Searching for the One

by Gabriella Murray

  "Sit down," Camella yelled from outside. "I'm in the bathroom. I'll be right in."

  Usually Camella was waiting for her, seated at the table, rolling a pencil in her hand, humming to herself. People came to her from all over the world to find out how to skirt disaster, cheat the angel of death. If possible, Camella interceded. She insisted she did God's work, bringing peace to troubled hearts.

  Pictures of Mother Mary hung in the kitchen, beside two crucifixes. When she came in she lit a candle and crossed herself. She was in her late thirties, dark, slender, with shadows under her eyes and a face that would have been pretty if it were not so overwrought. She wore a blue, flannel house dress, tied around the middle, and slippers on bare feet. A half smoked cigarette hung from the corner of her mouth.

  "I expected you two weeks ago," Camella began.

  "I've been busy," Sara said.

  "Don't I know it. Well, at least you're here at the new year," she said in a husky voice, pushing back her hair and sitting down. "Too much is happening in your life to wait so long. Destiny is running its web around you."

  Camella looked at her quizzically, then grabbed a pencil and began scratching. As she scratched, she once told Sara, messages came.

  Sara felt edgy as she waited. The idea of destiny weaving its web around her made her feel claustrophobic, as if she were in the grip of a huge, unfriendly cloud descending upon her, bit by bit.

  "They're pressuring you now to look for a man," Camella finally said.

  "Exactly."

  "That's because He's coming closer. They sense it's time."

  "My God."

  "Don't say God like that."

  Sara and Camella sometimes rankled each other. Sara wasn't sure she believed in this web of destiny, and was ashamed of needing Camella so much. But by now she had to admit that almost everything Camella predicted came to pass like clockwork.

  "That's why people are telling you to get out there. You've got to get ready to meet Him. The two of you can't avoid meeting."

  "So why don't you look happy?" Sara asked, her stomach fluttering like a trapped bird.

  "I am happy, honey," Camella said. "Just nervous. Saturn is influencing this meeting. Waves of Uranus. Other things too!" Camella's eyes were fixed somewhere else, a place Sara could not follow.

  "Give me details," Sara pleaded.

  "I'm not supposed to tell you everything. But I am supposed to warn you. Be careful. Very."

  Sara's heart contracted. Careful about what? She didn't want to live being careful. For a flash she wondered if Tova wasn't right? Maybe she should play it safe, return to the block?

  "Why do I have to be careful?" she managed to ask when her heart quieted. "Is he my soul mate?"

  Camella rested. She put her elbows on the table; her eyes looked particularly deep-set, haggard.

  "I told you already: there isn't just one soul mate. We have lots of soul mates. There are different choices a soul can make in this lifetime."

  "What if I don't want to choose him?"

  "Don't get so nervous," Camella said. "There are choices, I told you. Each soul makes its own decisions. But there are also some things we have no choice about. Like who we have to meet - and when."

  Sara leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. Suddenly

  the parrot cawed loudly from the outer room, "Go to hell you rotten liar! Go to hell!"

  "That's it for today," Camella said abruptly, as she always did when the messages ended. She swiftly pushed back her chair from the table, rubbing her face in her hands. "Come again in two weeks."

  "So soon? God."

  "See? That's the reason you have to come back. Because you call out for God but you don't have real faith."

  Sara's body froze. She suddenly wondered what she was doing here, why she needed these secret meetings to give her the feeling someone was looking after her.

  "If you got faith like a mountain, you can lean on it when an earthquake comes."

  "Is an earthquake coming?"

  Camella got up and stretched. It was a signal that Sara had to leave because Camella was getting ready for the next client. Sara got up, went to the door, blew her a tiny kiss, and left the room swiftly.

  On the way out, she stopped in the living room, wrote out a check and placed it in the carved wooden box that sat on the front window sill. As she wrote the check, Sara saw a long, black Cadillac with smoky windows park up in front. What a car, Sara thought, as she hurried out the door before the next person could enter.

  * * * * *

  Sara went into the shed the minute she got home to take some time to think everything over. It was evening already and the lights were on in the kitchen. Berta was probably rummaging around, putting dinner on the table and Abel was most likely sitting there, wondering where Sara was.

  Sara sat in the shed in the fading light and thought about the destiny Camella insisted was coming her way. Was it possible that each moment had a trajectory of its own, one that could not be avoided? Were they all simply playthings of a greater force that laughed as it gripped them in its embrace? Did she have any choice at all about what was going to happen?

  Sara thought about her separation with Melvin and how it was affecting them all. She rarely saw Matt for long these days. When he wasn't sleeping at a friend's house, he was at basketball practice. Sometimes he'd come in late, nod at her gruffly and run to his room. Abel was around most of all, quietly doing homework in the kitchen, keeping an eye on Sara from under the baseball cap he wore all the time, pulled way down. His saxophone lessons were going well, and he'd been asked to play the solo in the band's concert at school, something he was proud of.

  Since Melvin was more edgy these days, Sara told Berta that if she heard from him to tell him she'd been unexpectedly summoned out of town.

  Sara was palpably hungry for time. She craved it, like a food, to sift and sort her life in. She wanted a sense of readiness before actually going to the phone to answer the men who'd written to her, dialing their numbers, speaking to strangers, perhaps bringing them into her family's life.

  Sara went back into the house a little while later. It was a Monday night. The sound of the saxophone filled the house. At first Abel played exercises and easy songs. Now he'd graduated to popular melodies from the forties - especially Putting On The Ritz - which used to be Mr. Gioridni's, his teacher's, theme song. It rang through the house every time he came.

  Melvin used to enjoy hearing Abel play, and Abel always looked forward to his father's praise. As Sara listened to the bleating refrain alone, she decided there had to be someone out there who would also enjoy it. There was no use postponing. She had asked the men who'd answered her ad for their phone number. She didn't like just corresponding on email. She wanted to hear their voice and talk. It was time to call some of them. Sara went to her room, opened the emails she had printed out.

  The first one Sara chose to answer was one of the first responses she'd received - from the Man of Value. She picked up the phone and dialed.

  He answered after the second ring. "Yes?" his voice was gruff.

  Sara suddenly realized that the sax was blaring in the background, with some song from the 1940's. She must seem insane. Words temporarily got caught in her throat. What could she say? Are you the Man of Value?

  "Hello," she said and paused.

  "Yeah?" he repeated, more gruff than before. "What's the noise?"

  Is this how a Man of Value would talk?

  "You answered my ad online" she mustered as much lightness as she possibly could.

  "Really?"

  They both fell silent.

  "Yes," she repeated, feeling a compulsion to fill the empty space.

  "Which ad was it exactly?" he asked, nice now.

  Sara realized at that sinking moment that he must have answered several ads - hundreds even. This Man of Value had sent his telephone number all over New York. Her palms chilled before she launched into a brief, succinct description of herself.

&nb
sp; "I'm the beautiful, loyal, passionate, loving woman," she barely mentioned to get the words out. She thought she heard him laugh.

  "Really?" he answered.

  She swallowed hard, thinking he could hear her valiantly trying to gulp her words back down. Do passionate women gulp, she wondered?

  "That's very nice," he answered quietly.

  He was much too quiet, though. Sara had an enormous, sudden desire to say enough, and hang up the phone.

  "Did I wake you?" she asked.

  "Not at all. Do I sound like I was sleeping?"

  He actually did. "A little groggy," she said.

  "No, not at all," he repeated in his rather soft, monotone voice. "Please keep talking. I remember your ad. I haven't heard from a passionate woman in a long time, so you'll have to forgive me if I sound a little slow."

  That was a little better. Maybe he was a Man of Value after all, Sara thought, hopefully.

  "And you know," he went on, "there are so many ads I answered, and I really wasn't expecting a call right now. Later, maybe."

  "Why, later?"

  "Things always happen later," he said.

  At that moment, the romance ended. Sara's thoughts raced like moths around a dying flame. How can I hang up fast and not hurt his feelings?

  "Oh, that's nice," she said brightly. "You get lots of phone calls?"

  "Not lots," he corrected himself. "Not calls that thrill me. But I do get some."

  Sara was surprised that anything could thrill him.

  "The women seem to like my response," he went on, encouraged. "A Man of Value is a hard thing to find these days."

  Sara could have hit herself for buying into it. Obviously he announced himself to the world this way, luring women to take a try. Her mother's words came back to her: And who do you think you'll find out there? Nuts! They're all nuts!

  "I hope I'm making good conversation," he broke in, "but I'm not really myself these days. My sister died a month ago."

  Sara's stomach dropped further. "I'm sorry to hear that," she said.

  "What good does it do if you're sorry?" he said. "It won't bring her back."

  Sara didn't like him but felt sorry for his situation, and for a fleeting moment considered meeting him for coffee and cake. But she stopped short, took a deep breath, and straightened her back.

  "And nothing will bring her back, will it?" he said mournfully.

  "No," she answered softly. "Time moves in one direction."

  "That's a strange thing to say," he perked up. "What do you mean?"

  "We can't bring anything back, can we?"

  "What a smart lady you are," he said.

  The phone suddenly felt heavy in Sara's hand.

  He sounded more excited. "A smart lady and a Man of Value. . . that's pretty hard to find. Maybe we really got something here?"

  Sara spoke softly, but with all the strength she could muster, "I'm sorry, I don't think I really want to pursue this."

  He got very quiet. So did she.

  "All of a sudden you don't like me?"

  Truth, Sara told herself, is the heart of kindness. Truth told simply, without any blame.

  "It doesn't feel right to me," she responded. "I know your time is very precious, and so is mine."

  "Well, if it doesn't feel right, it doesn't," he answered, laconically at first, then burst out, "Do I need this? I'm sitting home, minding my own business, missing my sister who died and a stranger calls out of the blue just to reject me. Do I need it?"

  "I'm sorry. I'm not rejecting you really. It just -"

  "Go tell it to your grandmother," he screamed and slammed down the phone.

  Sara's stomach fell as the dial clicked hard. She gazed down at the pile of forty-nine letters and wondered what else lay in store. This was going to be harder than she thought.

  Instead of wondering for too long, she took the next email she'd printed and opened it. She had underlined the phone number he gave her in green, and dialed fast, without thinking.

  An answering machine picked up.

  "Just a minute. Don't hang up. I'm out now, but I want to hear from you. Truly, truly, I want to hear your voice. Leave a message. Speak to me. I'll return your call as soon as I get in."

  Sara decided to have fun, let go of pictures of how she should answer. She saw that it didn't matter what kind of man she thought she should find - the flow of people sprawled out any way it wanted.

  She responded in a light voice.

  "Hi! This is a beautiful, loving, passionate woman calling. You wrote to her a few days ago and here she is now. Call back when you can."

  She hung up, cheered, and went to the next. This letter concluded with the words, if you call me you won't be disappointed. Okay, she grinned, here we go. Number three. She dialed fast, without thinking.

  A strong voice answered at the end of the line. "Hi," he said, as if he had been sitting there forever, waiting for her call.

  "Hi," Sara answered.

  "Who's this?" Sounded interested. She liked him immediately.

  "You don't know me yet."

  He laughed. So did she. This was fun. They were off to a good start. Sara felt she'd found a live one.

  "Well, I don't know who you are," he went on in a provocative tone, "but you sound terrific."

  "Thanks."

  "Do you have a name?" he asked lightly.

  Sara wanted to make up a wildly strange name, but thought better of it. "Sara," she said.

  That fell flat. "Really? You don't sound like a Sara."

  "How does a Sara sound?" Images of her mother floated over her. At least her name wasn't Selma or Tova.

  "Sara sounds shy, soft, a little afraid."

  "Not necessarily."

  "I like you," he answered.

  "Thanks."

  They talked further and made a date for lunch in two days at a large, glossy, public diner ten blocks away, called The Swan.

  When Sara hung up she noticed her hands were shaking. She took a red pencil anyway and marked the date proudly on her wall calendar. Lunch with Bert. At the Swan.

  Then she sat back down near the window and started thinking of Melvin and the first date they'd had. They'd gone to a Chinese restaurant called The Dragon, ate vegetable chow mein and drank three pots of tea. A soft, summer breeze had wafted in through the windows and they'd both kept searching for things to say. She'd wished her mother hadn't introduced them, that she didn't have to come home with a good report. She knew Tova would be back there, waiting to hear everything that went on.

  "Our mothers really like each other," Melvin had said finally, after he ate every last bit on his plate. It was a signal that they'd better follow suit. Neither of them wanted to disappoint their mothers.

  Now, sitting at the phone with her pile of suitors, Sara grew afraid. She wished it were the dead of winter so she could wrap up in flannel, go to bed early, and turn away from life's demand to go dancing again. Having made this first date, she was strangely exhausted, as though she'd climbed an enormous hill. She put the other letters to the side, wanting to pause and see who she'd found. She decided to call Cynthia and get some praise.

  "He sounds lively, Cynthia," Sara said, hoping for encouragement.

  "Good."

  "Interesting too."

  "Be careful," Cynthia said.

  "I'm not calling the others yet. I need time to breathe."

  "It's a date for lunch. Call them now." Cynthia's voice got stronger. "If this is the way you're going to find guys, find them. Don't just stop with one. I didn't stop until I found Bruce. Boy was it worth it. Call them all. Once you stop it's hard to get going again."

  Sara felt Cynthia's desperation swoop around her like a hawk. She wanted to shake it, but it kept hovering.

  "Do you understand what I'm saying?" she spoke with urgency. "I'm seeing Bruce, and he's terrific, but there are two other guys in the wings. You can never be sure. Don't you dare tell anyone."

  "I won't."

  "Before yo
u know it, they'll call me a whore. If a woman needs a man, they call her a whore. Are you listening? You got a lot to learn. The way you are now - you're not for real."

  Sara got frightened. Maybe Cynthia was right. Maybe she was just the ghost of a person?

  "I'm in the race to win!"

  Cynthia's panic was too much for her. "Take it easy, Cynthia," Sara said.

  "Why should I? Maybe you have all the time in the world, but I'm getting old."

  "That's an excuse," Sara said. "It's not about age, it's about what's happening inside. Whether or not you're willing to really love someone."

  "Damn you," Cynthia shot back! "Who do you think you are?"

  It was sensitive ground they were treading on and they all needed too much from each other to take anything lightly. It was stupid of them to fight.

  "I'm sorry," Sara started.

  "You should be," Cynthia breathed. "Very sorry because I don't know who you think you are. Telling me I should learn to love."

  "I didn't mean it that way."

  "Exactly that way!" Cynthia stopped short. "I loved my husband more than any woman could. He took off after all those years. They all do that. They're no damn good."

  "They're as good as we let them be," Sara answered.

  Cynthia didn't want to hear that. "You've got a lot of pretty words, but what good has it done you? If I were you I'd stop thinking so much and go out and grab a man for the night. That's a beginning, and boy do you need it."

  "That's what I'm doing," Sara answered, chilled to the bone, and they both hung up at the very same moment.

  Sara felt stung. She bundled up, went outside, and started jogging faster than usual through her suburban streets. The wind blew in her hair as she tried to find a way out of the maze. The streets felt too ordered, familiar; she felt like tearing down the main road, swerving up over a hill at the end of it and crossing a bridge, down to cobble streets she'd didn't know. As she ran in the cold, she ground her teeth, wondering if she'd ever find this man Camella said was on the way. Could it be Burt, her meeting at The Swan?

  CHAPTER 7

  Dear Sunflower 101,

  It's been a gloomy few weeks since I last wrote you. Two cases I hoped to settle didn't go my way. I'm used to it, though. Disappointments don't rattle me. There are some pretty tough lawyers out there. Once in a while I beat them and get a windfall. Otherwise, I push on.