The Fedora (fiction)

"A fedora?" Cassie shrieked at Jack as she beat his eggs and poured them into the fry pan. "Why in the world would you want a fedora?"

Jack sat down at the kitchen table. "I'd look quite handsome in one, don't you think?"

"I'll tell you how you'd look." Cassie grimaced. "You'd look like a gangster. That's how you'd look."

"Come on, Cassie," Jack said as he yawned. "Gangsters don't wear fedoras. They wear colored handkerchiefs if they wear anything distinctive."

"Not that type of gangster." Cassie dumped scrambled eggs and sausage on her husband's plate. "I'm talking about those Italian gangsters."

"Italians?" Jack asked, then laughed. "Not all mobsters are Italian."

"Of course not." Cassie plopped oatmeal in a bowl and sat down at the table. "I just couldn't think of the right word."

"Why do you eat that garbage?" Jack shoved a chunk of sausage in his mouth. "Oatmeal--day after day."

"I'd have a clogged heart if I ate like you do. We're not spring chickens anymore. We're a couple of old fogies waiting for a heart attack to happen."

"I'm forty-two and you're forty-five." Jack stuffed a fork full of eggs in his mouth. "Not spring chickens, but I haven't died of a heart attack, yet, have I?"

"That doesn't mean a thing. There are thousands of people our age who drop dead from heart attacks every day."

"Well, I happen to still be with the living." Jack stabbed his fork into the sausage and cut off a chunk with his knife.

"You might not be if you parade around like a mobster wearing a fedora," Cassie studied his chiseled face.

"It's just a hat, not a connection to the mob."

"Your thick eyebrows and mustache will add to the deceit." Cassie eyed her husband's burly chest. "Yes, you could easily be mistaken for a mobster."

"I know what this is all about." Jack gazed at Cassie. "It's the money, isn't it. You don't want me spending it on a hat, do you?"

"Why would I want you to buy something that may get you killed?" Cassie reached across the table and squeezed Jack's hand. "Of course I don't want that."

"Have I ever complained about the shoes you buy?"

"Shoes aren't going to get me killed." Cassie brushed her long blonde hair aside uncovering her blue eyes.

"Did I complain when you bought those stripper shoes?"

"Stripper shoes?" Cassie laughed, sprang out of her chair, pulled her bathrobe up and exposed her thigh. "Imagine me, stripping with this cellulite!"

"It's not that hard to envision, especially when you're wearing shoes that lace up to your knees."

"They're not stripper shoes." Cassie pick up her bowl, scraped the last of the oatmeal out of it and slipped it into her mouth.

"They make you look like a hooker."

"Have I ever been unfaithful to you?" Cassie asked as she rinsed the bowl and placed it in the dishwasher.

"Not that I know of." Jack skidded his chair out from the table and got up. "Where's the newspaper?"

"Right where the paperboy left it." Cassie pulled her robe snug around her chubby body and tugged the sash tight.

"You know I don't like it left out there. That old bat next door keeps stealing it."

"She's not an old bat." Cassie cleared the dishes from the table. "She's a sweet old lady. I doubt she has stolen anything in her entire life."

"Sweet old lady? I bet she has snatched half the papers in the neighborhood."

"What an imagination you have this morning." Cassie rinsed her husband dishes.

"Yeah? How about the way she peeks through her windows like a peeking Tom." Jack placed both hands in front of his brown eyes, slowly moved them apart exposing one eye and looked one way, then the other. "You can't tell me she isn't looking for something to steal."

"She's just an old lady with nothing better to do than keep tabs on her neighbors."

"Tabs?" Jack meandered to the front door. "Spying is more like it. Spying on what she can steal. And if my paper is gone, I'm going to march over there and tell that witch off."

"If you're going to do stuff like that, then I guess you better get a fedora. At least you'll look the part." Cassie shoved Jack's dishes into the dishwasher.

"How about that." Jack held the door open. "The paper's still here."

"I told you that sweet old lady wouldn't steal your precious paper."

"That battle-ax will think twice before she swipes anything from us if she thought I was a mobster." Jack snatched up the newspaper and strolled into the living room. "She'd be afraid I'd put out a hit on her."

"That's exactly what I'm saying. You wear a fedora and everyone will think you're going to have them killed if they as much as look at you wrong."

"Naw, just the old crones." Jack sat down in his easy chair and whipped the paper open. "Why don't you get dressed. You can go with me to the mall and help me pick out a fedora."

"You'll scare the wits out of everyone." Cassie sashayed to the bedroom. "A fedora," she said to herself as she pulled on a dress. "I wonder what got caught in his craw this morning?" She straightened her dress, marched to the closet and examined the shoes on the shoe rack. "I know what will really get his jets fired." She grabbed what Jack had called her "stripper shoes."

"Quit you mumbling in there and step on it," Jack yelled. "I want to beat the crowd."

Cassie yanked on her shoes, laced them up and strutted out of the bedroom. "There, are you satisfied?"

"It's about time," Jack said before turning his attention away from the newspaper and standing up. "Why are you wearing those shoes?"

"Why not. If you're going to wear a fedora, then I should be able to wear these."

"You look like a prostitute." Jack scrutinized Cassie.

"Then we'll look like a mobster and his woman." Cassie pranced to her husband and wrapped her leg around his. "Come on big boy," she whispered. "Put on your fedora."

"What will you say if a fedora makes me look like a hunk?" Jack held his head high.

"Oh, Jack darling." Cassie winked. "You're already my hunk."

Jack unwrapped Cassie leg from his. "Well, a fedora may make me look like a real hunk."

"No it won't. It'll just make you look like a mobster." Cassie grabbed her purse off the coffee table. "I was just thinking. Do you know Dr. 'Tell-it-like-it-is' Phil would say this has nothing to do with a fedora."

"Doctor who?"

"Dr. Phil McGraw."

"Oh jeez." Jack rolled his eyes. "Why would I want to know what Dr. 'Know-it-all' Phil has to say about this?"

"Not Dr. 'Know-it-all' Phil. Dr. 'Tell-it-like-it-is' Phil. And whether you want to know it or not, he'd say it was about sex."

"Typical answer for a psychiatrist."

"Not necessarily." Cassie slipped her arm through Jack's. "He would say we're both trying to look sexy to send a message to each other."

"What message?"

"I don't know," Cassie said as they strolled arm in arm to the door. "Maybe I think you don't find me sexy anymore and you think I don't find you handsome anymore."

"I've always found you sexy." Jack reached for the doorknob. "Why else would I not want you wearing those shoes?"

Cassie waited for Jack to open the door. "You've always been a good-looking man in my eyes."

"Why do you watch that trash, anyway?" Jack asked has he led the way to their Chrysler.

"He has some pretty good shows. You ought to watch sometime."

"Yeah, and I ought to jump off the Space Needle, too." Jack held the car door open for Cassie.

"Don't be sarcastic." She crawled into the car.

"I think I'll get a black fedora." Jack changed the subject as he watched his wife slip into the car.

"Black?" Cassie asked. "You'd look better in a brown one. It'll match your brown eyes."

"No, I think a black one would look best." Jack closed the door and strolled around the car to the driver's side and got in.

"I really don't know why you want me to go with you." Cassie glanced at her husband.

"What's wrong with me wanting my wife to be with me?"

"Why, Jack, you're turning into a sentimental old fool."

"I am?" Jack backed out of the garage. He drove down the street and turned on the main road. "I'm no more sentimental than I've always been."

They drove the ten blocks to the mall and strolled arm in arm into the Hat Rack.

"If you're going to buy a new hat, so am I," Cassie said.

"Go right ahead." Jack headed for the men's section. He no more put a fedora on when he heard his wife scream, "Ouch!" He raced to Cassie to find a man standing behind her.

"He pinched me," Cassie rubbed her rear.

"I'm sorry, sir." The man held his hands in the air. "Please don't kill me. I didn't know she was with anyone."

Jack reached inside his jacket to scratch his side.

"No, Mister." The man fell to his knees. "Don't shoot me."

The store clerk, who had been standing in a corner said, "Mister, please take it outside. We don't need blood spatter all over the place."

When Jack turned to look at the clerk the man scrambled to his feet and darted out of the store. "What's wrong with you people, today?" he asked.

"I told you you'd look like a mobster in a fedora," Cassie said.

"Yeah, and that guy would have never pinched your butt if you wouldn't have been wearing those stripper shoes."

"Mister," the clerk said, "if you want that hat, it's free. Just don't cause anymore trouble."

"No," Jack said. "I'm going to pay for this hat and you're going to take my money and you're going to like it."

"Yes, sir." The clerk sidestepped his way to the register. "And will there be anything for the lady?"

"I like this hat." Cassie pulled a sun hat from the rack and slipped it on.

"How much is that hat?" Jack asked.

"How much do you want to pay for it, sir?" the clerk asked.

"Don't be a wise guy," Jack said. "Just tell me the price."

"Twenty-five dollars, sir."

"Twenty-five dollars!" Jack exclaimed.

"I'll give you both hats at store prices, sir."

"What will that be?"

"Ten dollars, sir."

Jack pulled his wallet out and handed the clerk a ten dollar bill.

"Ah, sir," the clerk said and stopped.

"What?" Jack asked.

"Never mind, sir." The clerk took the ten. "I'll pay the tax."

Jack took a dollar for his wallet and handed it to the clerk. "Will that do."

"Yes." The clerk quivered as he rang it up. He gave Jack his change. "Come back again, sir, and bring your lovely lady with you."

"There, you see, " Cassie said as they strolled out of the store. "People think you're a mobster."

"No, they just acted silly because they thought I had a gun. This hat makes no difference in what people think."

"Really?" Cassie asked as they walked through the mall. "Then why are people parting the way for you? Look at the mothers pulling their children close to them."

"People are just wacky today, that's all."