The Very Charitable Mrs. Wertheimer – 11 through 15

Rx: To be read after 1 through 5 and 6 through 10.
11
“It’s not a fucking vending machine,” another voice says behind Mrs. Wertheimer. “Stop trying to find the goddamned Reese’s Pieces and move the fuck outta the way!”
Mrs. Wertheimer’s neck prickles at such language. And also at the thought that someone would accuse her of buying candy, especially something as common as Reese’s Pieces. She doesn’t even give that stuff out at Hallowe’en! All the cherubic boys and girls in her neighborhood get Godiva, at the very least!
Still, she steps aside for the impertinent thug behind her, and actually wishes for a piece of chocolate to calm herself down.
12
Mrs. Wertheimer has been living in Manhattan for 38 years. First as a student at Barnard, then as the devoted wife and mother to Charleses II and III, and then, years later, as a Columbia grad student. She left only during her undergrad years, for family summers in Cape Cod.
Except for that one “lost weekend” a few years after Charles III’s birth, when she hired a car to take her as far away as possible, and she landed in the arms and bed of Alejandro Esteban.
Before today, that was the last time anyone said “fuck” directly to her.
13
Although she knows she should not, Mrs. Wertheimer is immersed in reverie, the subject of which is Alejandro Esteban’s sizzling Latino lips pressed upon every inch of her wispy Wasp flesh. She has not obliged such fantasies in years and is thus shocked that she would recall them now, especially among such unsavory surroundings and with a mind that was, until the thug’s uttering of “fuck”, not even remotely interested in any activity inspired by that word. She thought she’d packed Alejandro Esteban in a sealed carton in her mind, along with the black lace panties worn during their encounters.
14
But enough of that. Mrs. Wertheimer has what she calls a “situation” on her hands, and she has no blasted (she apologizes for the vehemency, but such matters demand it) idea how she is going to handle it when no one seems to want to come to her aide.
Until a young girl, no more than 11 years old, takes pity on the well-dressed society woman whose hair is about to curl from the anxiety, and asks if Mrs. Wertheimer needs assistance.
“That would be lovely, dear,” Mrs. Wertheimer says, charitably disregarding the girl’s scuffed shoes and obviously homemade haircut.
15
So now Mrs. Wertheimer has a Metrocard with $12 worth of rides ($2 each!) on it. She worries for the briefest of moments if she will be compelled to ride the subway other times in the future to make sure she’s not wasting any money. Because say what you will about Mrs. Wertheimer, she’s not wasteful like many (most!) of the ladies in her social circle. Indeed, she’s even been known to drop her spare change in the cup on the counter at Starbucks! And look at her now, offering the helpful little girl a quarter for all her trouble.