Obviously, that was not Pauline. He sighed.
Feeling disappointed and flustered he turned to look at some paintings in the lobby, when he heard a cough behind him.
He spun around, and had to blink twice. Standing before him was a creature in a baby blue halter-top and black tights. Her hair was baby blue and her lipstick black; she had in huge P-shaped earrings.
Oh no! This was Pauline.
“Is you name Larenzo?” The creature asked, her numerous bangles and chains were jiggling as she fixed her huge wig in the glass behind the receptionist.
Lorenzo was stumped. What could he say? No, I am not Lorenzo and quietly slip out of the restaurant with his dignity intact, or yes, and subject himself to further embarrassment.
“Yes,” he mumbled, hanging his head.
“Oh…” the girl grinned, black lipstick smeared across her front teeth, “is me name Pauline.”
She grabbed Lorenzo’s hand and shook it vigorously.
“Yuh nuh hungry?” She asked loudly, as patrons and restaurant workers openly stared at her.
“Not really,” Lorenzo said, embarrassment rolling over him in waves.
“Weh unnu a look pon?” She asked the curious receptionist and the people who were looking at her aghast.
“Come on Larenzo,” she said loudly, heading toward the interior of the restaurant “yuh might nuh hungry but mi a starve. Is di firs’ mi a guh eat inna fancy restaurant.”
She sauntered away from Lorenzo, her high platform shoes making a stomping sound as she moved through the lobby. Lorenzo hurriedly followed her, his brain working fast. How could he escape? Or should he stick with the date and then shoot himself later?
Somehow, he found himself walking quickly, to reach the creature in blue.
He was definitely not in a good mood.
The receptionist showed them to a table in the center of the restaurant. Lorenzo had never been more embarrassed, as he heard little snickers and the occasional choking sound as Pauline strolled through the near-crowded restaurant.
The look on the host’s face indicated that he could not wait to be alone to laugh long and loud at the couple he was seating. Lorenzo went around to Pauline’s chair, to seat her properly.
She looked at him curiously, “Oh, is round here suh yuh want fi siddung?”
She then moved to the other side of the table and seated herself.
Lorenzo sighed and sat down; this was obviously going to be a very long evening.
A waiter approached the table bearing menus.
“My name is Boris, and I am your waiter for the evening,” he said, as he poured water into the glasses.
“Let us start wid di Horse di overs,” Pauline said, “Is what meck dem something ya, horse meat?”
“You mean hors-d’oeuvre?” Boris asked politely. “This is what we call the appetizer,” he hurriedly added when he saw her stormy expression.
“Whatever.”
Snickers could be heard coming from the table beside them, it was the girl in the blue blouse, the one he had mistaken for Pauline earlier, and her friends. They laughed and shook their heads in pity.
“Just a fruit salad will do,” Lorenzo said to the waiter, he was determined not to spend a dime more than he had to.
The waiter left and Lorenzo regarded Pauline silently, she was not ugly, as a matter of fact, she was good looking, had it not been for all that blue hair and makeup.
“So Pauline,” he said, trying to inject some jocularity in his voice, “tell me a bit about you.”
“Well,” her long blue- painted fingernails caressing the water glass. “Mi hairdressing business mash up and mi nuh have nutten fi du now.”
“Why did it fail?” Lorenzo asked, as he tried to look interested.
He leaned forward a little and tried to look into her brown eyes. They were bright and intelligent. Such a pity, the poor girl doesn’t know how to dress.
“Mi dash too much crème inna Tanya head and di dry head gal guh spread rumors seh mi meck har hair drop off.” She sounded angry and her voice kept rising.
“Everybaddy teck weh dem business,” she hissed her teeth.
Lorenzo sat back, as she got angrier and angrier.
“Even di people dem wid weave nuh come to me again.”
The restaurant was curiously silent as everyone looked on. Lorenzo sighed; he should have taken her to a fast food joint. This was not the right setting for her.
“Okay, Pauline. Why don’t you just calm down?”
“Calm down, Calm down!” she practically shouted.
“Mi business mash up, mi nuh have no man, mi madda want fi run mi from har yard and di big head gal Crystal tief mi green wig, Larenzo,” she sighed, “mi life nuh easy like yours. Is a lucky ting, mi nuh pay water or light bill, because mi woulda jus drop dung dead from hard life.”
The rest of the diners stopped pretending that they were eating and were openly staring and listening to her. Lorenzo did not touch his fruit salad and he closed his eyes to gather his thoughts.
The waiter came to clear the dishes when he took up Lorenzo’s salad to cart it away, along with Pauline’s empty bowl.
“Put dat dung,” Pauline snapped. “If him nuh want it, mi will eat it. Unnu wasteful in ya bwoy.”
She grabbed the bowl from the waiter and dug into the salad.
“Yes Larenzo, as mi was saying, mi gots bills to pay and ting.” Little specks of fruit salad flew from her mouth as she spoke. Lorenzo saw mango and papaya pulp on his menu cover.
“Are you ready to order the main course sir?” The waiter asked Lorenzo totally ignoring Pauline.
“Bring mi some curry chicken and white rice,” said Pauline, “and mi a beg unnu fi put lickle peppa inna it.”
“We call it chicken a la curre´,” said the waiter politely.
“Whateva, meck sure seh a curry chicken yuh bring come.”
“I’ll have the chicken in mallah sauce,” said Lorenzo.
He was beginning to dread eating the main course with Pauline.
“Tell mi bout yuhself Larenzo,” said Pauline belching loudly. “Yuh know seh fruit gi yuh gas?”
“Well my name is actually Lorenzo. Not Larenzo.”
Pauline nodded, her blue wig moving back and forth with her head.
“I am a simple guy with simple tastes.”
“Mi hear seh yuh a money man, is true?”
“Well, I am financially healthy,” Lorenzo replied reluctantly.
“Hehey,” Pauline laughed and snorted, “financially healthy, is first mi a hear dat.”
Lorenzo watched her in amazement. Could one person be so ignorant and so outspoken with it?
Mercifully the main course came, and Pauline’s mouth was otherwise engaged. After the meal, which he barely touched, she grabbed his plate and ate his portion too.
“Where do you put all that food?” Lorenzo asked curiously, looking at her slim frame.
“Mi exercise it off,” said Pauline between forkfuls. “Mi neighbour dawg dem always run mi dung when mi enter di lane.”
“Oh,” Lorenzo said nodding. After the meal, he was dying to leave.
Pauline had curry on her teeth and spoke loudly and passionately about the merits of Burger King over the restaurant they were in.
“Look pon di lickle bit of food Larenzo, after mi nyam off mine and yours, mi still hungry.”
“Would you like…” Lorenzo was just about to ask her, if she would like something else, when Pauline started shouting.
“Boris! Boris! Where ‘im gone?”
“You can’t shout like that in the restaurant,” Lorenzo whispered. “You raise your hand like this,” he raised his hand and demonstrated while everybody stared in general amusement and disbelief.
Pauline started waving and yelling.
“A bwoy Boris, mi want some ‘lime a la shugga and wata’, a.k.a. lemonade. Yuh ever hear anybody serve curry without lemonade?”
She stopped shouting, and started picking
her teeth with a toothpick.
“Would you prefer to leave now?” Lorenzo asked itching to leave, he wanted to go home, and never see or hear from Pauline again.
As for Richard, he was going to kill him; this was the most unforgivable thing that could ever happen to him.
“Okay,” said Pauline, “yuh want mi numba so that we can do this again.”
“Sure,” said Lorenzo, knowing that he would never call her.
He dropped her at a bus stop as she requested. According to her, there was a permanent police curfew in her neighborhood.
He drove straight to Richard’s house and gave him the tongue lashing of his life.
“I just had the worst date ever!” he shouted in Richard’s face, as he opened the door. “This date that you sent me on was the most embarrassing moment in my life!”
Richard stood at the door grinning until he could hardly contain himself; his body convulsed as rolling waves of laughter rocked him.
“Come inside and tell mi bout it,” Richard managed to choke out.
“Never! I will never talk to you again,” Lorenzo stomped off and yanked his tie from his neck on the way to his car.
His weekend was hell. Every time he closed his eyes, Pauline’s P-shaped earrings and the curry on her teeth, rose before him like a specter and he felt embarrassed all over again.
On Monday morning, he sat at his desk and stared morosely at the computer monitor, he was still steeped in his misery when his secretary told him that a Pauline was outside to see him.
He blanched and was about to make an excuse not to see her, but he decided that he did not want his employees to be exposed to her for long.
Probably she was in a red wig or something outlandish. Why on earth did he give her his business address?
“Okay…” he paused, as he ascertained whether his secretary had any trace of amusement in her voice, “send her in.”
He was still weighing the pros and cons of inviting her into his inner sanctum when a young lady in a business suit walked into his office smiling.
“Hi Lorenzo.”
“Um…um… where is Pauline?” He asked looking behind the beautiful young lady.
She started laughing, “I am Pauline. I came to apologize for Saturday night, Richard told me how angry you were. I wanted to apologize for my part in the fiasco.”
Lorenzo was speechless. “Who are you really?” he finally asked.
“I lecture at the University, and I am also a cast member in the national pantomime. Richard asked me to spice up our date a little; I must have gone overboard. You were definitely not the snob I expected though. Can I make it up to you next Saturday night? I will be on my best behavior.”
How could he say no to the beauty that stood before him?
Lorenzo readily agreed, and long after Pauline left he sat bemused.
Life certainly has its share of surprises.
The Electrician
Hi, my name is Ronald, and I have made a fortune being an electrician. I rarely tell others my success story but I will tell you. It all began when my sons and I set up shop in the town square of Anchovy. We were still a struggling business and we hoped that the town of Anchovy and its environs would give us a big boost in business.
I was alone in the shop one Wednesday morning, when I heard the phone ring, it was Mrs. Johnston, the widow who lived in the mansion on the hill.
“Is that the electrician?” I heard the shrill voice, with a faint English accent ask.
“Yes, this is Ronald Webster.” I said.
“I have an emergency, the television in the den, has stopped working, can you come now?”
I saw dollar signs, as she begged me to come and look at her television. Normally, I don’t do house calls for small appliances, but for Mrs. Johnston, one of the richest farmland owners in Anchovy, I would do anything.
I drove up to Mrs. Johnston’s Georgian style house, which was surrounded by weeping willow trees, and admired the huge edifice. It was such a waste that one person enjoyed all that luxury.
I went up to the imposing door with my tool kit in hand, and was just about to knock, when Mrs. Johnston’s housekeeper, Icey, opened the door.
“Oh Mr. Ronald, how are you?” Asked Icey, as I stepped through the door.
“I am fine Icey, and you?”
“Good, good,” she said loudly, then started to whisper, “be careful yuh hear.”
I was puzzled, Miss Icey obviously had no confidence in my abilities or else she would not have given me that warning.
I nodded and she said in a carrying voice “Miss Johnston is in the drawing room.”
I walked through the expensively furnished hall into the drawing room and there was Mrs. Johnston sitting in a corner in a chair.
I expected an imposing giant of a woman, not this frail old lady; probably in her late 70’s. She sat with a shawl over her shoulders, rhythmically rocking in her chair.
She was staring into space, her blue veined fingers clutching a television remote. I stood in front of her, her face was heavily lined and the flesh mottled and pale. It seemed as if she was staring through me.
“Hello Mrs. Johnston,” I said gently.
She jumped as if I had shouted.
“Who are you?” she asked angrily.
“I am the electrician.”
“But I didn’t do anything why are you coming to electrocute me.”
Her eyes filled with tears and she hunched her back.
“Mrs. Johnston,” I said, “I am here to fix your television.”
“It’s broken?” She asked with wonder in her eyes.
“Could I have a look at it, Mrs. Johnston?”
“No, I will not take off my clothes, you miscreant, get out of my house,” she got up angrily and pointed to the door.
Icey came to the door and looked in. “Is everything alright?”
“No,” said Mrs. Johnston, “this man is harassing me.”
“He’s here to fix the television, mum. Remember you called him today?”
“Oh, you are the electrician, she turned to me, “why didn’t you say so?”
I just stood there and stared dumbly, confused at the little scene that was just played out.
“The television is in the den; Blake told me that he was having problems with it. Follow me.”
I looked at Icey, who was looking silently at me, and imperceptibly shaking her head. I had no idea what the message was, but I followed Mrs. Johnston in the den. It was a brightly lit room with a high ceiling. It had a huge 60 inches television in one corner.
“What seems to be the problem Mrs. Johnston?” I asked, as I looked around the back of the television to see if it was plugged in.
She pottered over to a plush chair and said, “Blake was watching television in here, while he was eating breakfast and then it just went dead. That’s when I hurriedly called you.”
“Do you have a remote for it?”
“Oh yes dear, its right over there,” she pointed to a side table.
I pressed the power button on the remote and the television came on. I skipped channels and turned up the volume; the television was working fine, the picture clear and the sound excellent.
“Are you sure, that it was this television Mrs. Johnston?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said, “this is the only room that Blake watches television. Just this morning, I looked in and he was sitting here and the television was off.”
“Well Mrs. Johnson, I have nothing else to do here.”
Tears welled up in her eyes and she started to cry softly.
“What’s wrong Mrs. Johnston?” I asked her quite puzzled.
“Everybody leaves me when they come, I am so lonely.”
“But Mrs. Johnston,” I said, concerned for the poor old lady, “you have Blake.”
I didn’t know who Blake was, but he must have been pretty close to her to be in her den watching television.
“He doesn’t talk to me anymore, he just stares
at me or at the television all day or he sleeps. Katrina used to come by but Icey ran her out of the house.”
“Who is Katrina?” I asked.
“My daughter.”
So Icey was being possessive and alienating the old lady’s family from her.
“Could you talk to Icey for me please, and tell her to make Katrina come back to visit?”
“I will, Mrs. Johnston,” I promised, fuming.
This must be one of the worst crimes in the world, abusing senior citizens.
After saying my goodbyes to Mrs. Johnston, I found Icey in the drawing room dusting and singing.
“Icey, I need to talk to you.”
“Don’t bother,” she replied. “I know what you are about to say. I should not let her use the phone. I tried to stop her, but she is strong despite her frail appearance. What should I do Mr. Ronald, tie her up? I tried it once, but she called the police.”
I was amazed she was not denying her abuse of the old lady instead she was soliciting my help to restrain her.
“Icey I…”
“It’s okay; I am fine here, though sometimes I feel like I could shake her.”
Oh no, she was talking in a calm voice about this; I had to call the police when I get back in town. I was appalled; I could hardly formulate the thoughts that were running through my head.
“Don’t worry about it,” Icey said, “she told you about Katrina.”
I nodded shocked.
“I had to run Vivien and Timothy as well, and it seems as if I am going to have to run Blake too. She constantly calls for meals for him and for me to get his slippers and to fetch his water. I think I will have to poison him. It’s not as if he’s the first one that I have killed that way.” She stared off into space as she contemplated her dastardly deeds.
“Icey, I thought that you were a good woman,” I said, an eerie chill settling over me, as I thought of the murders that were taking place in the house.
“Oh Mr. Ronald,” she sighed, the dusting cloth waving in her hand, “you don’t understand because you are not here day after day dealing with her. If only her remaining children would just get a nurse. I would be happy to take care of her with a nurse around.”
“I don’t understand,” I said confused, “you just said that you ran her children from the house when they came to visit.”
Di Taxi Ride and Other Stories Page 8