“What about…” she groped for the Silicone Queen’s real name, “your girlfriend?”
Ty was puzzled. “What girlfriend?”
“The blonde I saw at the game.”
“Ah.” Ty didn’t look her in the eyes. “Cheryl. She’s not my girlfriend. I spend time with her, but, well…she’s…she’s just a…convenience.”
Liz didn’t know what to say. Part of her was jubilant he wasn’t emotionally involved with the other woman and part was crushed at his loneliness. She tentatively reached a hand toward his, stopped herself and covered with a clumsy attempt at lightness, “Ah, well since it’s your birthday, you get the biggest sparerib.”
Ty chuckled, still looking downward, then looked at Liz, headed cocked to one side. “You know, Counselor, in this light, without all the hairspray and war paint, you look like you’re about 17 years old,” he mused, “Makes me feel like a dirty old man, especially today.”
Liz smiled and shook her head slightly, ignoring the thrill his remark gave her, “17, huh? Must be the light or your eyesight should be checked because that age is well behind me now, but thank you.”
Ty sipped his beer. “Actually, I had my eyes checked a month ago and this light is just fine. No complaints about the view. Here,” He gently took her chin in his head.
Liz hardly breathed as he studied her face. “Your eye healed up nicely. I never got a good look at them before. Very blue, very pretty.” She felt him rub his thumb against her chin and caught her breath. “Lovely smooth skin, too. For someone who doesn’t think she’s beautiful…”
Liz ducked her head. “That’s the beauty of candlelight. It softens the flaws.” She nerved herself up. “I don’t have any complaints about my view, either.” She looked away quickly, fearing the possible scorn she might see on his face. This was getting into dangerous territory.
Ty put his beer bottle on the table and regarded Beanie. “So, Counselor, what’s the story with your little friend there? Where did you find him?”
Liz looked at Beanie with affection. “I didn’t find him. He found me.”
“Come again?” Ty asked.”
“I was in the city waiting for a cab and I had a few bags with me, including a duffel bag,” Liz began. She omitted certain details she viewed as non-essential. “This scrawny, filthy little animal comes sidling up to me, stands with his butt next to my leg and starts whacking me with his tail, just looking into my face and purring. I petted him, because he seemed to be nice enough and the cab arrived. I didn’t pay any attention to the cat because I was trying to get my stuff loaded in the cab. I’d been pretty sick and it was a lot of effort just to get everything settled. I got home and he jumped out of the duffel bag. He lined his butt up next to my leg and started whacking me with his tail again. Millie says that the animal kingdom has me pegged as a sucker.” Liz shrugged apologetically, “I’ve taken in a few strays. I couldn’t throw the little guy out after he’d gone to all that work. He looked like he needed a little TLC and a good home,” Liz laughed softly. “What is it Millie said? ‘Gardner, you are a sucker for a furry face and a hard luck story.’”
Ty laughed at that. Liz continued, “He’s been here ever since that day. Despite escape attempts and a raging obsession with squirrels, he’s been a great pet and a good friend.” She looked at Ty. “And that’s Beanie’s story.”
Ty reached over and petted Beanie’s head. “He is a nice cat.” Beanie held up his chin for scratching and Ty obliged. “What were you so sick with?”
Liz tried to deflect the question with a joke. “Dutch Elm disease,” she said lightly. “Comes from spending too much time around tree-hugging Wiccans.”
Ty looked at her, face expressionless. “Uh huh. Hey, if you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine. I respect your wishes.” He drank some more beer. “Can we get some music?”
Liz felt like she’d just insulted him. She still wasn’t sure what his motives were for being here and she wasn’t going unburden herself to a man she hardly knew. Something in her heart said that Ty could handle the truth. All of it. However, her brain overruled it and Liz busied herself with finding a good radio station on the boom box. “What’s your pleasure?” she asked Ty without looking at him.
She didn’t hear his reply because the radio crackled out with, “I want to know the name of the guys on the St. Louis team. Who’s the guy on first base?” Liz looked at Ty, who nodded, and they spent the next few minutes listening to Abbott and Costello and “Who’s On First?” Liz noticed that Ty was mouthing the words along with the radio.
“That’s one of the college stations. One of the DJs plays classic comedy on Saturday nights. During the Series, he was playing ‘Shakespearian Baseball,’ which is a riot,” Liz explained.
Ty nodded, “I know it well. One of my Dad’s favorites.” He gestured at the radio. “So was Abbott and Costello. I’d watch the movies with him.”
“I see,” said Liz. “Are you close?”
Ty looked at her, “No, never met Bud and Lou.”
Before she could protest, he cut her off, “I know what you meant. He’s gone, has been for years and no, we weren’t all that close. Tell you the truth, he was a workaholic bastard and a mean drunk. He came drunk to some of my Little League games. Said he’d had to entertain clients. He’d tell me to enjoy ‘that shit’ as a kid because it was all work as a man and twice as much when you married. Men made the money and women spent it, he said. My mother left when I was 15,” Ty’s voice was flat, but Liz could sense the pain. “She woke me up one night to kiss me goodbye and promised she’d come back for me. She never did.” Ty looked down, eyes on a candle flame. “My father got sole custody and I never heard from her until after he died.” Liz waited, her eyes never leaving his face. Ty continued.
“My father died the day I graduated from high school. I’d called to remind him and he’d yelled at me. ‘Where do you think your goddamn tuition for your fancy-ass college is coming from? Maybe your mother, the whore, will show up.’ And he hung up. The office cleaning lady found his body still at his desk with the phone in his hand and an order ticket for the big deal he’d just made all filled out. Aneurysm.”
Liz wanted to wrap her arms around Ty and just hold him, but she couldn’t. He wasn’t hers to handle. She started to reach a hand towards his, but stopped herself.
“My parents were no picnic, either,” Liz offered quietly. Ty looked at her. “They had a kind of hostile, silent relationship with each other and they weren’t terribly warm and nurturing with me, either. I felt like a prisoner of war.
“Till the day she died, I always felt like my mother was disappointed with everything in her life and especially me. I got my taste in music from her. She’d listen to those old ‘man that got away’ torch songs by the hour. They may have been more than just a song.”
“Oh?” asked Ty. He had his head propped up in one hand as he listened.
“After she died,” Liz offered, “I was cleaning out her sewing basket and found a packet of letters to her from some guy.”
Ty’s eyebrows went up. “Do you think she was cheating on your father?”
Liz shook her head. “No, they were all dated before my parents married. The letter on top of the stack told her that he was marrying Michelle and he didn’t want to hear from my mother anymore.” Liz could hear her father as she said this, screaming at her mother, “Jesus Christ, Delia! He never wanted you; I did! Would it kill you to show me a little affection now and then?” Liz buried the memory and continued.
“I wanted to be a writer when I grew up, but she kept telling me I needed to be practical, that a writer must be extraordinary in order for people to want to buy their work. I won a state-wide contest when I was in school. Mom told me I shouldn’t get my hopes up. And boys didn’t like girls who were smarter than they were.”
I was never pretty enough or thin enough or popular enough for her.” Liz could feel the ache from the raw memory.
“Your mother didn’t
think you were pretty?” Ty was incredulous. “Was she blind?” In a quieter voice, he asked, “or jealous?”
The compliment caught Liz off-guard. She bit her lip and said nothing.
Ty asked, “What about your father?”
“I don’t think he saw me as a girl. I never could get away with the big eyes and sweet face to get what I wanted. He’d get so angry.” She could see, hear and feel it again. Liz blinked back some tears. “He was volatile. I never knew what would set him off.”
“Did he hit you?”
She nodded. “A couple of times. Usually after he’d been drinking or had an argument with my mother. He had a vicious backhand that could knock me off my feet. Mostly, though, he just screamed and then wouldn’t speak to me for days. Wouldn’t listen to my apologies and wouldn’t apologize if he was wrong. I didn’t date, so there were never boys calling or coming around to take me out. One day, my father came out and asked me if I was a lesbian or just frigid like my mother,” She dashed the tears away from her eyes. “That just about killed me.”
She looked at Ty. “I guess we all have our demons, huh?” Ty just nodded silently.
They sat for a couple of minutes, the only sounds coming from the radio and the rain. Neither looked at the other until Liz stood up, reaching for a candle.
“Where are you going?” asked Ty.
“Kitchen. I have a gas stove and I’m going to make some tea. I think we could both do with some.” Before Liz could get more than a couple of steps from the table, Ty was on his feet, gently pushing her back into her chair.
“Did I ever tell you that I was a Rhodes Scholar?” he said. “Believe me, you spend enough time in Britain, you learn how to make a pot of tea.” He squeezed her shoulders. “I’ll take care of this.” Liz told him where to find everything and Ty disappeared into the kitchen again, taking the candle from her hand.
Liz put her feet up on the chair and hugged her knees. Rainy weather made the old healed breaks in her leg and ankle ache and tonight was no exception. It always reminded why they’d happened in the first place. She hugged her knees even tighter. She told herself that Ty was probably embarrassed and wanted to be alone in the kitchen right now. Liz would give him that space.
“Find everything?” she called out to him. “Want some help?”
“No, I’m doing just fine,” he called back. “Just stay put.”
Yeah, he wanted to be alone.
Liz fiddled with the dial of the radio, trying to find a station that was coming in clearly and with something worth listening to. She bypassed country, classic rock, oldies, rap, classical, talk radio, show tunes and folk in search of something suitable. She found a station she’d never listened to playing Diana Krall. “Popsicle Toes.”
Ty came in from the kitchen carrying a makeshift tray containing a mug, teapot and another bottle of beer. He cocked his head and listened to the music for a minute. “Sounds like our friend Diana,” he remarked.
“It is. I love this song. I don’t remember her playing this one that night we saw her,” said Liz. She was still balled up in the chair. Ty sat down and looked at her.
“Are you cold, Liz?” he asked. He leaned over and touched her forehead. “Got popsicle toes to be unfroze?” He playfully grabbed her toes. Liz immediately stiffed and he withdrew his hand as quickly.
“I’m fine, I swear. The weather makes my leg ache where it was broken. For some reason, this feels like the thing to do.”
If Ty took these comments at anything other than face value, his expression didn’t reveal it. He poured out tea for Liz.
“You know, not every man wants to hurt you.” Ty said.
“I know.” He had noticed. “The storm makes me jittery.”
“Just the storm?” She looked at him. “You’re sitting there in almost a fetal position, I notice you shake or remove yourself every time I touch you, you don’t initiate contact unless you’re unaware of what you’re doing and you act like you’re dying to get away from me. So is it all men or,” he swallowed some beer, “just me?” He was watching her face closely.
Liz was silent, bracing herself against remembered pain. “No, not you,” she whispered. She found herself continuing. “High school was a nightmare,” she began. “I was the first girl in my class to develop breasts and,” she motioned towards her chest, “that made me a target. From junior high on, the boys thought it was hysterical to try to grab them or grab at my crotch.” She could still feel the hands, feel herself slapping at them. “When I was a junior, someone started a rumor that I’d said I’d take on the basketball team. Whether they believed it or not, I don’t know, but some of the guys cornered me one day.”
She inhaled, still feeling the terror and humiliation. Liz had tried so hard to forget this memory, but it was so deeply imprinted in her memory, she still relived it, sometimes waking up crying and screaming.
“What happened?” asked Ty. He reached for her hand. “It’s okay. You’re not in high school anymore. They can’t hurt you now. Maybe it’ll help if you tell me. I won’t tell anyone, I swear.”
Liz looked at him, seeing concern and compassion on his face. She continued. “They backed me into a corner in a hall where people didn’t go very often. A couple of them started rubbing against me with their hard-ons. The leader had his fly unzipped and…” she closed her eyes, bile rising from the fear, “he grabbed my hand and used it to jerk off.” Unconsciously, she tried to rub the non-existent semen from her hand. “He said if I told the principal, they’d come back and rape me.” Her breathing was ragged, she was shaking.
Liz felt herself being pulled into his arms. She didn’t resist. His embrace was powerful, crushing, warm and comforting. She buried her face into his shirt. Her shirt on his body. She thought she felt his lips against her hair. She shivered and he released her.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that,” Ty said softly, “I wasn’t thinking.” He brushed his fingers against her face. “You didn’t tell your folks, did you?”
Liz nodded. “Not everything. My mother said ‘that’s what happens when you wave your tits around.’”
“You never said anything to the principal, either, I’ll bet.”
Liz shook her head. “No, but Joey DiNardo heard them talk about it. He and Rocco beat the shit out of those guys one by one. The one who had,” she groped for a phrase, “‘used’ my hand, they hit between the legs with a tire iron.”
“I got off easy, I guess,” said Ty with a smile. “Did that end it?”
“No,” Liz said flatly, “The in-crowd girls toyed with me. When Senior Prom came around, they arranged for the boy I had a crush on to ask me to go. I was so excited,” Liz could feel the tears rising. “I raided my savings account and bought a beautiful dress. I spent two hours getting ready.” Liz looked at Ty, a bitter smile on her face. “My father just stood there and looked relieved. He’d asked me the lesbian question a couple of months earlier. I was waiting upstairs so I could make my big entrance. And I waited for 3 hours.”
“Never showed, did he?” Ty asked quietly.
“No,” Liz whispered. “But his picture was in the paper the next day because he and his real date had been crowned King and Queen. When I went back to school the first day afterward, the boys had stupid grins on their faces and the girls would look at me and giggle. They wanted me to cry. I wouldn’t do it. I wanted to die, but I didn’t want them to have the satisfaction of knowing it.”
“No, you wouldn’t, would you? When was the last time you cried, Counselor?” Ty was looking at her, studying her face.
“When the ball rolled through Bill Buckner’s legs.” Liz reluctantly pushed away and picked up her mug and sipped. “Good tea.”
It was a way to let an unpleasant subject drop. Ty looked like he wanted to discuss it some more, but he let it drop.
The doorbell rang. Liz gave Beanie a withering look to keep him in his chair. He stayed.
Ty moved towards the front door. Liz heard him open the
door and admit Fred. She heard the men exchange the usual sort of conversation that people engage in when a delivery of food arrives. Liz went to the breakfront and pulled a number of painted glass dishes out of the cabinet. By touch, she found placemats, napkins and silverware. She and Ty returned to the table at the same time.
He looked at her burden. “What’s that?” He spied the silverware and a disdainful expression crossed his face. “Forks for Chinese food? Unthinkable!”
“Look, no matter how I try, I’ve never gotten the hang of chopsticks and I thought ‘what the hell, let’s use the good stuff,’” Liz replied. “After all, Katie here could huff and puff and blow the house down.”
Ty laughed quietly. He unloaded cartons from a plastic bag. One carton caused him to frown. “Hey, this one seems kind of light.”
“That’s the Beanie Box,” Liz said. She quickly set out the placemats and china. Ty picked up a plate and examined it in the candlelight. “This is unusual. What is it?” He turned the plate over in his hands.
“It’s Sydenstricker from the Cape,” Liz answered. “I inherited a few settings from my mother and I’ve managed to collect a few more over time.” She leaned in to point out a feature of the dish. “See? They paint the pattern on one piece of glass, put another piece over it, fire them both and you get the pattern inside a glass sandwich.” Ty seated himself and began serving himself from cartons. Liz poured soup into an iris-decorated bowl for herself. She eyed one bulging box.
“Spare ribs?” Ty offered the box. Liz took a couple. Beanie started to get on the table.
“Hey!” Liz’s yell was sharp. Beanie retreated, the picture of offended dignity.
Ty looked at him. “Is he going to sit there for the entire meal?” he asked as he licked sauce from his fingers, something Liz wanted to do for him. Instead, she covered with action.
“No. Watch this,” Liz took the Beanie Box and opened it slightly, leaving the wire handle up. She placed the box nearer to Beanie than any of the other cartons. Beanie’ whiskers began to twitch as he sniffed. Liz saw him lick his chops.
These Foolish Things Page 9
