The Jewel Box

by C Michelle McCarty

  “I’m impressed, Mr. Sculley.” I raked my bangs over my forehead, attempting to awaken any finesse I previous possessed for communicating with attractive, interesting men.

  “Good,” he said, observing me. “I’d like to impress you. My friends from California call all the time asking me to settle disputes on literature, history, politics, song lyrics and old television shows. I’m a vast receptacle of trivia. Feel free to indulge.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” I flipped my hair in flirtatious fashion, realizing my libido had sprang back to life. “Why did you stop teaching?”

  “Mo’ money, mo’ money. And I wanted a job that entailed traveling.”

  “So.” I nervously twisted my locks into a side ponytail. “What state did you go to first?”

  “State? I went to countries. Starting with the Running of the Bulls in Pamplona, Spain.”

  “Hemingway must have known he’d ignite machismo in every man alive when he wrote about that custom.”

  “Si, señorita.” Aidan nodded in agreement.

  “Hable usted Espanol?” I mustered some Spanish and swept my tresses back to norm.

  “Si. Y tengo películas para provarlo. Soy un photografo fabuloso,” he said.

  “Despacio, por favor,” I asked him to slow down. “I don’t have a clue what you’re saying. I retained only a few words from seventh grade Spanish, and some vulgar street slang.”

  “I said I’ve got photos to prove it.” He raised his right hand as if taking an oath. “I’m quite the photographer.”

  “I’m sure you are,” I said with skeptical inflection, watching the callipygian girl stroll past us again.

  “So, would you like to go to a movie or dinner sometime?”

  “Oh, Mr. Sculley. Something about your looks warns me to say ‘No way José!!’ with double exclamation marks.” I rubbed my ankle with my foot.

  “My looks? I couldn’t look more clean cut. In fact I’ve been mistaken for one of Christ’s disciples before.”

  “Yeaaah? Would that be Judas?” I scurried away as he offered the bartender thirty pieces of silver for a Budweiser. If he smoked, something told me the brand would have been Marlboro.

  Shortly after Aidan began to earnestly consider a position as National Ad Director for a travel magazine in California, I accepted a date with him.

  “Dulce señorita.” He grabbed his heart when I agreed to dinner. “I guess you make all men ask for a year, before agreeing to go out.”

  “It’s a celibacy issue. I hear self-inflicted abstinence slows the aging process.”

  “Actually, it’s just the opposite.” He winked.

  He probably had a plethora of sexual tricks up his bi-lingual sleeves, but he was leaving for California in the near future and I couldn’t possibly become attached. So I decided to indulge in that predominately male game. Utilization of current resources. When you can’t be with the one you love, check out tangible bodies.

  Aidan arrived at mi casa, blue eyes sparkling as he whipped out a dozen orange roses from behind his back, saying they represented the number of months he had asked me for a date. He also informed me his color choice signified enthusiasm, desire and fascination.

  I lika this cowboy, I said under my breath while placing the roses in a vase. We went to Birraporetti’s on West Gray, and after pizza I suggested venturing down the way to Marfreless. Didn’t take long for us to find the crooked tree, rusty fire escape, and unmarked blue door. We didn’t see much naughtiness going on in the darkness, so we conjugated verbs while Aidan drank bourbon and I sipped a raspberry martini as chill music played around us. Finally we stopped talking and kissed a few times before leaving. Doubtful we’d become regulars, but at least we experienced the little speak easy so we could brag to friends. On the ride back to my place, Aidan cranked up his Dylan CD and we sang all the way home. His live for today attitude somewhat conflicted his passionate reflections of the Sixties and Seventies. We had a lot in common. Married and divorced twice, Aidan admitted knowing his way around when it came to failed relationships. We also shared the joy of windsurfing and waterskiing, watching Letterman nightly, Northern Exposure on Mondays, and Seinfeld on Thursdays. When we returned to my house, Aidan grabbed a bucket with chilled champagne from a cooler in the back of his Land Rover. He popped the cork, poured bubbly into our glasses, then rummaged through my cassette tapes and inserted “Smash Hits of the Sixties” into my stereo. That was all she wrote, cowgirls. I dimmed the lights to cocktail lounge level and enjoyed the spontaneous combustion. Somewhere near the grand finale I murmured Gabriel, but Aidan took it in stride and never missed a beat.

  “Mama mia.” Aidan gasped for air as he pulled me closer. “The earth just rotated.”

  “So that’s why you screamed ‘In dagoddadavita, baby’ during climax.”

  “Did I do that?”

  I looked up at the ceiling fan and counted blade rotations. Some lies have fun potential.

  Aidan slowly rubbed my arm, pulled me tightly to him, kissed me gently, and said “That was great.” Then he hesitated like it was my turn to comment. It was great, but I didn’t say a word. Maybe it was his resemblance to what’s-his-name, or my new rules on accolades after sex. I hugged him and sighed tenderly, wasn’t that enough? The last thing I needed was post-coital brooding in my bed. He pulled me even closer, and I clung to him like an exhausted swimmer who had reached a brightly colored life raft in a dismal sea. Sex with Aidan: better than Nytol.

  The following morning we laughed while conjugating more verbs and other things under the sheets, before Aidan rushed into the kitchen to prepare a breakfast treat for me. Great sex and Rice Krispies too? While he was cracking eggs, I got a micro-guilt thing going. Had I jumped in bed too quickly? Been too easy? Acted like a slut? At least I’d been mature about one thing. Besides, I appreciate the levity condoms can add to an evening. Just about the time I’d regressed back to Lake Jackson’s obsession with reputation, wondering if he’d blab about our night together to our mutual friends before I saw them, Aidan returned to the bedroom with turkey bacon, egg white omelets, wheat toast—dry, and fruit slices on the side.

  “How about a movie on Friday night?” he asked while gathering plates to take to the kitchen. “Maybe Thelma & Louise.”

  Dying to see that film, I followed him to the kitchen like a woman under the influence.

  “And I’d love you to join me Sunday for Easter Brunch at the Backstreet Cafe. It’ll be just me and twenty of my closest friends from Griff’s.”

  “I’d love to. Now leave so I can harvest grapes or plow the lower forty—I’m suddenly bursting with energy.”

  Walking backwards on my sidewalk, Aidan yelled, “Call ya later!” and waved goodbye. I put dishes into the dishwasher thinking how unbelievably close he came to filling Gabriel’s shoes.

  Nikki phoned, but swiftly interrupted my details about my evening with Mr. Great Sex by telling me about a splendid job offer she got with the Houston Post. They wanted her to begin before graduation. She was pumped. Investigative journalism was her goal and this was a good start. Nothing yet on engagement to Tad, a subject Nikki addressed with calm confidence. Having witnessed my multiple marriages and failed relationships, I knew Nikki wouldn’t commit unless she was one hundred percent sure. After dating two years, they knew each other well and neither seemed in a rush to walk down the aisle.

  I called Beau to relay Nikki’s career news, and although he struggled to speak, he sounded tickled for her. We hadn’t seen each other much since the night he gave me furniture to refinish, so I insisted Beau let me come over and prepare his favorite meal: filet mignon—bloody rare, baked asparagus, and garlic baked potato. I loaded my car with groceries and flipped the radio to KLOL for traffic guidance.

  When I arrived, the old treasure chest from the Jewel Box was empty of Beau’s memorabilia, and parked near his front door along with a small table in desperate need of restoration. “I understand the table, but what’s up with this, Beau?�
��

  “All yours.” He took a shallow breath. “Thought you’d like the old chest.”

  “Oh, Beau, I can’t take part of your history.”

  “It’s also part of yours, baby. With a little TLC, you can make it look decent or just keep it in your garage for storing things. Maybe one day it’ll evoke some good memories.”

  “I have good memories.” I walked over to hug him. “Especially of you frequently saving my naïve bum. I will forever treasure this chest, Beau.”

  “Well, I’m giving away things I feel might bring happiness to others. Gilles is getting all my valuable memorabilia and this would mean nothing to him, but much to you. By the way, there’s a couple decks of playing cards inside that contain only Jack of Clubs cards.”

  “You sneaky bastard.” I lightly punched his arm. “Thanks again, Beau. This is already calling up old memories; some characters who traversed that great divide will be etched in my mind forever. Dancers and customers.”

  “Remember that knucklehead who gave discount coupons to waitresses in lieu of a tip? Fifty cents off everything from Windex to diapers.” Beau chuckled.

  “Mostly I remember old Murray, the millionaire who sat at the bar singing Mention My Name In Topeka, complaining about the price of drinks, refusing to spend a dime on any girl, but always managing to touch more breasts than Hugh Hefner.”

  “I heard he died shortly after the Jewel Box closed.”

  “Well, I’ll pray for Murray’s soul, next time I slap an old fart who tries to cop a feel.”

  Beau coughed. “He got slapped often, but was back to his groping game before the sting left his cheek.”

  I loved assisting Beau in reliving his past. “Yeah, I remember Red almost flattened Murray one night when she went to the bar for smokes. That girl was one tough cookie. Did I mention I ran into her several months ago? She owns a chain of liquor stores in southeast Houston.”

  “Who was that again, baby?”

  “Well, Red was a nickname Gabriel assigned her based on her atrocious hair color, but she was the only girl I met who danced under her given name of Betty.”

  “I don’t remember her.” He adjusted his oxygen tank. “But glad to know some girls turned their earnings into thriving businesses.”

  “She was a short, snooty, redhead with weeping, catawampus false eyelashes.”

  “No, still can’t place her.” Beau paused as though trying to recall. “But now that you mention it, I remember finding some damn creepy spider-looking eyelash almost glued to my bar ever so often when I’d open up before the cleaning crew arrived.”

  “Had to be hers,” I said. “She was sloppy with glue and lost either a right or left strip of lashes about once a week. Ugh. I still remember how pitiful she looked parading around with one eye laden in lashes while the other was barely visible. But let’s forget her and get some food in you.”

  “Amen, baby.” Beau agreed as I began setting his table. “You’re my angel in an apron.”

  “Now there’s a slogan for luring women into cooking for their man.”

  “Do you cook for this new guy in your life?”

  “Nah.”

  “Well he’s still damn lucky to have you.”

  “Glad you’re not biased, Beau. And I’m happy you’re feeling better.”

  “I’m feeling so good I went out to the bookstore last week. Let me get you these books I stumbled across and read in four days. I like this new author as much as McMurtry. He’s young, but writes like he’s done a lot of living. Name’s Tim Sandlin. Sex and Sunsets is a page turner.” He headed to his bedroom.

  “Sounds like soft porn, Beau”

  “You know me better than that. But Sandlin is a tad raunchy. Still a damn talented writer, though. Start with Sex and Sunsets, then read Western Swing.” He handed me two paperbacks.

  I left his place with Sandlin novels in my hands and tears in my eyes. The sentimental overtones of Beau giving me the special treasure chest touched my heart.

  After our Backstreet Cafe brunch, Aidan and I joined friends at Griff’s where he walked around talking to his guy friends as I sat at a table talking to their wives and girlfriends. When he passed by and kissed my cheek after a game of darts, Roz and Susie started asking questions. Like any pub, Griff’s was gossip city and Roz was mayor elect. I lit their fuse by saying we had great sex that left Aidan standing in bed afterwards screaming “In dagoddadavita baby.”

  Aidan buzzed by again and kissed my neck, creating chills so delightful, I almost didn’t compare him to Gabriel. Then he turned my chair around to face him. “Everyone kept asking about our night together and I was being honorable, denying anything happened, when Dave said something about ‘In dagoddadavita.’ That’s a good one.”

  “Ooops.” I cupped my hand over my mouth.

  “It’s okay.” He pulled my fingers from my lips.

  “Well, it’s not like everyone can’t tell. I’m all aglow here and it’s not from the sun. Sorry about my mouth.”

  “Don’t apologize.” He was beaming. “I like your mouth. And now I don’t have to worry about blurting out the wrong thing to my buddies—who, by the way, are asking. I guess we’re pretty obvious. See, I’m all aglow too.”

  “That’s because you think you’ve got enough signatures on your petition to reinstate those sexy Spuds McKenzie commercials.”

  He gave me a quick kiss. “Gotta run and get more signatures. Need a drink?”

  “You bet. Would you bring me a glass of wine?”

  “Would I?” He closed one eye.

  “Harelip!” I twisted my mouth.

  “I can’t believe you know that joke.” He laughed. “But that’s what I like about you, you know all the old jokes and Sixties songs.”

  Watching him walk to the bar, I tried to shake the vision of Gabriel sitting in the Jewel Box telling me that joke. If I could zap that carpenter out of my thoughts, I might wind up having a nice summer for a change.

  From an early age, Nikki often visited Beau with me, and I witnessed their intense listening to each other while gaining personal insight from their age disparity. But helping Beau celebrate his seventy-third birthday in Galveston, I selfishly wanted to travel fifty miles alone with him. We drove near the area where the Jewel Box once stood and talked about the decline of Houston’s southeast side after Intercontinental Airport opened on the north side. Previously booming businesses around Hobby Airport had closed or deteriorated. The once luxurious Carousel Motel that revolved in the sky had become a hump-and-run joint where people paid by the half hour. NASA no longer held the attraction it once had, making us both sad. Beau enlightened me on Galveston’s history, before asking about my youth, and then moving to his. Beau’s presence warmed me and made me feel like an incredibly valuable soul. I loved hearing about the good old days, way before the Jewel Box—his one and only endeavor in the topless field.

  Beau chose a cozy cafe and bar with a tropical, upbeat, Jamaican atmosphere. As a coterie of diners politely nibbled their salads and shared languid conversation, I never felt the least bit embarrassed as Beau spouted spirited stories about the Jewel Box. A place that once seemed so awful, led me to two wonderful men. Naturally Jewel Box conversation always gave rise to Beau’s sentiment about me and Gabriel, with Beau saying no matter how great our love, my being ostracized by all important women in his life would never make for a happy ending. Beau was still trying to force his wisdom through my thick skull.

  “That side table you gave me renovated beautifully, Beau. Thanks for kindling my love for restoring old furniture.” My eyes sailed to an antique shop across the street.

  “Why don’t you open a small shop, baby?”

  “Takes lots of money, and doesn’t offer health insurance.”

  “Well, make it an antique shop that serves tea and crumpets from ten until four during the week, and I’ll bet you could bring in enough to pay insurance premiums.”

  “I’m not as bold as you about putting all my cash int
o business gambles.”

  “Haven’t you listened to that tape on Risk I recorded for you?”

  “Yessssssss. . . I’m still a coward though. And I have lots going on in my life.”

  “You’ll always have lots going on.” Beau stared into my eyes. “Don’t leave this life with regrets, baby.”

  “I won’t. I’m just trying to make up for lost time with Nikki.”

  “Don’t worry about her childhood.” He read my mind. “Nikki turned out exceptionally well and you should be proud. Damn proud!”

  “She’s been the highlight of my erratic life whilst I created problems in her I assumed only years of therapy might correct. In her younger years, I overheard her tell a friend, “Sometimes my mom and I get confused on the mother/daughter, authoritarian/apprentice role.”

  Beau chuckled. “Nikki always was a cerebral kid.”

  “Yes. And an even smarter adult,” I bragged.

  Sitting there with Beau, I felt thankful Nikki and I had finally developed a healthy relationship. Only took twenty-four years. “Do you have any regrets, Beau?”

  “Just wished I’d saved more money. Otherwise I’m content. After Celeste and I divorced, I spent a lot of money on several gold diggers. Especially Lola. You’d have thought I knew better, but there’s no fool like an old fool. Still, Gilles grew into adulthood better than my highest expectation, and I’m so proud of him. Beau’s eyes misted. “Celeste and I put him through medical school, but she allowed him to live underfoot for twelve years. You’ve seen him so you can imagine her grocery bill.” Beau beamed.

  “He’s the spitting image of what you must’ve looked liked in your youth.”

  Beau nodded his head, proudly. “Know what I dream about almost every night, baby?”