by L. A. Zoe
This wasn’t going anything like the online advice said it would. Maybe she read the advice too, because he then felt very negated.
“If you sleep with me just to thank me, then it’s not love, is it?” he asked.
She shrugged. “I’m tired of hearing about love. We need money, Rhinegold.”
“Now you sound like my father.”
“Who’s a lot smarter than you think.”
“Anyway,” Rhinegold went on, trying to recover and get back on track. “I’m not saying I did it because I love you. It was just one of those things. You know, a random impulse.”
SeeJai’s eyes now emitted neutron rays as she stared at him, suddenly wide awake. “’Random impulse,’ what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just what it says. I did kiss you, but I didn’t mean anything by it. It just happened.”
“How’s a kiss ’just happen?’ You flipped a coin? Heads you kiss the woman, tails you pick your nose?”
“Something out of the blue just came over me.”
“Like this?”
SeeJai lifted the plate of sweet and sour pork, and dumped it over his head.
Did that ever happen to the pickup artists?
Chapter Twenty-Five
St. Valentine’s Day Invitation
I slammed up the steps two at a time to Areetha’s apartment. For once, the large screen TV in her living room was blessedly quiet. Completely turned off, even.
“My mother’s got the kids until tomorrow,” Areetha told me. So I’m sitting here just remembering what it feels like not to hear constant crying, screaming, and the TV speakers booming all at once. You want to hear about the Chinese guy?”
“Huh?” I said, confused.
“Never mind, we already broke up anyway. What’s up?”
Even without the children, Areetha kept the heat turned up high enough to grow orchids, and the odors of dirty diapers, burnt grease, and spilled milk lingered in the air.
I sat beside Areetha on the couch and handed her the large, square envelope addressed in a fancy, feminine script so perfect a laser printer must have etched it onto the paper to: Mr. Rhinegold Cunningham.
With the return address of Mr. and Mrs. Cunningham.
A large card of cream-colored, heavy thick stock, inviting Rhinegold “and guest” to their party Saturday night to celebrate Valentine’s Day.
“It arrived today,” I told my friend.
“What’s the rest of this say?” Referring to long paragraphs of black ink handwriting on the back.
“Read it.”
I read it on the bus so many times I already memorized it:
“Dear Rhinegold, I’m sorry you left so quickly the other night I forgot to mention our upcoming party.
“Please do come. Your father and I regret the slight miscommunication you two had after our little dinner. Until then, I enjoyed our evening together so much. I promise to keep him on his best behavior.
“He really does love you, dear. The two of you just butt heads because you’re both stubborn mules, aren’t you? Despite everything, you are still one of the family.
“If you like, bring your darling friend SeeJai. I so much enjoyed meeting her.
“In any event, Helena has agreed to entertain us with a few violin pieces. Plus, I know she would love to see you again. All your friends around here miss you.
“I’d appreciate an R.S.V.P. right away so I know what to tell the caterer, but even if you don’t know until the last minute, come anyway. We’ll always find room for you.
“Love, Sybille”
Areetha let her hands drop, and stared at me, eyes wide with laughter. “You’re so ’darling,’ SeeJai.”
“Dahling,” I said, dragging out the upper class Boston accent. I had to laugh at something. “But what am I going to do?”
“What do you mean? Just tell Arkady you need Saturday night off.”
“I’m not scheduled for this Saturday night.”
“There you go, then.” Areetha picked up the invitation, read it again. “That’s funny,” she said. “A violin player named Helena. What a coincidence.”
“Not funny,” I said. “That is our Helena. Or—rather—MY Helena.”
Areetha’s hands fell to her face. Her eyes and lips widened into huge holes with shock. “SeeJai! No!”
My head drooped. “I didn’t want to mention it before. Remember, after all the shit she caused, her father struck it rich, and they moved out of our neighborhood way out west?”
“Sure, but—”
“She hooked up with all those rich country club kids, including Rhinegold.”
“He was still in high school back then?”
“It gets worse. She likes him.”
“Oh, SeeJai … “
“She used to visit him in that old condemned house, play the violin for him.”
“Did he—?”
I shook my head. “But I really don’t know for sure. He told me she’s just a friend. He enjoys her music, that’s all.”
“Yeah, right.”
I understood Areetha’s skepticism, but I had to say, “We’re talking about Rhinegold. He’s not like most guys.”
“I’ll say. He’s been sleeping close to you every night for over a month, and all he’s done is kiss you. Maybe it’s because he’s got Helena taking all his action.”
That could explain things, but—somehow—it didn’t feel right. And if they were sleeping together, why would Helena let him spend so many evenings walking me home from my job? Every night sleeping on my floor?
She wouldn’t.
“She won’t go away,” I said. “Some people have guardian angels. She’s my persecuting demon. Just when I thought I had my life at least pointed in the right direction, she shows up to ruin everything.”
Areetha smashed the invitation back to my lap. “Don’t let her.”
“I’ll throw this damn invitation away.”
“No!” Areetha jumped up and grabbed my arm. “We’ve got hours before dinner rush starts. I’m free of the kids this afternoon. We’re going shopping.”
“I don’t get it.”
“First off, girl, you can’t hide the invitation. For all you know, his stepmother’s already called him up about it.”
“That could be.”
“You can’t let him go without you.”
“He wouldn’t!” Or would he?
“And if neither one of you goes, he’s in bad with his family, and so are you for not dragging him along, while Helena’s sucking their behinds with puckered lips.”
I felt so tired. I just wanted to pull a blanket over my head and sleep until Sunday morning. Not think about anything.
“And if we go, he’ll get to see Helena again. She’ll probably be all dressed up in some fancy gown, with a big hairdo and lots of makeup, looking like a movie star, she was always the beautiful one, we all agreed on that back then, and I’ll be … just plain old me, and he’ll hate me even worse, so I may as well get a gun and join—!”
Areetha slapped me so hard the world flipped around and lights flashed in my eyes like an exploding video game. My head jerked to the side, but Areetha grabbed my shoulders and shook me.
“I promised your mama you ever talk that shit again I’d beat the shit out of you.”
I rubbed my sore cheek. I barely registered what Areetha said. I still felt tired. The world still sucked, and threatened to fold up on me like a cliff collapsing in an avalanche.
“What’s your plan?” I muttered.
“Today, it’s shopping for the sexiest party dress and accessories your money will buy.”
I groaned. “That’ll take my whole checking account. I want to buy a car. Enroll in summer school at the university.”
Areetha sat back down beside me, and pulled my arm until I had to look into her eyes. “You go in your usual bluejeans and Goodwill rags, what do you think everybody’s going to say?”
“Nothing,” I spit out. “I’m too poor to dress
up for their big deal fancy party.”
“That ain’t all, though, is it?”
I shook my head.
“Spit it out, girl, or just go on your Facebook page and confess your true sexuality.”
“I go dressed in regular clothes, everybody’ll say I must be a low-class, too-masculine-to-wear-a-girly-dress-instead-of-black-pants-for-the-rich-folks butch dyke.”
Areetha leaned back. “And so?”
“They’d think Helena was right about me. Except they don’t know about that Facebook video.”
“Don’t matter,” Areetha said. “You’ll come off looking like the kind of skinny tomboy ought to be trying out for the baseball team. Won’t that make Helena happy to see?”
I nodded, numb as a gallon drum of Novocain. “It’s just so, so … I don’t know. Take an ugly duckling and replace her glasses with contacts and dress her up and suddenly she’s beautiful. Such bullshit.”
“You don’t even wear glasses.”
“See? So how can you make me into a lovely swan?”
Areetha sat back down again and took my hands. “You’re already beautiful, SeeJai. It hurts me you don’t see that in the mirror.”
I harrumphed.
“Look, you’re not a Barbie doll. You don’t appeal to dudes got to have beautiful curves like mine. I like having big boobs and an ass that sticks out, but tons of women would kill for your figure. And your face doesn’t look masculine, no matter what some folks say. You’ve got a special beauty.”
“Great,” I said. “A special beauty. So I need a Special Beauty Contest like the Special Olympics. That’ll entertain those country club kids.”
Areetha blew out air with an exasperated sound. “You always put yourself down. You’re pretty, but it’s a high-class taste not everybody appreciates. Exclusive, not mass market. Like ballet.”
“Great again,” I said. “So I’m like that boring European art movie we tried to watch on A&E when we were kids, remember? You talk almost as crazy as Rhinegold does.”
“What’s he say?”
“Fantasy shit. Like I’m magic. A gremlin or something. Or maybe an orc. He finally got me to watch some of that weird shit on HBO.”
“And?”
“To him, I must be Arya. Small, dark, and ugly. Certainly not one of the beautiful characters.”
“Let me get my purse, and then we’re going to find a dress will make you look as beautiful on the outside as your inner self Rhinegold sees.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
More Relationship Advice from Georgie
Georgie leaned back in his chair and looked around the room. “You and SeeJai got a nice little place here.” He slapped the floor, making a pounding noise. “More comfortable than a cot at the Homeless Rescue Shelter, I can tell you that.”
The lingering scent of last night’s roast beef sandwiches from Arby’s made Rhinegold’s stomach growl with hunger, but he ignored it.
Outside, snowflakes swirled and whirled, accumulating up the window pane.
Snow and ice. Snow, ice, and freezing cold. Would spring never arrive?
“You almost got me killed,” Rhinegold said. He told Georgie about negging the time he kissed SeeJai, and her dumping sweet and sour pork all over him.
“You told her you didn’t know why you kissed her?” Georgie said in an incredulous voice. “Are you crazy? Women have indeed killed men for less than that.”
“But you said—”
“I didn’t tell you to talk crazy like that. Just make sure she understands she’s not the most important person in your life. Or that you even want her. If you already kissed, you can’t back down, though. Say, she looked beautiful that night, but now she doesn’t.”
“She hasn’t changed.”
“But your feelings have, that’s the important part.”
Rhinegold held his head in his hands. He didn’t understand. He didn’t get it. His feelings about SeeJai didn’t change at all. He loved her obsessively, with undying devotion. He just felt even more frustrated than before.
“Now we’ve got to go to this party at my family’s house Saturday night, for Valentine’s Day.”
“Oh, great,” Georgie said, rubbing his hands. “Perfect.”
“But—that’s a romantic time. Don’t I have to treat her nice?”
“See, parties are perfect opportunities to make somebody jealous. Men and women are always jumping at each other, hugging and kissing on the cheeks.”
“You want me to try to pick up another woman? But I don’t want another woman.”
“Not for real, just make it look enough like it to make SeeJai jealous.”
An image of Helena playing the violin immediately jumped into Rhinegold’s mind.
SeeJai and Helena knew each other many years ago, before Helena moved out west of Cromwell, and they had some kind of huge argument. That’s why SeeJai still hated her enough to dump a plate of food over her head at the restaurant.
Helena liked him. Helena acted like she wanted him. Helena practically threw her body at him, except she wanted the understanding he’d return to his “real” life—going to college, pursuing a respectable career.
Kissing Father’s ass.
Accepting Sybille’s shit.
Going out with Helena would be like admitting he was wrong in the first place. That he should put away his imagination with the rest of his outgrown childhood toys, forget his martial arts training, and get on with his life.
Helena’s violin playing revealed something deep within her soul which, oddly, she apparently repressed in the rest of her life. As though she tuned in to the Divine Vibration of the universe, but only when she held a violin.
To pretend her shallow personality attracted him—let alone could compete with SeeJai—felt perverted. Like scat play, which revolted him the first time he read about it online.
Helena’s fashionably beautiful cute blonde looks and orthodox movie star figure would play on SeeJai’s insecurities around her appearance, no doubt fueling any potential for jealousy.
But wasn’t it just potential?
If SeeJai really liked Rhinegold, except as a friend, she had plenty of opportunity to tell him so—yet she didn’t.
Was she just refusing to admit her feelings for him to herself, so stubborn, or actually did not feel for him as he did for her?
At least, if SeeJai saw him with her old enemy, and didn’t lose her temper, that would prove she didn’t love him. He would still love her, as any good knight should, but he could learn to accept she would never return his feelings.
Rhinegold hated the idea of encouraging Helena just to make SeeJai jealous, but what else could he do?
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Married at City Hall
I hated to step into Cromwell’s City Hall. Dating back to the 1920s, it seemed thousands of years old. High, arched ceilings over the most minor corridors. Plain, single pane windows made to be pushed open in hot weather.
Closed now, of course. With gray radiators, the paint flaking off, clanking and puffing steam, but not warming anybody not standing right next to them.
Single large white light bulbs hung down from the ceiling at regular intervals as we walked nearly around the whole place looking for Room 210. Our footsteps sounded too loud as we paced over the white, rock tile floors.
Me, Rhinegold, Georgie, and Mom.
All of us looking and feeling out of place.
Mom looked better than I could ever remember. She wore a long green gown we bought yesterday at Macy’s. When was the last time I saw her in a dress? My middle school graduation? Certainly not since Social Security appointed me her representative payee.
I took her to a salon, and we got her hair cut, trimmed, and waved over her shoulder. While the stylist worked, someone gave her not only a manicure but a pedicure as well. Seemed like a waste of money to me, but she had enough money left, so I just shrugged and went with it. Her first—and better be—her last marriage. So now her nails glea
med with a bright pink rose polish.
A facial specialist spent a long time heroically struggling to overcome the effects on Mom’s skin of seventeen years of antidepressants, heavy drinking, intermittent cigarette smoking—and apathy.
An hour of applying makeup went a long way of smoothing over the roughness of her pocked and dry facial skin.
I realized Mom would never look better than she did right then, and a sharp pain pierced my heart.
Georgie, I had to admit, came through better than I expected.
Not just a trim, but a full hair cut that hacked off over half his mane, leaving just a swath of white hair combed over on top. Face rough with years but clean of all stubble, dirt, and grime. Somebody even cut away the hairs curling in his ears and nostrils. Only his bushy, sprawling eyebrows still made him look like a dwarf in those movies Rhinegold liked to watch so much.
And a black, wool three-piece suit. Of an old-fashioned cut, but still attractive. Sitting down, he unbuttoned the three buttons of the vest, but when standing he could still fasten them.
His black leather shoes shone so brightly he must have spent half the night polishing them.
A couple as excited and apparently in love as any two high school sweethearts I used to watch walking down the halls arms wrapped around each other, making out in the stairwells.
I still wanted to slap them both silly or, rather, unsilly.
Finally, we found it. A wood door with a small placard reading: Marriages. A closed transom overhead. Glass doorknob that turned. Like Humphrey Bogart or Edward G Robinson or one of those other real old dudes I used to see when I watched a cable classic movie with Mother might be waiting on the other side with a gun.
Instead, just a long, worn wooden counter with a number pad. City workers on the other side of it sitting at their desks, sipping coffee, walking around, talking on the phone, and staring at computer screens.
On our side of the counter, a bunch of men and women sitting around in worn plastic chairs, looking bored. Waiting.
