Chapter 9
The alarm shattered her at seven. Alarm clocks had a purpose but never any sympathy. Why had no company ever come up with an alarm that grows in volume gently rather than one that cleaves the mind with a shrill Stephen King like terror? She slapped the alarm and rolled out of bed. She stood and waited for reality to seep into her mind. ‘It was Tuesday. Good,’ she thought, ‘she knew where she was.’
Her next thought was as rude as the alarm. The memo 1:15 spiders and caterpillars. No, no it was caterpillars and butterflies. Was there a difference?
She glanced in the mirror half hoping to see ice cream on her face - nothing.
Damn it was a dream. She stepped into the shower. Unfortunately, the glory of hot water washed the dream from her body. She dried off, slipped on a bra and some panties and wrapped herself in her housecoat. She would eat on the balcony this morning, it was plenty warm enough.
She decided to not make lunch and buy a sandwich on the way. She mixed the peach and strawberry yogurt with the crunchy granola and sliced a banana on top. She went to her balcony opened it and stepped out to stir her breakfast and enjoy the day. She almost felt like celebrating as if the dream had been true and she had seen him. There was always a technique to stirring the yogurt and granola. She believed for maximum enjoyment you didn’t want it too mushy, too much of a ‘oneness’. Satisfied with the consistency she took a spoonful and looked out at the day. She looked to her left and the Viallini’s obviously hadn’t woken yet. She turned to the right and almost spat the yogurt out.
He was standing there on the neighboring balcony watching her. She had never seen him before but she wanted to see him again. She thought next door was empty. Was this her new neighbor? Was he single? Why was he handsome? What did he do? He had a gorgeous suit and a body that screamed to her.
She turned away she had no make up, was she covered. She tucked her robe in. It was five meters away but still.
“Good morning” he said.
He had European accent. She thought she might die at this point. “Good morning.” She couldn’t think what to say next. She glanced at him again just to confirm. Yes she was right he was as handsome as her first glance.
“I’m Marek, we’re staying here a few months.”
“Great, I hope you enjoy the city.” That didn’t sound very friendly she thought. Had she put him off on the second sentence?
“Perhaps we could go for a drink sometime?”
Her eyes flushed with heat. Why was he always saying ‘we’?
A moment later it was clear. She appeared behind him and waved. “Hi I’m Natasha.”
‘Yeah Kinski probably’ Jenny thought. The woman was off a magazine cover and oozed the that exotic European mix that made men go weak at the knees and other women twist and churn their guts in envy. “Hi.” Jenny said lamely. “Maybe on the weekend. I have to run. Nice to meet you.”
She stepped back inside and felt like slamming the door. Damn it, so close and yet so far. She woofed the granola down and marched to her bedroom to change. Her make-up was done in a few minutes; touch of eye shadow, mascara, bit of liner and rouge, some bronze lipstick, she was ready to go. She crossed the room and opened the closet.
She sighed at her wardrobe with hate. Was this the closet of a caterpillar or the boudoir of a butterfly? The answer was obvious. She glanced across at the lemon dress. No, no, she wasn’t ready for that. She was disappointed but she wasn’t off her head.
She saw a pair of white slacks. She hardly ever wore slacks, certainly not to work. She grabbed the slacks. There was a batik pink and gold shirt. It was short just cut to her waist but would be cool at the canal during lunch. She slipped her clothes on aggressively and started to tie her hair up. No not today. She slipped a band on, put it in a ponytail, grabbed her bag and walked out.
She pulled her bicycle up to Benedetto’s bagels, leaned it on the outside and went in. Tony knew her well, but seemed to be either hung over or a bit dim this morning; he didn’t recognize her. Perhaps he was over-worked she knew these sandwich shops started very early.
“Hi Tony.”
“Hi Miss…” His mind seemed to fail him.
“What Tony. I come here for four years and you forget my name.”
“No, no, no. Jenny, I ah, I’m tired ah,” he was embarrassed at being caught out and it was unusual. Italians loved to give the personal touch to their business. He glanced up at her again and stared. “What would you like?”
“A pastrami special please.” She stepped back as he flew into action. The bagels were fantastic and the place was crowded. A tall man stood beside and she shifted over so he could get to the counter to order. He looked at her and smiled.
She saw Tony glance at her through the display case. He seemed distracted. He wrapped the bagel with the usual flash of hands and bagged it for her. She passed him a ten-dollar note.
He waved it away. “Not today, it’s on me.”
“No that’s okay Tony.”
“What I forget the name of the first pretty girl who comes in my shop. It’s on me.”
“What about me?” His sister Angelina called from the counter.
“I never forgot your name did I? Could I? Please Jenny. You are gorgeous, you have a good day.”
Jenny smiled. “Thanks Tony.” She walked out and packed her bag and the sandwich into her basket. The tall man and Tony were still watching her from the shop. She waved and cycled off. Tuesday was looking up already.
She stopped at the light and adjusted her bag. She glanced back at the male voices behind her. There were two tight lycra suits behind her with their top shirt zippers undone. It was hot and their faces gleamed with sweat, they had obviously been speeding along. She hated guys like that, they thought they owned the road. The two guys smiled at her. The light changed and she stood on her pedals to power away. She expected them to shoot past at any moment. They must have turned off.
She didn’t make the next light and had to wait again. She glanced back and they were still there smiling. The light changed and she didn’t stand on the pedals, instead she pulled away slowly. She knew what they were up to. They had to pass and both smiled as they went by. Jerks.
The security guard saw her crossing from the bike stand and opened the door for her. That was a first.
“I see you buy your bagels over at Benedetto’s.”
She looked at him puzzled and then realized he could see the wrapper poking from her bag. She didn’t realize he was that observant, but then he was a security guard. “Yeah they’re the best.” she said.
“If you ever need one, just call down, we usually do a bagel run at about eleven. We could pick one up, not today, I mean sometime, happy to.”
“Great thanks, I’ll remember that.” She walked toward the elevator and realized she had no idea what his name was. It didn’t matter, she wouldn’t get a bagel through them anyway.
She crossed along the office and turned the corner at the end and noticed Stephen and Charles watching her. They both waved awkwardly.
It was about eleven and she had just fired off yet another rejection letter, it seemed to be a morning full of them. Jenny saw Bernadette and Cindy slink along the corridor formed by the partitions toward her end of the office. They stopped and leaned over her partition. Cindy cleared the partition easily with it coming three or four inches below her bust line where as Bernadette barely got her shoulders over. They both glared at her as if she’d done something wrong. Bernadette came around the side and produced a bag of Oreo’s. She held the bag out to Jenny.
“Thanks, I was just getting sleepy.”
“Five years the three of us have worked together, right Jen?” Cindy said.
“Yeah, gee I guess so.” Jenny wasn’t sure where this was going they both looked rather strange. Maybe it had something to do with the Robert Coley meeting.
“So we
think it’s only fair,” she held the bag of Oreos out and Jenny reached for another, but Bernadette snatched the bag away and leaned down. “That you tell us right now who it is you’re seeing.”
“With pictures.” Cindy added.
“There’s no one really.”
Cindy leaned in. “Come on. Jenny we can see it.”
“You have never worn tight clothes, you had that skirt yesterday and Stephen and Charles had to pick their jaws off the floor when they saw your ass in those tight slacks.”
Jenny didn’t want this. She hadn’t worn the change of clothes to catch some guy. It was hopefully a caterpillar trying to - maybe it was a big mistake. Maybe her poet wouldn’t like it either. Her lip started to quiver. She was a strong person but recently the whole man in your life business was making her a bit shaky. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”
Bernadette leaned in closer. “Come on Jen, don’t give us the crap about some poet.”
“He’s not just some poet.”
“So there is a guy then?” Cindy asked. “Maybe from California?”
“No.”
“Then who?” Bernadette was growing insistent. “Come on, it’s okay to have a man you know.”
“No I don’t know goddamn it.” Jenny grabbed her bag. “I don’t have a man and no Bernadette I don’t need to get laid and no I don’t need you to tell me to get one.”
“Jenny hold it wait-”
“Jenny chill we are only-”
“Just leave me alone.” Jenny wouldn’t let them see her cry and barged past them to the stairway. She dashed down four flights before slowing down and catching her breath. She slowed down and controlled herself. She descended the last few flights and came out near the elevators.
“Hi Jenny.”
She whipped around at the sound of the woman’s voice. It was Robert Coley’s secretary, Penny. She was a petite girl from Belfast and was very competent. Jenny remembered she had an outrageously infectious laugh.
“Don’t forget your 1:15 today.”
“No, of course not Penny. Thanks.”
“I really like your foundation it makes your face come so alive. Is it the new one that is all over the TV?”
Jenny had no idea what Penny was talking about, partly because she never paid any attention to that kind of advertising and also because she never wore foundation. She did not feel in the mood for a lengthy cosmetics discussion and started to move away. “Yeah, it’s great.”
“I should pick some up.”
“Sorry, Penny I have to run. See you later. Oh,” Jenny took a step back toward her, “do you know why Robert wants to see me?”
“No, but two other senior partners are going to be there, so, on your toes.”
Jenny nodded, “thanks” and walked toward the entrance. The guard was there and he looked up and waved at Jenny. She just smiled back. The sooner she could get to the bench the better.
The poem was there as always and she touched the paper. She traced a finger of the words ‘For Joy’. Did he watch her as she read it? Would he like what she wore today? Had she dressed like this for him, for Robert or for herself? Why was fashion and perception such a big hurdle in attempts to gain access to someone’s heart?
As she unfolded the paper she could see it was a different style than before, it seemed to have a Haiku and a long single sentence ramble followed by some quatrains. Perhaps he was trying to find a new style or voice, or perhaps he was one of those people who never edited his work just let it flow and it stood as it was.
LOVE ON A PARK BENCH 7
The pale moon whispers
Man’s dreams die unheard
Such is the joy of life’s sunrise.
If the pale sultry blue moon were to cast an eerie shadow, a creepy voice across my thoughts it would chastise me for never knowing the true beauty of my dreams, for to leave this world never having pursued the heartstrings that pull ones tears is most surely the greatest crime of all, in that we lay like frightened gnats, too trembling and fragile to venture out into the bravery of our thoughts and drink long and deep of the love passions which drive us forward through the dark shadows of doubt that enshroud our hearts, though the grace of your love alone brought a radiance, a brilliance, to my shadows melting them and for that my life is forever yours.
An oak standing alone waved to me
I was passing merrily on my way
It had stood for decades resolutely
Welcoming the sunrise to each passing day.
Branches unfurled it stood massive
Honored and majestic in presence
Time’s dignity nurtured and passive
Lay ingrained in every bud and essence.
A hovered eagle lazed high over the oak
Wafting motionless on the sultry breeze
As sentinel it watched, of honor it spoke
Crying the oak’s solitude to other trees.
Through drought and storm it withstood thunder
Brave alone refusing to bend
It endured the axe-man’s plunder
Alone these hardships it did contend.
The course to confound such pain
Was to provide home, shelter to give
Never wavering under the tumult and strain
So that God’s creatures may live.
So too your love has sheltered my dream
And acted as my heart’s shield
To silence the doubts who at me scream
But your love refused me to yield.
Like the bough of my staunchest soul
You support, so my dreams do hold
To you my heart I give control
So that our lives may grow bold.
In you my trust like oak must grow
Flowing freely without doubt
With seeds of sunlight life you sew
And nurture sunshine to see darkness out.
She took the leather notebook out and carefully pasted the letter on the next page. She wanted him to see. She wanted him to know that she cherished his thoughts without judgment. Maybe then he would present himself to her. She looked up and waited. It was just after noon and the path was getting busy with joggers and workers trying to freshen up. It was lovely and the warm breeze wafted under her batik top.
She pulled out her bagel and ate alone. Her thoughts went back to Venus and Adonis, how the churlish handsome boy had rejected the warrior goddess. What right had one to deny or confound the love overtures of another? Was she being teased or spurned? She didn’t think it was either; the poet was just shy. Maybe they were two caterpillars on a park bench.
After she finished the bagel she tried to write her response to him. It had become a source of pleasure to fence or joust his ideas with her loneliness. Today however it seemed her muse, her creativity, did not want to dance. She thought of her meeting with Robert. Was he that upset about her opinions? Surely he didn’t think she was reviewing works for one of the major papers. Her mind was tired, it felt like an aged rubber band. She hadn’t slept well or perhaps she had slept too well and the sluggish slothful drowse had decided to linger for another full day.
She glanced at her watch. It was quarter to one, she needed to go back. The tinkle of an ice cream seller crossed from her left. Instantly she thought of last night. She sprang to her feet and ran to the vendor. She hardly needed to run. The middle aged man watched with pleasure as the slim woman ran towards him.
“What’d you like love?”
Not the accent she’d expected. “Do you have a Solero?”
“Tropical or raspberry?”
“Tropical please.” She paid him and he moved off. He’d only gone a few yards before he was stopped again by a young couple. She recognized the girl from somewhere. It took a moment before she realized it was Robert’s ex. She better not bring that up this afternoon. She took a bite of the Solero and was momentarily back with that rippled chest in the gallery. What a c
razy dream. She made her way back to the building enjoying her Solero as she went. It was delicious and she didn’t care at the envy in the eyes of the people she passed. The elevator was cramped but she squeezed in and continued working on the Solero. She could feel all the suits behind her scream with envy, which they shrouded in disdainful scowls. A voice shot out from the back.
“If that is company issue Miss, I want a transfer to wherever you work.”
“It is, but unfortunately you have to wear batik if you wish to enjoy full company benefits.”
Another voice popped in, “book my ticket to Jakarta.”
There was a rustle of laughter. She stepped out at the seventh floor and turned back to wave the Solero at the men. An outrageously minxy thought crossed her mind but she couldn’t do it. She just smiled at the box full of sardine suits. The men all stared at her like a pack of salivating dogs. She wondered if they realized how pathetic they looked. She dumped her bag on her desk and walked to the stairway to go up to the eleventh floor where Robert’s office was. She saw Cindy coming toward her but just smiled and went up the stairs.
She arrived at the eleventh floor with her lips part frozen but her mind was dead calm and focused for the caterpillar. What a difference an ice cream makes.
“Hi Penny.” she said to Robert’s secretary.
“Hi, they’re here already. I’ll let them know you’ve arrived.”
Jenny took a seat and browsed the copy of Writer’s Weekly. It was an impressive office. The company only used half of each floor and shared with another accounting firm. The arrangement had been in place for years and seemed to work very well.
Penny called across. “Please go in Jenny, Robert’s office is the third on the left.”
She knocked and then opened the door slowly. She’d been to the office twice before. Once to sign with the company and the second, three years ago, to deal with some issues her Gran had raised with the firm. Thankfully that had all been forgotten.
Robert came around the desk to greet her but rather awkwardly didn’t extend his hand. He was about to guide her to a chair facing the sofa, but decided not to touch her shoulder and instead just waved in the direction of the chair. It was as if she were some leper.
“Jenny you know Peter Copeland and John Andrews.” The men were both standing politely in front of the sofa.
“Yes, nice to see you again gentlemen.” She shook their hands. Both men were much older than Robert and carried a lot of weight in the publishing community. Their hands were wonderfully soft and warm, it reminded her of cow’s udders back on the farm. It was a bizarre but reassuring feeling.
All three men were taken aback by her ease and natural charm. It wasn’t the mouse they had expected.
“Well Jenny, you’ve probably guessed why we asked you here.”
“No I haven’t. Is it about caterpillars and butterflies?”
The two older men were puzzled.
“No, not at all.” Robert glanced at the two older men. “That’s just a little joke between us.”
“Is it?” Jenny was going to keep Robert on the back foot as much as possible. She didn’t know if she was going to get sacked or belittled but in either case she was not in the mood for it. Her past week had been all too traumatic.
“Right.”
“Jenny,” it was Copeland who spoke up. She always thought he was kind and looked like her father. She never spoke to him but he made a great Santa and had a little gift for everyone at Christmas. Maybe he was a shop-aholic. “The internal review you gave in the office was not, shall we say, positive toward our newest author.”
“No it wasn’t Mr. Copeland.” Jenny responded politely.
“Please, call me Peter. Only person who calls me Mr. Copeland is my accountant and that is always bad news.”
“Thank you sir.”
He smiled at the ‘sir’. He was old school and appreciated it nevertheless. “So there are two issues. Firstly why did you dislike it so much?”
“And secondly,” Robert was being aggressive, “how did it appear verbatim in the Times?”
“Well if I may, I’ll answer the second question first.” She turned and faced Robert square on. “Robert, I have no idea. You know I passed you my submission in the office and by email because you had heard my blow up.”
“Blow up?” asked Andrews.
“The reading room can have some strong opinions.” Jenny said quietly.
“A good reading room should.” Copeland added.
“Yes.” She was losing her resolve a bit, she had started to fiddle with a nail. “But one individual challenged my opinions in a fashion that caused the full vehemence of my thoughts on the poet to lash out at him. It was inappropriate, I apologize.”
“Jenny this isn’t a witch hunt.” Copeland smiled at her.
“I’d have told the prat off too.” Robert seemed to be taking a more conciliatory approach. “Isn’t that the word we decided on?” Jenny nodded. It was nice to see that Robert wasn’t trying to attack her.
“So we still have a problem. Someone recorded what you said and submitted it to a paper as their copy.” Robert said.
“What?”
“It’s too close an opinion Jenny, it’s almost exactly what you said.”
“But I spewed that at… him, randomly. It came up then and there.”
“Him? You mean Charles probably?” Andrews asked.
Jenny just nodded and it sent Copeland and Andrews into a fit of laughter. “Too short a stump for his cricket eh!” sputtered Andrews. They howled with laughter.
Jenny glared at Robert. He just shrugged his shoulders. “Sorry Jenny a pasting like that spreads like wild fire in a small office, especially against Charles.”
Copeland had stopped laughing and leaned forward out of the couch. He smiled at the flush on her face. “So, Jenny, obviously your opinion is not that different to the Times and a few others. We’ve been embarrassed by this and we need to do a bit of damage control. The author will submit a second manuscript in about four months, again through San Francisco. It will go straight to you and then you come back to us. Coley and Greenberg aren’t up for this kind of lashing.”
Andrews leaned forward and spoke gently. “Let’s keep this amongst ourselves. You will be his direct editor and you tear him to shreds to make it less, what was it, so it doesn’t, ‘suffer an extreme poverty of heart.’” He smiled at her as she struggled to remain unaffected by Robert’s betrayal. “God that’s choice.”
Robert stood up. “Well that’s it, isn’t it gentlemen?” They all stood.
“Just one other thing Robert.” It was Andrews again.
“Yes.”
“I haven’t received many of Jenny’s critiques lately.”
“Actually nor I. I mean I have to read something to amuse Mrs. Copeland at night.” Peter Copeland turned to Jenny.
All three men peered at Jenny. She knew she was being set up by Robert, like a piglet walking across the desert in front of three vultures. “Sorry…” she said.
“Your grandmother would kick your butt and then my butt if she found out.” said Mr. Copeland. He and Andrews each took one of Jenny’s elbows, the way her father used to when she was going out on a date. It was Andrews who spoke to her. “It’s very simple, GG verses DD.” The old man paused for a breath. “Generalities for the general public, details for the discerning minds. We need your DD input.”
“Yes sir. Thank you.” Jenny wanted to dissolve as quickly as possible. Robert thankfully opened the door wide. “Thank you for your time gentlemen,” she squeezed their arms, “Robert.” She walked out the door and couldn’t help wondering why she’d said gentlemen and then Robert. But then he had informed on her and treated her like a leper when she entered, so fair was fair.
She busied herself at her desk and tried to come to grips with the idea that someone in the office used her comments as background for
a review. Who would do such a thing? Charles was naturally her first thought but he was too proud to ever use another’s words. Why would someone do it anyway? It was very odd.
She stopped at a stationary store on the way home and rummaged through the vast array of handmade paper. It seemed pretentious to have his glued in the book on regular, yellowed and wrinkled foolscap while hers is written on a cool Japanese washi. She chose a simple cheap beige paper instead.
When she got home she immediately set about rewriting her responses to his words on the cheap beige foolscap. After she finished one she would sit on it. It seemed a natural way to wrinkle the papers. After two hours she was happy with the seven pages she’d written. She stood up and took the bundle of papers and gently folded each one. She laid them on the ironing board and lightly pressed them under a low heat. She glued them into her notebook opposite his. She was planning to show him when she met him, whenever that may be. They could sit on the bench, maybe have a bagel and discuss poetry.
She realized it was almost ten and still she hadn’t eaten. She made an instant cup of soup and took some celery, cheese and cucumber on a cutting board out to the little balcony. It would be a simple time with him. The notebook was beside her and she stroked the leather cover. The leather was thick and coarse, it had seen a lot of emotional fingers in its time. Her mind drifted back through her day. The bagel shop, the cyclists even the men in their little suits in the elevator lined up like Christmas crackers all leered at her. Is that all men did? Why couldn’t younger men be like Andrews and Copeland? Robert was the exact opposite, he refused to even shake her hand and stood away from her as if she had the plague. Well it was either that kind of treatment or comments relating to insects. She hated bugs, any bugs, yet she had actually touched a butterfly. She sipped her soup. Everything used to be so simple before this poet started writing to her.
The window to her new neighbors apartment was open and she could hear them still working. Snippets of the conversation drifted over to her. Their conversation was riddled with a language she abhorred; mergers, acquisitions, strip capital. If that was not vulgar enough it was mixed in with any number of explicatives. The beautiful European women could swear like a trucker. They may have had exotic accents but they sounded like a ruthless pair of hyenas. She didn’t want to read her notebook with that kind of background bile. She slipped back inside and went to her bedroom.
She was changed and just crawling into bed when it flashed across her mind. She unconsciously closed her hand. She almost sensed his chest under her fingers. She laughed at herself. What a fantastic dream that was last night. Maybe she would have another. She lay in bed and wondered if you could program your dreams.
She thought of Clarence, not Cindy’s fiancé, but false perjured Clarence, whose walk upon the hatches was abbreviated by that bunch-backed toad Richard the third. Richard probably resembled Charles. She thought of the terror Clarence experienced in his dream of drowning.
She shook herself. Why on earth was she thinking about that ghastly passage. If dreams could be programmed that would be the last on the menu. She breathed deeply and thought of the butterfly she’d seen today. Its wings pulsed and then it fluttered this way and that freely on the breeze. Each beat of its wings infused with innocence and love so like the movements in her heart when she read his words.