“Okay. Um… Oh! So, this older lady came into the hardware store where I work on Tuesday evenings. She asks me for—and I quote—the thing that stops the water. Then, she starts making these strange hand gestures to show me what she means. Honestly, it looked a bit lewd.” I laugh. “I was kinda mortified for her, and I still had no idea what it was she wanted. So, first, I take her over to the aisle that has bathtub plugs. But nope. That’s not what she was looking for. She then motions like she’s watering the plants, and she starts making these odd whooshingsounds, too. Oh my God. I was trying so hard not to laugh. Anyway… It took us twenty minutes to understand each other. In the end, she needed a replacement faucet handle. Can you imagine that?”
I pause, waiting.
Not even a chuckle from across the way.
I sigh again.
Just as I’m about to launch into my next not-so-riveting story, a rustle of clothes. Followed by a definite pouring of liquid into a glass. Then, steps.
One. Two. Three… Five.
Silence.
He’s standing right next to me. That subtle ocean breeze envelops me.
His close presence is heady.
As once before, I feel the light touch of cold glass on the back of my hand. I bite my lip, turning up my palm. Accepting the beverage.
Steps retreat.
I hear my silent guest retake his seat.
Sweet, creamy flavor hits my taste buds as I take a tiny sip. A rich blend of chocolate liqueur fills my mouth. I sip it again, then cough. “Sorry. Alcoholic drinks aren’t really my thing.”
Carefully, I reach out to feel for the coffee table and set the glass down. “That reminds me of another funny story, though. It’s not mine, but I think you might like it. Doug, my coworker from the flower shop, had this run-in with a customer who he thought must be totally drunk at first. This was at his old job, a few years ago. Apparently, this big, scary guy walks in…inthe middle of the night. And he’s looking for parsley. Parsley! Poor Doug managed to send him away. But the guy comes back, months later, and holds Doug at gunpoint!” I lean forward. “You’d think he wants money, right? Nope. He demands that Doug cut the stamens off dozens of tulips. Then, he pays for the flowers and takes off. Can you believe that?”
There’s no reply, of course.
“I’m not sure if the story is true or if Doug made it up. But I so want it to be real. Supposedly, the guy wanted the flowers for his girlfriend, but she was allergic to pollen. So rather than chance it, he had Doug remove the risk.”
I change my position, getting more comfortable on the couch. Another sigh involuntarily slips from my lips. “It’s kind of romantic, if you think about it. This guy didn’t go the easy route. He did everything in his power to do something special for her, for the woman he loved. I was with my ex, Kyle, for over three years, and he never gave me flowers. Not once. Sure, he got me gift cards for my birthday and chocolates for our anniversary, which was nice, but no flowers. It might be cliché, but every girl dreams of receiving flowers, at least once.”
The relaxed atmosphere between us prevails while I regale my silent guest with one somewhat funny story after another. Stuff that happens at my various jobs. Anecdotes from my neighborhood. I even tell him about my argument with our super about the elevator he keeps promising to fix. As hours pass, I find it easier and easier to think of things I don’t mind sharing with this man. It’s so strange, because I’ve never been much of a talker. Never had anything to talk about. Usually, I’m the one who sits back and listens to people. About their lives.
Why would this man choose to listen to me? Why would he ask to see me repeatedly? My prattling is not so interestingthat it warrants the kind of money he’s spending. Who is he? Maggie’s tone was respectful, her voice even wavered slightly as if she were scared when she spoke about him. He must be someone very important. Someone with a lot of influence.
Who is he? What does he look like? Is he young or old?
My imagination is running wild. Thoughts about this man are burrowing into my mind. He is still a somewhat incorporeal being in my head, but something tells me he’s not that old.
Throughout the night, I sense his eyes on me. His undivided attention. Even though I’m fully dressed, in a gown that’s hardly provocative, I feel naked under this man’s gaze. It’s somewhat unsettling, but also titillating. It stirs up a bit of excitement. A dose of mystifying thrill, born of all the questions buzzing through my mind. I feel like I’m somewhere else. Someone else. Suspended somewhere between time and space. Outside reality. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever known.
Who is he?I wonder for what must be the millionth time tonight as I launch into a story about doing some charity work a few months back for a sweet, old lady in our neighborhood.
“So yeah, they agreed to do it for free, promised to send out a handyman to fix the seal on her windows. Those things were awful. Every winter, Mrs. Dixon would get a terrible cold because of the draft. Really, that’s the only thing we needed from the general contractor, because the rest of her neighbors donated the paint for the walls and the hardware to get her cabinets fixed. But, I might have misunderstood, or maybe didn’t communicate with the company clearly, because…when the guy finished, he said it took him two hours instead of the one that he was instructed to work.” I shake my head. “I felt bad, so I paid him myself for that extra hour.” A heavy exhale leaves me. “Now, though, all that work was for nothing. Mrs. Dixon, alongwith everyone else in her apartment building, is being evicted. The place where they live has been sold and is scheduled to be completely torn down by the new owner.”
Knowing that Ruffo is the one responsible for our efforts going to waste, and for all those people losing their homes, makes my heart ache. Thinking of the man brings the image of him in the Spadas’ backyard to my mind. How he peered at me with that unnerving gaze of his while the rest of him was shrouded in darkness. There was something very odd about him that night. Things he said, and…
I still can’t believe he lent me his jacket.
After he disappeared into the dark, I remained in the backyard for nearly ten minutes. Frozen. Just standing there like a dolt, wrapped in his enormous suit jacket that almost reached my knees. Staring after him into the shadows, surrounded by his residual body heat. That man confuses me. With things he does. Things he says. Things he implies through his silence.
When I finally headed back inside, I took Ruffo’s jacket to the houseman, figuring I could leave it with him and the garment would find its way back to its owner. Only, I was informed that Mr. Ruffo wasn’t at the party. He never came into the house.
Why was he there, then, that night?
“Maybe the businessman who purchased the building will reconsider his plans. Maybe he’ll let them stay in their homes after all. Maybe…maybe he’s not that coldhearted,” I whisper. More for my own sake, because I still hope…
