The Kaleidoscope (9 page)

“It was nothing, I over-reacted.”

Before he could say anything else, Morrie changed the subject and suggested they order a pizza. After they’d eaten and watched an episode of
CSI
, Morrie made an excuse and left.

When he’d gone, Harold called St. Bart’s, but only got an answering machine. The bowl of water he’d filled for Glenda was still on the floor and reminded him that Pepper had given him her phone number. He dialed and asked after her day. When she asked about his, he described Morrie’s reaction to the ’scope.

“There’s some reason the Universe has placed this in your hands at this point in time, Harold.” Pepper told him. “I think it’s building up to deliver an important message to you. Be patient. And open your mind to the possibilities because when it happens, I’ll wager it’s going to be big.”

****

By Friday morning, Harold had finalized the list of tasks he needed to accomplish before the interview. He’d submitted his final application and planned to spend his lunch hour going over bullet points and charts. The promotion committee hadn’t specifically requested such a formal presentation, but Harold didn’t want to leave anything to chance. He’d had some good chats with Rhashan, and even Gordon’s heckling had waned a bit.

He crossed the street into the park, expecting Morrie’s shock to have worn off, but instead of the usual friendly greeting, he merely nodded, a curt dismissal. The line at the cart was long, and there wasn’t time for talk, especially of the nature Harold wanted to have, so he went on to work. He was actually relieved he didn’t have to speak with the man. With the interview to worry about, he didn’t have time to delve into other people’s troubles.

In the line at security, someone called his name. Keith was gesturing to him from the glassed-in booth. “I called my folks,” the guard told him. “They’re ready to meet Frank, and invited us out the next three-day weekend. We want to do something to repay you.”

“Well, I’m glad for you. Repaying me isn’t necessary.”

“We want to. We’d like to have you over for dinner.” Keith gestured at the pocket Harold usually carried the Kaleidoscope in. “Frank would like to see it for himself. You do still have it, don’t you?”

The Kaleidoscope clicked as he removed it from his trouser pocket.

“I hope you know what a treasure you have there.” Keith was visibly relieved when he saw it. “I’m sorry, it’s just that the gift you’ve given me is priceless. I was kind of a handful for my parents. When I saw their images, I told Frank about it.”

Harold nodded. He should consider getting a couch and clipboard.

“And then I started having dreams…nightmares actually, and realized how much I missed them.” The confession softened the man’s chiseled features. “So I called them. We all had a lot of wounds to heal, and I had some pride I had to let go of. We couldn’t have started back on a path to reconciliation without it. Without you. I’d like to tell you more about it, but this isn’t the place.”

“I see.” Harold’s heels gritted on the marble as he turned to go.

“What I mean is, how about this Saturday night?” Keith hurried to say before Harold could get out of the room. “And please bring a date. We’d like to thank you.” The invitation echoed across the lobby as more of a command than a question.

“I’m glad things are working out.” The ’scope was doing the magic. Harold had nothing to do with it. “That’s not necessary.”

“Please.” Keith handed him a sticky note with an address and phone number. “We won’t take no for an answer.”

****

“Good afternoon, Harry!” Pepper juggled arms full of shopping bags. “How was the interview?”

Friday afternoons were usually the hardest for Harold as coworkers headed out for drinks, or ducked out early for a weekend in the mountains or at the beach. Since Georgia left, he’d worked many weekends. On this day however, Harold left a few minutes early, and was glad to get home.

“It was postponed.” He lifted one of the heaviest bags from Pepper and followed her inside, set the canvas bag down in her kitchen. Its layout mirrored his own.

“Oh, no. And you were so prepared. What happened?” She held up a box. “I was going to cook for you, so we could celebrate.”

A tennis ball formed in Harold’s throat. “I have an idea.” He’d never really asked a girl out; Georgia had always planned their dates. Hand in his pocket, he rattled the Kaleidoscope against his keys, and the jingle caused Glenda’s ears to prick forward. “Sit!” Before she could ram his crotch again, he backed to the door. “I would…would you like to accompany me to dinner tomorrow night?” The words rushed out before he could really think about what he was asking.

Pepper wasn’t as surprised by his question as he was. “That sounds great. At your place?” She was certainly very casual about all this.

“No, some friends of mine.” The word
friends
was nice to say.

She beamed. “What time, and how should I dress?”

And just like that, and without weeks of planning and rehearsal, without changing his mind about it dozens of times, he’d asked a girl out.

Harold had a date.

****

Walter filled a plastic jug at the well tap and shuffled back and forth, watering the delicate sprouts. Despite the anxiety about knowing how the ’scope was faring back in Los Angeles, Walter turned his grizzled face into the warming sunshine and allowed himself to believe for a few moments that, before he died, somehow his years of labor would pay off, like the miracle of the seeds he’d planted that grew to produce. Walter had faith that God would reward him with fruit for his labors. He’d penned a letter and hitchhiked to town to mail the envelope addressed to the manager of the office building where he’d guessed at the address. After being denied the chance to explain, it was the only way he could figure to get the necessary information to the device’s new guardian.

“Hey, old man!” Another hiker had found his lair, interrupting his thoughts. “Mind if I crash here tonight?”

“Shed’s around back, don’t make no fires, and I don’t abide no drugs.” Walter thumbed over his shoulder, and headed back inside.

“Thanks! I won’t be a bother.”

“See that you’re not.”

Back inside, Walter lifted a bucket he’d scoured for drinking water, and filled a tea kettle to heat on the wood-burning stove.

No one had protested him squatting here. The cabin had become his place of refuge. He’d had to chase out a family of ’coons, and it took a day or two to make the place livable. Water from the creek primed the pump, and he only had a few steps to carry the bucket of clear water into the primitive kitchen.

He’d bummed a ride to town, mailed the letter, and bought a canister of propane. If he was thrifty, he could make that last all summer and wouldn’t have to go back where he could be recognized. No phone, no Wi-Fi, but the woods were quiet and held plenty of rabbits for meat, and the streams had lots of trout. The knots in his back were loosening, his swollen hands were now slim and flexible, and the bullfrogs lulled him to sleep each night.

Whatever was going on with the Kaleidoscope was now out of his hands, and someone else’s problem.

Chapter Eight

Pepper negotiated an on-ramp. “Seriously? You don’t drive at all, or are you just afraid?”

“I don’t have a current license.” Harold watched a billboard whisk by, and didn’t elaborate.

“Harry, we live in cars-land. How do you get away with not having one? Is it fear? I had a girlfriend who was in a bad crash once, and she had white-knuckle phobia ever since. Because if that’s it, I know a hypnotist who can help you get over your fear, she… What is it, Harry?” She glanced over at him, and touched his hand that held a tin box she’d brought.

“I don’t want to discuss it. I’ve come to terms with it.”

“O…kay. Let me tell you about something I had to get over, and then if you feel like telling me about yours…” She switched on the wipers; the air was thick and damp from the leading edge of the marine fog rolling in from the ocean. “When I learned the first lump was malignant, I wasn’t scared of death, or the pain. I was the most frightened of losing my hair. But look at me now; I couldn’t care less, Harry. It’s just hair.”

He pictured her head underneath the scarf of the day, wispy and growing in patches. He was never really good at using his imagination for things like that. Georgia had talked about getting a pixie once and all Harold could imagine were fairies on her head.

“So, if there’s something that scares you about driving a car, I’ll bet whatever it is you’re worried about won’t even happen.”

They pulled up and over a steep bridge across a canal, and Harold read off the numbers. “Here’s their place.”

She was correct, he knew. Sometimes when you’re afraid of something, thinking about worse things could cause them to pale. But in his case, there was no way it could be worse.

When they went inside, she dropped the whole driving thing, and he was left with his painful memories, which he’d learned years ago to fold up and hide in the back of his memory closet like a discarded garment.

****

“So I told her, you need to find a stylist who gets you because the eighties called and they want their hair style back, honey!” Frank was telling them about his latest gig. Keith and Frank’s cottage on the Venice canal wasn’t much bigger than Harold’s apartment, but they’d filled it with art and a collection of handmade textiles from their travels.

Harold had listened to the others discussing Frank’s job as a photographer and how the two had met when he was hired to shoot Keith’s dad’s retirement party.

“Fortunately, he’s healing well.” Keith told Pepper and Harold about the shooting that put him on permanent disability. “But it was enough to scare my mom into making me promise not to go into the force myself.”

“So he went into private security,” Frank continued for him.

“Is your dad okay now?” Pepper asked.

“He has a few impairments. Sometimes he forgets stuff, and he’s lost some boundaries. If he was interrogating a witness he might give them evidence, ruining the investigation.”

“That’s too bad.” Harold knew the pain of having a dad who needed excuses.

Keith nodded. “They still send him cold case files to read, but they’re not comfortable having him on the street any longer.”

“So they’re not disappointed in your career choice?” Pepper wondered.

“Not at all. But they never wanted to accept my lifestyle.” Keith and Frank exchanged a glance. “I kind of sprang it on them, so I assume some of the responsibility.”

“We’re hoping it all goes well when you introduce Frank to them.” Pepper gave Keith a consoling knee pat. “And Frank, tell us about your job.”

“As you know, spring in Hollywood means pilot season, and businesses catering to the wannabes who arrive for all the auditions, from long-stay hotels to month-to-months, photographers, stylists, and acting coaches, all of us prosper from the cash flow.”

Frank’s dream to support his artistic photography with his headshot business was finally coming true for him, and Keith beamed as Frank shared stories about the celebrities he worked with.

Even though most of the banter had gone over his head, Harold understood actors from the four corners of the earth descended on Tinsel Town, chasing the dream. His grandma told him how his mom had worked for a time in the studios.

The dinner party had started outside while their marinated salmon steamed on the grill, but when the marine layer swooped in and even the blazing fire pit couldn’t keep them warm, they’d escaped inside for the warmth. The foggy blanket of moisture hung lower than its normal altitude, almost brushing the rooftops. Now they sat thigh to thigh on futons facing each other across a low table of driftwood and glass.

“You better be careful,” Keith warned, “your client could be the next Kardashian.”

“Of course I didn’t say what I was thinking. I should write a book.”

Pepper lifted her glass to Frank. “To realized dreams as your photography business grows,” then to Keith, “and to renewed family ties.” She tossed the wine back, her earrings sweeping back and forth across her cocoa shoulders. “Just leave them real looking, please, sir. The last thing we need are more air-brushed and plastic-filled actors.” She formed fish lips and turned to Harold. He pretended not to notice her lashes batting at him. Even joking, he couldn’t imagine she’d want to kiss him.

She cackled and began picking up the plates, following Frank and Keith into the small kitchen. Harold didn’t know whether to follow or wait for them to return. He was admiring a wall of photos hung in a striking montage when Pepper returned.

“Brandy?” She stood over him, a snifter palmed between slender fingers.

“Huh?” Harold dragged his gaze from a portrait of an older man sitting in a town square. The lines on his face were so vivid he was tempted to reach up and touch to make sure he wasn’t some kind of 3D rendering. The picture moved Harold in a way he couldn’t explain. “I probably shouldn’t drink any more, I’m not accustomed…”

“Hold it like this.” Pepper showed him, and stepped across his lap to sit down next to him.

Harold averted his eyes as she slid her skirt down to recover her thigh.

“Isn’t Frank talented?”

“These are his?”

“That’s what they said on our tour, Harry, weren’t you listening?”

Harold studied the framed photographs again, some in black and white, and some in color. Like the town square man, each was in such stunning detail he wondered if they must be partially hand painted, like a Disney animation cell.

Keith came in and saw them admiring the pictures. “While I search for shops that sell handmade linens and lace, Frank gets to know the locals. He can get anyone to pose for him.”

“What are you into, Harold?” Frank asked, and they all looked at him.

“Oh, I just…work.”

The energy in the room switched off. Pepper shifted in her seat. “I’m sure you must be interested in something. And don’t call it just work.” She tickled his neck with the loose end of her scarf. “Maybe you’d like to have the world’s largest firehouse patch collection, or boxes of erotic postage stamps?”