfaced at the jewelry store. Mr. Rich installed a silent alarm. The horse had already left the barn, but more horses arrived by the day. Millie felt rather proud of their accomplishment.

But as Millie reflected further, she began to question Jerry’s contribution. True, it was Jerry’s idea, but so what? Now that she thought about it, she had taken most of the risk.

 * * *

Two months later, thinking back on their breakup, Millie couldn’t remember exactly how it had transpired. But Jerry had made the argument that it would be safer to live apart for a while. His behavior had become erratic and, truth be told, Millie cheered the day she left his apartment.

Before leaving, she hesitantly suggested it might be better to divide the diamonds. Jerry screamed a profanity and made it clear he thought little of her idea, that he would keep them in a safe place, that he would call her later and, most important, she should make no attempt to contact him.

Was that a threat? Millie cursed herself for having trusted someone whose persuasive abilities were so poor that he had to resort to intimidation.

As the months passed, Millie could hardly forget the future foretold by her dream. That she had located the diamonds in the kitchen where the dream suggested they would be was disconcerting, indeed. Further, she and Jerry now lived separately, as foretold.

Millie waited for Jerry to call. In her mind, that call would signal that the rest of her dream sequence was fantasy.

Millie decided to wait for a year, just as in the dream, before making her next move. She owed Jerry that much, to give him a chance, didn’t she? Well, maybe not, but she would, anyway.

 * * *

A year passed. Millie concluded that fate was fate and that she had better follow through with the dream’s scenario, to witness Jerry’s reaction firsthand. The dream had thus far proved correct, had it not? But with Jerry’s intransigence, Millie began to ponder his right to have anything at all.

As Millie proceeded down Balboa Street in the Muni bus, she reassured herself that this time the bus ride was real.

Once inside Jerry’s apartment, Millie recited the same words as in the dream, and so did Jerry. It was like acting in a movie she had seen earlier. Even so, Millie reacted with surprise when Jerry grabbed for the gun, and she fired her pistol. But there he lay, next to the refrigerator, with a gunshot to the shoulder.

The words were eerily familiar: “Okay, okay. You win. Go to the cabinet to the left of the stove and take out the can of breadcrumbs. Pry off the plastic lid and pour out the crumbs. At the bottom of the can, you’ll find a plastic bag. I swear they’re all there!”

Millie obeyed and poured the crumbs into the sink. Bread crumbs fell—but no bag and no diamonds! Jerry’s mouth dropped open. Millie glared at him.

As he struggled to his feet, Millie decided she had had enough. Should she use a second bullet to finish the job?

Millie squared off and, this time, the slug found its target. Jerry leaned to the side, dead. Millie stood calmly for a full minute, surveying the damage. She decided she had done the right thing.

In the dream, when she had poured the crumbs from the can, there had been no diamonds then, either. The only option that could explain this puzzle would be for Millie to have taken them herself. Why else would her dream have led her to the diamonds? So, days before Millie left Jerry’s apartment, she had removed the diamonds from the can.

Millie sauntered back into the living room and stood by the front door. She felt a strange sense of pride at the irony she had created. If Jerry had discovered the diamonds missing, he might have called her, and she would have considered cutting him in.

But he didn’t call! She could have waited until hell froze over. Millie had wanted to close this chapter in her life and move on. As long as Jerry remained on the scene, she had little control of the situation. Why carry around that kind of baggage? Plus, her father had told her on more than one occasion: Fate always has the upper hand, and it’s best not to interfere. Millie made sure fate got its way this time.

Millie smiled to herself, remembering Jerry’s astonishment when she poured the crumbs from the can, a remarkable sight. Too bad Jerry got the short end of the stick, thought Millie. Poor schmuck!

As Millie turned to leave, she pondered the fact that all movement and conversation in this apartment had been scripted months before. It was only right, wasn’t it, that she leave her own mark, her individuality?

Millie grabbed the cat and pulled the door closed behind her. She would determine, once and for all, whether it was the cat—or just Jerry—that she had been allergic to.