Love in Troubled Times

by Gayle Riley

DING-DONG! DING-DONG!

  “Ahhh,” my mother says, standing to her feet excited. She takes a gulp of wine, and this has been the loudest I’ve heard her speak in years—which was also the last time my brother was in town.

  “He’s here!” she says.

  Mother hurries to the door and father wipes his mouth from some of the red tomato sauce. “Don’t leave me at the table, Carol, I want to welcome my son too.” Father rushes behind her, and grandma looks up from a doze she had.

  “Who’d they say is here?” she asks.

  “Brian, Grandma.”

  “What?”

  “BRIAN,” I say again.

  “Speak up, dear. That man Scott ain’t teach you how to talk?”

  “I said BRIAN, Grandma!”

  “OH, BRIAN!” she exclaims, with hardly any teeth. “That boy is barely at my waist, but is as strong as an ox, that boy.”

  I hear Mother and Father welcome Brian inside with heys and hellos that destroy any welcome I’ve ever received from them. Momentarily, they meet us back into the dining room, and Brian stands in the doorway, dressed in his Marine uniform. His buzz-cut head sits above his blue garments and pins, his hand, holding his hat to his heart.

  “Grandma!” he says, outstretching his arms. He wraps his arms around her.

  “Brian?”

  “Yes, Grandma. It’s me.” He takes a knee before her.

  “How’d you get so big and handsome? Just like your grandad.”

  “Thanks, Grandma,” he says, smiling. Brian stands to his feet as Mother and Father take a seat at the table. Brian respectively does the same.

  “Hi, Mary.”

  “Hi, Brian.”

  “Was surprised I didn’t see you at the door. Haven’t seen you in a while.”

  “I’m sorry. Just had a rough morning, and rough day at work this past evening.”

  “I see that sorry is still your favorite word.”

  I quirk a brow.

  “I see the army hasn’t made you a man. Can’t treat ‘asshole’.”

  He laughs and Mother and Father look over at me as though I should be quiet, yet, I didn’t start anything. Just as it was when Brian and I were kids.

  “Seems like Scott’s been up yours. And it’s not the army. It’s the marines.”

  “Whatever.”

  “So, what’s going on between you two anyway now?”

  And that quick, as always, he’s crossed the line.

  “That isn’t any of your business. More than enough people know enough already.”

  “Mary.”

  “No, Mother. Teach your son how to be respectful as you should have when we were younger.”

  Father places his utensils down.

  “Can we not do this tonight? Mary, he’s just got home. Please.”

  “And he hasn’t grown up one bit. I have over a decade on him and he doesn’t know how to show me any respect.”

  “What, you think you’re better than me or something?”

  “Brian…I’m a grown woman. Such thoughts of being BETTER than the person next to me is on the least of any thought process.”

  “And how much thought did you give your divorce?”

  I shatter into fragments as I beam into his eyes.

  “Alright. I must go,” I say, gathering my purse.

  “Mary,” Mother says.

  “No, I ‘ve heard enough. Apparently, you and Father share everything with him that isn’t your business to share. If you’ll excuse me, please.”

  I kiss Grandma on the cheek. “Bye, Grandma.”

  “Oh, bye Brian,” she says, smiling yet looking about the ceiling. “See you again sometime.”

  I exhale and head for the front door. “Careful out there, Mary! Many women have been going missing lately” I hear Brian call from the dining room. I shake my head and shut the front door behind myself. I rush to my car, throw my purse and the passenger seat, and sit quietly with my hands on the steering wheel. I bang into the steering to release the tension in my chest. I sit quiet a moment, start the car, and my phone begins to ring. I answer it with my car’s Bluetooth.

  “Hello.”

  I hear a few muffles and wind in the phone.

  “Hello?” Chels says. “Mary?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m so sorry. Butt-dial.”

  “No, no, it’s okay. I was just about to leave my parents.”

  I begin to pull from the curb and head down the road.

  “Looking at the time, I see it didn’t last long,” she says.

  “Not at all.”

  “How’s Brian?”

  “Brian is Brian. Brought up my divorce.”

  “I’m sorry,” she pities. “Listen, since you’re leaving so soon, did you get a chance to eat?”

  “No more than a forkful.”

  “Pick me up. We’ll get food.”

  “I don’t know, Chels. It’s been a long day and I kind of feel like going home and watching my soaps until I doze.”

  “Mary. I’ll see you in ten. I’ll cheer you up.”

  Without further discussion, she hangs up.

  ***

  We sit at a table in a small restaurant. The waiters and waitresses walk down the aisles, carrying food on trays and beverages. Our waitress comes over with our food.

  “Black-bean burger and fries?”

  “Thank you,” Chels says. The waitress sets the food in front of Chels.

  “And the chicken caesar sandwich and soup.” She sets it down in front of me.

  “Thank you.”

  “Enjoy,” she smiles.

  We begin to dig into our food.

  “First time I’ve seen you get anything besides the pasta from here,” she says.

  “I’d rather not eat anything that reminds me of what happened not too long ago.”

  “So, Brian,” Chels says. And that fast she forgets what I just said. “What’d he say about your marriage?”

  “He asked about Scott and ‘what’s going on’.’ He shouldn’t have known, but that’s what I get for being ‘less successful’ than my younger brother.”

  “He’ll just become a jarhead, find someone and fall in love with some military-fetished woman, get deployed and come back home to an adulterous wife, that has a three-year-old daughter and a new man wearing his work boots.”

  I try not to laugh, but fail.

  “That’s mean.”

  “Well, what he said to you and what our boss said to you this morning was rude and uncalled for. The least I could do is damn their futures to shit.”

  “I’m just ready for this phase of a fresh divorce to just move on already.”

  “I can help with that.”

  “How, exactly, Chels?”

  “The only way you can heal from this, and I’m just saying it this way because I know you, you need to meet a guy, someone much more attractive than Scott, no offense,” she says, raising her hands in defense, “and have him fuck your brains out.”

  I practically spit out my soup.

  “Listen, Mary. That’s how it works. The best way to move on from someone, is to get closer to someone else.”

  “Maybe you’re right. But I don’t know how to meet or talk to men. I haven’t had an excuse to. Or even had the time.”

  “Yet Scott gave you plenty of that by brushing up on his skills.”

  I shrug. “Guess so.”

  “Well, how about this? Tonight, you come with me to the speed-date session that’s being hosted on Broadway.”

  “Speed-dating?” I say. “Oh, no, Chels. I can’t speed-date. That’s nowhere near my kind of thing.”

  “Mary, we are in our thirties.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “We’re pushing the bar on becoming the elderly. We don’t have time to wait around. We’re not as young as we used to be and men our age are going for the younger girls. They’re stealing from our roster.”

  I laugh.

  “At our age, speed-dating is the best thing to do.
‘Hey, I’m Jake, I’m a mechanic. Hi, I’m Mary, I’m writer.’ Boom! You know each other and now he can fuck you on his oil-stained used-cars.” We both laugh and as it dies down between us, her face becomes a bit more serious.

  “I’m just saying give it a try. It’s day one. That’s the hardest day of them all—if you allow it be.”

  I think about it for a few moments and picture myself sitting on my couch, eating ice cream, watching soaps and probably crying. That’s what I would be doing right now. Or, I can trust my best friend, take the crazy risk of speed-dating, and the worst that can happen is I find no one I liked, but I would have said I tried.

  “Okay,” I say.

  “So, we’re going?”

  “Yes, we’re going.”

  “Great! We should get changed though. I still smell like warm, fresh-out-the-printer paper.”

  Chapter 3

  We get over to Broadway, and the crowd outside is packed, more than I had expected. Apparently, Chels was right. For people our age, speed-dating is the way to go. At least, I wonder, with this many people, is it that they are in search of someone for the first time tonight or do they come often, in which then that tells me there’s not luck here. The line moves forward and people bundle together to keep warm. When we get to the front, we are let in by a few security guards and an MC hops on stage. He’s dressed casually, and has shoes shinier than what I’ve ever seen.

  “Alright, can everybody here me okay?”

  “Yes!” roars the crowd.

  “Okay, just to kick things off, I’ll explain how everything goes. This,” he holds up a small, rectangular electronic, “is the timer. We are going to set the timer for two minutes. When time is up,” he presses a button and it blares. “That’s what you’ll here. You’ll have one of two choices. You can either exchange information to meet again or decide to pass. At that point, the men will go to the next table, and the process will continue. Everybody got that?”

  “Yes!”

  “Alright, let’s get started. Can I have the women take a seat at a table, please?”

  “Alright, Mary, good luck,” Chels says.

  “You too.”

  “Won’t need it.”

  I take a seat at one of the tables and as everything settles, the men are left standing before us. Some are dressed casually as though they came straight from work, and others look as though they haven’t bathed in weeks. It reminds me of Scott, which makes this process much easier.

  One by one, as men sit before me, surprisingly, none of them seem any more interesting than Scott. This process went from being easier than expected to being disappointing. The first guy that sat before me was handsome, but he’s also going through a divorce too. I’m not looking for a rebound, or maybe, perhaps, I’m supposed to be. The second guy smelled like beer and a pack of cigarettes. The third was close to being interesting until he asked what I liked in bed. Sighs.

  “Hey,” I hear Chels whisper, as the men look for another table. “How’s it going?”

  “Terrible,” I say. “Why’d you bring me here?”

  “I’m sorry I thought that—” Chels eyes practically fall out of her sockets. “Whoa, you got incoming.”

  A shadow casts above me. I refrain from looking.

  “Incoming?”

  She nods. “Oh, yeah.”

  “Like bullet-big.”

  “Mm mmm. More like torpedo.”

  “Ahem,” I hear him say. I slowly turn to my visitor and static runs along my arms. I go from cold to warm in an instant.

  “S-Sorry,” I say.

  “You haven’t done any harm. Can I sit?”

  “Yes…Of course.”

  Who is this that dropped out of the sky? I’ve seen beauty in men, but, I’ll be damned. His eyes are hazel-brown, his hair a jet-black, and his voice holds a broad bass. Hmm, white button shirt beneath a black leather coat, has a bit of some chest peeking above the top. He fills out his clothes quite nice. Might be my age, or getting close to it I presume. I’m not particularly interested in being some cougar. This is somebody’s son.

  “What’s your name?” he asks.

  “Mary,” I say. He smiles, and it’s adorable.

  “Mary,” he repeats to himself, with a throaty rasp in his voice. “I’m Artimus.”

  “Artimus? Wow. That’s…quite a name, are you..?”

  “American?” he says. Then starts to shake his head. “No. Parisian.”

  “I’ve always wanted to live in Paris. What brings you all the way over here to the States?”

  “Ehh, just needed a different taste for a bit.”

  “So, I must ask.” He seems a bit interested in my next question. “How old are you?”

  “Thirty-five.”

  “Whoa. You don’t look a day over twenty-six. How do you do that?”

  “With the proper diet.”

  “So, you eat healthy?”

  He smiles, almost as though he’s about to laugh, but then, it fades.

  “I have healthy, hearty meals, yes.”

  “And what do you do for work?”

  “I don’t.”

  Red flag.

  “I’ve inherited much money over the years, so I just tend to move around a lot. Vacation. Eat quite a bit. I have practically everything I need.”

  Scrap the red flag.

  “But,” he continues. “I sometimes feel something is missing. An—emptiness.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He sits silent and doesn’t respond nor make eye contact.

  “Artimus?”

  “Tell me about you,” he says. “What’s your story?”

  “There…isn’t much. There isn’t much money either like yours, I can tell you that. But there’s also an emptiness, too. I just signed divorce papers this morning with my ex-husband. I probably shouldn’t have mentioned that. Umm, I have rough days at work. My boss is always giving me anal.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “As in always up my ass.”

  “Oh,” he smiles.

  “Yeah…My family isn’t exactly supportive of anything. They still treat me like a child, yet honor my jarhead younger brother like a prince. So yeah, my life isn’t exactly perfect.”

  He places his hand atop of mine. They’re softer than any other man’s I’ve touched.

  “You will find happiness, Mary. Believe in it.”

  I nod my head and find a smile. The buzzer rings, and forces me to jump. Time’s up already, I cry inside. He stands to his feet.

  “Maybe I’ll see you again?” I say, almost desperate.

  “You can. Let’s have dinner.”

  He reaches into his jacket and pulls out one, thick, black card. Not a deck. But just one. I take the card and on the front, in white letters is his name Artimus Malkovo. I turn it on its back side and there is a black vine plant design and has his address. He lives in the richest part of New York.

  “There’s no phone number.”

  “Come anytime you’d like. I’ll see you coming before you see me.”

  Without another word, he leaves. Another man sits at the table. I tell him sorry, and Chels comes over.

  “You two looked very great together. What’s he like? What’d he say?”

  “He’s…quite a mystery. I think I just know that his name is Artimus—”

  “That exquisite.”

  “—he’s rich, and is from Paris, yet I told him my whole life story. He gave me this though?”

  “His address?”

  “Yeah. Told me to come sometime and have dinner.”

  “Apparently, he’s not wasting any. Wow. I think I’m jealous of you.”

  “That won’t ever be possible.”

  Chapter 4

  I snack on chocolates, sip on coffee, turn on my work computer and tune it to Pandora and dance around in my chair to the Christmas music. Chels pops her head above my cubicle and I try to refrain from laughing.

  “Well, someone woke up on the right side of the bed fo
r once,” she says. “Christmas music? You hate Christmas music.”

  “I’ve learned to enjoy it today.” I pop another chocolate into my mouth.

  “So,” she says. “When do you plan on going over there?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t exactly decided.”

  “Why not tonight?”

  “Tonight? That’s too soon.”

  “He gave you his address after a two-minute conversation.”

  “Good point.”

  “So, tonight. Go over there and learn more about him and fuck his brains out.”

  I shoot her a glare.

  “I was joking about that last part. But, still. You need to move on. Artimus seems to not waste his time so there’s probably so much under that thick layer of handsome you should go find out about.”

  I nod my head. “Yeah, you’re right…. Well…. Okay, I’ll head over there. But I will probably regret it.”

  “I’m sure by the end of the night, you won’t.”

  ***

  KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

  Momentarily, my mother opens the door.

  “Mary.”

  “Hey,” I say. “I didn’t get a chance to message you that I was going to stop by after work. Wanted to drop these off.”

  I hand her the envelope. Father and my brother come to the door.

  “What are these?” my mother asks.

  “Christmas cards.”

  “How’d you find the money to do that?” my brother asks, with a small smile on his face.

  “I work for a living instead of collecting government bitch checks.” I smile back at him. He frowns. “But don’t worry my little jarhead brother. There’s a card in there for you too.” I kiss my father on the cheek. “Hi, Dad.” I begin to walk away, but then my mother calls me back.

  “You can stay for dinner if you’d like?” she says.

  “No, no thank you. I have a date tonight.”

  “A date?”

  “Yes,” I call back opening my car door.

  “With who?” she calls back again. I pull out of the driveway without another word. I’ll never give them so much info about my personal life again. All they manage to do is share and gossip about it.

  As I drive through the streets of Manhattan, I enter Artimus’ address, and the destination tells me it will be roughly half an hour. I can only hope that tonight will be a great as the smile I had to force upon my face with seeing my family.