The manners his mother had drilled into him meant Will would never be so boorish as to ask Caroline about the reasons for their separation. Nor would he ask if she’d had an affair, inquire if her estranged husband had a drug or drinking problem, or if his fists had hammered her on occasion. People offered information about themselves when they were ready, especially when it came to personal marital issues. Clues would reveal themselves as they got to know each other as neighbors.
He couldn’t imagine what it was like for her, or why she’d want to be tangled together with a man possessive and full of rage. Will didn’t understand why a marriage breakup had to be so complicated. When Yvonne left, she took her own things, wanting nothing of his, not even money, regardless of the fact she could have taken a bundle, and he suspected Caroline had done the same, or something similar. Or maybe she hadn’t. There was no way to know without asking.
The one thing evident was that Caroline’s marriage had decomposed like the few autumn leaves that had just started to rot into the soil.
Twenty minutes later, Will arrived home, his arms loaded with spicy, aromatic dishes and two bottles of red wine. As he dug into his pocket for his keys, Caroline opened the door to her apartment.
She crossed the landing, a little sticky-note in her hand. Her hair fell over her eye in that Veronica Lake look. ‘I was about to leave you a note to tell you to come to my place,’ she said, crumpling the square of paper. ‘You were right. It is a warm night. I set the table on my terrace. I hope that’s okay.’
His shrug was casual. ‘I thought it was my gig, you being the incoming new neighbor to welcome, but if you prefer your place, I’m happy with that because I’ll do anything to get out of washing dishes.’
‘Would you like to change?’
‘Well, I’m pretty happy with the man I am.’
She laughed and looked him up and down. He looked morning-fresh in his blue-black suit, but he had loosened his tie. ‘I mean your clothes.’
‘I’m quite comfortable.’
‘You don’t mind getting dog hair all over you?’
‘I love dog hair.’
She laughed again. ‘Good, then prepare to meet Batman. He’s a little protective of me, so if he growls or barks at you don’t take it personally. He’s never actually bitten anyone, but he sure puts up a good show.’
‘We became acquainted last Saturday morning. What kind of dog is he?’
‘A Rat Terrier, and he’s on the small side. Come in.’ Caroline blew the hair from her eyes and moved inside.
Will crossed the threshold, handing her the wine and packaged Indian food.
The little dog sat, quite obediently, on a green mat. Batman was the size of a cat mixed with a Jack Russell, only leaner, more streamlined, with longer legs and a higher chest. A black mask covered his brown eyes, but his snout was white. There were patches of tan on either side of his pointy bat-face, and black ears stuck straight up like triangles on his little head. The little guy rolled to his back, offering his tummy for a scratch, his skinny black tail wagging.
Will crouched to pat the dog. ‘See? We’re already good buddies.’
‘Have you been feeding him through the ivy or something?’
‘No, it’s only that dogs are better at judging character than humans are. He’s worked out I’m no threat to his domain, or to you. We’ve been having a bit of a play when he’s come out on the terrace in the morning. That reminds me,’ he said as he scratched Batman under the chin. ‘I ought to give you back the towel you left at my door.’
‘Keep it. It was the least I could do to replace the one he ripped up. You were very nice not to say anything.’
‘It was a rag and I wanted to play with your dog,’ he said, rising, following her and the dog into the kitchen. There were mixing bowls and a green stand-mixer on the countertop. Will wondered if Caroline was the sort of neighbor who baked cookies and shared them with residents in the building. Oh, he hoped so.
He watched her set the food beside the sink and pull cloth napkins from a drawer. ‘I like dogs,’ he said. ‘I’m really glad you’ve got a dog instead of cats. The gentleman who lived here before you had cats, and they used to pee all over my terrace, which is why I planted the ivy over the lattice. It made it harder for them to climb over and tinkle on everything.’
‘Tinkle?’ Snorting, she draped the napkins over her shoulder. ‘Did you say tinkle? Cats don’t tinkle, they spray, and I think those cats sprayed everywhere, marking their territory. Batman’s probably peed all over their pee by now.’ She pressed her lips together for a second, as if biting back a grin. ‘Did you ever say anything to your old neighbor about his cats?’
He waved a dismissive hand. ‘No. It was just cat pee, it was only on a few occasions, and I really liked John Reginaldi. He was a good neighbor.’
Caroline gazed at the beefy, white-haired man from next door. He was still dressed in the same well-cut, perfectly tailored, blue-black suit, pale blue shirt, and striped tie from this afternoon, and he stood in her kitchen, hands behind his back like he had earlier in the evening. He watched her intently. She scrunched up her mouth.
‘What is it?’ he asked.
She busied herself. ‘Well,’ she said, taking two wine glasses from the draining rack in the sink, wiping them dry. ‘I was just wondering,’ she handed him the corkscrew, ‘if Batman’s dog bombs will be a problem.’
Will opened the wine as she served up the food, setting two white plates on a tray along with the naan, a jug of water, and the glasses. ‘I’ll survive.’
‘Please tell me if his barking annoys you, or if his tinkling kills your ivy, and I’ll let my uncle know his incontinent cats annoyed you.’ Caroline started to lift the tray.
‘Here you take the wine. I’ll take the tr—John Reginaldi is your uncle?’
‘Yes. I think he stays so sharp because he’s active. He lives for those cats and golf.’
‘Ah.’ Will traveled onto the terrace behind her. ‘So you’re Puddin’, the niece he talked about sometimes. I know all about you.’ And he did. He knew her parents died in a car accident, that Reg used to visit her when she was sick in the hospital, and that she left her husband, the man he met today.
And now he knew why she left him.
He set down the tray. ‘Listening to your uncle talk about playing with Ben Hogan in the US Open and Masters at Augusta in the fifties was always fascinating, and the gossip about the old TV stars he met was fun. Sometimes Reg asked me legal questions about tax shelters, car leases, and once he asked me about criminal law, but most of the time, Reg talked about TV, golf, and Puddin’, who should be on Jeopardy with her encyclopedic knowledge of films. Reg tells great stories, but I liked the stories about you best, especially the one where you asked what sodomy was in the middle of Christmas dinner.’
‘Did he mention he explained that with a graphic demonstration using the turkey and roasted carrots?’ She chuckled, heartily, with a laugh a happy zing that didn’t hint at the misery her uncle had divulged. Will liked how she laughed; she sounded like Betty Rubble on The Flintstones.
‘Reg never mentioned roasted carrots. He told me you had a few unfortunate events in your life, but he also told me he taught you to pick your nose when you were four, that you went for a joyride in your neighbor’s pickup when you were seven, that you wore a wrestler’s costume to your high school prom, and that your mother-in-law was a ball-breaker.’
Wincing, she sucked air through her teeth. ‘Oh, you’re well versed in the ongoing Jones saga and Reginaldi family history. Thanks for not fleeing the room in terror the second you realized criminal acts and mental illness, in one form or another, pervades my entire family. Some of those stories are true, but I hope you didn’t believe him when he said he taught James Dean how to golf.’
‘I thought it was Dean Martin.’ He set the tray on the table set with a pink tablecloth, a milk glass citronella lantern, and eating utensils. ‘Now this is very pretty, romantic, like Va
lentine’s Day.’
Caroline waited for her neck to overheat, for heat to flood her face, for that flopping-fish feeling to return. It had been a mistake to string petite lights on her side of the ivy. They lined the edge of the covered area above the table, ran along the support beams and glowed like tiny white stars, romantic stars. ‘Yeah. Here we are with the wrong kind of mood lighting.’ She made a face and handed him a napkin. ‘Maybe since I thought were asking me out this afternoon, I unconsciously considered this a date.’
‘Well, then I better not disappoint your subconscious and get your chair.’ He pulled out a chair for her.
With a louder than necessary nervous laugh, she sat, and he pushed her closer to the table. ‘Are you flirting with me, William?’ She put a napkin in her lap.
‘Maybe a little. Isn’t that what you do on first dates?’ He removed his jacket, draped it over a chair, sat across from her, and passed her the green palak paneer.
‘I thought you were supposed to remember your manners, you know, not fart or burp, or get spinach in your teeth.’
He spooned reddish-orange tikka masala onto his plate. ‘I’ll discreetly, with my very fine manners, let you know if you have anything in your teeth.’ With a grin, Will got to work eating the Indian food. She ate three pieces of cauliflower, a hunk of paneer, and a spoonful of dhal. He ate everything else.
Batman lay content in a little basket just inside the kitchen, near the open French doors. As they ate, they chatted about food and local restaurants. Before long, the conversation turned to the get-to-know-your-neighbor stuff.
She asked, ‘Do you work downtown, William?’
He poured himself more of wine and refilled her glass. ‘M-hm, in the Collins Building, more or less around the corner from you, a few blocks west.’
‘Do you always drive to work, or do you take public transport?’
‘It depends on the weather. Occasionally I catch the bus, or take the L. Sometimes my boss picks me up or sends a car. Now and then I ride my bike.’
‘And I thought I would be the fitness freak of the complex. So who’s the motorcycle idiot in the building?’
Will laughed. ‘I would be that idiot. When I said bike, I didn’t mean bicycle. Mind if I ask why you think my bike’s idiotic? Or is it just you find anyone who rides motorcycles idiotic?’
‘Uhh … never mind the spinach, is there much foot stuck on my teeth?’
‘No offense taken,’ he grinned. ‘What is it that bothers you about the motorcycle? I’d like to know. I’m curious.’
Caroline glanced at him over the wine glass she’d picked up to hide behind. ‘They scare me. I can’t stand the noise they make. Isn’t there a way to muffle the muffler on them?’
‘You realize that’s part of the appeal? Chicks dig that sound, and the black leather too.’
‘I can’t picture a man in a suit like yours ever putting on leather pants.’
‘The day I met you I was wearing my leathers.’
‘I don’t really remember you in leather anything. I tend to recall funny things about people, like the color of your hair, the chocolate milk on your shoes, or the Heuer Monaco you’re wearing.’ Her eyes flicked to his wrist, ‘It’s the kind of watch Steve McQueen used to wear.’
‘I love Steve McQueen. He was so cool.’
He mouth pursed. ‘Well, that sort of explains your motorcycle. You’re exceptionally well dressed. Not only do you have excellent taste in clothes and Indian food, you also have this sort of quiet elegance about you. What are you, a Steve McQueen-loving, motorcycle-riding investment banker?’
‘Quiet elegance? I like that. I always thought I looked like a White Russian dancing bear in an Italian suit.’ He sat back in his seat, nodding. ‘Quiet elegance. Nice.’
‘Are you a Russian or Scandinavian corporate raider?’
‘Neither. I’m an Irish albino lawyer. I’m in-house counsel for CollinsBuilt.’
Caroline chuckled. ‘Seriously, was your mother Norwegian or Swedish?’
Her question was genuine, and Will was surprised. ‘Seriously, I’m Irish, I have albinism, and I’m the head of the in-house legal team for a multinational construction and development company. I know your father was Italian, but what’s the rest of your family’s heritage?’
‘My mother was Irish too.’
‘That explains your fair skin.’
She said, ‘So, do you wear colored contacts?’
‘I wear rigid lenses that have a slight tint for glare, but they’re not colored.’
‘You eyes are like a pale iolite or tanzanite. I have earrings almost the same color. I’ll have to show them to you. Does it ever hurt?’
‘Does what hurt?’ Will savored the Chianti in his mouth and swallowed.
‘Being albino. It’s a dumb question, isn’t it?’
‘No, it’s not dumb. A question, any question, is better than being stared at. Some prefer to say they’re a person with albinism instead of using the word albino, but I’m okay with either. No, it doesn’t hurt, unless I get sunburned, but that’s easy to avoid. I limit my exposure to the sun, wear sunscreen, or cover up.’ He licked a bead of wine from the corner of his mouth before he continued. ‘Whatever you’ve seen in the movies is wrong. There are two main types of albinism. Oculocutaneous affects the eyes and skin and has various subdivisions. Ocular albinism usually affects the eyes. I have the first kind, Oculocutaneous albinism. I have the fair skin and a very mild nystagmus. That means my eyes sometimes get a sort of speed wobble, but that only happens if I’m exhausted or really sick.’
Caroline wasn’t merely being polite, she was interested, and Will was pleased when she asked, ‘Do you have to wear glasses when you read, you know, the middle-age thing that seems to happen to everyone?’
He wiped his mouth and placed his napkin back in his lap. ‘I’m farsighted with some astigmatism. Quite often vision for people with albinism is much more significantly impaired. So if you see a gun-totin’ albino character in a movie, feel free to yell at the screen like I do—unless the guy’s wearing glasses. I wear glasses or contact lenses all the time. I wear both when I drive. I might look kind of funny to you when I read because I don’t hold the book straight in front of me like you probably do and— Is this too much information? Do you really want to know all this crap?’
She leaned forward, chin in her hand. ‘How do you hold a book, William?’
‘Listen, tell me to stop anytime, because, if it’s not obvious, I tend to get up on my soapbox to educate about albinism whenever someone asks a question.’
‘How do you hold a book?’
‘I turn it and tilt my head to the left to see the detail, same with newspapers. It also helps that I have a really huge … TV. My eyes are always a little sensitive to bright light. Strong sunlight on a very clear day can be uncomfortable. I suppose it’s painful in the way when you come out of a darkened cinema straight into the middle of broad daylight. My office has subdued lighting and I live on the shady side of the building. Your place gets most of the sun. A good hat and sunglasses work pretty well. Tinted glasses help too, especially in places with severe indoor lighting, like in the cosmetics section at Webb & Fairchild, or in grocery stores. Those types of lights wash out fine details like sunshine. My sister said how I describe what I see is like when she’s been lounging by the pool all afternoon. The minute she goes inside everything seems greenish-white and washed out.’
‘Yeah, that’s like the world’s suddenly become an overexposed photo.’
He nodded. ‘That’s a pretty good analogy. From the overall large clues in the overexposure you know what you’re looking at, but some elements are missing. A nose still is a nose, but because the exposure has too much light, you can’t see the bump on the nose or the acne on what appears to be a rosy red face. That’s kind of how I see things most of the time. Another way to think of it is like those pictures made up of a collection of small squares or dots.’
‘You mean the ones
popular twenty years ago, you stare at the thing and the image suddenly pops into view?’
‘No. I mean the pictures made up of lots of small photos arranged to make the whole image.’
She sat up. ‘Okay, I know what you’re talking about now. Time Magazine once did a photo spread of covers to make a picture of Princess Diana or somebody.’
‘Well, smaller images …’ Will paused to drink a little wine. ‘Had enough yet?’
‘No, it’s fascinating. What about the smaller images?’
‘It’s like this,’ he said. ‘You can see all the photos that make up the image. I see three quarters, maybe a little more, of the pictures you do. I miss some little features, maybe like how her earring is made up of pictures of King Tut’s sarcophagus or her lips are images of T-bone steaks, but I can still tell you it’s a photo of Princess Diana. It has to do with your retina’s rods and cones. Remember that from high school biology?’
‘Vaguely,’ she said.
‘People with albinism tend to have fewer cones. Too much bright light can bleach out detail. I can’t play baseball, tennis, or golf because I find it hard to judge the depth required to hit the ball, but I can drive, and I can ride my bike. When I was a child I wore glasses, and occasionally an eye patch, but I was pretty determined. Even if I couldn’t get the ball to hit the bat, I made up my mind. I was going to be Steve McQueen, get a motorcycle, and a really cool car.’
Caroline leaned forward again, chin on her the back of her hands, hair dipping over one eye. ‘I bet it was hard at school when you were a kid.’
He shrugged. ‘My family helped. I developed a pretty thick skin early on. I’ve been called every uninspired, unimaginable name from Whitey, Moby Dick, to idiot with the motorcycle.’
Next To You Page 5
