Five years ago I was intimidated by Sally Graham. Well, I respected her superior intellect. She was almost ready to retire then. I think she told me she was fifty-eight. She's a psychiatrist and a member of the American Philatelic Society and at that time I think her stamp collection numbered in the 60,000s.
The way I met her was I was talking to the doorman and I mentioned I was just renewing my interest in stamp collecting, something I had done when I was a kid. And he told me there was someone in the building who was also a collector and if I wanted he would give her my apartment number. I told him go ahead, why not, I wanted to meet other people who were into it. That evening, she rang my bell. I invited her in and we talked for an hour or so.
She sat on my dining room floor explaining things to me like how I could always tell stamps that belonged to republics of the Soviet Union because they had letters on them in the Cyrillic alphabet that looked like CCCP and NOYTA and how stamps from Taiwan differed from those from mainland China because those from the Peoples Republic had an ideogram resembling a wishbone, and it was the symbol that stood for man. It was pronounced ren, but I only had to concern myself with that on the earlier issues because the later stamps now said China in the English alphabet and the sets were numbered. She was a free spirit and her hair was unkempt and she reminded of nothing so much as a wilted flower child, but she sounded very intelligent.
She told me I should join the APS and I would get circuits on approval. It was a good way to fill up my collection cheaply and it was a very secure procedure.
The difference in our ages precluded becoming very friendly but every once in a while I would see her in the lobby on my way out to work or coming home and I remember when she told me she had officially retired. She was looking forward to more time at home and not having to see patients. They all had so many problems. She said at times she felt like she might bug out.
About a year ago I had a problem with the APS. Someone from the Society called me and told me the next person on the Peoples Republic of China circuit did not receive the booklets I had looked at and sent on. He was a Chinese with a post office box for an address and I had my suspicions. The stamps were valuable. I called Sally and asked her advice, because whenever I received a circuit from PRC she was always the prior recipient and this particular time I had foolishly forgotten to save the priority mail insurance receipt.
She told me in her soft-spoken solicitous way, "It's a test. To teach you to follow the instructions. Why don't you call the APS and tell them the number and maybe they can track it down without the actual receipt?"
"And if they can't?" I asked.
"Well," she said, "It couldn't cost you more than a hundred dollars. That's all it was insured for."
I felt like one of her patients. It was not what I wanted to hear.
I was able to clear my responsibility with the APS with a phone call, but after that I asked them not to send me anymore stamps from China. My collection was pretty full and I didn't want to be responsible for something that expensive again.
As I say, that was a year ago.
This afternoon, in the crisp December weather, I went downstairs to buy some lunch in the new Garden of Eden gourmet food shop that recently opened in our building's ground floor. It is filled with the delicious aromas of all kinds of exotic foods, fruits and baked items, meats and poultry, cooked and ready to go. I bought some three potato salad and some roast beef and when I entered the lobby I ran into Sally Graham. I was a little taken back by how she looked. Her teeth were all discolored and her hair was still unkempt but now it was completely gray. It looked dirty and she had put on quite a bit of weight. She was wearing an ill fitting down jacket with food stains on it.
"You cost me five dollars," she said, and it really sounded like an accusation.
"How's that?" I asked. I really didn't want to stand there and talk. I wanted to come upstairs and have my roast beef.
She went on to explain since I wasn't on the Chinese circuit anymore, she had to walk all the way over to Fourth Avenue to the Post Office to insure her package and send it on to the next person on the list instead of leaving it with the doorman for me.
I asked her how many stamps she had now and she told me she had stopped counting when she went over 100,000.
"How do you catalog them all?" I asked.
"Well, I haven't gotten around to doing that," she said. "They're all in shoeboxes. Some of my friends who are dealers tell me I should, especially if I want to sell them, and I may have to soon. I'm running out of money."
I was surprised and said, "Oh?"
"Yes," she said, "I just paid October's rent."
That really surprised me. It was not the kind of thing I expected from her.
Friday, March 14, 2008
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Views
Two people carry one thing and an argument ensues,
It ends with the big thing left on the street when one of them blows a fuse.
A patient sues his doctor and the lawyer sports new shoes,
The doctor makes excuses, saying, "I'm always the one they accuse!"
Fans at the game are anxious to see the visitors lose,
Though the leading player rolls on the ground and rubs a swelling bruise.
Mom and Dad watch a crime in progress on the local news;
A hateful man in an interview hurts with the words he spews.
Three competing suitors are hoping the beauty will choose
Against a backdrop of music and hearts of pink in varying hues.
The tenants default on their rent with excuses by ones and by twos,
And complain of the neighbor who stinks up the hall with the garbage that he strews.
Robert propounds on Kate's erroneous definition of clerihews;
In order to get her to see the light, he gives her a book to peruse.
The church falls short on worshippers who can't sit in predestined pews,
And Masons turn out their membership for failing to pay their dues.
A husband abandons his wife in aborted attempts to amuse;
Her demeanor is drowned in pot luck casseroles, soups and stews.
A detective sifts through the ashes searching remains for clues;
He's found an earring, a tooth and a nail, but he doesn't know whose.
Teenagers wooing, say they aren't smoking. They are. It's only a ruse.
They're thinking of eloping because her father is turning the screws.
Workers waiting for jobs are standing outside in queues,
While the hardnosed factory owner seeks alternatives to use.
Someone is at the zoo with a child his girlfriend won't let him abuse,
And an old man who's lost a fortune regains it by singing the Blues.
Check out student writing at TEC Inglés.
It ends with the big thing left on the street when one of them blows a fuse.
A patient sues his doctor and the lawyer sports new shoes,
The doctor makes excuses, saying, "I'm always the one they accuse!"
Fans at the game are anxious to see the visitors lose,
Though the leading player rolls on the ground and rubs a swelling bruise.
Mom and Dad watch a crime in progress on the local news;
A hateful man in an interview hurts with the words he spews.
Three competing suitors are hoping the beauty will choose
Against a backdrop of music and hearts of pink in varying hues.
The tenants default on their rent with excuses by ones and by twos,
And complain of the neighbor who stinks up the hall with the garbage that he strews.
Robert propounds on Kate's erroneous definition of clerihews;
In order to get her to see the light, he gives her a book to peruse.
The church falls short on worshippers who can't sit in predestined pews,
And Masons turn out their membership for failing to pay their dues.
A husband abandons his wife in aborted attempts to amuse;
Her demeanor is drowned in pot luck casseroles, soups and stews.
A detective sifts through the ashes searching remains for clues;
He's found an earring, a tooth and a nail, but he doesn't know whose.
Teenagers wooing, say they aren't smoking. They are. It's only a ruse.
They're thinking of eloping because her father is turning the screws.
Workers waiting for jobs are standing outside in queues,
While the hardnosed factory owner seeks alternatives to use.
Someone is at the zoo with a child his girlfriend won't let him abuse,
And an old man who's lost a fortune regains it by singing the Blues.
Check out student writing at TEC Inglés.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
One Wish Left
“What’s that?” Lisa asked, “It looks like one of those genie bottles.”
“That’s exactly what it is,” Richard said, “A little six month anniversary gift for you.”
“Oh, Rich, you’re so sweet.” Smoothing out the edge of her black silk negligee, she sat at the vanity and reapplied her make-up. “But it actually looks like a giant phallus. I can’t bring that home. How would I explain it to my husband?”
“Tell him you bought it at a flea market.”
“It’s so large.” She rubbed the gnarled wooden bottle. “I wish you were this big, all the time.” She giggled and aimed it at him like a rifle.
Back at the office, Rich received a telephone call from the ancient sage who sold him the bottle. “I make grave mistake,” said the old man, “I meant to sell you novelty copy of actual bottle. That one contains very powerful magic. You not be able to handle consequences.”
“Well, that’s too bad, pop,” Rich said, “I’ve already given it to my girlfriend as a gift.”
“Please, you must return it to me. I give you copy. She is in grave danger. I'm sorry I make mistake. You must believe me.”
“Yeah, well, we’ll see, pop.” Rich hung up the phone while the old man was still protesting.
Twenty minutes later, Rich felt a twitching in his pants. His crotch area became uncomfortable as a certain part of him began to gain about three pounds of flesh. For a moment he thought he had subconsciously recalled his afternoon tryst with Lisa, but then he remembered the wish she made.
He tried calling her at home, which he almost never did. There was no answer.
She was in her white Camaro, stalled in traffic. ‘I hate having to deal with situations like this,’ she thought, ‘I wouldn’t have to if I were a wealthy woman with a chauffeur driven car. I could be in the back of a limousine, eating caviar and drinking champagne.’ “I wish I was rich. Really Rich,” she heard herself saying aloud. Suddenly the gridlock cleared and she zoomed off.
Rich drove toward Lisa’s home, finding it somewhat uncomfortable to fit his newly developed bulk under the steering wheel. She was going to go wild when she saw that. He hoped he could get to her before she wasted her other two wishes.
He had to slow down and stop as he approached the scene of an accident. A white car was badly banged up and wrapped around a divider. Traffic at a standstill, Rich got out of his Lexus and asked one of the attending policemen, "“What the hell happened, officer?"
The cop did a double take as if he recognized him. “Er, uh,” he stammered, “Damn fool guy must have been drunk. Wracked up his vehicle pretty good.”
As they removed the body from the wreck, Rich almost fainted. It could have been his twin. The dead man’s face looked so much like his own. And the guy had a huge bulge in his bloody pants.
The driver’s side door was mangled. It wouldn’t close properly. When the tow truck lifted the Camaro, a gnarled wooden bottle fell out of the car, rolled across the highway and disappeared into the grass.
“That’s exactly what it is,” Richard said, “A little six month anniversary gift for you.”
“Oh, Rich, you’re so sweet.” Smoothing out the edge of her black silk negligee, she sat at the vanity and reapplied her make-up. “But it actually looks like a giant phallus. I can’t bring that home. How would I explain it to my husband?”
“Tell him you bought it at a flea market.”
“It’s so large.” She rubbed the gnarled wooden bottle. “I wish you were this big, all the time.” She giggled and aimed it at him like a rifle.
Back at the office, Rich received a telephone call from the ancient sage who sold him the bottle. “I make grave mistake,” said the old man, “I meant to sell you novelty copy of actual bottle. That one contains very powerful magic. You not be able to handle consequences.”
“Well, that’s too bad, pop,” Rich said, “I’ve already given it to my girlfriend as a gift.”
“Please, you must return it to me. I give you copy. She is in grave danger. I'm sorry I make mistake. You must believe me.”
“Yeah, well, we’ll see, pop.” Rich hung up the phone while the old man was still protesting.
Twenty minutes later, Rich felt a twitching in his pants. His crotch area became uncomfortable as a certain part of him began to gain about three pounds of flesh. For a moment he thought he had subconsciously recalled his afternoon tryst with Lisa, but then he remembered the wish she made.
He tried calling her at home, which he almost never did. There was no answer.
She was in her white Camaro, stalled in traffic. ‘I hate having to deal with situations like this,’ she thought, ‘I wouldn’t have to if I were a wealthy woman with a chauffeur driven car. I could be in the back of a limousine, eating caviar and drinking champagne.’ “I wish I was rich. Really Rich,” she heard herself saying aloud. Suddenly the gridlock cleared and she zoomed off.
Rich drove toward Lisa’s home, finding it somewhat uncomfortable to fit his newly developed bulk under the steering wheel. She was going to go wild when she saw that. He hoped he could get to her before she wasted her other two wishes.
He had to slow down and stop as he approached the scene of an accident. A white car was badly banged up and wrapped around a divider. Traffic at a standstill, Rich got out of his Lexus and asked one of the attending policemen, "“What the hell happened, officer?"
The cop did a double take as if he recognized him. “Er, uh,” he stammered, “Damn fool guy must have been drunk. Wracked up his vehicle pretty good.”
As they removed the body from the wreck, Rich almost fainted. It could have been his twin. The dead man’s face looked so much like his own. And the guy had a huge bulge in his bloody pants.
The driver’s side door was mangled. It wouldn’t close properly. When the tow truck lifted the Camaro, a gnarled wooden bottle fell out of the car, rolled across the highway and disappeared into the grass.
Monday, January 14, 2008
Commuters' Rage
It used to be a long comfortable commute on the train from Westchester down to her job on Wall Street during which Alison immersed herself in books from the bestseller list. "I can never find time to read evenings or on weekends, so I always read on the way to work," she told her friend Macy once, before Macy married and moved to an island off the coast of South Carolina. They still compared notes on the latest bestsellers, but not as often. Alison found little time to write letters or e-mail with all the work she brought home to do in the evenings and over weekends. There were so many details. She had to be careful not to leave anything out.
One day, a man ran through the train shooting at people indiscriminately. Alison, looked up from her book at the sound of the first shot and for an elongated moment she could not comprehend what was happening. Then she was hit in the shoulder by one of the bullets, just inches from her heart.
She spent her long recuperation reading accounts of the man's life. Various newspapers told how he had been arrested on burglary and assault charges several times, but had served only two years in prison. He was the son of a teen-aged unwed mother who had died early of a drug overdose. He had been raised by his grandmother who could not understand where he had gone wrong. He was always a good child. She had three other daughters. Each had several children. None had turned out like Vaco. "Vaco's cousins cannot understand this tragedy either," the grandmother said. A photograph showed her crying, next to a photograph of Vaco, with his arm reaching forward, as if to block the photographer's view. From what Alison could see of his face in that picture, he appeared to be smiling. In another, he had a glazed look in his eyes. His defense attorney said Vaco was filled with an uncontrollable rage against society. This rage anesthetized him to the wrongs he commited. The attorney argued, under the powerful grip of such rage, a person, surely, cannot be held completely accountable for how he reacts to the society he feels has wronged him.
Details of Vaco's life filled newspapers for many weeks. Alison read them all. She had plenty of time in her hospital bed and later at home. There was very little written about the sixteen people who were hurt or the man who was killed on the train that day. When she mentioned this to Macy during a phone conversation, Macy said the victims' stories would be related in the soon to be published book about commuters' rage. Alison told her nobody had interviewed her for such a book, and that she thought that was a callous thing to say. After hanging up, she thought it might be a long time before she could speak to Macy again.
Alison went back to work eventually. She still commutes from Westchester, but these days, she never reads on trains no matter how long the ride is.
One day, a man ran through the train shooting at people indiscriminately. Alison, looked up from her book at the sound of the first shot and for an elongated moment she could not comprehend what was happening. Then she was hit in the shoulder by one of the bullets, just inches from her heart.
She spent her long recuperation reading accounts of the man's life. Various newspapers told how he had been arrested on burglary and assault charges several times, but had served only two years in prison. He was the son of a teen-aged unwed mother who had died early of a drug overdose. He had been raised by his grandmother who could not understand where he had gone wrong. He was always a good child. She had three other daughters. Each had several children. None had turned out like Vaco. "Vaco's cousins cannot understand this tragedy either," the grandmother said. A photograph showed her crying, next to a photograph of Vaco, with his arm reaching forward, as if to block the photographer's view. From what Alison could see of his face in that picture, he appeared to be smiling. In another, he had a glazed look in his eyes. His defense attorney said Vaco was filled with an uncontrollable rage against society. This rage anesthetized him to the wrongs he commited. The attorney argued, under the powerful grip of such rage, a person, surely, cannot be held completely accountable for how he reacts to the society he feels has wronged him.
Details of Vaco's life filled newspapers for many weeks. Alison read them all. She had plenty of time in her hospital bed and later at home. There was very little written about the sixteen people who were hurt or the man who was killed on the train that day. When she mentioned this to Macy during a phone conversation, Macy said the victims' stories would be related in the soon to be published book about commuters' rage. Alison told her nobody had interviewed her for such a book, and that she thought that was a callous thing to say. After hanging up, she thought it might be a long time before she could speak to Macy again.
Alison went back to work eventually. She still commutes from Westchester, but these days, she never reads on trains no matter how long the ride is.
Monday, December 31, 2007
Saturday, December 15, 2007
The Din
The television volume was on high, at least 25.
“But, Evelyn, you sleep all the time!”
“Only to avoid the draft from the swinging door.”
“Sweetie,…”
“Don’t touch me. There’s no quickie sex here. No on-again-off-again, got-fifteen-minutes-between-meetings, try-to-keep-her-quiet sex here. Get it from someone else, but, you get it—I go, and the gravy train ends.”
The gigolo undone.
Almost the story of my life, Theresa thought.
“Bull shit. Bull shit,” kept ringing in her ears. Her own words from two hours earlier.
From across the courtyard, the discordant sound of one of the Mexican pop songs being rehearsed by the as yet unprofessional neighbor’s band came to layer itself over Evelyn’s retribution on the television.
Theresa sat watching a tiny bodied, long-legged spider weaving its web in the corner where the windowed wall met the bare one. What a waste of time, she thought, as she could also see the little gecko who would soon make dinner of the spider, only a short distance away. “Bull shit. Bull shit,” still reverberating.
Through the window, with its makeshift curtain tied back, which was on an angle to the living room, she could see Armando’s leg dangling from the couch. He was oblivious to Evelyn’s melodrama. She didn’t know it then, but he had stopped breathing fifteen minutes earlier. She would be told that he had died of alcoholic poisoning by a relative a week later over the telephone.
She thought for tonight she would rather not sleep here and went upstairs to pack a little bag. She would check into the Sheraton near the plaza. In the morning, she would purchase a one-way ticket back to New York on the last of her Mexican pesos.
With her overnighter in hand, she clicked off the television.
On her way out, she noticed Armando was not snoring, but her thoughts turned in another direction as the raucous neighbors finished rehearsing and the sound of crickets filled the courtyard.
“But, Evelyn, you sleep all the time!”
“Only to avoid the draft from the swinging door.”
“Sweetie,…”
“Don’t touch me. There’s no quickie sex here. No on-again-off-again, got-fifteen-minutes-between-meetings, try-to-keep-her-quiet sex here. Get it from someone else, but, you get it—I go, and the gravy train ends.”
The gigolo undone.
Almost the story of my life, Theresa thought.
“Bull shit. Bull shit,” kept ringing in her ears. Her own words from two hours earlier.
From across the courtyard, the discordant sound of one of the Mexican pop songs being rehearsed by the as yet unprofessional neighbor’s band came to layer itself over Evelyn’s retribution on the television.
Theresa sat watching a tiny bodied, long-legged spider weaving its web in the corner where the windowed wall met the bare one. What a waste of time, she thought, as she could also see the little gecko who would soon make dinner of the spider, only a short distance away. “Bull shit. Bull shit,” still reverberating.
Through the window, with its makeshift curtain tied back, which was on an angle to the living room, she could see Armando’s leg dangling from the couch. He was oblivious to Evelyn’s melodrama. She didn’t know it then, but he had stopped breathing fifteen minutes earlier. She would be told that he had died of alcoholic poisoning by a relative a week later over the telephone.
She thought for tonight she would rather not sleep here and went upstairs to pack a little bag. She would check into the Sheraton near the plaza. In the morning, she would purchase a one-way ticket back to New York on the last of her Mexican pesos.
With her overnighter in hand, she clicked off the television.
On her way out, she noticed Armando was not snoring, but her thoughts turned in another direction as the raucous neighbors finished rehearsing and the sound of crickets filled the courtyard.
Saturday, September 15, 2007
Almost a Man
Uncle Jack and Marti and I arrived with the children at the Bensons' apartment at about three.
It was going to be a surprise party for my little brother Raymond. Uncle Jack always remembered birthdays just like Mom and Dad used to. On the way up the stairs, I remarked, "I wish someone would do this for me."
Uncle Jack said, "You're almost a man, Philip." I was fourteen. "This one's only four," he added, trying, I guess, not to spoil the surprise for Raymond, who on hearing the word four seemed to know he was being talked about.
Nobody answered the door.
We walked in and the place seemed deserted. It was so quiet.
We soon found everyone sitting around the dining room table or lying on the floor. At first I thought they were all sleeping, which seemed a strange thing to do at a party. The children with colorful hats on sat slumped forward onto the table. I checked their pulses as I had been trained to do in my Phys. Ed. class. They were all right, just unconscious. The two women, Mrs. Benson and her grown daughter Marion also seemed to be comatose. Then I saw a pair of legs. Ernest Benson had no pulse. He lay in the corner against a smaller table, halfway behind the chair in which he usually sat. His eyes were wide open, but he wasn't breathing.
Alison had tears welling, and Marti, with her hand over her mouth, backed out of the room; then ushered Raymond and Alison toward one of the back bedrooms, as there came a knock on the door. Uncle Jack went to see who was knocking and I picked up the telephone to call the police.
Uncle Jack opened the door, but there did not appear to be anyone on the other side. Suddenly, he clutched at his chest and fell to the floor. As the door slammed shut, I could see no one in the hall. I didn't know where Marti had gone with the children and I could not move. I tried to call out Uncle Jack's name, but my throat was dry and produced no sound.
I stood rooted to the spot with the telephone receiver in my hand. Not sure what to do next, I stood there a long time.
Somewhere very far away I heard a voice saying, "There appears to be a receiver off the hook. Please hang up the telephone, then lift the receiver and dial your number...There appears to be a receiver off the hook...
It was going to be a surprise party for my little brother Raymond. Uncle Jack always remembered birthdays just like Mom and Dad used to. On the way up the stairs, I remarked, "I wish someone would do this for me."
Uncle Jack said, "You're almost a man, Philip." I was fourteen. "This one's only four," he added, trying, I guess, not to spoil the surprise for Raymond, who on hearing the word four seemed to know he was being talked about.
Nobody answered the door.
We walked in and the place seemed deserted. It was so quiet.
We soon found everyone sitting around the dining room table or lying on the floor. At first I thought they were all sleeping, which seemed a strange thing to do at a party. The children with colorful hats on sat slumped forward onto the table. I checked their pulses as I had been trained to do in my Phys. Ed. class. They were all right, just unconscious. The two women, Mrs. Benson and her grown daughter Marion also seemed to be comatose. Then I saw a pair of legs. Ernest Benson had no pulse. He lay in the corner against a smaller table, halfway behind the chair in which he usually sat. His eyes were wide open, but he wasn't breathing.
Alison had tears welling, and Marti, with her hand over her mouth, backed out of the room; then ushered Raymond and Alison toward one of the back bedrooms, as there came a knock on the door. Uncle Jack went to see who was knocking and I picked up the telephone to call the police.
Uncle Jack opened the door, but there did not appear to be anyone on the other side. Suddenly, he clutched at his chest and fell to the floor. As the door slammed shut, I could see no one in the hall. I didn't know where Marti had gone with the children and I could not move. I tried to call out Uncle Jack's name, but my throat was dry and produced no sound.
I stood rooted to the spot with the telephone receiver in my hand. Not sure what to do next, I stood there a long time.
Somewhere very far away I heard a voice saying, "There appears to be a receiver off the hook. Please hang up the telephone, then lift the receiver and dial your number...There appears to be a receiver off the hook...
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Panic on the Comeback Trail
Britney, once again on the comeback trail, was attempting to portray Gertrude Quintanilla in a bio-pic with music. Her agent had advised her that if she pulled this one off, she would probably be back in place and not have to worry about her future as an actress.
Gertrude was an English teacher with a method. What she would do is begin her lesson with excess clothing on and casualy remove one item as she presented each grammar point until midway through the lesson she was standing in front of her group in hot pants and a halter. She would then proceed to redress, but her art was in being able to keep the students’ attention while she did so. She knew of no ecdysiast who had followed a strip act by putting on clothes, and in any case, she did not bump and grind in an erotic manner. She was teaching.
She didn’t do her “act” during every lesson. It was always an impromptu thing. So her students, mostly young males, never knew what to expect. Thus, they filled her classes hoping any day would be their lucky day. The price they had to pay was learning. Her exams were extremely detailed and difficult to pass if the topics had not been studied.
And she never stripped on exam days.
She had other “revolutionary” methods that fairly guaranteed a high success rate, but the clothing thing was what she had become known for.
Britney called her current paramour Ryan because he looked like either Ryan Gosling or Ryan Phillipe. She could never remember which one it was actually, but he didn’t seem to mind her nicknaming him because he claimed he wasn’t very attached to his given-name which was Oliver.
Gertrude, now over fifty and no longer in the physical condition to teach using her method, had turned to writing; novels mostly, which sold relatively well, but it was her memoirs that provided the means by which she was able to retire from teaching. She was still quite attractive, and had bridled on first learning that Britney was going to portray her, but could not say much because she had sold the rights to her story. In any case, her initial dissatisfaction had lessened when she took to visiting the set and conversed with Britney. She was so malleable and graciously accepted suggestions on how best to play the character, for that was, after all, what Gertrude had made herself, a character.
Britney, on the other hand, never saw herself as a character. The papparazzi blitz had long ago ended. Her last few concerts had garnered little praise and less revenue than she had been able to achieve in her prime. Her hair had not grown back so luxuriously after her breakdown stage, and she had taken to wearing wigs. She was always careful to wear underwear these days, even under slacks and bathing attire, though without the surprise photos being snapped it did not seem entirely necessary. There were the children to consider. That was why she took such precaution. Her most enjoyable activity over the last few months was when Ryan took her and the kids somewhere for a day’s outing. These had continued until the movie crew went on location to film Gertrude’s after-teaching life.
Gertrude had accompanied the family on several outings and surprised Britney when she offered to watch the children for the three weeks she would be off filming. Ryan had meetings to attend in Seattle and Portland, and would then join Britney in Texas when those had wrapped up.
Britney sat now in her trailer. She was drinking mineral water and lightly massaging the abdomen of a pet white rat, which lay on its back submitting to her ministrations. The rat had had its tail clipped and resembled a hamster, but the thought passed Britney’s mind that it was still a rat. She worried that at any moment it might suddenly become moody and bite her. The massage was a trust building exercise for both parties. When her cell phone rang, it startled Britney and her longish nails grazed the rat’s belly. Then it did snap at her hand, but she had moved too quickly. Disappointed, the rat scurried away and ran under an endtable. It was watching her in what she considered a sinister fashion as she spoke on the phone.
Gertrude asked how the filming was going and said she anticipated Britney’s return. The children, while she loved them dearly, were quite a handful, and she wasn’t getting any writing done. Having been a teacher, she had assumed she could easily manage youngsters, but perhaps she had misjudged her enthusiasm.
Britney, at a loss for words, looked at the rat, and suddenly panicked. She felt she must stay on the phone, for as long as she did so, she was safe. The rat would maintain its present size and not attack. Where was Ryan when she really needed him? She must say something to maintain her connection with Gertrude. Something. Anything.
So she said, “We’ll be wrapping a little earlier than expected. It seems the producers are looking over their budget and feel money would be better spent on the musical numbers. We still have two more to do, and they can be filmed back in L.A. But Gert, there’s something I wanted to ask you. I didn’t think of it as a problem until I saw it in the script. They have you in a relationship with a much younger former student after your first book was written. How did you go about that? I mean, was that something like a mid-life crisis?”
Gertrude responded, “You said you’d read my book. Do you remember any part about an affair with an ex-student?”
“No, well, I, that’s why I’m asking I guess.”
“That never happened. Sweetie, you didn’t actually read the book, did you?”
“Oh, Gert, I’m sorry. I’m dyslexic and have trouble reading. I didn’t want you to think I was stupid. I knew you didn’t really want me to play you in this movie, and I wanted you to believe I could do it.”
“I wish you had at least listened to an audio version. If you had, you’d know the one thing I value above all else is honesty.”
“I’m so sorry. I never meant to…You see, this rat is crouching here ready to pounce on me, and I…”
“Well, at least you’re honest with yourself,” Gertrude said. “Listen, dear, I have to go. The children are making a lot of noise up in my bedroom and I have to go investigate. Hurry home, won’t you?”
“Wait. Please don’t hang…” Britney said, but it was too late. Gertrude had disconnected. Britney, maintaining eye contact with the rat, quickly dialled Ryan’s number, but it rang several times and then his message came on. She pretended he had answered anyway, and preceded to make light conversation in her most controlled voice. She didn’t consider herself a great actress, but she had taken several lessons, and she remembered a few things. She just wished the director would call, “Cut.” sooner rather than later. She wanted the rest of the crew to return to the set. Those were always the best moments of the day.
Gertrude was an English teacher with a method. What she would do is begin her lesson with excess clothing on and casualy remove one item as she presented each grammar point until midway through the lesson she was standing in front of her group in hot pants and a halter. She would then proceed to redress, but her art was in being able to keep the students’ attention while she did so. She knew of no ecdysiast who had followed a strip act by putting on clothes, and in any case, she did not bump and grind in an erotic manner. She was teaching.
She didn’t do her “act” during every lesson. It was always an impromptu thing. So her students, mostly young males, never knew what to expect. Thus, they filled her classes hoping any day would be their lucky day. The price they had to pay was learning. Her exams were extremely detailed and difficult to pass if the topics had not been studied.
And she never stripped on exam days.
She had other “revolutionary” methods that fairly guaranteed a high success rate, but the clothing thing was what she had become known for.
Britney called her current paramour Ryan because he looked like either Ryan Gosling or Ryan Phillipe. She could never remember which one it was actually, but he didn’t seem to mind her nicknaming him because he claimed he wasn’t very attached to his given-name which was Oliver.
Gertrude, now over fifty and no longer in the physical condition to teach using her method, had turned to writing; novels mostly, which sold relatively well, but it was her memoirs that provided the means by which she was able to retire from teaching. She was still quite attractive, and had bridled on first learning that Britney was going to portray her, but could not say much because she had sold the rights to her story. In any case, her initial dissatisfaction had lessened when she took to visiting the set and conversed with Britney. She was so malleable and graciously accepted suggestions on how best to play the character, for that was, after all, what Gertrude had made herself, a character.
Britney, on the other hand, never saw herself as a character. The papparazzi blitz had long ago ended. Her last few concerts had garnered little praise and less revenue than she had been able to achieve in her prime. Her hair had not grown back so luxuriously after her breakdown stage, and she had taken to wearing wigs. She was always careful to wear underwear these days, even under slacks and bathing attire, though without the surprise photos being snapped it did not seem entirely necessary. There were the children to consider. That was why she took such precaution. Her most enjoyable activity over the last few months was when Ryan took her and the kids somewhere for a day’s outing. These had continued until the movie crew went on location to film Gertrude’s after-teaching life.
Gertrude had accompanied the family on several outings and surprised Britney when she offered to watch the children for the three weeks she would be off filming. Ryan had meetings to attend in Seattle and Portland, and would then join Britney in Texas when those had wrapped up.
Britney sat now in her trailer. She was drinking mineral water and lightly massaging the abdomen of a pet white rat, which lay on its back submitting to her ministrations. The rat had had its tail clipped and resembled a hamster, but the thought passed Britney’s mind that it was still a rat. She worried that at any moment it might suddenly become moody and bite her. The massage was a trust building exercise for both parties. When her cell phone rang, it startled Britney and her longish nails grazed the rat’s belly. Then it did snap at her hand, but she had moved too quickly. Disappointed, the rat scurried away and ran under an endtable. It was watching her in what she considered a sinister fashion as she spoke on the phone.
Gertrude asked how the filming was going and said she anticipated Britney’s return. The children, while she loved them dearly, were quite a handful, and she wasn’t getting any writing done. Having been a teacher, she had assumed she could easily manage youngsters, but perhaps she had misjudged her enthusiasm.
Britney, at a loss for words, looked at the rat, and suddenly panicked. She felt she must stay on the phone, for as long as she did so, she was safe. The rat would maintain its present size and not attack. Where was Ryan when she really needed him? She must say something to maintain her connection with Gertrude. Something. Anything.
So she said, “We’ll be wrapping a little earlier than expected. It seems the producers are looking over their budget and feel money would be better spent on the musical numbers. We still have two more to do, and they can be filmed back in L.A. But Gert, there’s something I wanted to ask you. I didn’t think of it as a problem until I saw it in the script. They have you in a relationship with a much younger former student after your first book was written. How did you go about that? I mean, was that something like a mid-life crisis?”
Gertrude responded, “You said you’d read my book. Do you remember any part about an affair with an ex-student?”
“No, well, I, that’s why I’m asking I guess.”
“That never happened. Sweetie, you didn’t actually read the book, did you?”
“Oh, Gert, I’m sorry. I’m dyslexic and have trouble reading. I didn’t want you to think I was stupid. I knew you didn’t really want me to play you in this movie, and I wanted you to believe I could do it.”
“I wish you had at least listened to an audio version. If you had, you’d know the one thing I value above all else is honesty.”
“I’m so sorry. I never meant to…You see, this rat is crouching here ready to pounce on me, and I…”
“Well, at least you’re honest with yourself,” Gertrude said. “Listen, dear, I have to go. The children are making a lot of noise up in my bedroom and I have to go investigate. Hurry home, won’t you?”
“Wait. Please don’t hang…” Britney said, but it was too late. Gertrude had disconnected. Britney, maintaining eye contact with the rat, quickly dialled Ryan’s number, but it rang several times and then his message came on. She pretended he had answered anyway, and preceded to make light conversation in her most controlled voice. She didn’t consider herself a great actress, but she had taken several lessons, and she remembered a few things. She just wished the director would call, “Cut.” sooner rather than later. She wanted the rest of the crew to return to the set. Those were always the best moments of the day.
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Alice
“What did you want from me then? What do you want from me now?” She spoke in an even tone. She was not being sarcastic, nor cynical. If anything, she was apologizing.
“It’s always been the same thing,” he said, “I’ve only ever wanted your trust.”
“I gave that readily the first time I saw you. You have it still. It’s just that…”
“I know,” he said, “It’s not about me anymore and what I want.”
“I’m sorry, Tom, I really am. I’m sprouting wings. I thank you for that gift, but now I feel the need to flex. I, I…”
“And so you shall, love. It’s time for you to fly.”
When Tom left, Alice smoked a cigarette and watched motes suspended in the still air of her apartment, wingless motes which tumbled in the smoke she exhaled, tumbled then fell still once again, suspended in place as surely as if they were anchored by tiny invisible threads.
She looked at the bracelet on her wrist, tried to twist it round, but it was too snug. The amber stones no longer shone. She unclasped it and placed it on the newspaper folded on the coffeetable.
Later, when she herself was going, it was one of the things she left behind.
Alice was sitting in a corner of the room. She was watching people enjoy themselves. The only people she knew there were Norma and her husband. She worked with Norma in a bank. Norma was an older woman who took a motherly interest in Alice and had invited her to the party.
The house was full and everyone was talking and laughing. Everyone, that is, except Alice. There was a young man standing near her. He looked over at her several times and smiled. Alice pretended not to notice him. When he wasn’t looking, she glanced at him shyly. But when he looked at her again, she acted as if she were interested in the pattern of the carpet.
Just then, Norma came into the room and walked over to her. “Enjoying yourself?” she asked.
“Oh, yes. It’s a great party.”
“Really? You don’t seem to be talking to anyone.”
“Oh, that’s because I…I prefer to sit and listen for a while,” Alice answered.
“But you can’t do that all evening, honey. Come on! Let me introduce you to a few friends.”
“Oh, don’t worry about me, Norma. I’ll be all right. I will, really!”
Norma looked at her doubtfully. Then her husband shouted something to her from the kitchen, and she hurried back to help him bring more food into the room.
An hour later, Alice was still sitting in the corner of the room. The young man was now talking to another person. Alice kept looking at the door, hoping that someone else she knew would come in. After a while, she got up and went into the kitchen, where Norma was joking and laughing in the middle of a crowd of people.
“Well?” she asked. “Met any interesting people?”
“Oh, yes. It’s really been a lot of fun. Thanks for inviting me,” Alice said, looking at her watch.
“You’re not leaving already, are you?” Norma asked.
“Yes, I’m afraid I have to. I’m expecting a phone call from a friend. I told him I’d be home by ten.”
“Well, all right, then. You take care, dear,” Norma said and kissed her on the cheek.
Alice got off the number seven bus and began walking towards her apartment building. On the way, she stopped to buy some food at one of the stores on her street. It was run by a Korean family, and although the prices were a little higher than in the supermarket further down the street, she did a lot of her shopping there. The vegetables were fresher and they had a number of things she couldn’t get anywhere else. Mr. Kim, the owner of the store, was checking through a list, but smiled, as he always did, when he saw her come in.
“How’s Mrs. Kim today?” she asked.
“Oh, much better. The doctor says she’ll be out of the hospital soon,” Mr. Kim said.
“Oh, I’m so glad!”
She picked up a basket and walked toward the back of the store, where the rice and grains were kept. The store was divided by three long aisles, with rows of shelves crammed with all sorts of things. Except for her and Mr. Kim, there were only two other people there, two young men with boyish faces. They were standing at the end of one of the aisles. She glanced at them as she passed. They were both wearing long, old-fashioned raincoats and she thought they looked a little ridiculous because the coats were too big and it wasn’t raining outside. But big coats were popular with some of the teenagers that season.
“Watch out, stupid,” she heard one of them whisper to the other.
She walked on to the next aisle and found the rice she was looking for. Then she heard something else. It sounded like a can falling on the floor. She peered through a gap in the shelf and caught a glimpse of one of the boys bending over. She saw him pick up a can of food, but instead of putting it in his shopping basket or back on the shelf, he dropped it into the inside pocket of his long raincoat. Alice glanced back down the aisle. She could see Mr. Kim at the cash register, still checking through his list. Then she looked through the gap in the shelf again, but the boys had their backs to her.
“Come on, let’s get out of here,” she heard one of them say and they moved. At the same time, she saw one of them put another can in his raincoat pocket. They moved further away from her. She could no longer see what they were doing or hear what they were saying.
When she got to the cash register, the two boys were in front of her. She watched them pay for the few things they had in the basket. They had both buttoned their coats and fastened them with their belts. Mr. Kim did not seem suspicious at all. He even smiled at them as they were about to leave. Alice opened her mouth to say something, but all that came out was the sound of hesitation, which Mr. Kim mistook for a sigh or a yawn.
“You need to get some rest,” he said.
“That’s all I do,” she thought, and paid for her rice with a twenty-dollar bill. Mr. Kim, preoccupied with his list, gave her change for a ten. She did not bring the error to his attention. “Thank you,” she said, “Have a good night. I hope to see Mrs. Kim real soon.”
She heard the telephone ringing as she put her key into the lock on the door. On entering, she placed her purchase on the little table under her father’s photograph and walked over to answer the phone.
“Alice, it’s Norma. Listen, dear, you left something here. We found your bracelet between the cushions on the sofa.”
Alice looked down at her empty right wrist.
“I, er, how…” she began.
“Don’t worry, dear. It turns out one of the guests lives very near your place and he’s offered to drop it off on his way home. Will that be all right, or shall I bring it to the office Monday?”
“I didn’t even know I’d lost it. My father gave me that bracelet when I was a teenager. I guess…”
“I know. You’ve always worn it. Listen, dear, Tom is a good soul and trustworthy. I’m going to send it over with him. You take care and I’ll see you Monday. By the way, did you get the call you were expecting?”
“Yes, yes, I did,” Alice said, “Thank you, Norma.”
She changed into more casual clothes and carefully hung her one good dress back on its padded hanger in her bedroom closet. She brushed her hair and sprayed some mouthwash into her dry throat. Then she poured some cherry liqueur into an aperitif glass and downed it quickly. She poured another and put the glass and the decanter on the table while she went to spray her throat again.
She was feeling dizzy with good luck and believed Norma was a true friend, the only kind worth keeping.
As she replaced the mouthwash in the medicine chest, she heard her buzzer ring.
She responded without asking who it was.
Two minutes later she was disappointed on opening her door and discovering that Tom was not the person she had been expecting. An older man, whom she had not noticed at the party, was standing there.
“Alice?” he asked, and she nodded.
“I’m Tom Sellers. Norma asked me to return this to you.” In his extended hand was her bracelet, partially wrapped in a tissue.
“Thank you,” she said, “Thank you so much. Can I offer you a nightcap for your kindness?”
“How sweet of you to offer, but I’m afraid I mustn’t take you up on it. I’m in recovery, you see. Perhaps,…”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I wanted another chance to speak to you.”
“How’s that?”
“I saw you sitting on Norma’s sofa and realized you were there alone. I tried to screw up the courage to say something several times, but I just couldn’t get past my shyness. Here now, with an excuse to speak, I’ve gotten past that hurdle. Do you think we might have dinner together some time?”
He really was rather handsome. Alice regretted not having been introduced to him at the party, but then she had been distracted by the younger man to whom she herself had been too shy to speak.
On a Wednesday when it was raining heavily and there was very little traffic at the bank, Norma and Alice had lunch together. Norma, as always, looked regal with her hair swept up. She was was wearing an emerald green business suit. Alice too looked regal and Norma commented on the change.
“You’re looking marvelous these days. Life seems to be treating you right.”
“I want to thank you for all you’ve done,” Alice said.
“What I’ve done? Why, I haven’t done anything. You’ve just awakened to your surroundings, dear.”
“Perhaps, but it wasn’t fate that placed both Tom and myself at your party.”
“How are things going between the two of you, if you don’t mind my asking?”
Two salads lay untouched between them.
“He’s a wonderful companion,” Alice said. “We have been all over the city together. We went to the Chagall exhibit last week. I’ve been doing things and going to places I haven’t been since my father passed away. He’s really helped me get out of the rut I was falling into.”
“I can see changes,” Norma said. “Do you think it might be serious between you?”
“Well, he took me to meet his mother over the weekend. She’s a tiny woman, nearly seventy she must be, but very lively.”
“Oh, how did that go?”
“We hit it off, but something, I don’t know, something didn’t feel right. She offered me a glass of wine with dinner. She had Tom pour one for her. He had soda and so I did also. But the decanter was near him and his mother kept glancing at it. I couldn’t tell if she was longing for another but didn’t like to be the only one drinking or if she didn’t trust her son, as if at any moment he might cave and fill his glass. He’s in recovery, you know.”
“Yes,” Norma said, “And I believe he’s very faithful to his principles. I’ve never seen him drinking and we’ve been friends for about nine years.”
“You seem more sure of him than his mother does.”
Norma leaned forward and said in a low voice, “She does drink a bit.” Then, sitting upright again, she added, “But hey, she’s seventy.”
A couple were taking seats at the table next to Norma and Alice. The young woman was fashionably attired and had her blond hair perfectly coiffed. She was wearing a brooch that looked like an eagle in flight pinned to her jacket. Alice felt she recognized her escort as he held out her chair for her. He looked so familiar, but Alice couldn’t place where she’d seen him before. Then he sat parallel to her and she couldn’t see his face without turning around in an obvious manner to look at him.
“So,” she said to Norma, “You don’t think it was a matter of trust?”
“No. A little wine with dinner never hurt anyone. Anyone who doesn’t have a problem with alcohol, that is. Tom never did succumb, right.?”
The blond at the next table looked over at them and Alice began to feel uncomfortable. “Umh, no,” she said, “No, he didn’t.” Perhaps Norma had responded in a tone that had evoked the young woman’s interest.
Shortly afterward, the waiter took away their uneaten salads and brought their check. When they rose to leave, Alice had another chance to see the young man’s face. She was astounded when she realized where she knew him from. This young man, dressed in a business suit, hair neatly combed, with a flawless complexion, looking for all the world like some successful young executive taking his fiance to a nice restaurant for lunch was one of the kids in oversized raincoats she had seen robbing canned goods from Mr. Kim! They caught each other’s eyes but there was no sign of recognition in his. He merely smiled. She couldn’t bring herself to return the smile but said, “Provecho,” in a low voice.
Norma looked sideways when she heard that. “You are full of surprises these days,” she said.
That evening she told Tom that she had decided to go to Mexico for her month’s vacation. He asked her if this was a sudden decision because she had never mentioned it earlier.
“Sort of,” she said. “I haven’t traveled anywhere in years. My parents used to take me on cruises when I was a child. I always thought I’d like to continue traveling when I grew up, but then my mother died and my father was sick for a long time. After he died, I guess I lost interest. Lately, I’ve been reading about South America and Mexico and thought I’d like to explore a bit – try something new.”
She was getting ready to go to the theater with him when he arrived and now she was just putting on the finishing touches. She picked up her bracelet with the little onyx stones on it and started to put it on her wrist, when he said, “Wait a minute.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a little box. “I brought this for you. I guess now we can consider it a bon voyage present.”
She opened the box. Inside was a bracelet of shiny amber. He took it out and put it round her wrist and clasped it with a bit of difficulty as the length was not so great as her one made of onyx. “Oh, Tom,” she said, “You shouldn’t have.”
“Do you like it?” he asked.
“Yes, it’s beautiful, but…” She placed the onyx bracelet in the box and put it on the table.
“I know the other one is important to you,” he said. “I know you wear it all the time. I just thought you might like to change off now and then.”
“My father gave me that one on the last trip we took as a family. It was for my sixteenth birthday. I guess I have been wearing it all this time for sentimental reasons. But this one is beautiful. Thank you so much.” She kissed him in sincere gratitude but was inwardly disappointed that she felt nothing more than that.
She put the box with her father’s bracelet in it away in a drawer and wore only Tom’s gift for the next two weeks whenever they went out somewhere together. She was wearing it on the Friday evening, her last day of work before she was set to travel.
She had made up her mind that she wanted to tell Tom not to wait for her to come back from Mexico. She wanted her future to be open.
When she broached the subject, he was a little upset but not angry. He told her he knew how she had been feeling prior to her voicing it. He said he felt their separation was predestined. He’d known it the first night he’d come to her apartment. He had felt her love was out of his reach when he spotted her at Norma’s party, her love, but not affection. That he knew was attainable. He had made his belated moves with only the simplest goal in mind.
“It’s always been the same thing,” he said, “I’ve only ever wanted your trust.”
“I gave that readily the first time I saw you. You have it still. It’s just that…”
“I know,” he said, “It’s not about me anymore and what I want.”
“I’m sorry, Tom, I really am. I’m sprouting wings. I thank you for that gift, but now I feel the need to flex. I, I…”
“And so you shall, love. It’s time for you to fly.”
When Tom left, Alice smoked a cigarette and watched motes suspended in the still air of her apartment, wingless motes which tumbled in the smoke she exhaled, tumbled then fell still once again, suspended in place as surely as if they were anchored by tiny invisible threads.
She looked at the bracelet on her wrist, tried to twist it round, but it was too snug. The amber stones no longer shone. She unclasped it and placed it on the newspaper folded on the coffeetable.
Later, when she herself was going, it was one of the things she left behind.
Alice was sitting in a corner of the room. She was watching people enjoy themselves. The only people she knew there were Norma and her husband. She worked with Norma in a bank. Norma was an older woman who took a motherly interest in Alice and had invited her to the party.
The house was full and everyone was talking and laughing. Everyone, that is, except Alice. There was a young man standing near her. He looked over at her several times and smiled. Alice pretended not to notice him. When he wasn’t looking, she glanced at him shyly. But when he looked at her again, she acted as if she were interested in the pattern of the carpet.
Just then, Norma came into the room and walked over to her. “Enjoying yourself?” she asked.
“Oh, yes. It’s a great party.”
“Really? You don’t seem to be talking to anyone.”
“Oh, that’s because I…I prefer to sit and listen for a while,” Alice answered.
“But you can’t do that all evening, honey. Come on! Let me introduce you to a few friends.”
“Oh, don’t worry about me, Norma. I’ll be all right. I will, really!”
Norma looked at her doubtfully. Then her husband shouted something to her from the kitchen, and she hurried back to help him bring more food into the room.
An hour later, Alice was still sitting in the corner of the room. The young man was now talking to another person. Alice kept looking at the door, hoping that someone else she knew would come in. After a while, she got up and went into the kitchen, where Norma was joking and laughing in the middle of a crowd of people.
“Well?” she asked. “Met any interesting people?”
“Oh, yes. It’s really been a lot of fun. Thanks for inviting me,” Alice said, looking at her watch.
“You’re not leaving already, are you?” Norma asked.
“Yes, I’m afraid I have to. I’m expecting a phone call from a friend. I told him I’d be home by ten.”
“Well, all right, then. You take care, dear,” Norma said and kissed her on the cheek.
Alice got off the number seven bus and began walking towards her apartment building. On the way, she stopped to buy some food at one of the stores on her street. It was run by a Korean family, and although the prices were a little higher than in the supermarket further down the street, she did a lot of her shopping there. The vegetables were fresher and they had a number of things she couldn’t get anywhere else. Mr. Kim, the owner of the store, was checking through a list, but smiled, as he always did, when he saw her come in.
“How’s Mrs. Kim today?” she asked.
“Oh, much better. The doctor says she’ll be out of the hospital soon,” Mr. Kim said.
“Oh, I’m so glad!”
She picked up a basket and walked toward the back of the store, where the rice and grains were kept. The store was divided by three long aisles, with rows of shelves crammed with all sorts of things. Except for her and Mr. Kim, there were only two other people there, two young men with boyish faces. They were standing at the end of one of the aisles. She glanced at them as she passed. They were both wearing long, old-fashioned raincoats and she thought they looked a little ridiculous because the coats were too big and it wasn’t raining outside. But big coats were popular with some of the teenagers that season.
“Watch out, stupid,” she heard one of them whisper to the other.
She walked on to the next aisle and found the rice she was looking for. Then she heard something else. It sounded like a can falling on the floor. She peered through a gap in the shelf and caught a glimpse of one of the boys bending over. She saw him pick up a can of food, but instead of putting it in his shopping basket or back on the shelf, he dropped it into the inside pocket of his long raincoat. Alice glanced back down the aisle. She could see Mr. Kim at the cash register, still checking through his list. Then she looked through the gap in the shelf again, but the boys had their backs to her.
“Come on, let’s get out of here,” she heard one of them say and they moved. At the same time, she saw one of them put another can in his raincoat pocket. They moved further away from her. She could no longer see what they were doing or hear what they were saying.
When she got to the cash register, the two boys were in front of her. She watched them pay for the few things they had in the basket. They had both buttoned their coats and fastened them with their belts. Mr. Kim did not seem suspicious at all. He even smiled at them as they were about to leave. Alice opened her mouth to say something, but all that came out was the sound of hesitation, which Mr. Kim mistook for a sigh or a yawn.
“You need to get some rest,” he said.
“That’s all I do,” she thought, and paid for her rice with a twenty-dollar bill. Mr. Kim, preoccupied with his list, gave her change for a ten. She did not bring the error to his attention. “Thank you,” she said, “Have a good night. I hope to see Mrs. Kim real soon.”
She heard the telephone ringing as she put her key into the lock on the door. On entering, she placed her purchase on the little table under her father’s photograph and walked over to answer the phone.
“Alice, it’s Norma. Listen, dear, you left something here. We found your bracelet between the cushions on the sofa.”
Alice looked down at her empty right wrist.
“I, er, how…” she began.
“Don’t worry, dear. It turns out one of the guests lives very near your place and he’s offered to drop it off on his way home. Will that be all right, or shall I bring it to the office Monday?”
“I didn’t even know I’d lost it. My father gave me that bracelet when I was a teenager. I guess…”
“I know. You’ve always worn it. Listen, dear, Tom is a good soul and trustworthy. I’m going to send it over with him. You take care and I’ll see you Monday. By the way, did you get the call you were expecting?”
“Yes, yes, I did,” Alice said, “Thank you, Norma.”
She changed into more casual clothes and carefully hung her one good dress back on its padded hanger in her bedroom closet. She brushed her hair and sprayed some mouthwash into her dry throat. Then she poured some cherry liqueur into an aperitif glass and downed it quickly. She poured another and put the glass and the decanter on the table while she went to spray her throat again.
She was feeling dizzy with good luck and believed Norma was a true friend, the only kind worth keeping.
As she replaced the mouthwash in the medicine chest, she heard her buzzer ring.
She responded without asking who it was.
Two minutes later she was disappointed on opening her door and discovering that Tom was not the person she had been expecting. An older man, whom she had not noticed at the party, was standing there.
“Alice?” he asked, and she nodded.
“I’m Tom Sellers. Norma asked me to return this to you.” In his extended hand was her bracelet, partially wrapped in a tissue.
“Thank you,” she said, “Thank you so much. Can I offer you a nightcap for your kindness?”
“How sweet of you to offer, but I’m afraid I mustn’t take you up on it. I’m in recovery, you see. Perhaps,…”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I wanted another chance to speak to you.”
“How’s that?”
“I saw you sitting on Norma’s sofa and realized you were there alone. I tried to screw up the courage to say something several times, but I just couldn’t get past my shyness. Here now, with an excuse to speak, I’ve gotten past that hurdle. Do you think we might have dinner together some time?”
He really was rather handsome. Alice regretted not having been introduced to him at the party, but then she had been distracted by the younger man to whom she herself had been too shy to speak.
On a Wednesday when it was raining heavily and there was very little traffic at the bank, Norma and Alice had lunch together. Norma, as always, looked regal with her hair swept up. She was was wearing an emerald green business suit. Alice too looked regal and Norma commented on the change.
“You’re looking marvelous these days. Life seems to be treating you right.”
“I want to thank you for all you’ve done,” Alice said.
“What I’ve done? Why, I haven’t done anything. You’ve just awakened to your surroundings, dear.”
“Perhaps, but it wasn’t fate that placed both Tom and myself at your party.”
“How are things going between the two of you, if you don’t mind my asking?”
Two salads lay untouched between them.
“He’s a wonderful companion,” Alice said. “We have been all over the city together. We went to the Chagall exhibit last week. I’ve been doing things and going to places I haven’t been since my father passed away. He’s really helped me get out of the rut I was falling into.”
“I can see changes,” Norma said. “Do you think it might be serious between you?”
“Well, he took me to meet his mother over the weekend. She’s a tiny woman, nearly seventy she must be, but very lively.”
“Oh, how did that go?”
“We hit it off, but something, I don’t know, something didn’t feel right. She offered me a glass of wine with dinner. She had Tom pour one for her. He had soda and so I did also. But the decanter was near him and his mother kept glancing at it. I couldn’t tell if she was longing for another but didn’t like to be the only one drinking or if she didn’t trust her son, as if at any moment he might cave and fill his glass. He’s in recovery, you know.”
“Yes,” Norma said, “And I believe he’s very faithful to his principles. I’ve never seen him drinking and we’ve been friends for about nine years.”
“You seem more sure of him than his mother does.”
Norma leaned forward and said in a low voice, “She does drink a bit.” Then, sitting upright again, she added, “But hey, she’s seventy.”
A couple were taking seats at the table next to Norma and Alice. The young woman was fashionably attired and had her blond hair perfectly coiffed. She was wearing a brooch that looked like an eagle in flight pinned to her jacket. Alice felt she recognized her escort as he held out her chair for her. He looked so familiar, but Alice couldn’t place where she’d seen him before. Then he sat parallel to her and she couldn’t see his face without turning around in an obvious manner to look at him.
“So,” she said to Norma, “You don’t think it was a matter of trust?”
“No. A little wine with dinner never hurt anyone. Anyone who doesn’t have a problem with alcohol, that is. Tom never did succumb, right.?”
The blond at the next table looked over at them and Alice began to feel uncomfortable. “Umh, no,” she said, “No, he didn’t.” Perhaps Norma had responded in a tone that had evoked the young woman’s interest.
Shortly afterward, the waiter took away their uneaten salads and brought their check. When they rose to leave, Alice had another chance to see the young man’s face. She was astounded when she realized where she knew him from. This young man, dressed in a business suit, hair neatly combed, with a flawless complexion, looking for all the world like some successful young executive taking his fiance to a nice restaurant for lunch was one of the kids in oversized raincoats she had seen robbing canned goods from Mr. Kim! They caught each other’s eyes but there was no sign of recognition in his. He merely smiled. She couldn’t bring herself to return the smile but said, “Provecho,” in a low voice.
Norma looked sideways when she heard that. “You are full of surprises these days,” she said.
That evening she told Tom that she had decided to go to Mexico for her month’s vacation. He asked her if this was a sudden decision because she had never mentioned it earlier.
“Sort of,” she said. “I haven’t traveled anywhere in years. My parents used to take me on cruises when I was a child. I always thought I’d like to continue traveling when I grew up, but then my mother died and my father was sick for a long time. After he died, I guess I lost interest. Lately, I’ve been reading about South America and Mexico and thought I’d like to explore a bit – try something new.”
She was getting ready to go to the theater with him when he arrived and now she was just putting on the finishing touches. She picked up her bracelet with the little onyx stones on it and started to put it on her wrist, when he said, “Wait a minute.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a little box. “I brought this for you. I guess now we can consider it a bon voyage present.”
She opened the box. Inside was a bracelet of shiny amber. He took it out and put it round her wrist and clasped it with a bit of difficulty as the length was not so great as her one made of onyx. “Oh, Tom,” she said, “You shouldn’t have.”
“Do you like it?” he asked.
“Yes, it’s beautiful, but…” She placed the onyx bracelet in the box and put it on the table.
“I know the other one is important to you,” he said. “I know you wear it all the time. I just thought you might like to change off now and then.”
“My father gave me that one on the last trip we took as a family. It was for my sixteenth birthday. I guess I have been wearing it all this time for sentimental reasons. But this one is beautiful. Thank you so much.” She kissed him in sincere gratitude but was inwardly disappointed that she felt nothing more than that.
She put the box with her father’s bracelet in it away in a drawer and wore only Tom’s gift for the next two weeks whenever they went out somewhere together. She was wearing it on the Friday evening, her last day of work before she was set to travel.
She had made up her mind that she wanted to tell Tom not to wait for her to come back from Mexico. She wanted her future to be open.
When she broached the subject, he was a little upset but not angry. He told her he knew how she had been feeling prior to her voicing it. He said he felt their separation was predestined. He’d known it the first night he’d come to her apartment. He had felt her love was out of his reach when he spotted her at Norma’s party, her love, but not affection. That he knew was attainable. He had made his belated moves with only the simplest goal in mind.
Friday, July 6, 2007
Reading is an Essential Skill
There is an excellent online magazine en español called eLe which has recently started up. It promotes reading as a pleasurable pastime. It presents all topics in bite-size chunks and in an attractive format. Says one of its promoters, "eLe es un espacio que contiene fragmentos de libros, comentarios, recomendaciones, concursos, humor, textos de autor y algunos contenidos experimentales, todo ello elegido con ganas de divertirse y demostrar que leer es un placer." Check it out.
Another great site (blog) that I frequently enjoy reading is Scott Esposito's Conversational Reading. This one is in English, but there is much commentary on books in translation of diverse provenance.
I guess I spend so much time reading that I don't get around to doing as much writing as I'd like, but reading is research, no?
Another great site (blog) that I frequently enjoy reading is Scott Esposito's Conversational Reading. This one is in English, but there is much commentary on books in translation of diverse provenance.
I guess I spend so much time reading that I don't get around to doing as much writing as I'd like, but reading is research, no?
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