by B K Nault
She cackled and began picking up the plates, following Frank and Keith into the small kitchen. Harold didn’t know whether to follow or wait for them to return. He was admiring a wall of photos hung in a striking montage when Pepper returned.
“Brandy?” She stood over him, a snifter palmed between slender fingers.
“Huh?” Harold dragged his gaze from a portrait of an older man sitting in a town square. The lines on his face were so vivid he was tempted to reach up and touch to make sure he wasn’t some kind of 3D rendering. The picture moved Harold in a way he couldn’t explain. “I probably shouldn’t drink any more, I’m not accustomed…”
“Hold it like this.” Pepper showed him, and stepped across his lap to sit down next to him.
Harold averted his eyes as she slid her skirt down to recover her thigh.
“Isn’t Frank talented?”
“These are his?”
“That’s what they said on our tour, Harry, weren’t you listening?”
Harold studied the framed photographs again, some in black and white, and some in color. Like the town square man, each was in such stunning detail he wondered if they must be partially hand painted, like a Disney animation cell.
Keith came in and saw them admiring the pictures. “While I search for shops that sell handmade linens and lace, Frank gets to know the locals. He can get anyone to pose for him.”
“What are you into, Harold?” Frank asked, and they all looked at him.
“Oh, I just…work.”
The energy in the room switched off. Pepper shifted in her seat. “I’m sure you must be interested in something. And don’t call it just work.” She tickled his neck with the loose end of her scarf. “Maybe you’d like to have the world’s largest firehouse patch collection, or boxes of erotic postage stamps?”
Harold had tried to keep an iguana once, but Georgia had complained so much about the live crickets, he gave that up. “No. Nothing.”
“Hey, why don’t you let me photograph you?” Frank patted Pepper’s knee. “Without the scarf?”
“Right now?”
“I was thinking around sunset one day. I’d love to use some of Keith’s fabrics to drape you with.”
“Nudies?” Pepper giggled. “I’ll think about it.”
“Not nude, just natural. Nothing embarrassing will show.”
Harold thought he was going to faint if they kept talking about Pepper naked, and he sipped his brandy too quickly.
“I guess so. Why not?” Pepper patted Harold’s back while he coughed.
“Great, you’ll be stunning.” Frank winked at her and nodded at Harold’s glass. “Too strong?”
“No, I just…swallowed wrong.”
“Tell me more about this magic Kaleidoscope.” Frank swirled his glass. “Pepper, did it change your life as much as it’s about to change ours?”
Someone could have been spooning out the contents of Harold’s head. He leaned back while Pepper described her experience.
“I’ve spent so many years being sick, it began to define me. I was ready to give up. Thelma and Louise myself.”
Pepper was telling them more than Harold knew. She’d always been so cheerful, he never imagined it was that serious. He tried to recall seeing her anything less than happy.
“I was in this bad depression, and if it hadn’t been for Glenda, I think I might have offed myself already. And then Harold came along and reminded me I had a choice to make. I could lie down and die, or fight back and appreciate every day I still have left.” She fisted into the air, and then tugged off the scarf. She fluffed the sparse strands of hair, the chandelier reflecting off her scalp. “I don’t know, Frank.”
Taken aback, Harold couldn’t recall Pepper ever revealing a vein of shyness or reluctance about anything.
“I don’t know if I want to be the poster child for ‘chemo-bald is beautiful.’ Maybe I should wait until my goldilocks grow back and I can play the violin again. I’m tired of being defined by my disease.”
Harold gawped. He’d never heard any violin music coming from her apartment except for the show tunes she sang while watering the peonies beside her front door.
They all burst out laughing, except for Harold who realized they were joking about something. He conjured a smirk, pretending to understand how they could be so jolly in the face of morbidity.
“Hold on!” Frank sprang up, and disappeared down a short hallway. Pepper and Keith got up as well, and Harold wondered at the ebb and flow of a group moving as one without verbal cues, who shared unspoken jokes as naturally as if it was a part of the mix of oxygen, nitrogen, and carbon dioxide rushing in and out of their lungs. This was what true friendship felt like. His head was less mushy now, and he considered following them, but before he could struggle to his feet, Pepper and Keith returned.
“I brought dessert.” Pepper held up the tin container Harold held on the drive over. “Red velvet cupcakes anyone?” She’d told him the tiffin was a gift from a co-worker to carry snacks in case she was nauseous from the effects of the chemo.
She struggled with the lid, and Keith gently took it from her. “That was so sweet of you.” He admired the pastries nestled inside. “These look delish.”
“Can I use your bathroom?” Harold felt like a jerk for not bringing anything, but it was too late when he realized his faux pas. When he came back in, Pepper was dancing around the small living room, cream cheese frosting on her upper lip. Someone had put on music. Sultry jazz. Long blonde hair floated to her swaying.
“Come here, Harold, dance with me!”
Keith and Frank parted so he could step into the small space.
He set the Kaleidoscope on the back of the chair, and maneuvered around to her. She grabbed his hand and put it on her waist without missing a beat. He had to keep glancing down so he wouldn’t clobber her bare toes with his hard-soled shoes. The wig hair tickled his arm, her head resting on his shoulder. Some floral scent like lavender, jasmine perhaps, wrapped him in her heady essence. The chandelier’s reflections and the lights bouncing from her dangly earrings mingled and spun, the tiny room was a snow globe, and they were the dancers inside, spinning in tight circles.
“Frank’s loaning me the ‘blonde bombshell.’ What do you think?” His dance partner flung her head to the side so Harold could get a better look.
He lost count and mis-stepped, stopping before he hurt her again. “I think I prefer your old hair.” He was afraid he’d said the wrong thing before he finished, but she only smiled and reached up, and with one hand flung the synthetic hair aloft.
Frank snatched it from the air before it caught on the ornate light fixture.
“I agree.” Pepper pulled Harold’s face to hers and pecked him on the lips. “Thank you for being honest.” They dipped and swirled again, Pepper doing most of the leading this time, until Harold was thoroughly dizzy and groping for a chair.
“I have to rest.” For the rest of the evening, Harold fought nausea. The wine and sugar and dancing were too much. But he let himself think the others were actually enjoying his company, at least when they tried to include him in their conversation.
Startling him from his thoughts, Keith appeared, carrying a tray. “Star-tinis!” He balanced a pitcher and glasses, directing the others to follow him. “Grab some blankets, Frank, let’s sit by the fire pit. The fog is lifting, and we’re supposed to have a meteor shower tonight. First one to see a shooting star wins!”
Leaning back in Adirondack chairs, they searched the inky darkness. Whenever a star peeked through someone would say, “Is that one?” and they’d wait expectantly until they could see it was just a jet on final descent into one of the many airports in the valley.
About midnight, Harold was dozing when Pepper woke him with, “That’s one for sure!” Before he could stop her, she leapt up, threw back her blanket, opened her blouse and faced the horizon while the streaking meteor faded away.
Before Harold could unlock his tongue from the roo
f of his mouth, Keith uttered softly, as to a child. “Honey, I’ve seen some interesting rituals, but that’s a new one to me.”
Pepper remained standing, arms flung wide. Eyes averted, Harold was unsure whether he should cover her up, or remain as still as possible until the spasm or convulsion or whatever had overtaken her had passed.
“A Japanese legend says shooting stars carry good luck, and sometimes people open their kimonos to welcome them.” Pepper didn’t seem embarrassed at her nude display. “I can use all the luck I can get.”
“You do whatever needs doing, sister.” Frank lifted his glass in her direction. “If it’ll help keep you healthy, we’ll all dance without shirts on, won’t we, Harold?”
“I have an announcement.” Pepper pulled her blouse together, and Harold’s lungs expanded and released. His head throbbed with the possibility of what else she was going to say. That they all skinny-dip in the canal, perhaps?
“I have been offered a full-time position in a nonprofit outreach to women with breast cancer.”
“That’s terrific, honey,” Keith said. “You’ll be a huge blessing to them.” Frank’s smile of agreement lit up as the fire rose in a gust of breeze.
Buttoning, she slid back down in her chair.
“What’s wrong? Why are you so sober about it?” Frank shifted his footstool away from the heat.
Harold dared a glance. “Sounds like a good fit for you.”
“It’s in New York.”
City? The other coast? “That’s a long way.” Another woman leaving Harold. Score another for the away team.
“I haven’t decided whether I want to move. It’s big, I’d have to drive us both, me and Glenda, across country.”
“Are you a city girl?” Keith wanted to know. “We love the energy, the shows, the nightlife.”
“I want to experience it all.” She tried to catch Harold’s eye, but he turned away, grateful for the darkness of the evening. “They need a graphic artist, and they love that I’m a survivor. I can combine my experience with my passion.”
“Is that what you’re doing here?” Frank asked.
“Nope, I’m a legal secretary. It’s a great job, good benefits, but not my passion.”
Frank offered helpful advice Harold didn’t have the guts to voice. “If the dog’s what’s holding you back, I’d either ditch the critter—”
“I can’t leave my Glenda.”
“Or find a good dog walker once you get there,” Keith countered.
Harold wished he had defended the dog by the way Keith’s remark brought a smile to her face as she peered into the heavens. The flames were just bright enough he could study her profile.
“I think I saw another!” Pepper shot a fist into the night sky. “It’s a sign for sure!”
Indeed. Any connection between meteors millions of miles away and Pepper’s cancer hardly seemed logical. The evening was almost over, and Harold sensed he had already spoiled too much of their fun to tell her it was ridiculous to think of living in New York on a nonprofit graphic artist’s salary. Harold had no claim on her.
He was relieved when Pepper threw off the blanket and yawned. “Uncle! I’ve gotta get up early tomorrow. Ready to scoot home, Harry?”
“Thank you for the evening.” The floor quavered underneath his feet, and he threw out a hand to steady himself. “Again, sorry I didn’t bring a gift.”
Keith and Frank made a show of assuring him they hadn’t expected anything. “The party was to thank you,” Keith said.
“For your ’scope,” Frank said when they were gathered at the front door.
Harold had forgotten all about it, what with the dancing and naked meteor worship. He found it where he’d set it before they went outside.
“You know, I’d love to have a turn before you go.” Frank looked from Harold to the device that now peeked from his breast pocket.
“Okay.”
He lifted it toward the chandelier bulbs that flickered dimly. Frank was silent.
Keith turned a rheostat knob, and the bulbs shone brighter.
Frank focused, blinked, then dropped it, his lips pressed into a thin line. He spun the dial and tried again. Harold waited for “the look.” Frank continued to spin and peer, and then he held it out to Keith. “Look at this one!” He didn’t overreact as the others had. “It’s so gorgeous. I wish I could capture this with my camera.”
“Let me see!” Pepper reached for it, but Harold bumped her in his zeal to get to it first.
“You mean you don’t see anything…unusual?” Absently, silently daring the stupid thing to present him with more than swirling triangles of aquamarines, teals and ambers, he peered down the shaft. But when it came to rest, Harold’s stomach curdled and he wished he hadn’t looked. He had been the only person who hadn’t seen something shocking or life changing. Until now.
“I don’t get it.” Keith took it from him, sighting down the tube. “I only see patterns.”
“Maybe it’s broken,” Pepper offered, reaching to take it from Frank, but Harold snagged the ’scope and blinked to clear his vision. He peered inside again, but the image was gone. What he’d seen had vanished, but the image was still burned into his retinas. Of the dozens of times he’d tried, now it decided to show him something? And why that picture?
“Did you get some instructions with it?” Keith wondered. “Are you sure everyone is supposed to see something?” When Harold didn’t respond, Keith shrugged and laid a hand on Frank’s shoulder. “Sorry you didn’t see anything special. Maybe some people have negative energy. You know, like some people can’t wear a watch because they stop.” He paused, watching Harold rub his temples. “I think someone needs a cup of coffee.”
Vision blurry and head throbbing, Harold slid the ’scope into his pocket. The others moved into the kitchen, discussing their new single-serve coffee dispenser, and Harold tried to follow them into the small space, but he was unable to focus or decide what flavor he preferred. The maple cabinets carouselled around him; he tasted bile and lurched, hand over mouth, toward the front door. He hung over the porch railing until he could take no more retching.
He sank down, the cold from the concrete gnawing through to his slacks. He breathed in, out. A cold, wet rag moved across the back of his neck. “You okay, peapod?” A shudder moved through him as Pepper sat next to him. “We better get you home,” she cooed.
He couldn’t argue and let her guide him down the steps as if he was an unsteady toddler. She called apologies to their hosts, who were making curative hangover suggestions as she opened the car door for him. Harold managed a weak “thank you,” before Pepper locked him into his seatbelt as if he were a child.
“I didn’t know you could play the violin,” he mumbled, trying to recover from the embarrassment.
She twisted to check for traffic. “Oh, Harold. That’s the oldest joke in the book.” She pitched her voice up a notch. “Doctor, after my operation will I be able to play the violin?” Then she tucked her chin, affecting a gravelly voice. “Of course!” She raised her voice for effect. “Great, I’ve never been able to play before!” Her chuckle caught the breeze from the ocean and whipped over them into the night as the car puttered them home, the ’scope warming his skin through the cotton polyester shirt.
****
Harold hadn’t undressed in front of a woman since Georgia, but he couldn’t bring himself to be embarrassed after Pepper’s insistence she help him inside, especially after her demonstration of unembarrassed nudity. Besides, without her help, he might have curled up on the cold linoleum bathroom floor all night. She would just have to see him in his boxers.
After she’d tucked him in with a promise to check on him in the morning, she pecked him dead center on his feverish forehead. Her lips were soft and firm.
Hoping for sleep, Harold couldn’t erase the image flash-burned onto his brain. After all the times he’d been jealous that the ’scope had something for everyone but him, now he wished he’d never se
en anything but the same benign colors. Always the same reds, greens, blues, and golds twirling into beautiful shapes and images, no two ever the same, iridescent snowflakes. Until now.
Until the Kaleidoscope had swung the closet door wide open and shown Harold an image of someone he’d rather burned in hell.
****
Harold must have fallen asleep because he awoke in a flop sweat, the covers twisted around his ankles. Cooking in his own heat, he was unable to muster the energy to get up and open a window. The effects of the wine had worn off, and his dull head-throb had returned.
Now he understood what the others had gone through. There was an indescribable eeriness in an inanimate object that could show you a truth no one else could see. It was unnatural. Unreal. It was obvious he would have to be rid of the ’scope and the evil within. Morrie was correct.
Keith’s comment about the ’scope had conflicted Harold’s emotions. “I’m so glad you let me look,” he’d told him. “The Kaleidoscope forced me to do something my pride wouldn’t allow me to do before.”
Light from headlights passing outside crawled over the ceiling as he wrestled with what was happening to him. Harold forced himself to get up, padding to the kitchen. The cold drink of water sloshed into his empty belly and wound his head into roller coaster tracks threatening to defy the laws of physics. He sat at the kitchen table and stared blankly at the row of black and white Ansel Adams prints hung at precise distances along the wall. Harold had taken great care, measuring and remeasuring until their straight lines hung just so. The meticulous art and his spare furnishings, picked out after Georgia left, were usually reassuring, but tonight his small space held little comfort. She would have merely eyeballed, and then hung the modern art he despised, without so much as a tape measure. The circles and squares he could stomach, but the monkey pictures left him confused. Georgia had taken them with her pleather sofa and stacked them in the rented orange van. “Your boring black and whites are so bland, Harold,” she’d complained. “Just like you.”
Harold considered Adams’ landscape photography superior to anything Georgia brought home, and wondered if Frank would teach him how to capture images like them.
