Take A Look At Me Now

by Miranda Dickinson

  ‘You didn’t have to go to so much trouble,’ I said.

  ‘Ah, this is nothing. If we invite you for dinner you won’t eat again for days,’ she smiled. ‘Now sit, please, and my husband and I will attend to you.’

  As they hurried around us delivering glasses of iced peach tea and plate after plate of delicious-looking pastries and biscuits, I stole glances around. The walls of the living room were clad in varnished wood, with panels covered in heavily patterned brown and cream wallpaper. Every flat surface boasted a crowd of photographs, displayed in frames of all shapes and sizes. As we sat at the Alfaros’ mahogany dining table it was as if we were surrounded by a black and white, sepia and Kodak-Color-hued audience, which made the small apartment feel a great deal fuller than it actually was.

  ‘Try one of these,’ Esther Alfaro urged, passing a plate of crescent-shaped pastries filled with chocolate and cinnamon. ‘They’re called rugelach. My mother always made them when we had guests. This is her recipe.’

  ‘First time I tasted them, I almost married her mother,’ Saul grinned, ducking his wife’s hand as it swung around towards him. ‘Do you like them, ladies?’

  It was difficult to answer with faces stuffed with rich pastry, but we did our best.

  ‘And so, Nell, what are your plans for your time here?’ Mrs Alfaro asked.

  ‘Sightseeing to begin with, and then I don’t know, really. It’s going to be fun discovering the city and especially spending time with Lizzie.’

  ‘I’ve taken the week off from my students so I can be Nell’s guide,’ Lizzie grinned, reaching for another delicious pastry as Mrs Alfaro looked on with unfettered pride. ‘I’m looking forward to taking her to my favourite places.’

  ‘This is a beautiful city,’ Mr Alfaro agreed. ‘I grew up here, we raised our boys here and I will be laid out here, too. Of all the many places I’ve visited in my life, San Francisco is the best. You should take Nell to Alamo Square, Lizzie. Beautiful views over the whole city. I always said to my wife if I ever became a millionaire we’d live there.’

  Mrs Alfaro harrumphed. ‘And you can see how much of a millionaire he became.’

  ‘You have a lovely home, Mrs A,’ Lizzie replied, seeing the crestfallen look Saul Alfaro was now wearing.

  ‘I do. But it isn’t Alamo Square.’

  ‘Sure, you may not have the millionaire house, but look at what you got for a husband,’ Saul said, the twinkle returning. ‘Admit it, Esther: you hit the jackpot when you got me.’

  Esther Alfaro tutted but her eyes were smiling when they met ours. ‘You’d think he was the only boy in San Francisco I could have chosen.’

  ‘How did you two meet?’ Lizzie asked. ‘I don’t think you’ve told me before.’

  ‘I fell from heaven, straight into her arms,’ Mr Alfaro joked. ‘OK, I’m kidding. Actually, I hung around her parents’ house like a sick puppy for weeks until she agreed to take a walk with me.’ He gazed over at his wife. ‘Esther Miechowicz was the most beautiful girl I ever saw. First day her family moved into my neighbourhood, I told my friends, “That’s the girl I’m gonna marry.” And it took five years, but it happened.’

  ‘Aw, Mr A, how romantic,’ Lizzie grinned.

  ‘He can be when he puts his mind to it,’ Mrs Alfaro replied, giving her husband a playful cuff. ‘You have a young man in your life, Nell?’

  I coughed and took a quick swig of iced tea. ‘Not at the moment.’ Seeing her expectant smile I knew I wouldn’t be let off the hook with such a short answer. ‘There was someone, back in England. But it didn’t work out.’

  ‘Boy must be a schmuck,’ Mrs Alfaro concluded. ‘Well, don’t you worry. I believe love has a way of finding you, especially when you least expect it. Take me and my husband: love had its work cut out when it brought us together and yet, here we are.’ Satisfied, she patted the tablecloth and furnished us all with a matronly smile. ‘Well, this is wonderful: new friends and old, all together around our table.’ She refilled our glasses with iced tea and lifted hers. ‘Nell, welcome to our city. May it exceed your wildest dreams.’

  That evening, as Lizzie and I prepared pasta with roasted vegetables bought from the market across the road on our way home from the Alfaros’, I was suddenly aware of how peaceful I felt – and how different this was to the day I’d lost my job. That day felt like a lifetime ago and I liked the way my life was changing.

  ‘This is good,’ I said, drizzling olive oil over crushed garlic, sliced beef tomatoes and huge pieces of red, yellow and green peppers.

  ‘You look happier,’ my cousin observed. ‘And very at home in my kitchen.’

  ‘I feel very at home,’ I replied, thinking how much I’d missed cooking. But with all the amazing food we had enjoyed over the last few days it was impossible not to be inspired. I thought about my dream of a diner and wondered if one day I might be preparing food for more people than just my cousin. Should I share it with Lizzie, or would she think it was a folly inspired by holiday enthusiasm? I was about to say something when she started to tell me an anecdote about Eric. Taking this as a fortuitous sign, I smiled and kept my silence.

  Next morning we were about to leave the apartment when Lizzie’s mobile rang.

  ‘Hi, Lizzie speaking … What? Wait … Margaretha, slow down … OK, now tell me …’ She looked at me then raised her eyes heavenwards. ‘Stop panicking! You’ve put in the hours, you know your pieces, you’ll be fine …’

  I could hear the frantic voice of the caller and saw Lizzie’s face tense.

  ‘I know that, honey, but I have my cousin with me and I promised I’d spend this week with her …’ She mouthed an apology at me.

  I waved my hand to catch her attention. ‘Don’t worry if there’s something you have to do …’ I whispered.

  ‘OK, OK, hold on a minute …’ She cupped her hand over the phone. ‘Nell, I’m so sorry. One of my piano students has an exam at noon and she’s having a meltdown with nerves. Would you mind if I popped out to sit with her while she takes it? I’ll be about a couple of hours?’

  ‘It’s no problem at all.’ After all the sightseeing we had done this week the prospect of a quieter day was surprisingly appealing.

  Relief spread across my cousin’s face. ‘Thank you! OK, Margaretha? I’m coming over. Yes, I’ll be there in about thirty minutes. Just keep practising the pieces, OK?’

  Lizzie gave me a spare key and fussed around making sure I knew where everything was, until I had to almost bundle her out of the door. Once alone, I made myself a cup of tea and settled down on the squashy sofa by the window to read a book I’d bought at Heathrow while waiting for my flight.

  Thirty minutes later, the beautiful late morning sunshine dappled by the leaves of the tree outside was too lovely to ignore, so I took my book, bag and Lizzie’s spare keys and headed out into Haight-Ashbury on my own. It was strange how familiar the neighbourhood felt already and I was buoyed by the freedom I felt. After spending some time in Booksmith, reading the quotes from famous books chalked on blackboards above the tall bookshelves and the quirkily opinionated handwritten review cards displayed everywhere, I wandered along Haight Street, peering into shop windows. Wandering into one of the clothing boutiques, I bought a vintage rock t-shirt and a long cotton scarf, enjoying the buzz that the little bit of shopping gave me. When I reached the corner of Haight and Clayton, the neon signs of Annie’s came into view.

  ‘Why not?’ I said out loud, crossing the road to the diner.

  I didn’t recognise the server behind the counter but he seemed to know me when I approached.

  ‘Hey, you’re Lizzie’s cousin, right? I’m PJ – I work the afternoon shift here. Laverne’s told me all about ya. Grab a seat by the counter and I’ll be straight over.’

  Slightly unnerved by my surprise celebrity, I sat up at the counter and cast a glance around the diner. It was quieter than I’d seen it during the morning rush, but then I knew from what Lizzie and Laverne had told me that breakfast and bru
nch were the busiest times here. There was always at least an hour wait from seven a.m. onwards at weekends and the queues were as much a part of the Annie’s experience as the huge list of French toast options on the menu.

  ‘You having a good day?’ PJ asked, placing a full coffee mug beside me without waiting for me to ask for it.

  ‘Great thanks. Lizzie’s helping a piano student with an exam so I’m having fun being out on my own.’

  ‘Lizzie’s great. My nephew goes to her after-school club and he loves her. She’s all he ever talks about, especially the music zone she runs at the club.’

  I loved hearing about the amount of respect people had for my cousin and it brought home to me just how much a part of the community she had become.

  ‘Now, what can I get ya? We’ve a special on blueberry pie today.’

  I couldn’t tell whether I was hungry or not – a phenomenon I’d encountered since arriving in San Francisco – but I decided this qualified as a plausible manifestation of my intention to sample American culture: and what could be more American than blueberry pie?

  When it arrived – large and glossy, dredged in powdered sugar and swimming in cream and ice cream – I took my book from my bag and began my onslaught on the mountain of sweetness. All around me, American and Latin American voices chattered. Clanks and hisses of steam drifted through from the kitchen and the siren of a police car wailed past the window. George Benson crooned from the diner’s sound system and occasionally a laugh from a particularly loud customer at a nearby table broke through it all. I felt happy and at peace in my new surroundings, enjoying the sensation of being relaxed after all the stress of losing my job. After a while, I wasn’t really reading, my eyes remaining on the same page as I let the sounds of Annie’s diner wash over me.

  ‘Nell.’

  I jumped as Mrs Alfaro’s bony hand on my shoulder brought me out of my reverie. ‘Oh hi, Mrs Alfaro.’

  ‘Forgive me, I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you enjoying your pie?’

  Slightly dazed, I nodded. ‘Yes – it’s very good.’

  ‘I’m glad. I saw you ordering the pie and I said to my husband, “She’s ordered the pie.” And he said, “The pie is good, she’ll like it.” And I agreed. And you do like it. So. There you go.’ She grinned at me.

  I wasn’t quite sure how to respond, as she seemed to be waiting for an answer. ‘I’m enjoying it, thanks.’

  ‘I’m glad. It was wonderful to have you over this week. I hope it won’t be your last visit. I would like to hear all about your England. Lizzie tells us you live in London?’

  ‘I do. In Richmond at the moment, with my parents.’

  This appeared to please Mrs Alfaro, who gave me an appreciative nod as she folded her hands in front of her. ‘And how proud they must be of you. Our sons don’t live so close. They have their own lives, of course, but as a mother I miss them. But that’s life.’ She paused, her expectant smile still in place, and appeared to be deciding what to say next. Was there something she wanted to ask me but didn’t know how? After a rather theatrical look around her, she launched into her small talk again. ‘And you’re here by yourself, I see?’

  ‘Only for a couple of hours. Lizzie had to see a piano student. But I’m enjoying being out on my own.’

  ‘This is a friendly neighbourhood, Nell. You’ll be safe here by yourself. I still feel safe even though I’m old.’ She smiled again. ‘Actually, there is someone I think you should meet, if you don’t mind the introduction?’

  This was a surprise, but I was touched that Esther Alfaro wanted to introduce me to someone in the neighbourhood. ‘Of course, that would be lovely.’

  Her eyes twinkled and for a moment I was concerned about what I might just have agreed to. ‘Good.’ She lifted a bony hand and waved back towards the busy tables of the diner. ‘My husband is bringing him over here now.’

  Before I could reply, Saul Alfaro appeared, beckoning behind him.

  ‘Is he coming?’ his wife demanded.

  ‘He is. He’s on his way.’

  ‘Well, where is he?’

  ‘Give the boy a chance, Esther! We don’t need him sprinting …’

  ‘It’s OK, Mrs A, I’m here.’ A new voice behind me spoke. It was deep and soft in tone and inexplicably made me smile before I twisted to see its owner. When I turned, my breath caught in the back of my throat.

  His wavy dark hair was pushed back behind his ears, his sunglasses were hooked into the collar of his purple t-shirt and his dove-grey eyes shone against his tanned skin. As he neared me I saw surprise colour his expression – and I knew I was staring as Max from Pier 39 offered his hand.

  ‘Wow – um – hello again,’ he smiled.

  ‘Hi.’ His hand was unbelievably warm when I shook it.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m staying a safe distance away from your coffee today,’ he joked, the mischief in his eyes causing my stomach to flutter a little. ‘You’ll have to forgive the intrusion. My friends the Alfaros are kinda persuasive when they want to be.’

  ‘I know that already.’ I was glad of the green leather stool supporting my weight: I suspected my legs might at that moment have failed had the task been assigned to them.

  ‘You two know each other? Excellent! Talk,’ Mrs Alfaro urged us. ‘Be friends now.’ Pleased with a mission successfully completed, she hooked her arm through her husband’s and they hurried back to their table.

  ‘May I?’ Max asked. I nodded and he took the vacant stool next to mine. ‘Well, this is a surprise. I guess I’m the last person you expected to see today?’

  That was an understatement. ‘You could say that. How do you know the Alfaros?’

  He smiled. ‘They’re benefactors of the art collective I’m a part of. Over the years they’ve become good friends, too. But I didn’t realise they knew you.’ He gave a self-conscious laugh and brushed stray sugar crystals from the counter-top as PJ placed a mug of coffee beside him. ‘Man, this is such a set-up. I hope you don’t think I engineered this?’

  ‘No – at least, I don’t think so.’ I shared a grin with him and was surprised by the sudden change in the air between us.

  Max laughed. ‘I swear this is as much a surprise to me as to you. Believe it or not I don’t generally make a habit of destroying beautiful women’s coffee orders.’ He pulled a face. ‘Man, now that was a line I’m not proud of …’

  His self-deprecating humour was endearing. ‘As lines go, that was a cheesy one.’

  ‘My apologies. I’m a little rusty. Quick, help me out before I confirm your suspicions that I’m a total loser.’

  It felt a little odd to be bantering with a man I’d barely met but I was enjoying the experience. ‘OK. What brings you to The Haight?’

  ‘I live here. You?’

  ‘I’m staying with my cousin for a couple of months.’

  His smile was as delicious as it had been at Pier 39. ‘This is good. I feel we’re steering into safer waters here.’ He took a sip of coffee and gazed out to Haight Street. ‘But at the risk of undoing our hard work, do you mind if I say something?’

  I folded my arms and pretended to be concerned. ‘We-ell, I don’t know …’

  Max placed his hand on his heart. ‘Just one thing, I promise. If you don’t like it you can tell me to leave?’

  ‘Fair enough. Please do.’

  He leaned in slightly, but not so much as to make me uncomfortable and lowered his voice. ‘OK, here it is: I’m glad I bumped into you this week. And it’s good to meet you again.’ The faintest hint of colour appeared underneath his cheekbones and he sat back again.

  Maybe it was the considerable caffeine content of Annie’s house blend, but my head was spinning. Taken aback, I struggled to reply, hoping my smile was enough.

  ‘That said …’ Clearly keen to change the subject now his dangerous admission had been aired, Max dug in the pocket of his dark grey chinos and handed me a delightfully warm and slightly creased business card. ‘My art collective h
as an exhibition in two weeks. I’d love it if you could come. Bring your cousin, too, of course.’

  MAX ROSSI

  Haight Urban Art Collective

  So, your name is Max Rossi … I read the card, which listed the various art disciplines represented by the group. ‘That sounds interesting. I’d love to come and see what you do. Which one of these are you?’

  ‘Pardon me?’ He tipped his head to one side to read the card and his finger brushed the back of my hand as he pointed. ‘Oh. I’m a sculptor. Mostly. I tend to use whatever medium feels appropriate – I don’t like to be restricted. Although I tried a bit of improv last season with our theatre team and, let’s just say, I won’t be filming Inside The Actor’s Studio any time soon.’

  ‘I see.’ My heart had begun to thump embarrassingly loudly and I was convinced everyone in Annie’s could hear it. I was aware of the time and that Lizzie would probably be back at home wondering where I was. Besides, if I stayed here much longer I might lose my nerve altogether and so far I’d managed to hold my own in the conversation quite well.

  Max seemed to sense that it was time to leave. ‘I’d better go. I have an art class in an hour and, trust me, I do not want to face their wrath if I’m late.’

  ‘Sounds scary! So, I suppose I’ll see you around?’

  He smiled as he hopped down from the stool. ‘Given our recent history I’d say that’s a given.’ With a wave back at the Alfaros he gave me another half-salute. ‘Great to see you, Nell.’

  ‘You too, Max.’

  And with that, he left Annie’s, striding along Clayton Street until he disappeared from view. Heart still racing, I stared back at my pie, which was still three-quarters uneaten. I stared at it for a long time, my thoughts only returning to the present when I realised PJ was attempting to refill my coffee mug.

  ‘No – no more coffee thanks, PJ. I think I’ve had enough.’

  PJ surveyed me with the kind of suspicion normally reserved for people who say they think large lizard men are about to invade earth. ‘You sure about that? We have decaf – if I can sneak it past Annie.’