Same thing the next night. Vitus showed up the same time at my door and said, “Shall we step outside, Woozy?” I smelled his cologne, something spicy. I smelled that man musk, too, and I reached up, just for fun, and patted his face. He sure looked surprised.
Like I said, he is a real gentleman.
The smile slid off his face when I told him all the cigarettes were gone. “What happened to them?”
“They’re gone. You and me smoked them all last night.”
“Is that all you have? Didn’t you get more?”
I was taken aback. Much as I like Vitus, his attitude provoked me. I’ve always had a quick temper, so before I thought about it, I shot back, not at all nice, “What about you, big spender? Don’t you have any?”
Soon as I said it, I thought, Lord Almighty, what have I done? His eyes narrowed and his mouth shifted and I held my breath thinking he was ready to let go on me when a big smile broke out on his face. “Why Woozy, you’re a feisty one, aren’t you?” He laughed. We came inside. “It doesn’t matter in the least. It’s you I’ve come to see.”
Oh, we had the best time.
I had him sit in the armchair again and got out the snacks. He told me all about being a waiter in Europe. It’s not like here at all. Not like the women who work at Sizzler or Denny’s, where it’s low-class. Vitus made a face and flapped his hands in the air like he was brushing away a fly when I mentioned those waitresses. In Europe only men are waiters. They take a lot of pride in it. They train real hard and work their whole lives at it, like a career. They wear nice clothes, suits and ties, and people respect them. And if you work in the grand hotels or five-star restaurants, like Vitus did, you make a lot of money, as much as businessmen or lawyers. He also worked on cruise ships and in the casinos over in Las Vegas. What a life! I sat there with my tongue hanging out, thinking of all those places.
“Woozy, we need a plan,” he said after awhile. “We need to get some cigarettes.”
“It almost does me in just to drag myself down to the dining room,” I said. “If I could think of a way to get more cigarettes, I would have got them. But I’m stuck here, stranded as can be. Nobody’ll buy them for me and I sure can’t buy them for myself.”
I didn’t mention Marcos. He’s my ace in the hole.
Vitus nodded and rested his chin on his knuckles, thinking. “There’s got to be a way,” he said after a minute. “What about that bus?”
I snorted. Sometimes they load a bunch of people in a van and drive them like pigs to the slaughter out to some shopping center. I never even thought of going on any of those outings.
“I’m not able,” I said. “I can’t walk to save my life.”
“Oh, Woozy. Sure you can.”
I shook my head. “You’re fit as a fiddle. You can’t imagine.”
“Well, you and I have to work on that. We’ll have you up and about in no time. Really. I know you can do it.”
I didn’t think it was possible, but I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want him to think I was beyond hope, even if it was the truth.
“Until you’re ready to come with me, I could go and bring back three or four packs. That would keep us going for a while.”
“Now you’re talking.”
Vitus winked at me. “All right, then,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “We have a plan. Soon as I get my check, we’re in business.”
“What check? When do you get it?”
“Oh, it won’t be long. My nephew manages my money. He should send it in a couple of weeks.” He winked and added, “But I shouldn’t be telling you my private affairs.”
“Two weeks is a long time. I can’t wait two weeks to have a cigarette.”
Vitus nodded. “Well, I have to agree. It is a long time. But patience is a virtue, dear Woozy.”
Of course that set me to thinking. All this stealing made me wary. You don’t know who you can trust. But I wanted those cigarettes, and I had a hard time picturing Vitus as a thief.
“Tell me something,” I said. “I got a question for you.”
Vitus got a twinkle in his eye. He leaned in closer.
I just dove in. “Do you like big women?”
He looked surprised. Not for long, though. He tipped his head and looked at me from the corner of his eye. “In Europe, it’s different than here,” he said with a smile. “Where I am from, we cherish big women. They are powerful. They are real women. Thin, weak women are for men who are not sure of themselves. Frightened men. A strong man, a manly man—he wants a woman of substance, not a bag of bones.” He waved his hands in the air, like he was trying to knock the skinny women out of his sight. “I have always been that way myself. I want a woman who fills my arms when I embrace her.”
Boy, oh boy. I have to admit, that got me going. I know there’s lots of men who like women my size. Abel was one of them; he wouldn’t even turn his head for a skinny woman. But I’d never heard anyone explain it as nice as Vitus. I could tell he meant it, too. He got some color in his cheeks while he talked about it.
I went to the drawer where I kept my twenty-dollar bills. “Take some of my money. Get on that bus and buy us some cigarettes. You can pay me back later.”
“Absolutely not,” Vitus said. He didn’t raise his voice, but you could tell he meant business.
“Don’t be like that. Don’t let your pride get in the way.”
He sighed. “All right, then. But it’s just a loan.”
“That’s better. How much do you think you’ll need?”
“Well, ten dollars or so for the cigarettes. And if you want a little—” He put his thumb to his lips and tipped his head back, like he was drinking out of a bottle. “Then maybe twenty or so. We can have a little party—just me and you.” He winked at me, the devil. “I enjoy being with you, Woozy. I think we can have a wonderful time together.”
“I don’t hardly drink,” I told him.
“And why is that?”
I told him how I was brought up strict Baptist and we just didn’t do things like that. The most I’d ever had was a glass of beer or a swallow of Manischewitz at Christmastime.
“Tsk, tsk.” He shook his finger at me. “What about Jesus? Christ himself drank plenty of wine.”
He had a point, so I kept quiet.
“God has put these things on earth for us to enjoy, Woozy. Good food. Wine and spirits.” He made his eyebrows go up and down. “Each other.”
I was just about to open the drawer when he took my hand, led me to the middle of the room, and waltzed me around the carpet. Just one little turn, but oh, my Lord! You could tell he’s a wonderful dancer. I got to laughing so hard I could hardly breathe.
“Careful, Woozy. Careful. Stand here a minute and catch your breath.” He steadied me, then he lifted my hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed it real light, like I was the queen of England.
“Let me get that money.”
“You know what, Woozy? Don’t even bother. We can wait until I get my check. It’s not my pride, it’s just that I’d rather treat you.”
“Stop it, now. Don’t be silly.”
I pulled open the drawer and took out the envelope. It took me a minute, once I looked inside, to make sense of what I was seeing. Nothing. The envelope was empty.
“Woozy! What is it?” Vitus came rushing across the room.
“Gone, all gone,” I gasped. “The thief has struck again.”
THE NEXT DAY I called Glenda, but she wasn’t home. I didn’t want to leave a message on her damn machine. I tried Dean then, but of course he was at work, so I explained to his wife how first it was those quarters, then my crystal, and now my twenties. It was like talking to a wall. That girl. Out of all the women Dean could have married, I will never understand why he chose her. “Now wait a minute,” she kept saying. “Let me get this straight.” I don’t know what was so hard for her to understand. She thinks I�
��m goofy, that’s the long and short of it. If that weren’t bad enough, she had the gall to ask me who was managing my meds and if there was someone here at The Palisades she could talk with to get all the facts. I got so disgusted I slammed down the phone. The only one left then was Kenny, but when I tried to call him, the phone was busy. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was that blabbermouth wife of Dean’s, burning up the line to let everyone in the family know I’m in trouble again.
All this makes me feel like I don’t know whether I’m coming or going. I took a couple extra pills to calm myself down and now every time I bend over the room spins like a carnival ride. I got to thinking maybe I spent that money without remembering, but I’m not senile or fuddled enough to forget something like that. Nobody’s touched those quarters I left in the candy dish for bait. I can’t figure that. I tried thinking back, tried to remember if I’d seen anything suspicious, but nothing stands out. My sleeping pills knock me so dead out that anybody could come in, tiptoe past my head, take whatever they wanted, and I’d be none the wiser. Picturing somebody looking down on me when I’m sleeping makes me feel like a wind is howling in one ear and out the other.
I could tell the management here, or call the police, but everybody just acts like I’m an old fool, or a whiner looking for attention, or an addict whose mind is addled with drugs. The good thing is I don’t have nothing much left to take. Pretty soon I’ll be sitting here on the floor of a bare room in my underwear, and maybe then the robber will leave me alone. Maybe then everybody will see I’m not just crying wolf.
TREATS
“My crystal’s gone,” I told Marcos when he came for my treatment. “Somebody stole it.”
He always calls the windowsill where I keep my rock my altar. Silly. He fusses over it, brushes off the dust, pushes his fat finger into the soil of the violet to make sure it has enough water. He picks up the rock and polishes it on his shirt, then he puts it back just so, turning the flat part toward the sun. “Your rock, Coralita,” he always says, tapping his temple with his finger like he’s in on some big secret.
I didn’t say nothing about the money because I wanted to see if he acted shifty. He moved that damn cold stethoscope around on my back without saying a word. Cigarettes were real strong on his breath. He listened and moved it, listened and moved it, breathing so loud himself I wondered how he could hear my lungs.
“Did you hear what I said?” I asked him.
He nodded, still writing.
“Well, it didn’t just walk out of here.”
You’d think he was a deaf mute. He slung the stethoscope around his neck and took some notes on his clipboard. When he was done with that, he motioned me over to the edge of the bed for my back thumping. I leaned forward and put my head against his chest, then he bent over my shoulder and commenced to pounding, smacking me real firm to loosen things up. It’s what you call intimate because we’re so close. I smelled his armpits and felt the heat coming off his body.
“You know my daddy gave me that rock, don’t you?” The pounding made me sound like I was driving over a bumpy road.
“Yes, you told me.” He went on with his work, snuffling with that noisy breathing of his.
“What is wrong with your nose?” I had to ask after a few minutes. My head was practically in his armpit. “How come you breathe like that? Sounds like you need this treatment more than I do.”
“Just let me finish here, Cora,” he said. I could tell his teeth were gritted. When he finally straightened up, sweat glistened on his floppy upper lip and his king-size forehead. He gave a big sniff and wiped his nose on the back of his hand.
“I have asthma, Cora. Allergies, too.”
“There’s Kleenex over there on my dresser. Go get you one and blow your nose. If you’re in a bad mood, just say so.”
He honked good and loud, then he started writing on his clipboard.
“Did you get up on the wrong side of the bed?” I asked him.
“I feel very tired today, Cora. I have a lot on my mind.”
“Like what?”
He glanced around the room, nervouslike. I wondered if he was planning the next thing he was going to steal. He stuck his pen behind his ear and sucked his teeth, a habit that’s not very attractive. He didn’t once look at me or say a word about that money I gave him for cigarettes.
“Is it that boy?” I asked. “You can tell me. We’re friends.”
He just kept writing, like my voice was nothing but a fly buzzing around him. He mumbled something under his breath and started setting up the hookah for my lung treatment. His ignoring me got my blood to boiling, so I asked if he knew anything about my rock.
“If I knew anything about your crystal, I’d tell you,” he said, motioning me over to the chair where I took my treatment. He still didn’t meet my eye.
I had to inhale deep on that damn thing and hold in each breath, so I couldn’t talk. Meantimes, Marcos wrote on the clipboard.
“Sometimes you notice something a lot more when it’s missing than when it’s there,” I said soon as I put down the pipe.
“Do you think I took your rock, Cora?” he asked suddenly.
“I never said that!” I answered, though to be honest I had my doubts. Why bring it up unless he had a guilty conscience? “I just can’t figure out who would want something like that,” I went on. “It has sentimental value, because my daddy never gave me many presents in my life, but he gave me that.” I tried to get a look at his face, but he had his head down, still writing. “Why’d you ask me that?” I said. “Is there something you’re trying to say?”
Finally, he looked at me. He put his hands on his hips and bellowed, “Every time I go into a room to do my job, someone asks me if I know anything. Let me ask you,” he said, pointing one of his stubby fingers at me. “Do you ask the doctor when he comes here to examine you if he knows anything about your rock? Do you ask the boss up in the front office if she took it?
“Well, I’ll be,” I gasped. “Why are you getting so hot under the collar?”
He still hadn’t answered my question about the crystal.
“Because only certain people are suspected, Cora. Always the same, the blacks and the Mexicans.”
“That’s a load of bull!” I yelled. “That’s an excuse if I ever heard one!”
“Huh,” he grunted, and gave me a look like he didn’t believe it for a minute. “Well, who do you think took it?” he asked. “Take a wild guess.”
“That’s just it. I don’t know. People here come and go at all hours of the day and night.”
He started rolling up the hookah like it was a snake he was handling. “It is better just to leave,” he mumbled. He banged himself on the head a couple of times with the heel of his hand. “Why do I waste my time?” He grabbed his things and headed for the door. When he got there he spun around and said, “I open my heart to you. I spend extra time with you.” He sucked in a big lungful of air. His eyes bugged out. “I ask nothing in return.” He blew the air out, a big gust. “I am a fool! Insane! Adiós, Señora Sledge!”
“Don’t you dare leave!” I yelled back. “There’s no need to be so touchy!”
He opened the door without even turning around.
“What about my things?” I hollered. “I gave you money! What did you do with it?”
He stormed back. “Thank you for reminding me!” he snarled so fierce that spit flew out of his mouth. His eyes shot sparks. He reached into his carryall and pulled out a paper bag. “Here are your cigarettes!” He slammed a pack of Marlboros down on top of my dresser. He pulled out another one and slammed it down, too. Boom! Like a gunshot. “Here are your cupcakes, and your corn nuts, and your chips.” Bam! Bam! Bam! The last one, the bag of Doritos, came down so hard I knew they’d be crushed to dust.
“Oh, and your newspaper!” He whipped the National Enquirer out of the bag so fast the pages flew apart and fluttered to the ground
like a bird shot from the sky. “And your magazine!” He fired People at the floor on top of the newspaper.
“Marcos!” I hollered. “Don’t! Don’t do like that!” I tried to grab his hands. “I’m sorry, now. Come on! Quit acting crazy!”
He grabbed my hand instead. “And here, señora, is your change!” He pried my fingers open and shoved the money into my palm. “One dollar and fifty-seven cents. You want to count it now, while I’m here?”
I closed my hand around the money and looked into his eyes. Sometimes I hated myself. Just hated myself. I tried to show him with my eyes how sorry I was, but he was too mad to see anything.
“Why didn’t you tell me you bought all this stuff?” I bawled. “Why didn’t you give it to me right away?”
“I forgot,” he said, huffing and puffing. “But I will never forget again.” He tore loose from my hand, picked up his things, and stormed through the door.
What an uproar. I slumped down in my chair and stared out the sliding glass door. I felt so bad for doing Marcos like that. Accusing him, after all he’d done for me. He’d just forgotten, and I went jumping to conclusions. Who could blame him for getting so mad? But I couldn’t help thinking of those soap operas, the way people were always double-dealing, stabbing each other in the back. And all that gold Marcos wore. Where’d he get the money? You guilty old coot, I told myself. Stop trying to feel better by blaming somebody else. But much as I tried, I couldn’t get over the feeling that something wasn’t right.
Breaking Out of Bedlam Page 7
