Finny

by Justin Kramon

  After one transfer, they walked upstairs, onto the street. Earl rolled Finny’s suitcase for her, and she kept her backpack strapped on her shoulders. She was surprised to see that the streets looked pretty much like the streets in a big American city. Except there were bakeries on the corners instead of delis. And the magazines on view in the magazine booths showed pictures of actual topless women, their breasts displayed like meat hanging in a butcher’s window. She and Earl walked up a small hill, until they reached the address Earl had written on the envelopes of his letters to her when they were in high school. There was a double wooden door that must have been ten feet tall, with brass handles that looked like they were made for giants’ hands. Earl punched in a code on the call box next to the door, there was a small click, and then they pushed through the doors into the building.

  The space they walked into was dark, and very cold, and soon Finny realized that they weren’t inside at all. They were in some kind of tunnel, their feet on a stone walkway, and Finny could see light ahead of them. Earl pressed a switch on the wall, and the tunnel lit up. There was a small apartment to their right, which Earl explained was a superintendent’s room. As they walked forward, Finny could see that the bright space ahead of them was a courtyard. They walked into it, a gorgeous green square of lawn. Around it were garages for the cars of the presumably wealthy people who lived here. A stone path bordered the grass, where the cars could drive. It was quiet here, walled off from the city. Finny looked up at the majestic building, its beige walls nearly golden in the bright winter sun.

  “In France, it’s a big deal to live on the third floor, which they call the second,” Earl whispered to Finny. “There are a few ground-floor apartments here that are smaller and a little less expensive. A photographer lives in that one.” He pointed to a window through which Finny could see a television set. “And a lady who works as an, uh, escort, lives there.” He pointed to another window, which was shielded by a curtain at the moment. “For a while I didn’t understand what she did. I kept asking my mom, and she would always laugh. The lady advertises as a massage therapist. She sometimes has different guys waiting in the courtyard at lunchtime. It’s pretty funny. No one really cares. One time, just for fun, my mom went in to ask for a massage, and the lady said she was all booked up. Even though there was no one inside.”

  It seemed like here there was a frankness, an everydayness to sex, which Finny liked. She said to Earl, “Have you ever gone in for a ‘massage’?”

  “Um,” Earl said, turning red.

  “Really?”

  “My mom bought me one for my eighteenth birthday. It was kind of awkward, but I told her I’d go through with it.”

  Finny laughed, clapping a hand over the ugly jealous voice in her head. She didn’t want to acknowledge all that pettiness. What was the big deal about a “massage”? And it wasn’t like she hadn’t thought of other boys during the last four years either.

  So she said, “Your mom sounds funny. I’m looking forward to meeting her.”

  “Well, if you’re not tired, we can go over soon and visit her at work. She said she wanted you to come by when you woke up anyway. Let’s just go stick your stuff upstairs.”

  Earl led Finny to a door on the far side of the courtyard, which he opened with a key. It was still cool inside, and he had to hit another switch to get the light to go on.

  “We gotta move fast,” he said. “Or else the light goes off and I have to grope for the switch.”

  They hustled up a very narrow, tightly wound staircase. Earl said that it was only five flights, but it felt like it would never stop because they were turning so much.

  “The regular staircase is nicer,” Earl said. “But this one is the only way to get to the maids’ rooms.”

  He pointed at the door on the third floor and said, “That’s the American lady my mom rents from. I don’t even think she’s around.”

  When they reached the top landing, there were doors on either side of them, and a door behind Finny, which Earl said was where the toilet was. He opened the door to their right with another key, and they walked into the room.

  It was stuffy, as Earl had said—and unbelievably small. There was a kitchen counter, with a sink and two burners in it, a small refrigerator beneath it. A table was pushed into the corner between the counter and the wall, and there was only enough room for two chairs beneath it. There were some red cushions stacked against one wall, which Earl explained could be spread out to make a bed for them later. And on the far wall, a little window through which Finny could get a view of the rooftop next door.

  “Where does your mom sleep?” Finny asked.

  “She’s renting the other room, across the hall, too. The lady who was living there moved out, and my mom had saved a little money. She decided she needed the extra space. So we have this room to ourselves.”

  “Wow,” Finny said. “An apartment in Paris to ourselves.”

  “Not bad,” Earl said, “right?”

  “I can hardly believe it.”

  Earl’s mom worked in a hair salon on Rue La Fayette. It was only a five-minute walk from Earl’s apartment. The salon occupied a very small storefront, sandwiched between a jewelry store and a chocolate shop. The sign on the door said Salon de Coiffure, and then beneath that: Ramon de la Peña. Earl led Finny inside, a bell on the door ringing as they entered. The shop was tiny, only two barber’s chairs and two chairs with the heated domes that came down over your hair for drying, one sink for washing hair. There was a small desk in front, which was empty at present. In fact, there was no one in the shop. Finny and Earl placed their coats on a coat rack by the door.

  Then Finny heard a woman’s voice from the back of the store, which was shielded by some black silk screens with pictures of purple cranes on them. “Bonjour!” the voice said.

  “Hey, Mom,” Earl said.

  The woman who emerged from behind the screens was taller than Finny had expected her to be. Probably because Earl and Mr. Henckel were so short, Finny had expected Earl’s mom to be, too. But this woman had the opposite of their squashed frame: she was almost unnaturally elongated, with arms and legs that seemed stretched like taffy—so thin and white. Her pallor was accentuated by the simple black dress she wore, and by her dark hair, which was pulled back in a tight bun, moistened by some kind of hair product. She had a strong nose, and thick, somewhat square eyebrows. Her whole body seemed pliable as dough when she walked, and Finny had the feeling she could pop into a handstand at a moment’s notice.

  “Hello, hello,” Earl’s mom said to Finny and Earl, waving dramatically, like they were much farther away.

  “Hi,” Finny said, and held out her hand to shake.

  But the woman took Finny in her slender, surprisingly strong arms and gave her a long hug. “Finny,” Earl’s mom said while they were still hugging, “I’m so, so happy to meet you. I’ve been waiting so long for this day.”

  “Me, too,” Finny said, a little taken aback by the intensity of the greeting. She wasn’t sure what to call Earl’s mom, since she knew she wasn’t a Henckel.

  Finally, Earl’s mom let go. Finny had to take a deep breath, since all the air had been squeezed out of her lungs.

  “I’m Mona Trebble,” Earl’s mom told Finny. “But you should call me Mona.”

  “You should call me Finny,” Finny said.

  “You’re stunning,” Mona blurted out. “One of the most beautiful young women I’ve ever seen.”

  “Uh, thanks,” Finny said, though she wanted to say more, as if there’d been some obvious error she needed to explain.

  But Earl saved her. “Finny slept her whole flight,” he told his mom, “so she didn’t need a nap. We decided we’d come right down and see you.”

  Mona’s reaction to this statement was a bit more pronounced than Finny would have expected: her eyes flooded with tears. “This is the most wonderful day of my life,” she said, sniffling and trying to collect herself.

  Finny supposed th
at she hadn’t realized the importance of this visit to Earl’s mom, how honored Mona must have been that Earl would bring his girlfriend all the way to France to meet her. Only later did Finny see how extreme Mona’s emotional reactions were to everything; you could have held the door for her and she would have burst into tears.

  “I’m really happy to be here,” Finny said.

  “To have my son and his love together in my home. Who could imagine a greater joy?” She was beaming, her eyes reflecting the overhead lights.

  “Not me,” Finny said.

  “My son is such a wonderful, thoughtful child,” Mona went on.

  “Mom,” Earl said.

  “I’m just so excited,” Mona said. “To think that under a roof I have provided, you and your lover will be snuggling up together, kissing, petting, whatever else you do—it’s the greatest accomplishment I could hope for.”

  “So inappropriate, Mom,” Earl said, his cheeks glowing.

  “Anyway, I have a surprise for you,” Mona said to Finny. “It’s something very, very special, to welcome you to France.” She looked at Earl. “Is now a good time, honey?”

  “Sure,” Earl said. Finny could see he was already tired from this visit with his mom. “Why don’t you see if Finny wants to do it, though?”

  “Oh, of course, of course,” Mona said, clasping her hands over her heart like she was trying to catch a scurrying mouse on her chest. “Of course we wouldn’t do it if Finny wasn’t interested. But it’s such an honor.” She looked at Finny. “I couldn’t imagine you not being interested.”

  “I promised I wouldn’t tell,” Earl said to Finny. “But definitely don’t feel like you have to if you don’t want to.”

  “What is it?” Finny asked.

  “Ramon has agreed to cut your hair. For free.” Mona whispered these last two words, as if they were too unbelievable to say at full volume.

  “Actually, I just got a haircut not that long ago. I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

  “Ramon comes all the way from Madrid,” Mona said. “People normally pay two hundred dollars for a trim. This is not a haircut. This is”—she seemed to hesitate, struggling for words—“a blessing.”

  “I really just wash and go,” Finny said. She felt uncomfortable being fussed over. But she looked at Earl, who shrugged and raised his eyebrows, like he couldn’t help the situation. Mona was practically panting with excitement.

  “But yeah,” Finny went on, “why not? It’s worth treating yourself once in a while, I guess.”

  Mona sighed. She smiled, then called out, “Rrramon!” rolling her R’s in the Spanish style.

  Almost instantly he appeared from behind the silk screen, in a sort of flourish, like a flamenco dancer at the first strum of a guitar: a handsome man hardly five feet tall, with earrings in both ears, his black hair slicked back from his face the same way Mona’s hair was slicked into her bun. He wore all black, too, which was evidently the dress code in the salon; his wardrobe was made up of a black T-shirt and some extremely tight-fitting slacks that produced a considerable bulge at his crotch. He walked toward Finny, around the drying chairs and the sink, and Finny noticed he had an odd way of navigating a room, walking in very straight paths, with short quick steps, and making sudden turns, only at ninety-degree angles.

  “El Maestro,” Mona said to Finny as he approached. It took him a bit of time to get to Finny, considering all the objects in his way, and the fact that the room was not conducive to perpendicular walking. When he finally arrived in front of Finny, he offered a quick nod to Earl, who nodded back.

  “Bonjour. Buenos días. Hello,” Ramon said to Finny, who held out her hand to shake. Again she was disappointed in her attempt, though, because instead of reaching for Finny’s hand, the maestro grabbed a tuft of Finny’s hair and said, “Esplendid.” He then let go of her hair, made a quick ninety-degree turn, and held out his hand toward the chair in front of the sink.

  After Mona had washed Finny’s hair, Finny sat in the empty barber’s chair, the other being occupied by Ramon. She expected him to get up and start cutting her hair, but instead he stayed seated, watching her with his eyes barely squinted.

  “Oh,” Finny said. “Just a little trim. Kind of like it is now, but maybe with some more layers and—”

  Ramon shook his head. Mona waved Finny off frantically, as if she were stepping in front of a speeding truck.

  Ramon kept watching Finny. She wondered what was happening.

  Just when the staring contest was becoming painful, Ramon got up from his chair and walked over to stand in front of Finny. He stepped on a bar, and her chair went down, nearly to the ground. He leaned over her, looked straight down at her scalp. Then he stepped on the bar and her head came back up to nearly the same level as his. He bit his lower lip and looked hard at her temples, her hairline.

  Then, for no reason Finny could discern, he began to nod. He held out his hand, palm up. Mona placed a comb in the hand. He took several swipes at Finny’s hair with the comb, parting it strangely in the center of Finny’s scalp.

  “Ah,” Mona said.

  “Ouch,” Finny said.

  After several more swipes with the comb, Ramon transferred it to his left hand, then held out his right again. This time Mona placed a pair of scissors in the open hand. Ramon shook his head, grimaced, looked tortured. He sighed. He put his hand on his chin.

  And then, out of nowhere, inspiration struck. He nodded and grinned, raised the scissors to Finny’s bangs, and took four decisive snips. He then walked around behind Finny and took a series of eight or ten snips in what seemed to be random places around Finny’s head.

  Then he stopped, rubbed his forehead and breathed loudly, put his fists against his waist and stomped.

  But here inspiration seemed to find him again, because his eyes widened and he made a final snip just above Finny’s left ear. He then gave Finny a quick nod, like he’d given to Earl when he’d walked out from behind the silk screen.

  “Ah,” Mona said.

  The maestro looked pleased with his work. “Esplendid,” he said again, handing the scissors and comb to Mona. He then zigzagged his way to the rear of the shop, his shoulders back, hands on his hips, his substantial pelvis thrust forward like a bullfighter exiting the ring.

  “It looks fantastic,” Mona said, with a kind of childlike awe.

  To Finny it looked exactly the same as it had before it was cut, but since she didn’t want to hurt Mona’s feelings, she said, “It’s the best haircut I’ve ever gotten.”

  “He’s a minimalist,” Mona explained. “It’s as much about the cuts he doesn’t make as the ones he does.”

  “Interesting,” Finny said. “What do you think, Earl?”

  Earl looked up from his magazine. “Nice. I really like it,” he said. She could have been sporting a mullet and he would have said the same thing.

  “Well, you two should go enjoy the afternoon now. I’ll meet you back at the apartment before dinner, Earl?”

  “Yeah,” Earl said. And they walked into the Paris streets.

  Chapter 24

  La Maison des Fantaisies

  “So that’s my mom,” Earl said as they headed down a street called Rue Montorgueil toward the Seine. They’d walked into a market area and were now passing shops displaying cheeses of every shape and color, some looking like they were dusty, even covered with mold; or meats of vibrant reds and pinks, little roasted hens or rabbits tied to spits, spinning round and round; or pastries, lacquered with butter or sugar and bursting with fillings. Even on this winter day, some of the shops were open to the cold air. Finny saw one store that sold only foie gras, the stuff Earl had told her about in one of his first letters from Paris. Colorful tins lined the walls.

  “She’s great,” Finny said about Earl’s mom. “I want to get her something to thank her for setting up the haircut for me.”

  “Come on, tell me the truth. Do you even notice a difference?”

  Finny smiled. �
�It was still nice.”

  “Ramon said he’s going to take her in as a partner in the business soon. They’re going to call it Ramona.”

  “That’s great.”

  “It gives her something to look forward to,” Earl said.

  “Is she not happy?”

  Here Earl took a breath, then let it out slowly. “It goes up and down with her. She can be excited and bubbly, like today. Then there are times when I catch her crying for no reason. There’s a lot I didn’t understand about her for a while. She’s not the most stable person in the world.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, she has a history. When she was with my dad, it was right around the time she had a breakdown. She was barely eighteen. She cut all her ties with her family and joined that traveling act my dad told you about. Part of the reason she couldn’t see me after I was born was that she was in a psych ward. I think my dad didn’t tell me that stuff because he wanted to spare me—or at least to respect Mom’s privacy. But gradually the story came out. She told me some weird stuff, Finny. She started hallucinating when she was in the hospital and she said that all day she could smell the color purple, and when she ate, it tasted like the sound of birds chirping.”

  “Jeez,” Finny said. “I had no idea.”

  “I didn’t want to make a big deal of it, but that’s one of the reasons I came back. To check up on her.”

  “That’s why she thinks you’re a wonderful son.”

  “She thinks everything is wonderful, when she’s happy. Then when she’s sad, it goes the other way.”

  “So is she all right? I mean, you said she’s not so stable.”

  “She takes a lot of drugs now. Medicine, I mean. It keeps her within range.”

  “What about Ramon?” Finny asked. “Is there anything going on there?”

  Earl smiled. “You mean, like sex? I don’t think Ramon sleeps with women. I actually don’t think he sleeps with men either. He’s pretty content with himself.”