Unexpected Gifts

by Mallery, S. R.

  “Dance with me,” he commanded.

  “Peter, I don't think…”

  “Don't think, just dance with me. You said it yourself, you owe me that at least.”

  “All right. What's gotten into you tonight?”

  It wasn't until she was pulled up into his arms, she could smell the scotch on his breath.

  “You felt it the day you came over to thank me. I know you did.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You know what I mean, Sadie. The attraction between us. It's undeniable.”

  “Now Peter, please. We have a lot to talk about, that's all.”

  “C'mon, it's more than that. Face it. You're probably really lonely without a man.”

  “Peter, I think you'd better go.”

  “Not before I get a kiss.” Before she knew it, he had pressed his lips hard against hers and held her there for two counts.

  She broke free. “Get out, get out!” she growled at his surprised, inebriated face. Opening her front door for him to leave, she was still glowering and tapping her right foot as she glanced over at her large picture window. There was Rose, her hands lightly touching the glass, her face in ruins.

  Chapter 9: All Roads Lead to Faust

  Two a.m. was a lousy time to hold a meeting, so when Julius ordered a mandatory one, the guys, doused in sweat and in dire need of alcoholic refreshments, grumbled nonstop. Shannon's eyes were so dark-circled, Sonia worried the pregnant woman wouldn't make it through Julius’ little speech. Pete, subdued, hadn't been himself for about a week. Worry about the new baby? She couldn't tell. Snooky was absorbed with a science fiction comic book, Will, chatting with a new girl, Jonathan, stroking his wife's back. Mike sat planted next to Steve, his new best friend.

  “I asked you all here,” Julius started, “to discuss something important.”

  “What's up, man?” Mike asked.

  “Okay, I'll get right to it. Someone's been into the till. Last night, over thirty-five thousand dollars was stolen.”

  Mike mouthed a quick “Fuck!”

  “Why ask us?” Pete snapped. “Have you even interrogated the customers?”

  Julius squinted his eyes. “Why? You got something to hide?”

  Shannon let out a gasp. “Julius! Are you accusing my husband?” she snapped wide awake.

  “Naw. Forget it! Look, the people from last night are being interviewed right now by the police as we speak. I just thought maybe someone here saw something, that's all.”

  After he stomped off, everyone sat still, staring at each other as Shannon lumbered up from her chair.

  “Wait a minute. We're not done here,” Steve said as groans filtered throughout.

  “I won't take long, guys. Just want you all to know our next gig will be at a brand new palladium called The Highlight. We're the opening act for Soundgarden. Check out the flyers they've sent us.”

  Steve let them soak in their glory for a couple of minutes. Then, “And that's not all. There's a local journalist who's gonna do an interview with Mike, all about the band and the upcoming gig.”

  “Excuse me?” Pete interjected. “Why only Mike? Why not all of us? I mean, I started the band with Mike, for Christsake!” All heads swiveled towards their new manager.

  “Look, man, the journalist told me he wanted to interview only one band member, so I picked Mike ‘cuz he's lead vocals, you know? Besides, he's the one who writes most of the material, and he's the one the girls wanna see.”

  Mike looked nervous. “Hey, why don't you let Pete be interviewed, too, okay?”

  Steve smiled and patted him on his shoulder. “Sure, Mike. I'll work it out with the writer. So now, everyone go home and get some rest.”

  Filing out, Mike walked alongside of Pete. “What's your problem, Pete? Why the fuck are you so sensitive, all of a sudden?”

  Pete's tone darkened. “Mike, I just don't trust this guy. There's something not right about Steve and Julius, if you ask me. And why the hell didn't Steve know about me writing most of the material or starting up the band with you? Why were those little facts over-looked, huh?”

  “Look, I told him. Steve must have forgotten it, is all. Trust me, Pete. I wouldn't steer you wrong.”

  The Highlight was everything it was cracked up to be. With well over two thousand seats, the palladium lighting structures, composed of a complex white steel beam configuration, blanketed the inside ceiling top. Attached twenty feet below that were massive swivel lights, resting on narrow, black metal rectangles. Impressive, too, were the dressing rooms, with their sandstone tiles, modern couches, and private bathrooms. “Are these dressing rooms or a hotel suite,” Sonia wondered out loud, but Mike just waved her off.

  “Hey, Babe, don't knock it.” His continuous grin was infectious, and she could feel that same gravitational pull she always did when he felt his best.

  Omnipresent, Steve saw to everything. Their drink orders, little dark towels placed next to each instrument, healthy snacks, tranquil words to ease their jitters. Sonia was impressed until she looked deeper. He was consistently nicer to Mike than anyone else, and Pete was slowly withdrawing more and more as the afternoon wore on, not even talking to Shannon, who, in turn, kept glancing over at him.

  At last, they were due onstage. Along the corridors and up into the arena, the crowd was already producing a wall of sound so dense, it reverberated through the cement walls as the band and their entourage wound their way, as Steve put it, To Stardom.

  Just shy of the stage, Mike turned to her. “This is it, Babe. We're gonna make it!” and pulling her to him, gave her a quick kiss.

  Their first song was an instant smash, the cheers and whistles after it had finished, astounding. Pete, Snooky, Jonathan, and Will looked stunned. Mike was glowing. Screaming girls down in the front row started climbing up on stage, but the bouncers Steve had hired, bulky men with no necks dressed in cheap suits, appearing from out of nowhere, stopped them cold in their tracks. Sonia suddenly pictured the Harlem Riots, how tough the police were as Leroy tried to be thick-skinned and how frightened her mother and father had been.

  She had to admit, Steve was very good at taking care of his Boys. Whisking everyone away into a hired stretch limo, he provided the group with magnums of champagne as crying girls and makeshift signs of We Love You, Mike! surfaced behind barricades not quite fifty feet away.

  Inside the stretch, Sonia had never seen the band so happy. Even Pete had a smile on, and as they guzzled their champagne, Steve kept repeating how the world was going to be their oyster and how the driver should deliver each one to their homes.

  Left on her doorstep, Mike drew Sonia into his arms.

  “Happy?” she asked.

  “You have no idea!” He smiled then looked intently into her eyes. “Let's go in…”

  That night, he came the closest he could to saying I love you. “You're the one, Babe. Just remember that,” he murmured seconds before he dropped off.

  The day couldn't be more gorgeous. A light blue sky, dotted with puffy cumulus clouds. Sonia's decision to visit Brooklyn Botanical Gardens on her day off from school was mainly for its reputation and for some alone-time, but after an hour and a half of walking along the twisted paths of roses, breathing in the breezy air and turning her face up towards the sun, she remembered just how close she was to Martha's house.

  Should I drop in? she wondered as a familiar, childlike voice called out, “Son-i-a!” She turned. “Why, Martha! And Harry!” She could feel her face heating up.

  There they were, Harry pushing Martha in her wheelchair, his eyes a little too intense after her time with Mike.

  “Hey, you. Why are you in this neck of the woods?” Harry asked.

  “The Botanical Gardens. They are so beautiful, particularly on a day like today, no?”

  They both nodded.

  “Whaat's…your…favorite…flowers, Son-ia?” Martha chirped.

  “I love them all, but especially the roses.”

 
“Ahhhh, they're…my…favorite, too…Son-ia.” She clapped her hands with delight.

  Harry nodded. “Are you heading home, or do you want to go with us to the children's playground? We're on our way there. It's something Martha loves to do.”

  Sonia paused. “Why not?”

  For two blocks, Martha prattled nonstop in her halting way, looking up constantly at Sonia, trying to stroke her hand a couple of times. The second time she tried, she missed and banged her hand on the wheel of her chair, but she didn't seem to mind. She just uttered, “Silly me,” then continued on with her chatter.

  The park was packed with kids, and as each one stared at Martha in her condition, Sonia felt a protectiveness surging up. But Martha was doing fine, oblivious to any extreme reaction, smiling at each one and calling out an enthusiastic “Hi!” to him or her. Within seconds she was no longer a curiosity, just a friendly person in a wheelchair.

  Sonia murmured, “Wow! Kids can be so accepting.”

  Harry's brow furrowed. “Yes, sometimes. Sometimes not.”

  They strolled over to an area dwarfed by a gigantic state-of-the-art jungle gym and sat down on a bench. Watching the children play, Martha kept giggling, waving to them every once in a while, or clapping her hands whenever one of them climbed to the top.

  “He's the k-king of…the…j-jun..gle!” she exclaimed, waving to a particular boy.

  He stationed himself on its apex, carefully curled his legs around the rungs, and waved back. “Yes, I'm the king of the jungle!” he cried.

  Soon, all the children were chanting, “He's the king of the jungle! He's the king of the jungle!” while the mothers applauded and leaned forward on their benches to give Martha the thumbs-up sign.

  “How does she do it?” Sonia whispered to Harry, thinking of Sam and his bitter tirades.

  “She has this amazing capacity for always going down the most positive path, you know?” He added, “I used to think it was because she had CP from such an early age, but now I'm beginning to rethink that. It's just her nature.”

  She nodded, wondering how she could possibly get Martha and Sam together someday.

  By five, families were leaving in droves and at the first sign of a yawn from Martha, Harry stood up. “Time to go home, I'm tired,” and started wheeling her up the sloped cement path towards the street, Sonia trotting close behind.

  At her front door, Harry stopped. “I've got to get her in. Will you stay and have a drink with me? There's a little café around the corner.”

  In spite of herself, Sonia nodded yes. He grinned in return, throwing out an I'll-be-back-in-a-few-minutes signal. When he returned, he looked energized, happy.

  “She's really amazing, isn't she?” Sonia reiterated, sitting next to Harry in one of the café's corner half booths.

  “Yes, she is. One can learn a lot from her.” He turned thoughtful.

  When their drinks came, each took a few seconds to take big, simultaneous swigs.

  “Just out of curiosity, how long have you been with Mike?” he began.

  Not having eaten anything all day, Sonia felt hers instantly. She put her glass down. “About three months.” She leaned in towards him. “To tell you the truth, I never stay with anyone very long. Maybe six months at the most.” She pushed herself back.

  “Why not?” His voice was gentle, yet probing.

  She shrugged, staring down at her drink. She loaded up on several more large sips. “Okay, Harry. You know about my disabled father, my co-dependent mother. Well, what about you? You're obviously older than the rest of our group. Are you as perfect as you seem?”

  Harry stared, incredulous. “Perfect? Well, I guess so, if you think growing up in a household where the loving dad is a doormat and the mother, overindulgent and self-impressed.”

  He took two very large swigs. “A great dad, by the way, who was on his way to making it big in the New York construction industry after he returned from Vietnam, but quit after only six months because he would have had to deal with the Mafia who were basically running the show back then. No, Sonia. I've had to develop my own positive thinking. Some of it has come from being around Martha so much, some of it, from sheer self will power.”

  “Give me an example of your mother.” She checked his eyes. “If you don't mind.”

  Harry was starting to slur ever so slightly. Sonia thought of the large amount of alcohol it took to get Mike even a little tipsy.

  He finished his second glass, then described how, at the age of five or six, he had convinced his mother he was old enough to be invited to one of their big cocktail parties. His protective father had nay-sayed it, claiming it was inappropriate, but for once, his mother had taken his side and allowed him to stay.

  Present were the usual mix of couples and business associates, floating through the house to the sounds of Ray Coniff, Jack Jones, Brasil ‘66, and Peter Nero as they balanced their martini glasses with appetizer plates and four inch square napkins. Close cropped men in their sports jackets and thin ties dovetailed conversations about great golf sites, Apollo 8's recent liftoff, the Computer Age, and aspirin being great for hangovers as the women, in their pearls and black sheaths, chatted freely about recipes, child raising, and movie stars.

  At first it was exhilarating being part of the grownups, but after a while, it became a huge bore, so he took a seat off to one side, where the waist high view of the world of hand movements, strokes, and gestures soon lulled him into uncontrollable yawns.

  He was about to nod off when he recognized the back of his mother's dress, a black satin number with a belted waist. She was standing next to one of their neighbors, he identified the sports jacket, and they were plastered together. Where was Dad? he wondered as he saw his neighbor's hand drift over to his mother's bottom, then rest there.

  He couldn't take his eyes off that hand. Why was his mom allowing this, and where was his dad? Should he say something? No, he was just a little kid. Focusing on that chubby, mammoth hand, he couldn't utter a sound, not even when he saw his mom's hand slowly slide around to the back of her dress, clasp the neighbor's hand in hers and give it a tight squeeze.

  “Oh, Harry, that's terrible.” Sonia leaned into him, remembering Grandma Rose sitting alone in her living room late at night, numbing herself with alcohol. Feeling her seat partner's warmth against her, she also recalled Lily's pubescent awakenings towards her father, Sam, so many years before. Suddenly Harry looked quite handsome.

  He leaned back away from her, chuckling slightly. “So, am I still so perfect?”

  She smiled. “I guess you're just like the rest of us.” She started to stand up and almost toppled over. He immediately sprung up to catch her.

  “It's time to go. I'm going to make sure you get home safe and sound,” he insisted, his voice unusually authoritative. She started to fumble through her purse, but he had already plunked money down on the table, and helping her gather up her light coat, held her steady as they exited.

  Outside, not more than fifty feet away, there was a New Jersey plated limousine illegally parked, with a man leaning against it, talking earnestly to someone inside the back seat.

  Harry nudged her. “Ah, isn't that Mike's manager?”

  She stared, then nodded. Who was Steve talking to?

  Harry quickly steered her in the opposite direction, exclaiming, “Let's go a different route.” Down on the subway train, they didn't talk much. Sonia was half asleep as Harry kept a protective arm around her shoulder, listening to her murmur things about Mike and her father. On her front steps, she placed a hand on his chest. “I can take it from here, Harry. Thanks.” Although her words were still slurred, she seemed somewhat cognizant.

  “Ah, would you like to go out with me again?”

  She avoided his eyes. “Oh, Harry, you're so nice, so kind, but…”

  “No problem, Sonia. Get some sleep. See you later.” He started to turn away, muttering, “Not ready.”

  She placed her hand on his forearm. “What did yo
u say?”

  “Nothing. See you around. Night-night.”

  She watched him leave, picturing all the years her mother said “Night-night,” as she switched off the blaring overhead light, turned on the soft Tinker Bell lamp, then made sure her daughter's door was left open a good six inches.

  “Are you okay, Shannon? You don't seem your usual self,” Sonia commented Saturday night in the club's bathroom.

  “I…Oh, Sonia. Can you keep a secret?”

  Sonia nodded vehemently.

  “Something's up with Pete. These days he's always on the phone, or on the computer, but when I enter he hangs up or shuts his PC down.”

  “Do you think he's having an affair?” Sonia kept her voice as gentle as possible.

  “No, that's the strange thing. I don't. I think it's something else, but he won't talk.” She was about to say more, but someone else sauntered in.

  Later at Mike's apartment, Sonia was about to relay her conversation with Shannon but Mike started first. “I'm always telling the guys what a good little seamstress you are, how you and your mom always made your own Halloween costumes.”

  “Yeah, we did. So?”

  “So, I've got a tiny rip in my favorite stage shirt that needs just a little touch up. While I take a shower, would you do me the honors? Sorry, there wasn't time to take it to a professional. I know it'll be easy for you, it's just a stitch here or there. I've even bought a little sewing kit with needles and thread. Here it is. And here's the shirt.”

  A peck on the cheek and he was off, leaving her on his bed, sewing kit and shirt in hand. She double tapped several times on the kit, took out a needle and thread and started to sew. In and out the needle went but she was barely concentrating on her job. Her mind was too stocked with images of Bimmy mending Grandma Rose's church sweater after being told she had to make sure she didn't show up at work with unstraightened hair.

  After numerous knocks on her parents’ front door, she could hear Sam screaming from inside. “Use your key, goddammit!”

  Oh, goody, she thought as she inched towards the den and the slumped, drunken form in his wheelchair. In front of him on his hospital table was a full glass tumbler, an almost empty fifth of rum and a six-pack of open coke cans.