again, at her
savings account. She was proud of
herself. She’d paid off her
college debt and saved from every paycheck for the eventual day when she’d set
up a house. Her eyes wandered
around her dusky apartment. She
was doing the right thing by being frugal, she thought, living in this
already-furnished place. Because
some day, soon hopefully, she’d be sitting at a large wooden kitchen table she
picked out and paid for herself, her husband grinding sardines and squeezing
lemon juice, grating cheese for the freshly made Caesar salad she found herself
craving these days. She wouldn’t
be drinking fruity drinks to remind her of her tropical dreams then, she
thought. She’d uncork some
meaningfully expensive white wine and sip from a real wine glass, when she had
a house.
Frank, on the flipside, had a perfect condo,
tall ceilings, and windows overlooking a small park near the Detroit
River. His bed had perfect navy
sheets and a big white damask comforter, the accent pillows had navy ribbon
trim. His cooking was amazing and
he, too, she thought, would be best suited with a husband.
Frank, however, disagreed with her. He said he was happy with his own place
and liked when a boyfriend left for the last time as much as he liked when they
came over for the first time. If
escrow closed, he’d be moving soon, she knew. Forcing her to rethink her own future.
Another swallow of the rum mixture and she
scrolled through her cell phone screen again, until ‘Eddie’ came up.
She looked around her clean but sparse kitchen,
her dark and empty sitting room and she pushed the button, phoning him for the
first time. Why not, she thought,
the apartment could use the scent of an interested man.
Chapter Nine
His voice was smooth on the other end, probing
for who she was, how he knew her and she choked, realizing that she had blocked
her name and phone number on outgoing calls, so he didn’t know who was
calling.
He might not even know her full name, she
didn’t remember ever formally introducing herself to him through the plexiglas. She stuttered but he cajoled until
finally she blurted out the phone company connection.
“You’re calling about my bill? The phone’s back on, right? I mean, you’re calling it, right?”
She laughed quietly and said ‘Yeah, sure, it’s
on. You told me to call you
sometime.”
“Of course I did, darlin’. I’ve got something going right now,
doing some business, but I can swing by maybe around 9 tonight? Where do you live?”
And that is how easily Celeste found herself
about to be ‘not alone’ again, in a hot shower, then dressing again in her new
clothes for a date.
Swing by?
Celeste felt a lump in her throat. She didn’t need a one-night stand.
Why hadn’t she put him off, asked to meet for
coffee over the next few days, maybe brunch. No, not brunch, because she didn’t want to infect her
weekend with the togetherness and loneliness of different agendas, her longing
for a boyfriend and a man’s potential attempt at easy sex and his inevitable withdrawal
if his needs weren’t met.
Eddie walked into the office so intermittently
anyway, it wouldn’t be too painful to see him again in a few months, or maybe,
like some men, he’d just disappear leaving his cell phone or landline, and her,
behind.
Her mind raced, but the intimate high fives he
gave her against the glass made him different from most men she met at the
bar. His camouflage pants did not
hide him in the whitewashed office as he waited in line to see her. With his growing-out buzz cut, his
military solidity, he reeked of connection, integrity and that’s what attracted
her. He walked towards, looked at
and interacted with her as if she mattered to him. As if, when he walked out the double doors, she had left a
shadow image on the inner movie in his head.
So she wasn’t crazy, she thought, she’d had
maybe five or six
savings account. She was proud of
herself. She’d paid off her
college debt and saved from every paycheck for the eventual day when she’d set
up a house. Her eyes wandered
around her dusky apartment. She
was doing the right thing by being frugal, she thought, living in this
already-furnished place. Because
some day, soon hopefully, she’d be sitting at a large wooden kitchen table she
picked out and paid for herself, her husband grinding sardines and squeezing
lemon juice, grating cheese for the freshly made Caesar salad she found herself
craving these days. She wouldn’t
be drinking fruity drinks to remind her of her tropical dreams then, she
thought. She’d uncork some
meaningfully expensive white wine and sip from a real wine glass, when she had
a house.
Frank, on the flipside, had a perfect condo,
tall ceilings, and windows overlooking a small park near the Detroit
River. His bed had perfect navy
sheets and a big white damask comforter, the accent pillows had navy ribbon
trim. His cooking was amazing and
he, too, she thought, would be best suited with a husband.
Frank, however, disagreed with her. He said he was happy with his own place
and liked when a boyfriend left for the last time as much as he liked when they
came over for the first time. If
escrow closed, he’d be moving soon, she knew. Forcing her to rethink her own future.
Another swallow of the rum mixture and she
scrolled through her cell phone screen again, until ‘Eddie’ came up.
She looked around her clean but sparse kitchen,
her dark and empty sitting room and she pushed the button, phoning him for the
first time. Why not, she thought,
the apartment could use the scent of an interested man.
Chapter Nine
His voice was smooth on the other end, probing
for who she was, how he knew her and she choked, realizing that she had blocked
her name and phone number on outgoing calls, so he didn’t know who was
calling.
He might not even know her full name, she
didn’t remember ever formally introducing herself to him through the plexiglas. She stuttered but he cajoled until
finally she blurted out the phone company connection.
“You’re calling about my bill? The phone’s back on, right? I mean, you’re calling it, right?”
She laughed quietly and said ‘Yeah, sure, it’s
on. You told me to call you
sometime.”
“Of course I did, darlin’. I’ve got something going right now,
doing some business, but I can swing by maybe around 9 tonight? Where do you live?”
And that is how easily Celeste found herself
about to be ‘not alone’ again, in a hot shower, then dressing again in her new
clothes for a date.
Swing by?
Celeste felt a lump in her throat. She didn’t need a one-night stand.
Why hadn’t she put him off, asked to meet for
coffee over the next few days, maybe brunch. No, not brunch, because she didn’t want to infect her
weekend with the togetherness and loneliness of different agendas, her longing
for a boyfriend and a man’s potential attempt at easy sex and his inevitable withdrawal
if his needs weren’t met.
Eddie walked into the office so intermittently
anyway, it wouldn’t be too painful to see him again in a few months, or maybe,
like some men, he’d just disappear leaving his cell phone or landline, and her,
behind.
Her mind raced, but the intimate high fives he
gave her against the glass made him different from most men she met at the
bar. His camouflage pants did not
hide him in the whitewashed office as he waited in line to see her. With his growing-out buzz cut, his
military solidity, he reeked of connection, integrity and that’s what attracted
her. He walked towards, looked at
and interacted with her as if she mattered to him. As if, when he walked out the double doors, she had left a
shadow image on the inner movie in his head.
So she wasn’t crazy, she thought, she’d had
maybe five or six
Similar Books
