Impersonal Attractions

by Sarah Shankman

  Just as Titania wakened from her flowery bed smitten by Bottom, so was she, so was she.

  Her reverie was interrupted by a wolf whistle that split the sunny, morning, market air.

  *

  Eddie Simms, loading the back of a delivery truck with pink azaleas, turned from his task to look.

  Great ass, he thought. Look at that. Even in that jogging suit. He wondered why women wore those sloppy things. But this one clung tightly to the woman’s rear.

  How old was she? Long blonde hair in a ponytail with a bow. She might be a school kid. But then why isn’t she in school? Kids don’t come down here anyway without their mothers.

  Now, if she’d just turn around.

  There you go, honey. Turn around and wave at Nick, the nice man who sells flowers wholesale to all the pretty girls. Turn just a little more.

  Wait a minute! he thought. With the sunglasses it was hard to tell, but that tall, skinny body…

  It was! It was that Tannenbaum bitch from school—from that stupid English class he took to get his PO off his back. That bitch who asked him all those dumb questions, trying to cut him down, trying to embarrass him in front of everybody. Sucking up to that tall nigger kid and that old Jew lady. Like they were something special, with their stupid stories.

  He could write her some stories. Stories that would really give her a thrill. A bigger thrill than the Halloween story she didn’t like.

  Was that her? He couldn’t be sure; it had been a long time since he’d dropped out. Right after that night he’d spooked her in the parking lot. He’d been real busy since then.

  But maybe he could make some time for her. Walk over there and grab those flowers out of her arms. Throw her down on them and do it to her right here, in front of her friend Nick, like she did it to him at school. That would show her.

  Look at her, prissing away. Stopping to smell the flowers. He could show her what’s what. Sure could. Wouldn’t be hard at all.

  She likes flowers, doesn’t she?

  *

  “Holy Christ! Did someone die?” Tom looked around her apartment in amazement.

  “For a man who sends posies himself, you have no romance in your soul.”

  He kissed her forehead. “You’re right, my dear. And it could just as well be a wedding as a funeral, couldn’t it?”

  There was that word, wedding.

  “We can play with the posies when we get back, but right now let’s go eat. I’m starved!”

  “What do you want to eat?” He winked at her.

  “Calamari salad. Spaghetti with meat sauce.”

  “I give. Once your mind’s on food, there’s no fooling around. Soundsa lika we’re onna our way to mya relatives inna North Beach.”

  Once in the elevator, Tom waited patiently for the exterior door to close before he pushed the button so the message would register.

  “You’re learning,” she teased him.

  “About your buttons? It’s taken me long enough, hasn’t it?” As the elevator began its descent, he reached over and touched the panel, extinguishing the elevator light.

  It was like falling into a well.

  She gasped.

  Tom folded his arms around her from behind.

  “Relax. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  He hugged her tight.

  “I didn’t know you were afraid of the dark.”

  “I’m not.” She turned to kiss him, searching for his face with her mouth. “It’s just a funny feeling.”

  In the lobby they ran into the super, who leered and winked at Annie behind Tom’s back.

  “Why isn’t a nice girl like you…” he was always asking.

  She made a face at him as the door shut behind her.

  “We should have gone through the garage and taken my car so you won’t lose your parking place,” she said to Tom, ahead of her.

  He agreed, and waited for Annie to drive out so he could close the garage door behind her. He slammed it, checking it twice to make sure it was locked.

  *

  Across the street, leaning against the side of a building in the alleyway, Eddie Simms waited. He had been there for an hour, smoking and watching and waiting.

  He hadn’t known where she lived, but that was easy enough. She was listed in the phone book. Didn’t even use her initials like most single women did. Once he’d found the address her name was by the buzzer outside the front door.

  He watched the tall, curly-headed man as he waited for her to drive the old Volkswagen out of the garage. He watched him slam the door and check the lock. As if locks ever kept anybody out.

  “Did you make a reservation?” the man asked.

  Eddie couldn’t hear her reply as the tall man got in on the passenger side and they drove away.

  That meant dinner. Plenty of time for him to look around.

  *

  The restaurant didn’t take reservations and, as usual, was crowded. They waited at the bar.

  She played with the stirrer in her Campari and soda.

  “Okay,” Tom said after a few quiet moments. “What’s on your mind?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Yes, something.” He kissed her fingertips. “What’s wrong? You don’t believe it, right?”

  Annie nodded her head reluctantly. “Right.” She turned on the bar stool to face him. “Look, I’m going to be honest with you about this.”

  “Good.”

  He sipped his drink, smiling through his new horn-rims at her. The clothes were different, but he was still the same. Could she be serious about a man who drank Seven and Seven?

  “You know, two nights ago this was not exactly what I had in mind,” she opened.

  “I know.”

  “What do you mean, you know?”

  “I mean, when it comes to men you are sometimes very dumb. Why would I not know that? It’s not as if you were head-over-heels in love with me as we headed toward the bedroom. Bed, that’s what you had in mind.”

  “Right. I mean, I loved you, but like I’ve always loved you.”

  “Like a brother.”

  “Yes. Sort of. But I thought that the sex would be simple. That it would be a good time had by all. Separate from our friendship. It would be—I’m not explaining this very well.”

  “I know what you thought. But it didn’t turn out that way because there was always more to it than that for me. Because I’ve always felt both with you—love and in love. I was just waiting for an opening.”

  “What took you so long?”

  “I tried once.”

  “You mean that time in my old apartment? I was never sure what that meant.”

  “I know. And I didn’t know how to tell you. But it wouldn’t have worked then, Annie. I had to wait until I’d finished with Clara. And then I needed some time to get my head straightened out.”

  “You were taking a chance, mister. I haven’t exactly been sitting home alone every night since Bert. I could have gotten married again while you were waiting around.”

  “But you didn’t, did you? I knew you’d get around to me when the time was right.”

  Annie shook her head in wonder. She was such an impatient person. Impatient with everything in life. How could Tom do that? Acting on faith? It was incredible.

  “Do the Jesuits teach you that kind of perseverance?”

  He laughed and ordered them another round of drinks. “Maybe. Maybe I’ve just taken the virtues of patience and faith and applied them to you.”

  “You’ve got to know I’m not a good risk.”

  “Why? Because you’re afraid if you commit yourself to someone, the very next guy walking through the door might be Prince Charming? Or are you just afraid you’ll get bored?”

  She couldn’t look him in the eye. How could he know her so well?

  “Don’t worry about it, babe. I’m not rushing you. You don’t have to move out of your apartment or marry me.” He paused. “Tonight.”

  Then she did look at him—straight
on, with a question in her eyes.

  “No, not tonight, sweetheart. But someday you will. And you can put that in the bank.”

  “How do you know?”

  He grinned. “Because I’m a gambling man. I know me and I know you, and I can figure the odds. Plus I have a winning hand.”

  “If this is a proposal, it’s the funniest proposal I’ve ever heard.”

  “Sweetheart, I proposed to you years ago. You were just too busy talking to hear.”

  *

  By the time they had returned from dinner full of pasta and a little too much wine, Simms was back in the alley smoking. Getting in the building had been easy. Now he had everything he needed to know. Except her schedule, and that was just a matter of time.

  He waited until he saw the light in her bedroom go on and then off a few minutes later.

  He stepped on his peculiar-smelling Picayune and walked toward the bus stop on Fillmore. He liked the plan. It had some funny angles to it. But then she was different, this one. Tannenbaum. Different from the others because he knew her.

  And he hated her guts.

  *

  Annie flipped on the kitchen light briefly while she fixed a tall glass of ice water for them to share in bed. She glanced through the dining-room window out at the corner, where the man from the blue Victorian was walking his Labrador. There was no reason for her to check the lock on the window itself, the one that led onto the fire escape. She hardly ever did.

  Tom was already naked under her white cotton sheets with the dimmer on her bedside lamp turned very low.

  “Are you smoking dope?” she asked.

  “Not without you, toots. Why?”

  “Don’t you smell something funny?” She sniffed.

  “Nope. But between the asthma and the cigarettes, I’m not the one to ask.”

  “It’s not dope.” She was thinking aloud. “But it’s something kind of like that. It’s something I’ve smelled before, a long time ago. You know how smells stay with you—like the perfume your mother wore when you were a kid? But I can’t put my finger on it.”

  “What about your nose?”

  Annie flicked ice water on his naked chest in response.

  “Hey!” He reached for her.

  “Wait a minute. I don’t know what the smell is. But why is it here?” She sat up in alarm. “Tom, do you think somebody’s been here?”

  “No,” he said, groaning, but getting up. “Let’s look and you’ll feel better.”

  They quickly checked the obvious. Her television, typewriter, stereo, money, jewelry, camera were all in place.

  Annie headed for the chest of drawers in her bedroom with a funny expression on her face.

  She opened the second drawer and closed it with a sigh of relief.

  “What was that all about?”

  “Don’t you remember when I was living in San Jose after I left Bert? And some bozo took off my doorknob with a pipe wrench and stole all my underwear?”

  “I always thought you made that story up.”

  She swatted at him. “It was true. Didn’t touch a single other thing, but completely wiped out my lingerie.”

  “And nothing else?”

  “Well, he did something I don’t like to think about in my dirty clothes.”

  Tom laughed.

  “Did I double-bolt the door when we left?” she asked. “Was it on when we came back?”

  “I don’t remember.” He grabbed her naked bottom. “Come on, babe. It’s nothing. Maybe you’re just smelling the butts of my new, low-tar cigarettes.”

  She sighed and took one last look around.

  “Okay. You’re right. It’s probably nothing. Now,” she leered at him, “what was I thinking about before the lights came on?”

  *

  As the #22 Fillmore bus threaded its way south from Annie’s apartment through rougher and tougher neighborhoods, two men sitting in the back of the bus took one another’s measure.

  “Honky motherfucker,” thought Slim as his cop’s cool eye totted up the evidence. The boots, the greasy Levis, the dirty blond hair, scabbard at his belt. What are you up to, you sucking piece of white trash? he thought and stood up.

  “Hey, bro, sit down, man,” called the driver from the front. He knew Slim, of course, knew he was an undercover MUNI cop. Cops and robbers—he liked to play the game.

  Eddie Simms listened to the driver. He spat in disgust. Bro. Brother. That shit. What did these jigaboos know about brotherhood?

  Slim lurched toward Eddie, then caught himself just in time, grabbing for the bar above his head. He got a good look at the tattoos on Eddie’s arms.

  They glowed bright blue on the white skin, tinged with green by the bleak bus lights above. The four backward 7s in a cross that spelled out hate. The three Ks. The skull and crossbones further up his arm. Poison. Not just his arms, thought Slim. This man is poison.

  Yes, this trashy son of a bitch is sick. And Dr. Slim has got just the medicine to fix him up. To cure what ails him.

  Slim turned for a moment and caught the eye of the driver in the rearview mirror, giving him the high sign. The driver had seen Slim in action before. He laughed and got his foot ready for the brake.

  Eddie glared up at Slim. Welfare tit sucker, he thought. Nigger bum. Let me get away from him.

  Just as Eddie half stood, Slim started making gagging noises. Eddie tried to get out of the way, but Slim, carefully positioned, blocked him.

  Slim gagged, he drooled, and then just before Eddie was clear, he wheeled, stuck three fingers down his throat, and vomited full in Eddie’s face.

  The driver hit the brakes and pumped the back door open and then closed.

  Slim vanished into the black night, wiping his grinning mouth on his sleeve.

  The bus driver raised a right fist into the darkness in silent salute to Slim. Then he revved up the bus again and headed toward Market Street.

  In his mirror he saw the white man crouched, his head down, as his own vomit followed Slim’s. Everyone else had moved far away, giving him plenty of room.

  The driver chuckled to himself. “Spooks sure are pussies these days. Just ain’t got no heart for the game.”

  FORTY

  The next day dawned ridiculously gorgeous, even for San Francisco.

  “‘We’re off to see the Wizard,’” Annie crowed through Sam’s sunroof as they rolled north across the Golden Gate Bridge.

  “Sit down and buckle your seat belt, my friend, unless you want to lose your head,” warned Sean.

  “I’ve already lost my head, Mr. Policeman, sir,” she answered as she plopped down into Tom’s arms. “But you’re right. This is a terrible example for Quynh.”

  Snuggled next to Tom, Quynh and Hudson both looked owlishly at Annie. You wouldn’t catch either one of them sticking their heads out of a car.

  “God, would you look?” Sam gestured toward the Bay below them. It was dotted with hundreds of sails, white against the deep turquoise water mirroring the clouds in the lapis sky above. Near the St. Francis Yacht Club the yellow, red, and purple of spinnakers billowed as a regatta chased toward Alcatraz.

  “An absolute pisser of a day!” Annie exclaimed.

  Quynh frowned her disapproval at Annie’s choice of words, but broke into giggles when Annie goosed her.

  “Come on, sourpuss, lighten up. We’re playing hooky, remember? No school today.”

  No school. No work. Today they were all children on holiday. Their yellow brick road wound past Sausalito, Mill Valley, the foot of Mt. Tam, heading north on up through Marin County.

  “What’s in the bag, Miss Anne?” Sam asked.

  “Maps. Zinfandel, Brie. A little pâté. And the cow guide.”

  “I understand the food,” said Tom. “In case we have a flat and might starve to death. But what’s a cow guide?”

  “Hudson doesn’t eat beef,” Quynh said.

  “This isn’t a cookbook, silly. Look, it’s drawings of the cows you see along the road. So y
ou can tell them apart. Herefords, Holsteins, Guernseys, Angus. Wouldn’t you rather say, ‘Look at the Ayrshires’ instead of ‘Look at the cows’?”

  “I’d rather say ‘Look at that beautiful New York steak,’” Tom offered.

  “Yuk!” said Quynh.

  “Meat and potatoes. That’s what I’ve got on my hands here,” said Annie.

  “Have you never traveled with this one before?” Sam turned to ask Tom. “We spent an hour on the phone planning our itinerary. I’m talking about redwoods, little towns, the ocean. Annie’s talking about lunch.”

  “That’s okay, guys. There’s always room for both. Here.” She passed bread and cheese and the bottle of wine into the front seat. Quynh sipped on apple juice while Hudson nuzzled her, slobbering a little, ever hopeful of an egg.

  “Hey,” Sean protested. “You want to get me arrested for an open container?”

  “Oh, hush,” said Sam. “You know you’ll just flash your badge at them and they’ll go away, bowing and scraping, ‘Yes sir, boss.’”

  “Does that go for speeding tickets too?” asked Tom, who had had a fair share in his time.

  Sean began to explain the intricacies of professional courtesy in law enforcement. Annie and Sam smiled at one another and leaned back, listening to the men getting to know one another.

  They had often talked about bringing their various beaux together. But it never seemed to work. A radiologist and a baker. A rarely employed actor and a gallery owner. These two, however, were getting along just fine.

  “Puerto Vallarta,” Sam murmured.

  “Venice,” was Annie’s vote.

  They had traveled together, had had good times, but also had talked about how much fun trips would be as a foursome.

  As they drove past Mt. Tam, the men’s conversation turned to the Mt. Diablo case.

  “Here’s your expert,” Sean demurred to Sam.

  “Oh, let’s don’t talk about it today. I want to forget about all that and just enjoy the scenery. It’s such a great day to be alive.”