by Ann Roberts
She glanced back at the exit, debating whether to run out to the lobby or not, when she spotted Mazie leaning against one of the columns, watching the movie. Her long, curly hair served as a pillow for her head and the gentle locks draped around her face. She had fine lips—symmetrical and plump. She bit her lip, and Addy’s breath caught. It was incredibly sexy. Addy could tell Mazie was enjoying the steamy scene. She wondered if Mazie saw the similarities to High Art. Did she even know anything about movies?
Suddenly Mazie’s gaze flicked from the screen to Addy. Addy blinked and faced forward. Mazie had caught her staring, but how did Mazie know where she was sitting to stare back? Unless she’d been staring at Addy too.
She focused on the movie as the plot shifted to the next day, but she desperately wanted to look back at the pillar and see if Mazie was still standing there looking like a movie ingénue, but she didn’t dare. Besides, she wasn’t attracted to Mazie, so she shouldn’t give her so much “brain space,” as Dr. Pfeiffer called it. Mazie would never be the type of woman she fantasized about—too plump, too plain and way too careless with colors, as evidenced by the candy display fiasco.
She suddenly remembered she had a baggie full of blue M&Ms in her knapsack. She gleefully fished them out and spent the rest of the movie living in the problems of beautiful lesbians while munching on chocolate joy.
By the time the credits rolled, the lesbians were living happily ever after (as if a lesbian romance would end any other way!). She quickly bolted up the side aisle near the wall, hoping to exit the theater before Mazie saw her. She was embarrassed when she thought about the way she’d ogled Mazie. It was very disturbing and inappropriate in the light of the “Me Too” movement.
As she crossed the lobby, her gaze strayed to the concessions stand. And she halted—so quickly that a college guy nearly ran her over.
“Sorry,” he mumbled in a not-sorry way as he raced past her.
She couldn’t believe what she saw. All of the candies were once again clustered by color—and each candy had an individual price sticker.
“Do you like it?”
Addy turned to find Mazie beside her. She wore a meek smile, as if she was imploring Addy not to be upset. “It’s genius,” Addy said. “Thank you for going to so much trouble.”
Mazie grinned at the compliment and her full lips parted slightly. For a second Addy wondered what it would be like to kiss those lips.
“It didn’t take too long to do, and you’re clearly a Bijou VIP.”
Addy knew it was her turn to say something but being called a VIP momentarily stunned her. “I really liked the movie,” she blurted. “It reminded me of Elena Undone.”
“I agree,” Mazie said.
“And the sex scenes were filmed like High Art.”
Mazie made a face. “Not a fan.”
“You didn’t like High Art?”
“Not really. I like movies that are more straightforward like Fried Green Tomatoes or Bound. And Everything Relative.”
“Wow. That’s an oldie. So you don’t like artsy films?”
“No, I do, but I think sometimes they’re trying to be artistic and they fall flat. But others, like The Gymnast, are really beautiful. I loved that movie.”
“Me too,” Addy said.
Mazie offered a slight smile. “So we agree.”
Addy shuffled her feet and glanced at Mazie once more. She could talk about movies to someone like Mazie for hours.
Mazie held up the broom and dustpan and said, “Well, I’m off to cleanup duty. See you soon, Addy.”
“Bye,” Addy called, relieved, as she headed for the front doors with the crowd.
Outside she took a deep breath, pleased with the events of the evening. The movie was good and she’d never again be deprived of her licorice. She knew such joys were not that important in the grand scheme of life, like surviving a hurricane or beating cancer. Still, for her they rated.
She biked five blocks before she realized there was nothing on her back. She’d left her knapsack in the theater. She’d been so busy thinking about Mazie’s full lips and the unorganized candies that she’d forgotten to pick up her version of a purse.
She groaned and turned her bike around. Fortunately, the last patrons were just exiting, and she caught the front door before it closed. She knew Almondine’s routine. She always locked the front doors midway through the last showing as a security measure. The patrons could leave but drunk creeps couldn’t enter.
As Addy crossed the lobby, she admired the wooden beams across the pitched ceilings. The Bijou had once been a church. While the original lobby remained, the sanctuary now served as the larger theater, accommodating one hundred and ten patrons. Outside across the courtyard was Theatre Two, which had once been a meeting hall.
She stiffened as she walked through the courtyard, another place to gather. The little chairs and round tables dotted the thirty by forty space. Hanging planter boxes provided color, and a few trees lined the border. In the summer Almondine would host poetry readings and serve cappuccino. While a lot of people didn’t attend, those who did found it most enjoyable.
She grasped the large door handle for Theater Two but hesitated. She imagined she might encounter Mazie again, and goose pimples sprouted on her arms. She hadn’t seen those since her teen years when a friend made her go to the haunted house at the county fair.
She cracked the door open—and heard singing. She didn’t know the song, but it was bluesy, and she found herself swaying, caught up in the rich, deep sounds. She guessed Mazie had turned on the radio to the jazz station so she could listen while she worked. The song grew softer, and Addy pulled the door open a little wider to catch the next set of lyrics. It was catchy, one of those songs people hummed along with because the melody was easy to follow.
The singer caressed each note the way the lesbians caressed each other in the movie. Addy decided to get the song from iTunes, but since she was terrible at remembering song titles or lyrics, she hit the record button on her phone.
Just as she poked her head through the doorway, holding out her phone, the most powerful crescendo she’d ever heard burst forth. From Mazie. Addy’s eyes widened as she gazed at Mazie, standing on the little stage in front of the movie screen. Her back arched, her arms opened wide and her entire body shuddered as she belted out the chorus. Addy imagined colors emerging from her lips, alongside the glorious notes—blues, greens, yellows…and deep purple.
Addy couldn’t believe it. Those lips she’d studied uttered the words of the song, like a gift just for her. She closed her eyes and those lips were upon her…
“What are you doing here!”
Addy blinked. Mazie had stopped singing and was staring at Addy, her face red with anger. Addy suddenly realized the music had pulled her through the doorway. She was standing at the head of the aisle. She quickly shoved the phone into her pocket.
“I said, what the hell are you doing here?”
“I, I…left my backpack.” She pointed wildly toward her usual seat.
“Get it and get out,” Mazie said, turning away.
Addy hurried down the aisle and retrieved it. Mazie had abandoned the stage and was furiously sweeping the opposite corner of the theater as if an entire dumpster had overturned and a pile of garbage littered Row A.
“Your singing…your voice. I’ve never heard anything like it. You’re amazing.”
Mazie whirled around and faced her, teeth gritted. “Get out!”
Chapter Five
Addy’s least favorite month of the year was September, when the leaves, flowers—everything—started to die. It was also the month she celebrated her birthday. Her mother had declared her birthday was always the day after Labor Day, the first day of school. Once Addy understood calendars, she realized her birthday was always a different date, and her mother confessed she struggled to remember Addy’s actual date of birth, so she just proclaimed it to be the day after Labor Day, saying “labor” was the reminder she
needed about the trip to the hospital and Addy’s appearance in the world.
Addy had heard the story many times, whenever her mother decided to make her feel guilty for being born. Twenty hours of labor. She’d almost died. Addy had almost died. Her mother vowed never to return to a hospital, claiming the nurse nearly killed her because she hadn’t given her the right medications. Addy didn’t understand this at all, but she’d always found herself apologizing for existing right before she blew out the single birthday candle her mother stuck in a Ding Dong, Twinkie, chicken pot pie—whatever was convenient.
A few days after her declared birthday, Addy was still thinking about her confrontation with Mazie. How could someone with such a beautiful, melodic instrument turn it, in an instant, into something shrilly, horrible and nightmarish? It was almost as if Mazie had been possessed, like Sissy Spacek in Carrie. So which voice belonged to the real Mazie? The singer or the screamer?
Get out!
She exited the changing room and returned her street clothes to her locker. As she passed Jackie’s office on her way to the time clock, Jackie called, “Addy, in here, please!”
She pivoted and leaned into the doorway. “Can it wait, Jac? I haven’t clocked in.”
“Clock in and come back. And what’s that tune you’re whistling?”
She cocked her head to the side. “What?”
“You were just whistling.” Her eyes narrowed. “Weren’t you? I’m not losing my mind…am I? I’m not over forty yet.” She shook her head. “You really didn’t just hear yourself whistling?” Her expression grew troubled. Addy had seen it happen every so often, when Jackie’s leadership ability and confidence seemed to evaporate. “Middle age strikes again,” she muttered. “Go clock in and come back.”
Addy nodded and sighed. She retreated down the hallway toward the Bull Pen, the aptly named lounge, since ninety percent of the Wilshire Hills Transportation Department was male.
As she entered, Pratul said, “And the second guy says, ‘I may not have a right hand, but at least I’m not a fag!’”
Four of her colleagues—all white males, obese, homophobic, approaching retirement, and somewhat racist, laughed heartily at his punchline. She ignored them and strolled to the time clock, passing by Jennifer, one of the other few female employees. Jennifer was between shifts and engrossed in a book. She claimed it was her way of blocking out the testosterone. She glanced at Addy as she passed and they exchanged nods.
“Hey Addy!” Pratul called. “You just missed my joke. Want me to tell it again?”
She took a breath and faced him. “No, I don’t need to hear it.”
“Why not? It’s funny.”
She cocked her head to the side and tapped her chin. “Funny like, ‘how many Muslims does it take to build a bomb?’ That kind of funny?”
His expression turned stony. She knew he wished her physical harm, but he enjoyed the cushy salary and benefits provided by Wilshire Hills and wouldn’t sacrifice those for a quick backhand to her mouth.
“And for the record,” she said, “I don’t think jokes about Muslims are funny either.” She turned on a heel and headed back to Jackie’s office.
“There! See? You’re whistling.” She slapped her desk. “I am not crazy.”
Addy shrugged and slumped into the chair across from Jackie’s desk. “Sorry. Didn’t realize I was doing it.”
She looked at her shrewdly. “You’re awfully chipper for just running the gauntlet through the Bull Pen. Did you let Pratul have it?”
She nodded. “Yeah, a little.”
Jackie looked at her sharply. “Be careful, Add. I’m telling you, he’s looking for a reason to take you down.”
“I know,” she said, “but I’m not taking his shit.”
“And I’m not asking you to.” Jackie held up a folder. “Now, the reason I called you in here—”
The radio next to Jackie cackled. “Supervisor, this is Luanne on 19.”
Jackie rolled her eyes and picked up the radio. Addy knew Luanne was a new driver and prone to mistakes. Two days before she’d managed to pull her bus into a dead-end alley. Another driver and several passengers had to help her back out.
“This is supervisor, Luanne. What’s up?”
“Uh, I know you’re probably going to be upset…” Luanne sniffled and sounded as if she were crying.
Jackie leaned forward. “It’s okay, Luanne. Is anyone hurt?”
“No, no. It’s nothing like that. I’m on I-5, and well…I had my window open, and all of my directions for the route, you know, the left turns, the right turns…all of it blew out the window. Gone. I’ve got no idea where I’m going.”
Jackie bit her lip and tried not to laugh. Getting lost and missing turns was part of the gig. Addy motioned for the radio and Jackie handed it to her. “Hey, Luanne, it’s Addy. Tell me the next sign or landmark you see.”
“Uh, the outlet stores are coming up.”
Addy nodded. “Okay, take that exit. Then go right at the first stop sign, that’s Goode Street. You got two stops on Goode, and then turn left on Nashua Boulevard. Three stops there and it’s the end of the route. There’s a Dollar Mart store at Nashua and Washington. Pull in there and get yourself set up with the bus’s GPS.”
“Aw, Addy, I hate using all the fancy technology,” she whined.
“I know, but you gotta, right?”
“Yeah, okay. Hey, thanks, Addy. You’re the best. Over and out.”
She grinned and Jackie offered a high-five. Jackie set down the radio and looked at Addy thoughtfully. “How did you know where she needed to go? That’s nowhere near your route.”
She smoothed the creases of her shorts. “When I came on and didn’t have any seniority, I did all the routes.”
“And you remember all the turns for each one?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess so.” Jackie looked doubtful. “No, really, I remember everything I drive. I don’t know why.”
“You know, you could be a trainer. Ever thought of that?”
Addy shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“Well, I do. I think you’d make a great trainer, but there’s a distinct possibility you won’t be employed with us after tomorrow.”
“What?”
“This is why I called you in here. You haven’t filed your insurance papers. If I don’t get the form completed by tomorrow morning, you won’t have health insurance. And you have to be covered. It’s part of the union agreement.” Addy nodded but said nothing. “You understand you need to do this, right? Our new carrier, Meritain, demands it. If something bad happened, you’d be fucked.”
“I know. I just…” How could she explain that she didn’t understand the jargon? She’d had an anxiety attack just trying to make sense of the forms. She didn’t like to think about being sick. She’d only been to a doctor twice in her whole life. Her mother never had the money, and fortunately she and her brother weren’t sickly. And the times she should have gone…She wasn’t going to think about those times.
“Look, would you like me to help you fill out the papers?”
“Would you?”
“Yes. This needs to get done.” She paused and looked at her uncomfortably. “Addy, have you checked to see if your doctor is on this plan? You know, the psychiatrist you see every once in a while?”
Addy shrugged. She hated talking about Dr. Pfeiffer. She hated talking to Dr. Pfeiffer. She was ashamed to tell people she actually paid someone to discuss her…issues, especially the colors. She’d tried talking to Jackie, but Jackie didn’t feel like she could help her. And then it made their relationship even stranger than it already was.
“Get going and come by my place tonight after you get off work,” Jackie said. “We’ll go through everything and celebrate your birthday—just a little bit.”
She smiled and Addy nodded. “Thanks.” Jackie understood she hated big birthday celebrations, but she didn’t mind a quick drink or a quiet meal.
�
��Hey,” Jackie said before she ducked out of the office. “That tune you were whistling? I figured it out. Great blues number called ‘My Mama Don’t Allow Me’ from the forties. How do you know that song?”
“I…must’ve heard it somewhere.”
“My grandma used to sing it. Used to make my racist granddad mad because it was ‘black’ music.” She looked away wistfully. “He was such an asshole.” She smiled at Addy. “Catchy tune. Have a good day.”
“You too.”
She headed to the bus bay, scratching her head. She didn’t know that song. Where had she heard it? As she filled out her log and performed her pre-check routine before she departed, she suddenly remembered. It was the song Mazie had been singing in the theater the night before.
Addy started her route, which she affectionately termed “the oven mitt,” for it was shaped like an oven mitt—or the state of Michigan. She’d added the thumb of the mitt herself by including a slight detour for one of her regulars, a detour that neither Jackie nor the Wilshire Hills Transportation Department knew existed. While she thought it was for a very good reason, she doubted the stuffy executives who ran the city and probably never had ridden a bus would agree—and would insist on punishing her if they found out.
She rarely collected passengers at her first two stops since the nearby sawmill had closed six months ago. When she’d been hired eighteen months before, her route was the one no one wanted. It was known as the “Buzz Kill” for two reasons, the first being the sawmill. She’d almost quit during her first week after facing a sea of men, mostly clad in offensive plaid shirts—Addy’s least favorite pattern ever. Plaid was a world where colors practically slammed against each other, separated only by thin black lines. Many of the men asked her out or made sexual comments, all of which she ignored. By the end of her shift each day, she had routinely found the floor and seats covered in sawdust, making her cleanout process long and cumbersome. She was probably the only person in town who’d cheered the sawmill’s closure.
“Buzz kill” also referred to Doobie Scoobie, the most popular marijuana dispensary with the Baby Boomers in Wilshire Hills. Jeff, one of her favorite regulars, had explained the inferences from the popular 60’s cartoon, Scooby Doo, a show about a group of teenagers who solve mysteries with their dog, Scooby Doo. Jeff maintained a lot of weed got smoked inside their van, the Mystery Machine, when they weren’t solving crimes. Addy routinely picked up people going to or coming from the dispensary, and while there were laws about smoking weed in public places, the acrid smell that often filled the bus suggested many people didn’t care about the law. Sometimes she felt like she was high just from the proximity. At least the stoners were a mellow group, and she always preferred them to the sawmill guys.
