“You could have refused,” I offer.
“Sure, I could have, if I hadn’t been so bold as to pay the entire cost of the table in advance,” he points out, looking at me with an intensity that makes all words superfluous. What is this? Did I get this right? Jane and Margherita, the perfect woman, forced poor Ernest to carry a table up four flights of stairs all by himself by withholding the payment for the object? I’m flabbergasted. I shift my gaze to Jane, who maintains her air of innocence while sampling a cucumber sandwich. I fear my mouth is gaping in amazement. I would never have expected such a thing from a nice old lady like her.
“I see now that young Gil is beginning to perceive the Machiavellian spirit hiding behind that reassuring embroidered dress.” It’s true, Ernest is right, I can see it. Wow, I really need to reassess Jane. She looks now like the typical person you don’t want to mess with.
“Don’t be melodramatic, Erny. If I remember correctly, you didn’t do it all on your own. Jared helped you,” Jane points out, not at all upset by Ernest’s not so veiled insinuations.
“Jared? I fear I have forgotten his physiognomy,” he feigns indifference, as if someone could believe it.
“Oh, don’t be foolish, Erny,” the lady of the house scolds him good-naturedly.
“Please, Jane, don’t call me by that ridiculous nickname.”
“I know you don’t like it, but your name is too reminiscent of one of those late 19th century comedies,” Jane teases. It is evident that she is well acquainted with all of poor Ernest’s weak spots. They sound like a couple who have been married for many years.
“Oh, I didn’t make you out to be a woman of letters, Jane,” he retorts.
“You didn’t make me out to be all sorts of things, Erny dear,” Jane ends the quarrel. Ok, no tie this time. It may be odd, but I have the feeling this is the epilogue of every squabble between them. It’s hard to square up to a character like Jane.
I involuntarily burst out laughing. Though they’re fighting, you can clearly see that they respect and feel affection for each other.
“You find it amusing, Gil, just because you haven’t yet been so unfortunate as to fall into one of her traps,” Ernest calmly points out. I know I should take his warning seriously, but I really can’t stop laughing. And to think that the first time I met Ernest I had the feeling he was the person I should be careful not to vex around here. Every man has his kryptonite, and so does he, it seems.
“In any case, it certainly wasn’t done out of meanness. I knew you wouldn’t have to do all the work on your own. In fact, if you recall, I went myself to ask Jared to give you a hand. And we had to do it that way because the carrier wanted almost the same price as the table to carry it up. It’s unheard of!” Jane holds forth. “Besides, I wouldn’t have had to contrive such a deception if you weren’t so lazy.”
“Oh, so now I am to blame for that unpleasant episode?”
“Of course,” Jane replies, as if it were totally normal. “It seems that either someone forces you men to do something, or you keep well away from it. Isn’t that so, Gil?”
“I don’t know, Jane. I don’t know enough specimens of the male species to come to such a conclusion. I trust your assessment,” I imitate the cultured speech of my guests.
“And rightly so, dear.”
“I find this conversation unfair. I am outnumbered, and forced to be the champion of my gender,” Ernest complains, mildly amused. Then he turns towards the door to the lobby, which is ajar. “Upstairs tenant, why don’t you stop by for a minute,” he calls out, only barely raising his hand in greeting.
Then I notice Jared. He’s dressed as usual, as if he doesn’t have a single decent t-shirt in his wardrobe – if he actually has put anything inside his wardrobe. His slightly tousled hair and the beard he obstinately refuses to shave make him look like a savage. Too bad he’s a charming savage. At first he seems to decline the invitation, as if he hasn’t understood he’s the upstairs tenant. Then he turns towards us and stands stock still. He’s holding a couple of letters in his hand and looks torn. Ernest notices, so he repeats his gesture inviting him to come in.
“Come on, dear, don’t be afraid, we don’t bite, you know?” Jane calls out to him, though said by her, right now – she’s not really convincing. Not after what I heard this afternoon.
Jared looks first at Ernest’s hand, which is still waving him in, then Jane’s kindly smile, and finally me. He remains still for a moment, his eyes fixed on mine, then he shrugs and gives in.
“We are debating a thorny problem,” Ernest pronounces seriously.
Jared studies me in search of an answer to his mute question: what is he doing here? If only he knew, maybe he’d laugh too. Or maybe he’d run away as fast as his legs could carry him.
“It seems that the representatives of the fair sex present here are convinced that we men are not capable of undertaking even the slightest chore exceeding our share.”
“In short, you’re lazy,” I feel I have to explain, seeing Jared’s frown. He must feel he’s ended up in the loony bin.
“What an inelegant term,” Ernest complains.
“It’s what you are,” Jane agrees.
“As you please,” Ernest immediately concedes, making me smile. “The ladies maintain that if we weren’t forced to, we wouldn’t do a thing, and I find myself outnumbered defending our cause.”
“I’m not interested in this kind of argument,” Jared cuts short, apparently not at all in the mood for this conversation. He never lets himself be lured into something fun – always wearing that morose expression!
“So you surrender?” I tease him, rising from the floor so I can look him in the eye.
“What should I be surrendering to?”
“To the preponderance of evidence: you’re lazy and you don’t want to admit it.”
Jared stares at me for a moment, a spark of interest in his emerald eyes attracting my attention. “We’re not that different, it’s just that we don’t make a huge fuss about it when we get something done.” His reference to the hubbub he had to put up with because of me doesn’t escape my notice, but it’s not like I made a huge fuss, the noise was an integral part of the work.
“For sure you didn’t come down to help me,” I taunt him, sure of my statement. If you don’t count the time he came down to the ground floor the day I fell from the ladder, the only reason he abandoned his dark cave was to kick my poor vacuum cleaner.
“You’re right about that, Gil,” Jane interrupts in support. She’s a wonderful ally. “Letting a poor girl do such a demanding job all on her own isn’t at all chivalrous.”
“I couldn’t have helped her even if I’d wanted to,” Ernest points out, just to make things clear. As if it were necessary. I will never thank him enough for what he is doing for me.
At this point Jared is on his own. Jane looks him straight in the eye with a challenge he can’t evade, while Ernest sips the dregs of tea left in his cup.
“So this is why you called me,” he realizes, aghast. I confess it had escaped me too, but all I need is to glimpse the spontaneous smile on Jane’s very thin lips and the one hidden under Ernest’s mustache to realize that if Jane may seem a bit devilish on her own, the two of them together are downright diabolical.
“You could help Gil with the heavier work and take advantage of it to spend some time outside your apartment. You never go out, dear, you need a little fresh air, too, don’t you?” Jane tries to convince him, returning to her good-natured expression, the one I have come to know so well over the past few days.
“I have work to do and little time to do it,” Jared protests, slightly annoyed. Because it’s clear he doesn’t like the idea one bit, but he can’t backtalk his landlady either. I’m one thing, Jane is another entirely.
“I’m certain your work doesn’t take up all twenty-four hours of the day, and I’m convinced you need to socialize a bit. Helping Gil could be an excellent opportunity. It’s not good for you t
o always be cooped up in the house. You need to have fun every now and then.”
“And this is fun?” he asks ironically, giving me an eloquent look. Let’s be clear: this wasn’t my idea.
“A little physical exercise helps release tension and free the mind. I’m sure it will do you good, don’t you think, Erny?”
“Absolutely, Jane,” Ernest sadistically agrees.
Jared is taken aback. He’s just realized he’s been outmanoeuvred. He looks at me in the hope of finding a way out, but there’s something in his expression, a slight bewilderment or uncertainty that I’ve noticed far too many times over the last few days, that prevents me from coming to his aid. He needs to take his mind off whatever is keeping him segregated in the house in front of a computer screen all day, and if there’s no better way, I’m willing to make do with this subterfuge. I shrug and hold my hands up in manifest powerlessness. He shakes his head and passes a hand through his hair. I think that this habit is to be blamed for the state of his mane.
“Well, I’d say it’s high time we took our leave, isn’t it, Erny?” Jane sets her cup on the table and gets up from the chair, stretching a bit. “At my age it is best not to linger in the damp. Poor old bones!” she considers as she begins placing cups, spoons, and teapot on the tray she used to carry down the delicious snack. Ernest follows suit, standing and pushing his glasses up his nose. It’s incredible how this man towers over us: standing he is even taller than Jared, who is certainly not a small man. He could easily have been a basketball or volleyball player in a previous life. He folds the chair on which Jane had been sitting and with the same hand gathers up his stool, then he waits for Jane to fix up the tray and finish clearing off the table to take it with his free hand. It is obvious that he wouldn’t have needed Jared’s help to carry Margherita’s table up to the fourth floor. Judging by the total panache and elegance with which he moves, he would have managed it perfectly well on his own.
“Have a good evening, Gil. Don’t get too tired and try to rest a bit tomorrow. I’ll see you on Monday at one o’clock at the shop,” Ernest says goodbye as he steps through the door with his cumbersome burden.
“Don’t I have to come tomorrow?” As far as I know, shops don’t close on Saturdays… in fact I don’t think they close on Sundays, either.
“No, dear, Saturdays and Sundays I rest too.”
“As if he needed it,” Jane teases him, passing in front of him with the tray to mount the stairs.
“You know what I think, Jane: only those who have nothing better to do resort to work, and I have plenty of better things to do,” he replies, following her.
I am alone in the shop with the lingering scent of tea in the air. Alone, if you don’t consider Jared who is glaring at me, annoyed, his fists on his hips. If he keeps it up, those letters won’t reach his apartment in one piece.
“You should have saved me!” he furiously reproaches me.
“I didn’t know how,” I try to defend myself. In fact, I didn’t even try to think of a way, but it’s best if I keep that to myself.
“You could have said you didn’t need me, that you could manage fine on your own, or any of the rubbish you give Jane when she offers you somebody’s help.”
“You said it yourself, it’s rubbish. I really could use a hand,” I smile innocently, with the result that he gets even more irritated. It’s hard to figure out how to deal with this guy.
“I have work to do.”
“Like everyone. The only difference is that you never seem to take a break, you don’t have a schedule, you work even at night,” I remind him, as if it weren’t evident enough from his tired gaze how desperately he needs a break.
“I work at night because I can’t sleep,” he lets slip in a sudden bout of sincerity, which he immediately appears to regret.
“You see, I’m right: you’re tired, you need to rest, to take a day off. So tomorrow morning I’ll come get you and you’ll come down with me and help me paint,” I suggest, trying to infect him with some positivity. Try and try again, I’ll eventually have my way, right?
He sighs, leans back against the doorpost, and lets his arms fall down by his sides.
“I don’t think what I need is a day off.”
“You don’t? What then?”
“I need to finish my work quickly.”
“And can you?” I try to make him reason.
“It’s that… it doesn’t depend only on me,” he has some difficulty explaining.
“So your schedule is set by others, right?” I don’t want to put pressure on him, but I want him to realize that the life of the penguins in Antarctica doesn’t depend on him, so he can take some time off. At least I don’t think so – I didn’t really get what his job is.
“Yes, there’s a lot of useless downtime,” he replies, annoyed more by the fact itself than by my question.
“So why don’t you give yourself a day off? If you don’t want to help me here we could… I don’t know, go out, go to Kennedy Park or to the Interchange if you prefer.” Someone tell me I didn’t just say what I think I just said. I didn’t ask him out, did I? It sounds compromising, especially after Margherita’s allusions the other day over lunch.
I look up at him, and judging by his baffled expression, I’d say I did. Damn it, I never learn.
“Are you asking me out?” Jared pulls away from the doorjamb and fixes his eyes on mine, with a mingled expression of gloating and challenge. Here we go – why let it go without making a big deal? It would be too banal, too obvious. And besides, why does he look like he’s suddenly in splendid shape again?
“No, I’m just giving you a choice,” I play down my outburst. I’m not good at these things, I never was. Lillian is the expert in sentimental relationships, dates, and stuff like that. I’ve had one boyfriend in my entire life, and that was in high school. One of those affairs without too much commitment, a few kisses here and there, lots of afternoons at the movies. I was never a conventional beauty, I’ve never had suitors. Lots of male friends, sure, but no admirers. Lillian always says it’s my fault, that I expect who knows what, that I’m not made for hit and runs. Men find me pleasant, cheerful, but it’s as if I had a sticker on my forehead saying ‘Wanted: Good man, available for marriage. Only serious offers’ that keeps men away. I am certainly not used to seeing anything more than a friend in a man, and the trouble is that I see too many other things in Jared. If we add the fact that I speak without thinking, the cat is out of the bag. It’s a good thing I’ve never had a serious crush so far; I’ve been saved from many an epic blunder, but now? I haven’t developed the skills to get out of situations like this, I’ve never had to. What do I do now?
“Well, then I’d rather help you. I can’t sit around doing nothing,” is his innocent reply. I sigh with relief.
“Perfect. I’ll come and get you tomorrow morning,” I say, hoping he won’t notice the color of my cheeks right now. “Try and get some sleep tonight.”
“I’ll try,” he replies simply, going out of the door and mounting the stairs with his gaze fixed on the letters he’s holding.
6
I was the one who passed a sleepless night this time. I frittered away the hours thinking about Jared, and this is no good. If I told Lillian, she would agree with me, I’m sure. Maybe tomorrow I could take advantage of her visit and ask her for advice. I’m torn: on the one hand I don’t like complications, and love affairs are complicated by definition, besides, I’m not in love. On the other, though, I can’t deny that Jared is an interesting guy. I like talking to him like I’ve never enjoyed talking to anyone else, and this is slightly alarming. I have to admit our conversations are not conciliatory or friendly – they’re more like skirmishes; but they are also so enjoyable and stimulating that I fear I could never tire of squabbling with him. Besides, the fact that he is slowly opening up to me makes me hope a true friendship may come of it. Sure, no complications, just a nice friendship. Why deprive myself of it?
“Is something on your mind this morning?” Grandma Natalie’s voice brings me back to reality.
“No, Grandma, I just didn’t sleep well.”
“Why don’t you rest, then? There’s no hurry, and tomorrow your father and sister are coming to help you,” she points out with her habitual practicality. She’s right, but I can’t consider the idea of staying home today of all days.
“Don’t worry, Grandma. I still have to fix up some things before tomorrow, but I won’t do too much,” I promise her, getting up from the table and putting my plate in the kitchen sink.
“You won’t be home for lunch, I imagine.”
“No, I’ll be back tonight,” I confirm with a smile, giving her a resounding kiss on the cheek before I head for the door.
“I think you’re doing too much as usual,” I hear her scold from the kitchen. She’s always worrying.
When I leave the house, I am enveloped in a thick fog. The temperature is mild, but the humidity is overpowering. I hurriedly reach the bus stop and get on the bus, happy to escape from the unpleasant damp feeling clinging to me. The vehicle is nearly empty, just a few old ladies and a couple of middle aged women. I immediately find an empty seat and settle down – this has never happened before, despite the early morning hour. The journey seems longer than usual, and I try to convince myself that it’s because the driver is cautious because of the fog, rather than attribute it to the odd urge to see Jared again that has suddenly come upon me. I really don’t know what has come over me. I concentrate on what I can make out through the window, trying not to think of my heart, which has taken to beating a bit too fast for my liking. When I finally think I have succeeded, the fact that I have reached my destination sends all my attempts flying south. I get off like the wind and I almost run to number 1577. I pause in front of the door attempting to catch my breath. The watch I’m wearing reads seven thirty-five – possibly a little early to pester people on a Saturday morning. Unfortunately, the thought crossed my mind after I had gone upstairs and when I was already standing in front of Jared’s door. I ring the bell and wait without taking my finger off the buzzer – I know I’ll have to ring it a couple more times at least. I wait about thirty seconds and sure enough I have to ring again. Finally I can hear noises coming from inside, so I pull away from the doorbell and try to stifle the involuntary smile forming on my lips. Not that I am able to, let’s be clear.
What a Girl Wants Page 8
