Whether or not I win my cases, I do my best for the client, that's for sure. My grandfather always said, Manny, whatever does or doesn't go your way, keep your head cool and your feet warm, and you'll be okay.
I've listened to him all these years. Until I read your ad. Now things are different. Now my head is hot and my feet are cold. How about you? Are you a little scared too? Why else wouldn't you answer? Is there something I said to offend you? (God forbid). Maybe you're just taking your time. . .Don't be afraid to come out in the sunlight and answer my letter.
Still hoping,
Greg
The Swan was a flashy diner near Sara's house, with huge mirrors on the walls, oversized leather booths with miniature jukeboxes, and tiers of pastries in a plastic tray which never stopped spinning. It was always packed at lunch time.
As they had arranged, Sara stood outside the main entrance, wrapped in a camel coat, waiting for Burt to arrive. He said he would arrive exactly at one o'clock, was extremely handsome, and would wear a long, blue coat and red, checkered scarf. True to his word, he was there on the dot.
Burt was strong and good looking with dark, brown, wavy hair, dimples in his cheeks and an easy smile.
He said as he walked up to Sara, kissed her on the cheek, and slipped his arm behind her back to guide her through the revolving, front door.
"You're beautiful," he whispered. "This must be my day. Most of the ones I meet are dogs."
"It's nice to meet you," Sara murmured, spinning out the other end in front of a hostess with extremely bleached blonde hair who immediately lead them to a booth.
Sara and Burt took off their coats and sat down opposite one another at a booth near a window. They smiled at exactly the same instant. With the exception of his comment about other women being dogs, which rankled her, Sara found him easy to be with.
"We lucked out this time, huh?" Burt leaned across the table.
Sara lifted her glass of water in a mock toast. "Welcome to the Swan."
He laughed. "You're unusual. I like it."
Sara liked him too, but despite herself wondered exactly how many ads he'd answered, how many other women he'd met promptly at one and guided through revolving doors. Unfortunately, her mother's word floated back - first impressions are deceiving.
"You know," Burt said pleasantly, "if I saw you in passing, I'd never imagine you'd put in an ad."
Sara was surprised. "Why not?"
"You don't look as mischievous as you are. Not at first glance, anyhow. At first glance. . . you look a little reserved."
"Really?"
"Yeah. Like you come from somewhere else, maybe?" He paused and gave Sara a long, searching look. "But you are mischievous, aren't you?"
He leaned forward further, a lock of his overly wavy, dark hair falling boyishly on his forehead.
"I can be," Sara smiled.
"I like that in women," he whispered.
The waitress came and they both ordered cheese omelets with tomatoes. Burt also ordered a small bottle of white wine. The sun shone in on them through the big, glass window. Maybe this is it, Sara thought. Maybe it's not as bad as everyone says. Imagine that? Just one date. Can it be that easy?
It was pleasant at first, talking about nothing. They discovered they lived five miles apart; he'd been married twice, was in direct mail marketing, and was an excellent tennis player. Sara preferred bicycle paths.
"Not exactly irreconcilable differences," Burt tossed it off.
Even as she smiled, Sara felt uneasy, as if she had to be on best behavior. Something told her you couldn't slip with a guy like this. It was a relief when the waitress came with the food.
"So, tell me," Burt leaned over the plates as they started eating. "How are you mischievous, exactly?"
Sara looked at his eyes, which now seemed darker.
"What do you mean?"
"Details, give me details. I write long sales letters and when you do, you realize facts are everything. Entice me."
"Details about what?" Sara put down her fork.
"About how you are mischievous. . ."
"What is this? An interrogation?"
"Whoa, take it easy." The smile left his eyes.
"You're talking about sex?"
"Don't get defensive on me."His brow wrinkled. "I hate when ladies get defensive. It's fun to hear details."
Sara pushed her plate away calmly. "Do ladies often get defensive with you?"
"Now who's interrogating who?"
"Well, do they?" Sara's stomach turned upside down. Her mother's words hit more strongly. And exactly who are you going to meet out there? Junkies Sex maniacs. You think I'm old fashioned but some things never change.
"Whoa, whoa," Burt's voice got louder. "You're getting uppity with me."
Sara slid back to the edge of the booth.
"How come you ladies love to get uppity? What's wrong with getting clear about sex? I mean, come on now, this isn't high school."
"This isn't feeling good," Sara said slowly.
"Already? We haven't even started, yet."
Sara's hands got clammy. "I'm sorry, I -"
He put his hands out on the top of the table as if he were going to slam it. "You're not thinking of walking out on me, are you? You haven't even finished your omelet."
Sara didn't know what to do next.
"Because you know what, Sara dear?"
He hauled himself out of the booth.
"I'm walking out on you!" With that he stomped away.
Sara watched him go in amazement. He walked fast, without looking back, disappearing through the revolving doors, and leaving her the check.
Good riddance, Sara thought after her heart stopped pounding and the waitress came over and asked if there was something wrong with his omelet, or if Sara wanted more coffee with cream.
* * * * *
Snow had started falling and it was hard driving. Sara turned up the radio. It was playing a love song from years ago, one she used to listen to with Melvin. Her head spinning, she flipped off the radio and pulled over to the curb. She had to tell someone what happened, couldn't wait until she got home. Fighting the snowy winds, she went to a phone booth on the corner and called Cynthia immediately. As the phone rang, Sara tugged on the cord, as though grasping for any support she could find.
"Hi," Cynthia answered after a few rings.
Sara launched into a blow-by-blow description of the date.
"Horrible," Cynthia said. "Thank God you were in a public place."
"You're right."
"It's too bad something like that happened the first time out. But it's unusual."
"How unusual?" Sara asked.
"I never heard anything just like that," Cynthia assured her. "One in a thousand. It won't happen again. You've got to keep trying. Block him out. Focus on the good ones. There are plenty of great guys waiting for your call."
"How do you know?"
"Trust me. It was just luck of the draw."
Sara wasn't so sure. This guy was frightening. Why had she drawn him to her? Maybe, she thought, it was time to return to Camella and find out if this was the one meant for her.
* * * * *
The next morning, at the break of dawn, Sara flew to her house. She sat opposite a bleary-eyed Camella at the small, kitchen table, while her parrot cawed out a garbled sentence over and over again.
"What's he saying?" Sara asked.
"Forget About Love, Brothers and Sisters. These are hard times we're living in," Camella laughed. "It's from a song on the radio. I taught him how to say it."
"Oh."
"Shut up, Horace!" Camella yelled. "Do you hear me? You're bothering Sara."
Sara waited for Camella to pick up her pencil, waiting to hear her talk. She needed it, like she needed the sound of the rain.
"You look horrible, sweetheart," Camella said as she picked up her pencil slowly.
Sara didn't say a word.
Camella began scratching. It got her going,
she always said, opened her mind, cleared the channels for communication. Finally, she spoke.
"I told you the love of your life's coming. But it doesn't mean it's gonna be easy - and no one said it's entirely good."
Goose bumps broke over Sara's arms, like they used to when she was a little girl. Her mother used to dowse her with calamine lotion. Now she rubbed her own itchy arms.
"These guys you're meeting. . . they're preparing you." Camella grinned, as if she could see Him standing there. "Boy, for a guy like this, you got to get ready!"
Sara wanted to see what she saw. "Trouble?"
"You'll have to be careful. But what can you do? There's no use crying. I'm not saying magic isn't happening. It's just that your magic could be mixed with pain."
Camella shut her mouth, grimaced and then look bored. That meant she was finished. Sometimes their meetings lasted an hour. Sometimes a few minutes was enough.
Sara got up quietly and, to her surprise, Camella got up too, came over and put her arms around her. "It's gonna be beautiful. . . don't worry, honey."
Sara left the room with tears in her eyes. She stopped at the front window to write out a check, and as she was doing it, the same long, black Cadillac pulled up.
"Camella?" she called.
"What?"
"That car was here last time I came to see you."
"So?" Camella called back. "Some people can only come early."
Sara went outside and stood on the front stoop, waiting to see who would get out. The doors remained closed tight, until she finally left.
* * * * *
When Sara got home the light was blinking on her answering machine. Thinking it might be one of her suitors, she rushed to play the messages.
"Where are you, Sara?" It was Melvin's voice demanding. "It's very early to be out! Or, maybe you've been out all night long?"
Sara was caught between the desire to delete the message and hear what else he had to say.
"Call me when you get this message. I'll be waiting."
Purposely ignoring him, Sara went to the kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee. She had a busy day ahead, a band concert at Abel's school at two that afternoon, then she and Chloe were meeting with her college guidance counselor. Melvin hadn't met with the counselor once all year. Maybe he was calling about that.
She drank the coffee in one, long gulp, went to the phone and returned his call.
"Well, you took your time getting back," he said.
"I just got in."
"Really?"
Sara imagined Melvin's stark eyebrows, rising high.
"I won't ask where you were."
"Fine. Don't. What do you want, Melvin?"
"So, it's just business as usual. What do I want?"
Sara became quiet.
"I am the father of your children, remember."
"How can I forget?"
"I'm calling about Abel's band concert today."
"Yes?"
"I thought I should let you know in advance that Alicia and I plan to attend."
Sara got cold. "You and Alicia?"
"Absolutely."
"How's Abel going to feel about that?"
"Just fine. Why shouldn't he? You have to accept, sooner or later, that Alicia's part of the family too."
Sara felt as though she'd been punched in the belly. She'd been looking forward to hearing him play and then taking him out for an ice cream before she went to the appointment with Chloe.
"Well, thanks for telling me, Melvin."
"Alicia and I want to take Abel out after the concert is over."
"I had plans to -"
"But you have him all the time. We don't."
"How will Abel feel about you and Alicia. . ." was all Sara could manage to say.
"He'll feel fine about it," Melvin answered. "We'll see you there at two."
Although Melvin and Alicia sat three rows behind her during the concert, Sara was constantly aware of them. The kids had always loved it when both she and Melvin came to their concerts. Now Abel wasn't expecting Melvin and Alicia and wouldn't be happy about their being there. Sara hoped it wouldn't spoil his day.
The band played loudly and the audience clapped hard after each number. When it was all over, the kids stood in an even row in front of the stage and bowed several times. Then Sara rushed to Abel, hugged him, and quickly whispered that Dad and Alicia had come too.
Abel looked shocked, "Alicia?"
The next moment Melvin and Alicia were right behind her.
"Great job," Melvin said reaching for Abel, who backed away.
"Terrific, Abel," Alicia chimed in.
Sara looked at her. She wore black leather slacks, a pink angora sweater, and gold chain, her hair down. Her large, hazel eyes were clouded over and did not meet Sara's gaze.
"We'd like to take you out for a treat," Melvin offered.
"Is mom coming too?"
In the silence that followed Melvin and Sara looked at each other.
"You have plenty of time for treats with mom," Melvin answered slowly.
"Go enjoy yourself, Abel," Sara said lightly. "We'll celebrate later."
Melvin put one arm around Abel as Alicia quickly slipped her arm underneath Melvin's free elbow. Sara watched the three of them walk out the auditorium. When they got to the far door, Abel turned and waved.
* * * * *
Sara was awakened at the crack of dawn by the ringing of the telephone. If Sara had been able to sleep even a little the night before, she wouldn't have been able to answer. All night she tossed between waking and sleeping, returning to the same dream; she was standing in a field of red poppies under a high, noon sun. Way back in the shadows, at the edge of the field, a tall man stood with broad shoulders and a dark raincoat. He approached slowly. She awoke crying. The dream repeated at least three times and she lay there completely exhausted as the morning tried to break.
When the phone rang, Sara stumbled out of bed, unthinkingly, picking it up.
"You sound groggy," her mother said, "like you got to bed late."
"I didn't sleep."
"How come? You're out dating?"
Sara was too tired to answer.
"There's sicknesses out there. You could get gonorrhea."
"People don't get gonorrhea anymore," Sara mumbled, nauseous. "It's Aids. And I won't get it."
Sara hadn't felt this way since she was a kid, with her arms and legs painted with calamine lotion.
"Mom," Sara replied, "I trusted you for a very long time."
"So, this is what it's all about? I led you astray because I introduced you to Melvin?"
"I don't blame you for that."
"Of course you do. That's why you're so angry with me now!"
It was early for this and Sara didn't feel like her years with Melvin had been a waste. There had been good times, and she was growing to realize that people come and go - even husbands and wives. They have to. She didn't know how to say that to her mother, though.
"The sun comes out, and then it goes down," Sara finally managed.
"That's all you have to say for yourself? You sound unbalanced. You should come home. Meet a man from the block."
Sara was still foggy, but she took another try.
"I'm not exactly ready to meet a man from the neighborhood. Do you understand?"
Tova said nothing. It would have made such a difference to Sara to hear even a murmur from her mother, some kind of quiet acknowledgement. But instead the silence grew deeper, slicing the air between them, like a knife.
Finally Tova said, "I happen to know someone nice for you. I've known him for awhile. His name is Arnold Beane."
"Arnold Beane? That sounds like some kind of toy," Sara said, laughing despite herself.
"Go ahead, make jokes. But he's divorced like you - an accountant - steady. I know his mother too. We bumped into each other at the grocery a few weeks ago and she told me about his divorce. Then I met him a day later, myself, shopping in the bakery
alone. Poor man, has to do the shopping for his family himself. I told him about you. He looked interested. God has ways of helping."
Sara felt nauseated.
"His wife had some kind of breakdown - but it wasn't his fault. He's taking full
care of the children now and is a terrific person. Stable, considerate. He just had bad luck. No mazel, like you."
"Thanks for thinking of me," Sara said gently.
"So?"
Sara paused, realizing she was waiting for an answer."He doesn't sound quite right for me."
"How can you know? You come home like a lady and have a good dinner at my house, make conversation, see for yourself. . ."
Sara's heart started to flutter. "I don't have the time -"
Tova spoke firmly. "You don't hunt for men like you hunt for fresh lemons at the vegetable store."
Sara was speechless at that one.
"Come this Friday night. I'll make a good dinner, whatever you like. You'll both eat."
"I'll think about it."
"Think about it all you want, but tell me by Tuesday so I can let him know."
"Let him know? You said something to him?"
"I told him, maybe. He understood."
Sara gritted her teeth as Tova promptly hung up the phone.
Sara fell back into bed and racked her brain, trying to remember what other dates she'd arranged. Then it hit her. She'd made a date for Tuesday, with a Urologist. Thankfully, she'd have a chance to meet at least one other man before having to decide whether to go back to the block and meet Arnold Beane.
CHAPTER 8
Sara had spoken to her next date, Ken, the Urologist, on three different occasions. After their initial contact, he called once a week to check in and see how she was doing. He was a busy physician, specializing in male urinary disorders, was on staff at a nearby hospital, about fifteen minutes away, and piqued Sara's curiosity with his unusual interest in philosophy - unusual, she thought for a physician. Ken spoke at great length about Heidegger and Nietzsche, and was particularly taken with Sara's work in Raku, something she told few about.
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