by Helen Phifer
‘It’s nothing to do with us miss Emilia, maybe you should stay down here. It might be best you don’t go up there.’
‘Why? Do you know something that I don’t?’
Missy shook her head.
Emilia washed her hands in the sink, picking the warm dishcloth off the stove door handle, drying them and went upstairs to investigate. She didn’t know who was more shocked, her or her father, as she pushed open the heavy oak doors and found him with a semi-naked woman perched across his knees. Her arms were wrapped around his neck, their lips about to touch. Emilia screamed, and they pulled apart. She turned and ran for the stairs, mortified, her father running behind her. He’d reached out and grabbed her arm, tugging her back.
‘Emilia, I’m sorry. I know it’s wrong, but she’s my best friend. I need you to listen to me. Your mother knows all about Mae and me. She doesn’t care, in fact she doesn’t care too much about anything. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but she barely speaks more than two words to me. She makes me sleep in a separate room, but I love her despite how this all looks. She isn’t a well woman, you know yourself how she suffers with her nerves.’
Emilia didn’t know what to say to him. She loved him dearly. She also loved her mother, who was a nervous woman and not the most affectionate of people. Suddenly she realized that her parents were adults and probably deserved to lead their own lives which had nothing to do with their grown up children. She looked at her father for the first time as a man and not her protector.
‘I’m sorry, it was just a shock. It’s none of my business. I’m going to bed now.’
‘Why don’t you come and say hello to Mae, she’s an actress. She’s starring in a play at the Belasco. We could go and watch it if you like. I know how much you love the theatre.’
Emilia was intrigued; she did love the theatre. Hesitantly, she followed him, all the time wondering if she was betraying her mother by agreeing to speak to the woman who made her father happy. When she walked into the parlour this time the beautiful woman with bleached blonde hair and ruby, red lips was fully clothed. Her back was towards them as she stared out of the huge bay window, onto the leafy, tree-lined street. She turned around to face Emilia and she realized that she wasn’t that much older than herself. She crossed the room towards her and was shocked to see the woman draw back into herself and flinch. Emilia was horrified; she thought she was going to hit her. Holding out her hand, she smiled, and the woman’s shoulders dropped as she smiled back at her. The pale hand with the same color matching ruby red nails as her lips grasped hers and shook it. Emilia marvelled at how silky soft her skin was.
‘Hello you must be Emilia, I’m Mae Evans. I’ve heard so much about you.’
She smiled at her, wondering exactly what her father could have told her that was interesting. Compared to the beautiful creature standing in front of her she lived a very sheltered life.
‘I wish I could say the same about you, Mae, but it’s a pleasure to meet you.’
Mae laughed and her whole face lit up. Her green eyes sparkled and Emilia couldn’t help but join in. She had the most infectious laugh she’d ever heard; behind them she heard her father let out a huge sigh.
‘Phew. Boy… I had visions of you wanting to claw my eyeballs out of their sockets. I’m so glad you’re not the angry type. You’re very much like Clarke, he has a great sense of humour.’
Emilia turned to her father. ‘Yes he does, on occasion. If you’ll excuse me I’m going to bed now. This whole thing, well… it’s all a bit strange.’
Mae nodded. ‘Of course, it is isn’t it? Would you like to meet me sometime for lunch? I know a great place near the theatre. It serves up the best clam chowder in midtown.’
Emilia flinched, she couldn’t think of anything worse to eat for lunch. Mae began to laugh.
‘Sorry I couldn’t resist. It serves the best pizza. Honey, I couldn’t eat clam chowder if James Stewart served it up.’
Emilia wanted to dislike Mae, but she couldn’t. ‘I’ll have a think about it if you don’t mind. It kind of feels a bit strange if I’m being honest.’
‘I’m sorry, I’m being forward. Of course you can, it is a bit of a mess. If you decide you want to meet me, just let Clarke know, I’m available all week before the show starts. I’ll pick you up at twelve and we can go shopping afterwards. I need some new shoes. Is that okay with you, Clarke?’
Clarke nodded. ‘Emilia can do whatever she wishes, as long as you look after her.’
Emilia frowned at him. ‘I’m twenty two, I think I’m good to go for pizza and shopping, thanks.’
He held his hands up as a peace gesture. ‘Yes you are.’
‘Goodnight, Mae, Pops.’ She left them to it, confused and wondering how she had just become friends with her father’s lover.
Chapter Three
Maria sighed as she signed her name on the last of the forms. She heard some clapping and looked up to see Frankie heading towards her with a huge bouquet of flowers. She wondered if he’d gone mad as he walked straight towards her; she knew he had a bit of a thing for her. A couple of times when they’d been to The Fat Black Pussycat after work and had too many beers he’d stare at her or grab her hand too many times. She always managed to brush it off, as she really liked him, despite the fact that he was ten years older than her and married. She’d told him another time another place and who knew. Thankfully when he was sober he never did anything of the sort, except now. What the hell was this all about? He stood in front of her with a huge smile on his face and held the flowers towards her. A voice shouted: ‘Get down on one knee Frankie boy,’ to a round of applause.
‘What the fuck, Frankie?’
He laughed. ‘Nothing to do with me, I’m a married man.’ Maria stood up to see if there was a card. There wasn’t. She looked at the flowers. They were beautiful, expensive; all white roses, lilies and the most beautiful scented tiny white flowers that she’d never seen before. Her first instinct was to bin them, amid the raucous laughter of her mainly male co-workers. She took them from Frankie, inhaled and gave the rest of department the finger. They would look gorgeous on her coffee table, matching the newly painted walls of her apartment perfectly. For once she did something that surprised everyone and put them on her desk. They’d all been waiting for her to put them in the trash can. Realising she wasn’t taking any crap, everyone began to carry on with what they were doing. Frankie perched on the corner of her desk.
‘So what do you say we go to the Pussycat for a cocktail or two? Celebrate not getting ourselves and anyone else killed.’
‘I don’t know, I have a headache.’
‘I only asked if you wanted a cocktail, not sex.’
She glared at him. ‘Sometimes you amaze me, Frankie, you’re such a pig.’
‘Guess you’re not in the cocktail mood.’
‘Take me and my flowers home, I’ll think about it on the way.’ She winked at him.
Frankie pulled up outside the apartment building where Maria lived on Sullivan Street. Its flaking paint and boarded-up first floor windows had seen better days, so had the back rub shop a couple of doors down.
‘This place is a shithole, when are you going to move? I worry about you living here.’
‘Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Yes, it looks like a slum, but the majority of rentals are nice people. I feel safe here, I know all my neighbors. There are no scumbags and we look out for each other. Plus I have Miss Lily’s across the road for my morning pastries. What more could a girl ask for? ’
He shook his head. ‘It’s not like you’re destitute though, is it? You can afford a better place than this.’
‘I’m saving up for my dream apartment and whilst I’m saving this does the job, so stop disrespecting my home. In case you haven’t noticed you’re not my pops.’
She got out of the car, leaning across the back seat to get the flowers.
‘Who do you think sent those?’
‘No idea and I don’t
really care.’
‘Do you want to go to the Pussycat?’
She shook her head. ‘I’ll give it a miss tonight, thanks. I’m going to have a long soak in the bath and an early night. Hey, you should send Christina flowers sometime. Ladies like flowers.’
‘She’d complain I wasted too much money, she’s too ungrateful. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
Maria shook her head and slammed the car door shut. Turning, she walked up the steps to the front doors. He was right, this place looked almost as desolate as the City Hotel they’d been parked outside earlier. One day she would move into a huge apartment with views of Central Park, but for now this was good enough. She heard the familiar sound as her elderly neighbor came out of the elevator and shuffled towards the entrance, her strings of pearls jangling.
‘Good evening, Miss Green, how are you today?’
The woman looked up, squinting in the poorly-lit entrance. She always dressed impeccably. If Maria wasn’t wrong she was wearing a vintage Chanel suit and pumps. What she’d give to go through her wardrobe. It was full of beautiful, vintage designer clothes. Miss Green had told her she’d been a stylist for Vogue back in the day.
‘Ah Maria, good evening. I’m alive thank you, which is always a good thing. Look at you with a bunch of flowers as big as your arms can carry. Who you been keeping from me?’
Maria giggled. ‘No-one, I don’t know who they’re from but they were so beautiful I decided to keep them.’
Miss Green nodded. ‘Wise choice honey. You have a secret admirer. How exciting.’
‘Or the florist got the wrong person.’
‘Tut, tut, don’t be so negative. I’m off to the store, do you need anything? Have you eaten today?’
‘I’m good thank you, I’m going to make a huge bowl of chilli and have a glass or two of wine.’
‘Good, you need it. You work too hard. Goodnight, Maria.’
‘Night, Miss Green.’
Maria called the elevator and was relieved when the groaning doors opened immediately. She was tired, hot and would have cried if she’d had to walk up eight floors.
Chapter Four
He walked along the tree-lined sidewalk shrugging his backpack higher onto his shoulders and keeping as close to the houses as he could. It had been awhile since he’d last visited this particular Brownstone. He had tried to find out if he could rent the empty, top floor apartment. He’d like to live there legally, only the rental company had told him it wasn’t safe. It needed major remodelling to make it liveable, so they’d taken his name and cell number in case it became available. It hadn’t mattered really, he’d gotten access to it once before, so he could do it again. His battered VW van was parked a couple of blocks away with his worldly belongings inside, and once he’d gained access he would move it nearer. He reached the Brownstone which was situated on the corner. The main entrance was situated on West 10th Street, while the fire escapes could be accessed around the side on Washington Street. If there was no one around, he could climb up to the fire escape and get to the top floor. He’d already been last night and prised the board from the window, placing it against the empty frame from the inside so it still looked secure. There were no buildings which looked onto this part of the street, luckily for him. The bus stop opposite was a bit of a problem, but he’d just need to be cautious and avoid rush hour. He turned the corner into Washington Street which was deserted and climbed up. This was where being taller than most of your high school friends finally paid off. He pulled himself up effortlessly onto the fire escape, and scanned the street to make sure no-one was watching. That was the beauty of being a New Yorker: nine times out of ten nobody gave a crap what you were doing. Everyone was too involved in their own world to give you much attention. He climbed the metal rungs of the ladder quickly, his stomach churning. He’d dreamt about this for three, long years. Scared and immature the last time he’d been here he’d left in a rush and regretted it ever since, but there was something very special about the apartment and he’d had the same dream about it almost every week since that night.
He reached the attic window and pushed the board open wide enough so he could clamber inside. Taking off his backpack he unzipped the side pocket and took the small, but powerful flashlight out. Pushing the board back across the window and making sure there were no gaps he turned around. As there was no light inside the apartment, he blinked a couple of times letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. Then he turned on the flashlight and shone it around; it was just as he remembered. The furniture was covered in sheets, and he wondered if it was the same sofa that he’d sat on with her. He lifted a corner of the dusty sheet. The cracked, brown leather sofa made him smile. He’d spent a magical couple of weeks sleeping on it. He dropped the sheet back down, then walking across to the breakfast bar mesmerised, he shone the light on it. There was a thick film of dust and he traced his gloved finger through it. He closed his eyes picturing every last detail of that night. This apartment was the only place he’d ever stayed in that truly felt like home. Moving away from the open plan kitchen-lounge he walked towards the bedroom door. Wrapping his fingers around the brass knob he marvelled at how cool it was despite the humid temperature outside. Turning it slowly he pushed the door open, remembering that if you opened it too fast it creaked loudly, and he didn’t want whoever lived in the flat below realising there was someone upstairs. He stepped into the large, airy bedroom. It had no window, but a huge skylight above the queen-sized bed. He smiled to see the bed was still there. Walking across, he dragged the dust sheet off. There were no covers and he could see the huge, dark brown stain on the left hand side of the mattress. He was shocked that they hadn’t taken the mattress away. There had been a lot of blood. As he stepped closer he could see where the CSIs had cut pieces from it to take for forensic sampling. He supposed they couldn’t really take a full-sized mattress back to their lab or office. He wasn’t really sure where they worked from and he didn’t care. Whoever they were they hadn’t been clever enough to catch him so they weren’t that good.
He shook the sheet several times and lay it down across the mattress. He couldn’t wait to lie on it, although there was something he had to do first. Going back into the lounge, he picked up his bag, tugging the zipper open. The glass jar inside was heavy and his shoulders ached from the weight of carrying it around on his back. He smiled at the perfectly preserved head inside it. She was still beautiful and he’d finally been able to bring her home. Carrying it across to the kitchen, he opened the pantry cupboard which had once been full of every imaginable pasta and vegetable you could buy from Wal-Mart. He placed the jar on the middle shelf and stepped back; he’d had to keep her hidden for so long it was nice to have her in a place he could have easy access to. They were going to be very happy here, as they had once before until the time had come to end it. He’d done well and managed to ignore the noises that had begun in his head. At first it was similar to white noise, like static buzzing around his ears. He’d gone to the doctor who’d examined his ears and given him some ear drops, which hadn’t worked. It was always far worse at night. He’d lie there in bed with his hands over his ears trying to block the noise out. Then one night he’d realized that no matter how hard he tried it wouldn’t go away because it was coming from inside his head. A few nights later the noise turned into whispers, words spoken in an exotic language he didn’t understand. It wasn’t just one voice either there were several of them, and he felt as if they were having a conversation about him. He’d been scared back then… Hell! He’d been terrified until one of the voices realized he was listening to it and began to whisper to him. Then it all made sense. The others faded away and he didn’t hear them as much. This one voice was stronger than them and it told him things he didn’t always want to hear, yet it also told him many things that he did long to hear.
Chapter Five
Frankie drove home thinking about Maria, he liked her far more than he should. She was his friend and he was married. It wasn
’t that he didn’t love Christina – he had once upon a time – it was more of a case that she’d fallen out of love with him. The last time he’d had too much to drink and made a pass at Maria she’d made it quite clear where he stood with her and that was okay. He respected her for being straight with him; it still hurt though. In fact, she’d told him to grow a set of balls and do something to sort his shitty sex life out. As he drove past the old church on the corner of Sullivan he noticed the metal sign swinging in the breeze: Marty’s Dancing School. When he met Christina she was a dancer at Radio City Music Hall. He used to go dancing with her once a week even though he had two left feet. Once they were married and working long hours to pay the bills the dancing went out of the window. He wondered if he should take her dancing, although he was rusty it had been so long. Maybe if he had some dancing lessons and surprised her with a fancy date at one of the charity balls they held at The Plaza or The Met it might make her see him how she used to. He stopped off at the grocery store and picked up a bunch of pink roses, and instead of the usual six pack he spent ten minutes looking at the wine before picking up a bottle of Chardonnay hoping Christina would like it or that would be twenty bucks down the drain. He knew Maria would approve, she always had a bottle or two in her fridge. He paid and got back in his car, determined to try and rekindle the fire that had long since been extinguished.