by Lisa Rusczyk
PARKER
A tear ran down Cleo’s cheek, but she didn’t look sad. She grabbed her drink, sipped, and wiped the tear away. “So you can understand how things changed for me in that moment, reporter?”
“Yes,” Parker said. He glanced at his microwave clock. It would have to be a very late night and he needed to keep her talking until she was homeless. How could he do that? Loretta’s smirking face before she walked away stuck with him. He had to be on his game. But still, he couldn’t imagine kicking Cleo out without telling her why. She had just unloaded one of her most personal and life-changing moments, and he was worried about another one for her just over the horizon if things didn’t play out right.
“Why do you look at the time, reporter? Don’t think I didn’t notice.”
He rubbed his mouth, thinking, and said, “Barbie said she couldn’t tell you just then why Patrick meant a lot to her.”
“Yes.” She sipped from an empty glass, so he refilled it for her.
“I can’t tell you why I looked at the clock, not just yet. But I will.”
“Do you have a deadline on my life story?”
He half smiled, feeling more drunk than tipsy. “You could say that, but I can’t tell you why. I want to be totally honest with you, but now’s not the time. I will tell you, just later.” He hoped that would satisfy her.
“You don’t have enough wine for the rest of my story.”
He looked at his empty glass, then at the empty bottle. He stood to get another out of the pantry, but Cleo said, “They are all gone.”
“How do you know?”
“I peeked,” she said. “Let’s go down to the grocery and get another bottle.”
Parker paused with his hand above the doorknob of the pantry. He couldn’t be seen with her, not if there was a snoopy Loretta hiding in the shadows taking pictures. He thought of the bag of whiskey in Cleo’s clothes. That might tide her over, but then he’d have to admit to looking through her stuff.
“What is it, reporter?” she asked.
He turned back to her. “We’d have to go out the back way.”
“Back way?”
“Yeah, the fire escape. The way you came in.”
She had a look of caution in her eye, then sadness. “Are you afraid of being seen with me?”
He created a story fast. “I want to adventure after all this drinking and hearing your life story. I want to see things from your way. Let’s go down the fire escape then through the alleys. I bet I won’t get hit on the head with a bottle while I’m with you.”
She covered a smile, and said, “Well, you do have a flare for the dramatic, I suppose. The fire escape will be much easier in jeans.” She rose from the table, stumbling just a bit, and walked to the living room. Parker grabbed all his money out of the drawer, noting it was still there.
“Wait,” he said. “We need coats. It’s freezing outside.”
He got one of Missy’s faux fur coats and gave it to Cleo, who turned it around in her hands before saying, “Oh good. It’s fake. I was worried I’d picked the wrong man for the job for a second there.”
Parker said, “Missy wouldn’t wear dead animals.”
“Missy,” she said, putting the coat around her. “What kind of name is that?”
Parker knew he’d had too much to drink when he said, “The kind you love and never forget.” He knew it wasn’t just the drink, but the openness that Cleo had given him into her own experience made him feel a bit like opening up, too.
“Missy the twig must be very special. I like her already. You should get her back, I think. But there is another time for that discussion.” She opened the window and popped out the screen.
Jack jumped up and started out the window as Parker pulled on his jacket. Cleo grabbed him and handed the purring, twisting bundle of fur to Parker. She said, “Hold him until I get out, then you climb out, then put him back inside and don’t let him follow. You need to learn these rules for an indoor cat. And you don’t want him to go out in the city at all, my. Cats are lucky to find someone like you. If he went out, he’d most likely die an early death.”
Parker held the wiggly cat as Cleo climbed out the window. Then he angled and twisted so that he could get out onto the fire escape while holding the gray. He dropped Jack on the couch and quickly closed the window so that he couldn’t run out.
The fire escape was rickety at best. He had last been up here when he got the extra key under the aloe plant, but now the swaying and swing of the thing made him dizzy. He’d had way too much wine. He clambered down the stairs after Cleo, anyway, and they made it safely to the ground.
“Now,” he said, “We go that way.” He pointed to the end of the alley that led to the other side of the block.
Cleo said, “You told me that, but I didn’t really believe you. You want to go the wrong way to get to the store? It’s right up the corner. There’s more to this sneaking around.”
“Secrets,” he told her with what he hoped was a whimsical smile.
She tossed her curls and said, “You have me totally intrigued. Tell me why.”
“When you’re done your story, I’ll tell you mine.”
She pursed her lips and almost argued, but much to Parker’s satisfaction, she turned and walked into the alley.
They arrived at the other side of the alley and entered the street. They walked all the way around to the grocery.
The store’s lights were brighter than the sun and more abusive, and Cleo’s age lines showed prominently. She looped her arm through his and he had the fleeting thought that he was in a movie with a “broad.” If only she were wearing real mink and had a feather boa.
“Why are you laughing, reporter?” she asked him.
“I guess I’m a little drunk. Let’s get this over with.”
They went to the wine section and Parker looked over all the red wines. An older woman in the same aisle gave them an odd look, as though to say, “Weird people, stay away.”
In truth, Parker was talking rather loudly, choosing the wine by price and by name, saying, “Anything called Smithsonian should make us that way, you think, Cleo?”
Cleo, still clutching his arm, giggled on and on. She said, “That woman thinks we’re lovers, drunk lovers, look.” She pointed at the horrified woman, who ran off without picking up a bottle of drink.
“Shhhh,” Parker said. “We have to be low key.”
This only made Cleo giggle more, which turned into both of them belly laughing and trying to cover it with hands and snorts.
They paid more than Parker had ever paid for wine, and he wondered why he had grabbed all his money in the cash drawer for this. The cashier looked jaded, and Cleo and Parker’s giddiness made no impression on her whatsoever.
Once outside, Parker told her, “We have to go back the way we came.”
“Why? More conspiracy? One would think you are the one who is a crazy homeless woman rather than me.”
“Trust me,” he said, and gathered her arm into the nook of his. They found the right alley after a moment and climbed the fire escape stairs like it was an old game. They got out of the cold and plopped the two pricey bottles of wine down on the couch. Jack sniffed exuberantly, like he had discovered a possibly dangerous creature. They sat on the floor of the living room, both out of breath and laughing.
“Why is this so funny?” Cleo asked.
“I don’t know,” Parker said, “But I want to see if the price on these wines was worth it.”
Cleo calmed down after a moment and said, “You are avoiding the secrecy angle, but I’ll let it go for now.” She stood, almost fell, then grabbed the wine and went to the kitchen. Parker followed, grinning at what, he did not know.
Cleo uncorked a bottle and poured some into Parker’s glass, turning it quickly with a twist at the end.
Parker asked, “Why did you do that?
“Do what?”
“The twisty thing?”
“Oh, that is what Nikki always did. Learned it fro
m him. You twist so none spills down the side. Good waiters do the same thing.”
Parker had been to plenty of good restaurants, but never noticed this at any of them. Had they been doing it all along?
Parker poured Cleo’s full glass of wine down the sink, and she laughed even harder, like he was miming it. He said, “You need this good stuff,” He washed the glass from Italy to get rid of all the grimy fingerprints that had accumulated, and poured her a fresh glass, with a twist. He settled down next to her in his chair.
She said, “I had no idea you’d be this fun.”
“Neither did I.”
“Maybe Missy should see this side of you.” She smiled and tipped her wine glass at him. He held up his glass, saying, “What are we toasting?”
“Fire escapes and love,” she said, tapping his glass with a clink. They both drank, Parker thinking it tasted much better than what they had been drinking. A little part of his brain that collected alcohol data told him that as the drinks go on, they always taste better, but his current situation told him that it really was premium.
“Okay,” he said. “I want to hear the rest. Tonight. Let’s stay up until all of this,” he gestured at the wine bottles on the counter, “Is gone. Deal?”
Cleo rolled her head around as though watching an invisible fly. Straightening up, she said, “It’s a deal.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
