“I want to help,” he said, straightening the collar on her jacket. He pulled a mass of tangled hair out of the back of her collar and his fingertips inadvertently touched the back of her neck. A chill ran through Vicky and she instantly reacted by squaring her shoulders back in resistance. “I can help myself,” she said, backing away as she zipped her jacket.
“I know you can,” he said putting on his khaki colored trench coat and tying the belt around his waist without bothering with the buttons. “I didn’t say I had to help you, I said I want to help you.”
At that moment Vicky understood instinctively what made Frank tick, deep down inside underneath the mathematical mind and the lost dream of his music and his manners and his good breeding. He wanted to help. She thought about it. Wasn’t it that very characteristic that separated a bad man from a good man? Could a man ever really be good, could he ever really learn how to love until he could do that?
What about Bobby? Was it an ever-increasing feeling that he was a hindrance not a help that drove him away into some unknown exile? Did he walk into his own death because he felt it was too late to turn back? Did he die at his own hand?
What about her father? His desire to help was continually stifled by a lack of employment. He tried to drown out that desire with booze but it never really worked. And was it that same stifled desire in Francis that caused him to look so sad at times and read those books about chivalry that lined his bookcase time and time again. Was he the true Prince of Camelot born strangely out of time, finding himself so lost in the 1980’s?
And so she would let him help. A man of Frank’s caliber never desired to help her. She was too rough, too strong, too scarred, she thought touching the scar on her cheek and becoming aware of it for the first time that evening. She hadn’t felt self-conscious about her scar in a long time, but she did now. She was standing under an overhead light and he was standing so close to her smiling that enigmatic smile. She turned her scarred cheek away from him as they walked out Frank’s door, he of course, standing aside to allow her to exit first.
They walked out of Camelot Building 3300 together. She noticed that his stride was long and purposeful, deliberate but not particularly fast. There was no hesitation, no tentativeness about him. He knew where he was going and why he was going there. Vicky felt nervous for the first time that evening. Maybe it was just the change in environment, being alone with him outside in the middle of the night. Funny, she thought, how she wasn’t that nervous in his apartment.
“Please excuse my truck,” she said stammering. “It’s dirty as all get out. Let’s see here, I reckon we ought to check the floor on the passenger’s side first,” she chattered nervously as she led him toward her truck.
“Did you ever get that oil leak fixed?” he said with a slightly wry tone. Vicky remembered the last time she had dragged him out to her truck. It was to prove to him the half-truth that (some of) the kitty litter was used to absorb an oil leak.
“Oh, that. No, I still got that problem,” she said, hoping he wouldn’t shine his flashlight underneath her truck in search of kitty litter.
“You really should get it looked at,” he said. Vicky opened the passenger door to her truck. “You mean you don’t lock your truck at night?”
“Why should I?” Vicky said as Frank shone the flashlight on various papers, fast food cups, and empty cigarette packs that littered the truck floor. “If anyone wants to steal what’s in this truck they’re welcome to it. Of course,” Vicky said, embarrassed by the look of shock on Frank’s face, “there could be valuables buried underneath this junk for all I know.”
Vicky began rummaging through the debris while Frank stood just behind her shining the flashlight strategically over her shoulder as she searched. Some instinctive pull seemed to guide her hand under the seat. She reached back as far as she could until her fingers touched something metal. She knew immediately from the feel that it was her keys.
“I found them,” Vicky said victoriously pulling the jingling metal objects out from under the seat and holding them up so Frank could see. “Thank you Saint Anthony,” she said, kissing the keys.
“Bravissimo Antonio,” Frank said with an excited cry. He threw his arms around Vicky in a giant bear hug that caused her to gasp for breath.
What a contradiction he was, Vicky thought. This man of decorum, so thoughtful and purposeful in his actions and speech could startle her so suddenly with this impulsive act of exuberance. Vicky backed away from Frank’s embrace and stumbled just slightly as she did.
“You all right?” Frank said grasping her arm so she wouldn’t fall.
“I’m fine. You just caught me a little off guard there is all,” Vicky said, aware again of the scar on her cheek which she felt certain the beam from Frank’s flashlight had revealed to him. She turned her face away.
“So what other keys do you have on that key ring if you don’t mind me asking?” he said becoming his serious thoughtful self again.
“The keys to work, the keys to Chief Bobby’s house,” she said with a moment of worry as she wondered for the first time since his disappearance what she should do with his belongings. “And the keys to my apartment.”
“You know you really ought to consolidate. You need to put all those keys on one key chain along with the key to your truck.”
“Why? So when I lose them again I won’t be able to start my truck or get into my apartment?”
“If they were all together you wouldn’t have lost them in the first place. It’s a matter of efficiency.”
“You sure like to give advice, don’t you?”
“There’s always a better way to do things.”
“Well, if you must know it’s ‘cause my Uncle Louie had so many keys on his key chain that the weight from it caused something to trigger in his car’s ignition, and it finally got to where he could start his old Dodge without keys. I ain’t lying neither. He could just turn the ignition, no keys required, and his car would start right up.”
“Hmmm,” was all Frank said, looking very skeptical. “Well, I suppose we better head back,” he said, tightening his upper torso against the cold. Vicky hadn’t really noticed the cold until now. Frank shone the beam of the flashlight straight ahead of them as they made their way back. He took her arm. At first the gesture reminded her of someone helping an old person, someone injured and not so sure-footed, or perhaps someone with poor eyesight. Her fist instinct was to yank her arm away and make some remark about not being an old lady, but then she remembered his need to help, and although she was uncomfortable she let him guide her.
“Wait a minute,” he said suddenly stopping. He turned his flashlight off and looked up. “Look,” was all he said. There was the same black velvet sky alight with stars that Vicky had gazed at in awe just a few short hours earlier. He audibly gasped at the sight.
“Beautiful,” Vicky said. “All I know is the big dipper, though I’m never quite sure where to look for it.”
“You’ll find it in the northern sky,” he said, and with that he placed his hands on her shoulders and gently turned her to the right. “Let your eyes adjust. Now look where I’m pointing. Can you see the bowl?” Vicky followed the tip of his finger up into the sky and watched as he traced the bowl, then the handle.
“I see it.”
“It’s so clear tonight you can even see the Little Dipper. Look for the two stars on the outer edge of the Big Dipper’s bowl. See?” he said tracing again with his finger. Vicky found them in the sky. “Then you trace an imaginary line between those two stars and extend it straight out beyond the bowl until you run right into that bright star there. See it?”
“I see it.”
“That’s Polaris, the North Star. Polaris is the anchor in the night sky; it is considered true north because it doesn’t move during the course of the night. Sailors and travelers have always used it as a compass.
“Now look to the south.” He gently steered her by the shoulders and situated his face so
close to hers’ that they were nearly cheek to cheek. “There it is,” he said pointing, “the brightest constellation of the winter sky–Orion, the Hunter. At least the ancient Greeks thought it looked like a hunter holding up a shield. Now find his belt. See those three bright stars right in a row?”
“Yeah, I see them.”
“That’s Orion’s Belt. And that bright star underneath his belt is Rigel. That marks Orion’s foot. Now take a look to the Northwest.” He turned her and pointed. “See that bright star? That’s Aldebaran. One of the brightest starts in the sky.”
“Wow, I see it,” Vicky said following the tip of his finger as it traced along the vast darkness of the sky.
“That’s the bull’s eye in the constellation Taurus. Now if we look to the West of the bull’s eye we should see a cluster of seven stars,” he said searching, seemingly lost for a moment. “There it is. That’s Pleiades, the seven daughters of Atlas. Only six are visible to the naked eye. The seventh daughter is lost. Zeus condemned him to carry the earth and turned his daughters into stars.”
“I guess I don’t want to get Zeus hacked off,” Vicky laughed.
They stood in silence and looked up for a while. Vicky felt the cold after a few moments. Her shivering became uncontrollable and she sniffled repeatedly to prevent her nose from running. “You got a tissue?”
“Here,” Frank said handing her a neatly folded white handkerchief with a navy monogram beautifully and meticulously stitched near one of the corners. “Don’t worry, it’s clean.”
“You just happened to have one in your jammies?” She asked while wiping her nose.
“In my coat pocket. I have allergies.”
“Yeah, I know all about your allergies. Thanks for the hankie. I’ll wash it and get it back to you.”
“Don’t worry about it. You can keep it.”
“You sure? This is a nice handkerchief.”
“I’ve got plenty.” Vicky blew her nose and put the handkerchief in her pocket.
“Let’s go in before you freeze to death,” Frank said, his hand resting protectively between her shoulder blades. She realized it was part of that helping instinct so she walked along with him, following the beam of his flashlight which he so conscientiously shone before them, in spite of the fact that the street light in the parking lot was plenty bright enough to light their way. He held the door open for her and Vicky welcomed the warmth with a sigh of relief as they stepped into it. Fatigue rushed over her and her legs felt suddenly heavy as she commanded them forward a few short paces to the door of her apartment.
“Well, here we are,” Vicky said. “Thanks for everything.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Sorry I kept you up half the night. I hope you won’t be too tired tomorrow.”
“I’ll be fine. What about you?”
“I don’t go into work until four tomorrow so I get to sleep in.”
“Think of me as I’m slumped over my desk,” he said with a smile.
“Well, thanks again. It’s been a very interesting night.”
“That it has.”
They stood there for a moment in silent awkwardness and Vicky wondered just how to express her gratitude and just how she might bid him goodnight. He lingered, seemingly waiting for her to initiate the farewell. She wanted to embrace him; after all he had already hugged her. Surely it would be all right, but still something held her back from doing so. For all Vicky’s bravado, she couldn’t approach a man like Frank, at least not while she was sober. She raised her left hand to cover her scarred cheek and extended her other hand for him to shake. “Good night, Francis.”
He took her hand firmly in his, but instead of shaking it, he raised it to his lips and kissed it. “Goodnight Vicky.”
Vicky’s thoughts whizzed speedily along while her heart didn’t know what to feel, her hands didn’t know what to do, and her feet wanted to run away and carry her outside into the open air. But she had to turn around and calmly unlock her door like she always did when she came home.
Normally very dexterous, Vicky found herself fumbling with the keys as she clumsily unlocked the door. Frank continued to stand there though at a distance. “You can go now,” Vicky said. Her face, already warm with embarrassment, grew suddenly hotter as she wondered why she had said such a stupid thing.
To her surprise, Frank laughed at the remark. “I’m just making sure you get in all right.”
The doorknob turned, Vicky hastily pulled the keys out of the lock, opened the door, and quickly stepped in immediately closing the door behind her. “Vicky, old gal,” she said to herself, head leaning against the door in shame. “You’re such a fool. I can’t believe you said such a stupid thing. He was being a gentleman, but you don’t know a gentleman when you see one.” He H
*****
The album had been shoved under the door and Vicky discovered it the following morning around ten shortly after she woke up. She spied it on the floor yet it didn’t register at first what it could be until she was right up on it. She felt elated as she read the attached note handwritten on stationary that read:
From the Desk of Francis C. Hamilton.
Dear Vickie,
Here is a collection of Chopin’s most well known works.I thought you might like to borrow it. I can tape it for you if you like.
I Remain,
Francis
So this is what his handwriting looks like, Vicky thought, her eyes absorbing each carefully marked ink stroke and her memory recording every word on the page. She could tell he had made every effort to make this distinctively masculine hand, with its thin slanting letters, as neat as he could. It was somewhat surprising to see that his handwriting was not as neat as she thought it would be. She ran her fingers over the page and ink and smiled at the way he misspelled her name and the formal way he signed off. “He signed it ‘Francis’,” she said aloud. She raised the paper to her face and inhaled. It smelled like him.
Vicky went immediately over to the stereo and put the record on. The music was just background noise that morning as she tried with great effort to go about her day. Her thoughts were scattered and disorganized and her morning ritual took much longer than usual. “I must really be tired,” she said to herself time again as she struggled to organize her thoughts and move from one activity to the next.
Despite her lack of sleep, however, she never felt sleepy; not once all day. Instead she was infused with the most optimistic exuberance. Her scatterbrained state remained but did not cause her great concern. She kept looking forward to something though she didn’t know what. Then she remembered the record and thought, yes that was it. She wanted to sit down and really listen to it without distractions. She would do it when she got home from work. She would turn it way down low and lay between the speakers.
When she arrived home the first thing she did as she stepped out of her truck was to look up, directly above her apartment to the second floor of building 3300. His lights were out. She didn’t want to see him again empty handed. She wanted to give him some sort of a gift as a gesture of thanks, but what? She looked up at the stars. It was another clear night and she found the Big Dipper and Polaris with just a little effort. She found Orion’s belt and what she thought was Aldebaren. She smiled as she thought of the perfect gift.
She played the first side of the Chopin record and at first, it didn’t resonate with her soul the way she thought it might. She read the titles of each track on the back of the album cover. She played the second side and found the Prelude subtitled Raindrop to be pretty, sweet, and a little sad just like the first Chopin piece she heard outside Frank’s door. But what really moved her was the Nocturne No. 1. It triggered something deep in her heart that no piece of music had ever touched in her before–a longing for something she couldn’t quite get to. Something that was there just around the corner of every note, but then it would elude her. It spoke to her of something in her own heart that she could never quite get to. Her eyes blurred with tears and her
arms became a mass of gooseflesh. She played the nocturne a second time and fell asleep in between the speakers.
The following day Vicky ran into Sally out in the hall. Vicky noticed some extra weight clinging to Sally’s short frame. She reminded Vicky of a balloon in the bright red blouse she wore, floating way up high, filled with helium like her squeaky little voice. Vicky walked right into her like one walking into balloons suddenly let off a surprise party.
“Surprise. I’m back.” Sally’s presence filled up the hallway like that large balloon held up to the face which you can’t see around and clings to you with static electricity.
“Why, hello, Sally. When did you get back from your cruise?”
“Late last night,” Sally said excitedly and Vicky could see she was dying to tell her all about it.
“You gotta tell me all about that cruise someday real soon, but right now I’m late for work,” Vicky said with a forceful shove to the clinging balloon leaving sparks of static in its place.
The big red balloon floated back around in front of Vicky, blocking her passage out the door of building 3300. Sally cleared her throat as if there was something else even more important than the cruise she was trying to get at. Sally was only this vigilant when there was gossip brewing.
Vicky quickly searched her mind but could think of no transgressions on her part, nothing that might have conjured up the Spirit of Sally Past. Yet here she was, back, with attitude.
“So what did I do this time, Sally?”
Sally slapped her hand to her chest as if in great shock and dismay. “Nothing. Why would you have done something?”
“Because you’re in my face.”
“Whatever,” Sally said shrugging her shoulders as if she had no idea what Vicky was talking about. “I just wanted to tell you I heard your music playing last night when I came in and…”
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