Vintage

by Susan Gloss

  “How’s this?” Sam asked, stopping at the top of a small hill, a few yards removed from the crowd.

  “Perfect,” she said. She still felt warm inside from the unexpected kiss. They sat cross-legged on a blanket Sam had brought and sipped wine while they waited for darkness.

  “So you remember me from Bent Creek,” Violet said. “Is it just because I hung around Jed?”

  “No—well, yes. Everyone knew Jed. But there was something different about you. You didn’t dress like the other popular kids, for one.”

  Violet laughed. “Yeah, I was the only kid who wore her grandmother’s fur coat to school. I got teased a lot about the way I dressed before I started dating Jed. Then people kind of shut up about it.”

  “So why did you leave town?” Sam spread chèvre on a hunk of bread and handed it to Violet. “You always seemed so happy and confident in high school.”

  “Did I? I wasn’t. I think the problem was that I wanted what I thought I was supposed to want, without thinking about what would really make me happy. I think that’s why I stuck with Jed for so long. Taking care of him gave me a purpose, and I didn’t know who I was without that.”

  “Do you know now?” Sam asked. “I mean, what makes you happy?”

  “Independence. I like working for myself, having my own business. Though I wish I could be better at certain parts of it.”

  “Like what?”

  Sam’s questions were so fluid, his expression so sympathetic, that Violet forgot to be self-protective when she answered. “What I consider to be the boring stuff. Computers and records. Oh, and legal stuff. I’ve run into some problems with my landlord that have made my life pretty stressful lately.” She stopped, nibbled on the piece of bread. “God, I’m not doing a very good job of selling myself, am I?”

  “You don’t need to sell me anything. I asked you out, remember?” Sam leaned back on his elbows and stretched his long legs in front of him.

  “Violet, is that you?”

  Violet turned her head and saw Karen and Tom walking toward her. Karen carried Edith across the front of her body in a cloth sling.

  “Hey,” Violet said, motioning for them to come over. “Karen, Tom, this is Sam.”

  Karen’s eyes swept over Sam. “Nice to meet you. This is our daughter, Edith.”

  “Speaking of Edith, give me that baby,” Violet said, reaching her arms up.

  Karen took the baby from the sling and deposited her in Violet’s arms. Edith stirred and stretched, then settled back into a slumber.

  “You’re brave, bringing this little one to the fireworks,” Violet said. “Won’t they wake her up?”

  “Oh, we’re on our way out,” Tom said. “We just came to walk around the park a little bit. Gotta get out of the house every now and then.”

  Sam held up the wine bottle. “Would you like some?”

  “Nah,” Karen said. “We should get going before they start blowing things up and wake the beast.”

  Violet stroked the baby’s clenched fist. “She doesn’t seem like much of a beast right now.”

  “That’s why she needs to keep sleeping.” Karen scooped Edith from Violet’s arms and stuck her back in the sling, all with such quick skill that the baby didn’t stir. “You two have fun.”

  “Bye,” Sam said. “Good meeting you.”

  After they were out of earshot, Sam asked, “You like babies, huh?”

  It wasn’t the type of question Violet was accustomed to hearing on a first date—most of her computer-arranged companions wanted to talk about how much money they made or how they didn’t usually date people they met online, always lying on both accounts. With the baby question, Violet felt like she was being tested, but she didn’t know which answer to choose, which circle to fill in with her no. 2 pencil. If she said she didn’t like babies, she’d be lying. If she said she did, she feared she’d scare Sam off.

  Finally, she said, “Nah. I hate puppies, too.”

  Sam laughed. “Yeah, and kittens are obnoxious, too.”

  Violet picked a handful of grass and sifted it through her fingers. “It’s so crazy to see Karen with a kid. I wonder what Edith will be like once she starts walking and talking and stuff.”

  “I hope she has an easier time of things than I did when I was a kid.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If you remember me at all from high school, you’ll recall that I was kind of a dork growing up. I was a sci-fi and Star Wars fanatic and didn’t know the first thing about how to talk to girls.”

  She tilted her head and looked at his face, so handsome in the fading light. “Yeah, I remember,” she said. “When you first came into the store, I couldn’t place you, but I pulled out my yearbooks.”

  “Those were some rough years.” Sam crossed his arms, and his eyes took on the same darkness as the July sky.

  The first few fireworks—test rockets, really—popped above them and the spectators oohed and fell quiet. Violet thought about the people she’d chosen to spend her time with back in high school, and the pleasure they took in making life miserable for kids who didn’t possess good looks, athletic ability, or some other inherent cool factor.

  “I know Jed was part of the group that picked on you,” Violet said. “I’m sorry I didn’t stop them.”

  “It’s okay,” Sam said. “Anyway, I don’t really remember you having any part in it. You always seemed to kind of hang back a bit from the rest of the herd.”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t think for myself much, either. Anyway, I’m sorry things were so rough for you back then.”

  “Well, I turned out reasonably okay, so I don’t want you to feel sorry for me,” Sam said. “Unless, of course, it means you’ll sleep with me, in which case, you can feel as sorry as you want.”

  As she sat through the rest of the fireworks display, Violet wondered if she’d ever be able to leave Bent Creek behind her. As much as she tried to move on, reminders still surfaced from time to time, like frost pushing stones through the soft dirt of a spring field. She’d be going along, living her life, when suddenly she’d trip on one.

  Violet looked at Sam in the flickering light and wondered again, like she had in the store, why she hadn’t noticed his kind eyes or contagious smile back in high school. She’d been too busy soaking in the validation that came along with being part of the in crowd. It had taken her years to gather up the courage to figure out who she was without it.

  When the grand finale exploded its gaudy, deafening display, there was so much smoke in the sky that Violet couldn’t see clearly anymore.

  Sam must have noticed the shift in her mood, because as he drove her home, he asked, “Are you okay?”

  Violet nodded. “I guess all the talk of Bent Creek just got me thinking about some not-so-good memories.”

  “Well, Bent Creek is miles—and years—away from us now,” he said as he pulled his car into the lot behind her building. “Let’s focus on the moment, huh?”

  “How do you do it?” she asked.

  “What?”

  “Focus on the moment and not get caught up in thinking about all the bad stuff behind you, or worrying about the future.”

  Sam turned off the ignition. “Well, first, you do this.” He leaned over to Violet in the passenger’s seat and kissed her neck.

  A warm current ran through Violet’s body. “Mmm-hmm,” she said. “And what else?”

  “This.” He kissed the other side of her neck, then lingered at her lips. The summer night was still and hot, and it was all Violet could do not to climb into the driver’s seat and wrap her legs around Sam.

  “I’m still having trouble focusing,” she said, putting on her most inviting smile. “Do you want to come up and help me some more?”

  Sam opened his door.

  In her room, on top of the bold green blooms of her Marimekko bedspread, Sam unzipped the striped dress that Violet had so carefully chosen earlier that evening. She pulled at the straps of her bra, clutched at Sam’s
shoulders to bring him closer, so eager was she to feel him on her, in her. But Sam slowed her, kissed each freckle on her skin as he revealed it.

  Violet had brought other men back to her apartment before, but never on the first date. With Sam, though, she had a sense of urgency she hadn’t felt with anyone else. She sensed she had already missed out on too much time with him, too many years wasted chasing what other people thought she should want, rather than what she wanted. And, in this moment, she had no question about what she wanted.

  Other men treated sex like an action movie they’d chosen to watch with her, attacking the experience with consumer-level hunger and hoping, as a side benefit, that Violet enjoyed it, too. Sam approached the experience more like reading a long and beautiful novel, taking as much pleasure in what was yet to be revealed as in what lay before him on the open page. And, after they’d reached the satisfying end, with Violet tangled breathless and bare in Sam’s arms, they went back to the beginning and began again.

  Chapter 12

  INVENTORY ITEM: blazer

  APPROXIMATE DATE: early 1980s

  CONDITION: excellent

  ITEM DESCRIPTION: TWA uniform jacket. Navy blue, double-breasted blazer with shoulder pads. Wing insignia on left lapel.

  SOURCE: retired airline attendant

  Amithi

  AMITHI STOOD AT THE register, clutching a bulging garbage bag in each hand. For the last month or so, ever since the awful Chicago trip, she had been coming in to Hourglass Vintage at least once a week. Each time she came, she brought a larger haul of items to sell, as if purging her closets could purge her past of all secrets and lies.

  Violet stood behind the counter, humming to herself as she arranged red roses in a crystal vase. She looked up and smiled when she saw Amithi. “Hi. Good to see you again.”

  “Those are beautiful flowers,” Amithi said. “Did you get them from someone special?”

  “Uh-huh.” Violet placed the vase to one side of the counter. “It’s all pretty new.”

  Amithi envied the soft look in Violet’s eyes. She would have given anything to go back to the sense of hope she had when her relationship with Naveen was brand-new. With Violet’s help, she heaved the bags onto the counter.

  “I apologize for the garbage bags,” she said. “But I had so many items this time, I did not have anything else to put them in. Normally I would have folded everything up a little more neatly.”

  In fact, since she and Naveen had come back from Chicago—she by car and he by bus, at her insistence—Amithi hadn’t felt like doing anything the way she normally did. Last night she’d locked herself in the den, intending to watch television. Instead, she had ended up paging through family photo albums that, at first, made her cry, but then made her sick with anger. In every picture, no matter where it was taken—at Jayana’s first birthday party, at the beach, at the celebration dinner to commemorate Naveen making tenure—Amithi saw deceit behind her husband’s smile.

  When Naveen had knocked on the door of the den to ask Amithi about dinner, she hadn’t responded. She wasn’t sure what he had done to feed himself and she didn’t care. Later she had found an empty cereal bowl next to the sink and felt a stab of pleasure when she thought of him eating cornflakes for dinner.

  Violet pulled out a bundle of scarves from one of the bags. Amithi helped her spread the shimmering silk out on the countertop, admiring how the colors contrasted with one another: deep purple, ochre, and emerald green. Some were embroidered with paisley patterns in gold thread, others with vines or birds.

  Violet touched the smooth fabric of a red scarf. “Are these from India?”

  “The silk is. But I embroidered them myself, years ago.”

  “By hand?” Violet ran her hands over the thread of an intricate leaf design.

  “Of course. I know there are machines for that, but I don’t have one, and anyway, silk is so tricky. Beautiful things often are.”

  “Why are you selling so many things all of a sudden? Are you cleaning out your closet?”

  “Cleaning out my life.”

  “Is everything all right?” Violet asked.

  Amithi considered herself to be a private person. She’d made a habit of never burdening other people with her troubles.

  “I’m fine,” she replied.

  Violet raised her eyebrows. “Really? I don’t believe you.”

  Amithi sighed. “Someone close to me betrayed me.”

  Once the words were out of her lips, she felt the weight of her sadness lift, just for a moment.

  “I’m so sorry to hear that,” Violet said. “Was it your husband?”

  Amithi hesitated for a second before nodding. She was afraid that Violet would judge her for continuing to live in the same house as Naveen. Many women would have packed their things and left as soon as they found out about the affair. Amithi had thought about it. She knew that if she confided in Jayana about what was going on, her daughter would likely invite her to stay at her condo. Amithi had even gone as far as taking out her suitcase half a dozen times, only to put it back in the closet a few hours later without packing a single item.

  She hated Naveen for what he’d done to her, to the life she thought they’d built together. But without that life, Amithi had no bearings. She felt like a broken kite tumbling around on a strong wind.

  “Do you need to talk about it?” Violet asked.

  Amithi already felt like she’d ripped open her chest for examination. Inside lived all of her deepest fears. Perhaps Naveen loved Paula in a way he’d never loved Amithi. After all, he’d chosen to date Paula on his own, whereas his parents had chosen Amithi. He’d met Paula during a time when the country was feverish with sexual and political rebellion. With that type of passion as a backdrop, his marriage to Amithi probably seemed dull, dutiful. Amithi couldn’t help but wonder if Naveen wished he’d married Paula instead.

  Despite the doubts and questions battling inside her head, Amithi couldn’t say any more, not today. “Perhaps another time,” she said.

  Violet peered into one of the shopping bags. “Are you sure you want to get rid of all these things now? Do you want to wait until you’re feeling more—”

  “I don’t need them,” Amithi said. “I have so many scarves and saris—this is only a fraction of them. I still have dozens in my closet. My daughter doesn’t want them, either. I pointed out that the scarves would be pretty even just with the blue jeans she likes to wear all the time, but she says it is not her style.”

  Violet held one of the scarves up to examine its size. “They’re big enough to wear as shawls, too. The colorful ones would be gorgeous with a little black dress.” She patted the side of one of the garbage bags. “It will probably take me some time to look through everything.”

  “That’s all right. Take as long as you want,” Amithi said. Any excuse to get away from the house, away from the domestic existence that now seemed so meaningless, appealed to her at the moment. What was the point of keeping a tidy house and preparing homemade meals if there was no one around to appreciate it? Jayana was grown and no longer wanted Amithi’s attention. And Naveen didn’t deserve it.

  “You’re very talented, you know that?” Violet said as she folded a scarf and set it aside. “I wish I could sew like that.”

  “Oh, sewing is not so hard. Like many other endeavors, you just need to have patience.”

  “I know some basics of sewing, like hemming and taking things in, but it takes me such a long time even to do the simplest things,” Violet said. “I’ve got a fashion show coming up in a few weeks to raise money for the store and I know there are going to be a lot of last-minute alterations to get everything to fit the way I want it to on the models. I’m dreading doing all that sewing. I’ll probably be up all night the evening before the show.”

  “Perhaps I could help you,” Amithi said. A fashion show sounded like a good distraction from her disastrous marriage. It was also something Naveen would have thought was silly, which made her w
ant to help out even more.

  “I probably can’t afford your fees,” Violet said.

  “I don’t charge any fees. Sewing is just a hobby for me. I enjoy it.”

  “I’m not sure it’s going to be all that enjoyable. It will probably just be a lot of measuring and small adjustments. And here’s the trickiest part—all the alterations have to be temporary. We don’t want to do anything to change a garment’s original size. We just need it to look good on the runway.”

  “I think I can do that. I’ve had to take my own clothes in and out plenty of times because I always seem to be losing and gaining weight. I never make any cuts or do anything permanent because who knows if I will get fat again?” Amithi let out a bitter laugh. Maybe she’d let herself get fat. If she hadn’t managed to hold Naveen’s attention when she was young and slender and smooth skinned, why even bother trying to hold his attention now?

  “If you really don’t mind, I could use your help.” Violet examined a blue scarf with an embroidered feather design repeated along its border. “Are these peacock feathers?”

  Amithi nodded. “It’s the national bird of India.”

  “I love peacocks,” Violet said. She pointed to the wall, where a green hat hung, adorned with an iridescent peacock feather.

  “Sometimes I think that India’s national bird should not be a bird at all, but an airplane, because so many Indian people I know have spent a lot of time on airplanes.” Amithi touched the blue scarf. “On second thought, maybe I will keep this one.”

  June 20, 1979

  Amithi felt weary looks being cast in her direction as she hushed the howling Jayana and begged her to go to sleep. On the first leg of the flight, from Chicago to the stopover in London, the baby had been very well behaved. Now, on this final leg from Heathrow Airport to Delhi, Jayana would not stop crying, sometimes screaming so forcefully that her voice cracked and took on a machine-gun sound. Even the ever-smiling flight attendant in her tailored jacket and white blouse was beginning to look annoyed. It was as if the American-born Jayana was resisting the journey back to her roots.