Paint It Yellow

by López, Andrés G.

  “So is that why you’re wearing those sunglasses? To hide your tears for the professor?”

  “Well, that’s none of your business, Gabriel.”

  “Sorry. Just thought that maybe—”

  “The glasses are to hide tears, yes, but not for him. For someone else who was …” Helene’s head dropped.

  “Sorry for asking. I didn’t mean to—”

  “It’s okay. You have a right to be curious. I must look like such a fool with them on.”

  “You don’t,” Gabriel said. “I beg your pardon.”

  Helene reached into her bag for a tissue, but before she could find one, Gabriel had reached through his divider to hand her one of his.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Gabriel refocused on the road. His cab, which had cruised through most of the Theater District, was suddenly besieged on all sides by buses and other cars and cabs. Gabriel stopped for a light on 48th and Broadway, a corner that was all too familiar to him from the days when he’d lived with his father in Hell’s Kitchen. The burger joint he used to frequent was still busy as ever, the small theater with the pornographic peep shows had a long line out front and farther up the block were the music stores; in one of them (Manny’s), he’d once seen Peter Frampton checking out a Gibson Les Paul.

  Helene had taken her sunglasses off, unzipped her raincoat and removed her hood. She was busy powdering her face when she asked Gabriel if he’d turn up the heat.

  “Sure thing, Helene,” he replied and threw the blower on the highest setting.

  He glanced in his rearview mirror and was startled by the gorgeous young woman who had emerged from the rain gear. With her dark-blue eyes and long blonde hair, she looked like a Scandinavian princess, or like the goddess Freya in the Norse mythology books he’d read. All that was missing was a bejeweled crown, armor and sword.

  “So where do you live Gabriel Guillermo?”

  Gabriel loved the way her voice caressed the syllables in his name. “Springfield Boulevard, out in Queens.”

  “So you’ve got quite a trip ahead of you after you turn in your cab, huh?”

  “Please, don’t remind me. Sometimes I don’t get home till seven thirty or eight. And if I chicken out, I crash at my dad’s place instead.”

  “Is that what you’re planning tonight?”

  Gabriel glanced into the rearview mirror. “Not necessarily. I … tomorrow’s my birthday.”

  “Do you plan on driving?”

  “Why not? I wasted lots of time last week. And the rent will be due soon so I better start hustling, or else.”

  “How old will you be?”

  “Twenty-three.”

  “I just turned twenty-five this past June; my parents insisted I go on a Caribbean cruise to celebrate the grand occasion. Couldn’t talk them out of it; they’d already bought my ticket and sent me spending money.”

  “That was really nice of them!”

  “Yes, it was,” said Helene. “Not what I thought I’d be doing … but they are good to me. And very generous.”

  “So you went by yourself?”

  “I did,” Helene replied. She paused, then added, “It wasn’t bad.”

  “Sounds awful lonely.”

  “Well, when you live alone, you get used to it. But there were plenty of guys.”

  “I bet that was fun.”

  “Yeah … though after a while it was a pain.”

  There was a slight pause in the conversation and then out of nowhere, Helene said, “Gabriel, why don’t you let me treat you to dinner tonight? As an early birthday present. Mario’s is great. The food is fabulous. And, besides, I hate to eat alone.”

  “I thought you were meeting someone,” Gabriel said.

  “There’s been no one since the professor.”

  “I’d love to join you,” Gabriel said, thrilled at the chance to get to know this beautiful woman.

  He dropped her off at her apartment, returned his cab and walked back to meet her on the corner of 19th and Seventh where they took a cab to the restaurant.

  CHAPTER 17

  Fifty minutes later, Helene and Gabriel were seated by a huge window overlooking the late-night rush-hour activity at Mario’s in the West Village. They were fortunate to have gotten a cozy table in a corner, a little nook sheltered from the craziness of the place. Given how busy the restaurant was, it was strange that no one had already claimed the spot, as if it’d been mysteriously reserved for these two new friends. The candle in the middle of their small table flickered inside its red glass vase, producing a rosy light that shone magically on both their faces. Gabriel couldn’t believe he was actually there, sitting across from such a stunning woman (who’d invited him out!); had he dreamed this, he would have woken to believe such a dream bizarre and improbable, a perfect example of Freudian wish fulfillment, but the fact that it was real elated him. The waiter brought menus and took their drink orders; Helene asked for a glass of the red house wine and Gabriel for a ginger ale.

  For a few minutes, the two sat listening to the busy sounds of the place, collecting their thoughts for the evening ahead, and then Helene broke the silence.

  “Thanks for joining me. I wasn’t looking forward to spending this evening alone.”

  “I’m the one who should be thanking you. This place is great; what atmosphere! Between driving and sleeping … and of course,” — he smiled and lowered his voice — “thinking, I sometimes forget there is a lot to do in this city — like dining out with a nice, young woman from …”

  “Downtown Manhattan,” Helene told him. “Though I guess you can say that, in truth, I’m from St. Paul. I’m only now, after two years in the Big Apple, starting to feel like a Manhattanite.”

  “Okay then, like dining out with a nice, young woman from downtown Manhattan, whose heart is still back in Minnesota, who loves Lennon and the Beatles and enjoys the mystique of hiding behind dark sunglasses.”

  Helene looked into Gabriel’s tired eyes. “And where is your heart, Gabriel?”

  By this time, Gabriel was too happy to alter the mood, so he maneuvered around this difficult question with humor. “My heart, Miss Helene Hansen,” — he paused, then continued in a grandiose manner, “My heart’s in so many places it’s hard to tell where it is at any moment; lately, it’s been in Astoria, 1973, and for the past year it’s been back on Long Island, 1979, but this second and for the past two hours, it has been solely with you.”

  “Aww. That’s sweet.”

  Helene found Gabriel charming; though initially he’d struck her as shy and downcast (and this had made him attractive), she was thrilled to find that he could also be witty and funny.

  The waiter arrived with their drinks and for a while they each sipped from their glasses.

  “So how’s a ginger ale going to get you in the mood for this evening?” Helene asked, setting her wine down.

  “Oh, I’m in a perfect mood,” Gabriel responded. “But I have to drive home later and alcohol makes me sleepy after driving all day.”

  “Oh, I just thought a drink and toast to a great twenty-third would be fun, but I understand.”

  She smiled at him, then looked down at her menu, tucking some strands of her blonde hair behind her ears with long, delicate fingers, and Gabriel floated back in time to when he’d sat across from Jennifer Amman in the Stony Brook library. This had been one of Jennifer’s mannerisms too, a behavior that always aroused Gabriel — and he had the sudden urge to hold Helene, to kiss her and beg her to help him ease the pain in his heart.

  The waiter returned, and as Helene ordered, Gabriel studied the expressions on her face.

  “I’ll have what the lady ordered,” he said when she was done, “but instead of a glass of your house wine, can you bring a bottle?”

  “The house is a ‘79 Bordeaux, sir.”

  “That’s perfect.”

  Helene leaned forward. “I didn’t mean to pressure you into drinking, Gabriel.
”

  “Tomorrow’s my birthday, as you said, and I can always take a cab home later or stay at my dad’s place.”

  “So, how did you wind up at the Dakota earlier?” she asked. “If you hadn’t stopped, we wouldn’t be here.”

  Gabriel grinned. “Nope, I’d be making myself a tuna sandwich.” He paused. “I guess it was fate. That’s how things always happen for me. The real reason though — and I’m not kidding here, Helene — is that I’ve always wanted to live in Minnesota. I guess I was destined to meet someone who could tell me what I’ve missed all these years.”

  Helene smiled. “No, I don’t think that’s it at all. My dream has always been to come to the Big Apple, for the culture, night life, art and secretly, I’ve yearned to meet someone like you, who knows the city like the palm of his hand and can show me around.”

  “Manhattan’s a special place,” Gabriel agreed, “but Minnesota’s got the Vikes, the best football team ever. As a kid, I wished my mom would move us to Minneapolis so I could see the Vikings play in snow. That was all I thought about when I was twelve. I’ll bet my last dollar that you love the Vikes.”

  Helene stopped smiling.

  “What’s wrong, Helene?”

  “That was his favorite team. He took their losses so personally. I prayed they’d win the Super Bowl just once, so I could see him happy.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  “It’s okay. You just reminded me of my late husband, William. He loved dragging me to games. I’d sit there frozen like a human icicle and fake my excitement just to make him happy. After they lost to the Raiders in ‘77, William was so dejected he went outside and shoveled snow for three hours. He loved that team.”

  “Sounds like he was quite a fan.”

  “He was killed in a snowmobiling accident the next year and …” She reached for a napkin to wipe her eyes.

  “I’m so sorry, truly. William must’ve been a wonderful man.”

  “He was. I miss him so much.”

  Helene put her napkin down. She reached across the table and took Gabriel’s hand. “Thanks for coming here with me tonight. He … he died exactly three years ago today. I couldn’t bear the thought of spending this evening alone.”

  Helene glanced at the big flakes of snow that had started to fall outside their window and pulled her sweater over her shoulders.

  “Where did this snow come from?” Gabriel said.

  “I thought you loved the snow, so here it is. The Viking gods from up north heard your wish.”

  “I said I loved to see the Vikes play in snow; I wasn’t praying for it. How am I ever gonna get home? When it snows, cabbies like to stay in the city.”

  “You can stay at my place.”

  Gabriel couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “I’d love to.”

  “Then it’s settled. Cake and coffee and the Beatles at my place.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Helene and Gabriel emerged arm in arm from Mario’s restaurant. The sidewalks and streets were blanketed with snow and the evening traffic had decreased considerably. They walked a few blocks before taking a cab to 19th and Eighth Avenue, from where they continued half a block to Helene’s third-floor apartment, just off of Seventh. Helene invited Gabriel to get comfortable on the cushioned love seat in her sparsely furnished parlor while she put on Lennon’s Shaved Fish album and prepared some coffee and dessert.

  Gabriel looked around, still incredulous that this was happening. Sal had urged him to find a woman to help him overcome his sorrow and Gabriel had considered going to the Rusty Nail club out on the Island, but this meeting with Helene was miraculous, a care package dropped from the sky for his fragile psyche. At dinner, he’d realized that Helene was also fragile and he wanted to ease her pain. Sal would never believe his luck. But for the moment, Gabriel decided not to tell Sal or anyone about her. Helene was special, with a healer’s touch. Four hours with her and already Gabriel felt as if he’d known her for years. She’d awakened in him something that had been dead a long time. Gabriel knew he could share his hurt with her, that she would not make light of his feelings as Sal had done.

  “Mind Games” came on and Gabriel closed his tired eyes. He pictured Mandy in her blue dress at the dance, kissing him, and then Jennifer, sitting coyly in the library studying calculus. In Jennifer’s look, there was desire and longing; in Gabriel’s, a yearning for a stabilizing comfort that had eluded him.

  Gabriel went to the kitchen and saw Helene lighting twenty-three candles on an Entenmann’s chocolate cake. She had already turned off the overhead light and when Gabriel looked at her by candlelight, her face shone like an aurora borealis sky. Gabriel thought Helene was the perfect composite of Mandy and Jennifer, but unique because she was a woman and not a girl. She was mature, confident, kind and so very pleased to have Gabriel standing there with her.

  “Happy Birthday, Gabriel.”

  Gabriel hugged her and kissed her cheek.

  “Thank you so much Helene … for everything. This is just wonderful.”

  “Come on, blow out the candles. Close your eyes and make a wish.”

  Gabriel did. In that momentary darkness, behind closed lids, he wished that Helene might be the one for him, the woman who’d erase his pain and give him the love he craved. He yearned to love her, as William had, to be the new light in her life.

  “That was a long wish,” she joked. “Don’t tell me, you wished for a Jaguar with all the options? Or a Benz convertible sports car?”

  “Nope. I own my dream car already — a baby blue Dodge with mag wheels. What better car could a man have?”

  Gabriel smiled, knowing full well that any Benz would blow his car to bits. “I wished for something much more important, which has always eluded me. But I’m not supposed to tell, right? It’s a secret wish.”

  “Yes. If you keep it hidden in your heart, it may come true.”

  “I hope so.”

  Gabriel sat down to eat his cake and prepare his cup of coffee. “You realize … if I drink this I’ll be up all night and you’ll have to keep me company.”

  “Yes. I do. Drink up. It’s Colombian.”

  “I can tell. The aroma itself jolts the nerves.” He paused. “Now, tell me, how did you wind up in Manhattan?”

  “Would you like to hear everything?”

  “Hey, I have all night. And I may just take tomorrow off — since it’s my birthday.”

  Helene was silent several seconds. “William was … a very special man,” she began, looking ahead, as if entering a trance. “It all seems so long ago. I married a beautiful man, an all-American football player. I was only twenty; he was twenty-five and in law school. My parents were upset when I chose to marry before finishing college. But it was the right time for me. I couldn’t let another day pass without being with him. We dated three years and in all that time …” Helene paused, caught herself. “Well, he’d been such a gentleman. He said he could wait forever to be with me. I just didn’t want to make him wait any longer. He was going to graduate in May and already law firms in St. Paul were making offers. It seemed like the right time. His parents were happy to see us married. They were old-fashioned, you know; they thought I’d be a good wife and homemaker, raise his children and be there for him.”

  “And I was fine with that; that’s all I ever really wanted — to be with him. That was enough. My parents wanted me to go to New York to study art and music and see more of the world before I settled down. I told them I knew what I was doing. And they had nothing against William. We were married two years before he was taken from me.”

  It seemed to Gabriel that nothing he felt could compare with Helene’s grief and they were both quiet for a while.

  “Why didn’t he go on to play professional football?” Gabriel asked.

  “He almost did. That was his goal. He shattered his knee senior year of college, the year I met him — I was seventeen. He played defensive end for the University of Minnesota. Carl Eller and Alan Pa
ge were his childhood idols.”

  “That’s amazing! He could have played for the Vikings.”

  “He was counting on it. He was so upset when that dream was lost. But then he picked himself up one day, stopped feeling resentful, stopped talking about football … well, for about three months — football never left his heart for long — and completed his bachelor’s degree in history. Then, he went on to law school while I started college.”

  Helene got up from the kitchen table and motioned for Gabriel to follow her. “Let’s sit in the living room. What do you wanna hear?”

  “How ‘bout Let It Be?”

  “I love that one,” Helene said, as she thumbed through her collection, found it and put it on. She turned on a small lamp near the couch where Gabriel sat, turned off the overhead light and sat next to him. They continued to share pieces of their lives like young children their favorite toys with new friends. The album’s tracks played on, as Gabriel and Helene rode enchanted on its musical carousel. In a short while, Helene reached for Gabriel’s hand as McCartney’s familiar voice sang the opening verse of “Let It Be.”

  Gabriel still couldn’t believe this was happening. His heart fluttered like unsteady notes in a singer’s voice while learning a new song’s melody. He felt vulnerable holding the hand of this beautiful woman who stared into his eyes with a pilgrim’s longing for a martyr’s shrine. All the painful thoughts of Mandy and Jennifer surfaced again, and he wanted to embrace Helene and force these feelings out of his heart. But he did not. He realized he didn’t have to rush. In her eyes he could see a similar desire. They were two strangers looking for comfort — missing a lost love. Each eager for passion, but mindful of the other’s pain, so instead of acting on their impulses, they continued to search one another with words.

  Helene rested her head on his shoulder. “Isn’t this a great song?”

  “Yes,” Gabriel replied, as McCartney sang its last verse.

  “Now it’s your turn to tell me about yourself. How did you wind up driving a cab?”