“Bye, Foxy,” Amanda waved from the doorway. “Gotta go.”
“Why are you leaving early?”
“Want to get to school early today. Big test.” Amanda was not about to tell Foxy about Nick. Why invite trouble? Nick was meeting her on the opposite side of DuPont Circle from where they lived. It would take about ten minutes if she walked fast. She turned to go. But she couldn’t resist saying one more thing. “I like my hair this way. I’m not going to change it, Foxy.” She clomped down the stairs and out the door.
Suddenly Foxy saw her daughter as if she was looking through a time machine. She dressed in black, died her hair green, hid her body in lumpy clothes. Maybe it was all a reaction to Foxy’s own past. She was rebelling against what her mother did as a teenager. Foxy drank her coffee. She poured the rest into the thermos and slowly followed her daughter’s steps down to the ground floor.
At the store she stared out the big window to the street beyond. She thought about a pair of sapphire earrings she’s seen in the window of The Tiny Jewel Box on Connecticut Avenue. She imagined how good they would look on her, how they would set off her complexion, her green eyes and blond hair. That hair had been unnaturally blond for so many years, she’d convinced herself she still was a blond. But what was she really, anymore? A mother at seventeen, college girl at eighteen. Her own mother had to raise Amanda for the first four years. Foxy was only there on and off. And then marriage to a pro quarterback. It all seemed perfect. But he had never adopted Amanda. Foxy somehow had never gotten around to that step. So here they were.
“Aren’t we deep in thought so early this morning? Have a date last night? Is this afterglow I’m witnessing?” Knot sported a pair of short boots today, black and shiny, with an intricate stitch pattern across the toes. He leaned on the desk and smiled as if he knew a secret and was willing to share.
“Should I be worried about Amanda?” Foxy looked up at Knot for guidance. Amanda was so alone all the time. And so was Foxy. She needed advice from someone.
“That girl is a jewel,” said Knot. “No. You do not have to worry about her. You might try talking WITH her more. You know – instead of talking AT her. But she’s got a good head on her shoulders.” He picked up a feather duster off the counter and walked over to their newest acquisition, a Tiffany floor lamp that cost more than his entire shoe collection. He made a few swishes of the duster over the lovely glass. “Where DOES all of this dust come from anyway?” He turned back to Foxy and threw the duster onto the counter. “AND . . . while we’re on the subject of worrying – hear this Foxy Anders: you don’t have to worry about me anymore. All my troubles are . . .” he stopped speaking and made some rather odd hand gestures that were lost on Foxy.
“Did you just insult me?”
Knot sighed with grand drama. “Sweetheart, I love you, but you’re such a blonde. That’s sign language for OVER,” he said it with great emphasis and made the sign again. “See the rabbit jumping OVER the log?”
When he didn’t get a response from Foxy, he continued with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Sign language – not important. What IS important: I am totally content. All my troubles gone. How sweet life can be, don’t you think? I mean, one day you’re out in the cold and the next, there’s someone who really, really cares.” With that declaration, he plopped into the tall wingback chair at his side and crossed one leg over the other, a content smile plastered on his baby face.
“I’m afraid to ask,” said Foxy.
“I can’t say too much about it. But you know that party I went to the other night? You know the fundraiser for that congressman from California? I met – no, I can’t tell. I promised not to. I’ll just say he is very highly placed. Very distinguished. And very, very handsome. Not in some cheap pickup-at-a-bar way. Really groomed and sophisticated and, well, just perfect. Worldly and manly and well-educated and traveled. He’s been everywhere. Paris, Rome, Tokyo, the Greek Islands, Machu Pichu. And he thinks I’m fantastic. He loves my little garden apartment and my antiques and everything about me. Imagine.” For someone who didn’t have much to say, Knot was using a lot of words not to say it.
“Not another one? Good God, Kuh-not, you have more men than Elizabeth Taylor.”
“You may think I’m flighty, but at least my heart is still open to life. And this man is wonderful. I knew I’d find someone. Well actually, he found me at the punch bowl. Actually it was an open bar. I was drinking scotch, he was drinking bourbon, and our eyes met. It was so romantic. If I hadn’t been in public with all those political types I would literally have swooned. But we have to keep it an absolute secret, so don’t you dare blab a word.”
“My lips are sealed.” Foxy rolled her eyes and pushed her chair back from the desk. She was still not sure if she should be worried about Amanda or not, but she was very sure that she felt like the ambivalent leader of a freaky three-ring circus.
Chapter Nineteen
Amanda spotted Nick’s car by a hydrant in front of a bus stop. She picked up her pace and reached the passenger door just as a bus pulled up.
“Let’s go,” she said and shivered a little. Winter was on the way. She could feel the difference in the air. Pretty soon she’d have to wear a coat instead of this old black jacket.
She dropped her backpack between her feet and fastened her seat belt, while Nick pulled away from the curb and headed up Connecticut Avenue past the stores and restaurants. Traffic was all going the other way, and besides, it was still early in the rush hour. Later the streets would be packed solid like fish swarming in a net, struggling in vain to find a way out. But in the car next to Nick, Amanda felt happy, almost light-headed. She pulled some papers out of her backpack – a book report she’d been working on – just so she didn’t look awkward sitting there doing nothing. She was not really thinking about the book report though. She was thinking about the conversation with Foxy. Usually she could shrug off Foxy’s demands, but somehow this one stuck. She turned to Nick, who was maneuvering the car around a truck turning left. He seemed almost oblivious to her sitting there.
“What do you think of my hair?” Amanda suddenly blurted out. The second it was out of her mouth she cringed. Why did she say that?
“Your hair?” Nick looked over at her as if he’d never even noticed she had hair. “What d’you mean?”
“Nothing. Never mind.” Amanda was mortified. She imagined what Foxy would say if she had witnessed this.
“No,” Nick said, “what did you mean? Like the length, or what?”
“It’s not important,” Amanda repeated. “Just forget it.”
“I can’t now.” Nick shook his head. They were sitting at a red light. He turned and looked at her profile. “You’re really pretty.”
“Oh God,” Amanda groaned. “I wasn’t, you know, fishing for compliments. You don’t have to say that.”
“I know I don’t.” The light turned green and they started moving again. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t think it. You are. Pretty.”
Amanda sat quietly absorbing this. She felt like a wobbly stool. As if any minute she might topple over.
“My mom says the green has to go.”
“Yeah, parents are like that,” Nick said wisely. “My dad wants me to toss all my torn jeans. But I don’t care.”
“So you don’t think green hair is – you know – unflattering?”
Nick glanced at her quickly then turned back to the traffic in front of him.
“It’s not all green,” he said. “I think it’s kind of cool. I mean, after all, you don’t judge a person by their hair color. At least I don’t. What color is your mom’s hair?”
“Blond. She’s very proud that she was a Georgia beauty queen, you know. She’s got it all – blond hair, green eyes, perfect figure. Everything about her is perfect. Her nails and her clothes and her hair and her shoes. Everything except me. I’m her one flaw.”
Either Nick didn’t know what to say or he chose not to say anything else, because after th
at they rode in silence. Amanda was embarrassed that she had asked his opinion. Now he probably thought she was just another vain girl concerned with hair and makeup. She didn’t want to scare him off. She didn’t have many friends, and he was nice enough to pick her up and take her to school so she didn’t have to take ten thousand buses. And why should she care what Nick thought about her hair anyway? As she was quietly ruminating on her own stupidity, she looked down at her backpack and realized that several sheets of her book report had slipped to the floor of the car. She reached down, scooped them up and shoved all of the papers back where they belonged, zipping the backpack tight just as they pulled up to the school. Nick always dropped her off at the front entrance behind the buses, but today he swung around to the parking lot and found a spot in the middle between an SUV and a small Toyota. He stepped on the brake and threw it into park. They came to a stop and he turned to Amanda.
“I guess you know how much I like you, right?” he asked. His voice was soft, as if he was sharing a secret with her.
Amanda didn’t know what to say. She was confused and just getting over feeling ashamed and then this. She was not sure what he meant by like. Like as in love-like? Like as in friend-like. Like as in driving to school companionship-like? She hauled her backpack out of the car as Nick got out the other side. He was staring at her over the car roof as she stood up straight. She could almost feel his eyes as if they were hot enough to singe her jacket. She looked up and there he was, just staring at her. And then he smiled. It was as if he knew exactly what she was thinking and he was right there with her and it didn’t matter if she was confused or ashamed or anything.
She smiled back at him. “I like you, too,” Amanda heard her own voice saying and she was not sure where it came from, but she suddenly felt light. She shut the car door and they walked side by side to the front door of the school. There were hundreds of kids arriving by then, and the crowd surged around them. There was a lot of noise, and they moved with the others the way the cars moved at rush hour. All streaming toward one small point.
*****
During her free period, Amanda sat in the school library and opened her laptop.
Amanda’s Life in Hell (she wrote)
Sigh . . . where to start. What a day. I feel as if I’ve been floating all morning. All of a sudden, I don’t feel like I did when I got up today or yesterday or the day before. I feel . . . different. I think I like it. J :)
Chapter Twenty
Myron hesitated at the door. He peered through the glass as Foxy stood and walked away from the desk. Myron would have preferred to see Foxy alone, but he couldn’t wait any longer. He shrugged, pulled his coat tighter around him, buttoned the top two buttons, then let his hands fall to his sides. Time was slipping away. By now he should have found the trunk and been gone from this city. He felt the pressure of his mission. After all these years – decades upon decades – he knew this was the end of his search, and he must be successful. There was nothing else to do but talk to Foxy. He put his hand on the door and pushed. The little bell tinkled gaily. Warm air rushed out as he stepped inside. It was already cold, and soon winter would envelop the city. Myron blinked in the light. He looked like a little lost boy, except for the rumpled coat and scuffed shoes.
“Excuse please,” he began, but before he had a chance to say anything else Knot was by his side.
“Good morning,” Knot’s voice was eager, engaging. He smelled a sale. Knot had some kind of opportunity radar. “Still looking for that great trunk? I think I can find another one for you. Or maybe this love seat would suit to start with. I hear your apartment is woefully sparse.”
“Where did you hear that?” Foxy asked.
“Amanda told me the other day. She had tea with Mr. Standlish.”
“I’m sure Mr. Standlish has no interest in that love seat.” Foxy’s subtle attempt to shut Knot up was having no effect.
“Then how about this desk and chair? I’m sure you have tons of work that you bring home from the office,” Knot pulled the chair away from a small desk with an inlaid top. “It’s old and worn but still has an elegant look. By the way, what is it you do again?” Knot was a sly one. He knew that Myron had never mentioned an occupation but proceeded as if he’d been told and had simply forgotten.
Myron unbuttoned his coat and reached into his inside jacket pocket. He pulled out the long, slim, leather business card holder. It was very worn around the edges, as if it had been traveling all over the world on its own. He slipped out two business cards and handed one to Knot and the other to Foxy, even though he’d already disclosed this information on his rental application. But he considered this exercise only polite.
Knot studied the card. “An international blood broker? How fascinating.” He glanced at Foxy momentarily. “Do you find that, uh, lucrative, Mr. Standlish?”
“I make a living,” Myron said. He nodded his head and raised his eyebrows slightly, as if he’d recently seen great troubles. “Ve all have to do the best vaht ve can. Am I right?”
“Absolutely,” Knot patted him on the shoulder. “Now about this desk. We could bring it up to your apartment just to see how it might fit in.” Knot smiled and waited.
“Actually,” said Myron, “vhere does the nice lady store all the other things she has that are not out here for sale.” He swept a hand around the store, which had become decidedly devoid of merchandise since Knot started selling. There were bare areas that needed restocking.
“Oh, this is it,” said Foxy. “I’d love to have some storage, but I’m afraid Kuh-not’s apartment is the only basement we have.”
“But that’s silly,” Knot chimed in. “My apartment is not nearly as deep as this whole building. What else is under here? Don’t you have a boiler room or something?”
“Why, no,” Foxy looked surprised. “The heat pump and everything is up on the roof. And each apartment has its own hot water heater in the utility closet. I thought you knew that.”
“Foxy, darling, I make it my business never to know where the hot water or the heat comes from. I just want to turn it on and let the warm and toasty surround me.” Knot smiled at his own comment, thinking he was just as cute as they come, but Myron acted like he hadn’t heard a word.
“So, you have nothing under here?” Myron stamped his foot lightly on the floor.
Foxy shook her head slowly. “I don’t think so. How could there be? There’s no basement door, certainly.”
Knot rolled his eyes. “Where’s your imagination? There could be some bricked up old root cellar down there. But something like that would be of no use to anyone, so really, who cares?”
“It is of interest, don’t you think?” Myron took a long look at every corner of the store. There were no other obvious doors. No rugs hiding a possible hidden entrance to a stair that might have gone down to a basement. He did spot one narrow door at the very rear of the store. “And vhere does that von go, please?” He pointed to it.
“Oh, that’s just an old broom closet thing with some shelves. It’s hardly useful at all. I think it has a dustpan and broom and a few cleaning supplies. But really, Mr. Standlish, is this why you came in? Is there something wrong upstairs in your apartment?” Foxy was getting tired of this inquisition. She had something else to discuss with Knot.
“Ach, no no.” Myron looked at his shoes. “I vas only stopping in to say a qvick hello, so you shouldn’t feel bad how I don’t mind you sold the trunk to the lady.” He bowed a little and turned to leave. As he headed to the door, he said over his shoulder, “You vould be sure that closet does not go to a stairsvay?”
“Quite sure,” Foxy said with the kind of finality that meant the subject was closed. When Myron was out the door she turned to Knot. “What was that all about? That man gives me the creeps sometimes.”
“He’s a harmless little thing,” said Knot. “But we do need more inventory. Nothing looks worse than a store with too little in it. Better to have things thrown around literally everywhere
, so there’s almost no room to breathe.”
“I have a plan for that.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“I’m going on a buying trip,” Foxy told Amanda at dinner.
Amanda had made guacamole and fajitas after finding a recipe online for everything including the pico de gallo. With a large oven mitt covering her hand, she took the smallish round griddle with steaming chicken strips and thinly sliced vegetables off the stove. Steam spewed up and she pulled her head back so it wouldn’t blast her in the face. She set the griddle on an iron trivet on the counter. Foxy pulled up a barstool and plunked herself on it.
“Is this supposed to be news?” Amanda asked. “You go on buying trips all the time.”
“I mean I’m going out of town.”
“Poor Foxy,” Amanda dished out the fajitas onto tortillas after she spread them with sour cream. She topped them with the pico de gallo. “Run out of stores in the D.C. area?”
Foxy frowned. “I mean a professional buying trip. That looks fattening. I should have a salad.”
Amanda pushed a plate in front of her. “Eat.”
“It does look good . . .”
Amanda handed her a fork. “Meaning you’re going to buy even more expensive clothes than you’ve been buying all this time?”
“For the store,” Foxy clarified. “There’s an antique show in Palm Beach that Kuh-not says is the best place to track down a whole list he’s given me. His clients have requested a batch of items they can’t possibly get around here. For all its notoriety, Washington is really a hick town. At least that’s what Kuh-not says.”
“Yay for Kuh-not,” said Amanda as she bit into her fajita. “Oh, man. These are good.”
“They are,” Foxy agreed. “You’re getting to be a really good cook. Aren’t you glad I opened the kitchen to you?”
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