by B K Nault
“They’re gone,” Morrie told Harold when he wandered over, confused what to do next. “Remember, they were carted off?”
“Where did they go?”
“I heard they were taken downtown. St. Bartholomew’s has some rooms.” Morrie pulled back the handle to fill a cup. “Local church only offers free meals. Besides, it’s going to be torn down.”
“Where is St. Bart’s?”
“Heck if I know.” Morrie accepted Harold’s coins and studied his face. “Why?”
It would take two bus rides for Harold to get all the way downtown, or he could splurge on a cab. He’d had little trouble adjusting to the pedestrian lifestyle when Georgia drove away in their car. He even prided himself on the money he saved, as well as the reduced carbon footprint. “I wanted to talk to one of them.”
“The guy you gave the bagel to? A new friend?” Morrie addressed Harold as if he’d lost a pet kitten. Morrie had been pretty much the only friend Harold had. They had taken in a couple of movies, and once, Morrie had grilled burgers for them on the patio of his rented bungalow in Glendora. When he asked Harold if he wanted to watch porn with him, Harold demurred. He wasn’t sure what that implied about their friendship, but Morrie never mentioned it again. He didn’t know much about the man’s past. But that had never bothered Harold.
“Not exactly a friend. I want to ask him something.” That gave Harold an idea. “He wanted me to hold onto this.” He set down his cup, and snapped the Kaleidoscope from his shirt pocket. “I was going to give it back to him. Do you think you could keep it here and give it to him if you see him?”
A rapt expression swam across Morrie’s face. “My nonna, she had one of these. But not this beautiful. Such talent created this. I admire so much the copper, the gold.”
Harold knew he should stop him, but it was no use, he’d look as soon as Harold turned his back, so he just shrugged. Turns out no one could resist peering into a kaleidoscope. Especially this one.
Morrie held it gingerly, measuring the weight in his palm, and slowly raised it until the eyepiece hovered inches from his face. He had to step off his platform to find an open spot to the bright sky through the trees. By now, Harold knew to expect some kind of reaction.
“Ahh…” Morrie lowered the ’scope, rubbed his hand across his forehead.
There it was, but more dramatic than the others.
Harold rushed to catch Morrie before he fell backwards over a concrete retaining wall. “Whoa, there.” He helped the man steady himself, then sit on a ledge that ran around the flowerbeds. He held onto his shoulder to keep him from rolling off into the rose bushes. His legs dangled, and he rocked forward, arms stiff, palms on his knees.
For several moments, Morrie sat with his head bowed. Harold was beginning to understand the process. First the sighting, then shock. The next reaction would be…revelation? Morrie began to stir. He had that stunned, distant expression the others wore. Like a numbness brought on by shock after a car wreck. Harold let go his grip on Morrie’s shoulder to pick up the ’scope from the concrete. It appeared unharmed.
“Where did you get that thing?” Morrie’s finger jabbed at it accusingly. “I suggest you dispose of it!” He shifted backward again, and Harold lunged to catch him before he fell into the thorns, but Morrie pushed him away. He was surprisingly dense and strong for such a short man. He stood, teetering on his huaraches, and took the kaleidoscope from Harold.
“I have heard many stories of things like this; it’s cursed.” He swung wide of Harold and flung the ’scope into a waste can.
“No!” Harold lunged for the device, but it clunked against the metal and dropped.
Morrie returned to his cart and climbed up to serve a growing number of impatient customers.
Something inside Harold prompted him to retrieve the ’scope. He held his breath and stuck his arm in the bin, fishing among fast food wrappings, empty coffee cups and pet waste bags for the metal cylinder.
He pulled it out, and went back to the cart, flicking out napkin after napkin to wipe it down, and did his best to clean his arm and hands.
“If you value our friendship, you will get rid of it.” Morrie delivered the warning from his perch.
This was getting ridiculous. This inanimate object could not possibly have the power, even though he had the feeling it mocked him with its blues and greens, spinning and stopping in random shapes. Could it possibly reveal images? Why hadn’t he left it in the trash can and gone on with his life?
A woman standing in line looked back and forth at them and made Harold hurry to slide the ’scope in his pocket. Out of sight.
All the customers were staring now, phones poised midair, forgotten for the moment. Morrie beckoned Harold to come closer. “Tonight after work, I will tell you stories from the old country my nonna told me. Things that will make your fillings rattle loose in your head. You will get rid of that thing when you learn what danger it holds.”
****
Morrie followed Harold home from work that afternoon, and now the apartment smelled like Arabica and Old Spice.
“What did you see in it? What makes you think it’s so dangerous?” Harold had already planned to go to St. Bart’s on Saturday to find the giver. He had to know more about this mysterious man, and the object he’d been given. “You never even told me what you saw.”
“It was nothing, I over-reacted.”
Before he could say anything else, Morrie changed the subject and suggested they order a pizza. After they’d eaten and watched an episode of CSI, Morrie made an excuse and left.
When he’d gone, Harold called St. Bart’s, but only got an answering machine. The bowl of water he’d filled for Glenda was still on the floor and reminded him that Pepper had given him her phone number. He dialed and asked after her day. When she asked about his, he described Morrie’s reaction to the ’scope.
“There’s some reason the Universe has placed this in your hands at this point in time, Harold.” Pepper told him. “I think it’s building up to deliver an important message to you. Be patient. And open your mind to the possibilities because when it happens, I’ll wager it’s going to be big.”
****
By Friday morning, Harold had finalized the list of tasks he needed to accomplish before the interview. He’d submitted his final application and planned to spend his lunch hour going over bullet points and charts. The promotion committee hadn’t specifically requested such a formal presentation, but Harold didn’t want to leave anything to chance. He’d had some good chats with Rhashan, and even Gordon’s heckling had waned a bit.
He crossed the street into the park, expecting Morrie’s shock to have worn off, but instead of the usual friendly greeting, he merely nodded, a curt dismissal. The line at the cart was long, and there wasn’t time for talk, especially of the nature Harold wanted to have, so he went on to work. He was actually relieved he didn’t have to speak with the man. With the interview to worry about, he didn’t have time to delve into other people’s troubles.
In the line at security, someone called his name. Keith was gesturing to him from the glassed-in booth. “I called my folks,” the guard told him. “They’re ready to meet Frank, and invited us out the next three-day weekend. We want to do something to repay you.”
“Well, I’m glad for you. Repaying me isn’t necessary.”
“We want to. We’d like to have you over for dinner.” Keith gestured at the pocket Harold usually carried the Kaleidoscope in. “Frank would like to see it for himself. You do still have it, don’t you?”
The Kaleidoscope clicked as he removed it from his trouser pocket.
“I hope you know what a treasure you have there.” Keith was visibly relieved when he saw it. “I’m sorry, it’s just that the gift you’ve given me is priceless. I was kind of a handful for my parents. When I saw their images, I told Frank about it.”
Harold nodded. He should consider getting a couch and clipboard.
“And then I started havi
ng dreams…nightmares actually, and realized how much I missed them.” The confession softened the man’s chiseled features. “So I called them. We all had a lot of wounds to heal, and I had some pride I had to let go of. We couldn’t have started back on a path to reconciliation without it. Without you. I’d like to tell you more about it, but this isn’t the place.”
“I see.” Harold’s heels gritted on the marble as he turned to go.
“What I mean is, how about this Saturday night?” Keith hurried to say before Harold could get out of the room. “And please bring a date. We’d like to thank you.” The invitation echoed across the lobby as more of a command than a question.
“I’m glad things are working out.” The ’scope was doing the magic. Harold had nothing to do with it. “That’s not necessary.”
“Please.” Keith handed him a sticky note with an address and phone number. “We won’t take no for an answer.”
****
“Good afternoon, Harry!” Pepper juggled arms full of shopping bags. “How was the interview?”
Friday afternoons were usually the hardest for Harold as coworkers headed out for drinks, or ducked out early for a weekend in the mountains or at the beach. Since Georgia left, he’d worked many weekends. On this day however, Harold left a few minutes early, and was glad to get home.
“It was postponed.” He lifted one of the heaviest bags from Pepper and followed her inside, set the canvas bag down in her kitchen. Its layout mirrored his own.
“Oh, no. And you were so prepared. What happened?” She held up a box. “I was going to cook for you, so we could celebrate.”
A tennis ball formed in Harold’s throat. “I have an idea.” He’d never really asked a girl out; Georgia had always planned their dates. Hand in his pocket, he rattled the Kaleidoscope against his keys, and the jingle caused Glenda’s ears to prick forward. “Sit!” Before she could ram his crotch again, he backed to the door. “I would…would you like to accompany me to dinner tomorrow night?” The words rushed out before he could really think about what he was asking.
Pepper wasn’t as surprised by his question as he was. “That sounds great. At your place?” She was certainly very casual about all this.
“No, some friends of mine.” The word friends was nice to say.
She beamed. “What time, and how should I dress?”
And just like that, and without weeks of planning and rehearsal, without changing his mind about it dozens of times, he’d asked a girl out.
Harold had a date.
****
Walter filled a plastic jug at the well tap and shuffled back and forth, watering the delicate sprouts. Despite the anxiety about knowing how the ’scope was faring back in Los Angeles, Walter turned his grizzled face into the warming sunshine and allowed himself to believe for a few moments that, before he died, somehow his years of labor would pay off, like the miracle of the seeds he’d planted that grew to produce. Walter had faith that God would reward him with fruit for his labors. He’d penned a letter and hitchhiked to town to mail the envelope addressed to the manager of the office building where he’d guessed at the address. After being denied the chance to explain, it was the only way he could figure to get the necessary information to the device’s new guardian.
“Hey, old man!” Another hiker had found his lair, interrupting his thoughts. “Mind if I crash here tonight?”
“Shed’s around back, don’t make no fires, and I don’t abide no drugs.” Walter thumbed over his shoulder, and headed back inside.
“Thanks! I won’t be a bother.”
“See that you’re not.”
Back inside, Walter lifted a bucket he’d scoured for drinking water, and filled a tea kettle to heat on the wood-burning stove.
No one had protested him squatting here. The cabin had become his place of refuge. He’d had to chase out a family of ’coons, and it took a day or two to make the place livable. Water from the creek primed the pump, and he only had a few steps to carry the bucket of clear water into the primitive kitchen.
He’d bummed a ride to town, mailed the letter, and bought a canister of propane. If he was thrifty, he could make that last all summer and wouldn’t have to go back where he could be recognized. No phone, no Wi-Fi, but the woods were quiet and held plenty of rabbits for meat, and the streams had lots of trout. The knots in his back were loosening, his swollen hands were now slim and flexible, and the bullfrogs lulled him to sleep each night.
Whatever was going on with the Kaleidoscope was now out of his hands, and someone else’s problem.
Chapter Eight
Pepper negotiated an on-ramp. “Seriously? You don’t drive at all, or are you just afraid?”
“I don’t have a current license.” Harold watched a billboard whisk by, and didn’t elaborate.
“Harry, we live in cars-land. How do you get away with not having one? Is it fear? I had a girlfriend who was in a bad crash once, and she had white-knuckle phobia ever since. Because if that’s it, I know a hypnotist who can help you get over your fear, she… What is it, Harry?” She glanced over at him, and touched his hand that held a tin box she’d brought.
“I don’t want to discuss it. I’ve come to terms with it.”
“O…kay. Let me tell you about something I had to get over, and then if you feel like telling me about yours…” She switched on the wipers; the air was thick and damp from the leading edge of the marine fog rolling in from the ocean. “When I learned the first lump was malignant, I wasn’t scared of death, or the pain. I was the most frightened of losing my hair. But look at me now; I couldn’t care less, Harry. It’s just hair.”
He pictured her head underneath the scarf of the day, wispy and growing in patches. He was never really good at using his imagination for things like that. Georgia had talked about getting a pixie once and all Harold could imagine were fairies on her head.
“So, if there’s something that scares you about driving a car, I’ll bet whatever it is you’re worried about won’t even happen.”
They pulled up and over a steep bridge across a canal, and Harold read off the numbers. “Here’s their place.”
She was correct, he knew. Sometimes when you’re afraid of something, thinking about worse things could cause them to pale. But in his case, there was no way it could be worse.
When they went inside, she dropped the whole driving thing, and he was left with his painful memories, which he’d learned years ago to fold up and hide in the back of his memory closet like a discarded garment.
****
“So I told her, you need to find a stylist who gets you because the eighties called and they want their hair style back, honey!” Frank was telling them about his latest gig. Keith and Frank’s cottage on the Venice canal wasn’t much bigger than Harold’s apartment, but they’d filled it with art and a collection of handmade textiles from their travels.
Harold had listened to the others discussing Frank’s job as a photographer and how the two had met when he was hired to shoot Keith’s dad’s retirement party.
“Fortunately, he’s healing well.” Keith told Pepper and Harold about the shooting that put him on permanent disability. “But it was enough to scare my mom into making me promise not to go into the force myself.”
“So he went into private security,” Frank continued for him.
“Is your dad okay now?” Pepper asked.
“He has a few impairments. Sometimes he forgets stuff, and he’s lost some boundaries. If he was interrogating a witness he might give them evidence, ruining the investigation.”
“That’s too bad.” Harold knew the pain of having a dad who needed excuses.
Keith nodded. “They still send him cold case files to read, but they’re not comfortable having him on the street any longer.”
“So they’re not disappointed in your career choice?” Pepper wondered.
“Not at all. But they never wanted to accept my lifestyle.” Keith and Frank exchanged a glance. “I kind o
f sprang it on them, so I assume some of the responsibility.”
“We’re hoping it all goes well when you introduce Frank to them.” Pepper gave Keith a consoling knee pat. “And Frank, tell us about your job.”
“As you know, spring in Hollywood means pilot season, and businesses catering to the wannabes who arrive for all the auditions, from long-stay hotels to month-to-months, photographers, stylists, and acting coaches, all of us prosper from the cash flow.”
Frank’s dream to support his artistic photography with his headshot business was finally coming true for him, and Keith beamed as Frank shared stories about the celebrities he worked with.
Even though most of the banter had gone over his head, Harold understood actors from the four corners of the earth descended on Tinsel Town, chasing the dream. His grandma told him how his mom had worked for a time in the studios.
The dinner party had started outside while their marinated salmon steamed on the grill, but when the marine layer swooped in and even the blazing fire pit couldn’t keep them warm, they’d escaped inside for the warmth. The foggy blanket of moisture hung lower than its normal altitude, almost brushing the rooftops. Now they sat thigh to thigh on futons facing each other across a low table of driftwood and glass.
“You better be careful,” Keith warned, “your client could be the next Kardashian.”
“Of course I didn’t say what I was thinking. I should write a book.”
Pepper lifted her glass to Frank. “To realized dreams as your photography business grows,” then to Keith, “and to renewed family ties.” She tossed the wine back, her earrings sweeping back and forth across her cocoa shoulders. “Just leave them real looking, please, sir. The last thing we need are more air-brushed and plastic-filled actors.” She formed fish lips and turned to Harold. He pretended not to notice her lashes batting at him. Even joking, he couldn’t imagine she’d want to kiss him.
