“I noticed the smell of a man in my basement a few minutes ago, and it has scared the heck out of me.”
“I’m Tom, and this is Jim,” said the younger man. “So was it us?” he asked.
“No. Here, have a seat.” She pointed to the round table off her galley kitchen. It was at a window that overlooked a blind alleyway. There were several birdfeeders hanging in a tree of heaven. She had made her own view.
Tom glanced at her, taking in that view as well. She was so pretty. “Do you want us to take a look around first?” Tom asked.
“Would you mind? I don’t need to tell you that I was nervous about that jerk coming to my apartment and then to notice that someone was here…” She shuddered, remembering the hair rising up on the back of her neck.
Jim put his arm out in a “show me the way” movement. They went down the lower level and searched under
the bed, behind the couch, in the bathroom again, and nothing. They went out the back door and searched around the concrete patio and the blind alley, but saw nothing suspicious. In spite of the negative search, Sandra could not relax. She felt certain someone had been in her house, either while she was upstairs or before she got home, and in the hurriedness of locking herself in, she hadn’t noticed the odor. The men followed her back upstairs, Tom keeping his eyes averted so he wasn’t overtly staring at the young woman’s ass.
She automatically went into the galley kitchen and put the teapot on, gathering mugs for three people. They asked her about the neighborhood, how long she had lived there, chatty questions, safe conversation that slowly helped put Sandra at ease. Soon they would begin questioning her about the creep who was waiting for her to come home.
Carrying a tray with the tea things in, Sandra was happy for the company and proceeded to put mugs in front of each man. They were watching her, enjoying the view. Even the older man, Jim, seemed oblivious to anything but Sandra moving around her kitchen. It brought a smile to his face. His wife would say, “Keep dreaming, buster.”
“Coffee or tea?” she asked, breaking the revelry. “It’s instant, if that is okay.” Jim took the coffee; Tom asked for tea. She went back to the kitchen and brought out a box of Krispy Kremes. “Didn’t expect this, did you?” she said, responding to the shocked look on their faces. She put little plates in front of each man and got one for herself.
“What happened today?” Tom asked her. He reached into the box of donuts and took a glazed one for himself,
which would amount to an extra thirty minutes on the elliptical machine.
Sandra told them about the confrontation at Bernice’s and then how Bill must have followed her home, missing that she went into Zabar’s. She could tell that both men were curious about her relationship with the Smiths. She decided to let them ask questions, and she would give them what they needed and no more. She wasn’t about to appeal to their curiosity.
“So do you have a history with Bill Smith?” Jim asked. “It’s only relevant as far as him stalking you.”
Sandra debated whether or not to tell them about Jack. She decided it was important because of the way he had died, but then remembered that if Bill were in custody, they would probably follow the trail of charges and see that he had one for assault. “I am a friend of the family.” She decided that any more information than that was irrelevant. “As far as a relationship with just Bill goes, no.”
“Was he interested in having a romantic relationship with you? I’m just trying to establish why he would come here,” Tom said. He was also interested in finding this out for his own personal knowledge.
“He’s trying to borrow money from me.” Then she thought that the business thing might be important. “I am part owner of a business that used to belong to his brother. He was hoping we would field clients his way. That is not going to happen, and I think he is holding a grudge.”
Tom was writing down this information.
“You may have to consider filing a restraining order against this man,” Jim said. “He sounds pretty desperate. The truth is he might be going back to jail because of his
high jinx today. In that case, you will be safe. But if he gets out, we need to think of your safety, and I think a restraining order with a unit assigned here might be a good idea.” He looked at Tom for confirmation. He’d be willing to spend the night if necessary, but kept that to himself.
“Absolutely. If you would like, you could come downtown with us. We can walk you through the process,” Tom agreed.
“The sooner you take care of it, the better. The event just happened today and filing right away shows the impact Bill Smith has on your well-being. Feeling unsafe is very subjective; no one can refute it.” He was fighting with himself not to take another donut, and lost. He reached into the box and took one more. “Okay, I think we are about done here. If we stay much longer, this box will be empty.” He tried not to lick his fingers.
They stood up, the men taking their mugs to the kitchen. Sandra was glad she had straightened up her apartment. She noticed the one named Tom looking around, admiring the place. They waited while she got her purse and keys.
Jim motioned down the stairs with his finger. “Want me to take another look? I’ll check the locks again.”
Sandra nodded yes, smiling.
Upon return, he validated her concern. “I smelled a smell down there, too,” he said.
Great
, she thought.
What the hell could it be?
P
am and Andy spent a full hour in the grocery store, discussing like and dislikes, comparing brands, arguing about the benefits of buying organic, local, in season. He had picked up a bunch of tomatoes from Chile.
“I don’t think so!” she exclaimed. “Let’s buy hydroponics, grown ten miles from here.”
“They cost four dollars a pound!” he said.
“Too bad. You are putting that garbage in your body. Do you think it has one nutrient left after it’s been on a freight train for ten days? No way!” She took him by the arm and dragged him to the other side of the veggie case. “All of these greens were harvested right here this weekend. We’ll make a salad with a few peas and some yummy early peppers thrown in. It’s too early for tomatoes in the mid-Atlantic.”
He laughed, surprised at her passion for food. “Did you shop like this when Jack was alive?” he asked, honestly interested.
“About four times a week,” she said. “I was at the farmers’ market every day during the weekend. Now that my mother is cooking, I never think about it. It has left a void because it was something I enjoyed. Not baking or fancy things. Meat and potatoes. Fish and salad. Boring stuff.”
“Those are my kind of meals,” Andy said. “Replace the potato with macaroni.”
They pushed the cart together over to the fresh pasta aisle.
“I probably won’t make it from scratch. Is this okay?”
He nodded yes.
“The truth is I like the old-fashioned dry kind, too.” She put several packages in the basket.
He thought that was a good sign. She was stocking up for him.
They finished their shopping and drove back to Pam’s house. She was starting to feel a little weary. Would she ever again want to be around someone twenty-four/ seven? She wondered if he expected her to spend the evening with him after they ate, even though they had spent the day together. They got to the beach and unloaded the groceries. It was nearing 6:00, not too early to eat. She would grill steaks out on the veranda.
“Can you boil water?” she asked Andy.
“Barely. Do you want me to do the pasta?”
“Do you mind? We can fire up the stove out there.”
They gathered up all the things they would need to cook outside.
The beach crowd was starting to thin out as dinnertime approached. Pam had loved this time of the evening when Jack was alive. He would come in from his day of whatever activity he had been involved in and, after he showered, join her to keep her company while she prepared their meal. Knowing that he had spent the day with her sister and probably had sex with her, too, didn’t diminish the impact the time they spent together had on her. Feeling like a deflated balloon, she plunked down in a chair. Andy could see that something had distressed her.
“What just happened?” he asked her. They had decided early on that, no matter how painful, honesty had to be the best policy. He sat down beside her, looking out over the ocean. Gulls were crying, and the waves were hitting the beach with force today.
“I guess I’m thinking of someone who I used to do these things with, someone who I thought was a certain type of person and who turned out to be a much different man.” She had never divulged any of the gruesome details of her marriage; just him knowing her financial status was quite enough for starters.
Andy didn’t know if he should say anything in response to her statement. If she wanted to elaborate, she could. He was tempted to offer to leave, but thinking that may be what she wanted, he hesitated. “How so?” he finally asked.
She looked at him. “Do you really want to know? I’m not sure you should. It will change your opinion of me, that’s inevitable. I can almost hear you thinking, ‘How could she be so stupid?’ And I don’t know that I am ready to ‘out’ Jack with you yet. We don’t know each other well enough.” She felt a strong loyalty to her late husband, no matter how horrible a reprobate he may have been. She didn’t think she could bear being put into a position of having to defend him, especially to an almost stranger.
“I think I know what you mean. There are things about my wife that explain a lot about the man that I am, but it wouldn’t be loyal of me to expose her frailties to you yet.”
She was looking at him thinking,
You have no idea
.
“And I promise you, no matter what were to happen between us, I will never toss anything Jack did up to you.”
It was the first time he had used Jack’s name. It lingered in the air above their heads for a few seconds, vibrating. Jack.
“Okay, well, suffice it to say that he was not the man I thought he was. That’s about all I can get out right now. He was…unfaithful. That is a mild word for what he was to our marriage.” She sat back, certain now that she was not cooking dinner for them. “Look, Andy, I am in a state. Thank you for not trying to talk me out of it. I think it is just part of the grieving process. Would you mind very much if we called it a night?” She looked at him imploringly.
“No, I understand. I won’t pretend I’m not disappointed because I really wanted to see you tonight.” He stood up then, thinking they needed to say good-bye and not drag it out, for her sake. He reached out for her and pulled her to him gently, as a friend would. They weren’t lovers yet. He kept his arm around her shoulders as they walked to the front door. He opened it, and they smiled and said good-bye. She didn’t watch him walk to his car as she had in the past, but shut the door and locked it. She needed to put her pj’s on, fix something inappropriate to eat, and eat it in front of the television while sitting in bed. Just thinking about it made her feel better. She gathered up the stuff they had hauled out to the veranda and stashed it away. She looked in the pantry and pulled out a box of the kid’s Cocoa Krispies. It was probably stale, but she didn’t care. She got a big mixing bowl out and poured at least half the box in it and then poured milk over that. She got a spoon and took the bowl into her bedroom. It was another Saturday night in Babylon.
C
olumbus Circle in the Upper West Side of Manhattan was an enclave of wealth and prestige. Slowly, inevitably homogenized business was taking over, and the predictable generic retail stores were opening up, while the small, independent places were closing. The wonderful little coffee shop that Bernice and Jack went to for their weekly lunch finally succumbed and closed their doors. It was such a slap in her face; she took it personally. They should have warned her so she could visit one last time. She had walked there alone Saturday morning to have breakfast. The shock of it not being open was bad enough, but when she realized it had gone out of business, she came close to falling over on the sidewalk. Barely making it home, she struggled to get up the stairs and into her room.
“Oh Jack, our place is closed for good,” she said to his ghost. She closed her eyes, remembering the times they went there together before he found out the truth about his father and didn’t speak to her again. Bowing her head, she started to weep. It was so infrequent that she allowed herself to feel, to grieve. Her daughter-in-law had asked her how she did it. How did she suffer such loss and go on as though nothing had changed?
“It takes too long to recover if I allow myself to feel too much,” she had replied. A good analogy, she thought,
was having a lazy day, one in which you didn’t bother to put makeup on, or brush your teeth, or even get dressed. You could do that in your youth and get up the next day, preparing to face the world again. When you aged, that slight lapse would make it almost impossible to recover from. At her age, she had to stay on her toes, stay vigilant. She understood, for the first time, those women in rest homes who didn’t even bother to comb their hair. It was enough that they managed to brush their teeth. Taking care of her physical body was getting harder and harder; remembering if she had washed her face was even a chore.
What is happening to me?
Now she was struggling to get out of bed. She hadn’t showered in days. Bill had noticed right away, and she was embarrassed.