Next To You

by Sandra Antonelli

  ‘All the stuff with your husband really raked you over hot coals, didn’t it?’

  ‘I like to think of it more as having spent time in suspended animation, rather than being roasted over an open fire. Things are starting to seem normal again, but I’ve been inside myself for so long I don’t always know how to act or react. I needed tonight. I didn’t really want to join you, but I needed to, to wake that cryogenically amnesiac part of myself to feel regular again. I like your friends.’ She looked over at him, ‘And they love you.’

  ‘Yeah, go figure,’ he laughed.

  ‘I miss that. I miss affection and being affectionate with someone, with friends and family. I think may be jealous.’

  ‘I think you’re just a little lonely, like a lot of people.’ He opened his door, ready to climb out of the car and stopped, looking at his knees. ‘I’m sorry. I hope that didn’t sound offensive.’

  ‘William?’

  He turned to face her. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Thanks for including me tonight.’ Caroline leaned close and she kissed him very softly, her fingers light as baby’s breath on his jaw. Suddenly timid, she dropped her head down and glanced up into his eyes through a curtain of fine hair. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘For what, that?’

  ‘Well, yes and no. I had to do something to convey my gratitude, but I know this wasn’t a date, and I’m not coming on to you or anything.’

  ‘Of course not. You would have climbed into my lap and tipped the seat back if you were.’ His hand moved, affectionately tousling her hair, leaving it looking windblown. ‘You’re welcome all the same.’ He climbed out of the Volkswagen, his bottom lip faintly flavored by Caroline. He liked her delicate taste on his mouth.

  Chapter 7

  Before they’d left for the diner, Caroline had dug out the stuff she’d neglected to collect from the mailbox yesterday. Halfway through breakfast, she slid the crossword aside to sift through the pile of mail she’d brought along to the Wellington. There were brochures from an abused women’s shelter, a flyer from a supermarket chain, and applications for three different credit cards. It was nothing but junk mail, and junk mail made her feel normal. She dumped the junk mail on the seat beside her and poured syrup on her waiting, already-buttered pancakes.

  Some people found routine monotonous. Like ‘life’s balls,’ she grabbed routine with both hands and held fast to the repetition. A regimented life was dependable, as dependable as the choices William would make for breakfast on Saturday and Sunday. Weekend breakfast at the Wellington Diner had become a habit for them as much as their weekday morning coffee, and Caroline liked the dependable pattern. She liked knowing William would order eggs one morning and French toast the next. She liked how he wound up eating half of whatever she ordered. She liked that he obviously liked the pattern.

  And she liked the peculiar way he had of holding the newspaper diagonally, so his eyes could focus. William always read the front page first, then the entertainment section, but he knew her habits too. He’d pass her the crossword before he started reading.

  She scanned the puzzle next to her plate, lifted her fork and licked buttery syrup from the tines. Life was pleasing, comfortable, and she sighed, a small, satisfied sound that made him look up from his paper.

  ‘What?’ he said. ‘The pancakes that good today?’

  She glanced at the crossword beside her plate. ‘What’s another word for “simple?”’

  He shrugged. ‘Uncomplicated, effortless, easy, painless.’

  ‘Exactly,’ she said, smiling, eyes on him. ‘Exactly.’

  Her sigh, and something about the way she looked at him, did odd things to Will’s insides. With that peculiar and rather pleasant internal sensation tickling him, he watched her turn her attention the crossword. She pushed aside her pancakes and drank her coffee absently while she did the puzzle with a mechanical pencil.

  ‘We eat a lot, don’t we?’ he said, dragging an egg-dipped wedge of bread through syrup.

  ‘M-hm.’

  ‘Do you think we eat too much?’

  ‘You mean you think we overeat?’ She filled in little squares on the page.

  Mouth full, his laugh came out like a little sniff. ‘No,’ he said, after swallowing. ‘I mean we spent a lot of time together around food.’

  ‘Food is a social thing. Sharing a meal is social. Don’t you and Yvonne spend time together around food?’

  Will changed his position slightly, pulling his reading glasses from his nose, setting them beside his French toast. Movement outside the diner’s front window caught his eye. A man in a leather bomber jacket and baseball hat ran across the street. ‘Yvonne and I do all sorts of things that are usually shopping related. She likes to buy …’ he watched the man head north along the sidewalk, ‘… stuff.’

  ‘Can I ask you something that’s really none of my business? It’s something you make look simple and I don’t know how it can be.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Is it that simple to sleep with your ex-wife?’

  Will settled his attention back on his breakfast. He stabbed his fork into the last triangle of French toast. ‘What do you mean?’

  Without looking up from the puzzle, she waggled her pencil like a cigar between her fingers. ‘Every relationship breakdown is different. You said you separated on friendly terms, and that you and Yvonne are still good friends, but doesn’t sleeping together make things complicated when it comes to staying friends?’

  The sliver of French toast paused at his chin. He put the fork down. ‘It doesn’t seem to for us. Qué será será. I guess we both accept that.’ He enjoyed a certain straightforward … unconventional relationship with Yvonne that was of mutual benefit. It wasn’t a regular thing. It more a lazy, cozy little habit they both had. He appreciated the comfortable familiarity. So did Yvonne.

  An unsavory thought struck him. Was that similar unconventionality something Caroline and Alex shared? ‘Do you still sleep with Alex?’

  ‘What? Oh, hell no.’ She dropped the pencil, and looked at him, rubbing ears that had turned bright pink. ‘I’m sorry I asked something so personal.’

  Will was embarrassed too. ‘No, I’m sorry. I didn’t intend for that to seem tit-for-tat.’

  ‘It was fair, since I asked you.’ Her head dipped and she continued to fill in little squares on the newspaper. ‘You and Yvonne have your reasons, and it works for you both, but I’m ashamed I ever shared a bed with Alex.’

  That news made Will happier than necessary. He watched her scribbling in tiny boxes. Yes, Caroline was attractive. Yes, he enjoyed her company. Yes, he thought about her a great deal, but there was no point in entertaining ideas or paying attention to the occasional pleasurable sensations she stirred up in his mind and body. He liked uncomplicated. Uncomplicated explained why he still slept with Vonnie. The bottom line was, he was a rut-dweller. His life worked the way it was. And he was just fine with that.

  Mostly.

  ‘You’re not going to finish your pancakes, are you?’ he said.

  ‘They’re all yours, Frosty.’

  ‘Frosty?’

  She looked up at him, grinning. ‘You’ve got to admit it’s nicer than Willie, isn’t it?’

  ‘Sure, Squirt.’ He slid her plate across the table, poured a pond of syrup over cold, cinnamon sugar-sprinkled pancakes. Come Monday he knew he’d slip another domestic violence fact sheet in her mailbox.

  ***

  Quincy spied the car through the windshield. ‘Wow, that’s an original one.’

  ‘An original what?’ Will glanced over at his friend.

  ‘That green Mustang. It’s a sixty-eight and I bet the paint’s as original as the hippie sitting in it. Perry had a midnight blue one when he was seventeen. Remember that thing? It was the car he restored—the one he had before the MG A.’

  ‘I remember that car. This one looks like it could use some work.’ Will twisted to get another look at the out the Jag’s rear window as they made a turn.
>
  A man in ripped jeans and leather bomber jacket climbed out of the Ford, tucking long, auburn hair into a blue baseball cap.

  The hair on the back of Will’s neck stood up. ‘Stop the car, Quince. Please.’

  Quincy pulled over immediately. ‘You gonna barf?’

  ‘No. Sorry. I just want to get a better look at the car.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s one sweet ride there.’

  Will nodded, and watched Alex walk a short distance and climb aboard the number 22 bus, the bus he sometimes took to work, the bus Caroline usually caught at the next stop, three blocks south.

  Hat pulled low, Alex moved to the rear of the bus. He took a seat and stared out the window.

  It was possible the man lived in the area. It was possible his position at the rear of the bus was simply wanting to stay out of Caroline’s way, as she’d asked him to. Not wanting to jump to conclusions or make assumptions, Will told Quincy to go on driving. The 22 made stops along the way. Quincy would reach the Collins building before the bus even hit Michigan Avenue.

  Eighteen minutes later, Will had postponed his first meeting of the day, and went to Starbucks. He grabbed a coffee and headed for the Walgreens on the corner of Randolph, across from the number 22’s downtown stop. He sipped a pumpkin spice latte, watched from the windows, and waited for the bus to arrive. When the vehicle pulled to the curbside on State Street, he took the lid off the paper coffee cup and gulped the lukewarm brew in one go.

  Caroline was easy to spot as she disembarked. She wore a red coat that swished when she walked. Alex lagged behind, exiting the vehicle after she had merged with a swarm of people. Will dropped his empty cup into the trash and went outside, following Alex as he walked in the crowd behind Caroline, crossing the street at the lights with the rest of the pedestrians on their way to work. She made her way into Webb & Fairchild, his attention focused on her until she passed through the large door of the main entrance.

  Alex wandered south on State Street and turned left onto Washington. The store had another entrance around the corner on Wabash Avenue. Will trailed behind.

  He was inexplicably disappointed when the redhead crossed the street, turned south on Michigan Avenue, and entered a small coffee shop where he shook hands with a bald guy who slapped him on the back.

  ***

  The light in his office was muted, the arched Art Deco windows were tinted to accommodate his sensitive eyes. Despite the light level, Will read the same paragraph for the fourth time. His mind wandered. His mind had wandered between Caroline and the law book on his desk ever since he’d left Alex in the coffee shop, three hours earlier.

  More than a simple mind wander, now Will had dissolved into a full-blown daydream. He fancied himself as a Dashiell Hammett character, a noir private eye tailing a dame in danger. Caroline had the Veronica Lake hair, the air of a mysterious past, and a loutish, bearded husband from the wrong side of the tracks. Will crossed the room, reaching for his fedora to complete his little fantasy. His fingertips just brushed against the wool when a gentle rap sounded at his office door.

  Bernadine, his no-nonsense secretary, poked her dark head through the door. ‘There’s a woman named Caroline downstairs at reception. She said she’s your personal shopper, and you’re not expecting her, but she’d like to know if she can see you.’

  ‘Thank you, Bea. Please, ask her to come up.’

  Bernadine closed the door with a succinct nod of her dark head.

  Will, returned to his desk, closed the law book on his desk, and put on his jacket. He reached into the inside pocket, drew out a small bottle of re-wetting drops, and squeezed liquid into his dried-out contacts. His tinted glasses were folded beside his letter opener on the desk. He grabbed them and put them on.

  Who was he trying to kid here? There was a reason he’d followed Alex this morning. Caroline was more than a pretty girl. She was a pretty woman, and the idea of having an affair with a younger pretty woman who had a stalker almost ex-husband appealed to him in a French cinema sort of way—despite the probability of winding up as the transition man. The thing was, he liked being Caroline’s friend, and a fling with a friend would be fun, but what if that fling led to something more?

  Something more?

  Did he really just think something more? A fling would be nothing more than, well, a fling. Eventually, friends or not, Caroline was going to get bored being around someone ten years older. Their friendly fling would lead to awkward moments, the avoidance of meeting each other on the terrace, the hurried, pleasant-yet-sheepish ‘hellos’ in the stairway. They’d end up as neighbors with no more in common than living in the same building. It would all get so complicated.

  He headed for the elevator to meet her. Who was he trying to kid here? The reasons not to sink into a romance with Caroline didn’t boil down to being a transition man, how problematic or disruptive to his simple lifestyle it would be, ruining a valued friendship, or even that she was too young for him. The point was he was too old for her.

  Wasn’t he?

  If he had to ask, then there was another reason why he followed Alex this morning, but the sheer idiocy of the reason made Will laugh out loud because he was not having a midlife crisis. He’d had that at the age of twenty-five, when Yvonne said she didn’t love him the way a wife was supposed to love a husband, and he bought that beat-up Indian motorcycle, grew a beard, and rode down to Key West—where he got the worst sunburn of his life. By the time the elevator opened on the softly lit executive level, there was William Murphy, smiling at his own folly, and smiling at Caroline.

  Outfitted in a charcoal gray Italian suit. William stood with his legs slightly apart, hands clasped behind his back, a goofy grin on his face.

  A bewildering tingle spread through Caroline’s stomach and moved down, down very low, like a whispered well, hello there, Caroline, don’tcha wanna grab those balls? She shoved her hands into the pockets of her coat.

  Still grinning, he said, ‘You look like Doris Day.’ Her red coat swung out as she stepped from the elevator.

  ‘If I’m Doris Day, you’re Rock Hudson. You’re about as big as Rock was.’

  ‘I think he was taller.’

  ‘I like Rock Hudson,’ she said. ‘All that clever innuendo with the sexual tension and split screens … He and Doris did that so well. Although, I have to say I prefer his post-argument love scene with Elizabeth Taylor in Giant. Her lipstick looks so cute smeared all over his mouth.’

  ‘What can I do for you, Caroline?’ William said, still wearing a doofus smile.

  ‘I’m sorry I didn’t call you directly. The number I have listed for you at work is your secretary’s.’

  ‘I’ll give you my personal line so you don’t have to mess with Bea. Is there something I can do for you, something I can take care of?’

  Caroline suddenly felt a silly about things tingling and even sillier for dropping in. This wasn’t home. She’d probably interrupted some hugely important corporate legal project. She cleared her throat with a small cough. ‘It’s a half-business, half-social call. I wanted to remind you about raincoats. You never bought one. We got a number of new coats in this morning, and it looks like you might need one today.’

  ‘How thoughtful of you to consider my comfort.’

  ‘I was also wondering,’ she coughed again, ‘if you’d like to have lunch with me. We could discuss closeted gay actors who made it big.’

  ‘You’re been talking with Dennis, haven’t you?’

  ‘He loves Montgomery Clift. I lent him A Place in the Sun.’ Her stomach growled. Loudly. ‘Pardon me,’ she said.

  Will chuckled. ‘How did you know this is the time I usually contemplate my midday meal?’

  ‘You once told me you get paid a huge salary to deliberate lunch.’

  ‘Shh, Quincy may hear you and reconsider what he pays me.’

  ‘Sorry.’ She whispered, ‘Is one of the store’s cafés okay with you? I get a discount.’

  He whispered back,
‘The Maple Room has a mean chicken salad. I’ll get my hat.’

  With his fedora in place and blue-tinted glasses on, they made their way to the ground floor, and outside into the noise of downtown. It was dark, rain threatened. They hurried around the corner of the Collins building toward the Victorian façade of Webb & Fairchild two blocks away.

  ‘Maybe I can get you into a shirt without a tie,’ she said.

  ‘How do you not remember I was wearing jeans and a long sleeved t-shirt last Sunday morning, when I helped you move the table on your terrace?’

  She laughed. ‘For what, fifteen minutes?’

  ‘Twenty,’

  Still laughing, she stumbled over a passer-by’s foot. William had grabbed her arm before she could fall. She kept laughing, he set her upright, and fixed his gaze behind her. ‘Did you do that on purpose?’ He frowned.

  ‘It’s really you, Caroline. You really came back.’

  Caroline quit laughing and closed her eyes, praying she’d imagined that gravelly smoker’s voice. She let her fingers move down William’s arm, and clasped his solid hand before she opened her eyes and turned around to have a showdown on a Chicago sidewalk.

  ‘Why couldn’t you just stay away?’ Bethany let a stream of smoke waft from her mouth. ‘Why’d you have to come back here? Alex is a mess again.’

  ‘Let’s go, William.’ Caroline changed her mind. There wasn’t going to be a showdown. She stepped back from Bethany’s cancerous cloud and pulled William’s hand.

  Bethany followed alongside, a lit cigarette hanging between the tobacco-stained index and middle finger of her left hand. ‘Alex said you had a new boyfriend. Is this him? What did you do to the man? I can see he must have one foot in the grave because he already looks like a ghost. Does he know what you did, Caroline? Have you told him?’ She grabbed William’s elbow, the cigarette butt dropping a lump of gray ash on his dark sleeve. ‘Do you know?’