Foxy's Tale

by Karen Cantwell

  Myron considered the question. He looked at the laptop, open in front of them. He glanced out the window. “I tell you something,” he began. “Your mama downstairs vas selling something I vahnted to be buying. She sold to other lady. But was okey dokey anyvay. I had some interest vith some papers there and something I vahnted to find. You know vaht I’m talking?”

  “Not really,” Amanda shook her head.

  “Vell,” Myron took a deep breath and tried again. “If you, for maybe an argument just to be for an instance, you vahnted to find vaht an old building looked like that had changed maybe over many years. Could you find such a thing on here?” He pointed at the laptop.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Myron had memorized Amanda’s schedule. The next day he waited for her at the front door and, when she walked up to the building, he opened the door for her so she didn’t have to struggle with the key and the backpack, even though by now she’d gotten good at the door-opening-backpack-hoisting operation. She was adjusting to this new life.

  “Thanks,” she said casually and headed for the stairs.

  “I bought von of those things,” Myron told her as he followed her upstairs.

  “One of what?” She was thinking about all the vials of blood in his refrigerator. She asked her chemistry teacher why anyone would be storing blood in an apartment, and he said he couldn’t think of any reason. She asked Nick, too. On the way to school. He didn’t say much except one thing that stuck in her mind all day.

  “Be careful,” he said just before he let her off in front of the school building. A bus pulled up, so he couldn’t wait and took off to park his car far off at the back of the lot. But she didn’t know what she should be careful of, exactly. And he had practice after school until late, so he couldn’t drive her to the Metro.

  “To be finding out things. Like you said,” Myron answered her.

  “Oh,” Amanda nodded as he followed behind her to the second floor. At her door he stood there waiting.

  “You bought a laptop?”

  “Very nice young man sold me. For lessons I should come back he says. But I tell him I have a friend who can show me how. So? Already it’s a good step in a direction?”

  “You mean you want me to show you how to use it?” Amanda was tickled at this thought. Foxy would never ask Amanda to show her how to do anything. “I guess I could. But I have to do homework first. And then cook dinner.”

  “Sure, sure,” said Myron, nodding like crazy, very animated all of a sudden. “I got things to do, too. You come up for tea after you finish your home works and eating. You’ll have tea. I got some good cookies. Nice vons, vith the chips and everything.”

  “I’ll make you a trade,” said Amanda as she opened the door.

  “Trade? Vaht trade?”

  “You tell me what all those vials of blood are for, and I’ll help you find out what you want to know about old buildings on your new laptop.” She grinned at him, as he stood, a bit dumbfounded now, in the hallway.

  He considered her offer. He was quiet for a bit and then he slowly nodded. “Okey dokey. Ve trading. Vith tea and cookies.” He plodded along to the stairs, and Amanda listened as he climbed to the third floor.

  After she had done her homework, she was in the kitchen smacking ground beef into patties when Foxy bustled in carrying a large shopping bag, which she dumped on the floor with a great sigh.

  “You’ll never guess what I managed to land,” she exclaimed as if she and Amanda hadn’t seen each other in weeks, which was not altogether untrue. They lived in the same apartment, but they did not keep parallel schedules, and often they only passed each other by chance. Foxy had no idea what was going on in Amanda’s life, but that did not seem to concern her. Except for Amanda’s hair and her piercings, Foxy was oblivious.

  “Uh, let’s see,” said Amanda slowly, as if considering among many options. “A marlin?”

  “Oh, don’t be sassy, young lady. I got that bag at Neiman’s. And then, because it is just too stunning, I got shoes and a new jacket and . . .”

  Amanda interrupted her. “Foxy, don’t you think you should save some of the money you’re getting from selling all that old stuff downstairs? I mean, what if sales dwindle, or you get sick, or something else happens?”

  “What could happen? Kuh-not’s a genius at handling these fancy old ladies. Sheer genius.”

  “What if he leaves?”

  “What if the sky falls?” Foxy mimicked her daughter.

  “Foxy, the sky did fall. That’s why we’re here. And it could fall again. You should know that by now.” She smacked a second patty into shape and tossed them both in a pan. They sizzled and sputtered. A delicious aroma filled the kitchen. Amanda popped two buns into a large toaster oven and set out two plates and glasses. She’d made a salad with cucumber, mushroom, and field greens. She shook a cruet full of dressing until it was well blended. While she was preparing the food, Foxy stepped into the new shoes and took out the handbag.

  “Well, wasn’t it worth it?” She modeled them for Amanda.

  “Worth what?” Amanda leaned over to snoop at the price tag on the bag. “Whoa. Crap, Foxy. You could feed a family of four for half a year in Honduras for that.”

  “I refuse to feel guilty, young lady. You just do not know how to have fun. And besides, I spent some money on you, too.” She pulled a box out of one of the bags and opened it. “I bought these just for you. We wear the same size. I tried them on and I know they’ll fit. Try them. They’re soft as butter.”

  Amanda made a disdainful face and sneered, “They’re red.” But she took the box and set it aside by the stairs to her room.

  “Will you at least try them on?” asked Foxy.

  “Later,” said Amanda. “Sit down and have some food now. It’ll be the first meal we’ve eaten together since we moved in here.”

  “All right, but all of that red meat and cheese will go straight to my hips. I’ll just have the salad. Oh, and before I forget, I’m going out later. I was invited to an embassy party.”

  “Which one?”

  “Finnish. They have that very modern embassy all done in birch and glass – at least I think it’s birch. It’s an after-dinner party to honor some Finnish artist who carves huge granite blocks that were left in the ground after the ice age. They’re all over Finland, or something like that. Anyway he’s very handsome and very, very hot right now. He just got a write-up in People.”

  “Well, let’s hope it doesn’t finish you,” said Amanda.

  “Very funny. You’re a regular comedienne, aren’t you?” Foxy knew Amanda thought she was clueless, but she also vaguely remembered how she felt about her mother when she was Amanda’s age. But that was different. She did everything her mother wanted her to do. She entered the Miss Calhoun County pageant and won. And she won the Miss Northeast Georgia beauty pageant, and then Miss Georgia. And she went to college and later married a football star. Of course there was the little detour of her pregnancy and all that, but her mother got over it. After taking to her bed for Foxy’s entire pregnancy and vowing never to speak to her again. Mothers and daughters never truly get along, Foxy figured. At least Amanda wouldn’t get pregnant. What boy would look at her with that hair and those pierced ears and the way she cloaked herself in black.

  “This salad is delicious, honey,” Foxy told Amanda.

  Amanda slid a cheeseburger over to Foxy and sat down at the little table with two chairs. “Take a bite of the burger at least.”

  Foxy did, and smiled. “That’s amazing.”

  “I know, who’d have thought I’d like cooking? You should try it sometime – instead of shopping. You’d save money,” she told Foxy and chomped down on her cheeseburger. Juice dripped from it onto her fingers and, for that instant, she felt like a success. The two sat and finished eating, for a brief moment enjoying each other’s company.

  After Foxy left for her party, Amanda sat at the small desk in her room and wrote:

  Amanda’s Life
in Hell

  Things are getting better here in hell. Hey, I found out I like cooking. Anyway, anything’s an improvement over what Foxy does in the kitchen. I don’t know what you’d call it, but it sure isn’t cooking. I’m going upstairs to have tea with that little man, Mr. Standlish, and show him how to use his new computer (and find out about the blood in his fridge too . . . more later tonight). It’s so funny, he bought a laptop and he’s never even seen one. How is that possible???

  Chapter Seventeen

  They sat on barstools at the counter between the kitchen and living room because there was nowhere else for two people to sit. The laptop was open in front of Amanda. A cup of tea was to her right. And a bowl brimming with clean white sugar lumps that looked like candy. Her hot tea was milky, and there was a plate of Chips Ahoy cookies next to the sugar bowl. Foxy never bought these or any other cookies for Amanda. Now that she’d been grocery shopping once, and had prowled the cookie aisle and seen the vast selection stocked on shelf after shelf, Amanda was pretty sure she wouldn’t have bought these cookies. But maybe. She took a bite of one and sipped her tea. It was all very sweet, and she put the cookie down to concentrate on the task in front of them.

  “See, this is how you search for something,” she clicked and up popped DC.gov. She clicked around some more.

  “Vaht is this you are doing?” Myron leaned over next to her to see the laptop screen better. Amanda shoved the plate of cookies toward him.

  “No, no. I don’t touch sweets as a rule of health and well-being.” He shook his head. “But you. You are so thin, such a skimpy little thing. You eat. It’s good for you.” He pushed the plate back to her side.

  “So, remember our deal?” she asked Myron as she clicked from page to page searching for the right section of the dot gov site.

  “I’m old,” he shrugged a shoulder. “I forget things fast. Vaht deal, gevalt?”

  “About the vials of blood,” she said. “In your fridge.”

  “Fridge?” he asked. “I don’t know this vord.” He looked up at her.

  “It’s short for refrigerator. And you’re stalling. Foxy does that when she doesn’t want to answer me. She changes the subject. Why are all those blood things in there?”

  “Ach, dat. It is very simple. A simple explanation. So nothing it’s not vorth the vorry in your head.”

  “Then tell me, if it’s so simple,” Amanda was not about to let this go.

  Myron stood and dug into his inside jacket vest pocket. He pulled out what looked like a longer than normal very slim wallet. He opened it carefully and revealed a set of business cards neatly tucked into slots. He pulled one out and placed it on the counter. “You look. I’m in business. You see. Nothing at all to vorry about it. All very up and on the upper.”

  Amanda picked up the card and read:

  Myron Standlish, International Plasma Institute, Broker

  And then at the bottom, in small red letters:

  We serve those in need the world over.

  “So?” Myron said, “keep it.” He waved a hand at her as if he was giving her a small gift. “It’s yours. So you’ll know vaht I do keeping busy.”

  “You sell blood?” Amanda stared at the card. “Who buys blood? I thought it was free to anyone who needs it.”

  Myron pushed her teacup closer to Amanda’s hand.

  “Drink,” he said. “Eat. It’s not good for you?”

  She took the teacup and sipped at the tea that had cooled considerably. “Who do you sell it to? I mean hospitals have their own blood, don’t they?”

  “Everything in this vorld costs somebody for something. It’s the vay the vorld vorks. You got something somebody needs and you sell to them. They got something you need and they sell to you. It’s simple. People need blood. Vithout blood, you gonna not be doing so fine and dandy. People get sick. They have accidentals. You got your naturally disasters. All times you may be needing blood. Sometimes there’s not enough blood to go around in through the normal channels of the vorld, and in those cases, then people come to me. And I get them a good supply in. It’s simple – that’s vay how it vorks.”

  “Oh,” said Amanda, but she was still not convinced that what he was telling her was as simple as he made it sound. Like why was he storing this blood in his apartment fridge and why didn’t he have some clinical-type office with professional storage and stuff like that? She was about to ask, but at that moment the screen she’d been waiting for popped up. She’d gotten to the public works screen, and she started clicking around to try to figure out how to locate plans for the buildings on her street.

  She clicked on drop-down menus and read instructions for using the site. No login needed, as this site was designed for contractors and real estate people and the public to use. She clicked from screen to screen until there it was, the plans for her street.

  “Okay,” she said, more to the laptop than to Myron. “Here we are.” She moved the mouse around until she found where addresses were listed. She scrolled down and found her house address. “Oh, look there it is.” She pointed to the screen.

  “Such a small printing. I can almost not see,” Myron squinted at the screen.

  “Oh, here,” Amanda hit the control and plus keys until the page was large enough for anyone to see clearly.

  “Ach, such a vhizz kidz you are.” Myron was astounded once again. “Vaht is this I’m looking?”

  “That’s the address of this house. Now I’m going to request to view the plans for it.” Amanda clicked on a few choices and then they waited.

  Myron stood up. He seemed agitated suddenly. He shuffled to the window and gazed down at the gardens behind the houses, bleak at this time of year, with half the leaves down and sad, droopy mums. A few sparrows flitted by the window and landed on a picnic table. They hopped around, searching for something to eat. Then they flew off again and disappeared.

  “Here it is,” Amanda called over to him. “Wow, they’re pretty clean and clear. But here’s something really weird.”

  “Vaht is?” Myron was at her side, peering at the screen.

  She pointed to the plan of the first floor. “Well, look, if that’s the first floor, what about the basement apartment? See it shows a whole floor below the street level, but it’s deeper than the apartment that’s there now. See?” She traces the lines around the first floor and then the basement.

  “A mystery this is,” said Myron.

  “And the apartment there now, the one where Kuh-not lives, is not as deep as the first floor. It’s only half the length of the building.”

  “Vitch means,” Myron stared at the plan. “Another room is down there?”

  “Maybe,” Amanda nodded. She clicked again and left this screen, pulled down more menus and clicked around by dates. She found the date of construction of her building and clicked on that.

  “Oh man, look at that,” she pointed to an older plan.

  “Vaht does this mean?” Myron asked.

  “It looks like these two buildings – this one and the one next door, were built at the same time, and they were connected and shared a basement. See, the basement is the size of two houses. And at some time the basement got split up for some reason, and then in this house only half of it was used. I wonder how you get to the other part, the front part that’s under the front of the store.”

  Myron nodded slowly. “A good question you are asking.”

  *****

  Later that night, after Foxy was back home from her party at the embassy, Amanda wrote:

  Amanda’s Life in Hell – new developments

  Turns out our house is as weird as everyone in it. There’s a basement with no way to get to it. I can’t figure out why anyone would close off a basement. I mean if there’s a store above it, wouldn’t that be a good place to keep extra stuff? And why wouldn’t there be a laundry or something down there? It’s weird. I’m going to ask my history teacher. Maybe these old houses have something he would know about. He’s always showing us how
buildings changed from colonial times up to now. I have to go to bed. I’m meeting Nick at the Metro station near here. He’s driving me all the way to school tomorrow. The first time.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “I made two appointments with Lorenzo for this Saturday. He’s coming in just for us. So you have to come with me.” With her back to Amanda, Foxy turned on the tap and let water fill a ten-cup Mister Coffee pitcher. “And I don’t want to hear anything more about your green hair. It has to go.”

  “Why are you making so much coffee?” Amanda watched Foxy dip into the bag of fresh ground Colombian. “If you drink all that you’re going to be jumpy as hell all day.”

  “Don’t use language like that, Miss Amanda. It’s coarse. And you are a lady, no matter how you package yourself.” Foxy turned around to eye her daughter. She took in the baggy black sweater hanging almost to Amanda’s knees over black leggings. Today Amanda was wearing a silver chain around her neck. From it dangled a teardrop of amber. “Pretty necklace,” said Foxy and turned her attention back to Mister Coffee. “I’m bringing a thermos down to the store. If I have to be stuck sitting in there all day, I want to have something to keep me alert. I swear (she pronounces this sway-yah) I think I’ll go insane if I have to sit there waiting like a spider in a web week after week. I get so bored I could burn the place down just for a little excitement.”

  “Not to mention the insurance money,” Amanda quipped. “It’s only been a couple of months. Jeeze, Foxy. If you’re bored already, how do you expect to support us for the next – oh say, ten years – until I’m out of grad school and working?” Amanda stooped down to pick up her backpack. She shook her head. To rely on Foxy was like relying on ice-cold lemonade in hell.

  “You just make sure to be here on Saturday. I’m tired of looking at that green hair.” Foxy listened for the coffee to perc and then turned to her daughter. Sometimes she wondered how she ever produced such a child. Responsible, studied hard, got top grades, was kind, didn’t drink, smoke or do drugs, wasn’t having sex. So why did she make herself up to look like the walking dead? It must mean something was wrong, but Foxy couldn’t figure out what that could be. She sighed and unscrewed the top of a big thermos.