Meanwhile Kent was working in the trust department of First Lamasco Bank and things looked promising for him. His boss had his eye on him. Plenty of opportunity for advancement, but still he didn’t seem happy.
She opened a cardboard box marked “miscellaneous”. She unwrapped some old newspaper from an unknown round object and pulled out a cheap ashtray with a picture of a Hawaiian hula dancer on it. It said “Greetings from Honolulu”. She wondered where the hell she got it. It looked like many a cigarette had been put out on the hula dancer’s face. She wrapped it back up again and tossed it on the couch with some of the junk she hadn’t caught while she was packing. Her mom could sell it at one of her garage sales. Allison smiled. It probably belonged to her mom anyway. She unwrapped the next object. It was an old family photo taken when she was about twelve. It was the one reminder of her family of origin. She looked at it every day in her apartment in Chicago, but she never really saw it in the same way she saw it now. Maybe it was because she was back in Lamasco. The picture triggered a memory.
She was seven years old and had snuck out of bed one night. She crept downstairs and overheard her parents talking in the living room. They were talking about “divorce”… again. She was used to hearing the word. She’d heard it thrown around enough, but usually when they were hollering at one another. Tonight was different. They weren’t fighting. They were actually polite; not like friends though, more polite like strangers. They said they couldn’t get the “divorce” until Allie, their youngest, was all grown up and out of school. In the meantime they had to be “civilized”, whatever that meant. They had to stay together “for the kids’ sake”. The next day her dad moved out of the master bedroom and onto the couch. He claimed it was because of his back problems and the couch was more comfortable, but little Allie knew the real reason. She knew she’d better hurry and grow up so they could get their divorce and finally be happy. She was the last ball and chain they had to unshackle themselves from before they could finally start to live. They filed for divorce shortly after her high school graduation.
When she looked at the picture the truth stared back at her with all its ugly harsh realities: her missed childhood, her parents’ loveless marriage, just how far she and Kent had drifted, and the sad fact that Kent was merely playing the part of the upwardly mobile banker to please her when all he really wanted was to be a farmer. She turned the picture upside down and put it back in the box. I need to go for a run right now. Allison abruptly stood up. The donuts felt heavy in her gut. I will not eat anymore fats or carbohydrates today. I’m healthy. I’m in control. I will go for a run.
She found the box marked “shoes”, grabbed her kitchen knife, and cut the thick cellophane tape which held the flaps of the box closed. She pulled her running shoes out and put them on her bare feet without socks. She wasn’t sure where her socks were and she didn’t want to take the time to look. Happily she’d already found her walkman and had been listening to it all morning since it was her only source of music until she set up her stereo. Got my shoes. Got my walkman. We’re ready to roll. Allison clipped the walkman to her shorts, took one last look at the boxes piled on top of each other, heaved a sigh, and closed the door behind her.
Finding an interesting, scenic, and safe jogging route anywhere within the vicinity of Camelot apartments was a challenge. Allison got bored running around the apartment complex so she ventured out into the street. She had to be extra careful because there were no sidewalks, and even though it was Sunday, the traffic was heavy with people headed to Lamasco’s newest chain restaurants (all of which were on this side of town) for Sunday brunch.
Jaunting along, she heard church bells ring. They came from the Catholic Church across the street and down a little ways from Camelot, in the opposite direction from which she was running. The church used to be the only thing out here save cornfields and a few scattered farm houses. The bells pealed ten o’clock. She remembered it was Sunday. She tried to remember how long it had been since she’d been to church. Just then the gust from an approaching car nearly knocked her off her feet. The car came close enough to clip her. She turned around and headed back to the apartments, deciding it was safer to do laps around the apartment complex than get killed her first day back in Lamasco.
As she bounced along, her breathing keeping pace with the pounding of her feet, her mind unwillingly returned again and again to the horrible thought of getting hit by a car, the impact, the crushing sensation, the helplessness of being flung into the air or worse yet, dragged. How horrible to be the driver, Allison thought, as she imagined pushing down with all her might on the brakes in some futile attempt to stop another human being from rolling up onto her hood and smashing into her windshield.
Death. Such a final word. This is where I’ll die. Here in Lamasco. I wonder if I’ll be buried next to Kent. Of course I’ll be buried next to Kent. What am I thinking? Why am I thinking these morbid thoughts? She didn’t have an answer. She was unaccustomed to thinking about death, at least not for very long. She turned up her walkman and let David Bowie seductively croon all her horrible thoughts away. Let’s dance. Put on your red shoes and dance the blues. Let’s sway. Under the moonlight. The serious moonlight.
A thrill of anticipated romance shot through her and made her shiver. Definitely a preferable emotion to the previous one. She was approaching her building when she saw him. It was not the first time she saw him. She met him last night as she was moving in. He was one of two young men who appeared quite suddenly on the scene and offered to help carry boxes and furniture. Now here he was again washing his car. His car stereo blared and the sound of his music clashed with hers. It sounded like opera. With animated gestures he sang along.
Now what was his name? She’d learned in her Dale Carnegie class to remember people’s names and use them often. She tried to remember when the two young men introduced themselves. Just what exactly did this one say his name was? All she remembered was that Kent looked worried when they mentioned they lived in her building. She told him he had nothing to worry about. They seemed like a couple of hon-yock school boys trying to impress her, only she wasn’t impressed. If they were that hard up that they had to wait around for a new girl to move in, like vultures circling around dying prey, then they must not be all that great.
Name. Name. I’ve got to remember his name. She used word association to help her. The other guy was easy. His name was Tim. She came up with the acronym Totally Impossible Man because he seemed like a jerk. She had a hard time finding something that stood out about this guy. And then she remembered his eyes. She noticed they were blue. Blue eyes. Ol’ Blue eyes. Frank Sinatra. That’s it! Frank.
He noticed her and looked suddenly embarrassed that she caught him singing along with his music. He smiled sheepishly then quickly turned his music down. Allison planned on waving and jogging right past her new neighbor, but she was suddenly and strangely endeared to him by his smile and this brief glimpse into his foolish and vulnerable side. She couldn’t help but laugh.
Allison seldom stopped until she was entirely finished with a jog, but he seemed to want her to stop and talk, so she took her walkman headset off her ears, jogged over to him and continued running in place. “Hello Frank. Beautiful day, isn’t it?” She panted, her feet pounding the pavement in place.
“Don’t you ever slow down?” He laughed.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Yesterday when you moved in you were flying around between the parking lot and your apartment like an angry hornet, carrying boxes up and down those stairs. The way you worked, I would’ve thought you’d sleep ‘til noon. But here you are, up and running.”
“An angry hornet?”
“You don’t like that one, huh? Okay, how about white tornado?”
“Do I get a third choice?”
“Well, maybe, if I saw you standing still for a change. So far all I’ve seen is a blur going by... am I holding you up?”
Now it was her turn to be embar
rassed as she realized she was still running in place. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to lose the aerobic effect,” Allison explained. She took her pulse with one hand and looked at her watch with the other. She stopped. “I guess my heart rate’s been accelerated for at least twenty minutes. I can take a rest.”
“A sunrise.”
“What?”
“You wanted a third choice. Now that I’ve seen you standing still I’m comparing you to a sunrise.”
It was a schmaltzy thing to say but all the same it made Allison blush.
“Well, I do feel rather like a large planet today.”
“The sun’s not a large planet. It’s a bright star.”
“Sorry, I was never much for astronomy.”
Suddenly he dropped to one knee and extended his hand toward her. “‘What light through yonder window breaks? It is the East, and Juliet is the sun. Arise fair sun and kill the envious moon.’”
Either he’s a hopeless romantic or he’s just plain psychotic, she thought searching his eyes for a glimpse of sane reason. His pupils appeared equal and responsive to light. My God, he has sexy eyes!
Nervous and embarrassed, Allison laughed and blushed all at the same time. “So you sing opera and quote Shakespeare? Tell me I’m not in Lamasco. Right? I went to sleep in Lamasco, but now I seem to have awakened in the Land of Oz.”
“Some advice for you Dorothy. Don’t ever trust a smiling munchkin.” Frank said still on one knee. They both laughed, though Allison didn’t know why. Frank rose to his feet and struck a more serious posture.
“So where did you move here from?” he asked.
“Chicago. Well, actually I’m from here originally.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yep. Lamasco born and bred. So how about you?”
“New York City. Well, the burbs of Connecticut actually but I’m technically a New Yorker.”
“I thought I detected an east coast accent. So what brings you here to the middle of nowhere? Must be the pharmaceutical business. You’re with Mead Johnson, right?”
“No.” He smiled.
“You’re going to make me guess, aren’t you?”
“That’s right.” He seemed to enjoy toying with her.
“Okay. You’re a professor at Lamasco U. That’s it! I guessed it, didn’t I? So what do you teach? No, let me guess. Must be in the Humanities? I’m right, aren’t I?”
“No.”
Allison looked him over again. Marketing and sales had taught her to read people. He had the air of a college professor about him. Brainy. Perhaps he was a nerd at one time. Remnants of nerdiness still remained, traces left over from puberty, now barely discernable. But yet there was something about him that gave Allison second thoughts. Maybe he was too polished to be a professor, too sharp and aware of what was going on around him. Not absent minded enough. His clothes weren’t rumpled enough. In fact they appeared to be neatly pressed. His yellow button down Oxford shirt was not only pressed but starched. His white shorts didn’t have the dingy grey appearance of the typical bachelor who throws his whites in the wash with all the other colors. These shorts were white white. Bleach commercial white. He must be gay. That’s it! He’s a gay professor.
Sizing him up one last time she noticed his shoes. His shoes were the only thing that didn’t fit. He wore an old beat up pair of topsiders. They were too worn to belong to a gay man. The stitching was beginning to rip at the toe and the leather laces were broken. He’s a preppie. Of course! Why didn’t I see it before? Not gay, just a classy guy. The words “dapper” and “debonair” sprang to mind. Old fashioned words. Like a Brill Cream commercial.
Allison hoped that maybe she was wrong and that he was gay. She couldn’t be friends with a straight man this good looking. That was another interesting thing. He didn’t seem that attractive last night, or even when he first approached her, but now a strange transformation was taking place before her very eyes. He became more attractive with each moment that he stood there. It was the dark hair and skin contrasting with those amazing blue eyes.
“C’mon. C’mon,” he said in his thick New York accent.
“I’m thinking.”
“I thought you were quick on your feet.”
“I am.” Allison laughed and blushed again. My God, I’ve turned into a giggly school girl. I’m acting like such a dork. He must think I’m an idiot. Oh, well, what do I care what he thinks? “Okay, so you’re not a Humanities professor or you’re not a professor period? Which is it?”
“I’m not a professor.”
“Are you sure?” He laughed at the remark.
“I give. What in the heck are you and what brought you to the middle of nowhere?”
“My line of work. I own my own business.”
“You’re an entrepreneur?”
“A struggling entrepreneur at this point, but nonetheless.”
“So now you’re going to make me guess what business you’re in?”
“Naw, I won’t string you along anymore. It’s market research. In the whole United States do you know where most new products are tested? Right here in Lamasco.”
“Right, I’ve heard that. It’s because we’re so conservative. If a new product goes over here, it’ll go over anywhere. That’s why you moved here? ”
“That and I’ve always had a somewhat romantic tie to the Hoosier state.”
Oh, no! Now he’s going to tell me his girlfriend lives here. Why should I care if his girlfriend lives here? Allison thought. “Ah, a romantic tie?”
“Yep, Notre Dame football.”
His face broke into a slow dreamy smile, and he was all at once dazzling and beautiful to Allison, like a Greek god standing there smiling all his graces down upon her.
A little sigh accidentally escaped from the back of her throat and she felt her face blush again. Allison quickly cleared her throat in an attempt to regain her composure. “So, you like Notre Dame football?”
Frank only nodded and continued smiling, only this time more knowingly with a twinge of amusement, as if he’d seen right through her embarrassment.
“Well,” Allison said, “it’s too bad South Bend’s at one end of the state and Lamasco’s at the other.”
“Yes, well, I still manage to make my annual pilgrimage every fall,” Frank said. “What about you? Do you like sports? You’re not going to tell me you’re a Cubs fan are you?”
“Actually I am. I did live in Chicago, you know. Why? Is that a problem?”
“Oh, no! Just when I was starting to like you. Boo! Yankees all the way.”
“Yankees! Well, I’m not sure about your moral fiber. Only Cubs fans have true character, you know”.
“Oh, yeah?” He teasingly challenged her, piling on the New York accent for affect.
“Yeah! They know what it’s like to be the underdog.”
Together they laughed and bantered back and forth a bit until it became awkward again. But Allison was good at not letting a conversation go to that place. Much poise and confidence had come to this naturally shy girl from all the career training. She knew how to get a person talking about themselves and how to really take an interest; or at least fake like she had an interest. She had to admit sometimes she had to concentrate really hard in order to take an interest in what another was saying. But right now, here with Frank, taking an interest was no problem at all.
“What else is there around here to keep you from going crazy?” she asked him.
“Actually I like Lamasco. There are two universities, a theater, and best of all, an orchestra.”
“I could tell from your music you must be a cultural kind of guy.”
“So what about you, Allison? Do you enjoy the arts?”
“Well, it’s been a while since I’ve been to a tractor pull.”
He laughed deep and heartily from his gut. It was a rush, a high, surely better than any narcotic. He remembered my name, and he laughed at my joke, Allison thought. Kent never laughs at my jokes.
&nbs
p; “So you’re a big opera buff I take it? What was that I caught you singing along with?”
“Verdi. La donna e mobile.”
“Oh. I always knew it as Tra-La-La-Boom-Dee-A.” Again his shoulders shook with laughter. “Let’s see if I’m not too rusty on my Romance languages that means ‘The Lady is...Moving? Changing?”
“Fickle. The Lady is Fickle,” Frank said making eye contact and making her uncomfortable.
“Ah, I see. You know I lived and studied in Paris for a year and I took in my share of opera while I was there, but I could never listen to it without envisioning Bugs Bunny and Elmer Fudd.”
“You’re a very funny lady, Allison,” he laughed. He called me by my name again. We’re practically intimate. Dale Carnegie was right.
He began singing again in a clear tenor tone. “Welcome to my shop. Let me cut your mop. Let me shave your crop...”
“Daintily. Daintily,” they both sang together, remembering the Bugs Bunny and Elmer Fudd cartoon. This time they laughed in unison, his deep thundering from the gut and her school girl twitter.
“I guess about as close as I come to being cultured is an appreciation for Gershwin. I love Gershwin!” Allison said.
“Of course! An American in Paris. It’s all about you.”
“That’s my favorite. My all time favorite.”
“It’s a remarkable piece of music.
“You know, actually you have a very beautiful voice,” Allison said. “Where did you learn to sing like that?”
“My mother. She was an opera singer… from Italy. Very up and coming back in the fifties. If it hadn’t been for her health she might’ve really gone somewhere with her career, but unfortunately she died of cancer. I was just ten at the time.” His eyes blurred ever so slightly, making them even more beautiful.
“I’m so sorry. That must’ve been hard growing up without your mother.”
“Yeah, life definitely took a downward turn after that. My Dad never really got over it.”
“At least he loved her. That’s more than I can say for my parents. They’re divorced.”
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