Chapter 4

 

 

WITH APOLOGIES TO ROD STEWART

 

 

Childhood certainly was a simpler time.  A good night’s sleep was just that.  Dreams consisted mostly of being a member of the crew of the Enterprise, or more likely the Jupiter II.  The worst thing that happened was a stray monster from another planet chasing you through caves and as you screamed, seemingly alone, Mom and Dad would show up around the corner and rescue you.  You were back asleep in minutes and inevitably dreaming of that cute girl who sat across from you in school.  Dad would lightly shake your shoulder to wake you up.  A groggy “Okay” would find its way from your lips as you were once again instructed to “Straighten up your room, the cleaning lady’s coming today.”  That always seemed to make sense to Dad, so you accepted it.

 

You’d open your drawer and the clothes you had worn a week ago had mysteriously reappeared, clean and folded with a slight smell of the evening after a rainstorm.  The bathroom seemed to sparkle around you as you brushed your teeth.  And there was always food waiting for you when you went downstairs.  It was never clear what happened to the dirty dishes while you got your books and yesterday’s homework.  You’d come back to the dining room to a table that looked as pristine as an hour before dinner the night before.

 

All the problems in the world could be solved while walking to school with the best friend you could ever imagine having for the rest of your life (what ever happened to Davy?).  Pseudo-military types orchestrated crossing the street for you.  Sure, every now and then a big kid would pull your books out of your hands and poke fun at your ancestry.  This issue would be addressed in some detail on the walk home, seven hours later.

 

Classes were designed to break up the time between recesses.  Recesses gave you the chance to be the captain of a spaceship exploring the unknown corners of the galaxy.  Your best bud would stand at your side, your second in command.  Lunch would come in paper bags or, on special occasions, from the nice lady with the funny hat behind the glass.  The worst thing you’d endure was gym class on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.  You’d stand with Davy until everyone else got picked and never ended up on the same team.  That didn’t matter.  You’d show them some day, when you were walking on the moon and they were walking on the sidewalk, seeing if it was dry.  The outfield in the kickball diamond was never dull.  It was the best place to view the girl’s class and if you were lucky, you’d catch a glimpse of Cindy in her gym shorts.

 

Returning home, you could plop down and watch Ultraman fight those horrible creatures you were sure you’d meet again after you’d gone to sleep.  You could never grasp why Popeye would spend so much time fighting over anyone who looked like Olive.  After all, with those spinach-enhanced muscles he could have anyone he wanted, even Cindy (he better not).  After a while Mom would walk over to the TV, turn it off, and invite you into the dining room for dinner.  It never failed; there was always so much food.

 

After dinner was when the day got rough.  First you’d have to take your plate into the kitchen, kind of like those special days in the cafeteria.  Then you’d be imprisoned in your room while you read from a schoolbook or were forced to figure out how many apples John had left over after Mary and Susie ransacked his groceries.  The rewards always seemed worth it.  A game with the family, or a puzzle, or, if you were really good, some more time in front of the only piece of furniture in the house that could nurture you.  All this and you got to eat ice cream, chocolate please.  Tired or not, you returned to your room the same time every night.  Fifteen minutes with a comic book and then lights out.  Eight hours later, it would all start again, and it was glorious.

 

None of this ran through Larry’s mind as he sprinted to the bedroom to extinguish the howling.  He hit the snooze button, removed his sticky T-shirt, and got under the covers.  Larry wasn’t sure if he was more pleased than not that he couldn’t get back to sleep.  After what seemed an hour, the alarm rang again.  “This ain’t gonna happen,” he told the alarm and shut it off.  Forty-three minutes later he was in his office, sitting behind his desk, and rummaging through the entertainment section of his newspaper.  It was quiet.  Too quiet, he thought knowing most of his colleagues wouldn’t arrive for another hour or so.  He reached for the Styrofoam cup of coffee he had picked up on his way to work and knocked it over.  Time slowed down.  He saw the cup start to tip but couldn’t get his hand on it in time.  An unseen force prevented him from moving.  It was like he was trying to propel his arm underwater.  The coffee, still in slow motion, poured out over a stack of papers he hadn’t touched in months, except for the memo he never did finish reading yesterday.

 

Time returned to normal.  “Shit,” he exclaimed to the empty room as he reached for a pile of napkins in his top drawer.  Larry began blotting the coffee.  He noticed that the papers being soiled were no longer of any use to him.  He fanned through the stack to see if anything held timely information, the memo explained office hours over last New Years break, and tossed it all into the trashcan next to his desk.  He began looking through another pile of paper.

 

Sixty-seven minutes later Stacy walked into his office, looked around, stepped out confused, and re-entered.  “Didya quit or something?”  Larry looked up from behind the newspaper he had returned to just minutes ago.  She looked around his office and stopped, her eyes focused on one corner.  “Where’s the box?”

 

“Hmm?” Larry responded.

 

“The box,” she seemed genuinely upset.

 

“Oh, that,” he smiled.  “I put it in my car.  I found some room for that stuff at home.”  Stacy dropped into a chair.

 

“You okay?  What happened?”

 

Larry looked up again.  “Nothing.  I spilled my coffee and, well, I got inspired.”

 

“Mark is gonna pass out.”  He didn’t respond.  “Going to the movies?”

 

Larry dropped the paper.  “How the hell did she know?” Larry felt his blood run cold.  “Uh, what do you mean?” he tried to cover.

 

“The paper.  You only read the paper when you’re going to see a movie.”   Something was strange here.

 

“Oh, yeah, I thought I’d hit a flick after work tonight.”  He returned to his reading.

 

“Alone?”

 

Larry had to fight the urge to tell her.  He knew Stacy would understand how he was feeling, but something was nagging at him to keep his mouth shut.  “Maybe,” he responded with a note of mystery in his voice.

 

“Really?”  She was intrigued.  As long as she had known Larry, he had been fairly open about his personal life.  Suddenly, he was keeping things to himself.  A part of her was itching to know what was going on, but another part, the part that was still concerned about the dream issue yesterday, felt it was best not to pry.

 

“I won’t be going at all if I can’t find the right place and time.”  He had to lift the paper to hide the smile.  His mock anger wouldn’t work if she saw his expression.

 

“Fine,” her accent thickened.  “I’m not really interested anyway.”  The game was afoot.  She glanced at the clock.  “Nine o’clock, Mister Ebert.  Think we could get some work done today?”  He folded the paper and turned his computer on.  “A movie on a school night.  Tsk, tsk,” she directed to no one under her breath.

 

“Another day, another dollar.”  Whoever came up with that one obviously never worked in a company like Larry’s.  Unlike yesterday, this day dragged on forever.  The hour Larry and Stacy spent working on the schedule lasted a week.  After his computer went down for the third time, Larry nearly threw his keyboard out the window.  Every time he finally got a problem worked out, the phone would ring adding another complication to the mix.  At ten-thirty he was finally able to print out the daily work schedule and hand it over to Stacy.  As she walked off she motioned to the door.  He nodded and she shut it behind her.

 

Larry sat back with a sigh.  He caught something out of the corner of his eye and looked out the window.  A smile instantly formed on his face.  Geri was rounding the corner towards her office.  She was wearing a short black skirt and an off-white blouse and she was, in his perspective, the image of perfection.  He was nervous about tonight.  It wouldn’t be the first time he took her to the movies.  Shit, they had gone out to dinner, clothing shopping, breakfast, he even took her to the drug store to get female stuff a couple of times.  Why was tonight so different?  He realized he was staring and quickly turned away.  The phone rang.  “No rest for the weary,” he thought as he answered it.  “Yeah?”

 

“I’m here.”  He melted at the sound of her voice.  “What time?”

 

“It’s about ten-forty two.”  He knew that’s not what she meant. And he knew that’s what she knew he’d say.

 

“That’s not what I meant.”  If ever you could hear a smile in someone’s voice. . .

 

“I haven’t had a chance to find out.  I’ll let you know later.”  He paused.  “Any preferences?”

 

“Whatever’s good for you.”  Oh, he had a number of responses to that one.  “Just let me know.”

 

“Sure,” there was an awkward pause.  “Later.”  He hung up, grinning from ear to ear.

 

There was an odd spring in his step as headed to the reception area.  “Good morning.”  He almost sang the greeting to Nancy who was just hanging up the phone.

 

“Morning,” she responded hesitantly.  “Where’ve you been?”

 

“Working, cleaning, solving the problems of the world.” He seemed much too cheerful.  “Nice day,” he said as he poured a cup of coffee.

 

“Sure.”  Nancy answered a bit confused as she looked out the window.  It was definitely going to rain.

 

“Have a nice day.”  He headed back to his desk, reversed his course, and stopped in Stacy’s office.  “What’s up?”  She looked up.  Her face seemed creased with the worries of the ages.

 

“Let’s see, where do I start?”  She began reading notes she held in her hands, adding editorials every so often.  By the time she was done, she seemed exhausted.

 

“Cool.”  He tapped twice on the doorframe and walked off.

 

“Something is definitely up,” she thought as she rose and began to follow him.  She stopped herself immediately and sat down.  “He’ll tell me if he wants me to know.  And if he doesn’t, I’ll keep squeezing until he cries Uncle.”  She returned to the pile of problems that lay before her, an evil grin on her face.

 

When Larry returned to his office, Vinnie was sitting at the table.  “What’s up?”  He sat behind his desk and began sorting through the few papers that remained on his desk.

 

“Well, I know it’s short notice, but I was wondering if I could have next Friday off.”

 

“What for?”  He was looking at the dark clouds outside.

 

“Daughter’s birthday.”  He was prepared for a sarcastic retort.

 

“And you just realized this?”  Larry hoped it wouldn’t rain.  He hated driving in the rain.

 

“I wanted to take her up to see my folks for the weekend and thought I could get a head start to beat the traffic.”

 

Larry gave his full attention to the conversation.  “No problem.  Just make sure . . .”

 

“ . . .everything is covered.  It will be.”  Vinnie smiled.  How many times had they gone through this routine?

 

“How old is she gonna be?”  Larry adored Vinnie’s little girl.  After the separation, Vinnie and his daughter had stayed with Larry for a few months.  She had taken her first steps in his living room.  “One of these days,” he had thought when she’d run to hug him each night when he returned from work.  Larry had always thought of himself as a born uncle.  He felt he could relate to children on their own level.  Only recently had he given any thought to being a parent.  He would joke that he was the only man in the world whose biological clock was ticking.

 

“Three.”  There was always a sense of pride in Vinnie’s eyes when he spoke of his daughter.  It was a look Larry could remember seeing in his own Dad’s eyes after he graduated from high school, when he had been in a play, and in a recent dream he was having trouble remembering.

 

“I hope you two have a good time.”  Larry turned to mark the day on the calendar behind his desk.  He smiled at the yellow ‘X’ which was already in the box.  “I’ll have to warn Geri,” he thought.  He turned to Vinnie, “remind me again next Thursday.”

 

Vinnie smiled as he stood.  “Thanks.”  He walked to the door and began to shut it behind him.

 

“Leave it open.”  Vinnie exited and the phone rang.  Here we go.

 

“Two hours, she had me on the phone for two hours.”  Larry took a bite from his cheeseburger.  Not just any cheeseburger, it was the Tuesday special.  Two greasy patties smothered in lettuce, tomatoes, onions, ketchup, mustard, mayonnaise, and provolone cheese.  It had to be provolone.  Larry would eat provolone cheese on just about anything.  He couldn’t remember when he began his love affair with provolone.  Probably back when he moved into his first apartment and dinner consisted of half a pound of ham, three quarters of a pound of cheese, and a root beer.  He rarely left work before eleven and the only place open was a convenience store with a deli.  God forbid he should buy food in advance.

 

“What did she want?”  Vinnie reached for one of Larry’s french fries.

 

Larry swallowed.  “I’m not really sure.  We just kept going around the same issues over and over.  She thanked me when she hung up, so I guess she got something out of it.”  He took another bite and ketchup squirted onto his shirt.  “Damnit!”  He licked a napkin and started blotting at the stain.

 

“Guess you’ll have to go home and change before the movie.”  Was that a note of sarcasm in Stacy’s voice?  Larry shot her a look.  For just a moment he had forgotten about his date, uh, going to the movies with Geri.  He started blotting feverishly.

 

“Here, let me.”  Arlene poured some of her water on a paper towel and reached over to wipe at the stain.  “It’s not that bad.”

 

“What movie?”  At least that’s what it sounded like Lenny was asking.

 

Larry started fanning his wet shirt.  “Don’t worry about it.  Did you guys meet the new girl in accounting.”  He tried to change the conversation.  This didn’t escape Stacy’s notice.

 

“Shit, yeah.  Where did we find her?”  Vinnie’s eyes had a bit of a spark.

 

“Is she single?”  Louis, ever the letch.

 

Larry had succeeded.  The remainder of lunch revolved around the physical attributes of the new ‘chick’.  Larry used the word as second nature.  He never meant any harm by it.  It was just his euphemism for an attractive girl he didn’t know well.  By the end of lunch they decided she wasn’t married but was probably involved.  She needed to rethink her hairstyle (this from Katie) and the shoes had to go (“What’s with Larry and shoes,” Stacy regularly wondered).

 

Like clockwork, Larry’s phone rang and lunch was over.  “Hello.”  The group disbanded to their respective offices.  A look of frustration crossed Larry’s face.  “Again?  What the hell could she want this time?  Okay, put her through.”

 

The conversation only lasted forty-five minutes this time.  Larry glanced at the clock as he hung up the phone.  He dug the newspaper out from beneath the pile of papers that had accumulated throughout the day.  He quickly turned to the movie section and jotted down a few times on the bottom of one of the memos he had received today.  He tossed the newspaper in the trash and reached for the phone.  It rang.

 

“Nobody’s home,” he said into the receiver, exasperated.

 

“Larry?”  The confused voice was Geri’s.

 

A smile crossed his face.  “Hey, I was just about to call you.  Listen, we have a few choices.  If you can get out by five-thirty we can get to . . .”

 

“Uh, Larry,” she sounded different, a bit upset.  “I can’t go.”

 

Larry almost dropped the phone but forced his voice to be steady.  “What’s wrong?”

 

Her voice had a slight quiver in it.  “My Mom’s been in an accident.  She’s okay, it wasn’t really bad, but she’s really shaken up and I think I should go see her.”

 

“Are you sure she’s okay?  Do you need a ride?  We could leave right now.”

 

“Thanks, but my brother’s already on his way to get me.  I’m sure she’ll be okay, but, well you understand.”

 

“Of course.  Are you okay?”  She sounded really shaken.  He had a sudden urge to just hold her, to help her.

 

“Yeah, I’m fine.”  He could feel her beginning to relax.  “Look, I’m really sorry about tonight.”

 

“Don’t even think about it.  Go take care of your mother.”  He thought for a moment.  “Give me a call if you need anything.”

 

“Thanks,” and the phone was silent.

 

Larry looked out the window.  A few drops of water hit the pavement.  He looked down at the light red spot on his chest and rubbed it lightly.  “Be okay, Geri.”  He began to ball up the memo with the movie times on it.  He stopped, flattened it out as best he could, folded it, and placed it in his shirt pocket.  As he glanced out the window, he saw Geri being escorted from her office by her brother.  He looked away before she could see him.  The phone rang.  He looked at it.  It rang again.  He stood and went to the window.  It rang again.  He closed the blinds and sat down.  The ringing stopped.

 

The ride home was quiet.  Too quiet, Larry had thought.  The only sound was the pattering of the rain on his car’s vinyl top.

 

When he arrived home, Larry sat in the car for several minutes without moving.  He finally reached for his cell phone and dialed Geri’s number.  His finger hovered over the ‘send’ button for a second and then he snapped the phone closed.  He turned the ignition off, unbuckled his seat belt, and got out of the car.  Larry opened the trunk of the car and took out a thin, rectangular box.  He rode the elevator to the second floor, not stopping to get his mail.

 

The apartment looked different.  It seemed empty, lonely.  He walked to the kitchen and tossed the box he held into the garbage can.  He turned to head back to the living room and stopped mid-stride.  He opened a cabinet, took out a glass decorated with a picture of the Batmobile, and filled it with water.  He retrieved the box from the garbage and opened it.  He stared for a moment at the single rose, took it from the box, sniffed at it, and placed it in the glass.

 

“I guess,” he spoke lightly, a faint smile on his face, “tonight is not the night.”  He stood there, staring at the rose.