...And Mrs. Harris Stopped Dancing by Elizabeth Towles (good book recommendations txt) 📖

old soul; her temperament as prickly as a burr.
Grunts and deep sighs burst from both women in the struggle to get Mrs. Harris on her feet. Judy clutched the tottering woman firmly as they made their way across the street and down the darkened driveway.
Between labored breaths, disconnected sentences gushed from the old lady: “Flooding the bathroom, jumping on my good sofa, Coca-Colas wasted, why’d the Family ask for them? And my beds....”
“What are you talking about, Mrs. Harris? Are these the same people you called the police about, last week? As I remember, they found you alone.” Judy was thrown into her neighbor’s side as the old woman abruptly stopped.
“That’s because the Family hid in the closet,” her high-pitched voice shouted. “After everyone left, they aggravated me again...changing the television channels, slamming the refrigerator door; and turning on all the lights, anything to upset me.”
At her backdoor, the elderly lady gripped the door knob, gave it a twist and pushed the door open. With one hand clutched to an outside handrail, she heaved herself up and stepped into the brightly-lit kitchen.
“Uh-huh, Mrs. Harris is hallucinating again.” Judy murmured to herself. She followed her neighbor into the house.
Judy’s own thoughts drifted: maybe, she needed to get on that train—and be entertained by all the people Mrs. Harris had mentioned seeing: The Family, the Man with the Bowler hat and his impersonation of old ‘Charlie.’ Perhaps the little Victorian-dressed Lady with the butt bustle and upswept hairdo would be interesting. Then, there was Mrs. Harris’s admitted fascination with the movie-star-handsome Tuxedoed Man, always hovering in a corner. Judy’s grin peaked high on her cheekbones. Now, with him, she’d like to while away her time urging him down from the ceiling. Hmm…wonder if he’d be as nervy as Burt, or match Burt’s flirty line to the little waitress in that war movie: “The reason I order so many drinks is because I like to watch your wiggle as you walk away.” Her eyes rounded out…. She’d have to ask Mrs. Harris if...?
Thunderous clock chimes pulled her look to the moon-faced grandfather clock sitting between two windows. A final peal: 12 o’clock. Mid-night!
The old lady was nowhere in sight. With a glimpse toward the open doorways, Judy called out, “Mrs. Harris?”
Only the clock’s rhythmic ticking answered.
Judy stared down the narrow hall that mirrored the inside of her own house. A frown set in, deepening the lines between her brows.
She called a second time, her voice circling out, “Mrs. Harris? I have to go home now. I want to know if you’re okay before I leave…”
Her head pounded with a sudden piercing throb. A perverseness urged her to leave; but her conscientious nature stayed her.
Gentle giggling came, the sound muffled, as though slipping between splayed fingers.
“Hell’s bells...what now?” Her shoes flapped noisily against the bare hardwood floor as she marched toward Mrs. Harris’s back bedroom. She rapped softly on the partially opened door. No response. She nudged the door wider.
The chortling lowered to a soft snicker.
The elderly woman lay stretched out on her bed, her face to the wall.
“Mrs. Harris?” Judy stepped closer, her knees pressing into the bedcovers as she leaned over the bed.
The old lady was still. And quiet.
Judy jerked back, her thoughts flashing like a short-circuited neon sign. Where was the noise coming from? What was happening? And what should she do about Mrs. Harris?
The noise suddenly burst into the room, bringing the Father, Mother, the little girl and boy, the Man in the Bowler hat, the Victorian-dressed Lady; and filling out a corner of the ceiling, the movie-star-handsome Tuxedoed Man.
Don’t worry about Mrs. Harris; she’ll be fine, the Father said. Only...she’ll have no memory of this. Nothing at all! Her mind and body is quite worn out; it’s time for her to rest. Lately, the Mother added, the children were getting on the old woman’s nerves. The little boy and girl giggled, wrapping themselves around their mother’s legs. The old lady began crying at my every visit, saying I reminded her of her mother, the little Victorian-dressed Lady said; her lips pursed in a pout. It rattled me, and when I’m nervous, I fiddle with my hair…messing up my Gibson Girl look….
She stopped laughing at my act, Mrs. Harris did, the Man in the Bowler hat quipped, told me I was getting sloppy in my routine and that I needed to study ‘Charlie’s’ moves again.
And we’ve all watched you from your windows, the handsome Tuxedoed Man took over, stepping from the ceiling...watched your movies, and your getting into the act, so to speak. He flashed a pearly smile. As for me, I’m always wearing my dancing shoes…and Mrs. Harris stopped dancing.
The movie-star-handsome Tuxedoed Man bowed low and opened his arms to Judy.
Besides, he whispered, slipping the sweater from her shoulders. You’re already dressed for the occasion.

Judy awoke early the next morning, and as was her way, within moments, headed straight to the kitchen. She moved about the room, her footsteps following a routine mapped indelibly in her head; one cup of cereal, milk, barely covering the deep golden cornflakes, coffee, with one teaspoon of sugar; and cream, to the shade of light brown. She ate with the same kind of detachment; her mind on the ankle-length, purple skirt, new, and hanging at the back of her closet, along with a ruffled front, bright yellow blouse that had been ordered—on a rare impulsive whim—from a Sears catalog. Shoes…what shoes? Yes, of course; she remembered the shoes given her by one of her customers. A pair of golden, high-heeled, strap sandals from a daughter, the lady had said, but they wouldn’t go with anything she would ever consider wearing…. She remembered the lady plopping them down on the counter and then walking out. Today, those sandals would be coddling her feet! She smiled for the first time since waking; a smile unlike any before, a smile that shifted her very being!

The smile was still on her face as she parked the car in her designated spot at Superior Cleaners. When touching her sandal-clad feet to concrete, she eyed her slender ankles as though newly found; and from her toes, bright red nail polish sparkled like rubies. She rose from the driver’s seat, a hand sweeping the full skirt to flow around her body. She fluffed her hair and lifted her chin. A nearby noise drew her to look—into the grinning face of a male customer who always shot out of the Cleaners like he was already late for wherever he was going.
“So there you are.” He made no attempt to get in his car.
“Good morning, Mr. Willis.”
“Ed.”
“Pardon me?” She twirled to face him.
“Ed, that’s my name.” He propped on his car door. “It would have been my loss this morning,” he added.
“How’s that…Ed?
“If I’d missed you,” he said, climbing into the car. He waved as he pulled away.
She stood for a moment longer, watching his car disappear into traffic. She walked to the front door, a new sway to her hips; and a smile that spoke of hidden secrets.
Inside the cleaners, a customer waited at the counter, a regular, a very busy man…. Even now, he stood tapping his fingers on the counter.
Judy crossed the room, not bothering to give the man the slightest look