Free The Extra by Kenneth Rosenberg Page B

old man sitting beside her with his mouth agape, staring blankly.  “What did I say?” she asked rhetorically.  Apparently she’d overstepped her bounds.  Bridget stood and walked out the door, down the hall, and onto the sidewalk, heading for home.
     
    In the dormitory Warren stood motionless at the foot of his cot.  She already knew he was homeless.  She’d seen him with unwashed clothes and a scraggly beard.  Why should this bother him, then?  He’d grown accustomed to not caring what other people thought.  Bit by bit, over the years, he’d let himself go, but seeing his condition through her eyes, he was struck by a deep desire to turn his life around.  If he were to ever have any hope at digging himself out of this hole, it had to start here.  Warren felt in his pocket.  He still had some money left.  He started to count it out.  It was enough.  He marched out of the dormitory, down the hall and onto the street.
    Warren turned left, toward Sunset.  He knew exactly where he was going, heading three blocks down and four blocks over to the giant discount clothing store.  Once inside, he didn’t hesitate, grabbing a pair of slacks in his size here, a collared shirt there.  He picked up one pack of socks, and another of underwear.  The only things he tried on were the brown leather shoes; at least they looked like leather, and they fit.  He took all of his purchases to the counter.  When the saleswoman rang him up, Warren threw his money on the counter.  He was two dollars short.
    “Is there anything you’d like me to take off?” the saleswoman asked.
    Warren stood, knitting his brow in frustration.  He needed these things, all of them.  “Is there a cheaper pair of pants?” he asked.
    “You can look,” the saleswoman answered.  “I’ll hold the rest of this for you.”
    When he turned around, he saw a woman in line behind him, thin and pale with long blond hair.  She wore a pink tank top and blue jean shorts, with sandals on her feet.  She was pushing a cart full of children’s clothing.  A young boy and girl danced around her legs.  “Hell, I’ll spot ya.  Two bucks ain’t gonna kill me,” she said.
    Warren stood where he was, wide-eyed.  The woman reached in her cart for her purse, opened it up and pulled out two one-dollar bills.  “Thank you,” Warren said, dumbfounded, as she handed him the money.
    “Don’t you worry about it.  I’m glad to help,” she replied.
     
    Back at the shelter, Warren went straight for the men’s room.  He placed his new clothes on a bench and then turned on the taps in one of the showers.  He slid out of his coat.  Next, he unbuttoned his pants and dropped them to the floor.  He took all of his old clothes, boots, socks and underwear and piled them in the corner next to the trash can.  He wished there was an incinerator.  He wanted to burn them, but throwing them out was the next best thing.  When the water was warm, he moved into the shower and stood directly under the stream. 
    On a small tile shelf Warren found an old bit of soap.  He rubbed it between his hands until he got a bit of lather going and then washed his arms, and armpits, body and legs.  A shampoo bottle on the floor had enough left to use a portion on his hair, massaging it in thoroughly before rinsing it away.  Lastly, he ran his hands across his face, closing his eyes as he tilted his head back and moved closer to the shower nozzle.  The warm, clean water flowed across his forehead, down his cheeks, around his neck, chest, thighs, knees, calves and feet, washing all of his worries down the drain.  Warren was going to do something with his life.  No matter what it took, he was going to make her proud.

Chapter Fourteen
     
    Inside the soundstage, the film crew hustled about a speakeasy set, arranging their cameras and lights.  On one side sat Warren in a director’s chair.  He wore a loose-fitting 1930’s-style brown suit with a new fedora on his