Writing a Wrong

by Betty Hechtman

  It was always the same. As my mind eased, the living room became like a canvas for my memories of events that had taken place in that space over my life.

  The first view was always of my mother in her element. She loved to entertain and I saw her mixing with her friends at our annual Christmas Eve party. The scene felt bright and happy.

  An image of me practicing the pirouettes that I’d just learned at ballet class showed up in my mind’s eye. It was already just my father and me then, and the room seemed less bright and a lot less happy. The scene flipped to my eleventh birthday. I was sitting in the chair by the window crying. I was wearing a burgundy velvet dress and my hair was a mess. My father had done his best to fix it, but he was an English professor not a hair stylist. I needed my mother for that and a whole lot more. Passed on to a better place, people said. I didn’t agree.

  It became like a movie montage as the seasons changed. The tree out front would have a sprinkling of snow on its brown bare branches. Sparrows with their winter weight of feathers would cling to the branches as they rocked in the cold wind. Then the tree appeared back to life, covered in bright green leaves with a red cardinal landing on a branch. The door to the balcony would be open to let in some air or closed tight with rain beating against the glass as the images moved on.

  I saw my father coming home on a winter’s evening. His coat smelled of the cold and the radiator hissed as the heat came on. Then one of my last memories of him, sitting in his favorite chair reading the Sunday paper. I looked around the living room with all the artwork and doodads that we’d all accumulated over the years and wondered if there were somehow bits of something left behind from all the moments that had happened in that room. I felt emotional, but no longer tense. I was already half in a dream.

  Rocky followed me to my bedroom and took up his position above my head and we both fell into a deep sleep.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  I knew it was Monday morning before I even opened my eyes. The peace of Sunday night was over and a garbage truck was picking up a load. It rumbled and then whined as the container was raised and its load dropped in with the sound of glass hitting glass.

  The truck was just driving away when I looked out the living-room window to check the weather. It was hardly promising. The sky was a yellowish leaden color, and the street was glistened with rain. People either had umbrellas or ran with their hoods pulled up.

  I had to take the weather into consideration when I was figuring out what to wear. Instead of going in order of location, I’d had to arrange times when they’d be free to go over things with me. It meant doing a lot of extra walking around the neighborhood. At the same time, since I was presenting my work, I felt the need to dress a little more formally. I went with black slacks because it wouldn’t show if they got wet. I picked a white shirt with a black pullover sweater to go with them. The collar and tails were all that would show of the shirt. Sneakers would have been easier for all the walking, but they were the wrong look. I pulled on a pair of ankle boots instead. I topped it with a colorful silk scarf and my trench coat. I had everything packed in my peacock blue messenger bag, confident the leather would keep everything dry. Rocky followed me to the door and seemed sad to be left behind.

  Sara and Mikey were coming up the stairs as I went down. She gave me a quick report that Quentin’s father was doing well and no emergency babysitter would be needed.

  It wasn’t as cold outside as I’d expected, but the air felt close from all the moisture. The rain was light at the moment, but I opened my umbrella anyway and went toward the campus and my first stop.

  I was hoping for a cup of Zooey’s coffee before we talked. The walk there had helped to get my mind alert, but it didn’t compare with a couple of mugs of her fresh brew, particularly the blond roasts, but my plans changed when I walked into the food area. The weather had turned everyone into coffee freaks and the stand was surrounded by a crowd. She viewed them with a look of panic as she rushed to set up mugs of coffee to drip. I heard impatient rumbling coming from the line waiting for their caffeine fix.

  I couldn’t help myself. I acted without thought and made my way behind the counter. ‘Could you use some help?’ I asked. She looked at me as if I’d descended from heaven.

  ‘Do you know how to make the drinks?’

  I nodded. I’d only become a writer for hire in my twenties. Before that I’d had an array of jobs, including working at one of the neighborhood restaurants. I’d been hired as a server, but often had helped making the espresso drinks. I’d watched Zooey set up the mugs of coffee enough times to know how to do it. She showed me a cheat sheet that had the recipes for the fancy drinks and the canisters with coffees for the individual brews and the tin marked Fairy Dust. I stowed my coat and messenger bag and took the order of the next person in line.

  We worked it out that I’d deal with the coffee by the mug while she made the espresso drinks. With the two of us working, we got the line under control and eventually the crowd thinned out.

  In the process of measuring all the coffee for the mugs, I saw a lot of the Fairy Dust and by the end had figured out what it was. I wouldn’t make it public, but I was going to try adding it to my at-home brew. It was simply unsweetened cocoa with some salt added. The mixture might have been original, but adding salt to coffee grounds had been around for a long time. When I’d been doing research on coffee, I read that cowboys added salt to their coffee.

  ‘That’s it,’ she said as the last person in line took their paper cup and walked out into the quadrangle. ‘Thank you. It was great to have backup. We work well together,’ she said with a relieved smile. It was true we had managed to move around each other with ease while we took orders and set up drinks.

  ‘Yup,’ I said, looking at the canisters with the names of the different blends on them. ‘Time for us. Can I make you a cup?’ I asked.

  ‘Absolutely not. You’ve done enough. How can I ever thank you? I wish I had some Jamaican Blue Mountain or pure Kona,’ she said. I knew all about the two coffees from all the research I’d done. Jamaican Blue Mountain was the rarer of the two. Something about being grown at high altitude in Jamaica gave the coffee a unique and tasty flavor. Pure Kona was grown on the big island of Hawaii. The volcanic soil and weather gave the beans a distinctive taste and color. Both had high price tags.

  In the end she made us each a cup of the Eyes Wide Open blend. I figured I would go over what I’d brought while we had the coffee. I pulled out a copy of the story about her and the list of coffees I’d tasted. She started to look at it but a customer walked in. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know why I told you to come in the morning since it’s the time when I get most of my business. I guess it was just habit.’ She put down the paper and went to the counter. As she was handing the man a paper cup of coffee, the door to outside opened again and Rita walked in.

  She was dressed for work in a suit and heels. She folded up her umbrella and approached the counter. My eyes were locked on her, though she paid no notice of me. She and Zooey exchanged a friendly greeting and Zooey asked for her order.

  She seemed in a lighter mood than when I’d seen her there before. ‘I’ll have a latte with one percent milk. That chocolate thing you made for me last time was delicious and I certainly needed something extra that day. But what’s that saying? “A second on the lips, forever on your hips.” I’ve got a ton of clients to see today.’

  While she waited for her drink she kept on talking, still paying no notice to me. ‘It’s such a relief to have that detective off my back. He kept showing up with just one more question.’

  ‘What happened? Why’d he stop coming around?’ Zooey asked as she handed her neighbor the drink.

  ‘I figured if they were sure it was all about Ted walking in on someone robbing the place, they’d back off. So I told him that I’d had some samples of cough syrup with codeine.’ She leaned close to the counter and dropped her voice. ‘I haven’t had any samples of that for months, but the detecti
ve bought it. He gave me a hard time for not telling him at the beginning. And then Lois came down on me for keeping dangerous drugs that tempted robbers. She wanted me to sign something that said I wouldn’t keep any addictive drug samples in the place going forward. I refused and she threatened to break my lease, which is fine with me. I can’t wait to move out of that building.’

  Rita had it all wrong when she said someone was robbing the place or that the drugs tempted robbers. She really meant burglars. A burglar went into a place without permission with the intent to commit a crime, whereas robbers dealt direct with taking something from a person. Not that I was going to say anything. I was far too interested in what she was saying.

  ‘I want to put everything with that sleaze behind me. The detective asked me if he’d sent me any love letters.’ She sounded incredulous. ‘Turns out he was sending love letters to someone that wasn’t me. He didn’t even write them himself but got them from somewhere. It makes me mad all over again,’ she said.

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing and I had no idea what to do with it. I’m sure Detective Jankowski would be very interested in knowing that she had lied about the cough syrup drug samples. And now with all the anger she was spewing about Ted, I wondered if she was about to admit that she’d been the one to stab him. My smart watch vibrated with a reminder of my next appointment. It was at LaPorte’s and they were my biggest clients and I couldn’t afford to be late since Rex had chosen the time.

  Much as I hated to leave, I had no choice. I had been looking forward to going over what I’d written about her. I thought she would appreciate that I’d mentioned her ability to size up customers and figure the right drink for them. But all I could do was leave the papers for Zooey to look over. I quietly slipped out while Rita continued to rant. Could it be that the obvious was right all along?

  There was no time to think about it now. I had to walk to 53rd in the rain. The ankle boots had turned out to not be good rainwear and I had to watch that my feet didn’t slip while I was mentally preparing to meet with Rex.

  I zigzagged through side streets and cut through the shopping center, only skidding a few times. The rain was letting up as I turned on to 53rd. I checked my watch and was relieved that I’d made it just on time.

  I folded my umbrella as I walked into LaPorte’s and wiped my feet on the mat, hoping not to go skating across the floor. The light wood tables made the interior seem bright after the gloom outside. I took a deep breath and walked to the counter. I could see why Rex had been so specific about the time. It was the slow time just before the lunch rush. Only one table was occupied and Irma was dealing with a lone customer at the counter. I waited off to the side while she finished.

  ‘I’m supposed to see Rex,’ I said when the man moved away.

  She seemed to know all about it and told me to pick a table and he’d join me shortly. I couldn’t seem to help myself from feeling nervous. It didn’t matter that I’d met with Rex numerous times and he was friendly, when it came to showing my work it was different.

  I chose a table by the window, and as soon as I was settled in took out the different versions of the backstory, the descriptions of the menu items, and an idea for the layout of the wall piece. I was just finishing when Rex walked up to the table. He was carrying a plate and had a friendly smile.

  ‘I understand you missed these the other day,’ he said, putting the plate down. There were dabs of four salads. He pulled out the chair across from me and sat down.

  ‘So you got your mother’s approval?’ I said, recognizing them as the ones she’d made a point that she hadn’t okayed.

  He seemed puzzled until I explained what Jeanne had said. ‘She likes to be updated on what we’re doing. I forgot to mention the new salads.’

  ‘Then they have her stamp of approval?’ I asked, pointing at the sheet with the backstory. ‘I wrote that she oversaw the menu.’

  ‘You can leave it, but I make all the decisions now.’ He picked up the papers and started to read through them. ‘You might as well sample them and take your notes, while I do this.’

  I had a hard time concentrating on the flavors of the salads, but managed to get the basics and scribbled some notes. He put the stack of pages down and looked at me.

  ‘I marked a few places where it needs to be changed, but most of it’s great. The picture of my mother with the piece of cake works for the wall montage. It gives the illusion she’s still part of the business.’ He leaned back in the chair. ‘You seem to have captured an overview of our business, but there are so many stories. Of course, there’s no room to include them.’ He glanced around the restaurant. ‘My wife is always saying I should write them down and make a book out of them.’ He shrugged with a hopeless expression. ‘But I wouldn’t even know how to start.’

  ‘I could probably help you with that,’ I said. ‘I know you’re busy, but I have a writers’ workshop. It’s a friendly atmosphere and mostly neighborhood people.’

  He nodded with interest. ‘And they meet at your place?’

  I gave him the basic details of the location, day and time. ‘You could try it once and see if you think it’s something for you. The first one is complimentary. Just let me know when you want to come.’

  Irma came up to the table and told him something and he started to move away.

  ‘I don’t believe in putting things off. How about I come tomorrow?’

  I agreed, and he got up and followed Irma to the back.

  I sat back in the chair with a great sense of relief and took a minute to collect myself. Not only was he OK with my work, but I might have gotten another member in the writers’ group.

  The rain had started up again as I retraced my steps and went up to 57th. I used the walk to unwind from the meeting with Rex, wondering what I’d been so worried about. The time for my meeting with Haley was less exact, so I took my time and managed to make it there without skidding on the wet sidewalk.

  The windows were still papered over at the ice-cream place. The ‘Coming Soon’ sign was still down and I hadn’t yet heard what she thought of the name I’d suggested for the place. I knocked on the glass of the locked door.

  Haley looked worried when she opened the door. The white apron she wore had smudges of something, meaning she was probably concocting some new flavor. I had allowed plenty of time to go over things with her, however I still had to go back to 53rd to meet with the Handelmans and I intended to get right down to business. But I couldn’t help myself and asked her what was wrong.

  ‘I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but my investor is being difficult. Something happened and they’re taking it out on me.’ She slumped on one of the stools.

  I set down the messenger bag and pulled out the file with everything I’d written up for her. ‘Maybe when they see all this, they’ll see everything in a new light.’ I held on to the folder for a moment, deciding I wanted to tell Haley about what I’d written before she read it. I’d described her as an alchemist. Technically that was someone who turned lead into gold, but the concept was someone taking something worth less and turning it into something worth more. I thought it worked for her. She did take ingredients and turned them into a frozen delight. But she seemed like a literal sort of person and I thought it might come as a shock unless I explained first.

  I eased into it by saying that I’d started the piece with the history of ice cream which was factual. ‘When I came to writing about you, I wanted to make you seem as special as you are, so I described you in a unique way.’ As I finished, I handed her the pages. It was always nerve-wracking watching someone read what I’d written. I kept tabs on her expression for a hint of her reaction. Between the big glasses that dominated her face and her natural reserve, there wasn’t a clue. Finally, she put the pages down and looked up. ‘Alchemist, that’s different. I like it. And maybe when my investor sees it, they’ll finally understand what I’m trying to do.’

  ‘As I was working on it, I realized I didn’t have
much personal information to include. I could put in something about your family, whether you live in the neighborhood or if you’re a dog or cat person. Maybe you like to test out flavors on your boyfriend, partner or husband,’ I said with a shrug.

  ‘None of that matters,’ she said in a sharp tone. ‘It’s all about the ice cream.’

  It didn’t seem like a good time to ask her about my proposed name for the place, so I asked her if she’d come up with any new flavors she wanted me to try.

  She seemed to brighten up at the mention of her creations. ‘I do. I’m going to call it spiced tea or chai tea. I created my own spice mix of cardamom, cinnamon, ginger and cloves. In your description you might want to mention that the spices have health benefits. Cardamom can be a mood elevator as well as benefit your heart and lungs. And cinnamon has all kinds of health benefits like lowering blood sugar and blood pressure. Maybe I should call it healthy tea ice cream.’ She brought me a scoop.

  ‘This one is a keeper,’ I said savoring the spicy flavor. ‘I don’t know about calling it healthy tea ice cream. It sounds like medicine. How about calling it frozen chai tea instead?’

  ‘I think you’re right,’ she said.

  I was back outside a few minutes later, going back to 53rd. But it was three down and one to go. So far all had gone well, though it was hard to count Zooey because I didn’t know her take on what I’d written yet. My thoughts went to Rita and I wished I could have stayed and heard more, though I wasn’t sure what I could do with the information.

  By now the rain had become more a drizzly mist and the umbrella wasn’t needed. The light was the same as it had been in the morning and the only way to tell it was afternoon was looking at my watch.

  I was ahead of schedule when I got to 53rd and took a detour back to LaPorte’s. When I’d been going through the messenger bag for Haley’s file, I’d realized I didn’t have one of the sheets from the LaPorte papers. It was important because it had Rex’s notes on it.