The Color of Cold and Ice

by J. Schlenker

  He scrambled towards the subway while the situation was good. He didn’t bother to ask if she was there. They both should be at work. Shelly was probably eager to change the key or move out and move in with Monkey Man, Bruce. It had been almost a week, almost a whole week without his guitar. His fingers were turning to mush.

  He should be thinking about moving out, but both Allison and John said there was no hurry. At the end of February, John had a trip booked to New Orleans, a surprise for Allison. The kids would go to his parents’ house. He was the designated house sitter. He would be all alone with his thoughts. Maybe he could get down to business, actually write songs.

  John was going to spring the trip on Allison tonight at dinner. He was taking her and the kids to the Mediterranean restaurant that he and John sat at nearly a week before. John hoped to see the little old man again. John thought stepping into his restaurant that night was a sign he couldn’t ignore. He kind of did, too, although his luck hadn’t changed all that drastically. But he had made the split with Shelly, and that was something to be happy about.

  * * *

  He didn’t bother to knock. After all, Shelly was at work, and he had his key. He opened the door and jumped back, startled upon hearing movement, a slight groan.

  “Shelly, aren’t you working tonight?” Mark asked. She lay sprawled out on the couch, her face hidden by the pillows.

  She slowly lifted her head, revealing swollen tear-stained cheeks. A frog like croak escaped her lips, “No.”

  Okay, there was a part of him that wanted to know what was going on, but his gut said danger, avoid dialogue, just get your stuff, leave the key, and clear out.

  Then she let the cover drop, exposing a breast. Why was she laying there naked? And crying? And naked.

  He averted his eyes, trying to ignore the situation. “Well, I’ll just be getting my stuff and leaving.”

  “Mark,” came the pleading, raspy voice, followed by a cough.

  She had a cold. He had never known Shelly to have a cold. How could she even get a cold with all the precautions she took? She practically lived in a sterile bubble. Once, he had called her bubble girl. He remembered something being thrown.

  He looked back to find she had let the quilt drop, now exposing both breasts.

  “Shelly, shouldn’t you cover up? You sound sick,” he said in his best acting voice, one that denied any sort of feeling or sexual arousal.

  “Mark, I am sick. I need body heat, your body heat.”

  He grimaced as he found himself moving closer to the couch, and just when he thought he might be on the right path for once. What was he doing? Yet, he kept moving towards her like a wind-up toy. It was almost like being in the middle of a fall. He felt his self going down but couldn’t prevent it. It was slow motion, a mistake happening, one he couldn’t avoid.

  She reached out and grabbed his arm, lest he should regain his senses in the nick of time.

  “Shelly, I really don’t think this is a good idea.” The words were coming from his mouth, but the boss of his body was saying something else, something Shelly was fully aware of.

  “You can be on top.” She had planted her victory flag.

  That was the last thing he heard before he lost all logic and reason.

  After it was over, he rose from the couch, covering her back up. He walked into the bedroom and gathered his clothes. The thought to shower and change had a brief flirtation in his mind, but he dismissed it. For the time being, he was out of the quick sand. Don’t go back in. He came back out, clothes in a garbage bag, and reached to pick up his guitar.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “I’m getting my stuff. Isn’t that why you called me over here?”

  “Happy Valentine’s Day to you, too.” Her voice had become stronger as if what just transpired had both maddened her and empowered her.

  “Shelly, am I missing something here?” he asked.

  “I’m out of work, at least temporarily, I think. I’m not sure. Bruce, well, we decided it was best not to see each other. My parents will be here in a week.” She looked at him with pleading eyes “Maybe you could just take your stuff for now and come back after they return home.”

  He was beginning to feel sorry for her but told himself not to go down that rabbit hole. He shielded himself with his possessions, his bag of clothes and his guitar case, as if they were the moat filled with crocodiles between him and her. She was using him, he told himself. Didn’t he just use her? He knew what he was doing was wrong. At least he did the moment it was over. That was so typical of guys, Allison might say. Allison would take Shelly’s side on this one, but she would also say get out while the getting was good.

  “I have to go. The key is on the bedroom dresser.” He winced as he heard something hit the metal door as he closed it behind him.

  He headed toward the park, needing to get back to something wild if you could call Central Park wild. The fresh air would clear his head. He needed the crispness and the preciseness of the cold, something to both invigorate him and numb him. This time, he chose it, rather than being thrown out into it.

  He stopped at the ice skating rink. He watched skaters as they glided across the ice like professionals. One couple moved in perfect rhythm, their arms entangled like a straight jacket, moving haphazardly upon the ice as one unit. Rented skates. Definitely newbies. Maybe this was their first time on the ice. They moved in perfect synchronized clumsiness, holding each other up. Their knowing smiles and looks to each other said old souls. They wore matching ‘I love New York’ black hats, tourists, probably on their honeymoon. He envied them.

  He was just about to leave when he saw the girl, the one in the coffee shop. She was looking on, cheering. There was her little boy, the one who had peeked from the doorway calling her Mom. A man was skating with him. That must be her husband. He edged closer to where she was standing. Would she recognize him? No, she didn’t even see him. What was he thinking? The man looked older than her. He looked respectable with his long black coat and Fifth Avenue hair cut. He probably was a banker or worked on Wall Street. What was she doing working behind a bar in a coffee shop? At any rate, she was married and looked to be happy. So what did it matter?

  Mark watched as they walked off the ice. The three of them began walking out of the park. He followed, staying a good distance behind. He was curious as to what happiness looked like. What they were saying he couldn’t make out, but their laughter echoed back towards him. He sped up close enough to hear her call him Clark and the little boy Chad.

  Shouldn’t a Clark wear glasses and be clumsy? No, this man was clearly exposing the big S underneath the Brooks Brothers suit. He looked to be quite the expert on the ice. What did a name mean, anyway? He found it hard to believe that underneath that monkey suit there was a Bruce. Bruce sounded so manly. He had no clue what Bruce even looked like. But then, what was a Clark supposed to look like?

  Chad said Mom a couple of times, but Clark never said his wife’s name once. Nor, did he say darling, sweetheart, or anything else that would denote affection. They didn’t hold hands. He never even once put his arm around her, and it was cold out, not as cold as that Monday morning, but nevertheless cold. Yet, they were talking and laughing. They must be happy. He watched as they walked into the Java Bean Factory. A sudden urge to pull his guitar from his case and write a song about her right then and there flashed through his mind. Something about the woman he would never have. Instead, he veered off towards the subway.

  When he reached John and Allison’s, he found a note on the bar near her computer. They had left for the restaurant. Allison had written in perfect script Mark, reheat the leftovers in the refrigerator. Normally, that would be steaks. Steaks were her thing on Friday nights. Instead, he found chicken cordon bleu. The talk they had must have sunk in. Allison had been shaking it up a bit. Everyone seemed to be trying but him. He would heat it up later.

  He flopped down on the couch, removed his guitar from its case,
and began to strum and sing, “I give my real heart to the girl who drew a heart for me and warmed me with her smile.” Not so good, but it was a start.

  Chapter 23

  Sybil and Clark

  * * *

  LIKE A PHANTOM, he stood on the curb across from the Java Bean Factory. There was no doubt he was the man she saw in the dream. Sybil stood at the window peering out at him, as he gazed fixedly in the direction of Clark, Em, and Chad who approached the doorway. Maybe he would follow them in, ask about that gig. He was carrying a guitar case, along with a garbage bag. Was he homeless?

  Sybil kissed her husband as he entered through the Valentine covered door. She looked back to see that the stranger in the leather jacket had disappeared, dissipated into the cold night air. He would be back. She was sure of it. It was fate. Besides, she had other things on her mind. She must quit worrying so much. The business was doing well. Things were looking up for Em and Chad. Things were looking up for her and Clark. What was there to worry about?

  “Are you ready for our night out on the town?” she heard her husband ask.

  “Let me get my coat.”

  Something special, a surprise, he had said earlier. “We’ll grab a quick bite, nothing fancy. Hope that’s okay?”

  “That’s fine.” Syb knew most restaurants had been booked weeks ago. She was relieved it wasn’t a big elaborate dinner. She had awoken feeling lightheaded. The sight of most food nauseated her, especially the coffee she poured herself this morning. She looked down at it and ran to the bathroom in a fit of dry heaves. She didn’t tell Clark. No need to worry him. Also, no need for wishful thinking just yet.

  She couldn’t be having pregnancy symptoms in less than a week’s time. No, this had happened before. She had been lax in keeping up with her birth control pills. She had missed a couple in the last two months before dropping the pills altogether. It must have happened then, a couple of months ago. And her period. She was late. Syb had been so busy with the shop she hadn’t given it a second thought. When she did think of it, she contributed it to the stress of having to do without Em at Java Bean.

  Strange how she had never seen a baby in her dreams. Almost anything that was ever important in her life had happened in her dreams prior to the actual event. But she felt it. She sensed something present, something growing inside her. No dreams, but she felt it. Ironic, that she would have to give up coffee, she, the owner of a coffee shop. Her mother loved tea but said she had to give it up during her pregnancy with her. It was like some foul concoction to her. Sybil had never been much on tea although they carried a good variety at the Java Bean. For her mother, all returned to normal after giving birth. She had heard similar stories. She was sure she could return to coffee in eight or nine months.

  Valentine’s Day would be the perfect time to tell Clark. Should she? Should she wait and get it confirmed by a doctor? The latter, she thought. No point in counting chickens until they hatched, something her mother would say, a witticism she inherited from growing up on a farm in upstate New York. No, she would just enjoy the night out and whatever surprise he had planned for her. And, afterward, they would walk hand in hand back to their apartment and make love. Making love had been their nightly ritual since they both agreed it was time to make a baby. “Practice makes perfect, but in our case, practice makes a baby,” Clark had said.

  “I have to stop by work for a moment. Do you mind?” Clark asked as they headed out the door.

  “Okay, sure.” Hmm, this wasn’t like Clark at all. He usually kept his extra office hours to early mornings, which he had been doing a lot of lately. “Is something wrong at the office?”

  “No, no, not at all. I think I forgot to give my secretary something she was supposed to work on. I want it to be waiting on her desk first thing Monday morning. It will just take a moment to put it there and write a note. Is that okay?”

  “Sure, it’s fine.”

  The doorman let them in. Sybil felt a tinge of guilt for all the people who had to work on Valentine’s night. There would be a lot of that tonight. All the restaurants would be hopping. She was so glad they weren’t going out, not after the nausea she had already encountered. Miso soup and steamed broccoli had been about all she had been able to eat all day.

  Clark swiped his card. “After you, Madame.” On his desk were a dozen red roses, a box of chocolates, and two boxed raw vegan dinners along with a bottle of wine. “Oh, I wonder how this got here?”

  A ruse. She should have known it all along. “You are so cunning,” she said.

  She picked up the wine, seeing the familiar label. “2002, I thought we had drank the last bottle.”

  “I put one back and hoped you wouldn’t notice. We have an hour,” Clark said.

  “An hour?”

  “Yes, so eat up, enjoy,” he said as he pulled out his office chair for her although she remained standing.

  “What happens in an hour?” she asked.

  “A surprise, I told you.” He grinned.

  He pulled out two glasses from his desk drawer. “A good junior partner is always prepared.”

  “What? Oh, my god, is that the surprise?”

  “Well, one of them.”

  “Oh, I am so proud of you.” She kissed him.

  He poured a glass and handed it to her.

  “Not for me,” she said, pushing the glass away.

  “What, you don’t want to celebrate with me?”

  “No, it’s not that at all.” How could she get out of not telling him now? Besides, the raw beet burger staring back up at her was making her want to hurl.

  “I could be pregnant,” she blurted out.

  “Oh, oh,” he sounded quite exasperated, stepped back to look at her and then grabbed her and hugged her. He let go. “That wasn’t too tight, was it?”

  “No, of course not,” she said with a questioning look on her face.

  “Sit down, sit down. You shouldn’t be standing,” he said with so much concern in his voice.

  “I don’t think standing is the problem,” she said, as she obeyed, taking his office seat. “I have been feeling a bit nauseated all day. I haven’t been to see a doctor yet.”

  “How did this happen so quick?”

  “I missed several birth control pills, and my period was already late. Like I said, I haven’t seen a doctor yet, but just in case, I’ll skip the wine.”

  “Yes, of course, of course.”

  “And, the dinner, too, if you don’t mind. I feel bad. You went to so much trouble, and you don’t know how much I appreciate it.”

  “Yes, yes, I do. I totally understand. You are going to have to take it easy now. Maybe Em will consider coming back and working a while longer.”

  “I don’t know. I hate to ask her. She plans on going to Amsterdam, you know, when spring break arrives.”

  “But she hasn’t booked anything yet.”

  “No, but still. I can’t ask her. We’ll manage.”

  “You’re right. We’ll hire someone else if we have to. The Java Bean is doing well. Maybe Em could just do a little training.”

  “Yes, I wouldn’t mind asking her to do that. I think I will have a kale chip. I am starved.”

  “Yes, you have to eat. The baby has to eat. Make an appointment. Tomorrow. Load up on vitamins. I’m so happy. You’re happy, right?”

  “Yes, I’m happy. In fact, jubilant. And a little nervous.”

  He got down on his knees, leveling himself so that he was in direct eye contact with her. He held her hands in his. “Don’t be nervous. You can’t worry. It’s not good for the baby. It’s what we wanted. All this worrying you do has to stop. You agree, don’t you?” He smiled. “I know. You need something besides the coffee shop to occupy you. Something not stressful, something that will give you joy. Decorating a nursery, perhaps,” he said with a gleam in his eye.

  “Yes, you’re right. A nursery. I hadn’t thought that far ahead yet. So many changes all at once. Em quitting, moving on with her life. I
mean, I want Em to move on with her life. I’ve always been a tad jealous of her having Chad. I know, I shouldn’t be. I’ve always been like a second mother to him. If I am pregnant, I can’t be there for her like I was. What if she needs me? What if Chad is jealous of the baby? He’s always had all of my attention. And now, you becoming a junior partner. I’m so proud of you. But, will it mean longer hours?”

  “We’ll manage. Syb, we’ve both worked hard. We’re due. There is no way that Chad will be jealous. He will be thrilled to have a little cousin. In fact, he will probably be helping you now. It’s time that Em moved on, though. She needs something more than the coffee shop in her life. And something more than us if you know what I mean.”

  “Yes, I do know what you mean.”

  He broke away, rising to his feet and placing both of his hands on her arms, looking into her eyes. “So, you feel this pregnancy in your gut?”

  “Yes. I do.”

  “Well, I trust your gut, your intuition, your dreams. They have always been good enough for me. We should get going. We’ll pick up your roses after the surprise. Do you feel like walking?”

  “Walking? I’m pregnant. I’m not an invalid. Are you going to pamper me the whole time?”

  “Yes, I am,” he said hugging her lightly.

  “I almost forgot,” she said. “You said there was something more.”

  “Well, how do you feel about Wicked?”

  “The play?”

  “Yes, I got us some excellent seats.”

  “Clark, isn’t it ironic?”

  “What’s ironic?”

  “Well, my mom went into labor with Em while they were watching The Wizard of Oz on television. You know. I’ve told you that story before, about how she got her name. And now, we are going to see Wicked on the night I tell you I’m pregnant. Or think I’m pregnant.”

  “Yes, that’s right. Wow isn’t life amazing?” He looked into his wife’s eyes. “Syb, sweetheart, I am just so happy about all of this. It will be okay. You’ll see.”