“That was pretty smart of me,” Vicky said.
“I told you you were a sensible drunk.”
“But if we’re more than just friends, but less than lovers, then what are we exactly?”
“Who knows? Who cares? Why do we have to define it? Why can’t we just let it be?”
“Because I’m a woman. I gotta know where I stand.”
“All right,” Frank said, taking her hand in his and holding it against his heart. “You are about to embark on a romance–an old fashioned romance. The destination of which is unknown.”
“An old fashioned romance. I like that. It’s crazy, isn’t it though, really? The two of us together,” Vicky said, pressing her free hand hard against her head as if to keep it from spinning. She had never entered into a relationship like this before and it was all so strange and wonderful.
“It is crazy. That’s what makes it so exciting.”
“We won’t worry about where it’s going or where it all will end?” Vicky asked.
“We won’t worry. We’ll just take it one day at a time. It’ll be what it’ll be and we won’t care what anyone says or thinks.”
“You really mean it, Francis?”
“I mean it. No more hiding. No more sneaking around after midnight and stealing workmen’s ladders…”
“I didn’t steal it. I borrowed it.”
“Sorry. No more borrowing workmen’s ladders so that you don’t have to walk past Sally’s door. Promise me you won’t ever do that again,” he said taking her face in his hands and drawing close enough for their foreheads to touch. “Promise me,” he asked her again.
“I promise. And do you promise me that you won’t care what other people think about us?” Vicky asked.
“I promise. I’m tired of hiding my feelings for you.” Vicky could tell by looking in his eyes that he meant it, at least for now. Who knows if he would still mean it a year from now, but that didn’t matter. They agreed not to worry about the future. It was what it was for now and that was more than she’d ever hoped for. They sealed the promise with another kiss.
“This is too weird,” Vicky said shaking her head in disbelief. “I never thought I’d be going steady with an ivy leaguer.”
“That’s right we’re going steady. We need a porch swing and a pitcher of lemonade. And a ring,” he said taking his college ring from the University of Pennsylvania off his finger. “You could wrap it in yarn,” Frank suggested.
“Or wear it on a chain around my neck,” Vicky said pulling out the gold chain she always wore out from under her shirt. “I’ll wear it here right next to the key from my grandma’s hope chest,” she said showing him the small key that hung from the chain. In a moment she was unclasping the chain from around her neck and placing Frank’s ring on it.
“So for our first official date I think we ought to go bowling,” Frank said, clasping the gold chain back around the back of Vicky’s neck as she held her hair up for him.
“Can we go to the symphony or ballet?” Vicky asked.
“Most certainly, I’ll buy Philharmonic season tickets for us,” Frank said.
“I don’t have a motorcycle anymore but we could go horse back riding together. We both love horses, Francis. It’s something we have in common,” Vicky said.
“We could go to baseball games,” Frank said.
“And play golf, though I’ve never held a club.”
“It’s all right, I could get you lessons.”
“We’ll dine out together, Francis, at the most elegant restaurants.”
“And the greasiest spoons,” Frank added.
They giggled like a couple of wound up kids in between noisy kisses.
“Let me ask you something, Francis.”
“Anything” he said, holding her close and looking into her eyes.
“What would you have done if I freaked out and started to fall off that ladder?”
“I would have done a swan dive over that railing and caught you.”
“My hero,” Vicky said in her best southern drawl. “So when do I get to save your life?”
“You already have,” he said.
They walked with their arms around each other back into the building. When they reached Vicky’s door, Frank called down the hall, “Hey Sally, get a load of this.” Vicky shushed him but he took her in his arms, bent her over backwards and kissed her. Together they giggled as they said their goodnights.
Chapter 24
It couldn’t exactly be called a love affair, and certainly not the more modern term: relationship. A strange enigma for the 1980’s because it didn’t involve sex. They were, as Vicky once said, more than friends and less than lovers. It was what it was and Vicky guessed it was just what Frank had first dubbed it–an old fashioned romance. One in which Frank took his role as gentleman very seriously, complete with flowers, mushy greeting cards, cologne, and chairs held for her on dinner dates.
Whatever it was between Frank and Vicky it was now out in the open and everyone had an opinion. This atypical romance had a peculiar effect on the female residents of Camelot building 3300. It seemed to Vicky that if the single girls’ quest for romance couldn’t be found personally, it could at least be satisfied vicariously. The girls of building 3300 seemed giddy and starry-eyed about the whole thing. Sally gave Vicky free samples of Mary Kay products. Allison dragged her around to stores to outfit her in the most stylish and upscale of clothing. Even reserved and quiet Barb came out of her apartment more often to socialize with the other girls and when she did she had a certain spark about her that was normally lacking. It was as if they were all a little in love right along with Vicky.
And so August spilled into September, and that first week of the month flirted with fall, blowing the haze and heat away for a day or so only to return again by weeks’ end. Vicky was alive with the exhilarating feeling of autumn coming on. It was a wonderful time of the year to be in love. She breathed in hope and anticipation of something magical with the ever cooling air and clearing skies. The third weekend of the month would be the opening of the Lamasco Philharmonic season. The opening night concert featured Mozart’s Symphony Number 25 and Rachmaninoff’s Third Piano Concerto with a guest pianist to accompany the orchestra.
This was Vicky’s debut of sorts, and a most unconventional and unexpected debutante she made. She had a little over a week to prepare. So she recruited the aid of Allison who decided to take a vacation day (from the honeymoon she never had) specifically for the purpose of helping Vicky find a dress.
* * * * *
“Oh, good Lord!” Vicky said looking in the full length mirror of the department store dressing room. She was trying on evening gowns with Allison and an intrusive saleslady with grey hair, a grey suit, and rich lady horn rimmed glasses attached to a gold chain which she had an annoying way of perching on the end of her nose to examine the merchandise then taking them off again, she would stick the tip of the earpiece in her mouth and bite on it while she zipped and hooked up dresses.
“By the way that wasn’t a blaspheme I just uttered. It was a prayer,” Vicky said as the saleslady fussed with the hunter green dress while she bit the earpiece of her glasses and scrutinized Vicky’s reflection in the mirror.
“A prayer for what?” Allison asked.
“Mercy! All I need is a pair of gossamer wings and a wand,” she said looking at the big puffy sleeves and wide full skirt.
“And maybe a diamond tiara,” Allison added.
“Well, you never know until you try them on dear,” the tall, slender, grey saleslady with the bit-up glasses said in a condescending tone.
“Okay, I think we can all agree that this dress doesn’t work,” Allison said, and the saleslady agreed as she chewed on her glasses while unzipping and helping Vicky step out of the puffy sleeved gown into a black dress with rhinestones.
Vicky was very pleased with the effect of the black rhinestone dress. It was more sophisticated than the other. She loved the idea of sparkling, l
ight reflecting off light, leaving a shimmering blur in the eyes of all she passed. “I like it,” Vicky said.
“I don’t know,” said the saleslady perching the glasses back on the end of her nose. “It doesn’t fit right, and besides it’s too Oscars’ night, too glitzy.”
“Hey, I’m a glitzy kind of gal. If Dolly Parton can get away with glitz then so can I,” Vicky said.
“There’s nothing wrong with glitz, my dear, if it’s the proper occasion, but it’s simply not suitable for the opening night of the Philharmonic. Absolutely too many rhinestones,” she said, her small brown eyes roving up and down from behind the glasses. “You need something more stayed, more elegant.”
“But I’m not the stayed and elegant type,” Vicky protested feeling a little resentful that this woman had taken over her shopping spree.
“Not stayed perhaps, but any woman can be elegant, particularly if she has your natural good looks and a designer gown like this,” the saleslady said holding up a burgundy gown. Vicky looked at the price tag on the gown.
“I’m sorry, grandma, I should’ve let you teach me how to sew,” Vicky said looking up to the ceiling. She continued to express her enthusiasm for the black rhinestone dress while the saleslady counteracted with comments about how the neckline was all wrong and how it simply didn’t drape right across the collarbone and just didn’t fit properly in the shoulders.
Finally Allison convinced the saleslady to go back on the floor and bring back more dresses to try on.
“Thanks for getting rid of her,” Vicky said. “That woman was on my last nerve.”
“I figured we needed a little break from her. So would you tell me what’s going on? Why won’t you try on any of the dresses I picked out for you?”
“Because I like the black rhinestone dress and I think that’s the one I should get.”
“But the saleslady’s right about it. It doesn’t fit you right. It’s not flattering. With your long neck and shoulders you need to try on one of these,” Allison said, referring to some of the untouched strapless gowns that hung on a nearby hook.
“I can’t show off my shoulders and arms,” Vicky said. “It’s this,” Vicky said pointing to her upper left arm just below her shoulder.
The tattoo had been there so long she didn’t often think about it. It was one of the samples shown in the tattoo parlor where she’d had it done. Vicky thought it was different and she’d never seen anything like it. A bleeding heart with thorns wove around it and flames shooting out of the top. She thought it was a good interpretation of how her heart felt sometimes–all stabbed and wounded yet burning with some relentless fire. How surprised she was to see that same heart revealed through the transparent chest wall of Jesus, depicted in a strange portrait which hung in Frank’s hall just outside his bathroom.
“What’s this?” she asked him the first time she saw it.
“It’s a portrait of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. It was my mother’s.”
Should she tell him or not, Vicky wondered at the time. This was in the winter, shortly after their friendship began. She figured if they remained friends through the warmer months he would certainly see her bare arm at some point.
“Hey Francis, let me show you something,” Vicky said peeling off her sweater and pushing up the sleeve of her tee shirt.
Frank examined her arm. “Well, I’ll be…”
“Watch it! You can’t cuss around Jesus’ Sacred Heart,” Vicky quickly interrupted.
“No, I guess not,” Frank said in astonishment as he held Vicky’s arm and examined it, then looked at the picture. “Where did you get this?”
“It was one of the samples at a tattoo parlor.”
“You’re kidding me.” He looked at her. “You’re not kidding me.”
“I bet you’ve never been friends with a girl who had a tattoo of Jesus’ Sacred Heart before.”
“I’ve never been friends with a girl who had a tattoo period. Come to think of it, I’ve never been friends with a guy who had a tattoo.”
“Figures!”
The warmer months had come and were soon departing, and Frank often teased Vicky about her Sacred Heart of Jesus tattoo when she wore sleeveless clothing. She smiled as she thought about the origin of her strange tattoo. Allison asked her about it saying she’d often wondered if the bleeding heart had any significance, so Vicky told her the story.
“So there you have it, I can’t very well show up at a classy affair like the Philharmonic with Jesus’ bloody heart etched onto my arm,” Vicky said to Allison turning her attention back to the mirror.
“You can wear a nice shawl or something. It’ll probably be cool in the evening anyway.”
“I don’t know.”
“Look, you can’t pick a dress based on whether or not a tattoo shows. It’s the eighties, Vicky. More and more women are getting them. I predict by the year 2000 it’ll perfectly acceptable, even fashionable for a lady to have a tattoo.”
“I like the black rhinestone dress,” Vicky said with finality as she pulled the dress over her head and grabbed her shirt and jeans off the hook.
“Wait. Just try on one more… for me. Then I’ll quit bugging you,” Allison said holding a shiny gold gown before Vicky.
“We’re just getting ideas. Right?” said Vicky.
“Right. This is the grand finale. Then you decide if you want to get the black rhinestones or hit some of the second hand bridal shops.”
“I better hurry, before Miss La-de Dah gets back here with another whole armful of dresses,” Vicky said quickly pulling the gold charmeuse dress over her head.
There were no zippers or hooks on this one, just a sash in the back. The neckline was cut low in a “V” shape. The sash gathered at the sides along the rib cage and in the front center just under the “V”, with the bodice rising up into straps, much like the sash, which gathered at the shoulders. The skirt hung straight down from the ribcage for what seemed to be miles.
Vicky felt the silky fabric of the skirt brush against her legs as it naturally draped into place, the hem falling to her ankles. Allison loosely tied the sash, pulling the bodice snug around her ribs. She stepped back to get a better look in the mirror. The two women simultaneously gasped as they looked at Vicky’s reflection.
“Look at you! You’re gorgeous!” Allison said.
“For once you’re right,” said Vicky in amazement.
“Hey, I was right about the fairy princess dress. But this…who would’ve thought? It didn’t look like much on the hanger.”
“There’s just one drawback,” Vicky said looking at the price tag. It was the most expensive of the five dresses she tried on. “Well, two, actually,” she said looking at the tattoo on her bare left arm.
“Stop worrying about Jesus’ bloody heart,” Allison said.
“Jesus’ Sacred Heart,” Vicky corrected her.
“Jesus’ Sacred Bloody Heart. It goes with gold.”
“Keep talking, Allison.”
“Well, it’s shiny, it’s perfectly acceptable to wear something shiny with a tattoo.”
“All right you talked me into it. I’m sorry, Grandma. I’m weak and vain.”
“She forgives you.”
The saleslady came back about that time and was quite thrilled to see the finished product. She used words like “fabulous”, “divine”, and “goddess” to describe Vicky in the gold charmeuse gown.
* * * * *
“If nothing else, I’m glad we went shopping for your sake,” Vicky said to Allison after they returned to Camelot later that day and sat at Vicky’s place drinking coffee.
“For my sake?”
“Yeah, it cheered you up.”
“Guess you noticed I’ve been a little down lately.”
“Fall?” Vicky asked.
“Fall,” Allison confirmed.
“And…”
“And the realization that it’s really over with Kent. It’s taken three months but I’m finally out of denial. Summer tr
icked me into thinking that everything was okay. It’s all that sunlight and those long days. It fooled me into thinking there was something new for me–a new start–hope. But soon the leaves will be dropping off those trees and with it mold and spores will burrow into my sinuses making me sneeze and my head feel like a swollen balloon, and then the days will get shorter and I’ll be alone in the evenings in a dark apartment with this nagging ache and this need for someone, and ugh, I hate it. Why can’t I just be alone and be happy?”
“You don’t hate me, do ya?” Vicky said.
“Why would I hate you?”
“You know, now I’ve got someone and you’re alone, and because that someone is Francis, and well, I always thought maybe you two would get together.”
“Who? Frank and me? Don’t be ridiculous, Vicky! I’m happy for you. It gives me hope, like if true love can happen to you it can happen to me too. Anyway, I don’t have to watch schmaltzy movies or read racy novels to get my romance fix, I just come see you and borrow some of that romantic energy.
“It’s what we poor women need, you know,” Allison continued taking another sip of coffee. “Although, every self-help book and article in Cosmo tells me I’m not supposed to have that need. I’m supposed to rise above it all and find validation outside a man. Of course one article tells me that and the next one tells me how to find his erogenous zones or how to achieve orgasm every time. Have as much sex as you want but, careful now, don’t fall in love. Forget this foolish country girl notion of love. Like Tina Turner says, ‘what’s love got to do with it?’ I guess I just haven’t evolved to that psycho-spiritual level yet. Ugh, what a weakling I am!”
“Weakling? You’re stronger than me! I rely on you for so much, Al. In fact, if I could ask you just one more favor before you go.”
“If I can help I will,” Allison said with a sad smile.
“Well, it seems to me I have the right dress, the right shoes, the right handbag, and the right look, but I still don’t have the right style. My grandma always said I walk like a truck driver. Could you teach me how to walk like a lady?”
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