She just got paid, and tips from yesterday’s Super Bowl party at River Inn nearly made up for a month of lousy business and meager tips. She had plenty to put down a deposit on a new place. She was on her way. She grabbed her keys off the kitchen table, her purse and coat out of the front hall closet, opened her door, and stopped. There he was.
Had it been anyone at her door at that exact moment she would have been startled but even more so with him; the surprise of it all mingled with the effect his presence always had on her. She felt control slip away as her face flooded with an uncomfortable heat. All she managed to get out was a gasp.
“I see you’re all ready to go,” he said. She flashbacked to another time she had seen him at her door, disgruntled, angry, holding a kitty litter bag in front of her face.
“Francis, what are you doing here?”
“Being spontaneous,” he said taking hold of her arm and draping it through his until their arms were locked, escort style. “Of course, Emily Post does advise against dropping in on a person unless you call first, but sometimes instinct overrules propriety.”
“What are you talking about?” Vicky said trying to gather her wits about her and not act so confounded.
“I’m talking about taking you to the University to enroll you for some classes,” he said walking her closer to the door of the building. “The new semester’s a couple of weeks underway already but you can still audit.” He was leading her out the door of building 3300, out into the chill of the midwinter day. “I thought if I didn’t come see you today, then it would be too late.”
“What did you say?” Vicky said stunned at the thought that he somehow read her mind and knew of her plans to move.
“I said if I didn’t come see you today I feared it would be too late.”
“Too late for what?”
“To get you enrolled for classes.” He was moving so fast Vicky felt like he was dragging her. She walked faster and faster to keep up with his pace.
“Francis, leave me alone,” she protested, pulling back on his arm and creating enough resistance to stop him. “I have something else to do today.” She unlocked her arm from his with an abruptness that matched her words.
“I know: enroll in college.”
“Why aren’t you at work?” Vicky spoke tersely as she, once again, yanked her arm out from his.
“Since Monday’s your day off, I took off work. I’m my own boss. I can do that if I like.”
“Are you crazy?”
“What other time could we ever synchronize our schedules? The registration office isn’t open at midnight when we usually get together. Seriously, what else do you have that’s so pressing today? I know you don’t have to work, so what is it?”
“I don’t like the fact that you think you can just barge into my life and take over.” The words were scarcely out of her mouth when swiftly and skillfully, without her realizing it, he slipped the newspaper section she held onto out of her hand.
“What’s this? The classified ads,” he said looking at the paper. “What are you looking for, Vicky?”
“None of your fucking business,” she said grabbing the newspaper back. “You just made me break my New Year’s resolution not to cuss. Fuck you. There I broke it again.”
“I know how to break you of that habit. I’ll charge you a quarter every time you cuss. It seems the “F” word is a particular problem for you.”
“At least I don’t take God’s name in vain.”
“You owe me fifty cents.”
“What right do you have?” Indignation pounded at Vicky’s temples and pooled in burning tears at the brims of her eyes.
“Houses for Rent?” he asked. “I saw the newspaper.”
“You bastard!”
“I won’t charge you a quarter for that since I have it coming.” He was backing off and backing down. Vicky could see it in his stance and hear it in his tone of voice. “You’re right,” he continued. “I shouldn’t have barged into your life this morning. I shouldn’t have snatched the newspaper away from you. I’m sorry. But do you mind telling me why you’re looking for a house to rent?”
“Why is it any of your business?”
“Because we’re friends and I like having you as a neighbor. Maybe I don’t want you to leave Camelot.”
Vicky dug through her wallet and pulled out a dollar bill. “Here,” she said waving the dollar bill in front of his face. “Just take it.”
“Why? I’m not taking your money.”
“You said I owe you fifty cents. Just take the dollar and let me buy myself two more cuss words.”
“I was only kidding about that.”
“Take it before I owe you more,” she yelled at him.
“All right, all right” he said, his hands raised in defeat as he took the dollar from her.
“You fucking son of a bitch! You do everything you can to turn me out of this place my first few months here and now suddenly you’re my best friend. What gives?”
“I thought bygones were bygones. I said I was sorry. You forgave me. Remember?”
“I thought I forgave you. But now I just wonder,” she said eyeing him suspiciously. “What made you up and change your mind about me so quick?”
“I got to know you, and in doing so I discovered I’d misjudged you.”
“Yeah, right! Sometimes I wonder if all this nicey-nice business is just a front and you’re waiting to trip me up so you can get me kicked out of Camelot for once and for all.”
“You really believe that?” Frank said.
“I don’t know what to believe.”
“Fine.” Frank set his jaw firmly against Vicky. His posture became tense and rigid and his face taut and crimson in color. Vicky had seen Frank angry before but not like this. This was not a cold disdainful contempt like the other times; this was a volcanic eruption held in check; a hot violent fury, the kind that can only discharge itself by hitting, or at least that’s how her father always discharged it. As Vicky watched Frank during those slow passing moments she could see the restraint wrestling with the anger, one over the other, each struggling to overcome. Vicky stood motionless, waiting for the successor to emerge while Frank waged his inner battle in silence. She could fight back and she was prepared to.
Restraint finally won out. He said nothing, he did nothing. He turned and silently walked away. Men only got that crazy mad when they were deeply wounded. She saw it in the bars, she’d seen it in lovers, and of course, she saw it with her father many times. Vicky realized as she watched him walk away that what she’d just witnessed was too good to be an act. He really was crazy mad.
“I hurt him. He must really care,” she muttered, smiling at the thought, but only for a moment. Then she got scared. “Oh, no, I really did hurt him. Vicky you ding dang idiot. You blew it.”
“Francis,” she called out to him. “Francis, come back.”
He stopped for a moment, as if thinking about it. Then he continued walking. “Grandma would tell me never to run after a man. Don’t make a fool of yourself, girl. I’m sorry, grandma, I’m already a fool.” Vicky ran until she breathlessly caught up with him at the door of building 3300.
“Francis wait,” she grasped his arm. He turned around and looked at her coolly. She could see some of the anger had spent itself just in the short walk across the parking lot. “I’m sorry. I was wrong. You really are for real. Aren’t you?” He said nothing but his expression softened as soon as he met her eyes. “It just don’t, sorry, it doesn’t make sense to me why you should care.”
“It doesn’t make sense to me either, but I do.”
“I won’t doubt you again.”
“Good,” Frank said with a smile. Vicky willingly gave him her arm this time and he placed it through his.
“Know what? I got a great idea. Let’s go to the University and get me enrolled in some classes,” Vicky said catching a sparkle in the corner of his eye as he tilted back his head in laughter.
“Introduction t
o Literature and Art History,” Vicky said, looking over the yellow copy she’d received at the registrar’s office. She and Frank sat together on a small, functional, and not terribly comfortable vinyl love seat in the hallway of the administrative building right outside the office where she had registered. All around college students were coming and going, walking rapidly down the hallway with books and backpacks, their faces weary yet young, with a dim hope shining beneath the surface. They were all going somewhere in their faded jeans, their worn sweatshirts and tee shirts bearing various signets and designs, their ski jackets, and dirty hair under caps or pulled back from their faces. There was purpose in the quick steps they took. They all knew where they were going. But Vicky felt lost, lost and a little envious as she watched them go by. She may have had a few years on these young passersby but their brains were brighter, sharper, and more focused.
Frank must’ve seen the wistfulness on her face because he touched her on the shoulder and shook her ever so slightly in what Vicky recognized as a masculine attempt at comfort. “Hey, you’re every bit as smart as these young punks who think they know everything.” Vicky smiled at Frank’s perceptiveness. “C’mon let’s go to the bookstore.”
“You mean I got to spend more money.”
“I offered to help you out, but you wouldn’t let me. I’m going to buy your books and I don’t want any argument. After all, I’m the one who got you into this.”
“I ain’t gonna argue with you this time. Man, is it ever expensive! There goes my idea for a little house out in the country and a big dog to go with it.”
“So that’s what you were looking for. Too bad! Guess you’re stuck at Camelot.”
“This better be worth it.”
“It is. Just trust me on this one,” Frank said as they finally made it down the long hall of the old building and out the door. They jogged at the same pace down the steps that led up to the administration building. Upon their descent they found themselves immersed into the fast moving traffic of the campus which contrasted so sharply with the old stone buildings, tall trees, and old fashioned looking lampposts dimly shedding fluorescent pink light against the white midwinter sky. Vicky noted the different looks people bore and the different way they moved and carried themselves, unlike people from Lamasco or anywhere in the area. Two dark skinned people passed quickly by speaking another language.
“I hope you know where you’re going,” Vicky said.
“I have a rough idea. Just follow me.”
“So you’re serious about your offer to buy my books, ‘cause you don’t have to, you know.”
“I’m serious.”
“Phew, what a relief! Hell, I’m not proud. Oops,” Vicky said quickly slapping her hand over her mouth. “Does ‘hell’ count as a cuss word?”
“You’re really serious about this quarter a cuss word business, aren’t you?”
“How else am I gonna break myself of this habit?”
“Personally, I think it’s a great idea. After all I did come up with it. In fact I think I should charge interest.” Vicky glanced over at Frank just long enough to give him a playfully reproving look. It was then that she realized they were holding hands. Somehow it happened and she wasn’t sure how or when exactly. She didn’t know who took whose hand first or if it had been mutual, but there they were with their hands clasped together, swinging their arms to and fro, like a couple of kids at recess.
“So how much do I owe you?”
“Let’s see,” Frank said, leading her off to the right down a lovely tree lined pathway that led to an open area with a statue in the center and buildings all around. “Seventy-five cents, I believe.”
“Wait a minute. I bought two words, remember?”
“I know. I’m not counting those. You said one in the car on the way over here.”
“That was because of your driving. You pulled in front of a car.”
“Then there were two choice expletives in the registrar’s office.”
“When I saw how much it costs just to audit a class.”
“The other time was reading over the course description.”
“No, I just mispronounced that Russian guy’s name.”
“Dostoyevsky? Nice try, Vicky, but I don’t think so. So that’s three; I’ll cut you some slack this time, but don’t let it slip again.”
“What about you? You cussed when you pulled in front of that guy and almost hit him.”
“I didn’t pull in front of him. He didn’t yield for me.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“All right then you only owe me fifty cents.”
“Okay, I got one question. What about when you’re really in pain; like say you hit your thumb with a hammer? There’re just no other words you can say at a time like that.”
“I suppose we could have certain dispensations, for moments of extreme duress. But then again if we start making exceptions where will it ever end?”
“You’re right. No exceptions. We’ll just have to come up with another word that works.”
Vicky felt glad to be there with Frank, holding his hand. She could imagine the solitary feeling of rushing about a busy place like this all by herself. After all, there was no loneliness like the loneliness she felt in a crowd. So often she wanted to reach out and touch people, physically, to stop them, to talk to them and see if they were real and not just pieces of her imagination, to enter into their world for just a moment, and in so doing, break out of the solitude of her own. It’s just what she did as a kid, stopped people on the street, sometimes bumping into them on purpose. She’d strike up a conversation with anyone. Grandma said she never knew a stranger and it was true until she got old enough to figure out that it scared most people to have their worlds intruded upon. So she learned to control that impulse, and it left her with an uneasy feeling of being all stuck inside herself. But she didn’t feel lonely now, not with Frank’s palm pressed against hers and their fingers locked. His hand was colder than hers at first but now it was the same temperature.
“Here we are at the quadrangle. This is the center of the campus. I think that’s the bookstore right over there,” he said pointing to one of the buildings. They stopped for a moment but were still holding hands. “Who’s that?” Vicky asked pointing to the bronze statue of the man in olden time clothes reading a book.
“The founder of the University, I believe.”
“I wish I had a look like that,” Vicky said noticing the way his brow furrowed, not with worry but with intent as he pondered the words on the page of the bronze book which he held in his hand. “When I was a kid at school my brain just never stayed with me long enough to get what I was reading. Teachers said I was smart but I never believed them. How can you believe you’re smart when you read the words but you just don’t get it. I wanna get it. I wanna look like him.”
Frank squeezed her hand and they both stood there in silence for a while. Vicky sensed Frank gazing at her out of the corner of his eye. She turned to meet his gaze. He swung her hand in his and said, “I hope you don’t ever look like that guy,” Frank said.
Upon entering the University bookstore Vicky was overcome by a hot wave of embarrassment, as if everyone, Frank included, could see her inadequacy.
“Look at all those books I gotta read before I look like that guy,” Vicky said. Frank laughed but Vicky wanted to cry.
Vicky made Frank go to the music store after they left to check on piano lessons. After all it was their deal. “Man, who dusts around here? This place flippin’ shines,” Vicky said upon entering the store as her eyes beheld beautifully polished shades of black, brown, and tan pianos in all styles, each reflecting the light of crystal chandeliers which hung helter-skelter from the ceiling.
“May I help you?” a man in a dark suit asked approaching them.
“Yes,” Vicky said as she pointed to Frank, “he’s here for piano lessons.” The man broadened his smile and lifted his eyebrows in what seemed to Vicky a feigned interest. She gu
essed he’d been carefully groomed to be nice to all the customers, even the annoying ones.
“Well, not now actually.” Frank corrected Vicky’s outburst. “What the lady means is that I’d like to find out about getting lessons. Can you recommend someone?”
“Why, yes, I know of an excellent teacher. Let me get her card.”
As soon as the man turned his back, Vicky grabbed Frank by the arm and led him to a grand piano in the center of the room. “You gotta play this one. I gotta hear you play, Francis.”
The man came back with a business card which he handed to Frank. Frank thanked the man and examined the card.
“Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“No, thank you, we’re just looking.”
“Let me know if I can be of any help.” The salesman walked off and occupied himself with looking busy; repositioning piano benches and music sheets, dusting off corners with a big white dust rag he produced from his suit coat pocket. All the while his attention was covertly focused on them.
“You promised. Remember?” Vicky said in a half whisper.
“You hold up your end of the bargain. I’ll hold up mine,” he said in mock defense pulling the card away from Vicky when she tried to look at it.
“Ask him. Ask him if you can play,” Vicky pleaded in hushed tones tugging at Frank’s sleeve while motioning toward a piano. “Ah-hem,” Vicky cleared her throat. “Excuse me, sir. May he sample one of your pianos?”
“Certainly.”
“He knows everything there is to know about music. Actually I don’t really think he needs lessons, just a refresher course. Why, he could probably teach.”
“Vicky!”
“Can he play that one over there?” Vicky asked, pointing to the shiny black grand piano in the center of the room.
“No, no. This one will be fine,” Frank said settling himself at a lesser instrument closer to the corner of the room. How handsome and dignified Frank looked sitting up so straight as he scooted the bench in.
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