He didn’t want to let her go but he couldn’t think of anything he needed but comfort right now. However, he had too much pride to show any weakness. Instead he answered, “No Flo, you can go.” He was about to hand up the speakerphone and quickly tried to think of something, “Oh, Flo?”
“Yes, Mr. Costea?”
“Emm, uh, enjoy the weekend,” he said to her surprise, unable to think of any task to keep her.
“Well thank you, Mr. Costea. You too. Tell your wife and son I said hello.”
My son? he thought to himself. “Sure Flo,” he replied as he reluctantly hung up the phone, cutting off his last chance at human comfort. He even wanted to apologize to her for yelling, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. He remembered the way he left his wife that morning. He felt sickened by his rudeness. He picked up the phone to his ear and called home. No answer. He wondered again where his son might be.
He wouldn’t really kill me, Mr. Costea said to himself, remembering Charlie’s promise. He was probably just trying to scare me into apologizing, into being a nicer person. Still…it’s working, he concluded.
It was now a few minutes after five. Mr. Costea paced the floor for a moment then without hesitation picked up his suit jacket and put it on. His colleagues saw him pacing and asked, “You leaving?”
The clock said 5:05. “I’m just going to stay a little while longer. I’ll see you guys tomorrow,” he said, sitting nervously at his desk. Then he turned to look out the window.
“See ya Monday,” they replied.
He swung his chair back around. The numbers read 5:07. He picked up the phone and called security.
“Did Charlie Daniels or any other suspicious characters enter the building?”
“No sir.”
He hung up the phone. 5:08. He sat nervously at the desk, spinning around to look out the window again. He turned again and looked back at the clock, 5:10. What happened to 5:09, he whispered to himself.
Suddenly the fire alarm rang. Startled, he tipped his chair backwards falling to the ground. His watch hit the stand and came to a stop under the cracked glass.
“Let’s go people,” Cattman entered and yelled again. “It’s ShowTime!”
Julie stood up and looked at her long brown dress with red symbols again. She looked down at her bare feet. She looked in the mirror at her darkened skin and felt as if she was waking up from a long dream. She felt as if her entire life had been a dream of hopes and wishes and now she was finally waking up to live out that dream in some wakeful state she had not known before. She could feel the true love flowing out of her to all things. So this is what Charlie was talking about, she whispered to herself.
“You look lovely, Juliet,” her mother suddenly said.
“You made it. How’d you get off work?”
“I wouldn’t miss this for the world. Not anymore. Mel is reluctantly covering my shift,” she laughed.
“I’m sorry I’ve been angry with you,” Julie apologized and gave her mother the most sincere hug she had ever received. At that moment, Jill knew that she was finally, completely and utterly, forgiven.
“Thank you, Juliet. Thank you.”
Julie smiled and looked down at her bare feet again, also darkened by the makeup.
“He’ll be here. I know he will. Somehow he’ll find his way here tonight,” Julie said with confidence.
“Who?” Her mother asked.
“Charlie Daniels. He’ll be here.”
As Mr. Costea was about to meet his fate, and Julie began her acting career, a very strange sequence of events that began over a week ago was about to complete itself.
The day Bob Arand brought Julie to meet Cattman, a clumsy young stagehand came rushing into the room, carrying a box of tickets for the play. When the stagehand tripped over his own shoelace, he dropped the box of tickets around Cattman’s feet. One of the tickets caught a gust of wind as the maintenance man opened the door beside them. As Cattman yelled to keep the door shut because of the cold breeze and his fear of the outside world, everyone turned to look at the embarrassed man standing in the doorway with his broom and dustpan in hand. As everyone was distracted, the breeze blew in and lifted one ticket up into the air and right out the vent above the other door, which only the stagehand saw, but was not about to mention, as he assumed he was in enough trouble already.
The ticket blew across the parking lot in the cold New York wind, down the sidewalk and across the street, landing in the midst of littered paper bags, old coffee cups, and forgotten, crumbled flyers. The ticket laid in the gutter with the rest of the forgotten rubbish until early Saturday morning, when a street sweeper wandered by, sucking up all the trash. The ticket was cast into the air again. The wind carried it into an alley, blowing it relentlessly down the long corridor many blocks away over the next couple days. On Tuesday, which happened to be a day Charlie wandered across the park, the ticket also entered the park and blew across his path, as if trying to hit him, but missed. Charlie noticed it as it fluttered by with a cluster of leaves but he kept on walking.
By Wednesday morning the wind carried the ticket across central park and onto the busy streets again. By Thursday evening the ticket rested outside Charlie’s hotel across the street from Mr. Costea’s law firm.
On Friday, as Charlie called for room service to watch Mr. Costea’s fate from his window, a boy stepped out of a taxi with his parents, right on a piece of Double Bubble bubblegum, which was left there by another boy who spit it out his taxi window a half hour earlier. As the second boy, who got the gum stuck on the bottom of his tennis shoe, stepped onto the sidewalk, the ticket blew directly in his path, sticking to the gum.
This boy was not the most well behaved of boys. The receptionists could tell as they watched him jump like a frog before their desk, his head appearing above the counter, disappearing, and reappearing with each jump as his parents argued over their choices in reservations. When their room was confirmed, the boy proceeded to jump like a frog across the lobby into the elevator with the ticket still stuck to his shoe, ignoring his parents’ harsh request to stop. The bellhop turned to see the boy sitting like a frog, his cheeks slowly puffing out and in, only turning his head quickly to stick out his tongue, as if catching a fly out of the air.
When the elevator opened the boy hopped out. “You’re not a frog, Toby,” his father yelled.
“This is all your fault,” his mother argued. “You’re the one that used to teach him to imitate animals when he was younger.”
The boy proceeded to do somersaults down the hall behind his parents. As his feet turned over his head he noticed the ticket on the bottom of his shoe. He stopped somersaulting, pulled off the ticket and noticed the gum on the bottom of his shoe. He pulled the gum off in two parts, of which one part he stuck to the nearest door, and the other part he tossed in his mouth to chew on. The boy grabbed the ticket and stuck it to the gum on the door and then proceeded to act like a gorilla, pounding his chest as he ran on all fours down the hall to catch up to his parents.
The door he happened to stick the ticket on belonged to the room Charlie Daniels was staying in, who was busy inside trying on his vintage clothing, waiting for his food. A gentleman turned the corner with Charlie’s food and noticed the ticket on his door. He pulled it off, looked at it, and being that it was relatively clean he placed it on the service tray, hoping the gift might increase his tip.
Charlie opened the door after the serviceman knocked and let him lay out the tray. He noticed the complementary ticket at once, but it was not the reason he gave the gentleman a handsome tip.
After the serviceman left, Charlie looked at the ticket and remembered the same headlines on the marquee he read last week. He looked back and forth at the ticket and the clock, which now read 5:10 and the play started at 5:00. Why would the hotel give me a ticket to a play that has already started? he thought to himself. He remembered the ticket that caught his eye blowing across Central Park on Tuesday, the girl who came crying ou
t of playhouse, and the thoughts he had of love after reading the marquee.
Charlie, being a man of fate rather than coincidence, held the ticket as thoughts of Julie began to race through his mind. Then he rushed out of the room without a single bite of his food.
Chapter 33
As the play was underway, Charlie grabbed his brown corduroy jacket, put it on over his vintage clothes, and ran down the long hallway to the staircase and into the lobby. Outside the hotel, the streets were filled with rush-hour traffic. The air smelled of fuel. The sidewalks were filled with tourists, businessmen and women, stockbrokers, and peddlers. He ran through the streets along the immobile cars, jammed together like metal sardines confined to concrete blocks. He was certain it would be faster to run than take a cab. He could barely fit between them crossing the street, catching glimpses of irritated looks and fingers from frustrated drivers, ready to collide into each other in slow motion. The words they yelled could hardly be heard above the honking horns and diesel engines that roared like impatient metal beasts.
Mr. Costea set his chair back under his desk more panicked by Charlie’s threat than the fire alarm still ringing.
“Are you alright?” his colleagues asked as they passed by, grabbing their jackets and briefcases. “They don’t know why the alarm is going off. There could be a fire. We gotta go.”
“Go ahead; I’ll be right behind you,” Mr. Costea said, afraid to leave the security of his office.
He paced back and forth from his desk to the door. Should I stay, should I go? Is it the fire? he panicked, picturing Charlie setting the fire outside his office.
“I’m not burning if it is,” he answered himself and proceeded to follow the others down the fire escape, the same door he had Charlie thrown out of so many times before. He exited the building and followed the crowd to the street in front of the main doors, smiling as if he escaped unharmed.
He looked around, paranoid through the crowd. He checked his watch again, “5:10,” he said as he tapped the cracked glass. “That can’t be right,” he said suddenly, remembering he had broken it in the office. He knew his time was almost up; it had to be close to 5:20 by now. He frantically turned to a stranger in the crowd, “What time is it?”
“5:18,” he replied.
When Mr. Costea saw the doorman he asked, “Have you seen Charlie Daniels?”
“No sir. Haven’t seen him in over a week,” he answered, a little concerned since he taught Charlie how to sneak in.
“I think he’s trying to kill me,” Mr. Costea said then stumbled through the crowd looking around in the chaos. The people were panicking as the fire trucks could be heard around the corner. “Is everybody out?” the crowd asked over and over again without a definite answer.
Mr. Costea looked across the crowd and saw a security guard reach for his gun. Panicking, he ran into the crowd shouting “Someone is trying to kill me,” but no one paid him any attention.
He made his way to the back of the crowd by the street, checked his watch again. 5:10 is what he saw through the cracked glass. Suddenly he remembered Charlie’s words, it will seem as if time is standing still. I’m going to kill you at exactly 5:20 PM…don’t worry; it will be quick and painless.
The sun suddenly beamed off his office window, so bright it appeared as if it burst into flames. “It’s time,” he said to himself as he stepped backward onto the street, unaware of the yellow taxi speeding his way.
Meanwhile, Charlie was nearly out of breath and still several blocks away. When he noticed the traffic was moving quickly, he decided to hail a cab. He gave the driver the address, paid him upfront, then took off his jacket and placed it beside him on the seat. He sat back and caught his breath. By the time he arrived at the playhouse it was nearly 6 PM. He rushed out of the cab to the ticket booth. Then he searched himself while the cab sped away.
“My ticket,” he whispered to himself, realizing it was in his jacket, which was still in the taxi.
“I’m sorry sir. I can’t let you in without a ticket,” a female voice said from behind the booth. Charlie looked up and took a sudden step back as he noticed her heavily painted face. He had to shake off his confusion and realize where he was and what he was doing.
“I’d like to purchase a ticket please,” Charlie said, trying hard to look in her eyes rather than the green eye shadow, orange cheeks, and purple, sparkling lips. She might even be a man, the thought occurred to him.
“It’s all sold out. I’m sorry. I could sell you one for the Monday night show,” she pleasantly said, then stood up and looked at his clothes from toe to head. “Wait! Are you part of the show? The play started at five! You’re like an hour late!”
She, or he, looked around frantically and said, “You should go in the back entranceway. The maintenance man always forgets to shut it.”
“Thank you,” Charlie said, as he wished her or him health and happiness.
He ran around back and saw the maintenance man taking out some garbage. He turned to see Charlie but assumed he was an actor on a smoke break or getting fresh air. The door was still cracked open. Charlie slipped through and entered the building somewhere back stage. He looked at all the people in strange costumes, not unlike his own. I knew this fashion would be popular again, he thought to himself. Then he heard Julie’s voice from a distance. He could not make out the words but he knew it was her. He passed through another door, knocking over metal equipment which could be heard by the audience. Cattman immediately started to panic.
Cattman watched the play from one side of the stage and watched as someone fumbled through the curtains on the other side of the stage. “Who is that?” he mumbled under his breath, now biting his nails as the actors on stage began to recognize it also and stumble through their lines.
“I can’t live without you,” Jason said as Charlie broke through the curtains on stage and watched. “Let us run off together and be free of this place. I’ll give up everything for you.”
Charlie felt a rush of jealousy rush through his body as he pulled her close and she leaned in to kiss him. Julie noticed it was Charlie standing on the stage. Jason was waiting for her to kiss him.
Cattman watched and said under his breath, “KISS HIM!”
“No,” Julie said.
“What? That’s not the line,” Jason whispered to her. Time appeared to stop for her as she looked at Charlie. She didn’t know where she was or what she was doing. When she pulled her awareness back to the play, she could not remember any of her lines and spoke from the heart, “No, I won’t run off with you!”
Cattman slapped himself on the forehead and cried, “I’m finished! Damn you, Bob Arand, I’m finished!”
“Because I love him,” Julie said as she pointed to Charlie, suddenly noticing the strange clothes he was wearing. Charlie looked through the bright lights and noticed the large crowd before him.
Cattman looked up to see Charlie walk to the center of the stage. He cut in front of Jason who was at a loss to know what to do. Charlie grabbed Julie around the waist with one hand and slid his fingers through her hair until his hand rested on the back of her head and then he kissed her on the lips. The crowd began to applaud. Cattman saw the critics smiling and the crowd staring in excitement and anticipation, wondering who this mysterious gentleman was. They recognized the honest look of shock on the lead man’s face.
Suddenly Mary ran out on stage as Jason’s wife and slapped him across the face saying, “And I don’t want you, either.”
The crowd roared with excitement and Cattman looked out to see the rising standing ovation. Julie and Charlie continued to kiss as the curtain closed and the crowd roared to a deafening cheer.
As the rest of the cast came on stage, Mary let Jason have another slap, then she smiled delightfully as the curtain opened back up. Julie and Charlie were still kissing as the others bowed among them until the curtain closed again.
The critics immediately found Cattman backstage, “That was wonderful,” they pr
aised him.
“And I thought it was going to be another boring ending where they run off together into the sunset. That was exciting and innovative, Cattman. You should be proud.”
“Well, I…ah.”
“How did you ever come up with that? I never have seen anything like that,” another critic raved as he waited to shake his hand.
“Well, you know…ah.”
“I bet you already have the second play written to explain who the mystery man is, don’t you?”
“You know Kirby. He’s always thinking about selling out the next show before the curtain falls on the current one,” they laughed as Cattman walked away, a little dizzy from all the praise and being called Kirby again.
When Julie and Charlie stopped kissing they looked into each other’s eyes without fear, hope, or any thought at all. It was as if they had always been, are, and forever will be one, with no thought of questioning there could be any other truth.
“So this is true love?” Julie whispered.
“Yes, Juliet.”
“What a strange blissful feeling,” she replied.
“Yes it is,” he agreed as he kissed her again with unconditional love, mixed with the passion of the human senses.
“There’s someone I want you to meet,” Julie said as she led him off stage to where her mother was waiting to congratulate her. “This is my mother, Jill” she said to him, “and this is Charlie Daniels,” she said to her.
“A pleasure to meet you. I heard a lot about you,” Jill said to him with a smile.
“The pleasure is all mine,” he replied.
“You didn’t tell me he was part of the show,” Jill said to her daughter as she looked over his clothes.
“Did you take my advice?” Julie asked, remembering what she told him about being himself.
“Yep,” he said.
“At least you got rid of that corduroy jacket,” she said with laughter as he thought about it roaming the city without him in the back of some strange cab.
A New York Romance Page 20
