“Are you crying?” He reached across the table and pulled her hand away from her eyes. “Vicky, look at me.”
What a relief. He guessed something was wrong. She wouldn’t have to stifle her tears. She could tell him the truth.
“That kid on the bike… I hit him and killed him.”
Frank got out of his seat and walked over to her. He handed her his monogrammed handkerchief and put his hand on her shoulder. He remained silent while she sobbed. Vicky knew he was thinking of something to say to make it all right. She knew it was a male anomaly, this problem of not knowing how to handle tears. Male bartenders were better at it. She figured it was because there was a bar between them and the crier, and they could do something, either give them a drink or cut them off. But Vicky was a woman and she knew what most criers needed were a kind word and a touch, even the sloppy, drunken, self-pitying ones. Of course when they sobered up most of them needed a good swift kick in the ass, but there was usually something behind the tears, something only love could heal.
Vicky stood up and threw her arms around Frank’s neck. She only hesitated doing so for a moment. After all seeing someone cry was much the same as seeing them vomit; what with all of the shame, vulnerability, and humanity exposed. She didn’t care. What did she have to lose? She cried out all the details. How she’d fought with her Dad before she got behind the wheel, how she didn’t see the kid until it was too late, how she feared she was driving too fast though she was never charged with anything; and how they were in the same hospital that night, she and the boy, only she pulled through and he didn’t. Frank shushed her and rocked her and petted her hair as she dampened his neck and the front of his shirt with her tears.
“You’re soaked,” Vicky said as the tears subsided.
“I guess I don’t mind as long as it’s just tears, not snot.”
Frank smiled and Vicky couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him. They both sighed deeply at the same time.
“What we need around here is a little music,” Frank said changing the tone.
“So what is it today?” Vicky asked through sniffles as she blotted her eyes with the handkerchief.
“Let’s see, we’ve covered baroque, classical, romanticism, impressionism…
“Neo-romanticism, modern, movie soundtracks…”
“And a strange potpourri of pop and rock...”
“Ain’t it the truth? Everything from Erik Satie to Eric Clapton.”
“Ah yes, Clapton, the greatest guitarist of our time.”
“You pick.”
“I didn’t bring anything. It’s your place, you pick.”
“I can’t decide. You know my album collection as well as I do, give me some ideas.”
“Well, it seems to me that music is like wine. It should always go with your meal. Bearing that in mind I think something more on the country side is what we need.”
“I know. Johnny Cash.” Vicky said as her heart lightened, filling up with a cleansing sense of calm, hopefulness, and starting anew which sometimes follows the release of tears.
“Seems like the logical choice to me.”
“My favorite Johnny Cash song is,” she said, pulling out the desired album, its cover beginning to fade and wear. “Man in Black.”
“I don’t know that one.”
“Listen to the words,” she said carefully placing the needle on the correct track.
Vicky danced around the living room as she sang along with the record, stumbling over some of the lyrics which came back to her in fits and starts.
Well, we’re doin’ mighty fine I do suppose,
In our streak of lightnin’ cars and fancy clothes,
But just so we’re reminded of the ones who are held back,
Up front there oughtta be a man in black.
But ‘til we start to make a move to make a few things right,
You’ll never see me wear a suit of white.
Oh, I’d love to wear a rainbow everyday
and tell the world that everything’s okay,
But I’ll try to carry off a little darkness on my back,
‘till things are brighter I’m the man in black.
“Don’t you see, Francis darlin’, Vicky said in a flash of insight as soon as the song ended. “Johnny Cash and Charles Dickens are just the same. They’re both storytellers and they both care about the poor and downtrodden.”
“A connection I would have never made. Please join me. I miss your company at the table,” Frank said taking a sip of beer from a glass mug.
Vicky frosted the mugs in the freezer before Francis arrived. She explained to him that you had to drink beer with fried chicken, not wine. She looked at her plate of half-eaten food and decided she was no longer interested in the food, just the beer. So she joined Frank at the table, picked at her food, and tried not to gulp her beer too fast, but the brew flowed down her throat ever so smoothly, washing clean all the tears that had past.
So together they sat, Vicky and her Francis. She laughed at the sensual way he ate and the yummy noises he no longer tried to stifle. He noticed she wasn’t eating and scolded her for gulping her beer on a virtually empty stomach. “You’ve got to make room for that homemade apple pie you slaved over all day.”
“I ain’t that interested in my own cooking,” she said taking another slug of beer.
“Take it easy,” he scolded again. Vicky shrugged it off, but after the meal when Frank excused himself to go to the bathroom, she downed two shots of whiskey and opened another bottle of beer which she quickly pushed to the corner of the kitchen counter and threw a dishtowel over as soon as she heard him come out of the bathroom. She began rinsing off dishes, wiping off the counter and singing along with Johnny Cash as he crooned ‘Sunday Morning Coming Down’, all so nonchalantly, hoping he wouldn’t suspect.
He walked right up to her and stood close. He said nothing, just looked at her very seriously and touched her scarred cheek. He caressed the scarred area tenderly and it felt so good Vicky closed her eyes and basked in the warmth of his quiet touch.
“I wish I could take it away,” Frank said suddenly.
“It’s ugly, ain’t it?”
“No, Vicky, nothing about you is ugly, even the scar. It’s just that I wish you didn’t have to be reminded every time you look in the mirror.”
“Most of the time I don’t take notice of it. Heck, I’m so used to seeing it there it’s just another part of my face, like my nose or my mouth. It’s not like I walk around thinking about the accident all the time. Most times I don’t. But still, it’s always there, gnawing around at my gut. It’s just not something you ever lay to rest.”
“Is that why you drink so much?”
“Don’t start in on me, Francis. I don’t drink anymore than anybody else.” Vicky said defensively backing away from him.
“Sorry my mistake. Leave it to me to spoil a tender moment. How can I get it back?”
“Easy. Touch me again, look in my eyes, say them sweet words you’re so famous for.”
“Vicky let me take that scar away from you,” he said, gently clasping her shoulders and pulling her toward him. “Maybe I could kiss it away.”
He pulled her close and started kissing her scarred cheek over and over again. It was a moment suspended in sheer bliss as their arms wrapped tightly around each other. Tears filled Vicky eyes again only this time not tears of sorrow, but tears of utter and profound joy, almost something akin to shock. Indeed, there was this feeling of disbelief, as if this moment wasn’t really happening to her. A tear escaped out of the corner of her eye and he kissed it. Her legs felt as if they would give out from under her, and she thought if she wasn’t holding on to him so tightly she wouldn’t have been able to stand but would have fallen limply to the floor like a rag doll. Their lips found each others’ so easily and naturally. Vicky both hoped for and dreaded that moment since the night she first came to his apartment, and now here it was, their arms locked around each other, their lips
pressed and melded together. The kiss could have gone on forever it seemed, never completely spending itself, always finding more fuel to ignite it. It was the single most ecstatic moment of Vicky’s life up to that point, until it ended quite abruptly.
Like all magic spells it was broken, suddenly, intrusively, and cruelly by the world outside. A clock striking twelve, the prick of a finger on a spinning wheel, the stubbing of a toe, the ring of a telephone, the beep of an alarm clock, all those things that demand we wake up and look harsh reality in the face. This time it was a knock on the door. It started them both with a sudden jolt.
“Don’t get it, Vicky,” Frank whispered into her ear as he kissed it.
“I got to Francis. Whoever it is knows I’m here. I got my stereo playing and I done filled up the hallway with my cooking odors. They’re gonna keep trying until they get me. It might be Allison. Maybe she needs something.” Vicky broke loose from their embrace. She was strangely relieved for the knock on the door.
“You’ve become too good of a neighbor,” Frank said, folding his arms with a wry smile.
There stood Sally at Vicky’s door in her electric pink and neon green floral print culottes and matching top with glow in the dark flat heeled slipper type shoes on her wide little feet. Her hair was big and her face was bright. She held in each hand a bottle of red wine.
“Vicky,” Sally said sounding like she was in a panic.
“Hey, Sally. What can I do for you?”
“I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time, but I’m absolutely desperate. I’m going to this swank dinner party and I need to know which wine to bring.”
Vicky deliberated quickly in her mind whether she should take a look at the bottles right there while Sally stood at the door, give her a rapid fire opinion, and send her on her way or should she invite her in? Why not invite her in? If she was too hurried with her, it would only make Sally suspicious, and besides, what did she have to hide anyway?
“C’mon in,” Vicky said stepping aside.
“Thanks so much. Really, I hope you don’t mind. Well, hello Frank, what are you doing here?” She said coyly as if she already knew.
“Vicky treated me to an authentic country meal complete with homemade apple pie.”
“Is that the delicious smell I keep smelling?”
“I’d offer you some but I know you’re on your way to that dinner party and I don’t want to keep you.”
“So what do you think?” Sally said holding the two bottles out for Vicky to see.
“Do you know what they’re having for dinner?”
Sally proceeded to tell her what the dinner menu was as Vicky studied the two bottles of wine.
“This California cabernet here is the one. We serve this at River Inn. It’s a little fruity and a little nutty in flavor. Tastes like a cross between plums and sunflower seeds.”
“Plums and sunflower seeds?”
“Yeah, it’s wonderful. Real subtle. Flows down like that first sip of water on a hot day. Never makes your mouth pucker like some dry reds. It’s not going to overwhelm the palate but rather accent all them, sorry, all those flavors,” Vicky said catching her grammatical error. She was much more likely to catch herself speaking incorrect English when her guard was up, and it definitely was up right now.
“Of course this is just my opinion. Either one’s an excellent choice when you get right down to it. You can take both of them and sample them right before dinner. Make sure you swirl and sniff first.”
“That’s our Vicky. She knows her wines,” Frank said.
“She certainly does,” said Sally.
Vicky wondered what was going through Frank’s mind now that Sally was here. She looked at him and realized he looked a little different, slightly more crumpled, less polished, hair and demeanor less in place, almost a little disoriented. She liked the look and she loved him this way. She wondered if it showed, the fact that they’d been kissing. Was her face chaffed from razor burn, was her hair messed up, and did she have that glazed dopey far away look? Sally had to know and how did Frank feel about her knowing? Vicky didn’t care if she knew. She didn’t care if the whole world knew, but the question was did her Francis care if others knew. She hoped he didn’t but she feared he might. She would observe him and see.
“I hope I haven’t intruded on a private little wine tasting party for two,” Sally said coyly, with eyebrows raised so as to leave little doubt about the innuendo behind her statement. Vicky said nothing. She would see how Frank responded.
“Nonsense Sal, I was just leaving. I’ll walk you to the door.”
“Please don’t leave on my account,” said Sally.
“No, I need to get going before I stuff myself with anymore fattening food. I think I’ll go home and coil up in a big ball like a boa constrictor that just swallowed an elephant. Maybe I’ll be able to move by tomorrow. Vicky, could you roll me to the door please?”
“I’ll try,” Vicky said playing along.
“Well, at least you don’t look like a boa constrictor that just swallowed an elephant,” Sally said looking at her midriff and shaking her head.
“Now no self-deprecating on my watch, Sally old girl, you’re as lovely as ever.”
“I may be lovely, but I’m still fat.”
“Not fat, merely voluptuous,” Frank said.
“Yeah, right, well I guess it’s time to go get more voluptuous,” Sally said with a sigh. “Here Vicky, you can have this other bottle of wine.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“Please take it, for all your trouble.”
“It wasn’t any trouble. Are you sure?”
“Positive. Now take it.”
“Thanks Sally, that’s awful generous of you,” Vicky said taking the bottle of wine.
“And thank you for all your help.”
“And thank you for a wonderful dinner,” Frank said affectedly as he took Vicky’s hand and kissed it. It was a kiss for show, carefully contrived not to show any real feelings. They said their goodbyes and Frank walked Sally to the door. Vicky had her answer.
Of course he would be back after Sally left. What would she tell him? She stuck four ice cubes in a highball glass and poured some Jack Daniels over it. She drank it down quickly, crunched the ice cubes then poured another glass, and another, and another. Would the liquor make her weak or strong? “Please be strong, Vicky, you fool. Please be strong. I won’t be his private little whore that he can just tuck away and hide in a corner.”
The inevitable knock on the door came, startling Vicky as she paced back and forth rehearsing her speech. She paused a moment, took one last swig out of her glass of whiskey, crunched an ice cube in half and reminded herself that she was angry at Frank. He was too embarrassed to let Sally know the truth about them. Too embarrassed to put his arm around her and say to Sally, “Yes, as a matter of fact you were disturbing something.” He was too embarrassed to let anyone know. He was embarrassed of her.
She clenched her fists, gritted her teeth, and grunted. She had to work herself into this state of anger. It was her only defense. Anger had always been her ally and protection, except when she let it burn out of control. Would it be possible to keep that anger, yet still keep it in check with all the alcohol floating around in her brain, confusing and exaggerating her emotions?
“Keep him at arms length. Keep him at arms length. Don’t let him kiss you again,” she told herself. She slowly opened the door.
“Come in,” she said coldly avoiding his gaze.
“Were you talking to someone?” Frank asked.
“Myself. I do that when I’m trying to work things out in my head,” Vicky said as she closed the door behind him.
“Vicky,” Frank said laughing. “You are one of a kind, you know that? Come here.” He took her in his arms and began kissing her face.
“I knew you’d be back.”
“Of course I’m back. We have unfinished business. Now where were we before we were so rudely interrupted
?”
With one gigantic force of the will, Vicky pushed Frank away. “Stop kissing me.”
“What’s wrong? It’s me, Francis. Remember me?”
“All I can say is God bless Sally. When she knocked on that door she knocked some sense into me.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Don’t come any closer. Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“You got that horny guy look. You done had it all evening. I know that look. I’ve seen it before.”
Frank laughed.
“Stop mocking me,” Vicky snapped.
“All right, I admit it. I like you, Vicky, I like you a lot. I find you very desirable. I thought you felt the same way.”
“I do, Francis. Ain’t no use in lying to you about it.” The confused look on his face made her feel almost sorry for him.
“Then what’s wrong?”
“I can’t be mad at you, at least not for long. Why is that?”
“Were you mad at me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” He blurted, the frustration causing his face to redden.
“Think about it, Francis. You’re the intelligent one, the sensible one. It don’t make sense. It just don’t make sense, the two of us together. I’m sorry, it doesn’t make sense. Look at us. We’re two totally different people from two totally different worlds. I don’t fit in your world and you don’t fit in mine. Oh, you’d be a prize catch for me, but unfortunately it would never be that way for you.”
“That’s not true.”
“I might be kind of a novelty at first but time would wear on and you’d grow ashamed of me, the redneck girlfriend with the bad English and tacky taste.”
“I don’t think of you like that.”
“That was your first impression.”
“It’s changed.”
“Maybe, but first impressions die hard.”
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