Joanna Thompson walked the grimy streets of downtown Spice Quarter, San Myshuno, tired, sick and fed up with it all. That last client told her she had to get out of the game: A fat, sweaty salesman from out of town with weird ideas about "fun" was the last straw...she couldn't go on living like this; as a call girl and street walker. Her life had reached the bottom and the only way out was either escape...or death. Plenty of other girls had died either through overdoses, suicides or at the hands of murderous clients. Not her. Joanna had decided on escape. But how? Money was a big issue...she just needed to get a little and then she could get on a bus to....anywhere.
She had just enough money to get a drink from the Waterside Warble; the Spice Quarter's drinking hole. It was a mixture of street low lives, dolly birds and young Mods and was popular because it featured singing contests that brought out the showmen in a lot of people. Everyone wanted to be a pop star these days and they were hoping a Brian Epstein or Burt Bacharach was in the crowd that night to spot their talent.
She sat at the bar with her drink, wondering what to do next in her life when she was approached by a serious looking man in his 30s. Crew cut and casual, but square clothes hinted at him being either ex-military or a cop.
"Excuse me, but are you Joanna Thompson?" he asked.
"Who wants to know?" she replied.
"My name's Padgett. I have some business that concerns you"
"As from today I'm no longer in that line of business."
"I'm not propositioning you, Miss Thompson. I am an enquiries agent for a law firm: Harrigan & Son. I'm here to pass on a letter to you which concerns a family matter."
"I have no family"
"If you read the letter matters will become a lot clearer. Once you've read the letter and wish to proceed further regarding its contents then here's a business card for Harrigans. Call us at your convenience. Good day, Miss Thompson."
And with that, Padgett left the bar. Joanna shook her head in bewilderment. Family business? A law firm? Maybe some disgruntled client was looking to involve her in a messy divorce case?" Joanna looked at the envelope and went into one of the discrete booths at the bar where she sat down and, in privacy, read the contents of the letter.
Dear Joanna
My name is Ephraim Thompson and I am your great uncle. However, by the time you read this letter I'll be dead. I understand that you are my last living relative and although I am a man of only above average means I wish to pass on whatever I have left to kin when my time has come.
I've been told you've had a hard life. Your parents died when you were little and that you've been living alone, on the streets, since you were 15. My dying wish is to help you, Joanna.
I will tell you a little about our family history, to give you a sense of belonging to something you've never had. Our family arrived in America from England in the 1880s where your great-grandfather, Tobias Thompson set up a small chandlery business in Delaware. That business grew and became moderately successful. Tobias married a lady named Ella and they had two sons: Myself and my brother, Cadwallader. We were very different boys, Cad and myself. He went to fight in the Great War, I stayed behind and took charge of the business. The war changed both of us in different ways: Even though I did not fight in it we were all struck by the Influenza plague of 1919. My parents, wife Betty and our daughter, Mary-Belle, all succumbed to the disease. I alone, survived. Cad came back embittered and wild by his war service. He took to drinking and whoring and lived as there was no tomorrow. He fell in with a travelling jazz band and fell in love with a Hoochie Coochie girl named Ida. He decided to join their troupe but in Delaware in the 1920s a white man like Cad hooking up with a black woman, and a woman of dubious virtue as well, was frowned upon. Cad was forced to leave town and he travelled North and that is where I lost track of him. I buried myself in work and good causes to deal with the grief of losing all my family and it wasn't until years had passed that I went looking for him. I found he had drunk himself to death in 1932 and I couldn't find Ida anywhere. I assumed that was the end of the Thompson family story.
It turned out Cad and Ida had a son, unbeknownst to me. That son, Robert, was your father. I know he had a rough life as well and never recovered from the injuries he suffered in the Second War. But he found someone and that was your mother. I reckon you know more about that chapter in your life more than I will ever know so I won't patronise you by retelling it to you here.
I am very old and nearly at the end of my life. The doctors tell me I have weeks to live. I sold the business and my home and now reside at a hospice in Baltimore. I have an inheritance to pass on to you: Apologies for spending part of that in hiring a private investigator to track down your whereabouts but he was able to furnish me with some pertinent details about you.
I don't wish to judge. Lord knows your life has been hard and you've had few decent choices to make in it. But I want to give you a chance. Take the money that I leave you and start afresh, or afar. Do with it what you need to do but please try to do something better. Not for my sake, or your family's: Do it for yourself. Be the agent of change.
I have drawn up a will and it is in the hands of Harrigan and Son. I wish I could have met you in person, looked into your eyes and held your hand just once. Think kindly on an old man who should have tried harder to find you earlier.
God Bless
Ephraim Thompson.
Joanna looked at the old, photograph that came with the letter. So that's old great uncle Ephraim, is it? She thought. Momma always did say there was a little bit of Whitey in my blood.
This was it. This sad letter, containing the woes of the Thompson family over generations, was her ticket out of the seedy life she had found herself in. A man she'd never met, who she had never even heard of before and who was now dead was going to be the one to save her. Her emotions were mixed: Along with the joy of finally getting a way off the streets she was sad she never knew old Ephraim Thompson.
ONE MONTH LATER
What great uncle Ephraim wrote was all true. Joanna had been left the sum of $22,000; a great deal of money and more than she expected. She thought the money would pay for a bus ride to another part of the city where she could rent an apartment and have a bit left over to treat herself to some nice things but 22,000 allowed her to buy a house in the suburbs. Not the most expensive suburbs, but one decent enough and one far, far away from her John and ex-associates. However, on the day of moving she was filled with worry...she knew how to survive in the city, but away, here, like a regular white picket fence person?
She was due to meet the real estate agent outside of the house she'd put a deposit on so she swallowed her nerves and waited outside the place for him. She didn't have to wait long for Mr Findlay, the agent, to arrive.
"Hello Miss Thompson" said the middle aged, slightly balding man who sported a goatee beard and was wearing shirtsleeves and a tie...ideal for these warm Summer days. "Well, today's the big day where I hand the keys to Streamlet Single to you. Aptly named: It's by a streamlet and it has a single bedroom but I think you'll agree it's the ideal starter home for a young....professional....person". Findlay looked Joanna up and down, noticing her risqué choice of clothing and put more than a hint of innuendo in describing her as a "professional".
"We'll step inside and we'll sign the papers there and then I'll hand you the keys...and then we could inspect the bedroom...I've got the money and I guess you'll be setting up shop..."
"THAT'S ENOUGH, BUCKO! You ain't putting one foot on MY property. We'll sign the paperwork over there, on that park bench. You thought I was that kind of girl well I AIN'T!"
Findlay was shocked...yes, she was that kind of girl...once...but as a long-time sleaze merchant he had forgotten where the line between normal business and unacceptable. He handed her the keys and said she could drop the completed paperwork at the office later today.
"There's a lot of jerks in the world..." thought Joanna. "I sure hope there's no more like him around here". She looked at the outside of her house: Her house. The road upwards would be based here.
She'd only just moved in and already there was mail. She sat at the modest dining table and opened up the first letter...it was a scholarship application form. In the other envelope was for another scholarship fund. This was the next phase: Get an education. Joanna sat down and carefully filled in each form...careful to describe her previous employment as "hospitality" and not "prostitution".
After a couple of hours she had completed the forms, put them in envelopes, put stamps and addresses on them and, satisfied she was being a proper and responsible adult, went to post them in the mailbox. However, she was greeted by an unexpected sight coming towards her. A white dude carrying a cake, a fair-haired trendy chick right behind him and behind her a bookish young woman with big glasses but, standing out a mile, was someone she already knew quite well...John Action!
Oh no! She thought. Action was a cop that she'd known ever since she was a kid. He was a scrappy teenager who was friends with her big brother and they'd grown up in the same neighbourhood before Action had gone off to join the Marines and then a cop afterwards. He had all the dirt on her and she'd been an informant for him as well. What was he doing here and who were these other people? Were they some kind of local petition group that were here to protest her moving into their nice, white, neighbourhood and Action a cop assigned to make sure it all didn't break out into violence?
The square looking blonde guy approached her first, carrying a cake in his hands. "Oh, hi...welcome to the neighbourhood. My name's...er...." he stammered, looking Joanna up and down and being struck by her very attention grabbing outfit.
"His name's Jeremy, and I'm Barbara" interjected Barbara, who had noticed that Jeremy was shy in this woman's presence. "We live at the end of the street, just there", she said pointing. "I hope you don't mind us intruding but it's kind of a tradition that we greet a new neighbour moving in."
"No...you're not intruding. I was worried for a moment....well, let's just say I'm not used to a welcoming committee." replied Joanna.
"Hi...I'm Julia, I live just next door." said the gawky looking girl in the big glasses. "And you are?"
"Joanna. Hello everyone"
"Oh, and let's not forget this guy...Action" said Barbara.
"Actually I know Action already. Very well as a matter of fact." said Joanna, looking directly at Action.
"We go back a bit" said Action, coolly.
"Quite a bit. So do you live here too, Action?"
"Yeah, just over the road" he said, jerking his thumb in that direction but not taking his eyes off Joanna for one second.
"The one with the flagpole and gym equipment outside. I should have guessed" said Joanna, dryly, not taking her eyes off him either.
"Well, you'd better bring that inside...excuse the mess but I'm still not fully unpacked yet" replied Jeremy.
"Isn't it amazing that you two already know each other!" said Julia, excitedly. "I bet you have some stories to tell!" she added, innocently.
"Oh we sure do..." said Action.
As the others went into the house, Julia paused on the porch and looked at Joanna. "Do you ride?" she asked.
"Do I what?" replied a stunned Joanna.
"Ride. Ride horses. I noticed your boots and they look like they're for horse riding" said Julia.
"Oh these?" replied Joanna, somewhat relieved. "Nah, they're street fashion, that's all"
"I know hardly anything about fashion" said Julia. "But Barbara owns a clothing boutique. Never been there but I'm sure it's amazing...or groovy, to use the popular term...SNORT". Julia often snorted when telling a joke.
"Yeah, I must check that out..." said Joanna, her interest piqued.
Everyone had gathered in the lounge, which still had unopened storage boxes dotted around and items of furniture still half assembled. Joanna was keen to give Action a wide berth, especially since he was snooping around the place, taking a look into opened boxes acting like he was investigating a crime scene.
"Julia was telling me you run a clothes shop" said Joanna to Barbara.
"Yeah, a small boutique in Magnolia Promenade. You should swing by sometime" replied Barbara. "I've got to ask, where did you get those boots?"
Joanna didn't want to say it was her old John who purchased them for her. "Oh, just picked these up at a market a couple of months ago. I can't remember who made them."
"They're unusual...I must try to stock them in the boutique." said Barbara.
However, it was going to be impossible to avoid Action. He had just finished peering into one opened box when Joanna walked by him.
"Say, Joanna, what's the deal, huh?" he asked.
"The deal is I'm off the streets. For good. I came into some good fortune and I'm gonna make the best of it." she replied.
"Now that is interesting. By the way, I'm sorry about Mike. I know I lost touch with him on account of me being overseas when he got..."
"Caught in the crossfire. Yeah, thanks for the sympathy, Action. You and he were pretty tight as kids. But you left everyone to become a Marine and Mike and I had to fend for ourselves on the streets. Too bad he didn't make it."
"I left to join the Marines for the same reason you've decided to settle down here: To get out of the ghetto. Out in the jungle a Viet Cong bullet isn't any different from one fired by a punk on the streets. I got lucky and made it home. Look, if you're serious about going straight, I've got your back."
"Thanks, Action. I'm gonna be fine out here but I want just one favour from you: You don't tell the fine folk here about my past."
"You got yourself a deal" he replied, laconically.
