by Heidi Lowe
She got up to retrieve another album, and the doorbell rang.
"Be a dear and get that, would you?" she said.
We didn't get a lot of visitors. In fact, no one had come round since I'd arrived four days ago. I got the feeling I was one of the few people Mrs Howlett exchanged words with, beside her fortnightly trips to the hospital, and the arguments that ensued there.
I pulled the door open, curious to see who had come to visit.
"Oh," I said, alarmed. "Hi."
She was the last person I expected to see on the doorstep, but it was a pleasant surprise nonetheless. I'd actually grown to miss her cheerful energy since my discharge from the hospital.
"Hi," Nurse Tiff said, beaming from ear to ear. What the hell was her secret? A good diet? Good sex? Everything must have been going right in her life to cause an endless supply of happiness. "I hope I'm not disturbing you."
"No, not at all. Are you here to see Mrs Howlett? She's right in–"
"Actually I came to see you." She gave a nervous little laugh and her cheeks lit up. "I wanted to see how you're doing. You know, see how you're finding it here."
"That's so thoughtful of you. You didn't have to do that."
She really didn't. She'd already done enough, gone above and beyond her job. Heck, she had no obligation to me, as I wasn't even her patient. And now she was here checking on me.
"Who is it, Abby?" Mrs Howlett bellowed from the living room.
"It's Nurse Tiffany," I called back.
"Does she want to come in? Tell her about the vanilla cake. There's plenty if she wants some."
When I turned back to Tiffany, she was trying to stifle a laugh with her hand covering her mouth. "I'm supposed to tell you about her vanilla cake," I said with a laugh.
"Yeah, I got that."
"Tell her I forgot to congratulate her for her performance the other night. It was exceptional," Mrs Howlett continued.
I frowned. "Performance?"
"Oh, it's nothing. Just some amateur theater I do." Judging by how red her cheeks and neck were now, the topic was a source of embarrassment for her. And although I wanted to know more, I didn't press further.
"God, where are my manners? Please, come in."
She went to step inside, but stopped. "Actually, do you want to maybe go for a little tour of the town...if you haven't already done so?"
"Yes!" I said, thankful that someone had finally offered. Mrs Howlett had said, in no uncertain terms, that there was nothing interesting or attractive to see here, which was precisely why she'd made it her home. She would have made a terrible tour guide, because to someone as cynical as her, all sights would look hideous and boring. I knew I wouldn't have that problem with Tiffany.
After I informed Mrs Howlett that I was going out, I met Tiffany in the front yard. She had her hands tucked into the pockets of her jeans, and seemed more nervous than she ever had in the hospital. I couldn't understand why.
"Thanks for this," I said as we set off in the direction of the town center.
"Don't mention it. I know what it's like to be the new girl in town, and to not have anyone to show you around."
"I bet you made friends easily though, right? The nurse with a heart of gold," I said.
"You'd be surprised how awkward I am!" She chuckled. "On the job I'm like a different person. Working with kids sort of takes me out of my shell. They don't really judge you, they take you for who you are." She shrugged. "Adults are...complex."
"Do you have children of your own?"
"No." Her response came out stiff, I wondered if I'd offended her by asking. "And no immediate plans to."
"You seem like you'd be good at it."
"So I'm told. I have a niece and nephew whom I see quite often. That's enough for me."
I wanted to know all about her, but worried that my inquisition would be too invasive.
I decided not to question her more immediately, but bide my time. Instead we talked about the town as we walked. She gave me the history of it, showed me the clock tower, the Fountain of Eternal Youth (which was just a sad-looking fountain whose water hadn't been turned on in two years due to budget cuts, and a place people used to dispose of their litter), the new library that a local celebrity had raised money to build, after a fire burnt the old one.
We got pistachio ice cream and sat down in the town square, opposite which a statue of some general from the Civil War stood ominously with bayonet in hand, upon which a murder of crows was perched.
"I think I'm in love with this ice cream," I declared, gobbling down the green-colored sweetness, eyes hovering on the ice cream cart, tempted to get another helping.
"Maybe it was your favorite flavor in your old life," she laughed. "Hey, I think your top likes pistachio too."
She gestured to my chest. When I peered down, I saw that a dollop of green ice cream had dripped down my light gray T-shirt.
"God," I said, totally embarrassed. I wiped at my chest with a napkin. "Anyone would think I'd forgotten how to eat when I lost my memory!"
"We're all a little messy."
"Not you. You always look so neat. How do you do that, working around kids all day, in a hospital no less?"
She gave me a quizzical look, a confused smile. "I wasn't aware I was neat."
I got where her confusion came from. Why the heck would I even make a statement like that? It sounded creepy.
I was relieved when a man approached us out of the blue, stalling the awkwardness.
"Hey, you're Eliza Doolittle, aren't you?" he said to Tiffany.
I was certain her name wasn't Eliza DoWhatever, whoever that was.
"I played her, yes," Tiffany said.
"You were great in the show. I'd see it again in a heartbeat."
"Thank you. I'm glad you enjoyed it."
When he left us again, she returned to eating her ice cream, acting as though nothing had happened.
"Okay, now I'm intrigued. That's the second person today that's sung your praises. What is this play and when do I get to see it?"
"It's My Fair Lady. I did a one-off performance with my theater group a couple of weeks ago."
"So you save lives and you're a talented actress in your spare time?" She didn't seem real.
"Come on, stop it," she said, blushing hard. She didn't know how to take compliments.
"You said it was a one-off performance. Why one-off?"
"Well, it was sort of a test. We did it in a bar. The director is thinking of bringing it to an actual theater, seeing as the reception was good."
"I'd love to see it when he does." I meant that. The more I talked to her, the more layered she seemed; the more intriguing.
"You'll be the first to know if it does."
We set off back to the guesthouse, the tour over, and our stomachs filled with ice cream. Although we'd been out for almost two hours, I wanted to stay out longer with her. She was a breath of fresh air.
"What do you have planned for the rest of the day?" she asked.
I shrugged. "I'll probably just play the piano until I'm sick of it. I'm working on a musical. It's about a woman who loses her memory and ends up in a town filled with vampires."
She burst into a laugh. "Is that what you think of us? That we're all a bunch of blood-sucking monsters?"
"Jury's still out on that," I joked.
"I have been known to take people's blood from time to time... I do give them sweets after, though."
We laughed. She made it so easy. Was it weird and creepy that I wanted to see her again? I needed all the friends I could get.
Her cell phone beeped and cut her laughter off. When she took it from her purse and read the message, I saw her eyebrows rise in surprise.
"Good news?" I scolded myself inwardly for being so nosy. What business was it of mine?
"Uh, maybe. Someone wants to take me out on a date... I'm not sure I should go."
"Why not?" So no husband? No kids and no other half. It seemed almost criminal that she was unmarried. Pe
rhaps she was one of those career-driven women who'd been so busy reaching for the sky, she'd forgotten to settle down.
She sighed. "It's just...I don't think this will go anywhere. And I've wasted enough time with the wrong people."
"But he could be The One. You never know."
We reached the front door of the guesthouse, tour officially over.
She gave me a strange look I couldn't decipher. "Dating's just so...hard. I kind of hate it." She'd perfected the nervous laugh.
"Oh, I'm sure it is. Lots of frogs to kiss before you find Prince Charming, right?"
"Well, in my case, I'm looking for Princess Charming, but the idea's the same..."
My eyes went wide as saucers. "Oh..." was the only word I could muster. "Oh."
"Well, this is you. See you around," she said quickly.
"Yeah, see you."
She waved goodbye, turned and hurried off.
My mind, as they say, was fully blown.
NINE
"Our fangs are our weapons, our charm is too,
Tonight in Oakwood, we'll make a meal out of you."
Mrs Howlett's high-pitched screeching echoed through the house as my hands dextrously slammed on the piano keys, to a tune of my own making.
Once the final line was delivered, she broke into applause, looking pleased with herself for hitting the notorious high note at the end, which she'd spent three days perfecting.
"Bravo, bravo!" she cheered. "I'd say we've got it."
"Good call on the 'tonight in Oakwood' line. It gives the whole thing more of a chilling effect," I said, scribbling out my own line and replacing it with hers. "As if vampires aren't chilling enough."
She disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a tray of drinks and cookies. "We make a good team, wouldn't you agree?"
I nodded as I stuffed my face with chocolate chip cookies, homemade as usual. I couldn't get enough of her treats. It was as though she'd been desperate for a guest, someone she could cook and bake for. She said she had children, seven to be exact, but they never called or visited, and whenever they did, it was only to ask for money.
"Too bad there's no money in composing musicals," I said.
"There is, but it's mostly about who you know. My ex-husband Gilbert was a musical theater director. Husband number two. Lots of work if you can get in, but notoriously difficult to get seen. He would speak of all the young hopefuls that turned up in New York to write for Broadway. All skilled, doe-eyed Julliard graduates. The hearts he broke when he had to send them away..."
"Sounds cutthroat," I said, thankful that I wasn't pursuing a real career in musical theater production.
"Of course, he never sent them away empty-handed. Not if they were young men, that is..."
I gave her a blank look, completely lost.
She elaborated. "I should have known that straight men rarely become musical theater directors. He gave me two of my seven children, for heaven's sake, so completely didn't see it coming. You never do know."
"Your husband was gay?" I asked, flabbergasted.
"As a rainbow. After his outing and our subsequent divorce, we became the best of friends, even closer than we had been as spouses. I do miss him dearly."
All of her husbands, bar one, were deceased. There had only been two she'd spoken kindly of, this one and the third one, who'd died suddenly only a year into their marriage. She said she loved him the most, and had kept his name through her subsequent marriages: Mrs Howlett. I didn't have the heart to tell her that maybe the reason she thought so highly of him, could only remember the good times, was because their life together had been cut so short, and she hadn't had the chance to experience his flaws.
"Weren't you upset that he didn't tell you sooner?"
She shrugged. "Not really. Our marriage was more a friendship anyway. And the chemistry was stale. It was actually a relief when he came out. Who wants to have bad sex for decades?" She cackled as she often did when the conversation took a lewd turn.
The subject brought me back to Tiffany and the revelation she'd shared with me a few days prior. It was the only thing I could think about. Mrs Howlett was right: you never did know. I wouldn't have guessed that she was gay – I still couldn't quite wrap my head around it. I'd been so convinced of the existence of a handsome husband with a great job and good credit, of the big house and the three gifted children, that I'd never allowed for the possibility of her being anything but straight.
We hadn't spoken since the tour, and I'd been trying to come up with a way to visit the hospital so I could see her. My reaction to her confession still made me wince. I must have looked bigoted and homophobic. I didn't want her to think I had a problem with it...
I didn't have a problem with it, did I?
"I've just had a thought," Mrs Howlett exclaimed, pulling me from my reverie. "You could offer piano lessons for some extra cash. Get some fliers made, stick them in a few store windows. You'll have plenty of takers."
"You think I could teach people?" I said, unconvinced. I could play, but giving piano instruction was a different ballgame, especially to someone with my predicament. "I guess I could give it a shot, see if there's any interest."
The door knocked.
"It must be the man for the bathroom," she said with a tut, transforming back into the miserable old woman the rest of the town knew her as. "He's ten minutes late this time."
I felt sorry for the poor guy. He'd been by twice already, was always a few minutes late, and always got an earful from her. She was looking for any excuse to complain, and he just happened to be unlucky enough to be redoing one of the guest bathrooms. It didn't help that she never called him by his name, just referred to him as "the man".
A lightbulb went on in my head. Putting up fliers could be my opportunity to see Nurse Tiff again. Some of her patients might want lessons. I could post a couple of fliers on the notice board in the therapy room.
That was it. Then I could talk to her as normal, and show her how cool I was about the whole gay thing.
Satisfied with my plan, I got up from the piano and went to get to work on designing the fliers. I passed Dennis, the builder, on my way to my room.
"Hi," he said, a little hesitancy in his voice. There was a bashfulness about him which I found adorable. He would start up pointless conversations with me whenever he got the chance, then get all shy and quiet when I responded. He wasn't bad to look at, and judging by the muscles outlined beneath his T-shirt, it was clear he worked out a lot.
"Hey," I said. There was no time for smalltalk, so I hurried into my room to start work on the fliers.
My room was one of the largest in the guesthouse. She'd given me the choice, and I'd selected the one with the windows overlooking the street below. It sat on the third floor and had its own bathroom, though around the bath needed re-tiling, and the toilet made a chugging sound every time you flushed it. I planned to ask Dennis to take a look at it. The only reason any bathrooms were being renovated was because I'd convinced Mrs Howlett to rent out a couple of her rooms, in order to buy the houseboat she'd had her heart set on for over a decade.
The whole place needed a make over, my room was no exception. The carpets were worn and didn't match the curtains, and I got a splinter the first time I tried to open the beaten up closet door. Although I'd gotten used to the house's old feel and smell, redecoration was long overdue.
I had Mrs Howlett's ear; I was determined to get her to see reason.
The following day, I spent an hour going from business to business, asking if I could stick my advertisements in their windows. Although no one turned me away, the storekeepers were the most receptive, and let me place my flier among the various others.
They weren't much to look at; clearly my artistic skill only extended to composing music, not design. Printed on pink paper, the only kind Mrs Howlett had in the house, there were royalty free Clipart pictures of pianos, music notes, and just about any other image associated with music plastered libera
lly across the page. The printer started running out of ink halfway through the batch, so on half of them you could barely make out what the pictures were supposed to be. Still, I'd gone over the writing and my phone number in pen – that was the most important part.
If I get even one client it will be a miracle, I thought to myself as I looked at the stack in my hand. In front of me stood Oakwood General Hospital.
Just go in there, ask if you can put a couple in the waiting room and therapy room, tell her hi, and leave. Simple. There doesn't need to be any awkwardness. You're not a homophobe, she just caught you off guard.
Nurse Misery was the first familiar, and unpleasant, face I saw when I got onto my old floor. She did a double take, almost walked straight past me, but then stopped.
"You're back." She sounded anything but impressed.
"Good to see you, too," I said, my words sugary sweet, knowing it would piss her off. She'd done her best to keep me in a bad mood when I was her patient, as though she got paid extra for it.
"What can we do for you?" she said with an impatient sigh.
"Actually, I came to see Nurse Tiffany. Is she around?"
She narrowed her eyes at me, then looked down at the papers in my hand. "What do you need to see her for?"
None of your goddamn business, I wanted to say, but smiled instead and said, "Is she here?"
"Maybe. Somewhere. She'll be busy."
"Okay, then would it be possible if I put a couple of these up in the waiting ro–"
"No."
"You don't even know what they are."
"Doesn't matter. This is a hospital, you can't advertise your services here. Now, was that it?"
My open-mouthed non-reply was answer enough. A smile, perhaps the first of its kind, broke forth on her chubby, round face, before she stomped off.
I just stood there, watching her go – one leg of her thick white socks having collapsed – and wondered how someone so nasty could still have a job, as a nurse no less.
So that was it. I couldn't advertise here. And Tiffany was nowhere to be seen. A wasted trip.
I started off, but something told me to turn back, try the therapy room. Maybe even sneak a couple of fliers in among the magazines and books, slip in and out without being seen.