Darcy 9 and 10 TWW
9
I call Alex.
At least I dial his number before I come to my senses and hang up. It’s not like I know anything about anything anyway. What if Alicia’s relationship with Paul was over a long time ago and he’s one of those guys who can’t face reality. Hasn’t relegated his ex-girlfriend’s picture to the memory pile. I should call Alicia and ask but I’m afraid I’ll get nervous, talk about plumbing fixtures, and she’ll understand even less than Uncle Warren did.
Not ready to make a decision I pour a glass of wine, even though it’s only four in the afternoon, grab the bottle, and head out to my front porch. I sit on the top step and with each new thought take a sip. By the time I get to the bottom of the bottle I decide lives are like drains. Each one is different, some flow freely, some are blocked, and though some are a trial to clear, all of them can be fixed.
I think about elegant Alicia in her elegant surroundings. I think about Nicolini’s plain apartment with the high tech toilet. Craggy features, hard biceps …
When my thoughts circle the drain I snort. Charged ions in the atmosphere are nothing more than oversexed dust motes. A distraction not a chemical reaction. I should know.
Thanks to Paddy, who manipulates the jobs list, I’ve installed toilets and cleared clogs for too many San Francisco area bachelors. I don’t know how Dad chooses his targets. Maybe he chats them up with his usual blarney, likes their zip codes, or figures it’s a crap shoot until someone takes an interest in me.
I called him on it once. Told him guys never notice me when I’m working and he can save his meddling for someone who needs it. Not one to admit to mischief, he’d only muttered under his breath how women where always chatting and staring at his backside when he fixed their kitchen sinks.
If he’d wear the long tailed t-shirts I bought him for Christmas last year he wouldn’t have that problem. But I don’t have to worry about Dad until tomorrow when I pick him up at the airport. Right now I’m not thinking about anything but cabernet.
Sun glints between the eucalyptus trees lining the sidewalk, so I shade my eyes and look away. When I look back I’m staring at a pair of knobby knees. I don’t bother to look up, I know who it is.
“Hi Kenny.”
“Special occasion?” Kenny sits beside me and examines the empty bottle. “If I didn’t have better manners, I’d ask you out before you sobered up.”
I watch my mailman, who’s pestered me for a date since junior high. Where I was the class wall flower, Kenny played tuba and wore green track shoes. Talk about late bloomers. I’m about to give Kenny the same lame excuse I always do when I realize, Madeline’s right, I need to stop judging people by my own narrow parameters. My social life is up to me.
“Okay.”
“Okay you want me to ask you out or okay you’ll go?”
Feet planted on the top step I lay back and stare at the ceiling of my porch, which is a lovely shade of grey Madeline selected from a stack of identical paint chips.
I think about Alicia, and Alex, and Dad. Then stop myself, because their lives are up to them, so in the shiny moment between a lovely buzz and sobriety, I decide, I will no longer second guess anybody. I will be open and accepting and … “Okay I’ll go.”
Kenny ambles to his feet and holds out a hand. For once his smile is quiet and shy. Then it dissolves into the brash show of teeth he normally displays when he struts up my stairs to deliver the mail. “So, what’s going on? Your biological clock ticking or something?”
Really? I step back already regretting the impulse to be nice. “I think I work too much and”
“No such thing, you being a plumber and all. I bet you make excellent money. A guy would be happy to buy into the American dream with a gal like you. Not that I’m proposing.”
I glare at Kenny.
Who goes right on talking. “But I’m a progressive kind of guy. Might even become a house hubby and watch the kids during the day, for the right woman of course.”
“One date Kenny. Yes or no?”
oOo
I should have blown Kenny off instead of giving him an ultimatum.
Then again, I’ve never been in a bowling alley so I might as well enjoy myself. I can tell Madeleine later how wrong she is about not prejudging guys. Life is too short to date them all, so it makes sense to sort out the weirdos. I just wish I weren’t so gifted at finding the oddballs.
The bowling alley is old and, though Californians haven’t smoked indoors for years, the place smells like stale cigarettes and sweaty socks.
Kenny returns from the shoe counter with its cracked linoleum and waves a score card at me.
“Ready buttercup?”
In the second between my mailman’s endearment, and my desire to be shot, my future flashes before me.
I’m in a living room which looks a lot like Dad’s, and sitting in a saggy brown recliner is a bald guy with a beer belly. Without turning away from the TV, he waves a hand in my direction. “Get me another one buttercup. Make it a PBR.”
Shit. It’s Kenny, and I’ve settled - again.
Which is what I do. Accept the easy outcome when I’m too overwhelmed, or scared, to work for what I want. What I don’t quite think I’m worth. As I stare at the shabby bowling shoes the clerk sets on the rental counter, my brain spews excuses as quickly as I dismiss them. I won’t leave. I know what it feels like to be stood up, and I won’t do it to someone else.
But those shoes. “Listen Kenny—”
“No worries buttercup, I’ll take care of these but you’ll want to buy your own pair before tournament season.” He pulls out a can of foot spray, fills a pair of shoes with a cloud of noxious fumes and hands them to me. “You can’t be too careful.”
Tournament season? I swing the shoes as I walk and when the spray dissipates I remind myself to be a better person. Make this date work though there will be no competitive bowling on my part.
Which is a good decision because my talent lies in gutter balls. Three sets are all I can handle.
“Maybe you should sit this one out. Take a break.”
Quit? I’ve never been a quitter.
Well except for ballet, which was the first time I broke Paddy’s number one rule: You can’t quit until you’re good enough to know if you like something. Sage advice which didn’t apply to toe shoes though I stuck it out for six months before the ballet instructor had a little chatty chat with Dad.
“Well buttercup?”
Proud of myself for not dropping my date with a well placed kick, I nod.
Kenny hands me a beer I don’t want, so I pass it to one of his buddies. His bowling posse, or club, or whatever you call it. I can’t remember their names but I’m glad they’re here so it’s less of a date and more like an after school activity.
From my perch on a turquoise bucket seat, I stare down the lanes with their faded stardust motif, and decide this place is an original, unwashed icon of the fifties. One in major need of repair. When I lean forward and the cracked plastic pinches the back of my thigh I get up and pace the floor.
Six lanes down and I’ve seen all I care to. Balls crack and pins spin every which way. One glance to the right and I spot a group of senior woman with tight t-shirts and high pony tales sears my brain. Wait until I tell Madeline.
For a change of scenery, I check out the ladies room. The toilets seats are worn and the room smells like disinfectant. Even so I almost fix the chain on a running tank. To distract myself I draw a comb through my hair; satisfied when the glossy curls bounce back into place.
When I return, Kenny’s arm is draped across the shoulders of a petite blonde. Maybe there is a God. While he admires her bowling ball, or talks shop, I collect my sneakers and head toward the exit. Nothing is better than a clean escape.
“Buttercup.”
Damn. I hunch my shoulders and turn around.
The tiny blonde chiclet is still tucked under Kenny’s left arm. She belongs there, with her delicate hand with her perfect pink manicure flattened across his solar plexus.
My back straightens and when I inhale, I no longer smell the reek of cigarette smoke.
“This is Suzie.” Kenny pushes the little blonde in my path. “I was just telling Suzie, I plan on marrying you.”
My socks slip an inch or two as the muscles in my calves cramp. “Kenny?” I say, then shut up because the squeak in my voice is damn near a yodel.
Suzie’s pale blond ringlets shake about the perfect oval of her ears. Bright blue eyes, meant for a china doll, widen until the whites are visible ring. This can’t be good.
I hold out my hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
She furrows her brows and I take a step back. Not to be dramatic or anything but I don’t think I want to be between this woman and anything she wants.
I swivel toward the door thinking I’ve been here long enough but a hand on my elbow stops me, so I turn back around.
“Are you okay?” With a firm grip on my upper arm, Suzie guides me to a bench and pushes my face between my knees. “You’re so pale.”
A momentary distraction. I try to sit up.
Suzie’s fingers tighten on the cords of my neck. “He’s mine and you can’t have him.”
So that’s it. Nose pressed against my thigh I suppress a snort.
Kenny’s feet shuffle into view and a large clammy hand cups my elbow. “You okay buttercup?”
“Never better.”
Suzie’s grip eases as I sit back up. “Listen Kenny, you’re a great guy.”
“Whoa.” Hands held out, he backs up a step and considers me.
I dismiss Kenny’s reaction as mock outrage and shift my attention to Suzie. Her nostrils are pinched but her shoulders are no longer up around her ears. She’s pretty, petite and I have no idea what she sees in Kenny. Other than the matching team shirts. I wink and she leans away from me. What have I got, the plague?
“Kenny.” I get to my feet and wrap an arm about his shoulders. “Let’s talk.” I steer him toward the exit. When I hear Suzie behind us I twist around and glare. “Privately.”
On the sidewalk I let go of Kenny and plant my hands on my hips. “Kenny, you have got to be kidding.” I’d give him a chance to respond but I want to make this quick. “What about Suzie?”
“Suzie?”
“The woman is smitten.”
“Well, she has a lot of qualities.”
“Kenny, I’ll be plain. You and I don’t have a future.” He opens his mouth so I speed up. “I don’t bowl, we’re not compatible, and Suzie is in love with you.”
Kenny scratches his chin. “So, no you and me?”
I shake my head.
“Then I guess I can’t get you to look at the leak in my spare bathroom?”
“Kenny, take Suzie to a nice restaurant, go dancing, and I’ll fix the leak. No charge.”
A poster boy for bad poster, Kenny bobs his chin making the cords of his neck bulge. “So, no hard feelings?”
“None,” I tell him. “I had a pretty nice time. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Kenny’s about to disappear into the bowels of the bowling alley when he turns back. “Listen buttercup, any guy would be lucky to have you. Once you cure your attitude problem.”
10
Ankles hooked on the rim of the tub, I sink low in the water, dip my chin and blow bubbles. Forget Kenny. I am not crusty, I am not particular, and when the right guy comes along I’ll know it.
In the meantime, today is a perfect day.
The plans for the party are coming along nicely, and when I see Madeline I get to tell her she’s wrong about prejudging guys. Then I get to brag that I took a chance. Accepted a date. Even if all I have to show for it are blistered toes.
Sweat collects on my scalp. Tiny rivulets run down my neck. When my skin turns the color of ripe tomatoes I decide to take a cold shower. Halfway to my feet I stub a battered toe on the porcelain rim and swear. The doorbell rings and I swear some more.
I’d get a, no soliciting, sign but I don’t want to miss out on Girl Scout cookies.
At the bottom of the stairs, wrapped in terry cloth and dripping water, I yank open the door and take a quick step back. “Alicia.”
“Darcy, is this a bad time?”
“Of course not, come in.” Aware my hair is a sweat-soaked haystack, I wave Alicia past the construction zone of my sitting room and into the kitchen. “Would you like a cup of tea, or I could make coffee?”
I glance at the clutter and sweep my legal pads off the chipped formica-top table. From her distracted expression, I don’t think she notices the state of my home.
Alicia wrings her hands, face pale, features drawn. “I don’t wish to be a bother.”
“No, no bother.” I push the wiry fringe of bangs up and off my forehead, pull the towel a little tighter, and match Alicia’s desperate look with one of my own. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”
There isn’t time for a shower but I take one anyway.
Why is she here? Is she going to call off the engagement? Tell me about Paul? Oh wait, she’s here for Madeline. Except the heavy weight in my stomach proves I know better.
Not five minutes have passed before I trot back down the stairs. I wasn’t hallucinating. Alicia, now cool and unruffled, sits on one of my cheap kitchen chairs. Her blonde bob is perfectly combed. The color back in her cheeks.
I rub the coarse ends of my hair, wishing I’d taken the time to use conditioner, as I step close to my guest.
Alicia reaches out to grip my other hand. “This is a sensitive matter. One I’d like to keep private.”
With my hand captured by hers, I give a jerky nod. This is the end of my career. I’m sure of it.
“Coffee?”
“Tea please, sweetener and a splash of cream.”
I pull my hand free and cross to the stove. “Milk and sugar?”
“Please.”
That’s two pleases more than Alicia has ever given me. I rub a hand down my jeans then busy myself with the teapot.
“I imagine you’d like to know why I’m interrupting your Sunday morning?”
Boy would I. Careful not to stare, I pour water into a pair of mismatched mugs and dunk the teabags. “Are you worried about the party plans?” I can’t help it, I’m not sure if I’ll be happy or relieved if she calls off her engagement.
“I’d like a favor.”
“Oh?” With a splash of milk for each mug, I carry them to the table. I’ve forgotten the sugar but in her current state I don’t think she’ll notice.
“I’d like to know if Alex loves me.”
The mug misses my mouth and lukewarm tea splashes onto my thigh. “I’m sure he does.”
“How can you be certain?”
I’m not. “Well I haven’t spent much time around either one of you but …”
“I have to know. Of course, he’s a busy man and his machismo often gets in his way.”
She sips her tea, makes a face and sets it aside. “If he isn’t interested in the plans for our engagement, he isn’t interested in making me happy.”
That’s—
“If he’s not interested in my happiness, he doesn’t love me.”
—crazy.
“Well then, there is only one solution.” Alicia stands and retrieves her purse from the back of her chair. “Alex will do the remainder of the planning and I count on you to see he does it correctly.”
I can’t spend that much time with Alex.
Swallowing, I stare at the wallpaper remnants on my kitchen wall, letting my eyes trace the subtle lines of an old rose. Pink when my grandmother was young, the colors have wilted to pale brown. My grandmother was a strong woman but I need to remind myself I share her genes. “Alicia.”
Alicia sails past me on her way to the front door like the matter’s been settled. Brows down, I snap my mouth into a firm line as I decide it’s not in my nature to play games.
“Hey wait.” I catch up to her just as the front door rocks back on its hinges and Dad crashes through.
Hand stretched toward the knob, Alicia squeals, steps back and bumps into my chest.
“Alicia.” I move around her and into Paddy’s open arms hoping they’ve never met. I can’t picture Alicia in a plumbing supply shop, not one as industrial as Paddy & Son’s, and though Alex may think it’s funny I’m a plumber, I’m certain Alicia will not be amused.
“This is my Dad.”
“Pleased to meet you.” Alicia thrusts a hand towards Paddy.
Dad slaps me on the back and sets me aside as he grips her hand. “Charmed,” he says.
“Oh my.” Alicia’s voice hits a strangled note I’ve never heard, so I follow her gaze.
Swinging about Paddy’s hips is a kilt. An honest to Irish, army-green canvas kilt with a bronze buckle. From the looks of Dad, I’d say leave the kilts to the Scots.