London from My Windows

by Mary Carter

  “You should go clothes shopping. Or at least order something online.”

  “Maybe.” Ava smiled and went back to sketching. Queenie dropped to the floor and began looking under every piece of furniture in the vicinity.

  “What are you looking for?” Ava said.

  “My lucky charm.”

  Ava froze. She’d forgotten all about it. She had also forgotten to tell him. Tell him it was her. The new Ava told the truth. “I thought you said Jasper lost it?”

  “But you gave it to him here, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “And from the looks of you two, he probably didn’t leave right away, so maybe he never actually made it out of the flat with it; maybe it’s still here somewhere.” He looked toward the bedroom, then back at her with a grimace. He jerked his head in the direction of the bedroom. “Did you check? You know. Everywhere?”

  “Can’t you just buy another? Maybe on eBay?”

  Queenie hauled himself up. He was sweating. He looked like her before one of her panic attacks. “I told you. You don’t buy lucky charms. They have to be given to you.”

  “Oh.”

  “I can’t stall the audition anymore. It’s in two days. I won’t get the part if I don’t have my lucky charm.”

  “Do you think someone from the party took it?” Ava said. She was a bad person. But they were getting along so well. The last thing she needed was Queenie blaming her for not getting a part on the telly.

  “Georgie,” Queenie said. He gasped and put his hand over his heart.

  “Why Georgie?”

  “Because he’s going to the same audition. He wants me to fail. Everyone knows I need my lucky charm.”

  “Who gave it to you?”

  “The only man I’ve ever loved.”

  Even though drama was his middle name, there was a ring of truth to this statement. Shit. “You broke up?” Just Ava’s luck. If Queenie still had the love of his life he probably wouldn’t be staking claim to her flat.

  “He passed away. Five years ago.”

  “Oh.” Why did she take it outside in the first place? Didn’t bring her much luck. Should she tell him it was totally useless? “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “I’m still sorry.”

  Queenie nodded, then picked up his robe and headed to the bathroom. Ava filled the espresso maker and put it on the stove. By the time Queenie returned she had a cup waiting for him. His eyes widened and he placed his hand on his heart. They took their espressos to the living room and sat looking out at London.

  “I don’t have anything of my father’s,” Ava said. “ Just. A song.”

  “A song is good.”

  “ ‘The Girl from Ipanema.’ ”

  “Nice choice.”

  “Except I’ve never listened to it since.”

  “It’s too painful?”

  “He was playing it when he died. We were dancing to it.”

  “I can think of worse ways to go.”

  “I never thought of it like that.”

  “He was listening to his favorite song; he was dancing; he was with his beautiful daughter.”

  Ava hadn’t meant to bring it up. “He was too young. I was only ten. It ruined the rest of my life.”

  “I’m sorry. Beverly was torn to pieces too.”

  “Was she?”

  “Yes. She loved Bertrand.”

  “You talk about him as if you knew him.”

  “I felt as if I did.” Just like Ava felt she knew Jasper, and Queenie. Love had tentacles. It reached.

  “What did she have against my mother?”

  Queenie looked away, then headed for the kitchen. Ava followed. She watched him put the kettle on and remove a teacup from the cupboard along with a bag of tea. The Brits were probably the only people in the world who could drink a cup of tea after a shot of espresso. “Well?”

  “I don’t want to troll through ancient history.”

  “I do.”

  “No.”

  “It really hurt my father that Aunt Beverly didn’t like my mother. And it really hurt me that she didn’t try harder to be in my life.”

  “What about her? She lost her only brother.”

  “Lost him? To us? His family? To America?”

  “Are you close to your mother?”

  “I knew it. Aunt Beverly hated her because she’s American.” That reminded Ava. Her mother had never returned her phone call. Didn’t she want to know what Ava meant by I know? Maybe she was glad she was gone. Ava had been too much to handle. Ava’s agoraphobia had ruined her mother’s life too. She’d never thought of it like that. She’d been too selfish. She should insist her mother come for a visit while she still had the flat.

  Queenie took his tea to the table and sat down. Ava followed him. “I think Beverly was most upset by the change in Bertrand after he married your mother.”

  “Everybody changes when they get married.”

  “Does she still worry about every little thing?”

  “No. She was saved by country line dancing.”

  “Beverly tried. You have no idea how much she tried.”

  “Missing a few matinées? Is that it?”

  Queenie slammed down his teaspoon. He jumped up and flew into the living room, where he opened a small cabinet next to the sofa. Ava had never paid any attention to it. He lifted out a box and shoved it at her. “I don’t want to answer any more questions.” He took his tea, went back to the table, and turned his back on her. Ava sat on the sofa with the box.

  She opened it. A pile of envelopes wrapped in a lavender ribbon greeted her. Cards. All marked: Return to Sender. Ava would have recognized the loopy script anywhere. Her mother was the one who had sent them back. Ava began to finger through them. The first ten were addressed to her, the next several her mother. Ava slammed the lid shut. What were these? Birthday cards, Christmas, valentines? Why would her mother do that to her? How dare she? What had Aunt Beverly done that had made her mother hate her so much? Ava didn’t want to open them now. They were festering sores; they were glaring accusations. She knew it anyhow, deep down; she knew there had to have been letters, and cards, and postcards. She definitely wasn’t going to read them in front of Queenie. Someday, she would read them. But only when she could savor them, read them without rage in her heart. Her mother was still alive. If she hated her, who would she have left? She put the box back in the cabinet and poured herself a Scotch. She’d buy more for Queenie later. And she’d get his lucky charm back one way or the other. Tricky Vic. How could she get her to give it back?

  Ava heard Queenie answer the phone in the other room. His voice went from friendly to Swiss yodeling. “Now? The audition is now?” He flew out of the room, his face glistening with sweat. “They had a cancellation,” he said. “They want me to audition now.”

  “Okay, okay. You can do this.”

  “Not without my lucky charm.”

  Ava went to the kitchen. There was a drawer that held string, and tape, and scissors. She gathered them up and turned to Queenie. He was right behind her with an inquisitive look. “Do you have anything else that belongs to your lover?”

  “Not with me. Everything I own is in storage.”

  “Okay. Okay. Tell me about him. What did he like?”

  “Forget it. I’m not going to get the part.”

  “Don’t be so dramatic.”

  “Don’t be so agoraphobic.”

  “I’m trying to help you.”

  “You’re saying I’m crazy for knowing what I know.”

  “I’m telling you, you can get roles without your lucky charm.”

  “You are hardly the person to be throwing stones. You aren’t even in a glass house. You’re in a glass palace.”

  “That almost sounded like a compliment.”

  “It wasn’t.”

  Ava dug around the bookshelves. She opened the drawer of the end table next to the sofa. On her third attempt, she found an American fi
fty-cent piece. Her father must have sent this to Beverly once upon a time. It was approximately the same shape and size as Queenie’s lucky charm; it would probably even have the same weight against his skin. Ava taped it around the string. “Close your eyes.” Ava slipped it around his neck. Queenie gasped and his hand went for it.

  “No touching, no looking. It’s your lucky charm.”

  Queenie opened one eye and looked at her. “Is it?”

  “Repeat after me. ‘It’s my lucky charm.’ ”

  “If it works so well, why don’t you just make yourself one?”

  “Because I’m not at the lucky charm level.”

  “I have to get dressed.” Queenie flung open the closet and pulled out a suit. He held it against him.

  “Dapper,” Ava said. She never saw anyone change so fast. When he was ready, he stood in front of her. The new lucky charm was hidden underneath his white shirt and bow tie. He touched it. “It’s your lucky charm,” Ava said. “It is.” Queenie nodded and headed for the door. “Queenie?” He turned around. “What if?”

  “What if?”

  “Your lucky charm didn’t bring you luck, but you brought the luck to it.”

  “How so?”

  “It sat against your skin, soaked up your unstoppable energy, and carried all that love you had for . . .”

  “Alfred.”

  “Alfred. You brought the luck. Maybe you lost it because it was time you passed it on to someone else. You know. Like blowing a kiss.”

  Queenie cocked his head and considered it. Then he considered her. “I guess I’m off to test your theory.”

  “Good luck.”

  Queenie squeaked. His hands flapped. Ava didn’t know if this was some sort of ritual or he was literally trying to fly. “You never, ever say that to an actor.”

  “Sorry. Break a leg.”

  He exhaled. “Better.” He pulled himself together, flung open the door, and slammed it on his way out. Ava ached a little after he was gone. Could this be it? Would he get the part, become a television star, and give up the fight for this flat? He’d still be friends with her, wouldn’t he? Come for a visit? She put the kettle on for tea. She went to the window, and it hit her. She put the kettle on as a reflex to comfort herself. She smiled. Maybe she was becoming a little bit British. She sat on her emerald stool and watched Queenie walk up the street with a bounce in his step. And then, he stopped. He turned. And he looked up at Ava and he waved. She waved back. When he walked away again, she felt like she had just won the lottery. He was going to his audition without his crutch. And he looked up, and he waved. She made that possible.

  She liked him. She liked him underfoot. She liked his blue silk kimono, and red scarf strung over a chair, or a door, or a sofa. It was like the middle-aged gay man’s version of Where’s Waldo?, UK-style. She liked the shuffling sound his slippers made in the morning; she liked how he flapped his hands when he got excited; she liked when he had a pep in his step. She liked his vocalizations. Screams. Gasps. Squeals. He was walking drama. Lucky charm her arse. She hoped her tips helped. The fate of the flat aside, she really wanted Queenie to get the role. She could see why Aunt Beverly loved him. Once you got past the bite, he was all bark. He was an excellent chef too. If only this flat were larger. Maybe they could have split it indefinitely. Then again, maybe there was nothing he loved about her. It would probably be an unimaginable drag for anyone, let alone a queen, to have a roomie who never left the room.

  CHAPTER 27

  Here it was, another Monday morning in London. Ava was surprised she could keep track of the days. After the bustle of the party and Franco and Georgie’s visit, and the excitement around Queenie’s audition (he still hadn’t returned; Ava was dying to know how it went), the flat felt unnaturally still. Was it always so quiet? The place seemed more suited to laughter, and the clink of glasses, or even a gasp or two from Queenie. But it was just her, and the dome-shaped windows, and her new mahogany-striped hair, and her emerald stool. Lonely. That’s how she felt. It was a new feeling for her; she normally relished being alone. London was spread out before her, offering some comfort. In a city you were never truly alone, now were you? And she had her mother, whom she hadn’t spoken with in quite some time.

  Ava picked up the phone and called her mother. It went to voice mail. Same as it had most of the other times she’d called. “Hi, Mom. It’s Ava. I miss you. I’m sorry that Aunt Beverly wasn’t nice to you. I’m sorry we fought. I hope you come visit. Call me.” She hung up. God. So quiet. Everyone was probably out doing something. Day after day. Was it ever challenging for them to find something new to occupy their time? Didn’t anybody just sit around anymore?

  Maybe it was time to at least think about tackling something on the list. She’d start with Intermittent Exposure Therapy. It was a commonly used method for phobias. If you were, say, terrified of spiders, the therapist would start acclimating you to your phobia by showing you pictures of spiders. Once you could look at the pictures without clawing your eyes out, they might move on to, say, showing you a live spider in a glass jar. And so on down the line. Ava didn’t want to think about it anymore or she was going to develop a fear of spiders. Instead, she’d start with something a little more pleasant. Sit on a bench in Hyde Park.

  Ava shoved the sofa against the bookcase. She set the emerald stool in the middle of the flat. Aunt Beverly had three plants, all ferns. They were situated on the top shelf of the bookcase along the wall. Ava removed the plants and placed them around the emerald stool. She set a chair in front of the stool, and propped up the laptop. She went to YouTube and typed in: “Hyde Park.”

  There were multiple videos to watch. They panned over the beautiful yet so very large park. A cheery flute accompanied the video. Hyde Park, a chipper male voice with a London accent told her, was where Londoners went to ride bikes, jog, stroll, take a boat ride, or play with their dogs. The videos showed pictures of Londoners doing just that. It was one of the eight royal parks in London. Ava had to admit that adding the word “Royal” to anything suddenly made it seem a lot more important than your average park.

  Three hundred and fifty acres. Wow. Her heart didn’t like hearing that. Soon Ava felt as if she had already jogged or biked or boated through the entire place, all along the Serpentine lake.

  A Metropolitan police station was located in the park. Ava wondered if she would feel safer if she sat on a bench near the station. Speakers’ Corner was a fascinating discovery. Every Sunday people could come to this corner and speak on any subject. From the videos Ava clicked on, it appeared they mostly argued with one another over religion.

  Nearby was the Marble Arch. It used to be at Buckingham Palace until Queen Victoria had it moved when she was renovating. Imagine. Moving an entire arch. A bit more of a procedure than getting a new gazebo, but apparently she had the pull. Benches lined the area in addition to a giant horse head sculpture called Still Water. There was a memorial to Princess Diana. A granite oval fountain. At places the water ran smoothly; other places it was turbulent, like Diana’s life. Ava would have liked to see that, but it would be guaranteed to always be crowded.

  This was a waste. Ava clicked off the videos. She could close her eyes and see boats on the beautiful lake, imagine herself eating in one of the restaurants in the park, or strolling hand in hand with Jasper, stopping to kiss on one of the lawns or near Kensington Gardens. But it was only a fantasy. And not even a very good one, because it wasn’t long before the little colored dots appeared.

  One step at a time. A picture of a spider, then a video of a spider, then—

  Get that fucking spider away from me before I kill myself.

  Ava might just have to settle for London from her windows. The doorbell shrieked through the flat. It was only slightly less deafening than the buzzer to the building. Whoever it was, they were already in, waiting in the hall. Jasper. She had to slow herself down, stop herself from racing to the door as if her life depended on opening it. Play it cool. Ca
sual. She opened the door, and was grinning before she even set eyes on him. When she did, she smiled even wider, for he was grinning ear to ear. God, his blue eyes were so beautiful. Priceless. “Hello,” he said.

  “Hi.” She took one step, and he pulled her into him and kissed her. He moved her against the wall in the little hallway and pressed his body against hers, then took her hands and pinned them above her head, keeping them there with one hand, while kissing her neck. Ava sent up prayers of gratitude to the powers that be. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

  Jasper pulled back. They were both out of breath. “I’ve been thinking about you round the clock.”

  “Me too.”

  “I can’t get you off my mind. You’re like an incurable disease.”

  “You really do have to work on the pillow talk.”

  Jasper laughed. “Well, how about this? I want you. I’ve never wanted anybody as much as I’ve wanted you.”

  “I want you too.”

  He stepped back slightly and cocked his head. “Your hair.” Ava laughed. She touched it. “Do you like it?”

  “You are so incredibly sexy.” Nobody had ever said that to her before. She grabbed his shirt and pulled him inside. He kissed her again. Then kissed her neck. Then her lips again. They were all alone. She could pull him into the bedroom. He seemed to be thinking the same thing until he looked up at the living room. He took in the rearrangement of furniture.

  “What were you doing?”

  “Forget it. Queenie’s gone. Let’s go to the bedroom.”

  “It looks like you’ve got a little jungle set up there.” Jasper pointed to the plants.

  “I could slip into something a little more comfortable.”

  “And you’ve moved the furniture.”

  Ah, barristers. Couldn’t walk away from compelling evidence. “Intermittent Exposure Therapy,” she said. He looked quizzical. “I start by looking at pictures of outside destinations, imagining myself there. This morning my living room has become Hyde Park. For the next step, I’ll have someone actually go to Hyde Park, sit on a bench, and film it while I watch on my laptop. And then, hopefully, eventually, I can actually go to the park myself.”