So Max had been forced to spend his morning shopping before meeting Jenna at the Foundation’s building and going on to Hackney. When she met him in the lobby and appraised his crisp new black jeans, his spotless black trainers and the brand new black sweatshirt—combined with his leather bomber jacket and cashmere scarf she shook her head, sighed and said, “It’ll have to do, I suppose.”
Max and she made an interesting pair as they slowly walked along Kingsland High Street because as they walked they were both keeping their heads down and were kind of hunched over scanning the sidewalk as though looking for something lost.
“How’s the story coming, then?” Jenna asked, not taking her eyes off the sidewalk.
Max said, “Good, actually. That little stunt you pulled yesterday was quite inventive and last night after my wife fell asleep I went downstairs to my office and incorporated it into the tale. You’ll also be happy to hear that I got rid of the ramen noodles. Hey! There’s one; by the base of the lamppost there.”
Jenna spied the coin, a five pence piece—a great find!—picked it up and put it in her pocket along with the others they’d found so far.
Once the taxi had dropped Jenna and Max off in Hackney she had told him that the plan for getting food today was ridiculously simple: they would walk the streets and pick up loose change.
“You’d be surprised at how careless people are with their coins,” Jenna had stated. “Quid notes they guard with their lives but coins? They drop them, they forget they have holes in their pockets, they accidentally toss them in the trash. Then there are the folks who, when they get a penny or two included in the change from their purchases, just toss the pennies away on to the street and only pocket the larger stuff.”
Max was one of those but he didn’t say anything. He had come to the decision a long time ago that the penny was perhaps the most useless coin minted in any country that minted them and so had gotten into the habit of flipping any he was given to the ground. His rationale was that some kid would always come along who didn’t know any better and think the penny was a treasure, just as he used to when he was a youngster.
“If you walk just a couple of blocks and keep your eyes peeled,” Jenna had continued, “you can come up with enough coins to at least buy a snack from the nearest chemist’s.”
And so here they were trolling the streets of Hackney seeking discarded change. Jenna had suggested they stay near the high street and other commercial areas because that, apparently, was where the most booty could be found. After spotting that five pence piece—a veritable fortune under the circumstances—Max outdid himself by next espying a twenty pence piece not two steps away. He picked it up uttering a triumphant “Aha!” and with a smile handed it over to Jenna, the keeper of the coins.
“Wow, Mr. Bland, you’re quite a good at this!” Jenna stated. “I wish I’d had you with me back when I was down on my luck. We’d have made good partners.” She looked down at the coin in her hand. “Can you believe this?” she murmured. “Twenty pence, just carelessly tossed on the street.”
Max straightened up, his forty-five-year-old body giving a few creaks as he did so. He winced at a stitch which had developed in his side from all the stooping and then readjusted his scarf and stomped his feet to feel warmer; then he and Jenna continued moving forward, turning a corner and finding three more pennies.
“What I wanna know,” Max said, “is how the hell you kept warm during days like this.” He then told Jenna his story was set in the spring; that his hero, Herb, gets rained on a lot but for the most part stays pretty warm.
Jenna then spent a few minutes telling Max about survival tactics during the winter months. She told him it was remarkably simple, actually. During the winter days she could find warmth and shelter in the public library, staying there for hours reading; other days she’d go in a shopping mall and browse the stores; still other times she could be found in the Hackney Downs railway station. If she felt tired she’d go into the women’s loo at one of these places, claim an empty stall, prop her head up against the wall using a sleeping bag she received from an aid society as a pillow and catch some Z’s.
“And at night?” Max asked, already deciding to rewrite Herb’s tale so it takes place in February. He picked up another penny from the sidewalk.
“The winter nights were simple,” Jenna said. “All I had to do was check into a shelter. The trick was getting to one early enough to get a bed; that often meant showing up as early as two or three in the afternoon and just waiting outside on line in the cold until they opened. And back then, before the Rivers Foundation came along, the shelters were rather dodgy, if you get my drift. But Ms. Shaw has changed all that, thank God. That’s why I’m glad to work for her.”
After Max handed her latest penny Jenna stopped and counted the change they’d picked up during the past hour.
“Not bad,” was her verdict. “We’ve enough for a Big Mac at McDonalds.”
“A Big Mac? As in one?” Max groaned. Not only was he dripping wet but he was starving.
“Right, which means we’ll have to split it. Look, Mr. Bland, if you really want to make the homelessness experience in your story as authentic-sounding as possible don’t you think it will help to experience what your character is going through? I mean, when I was out on the streets I almost never had a full stomach and if someone had offered me half a Big Mac, or even half of half a Big Mac, I would have considered it a feast.”
“Fine,” Max muttered, knowing Jenna was right but also wondering why the hell the Rivers Foundation wasn’t in the business of helping swimsuit models who eat regular meals keep in shape; he could write a really great story about that.
***
While Max was taking tiny bites of his half of the Big Mac in an attempt to make it last longer Danielle was in her office at ARCL surfing the Internet and trying to figure out what to get Max for his birthday, which was fast approaching in March. Gift shopping for him was never an easy thing to do, even for an expert shopper like Danielle. The problem wasn’t that she didn’t know what he would like…Max’s interests may be varied but they were well-known: he loved books, electronic gadgets, photography, jazz, New York City history, British history, European art, baseball and anything having to do with the Yankees, archaeology, Gothic architecture—and many other things Danielle could readily name. So each year at this time, and again at Christmas, she had a slew of avenues to explore.
The real problem was that Max belonged to the rare breed of male that actually enjoyed shopping. He’d gladly kill a few hours browsing the shops of a cosmopolitan city like London or visiting various online stores or thumbing through the scores of catalogs delivered to Trinity Manor; and because his writing had made him fabulously wealthy he was able to buy what he wanted when he wanted it; he didn’t have to wait for a gift-giving holiday to receive an item as a present nor did he have to save up to treat himself. So now, forty-five minutes into this year’s birthday gift hunt so far, Danielle was coming up empty. On Sotheby’s website she had come across mention of a game-worn Lou Gehrig road jersey from the 1927 season but she knew Max already had one, and a Babe Ruth to match. Also on Sotheby’s site she learned of a shooting script of Hannah and Her Sisters, one of Max’s favorite movies, signed by Mia Farrow. That caught her attention for about half a minute until she remembered Max already owned a shooting script of Hannah and Her Sisters autographed by Woody Allen. Danielle didn’t even bother looking for electronics because she really had no idea what doohickeys and gizmos the writer might have already; furthermore he owned every book written on New York City history and all of the Renaissance-era paintings that were being auctioned or sold privately were way out of her price range. She did, however, notice a small Basquiat coming up for auction at Christie’s soon which she may be able to afford if she curbed her own spending between now and then and the price didn’t escalate too far above the $75,000 starting bid, Basquiat being one of the few modern artists whose works Max enjoyed.
Still, Danielle felt that however frustrating it may be to find the perfect gift for Max it was a welcome respite from what had been occupying her mind since last night: Sloane was due to arrive by this weekend.
Danielle was about to log onto her broker’s website to determine what in her portfolio she’d be willing to liquidate in order to get some of the Basquiat money when her Blackberry chirped to signal the arrival of a new text message. It was from Nita.
Am near arcl. May I cum C U? Need only few mins.
Danielle shook her head. Someone really needed to tell Nita that it is not a good idea to abbreviate “come” in a text message.
She responded with:
Sure! I have a meeting at 2:30 but I’m free until then. How far are you?
And the reply to that was:
Great! Can B there in 5?
Danielle called her secretary.
“A Nita Meadows will be arriving shortly to see me,” Danielle informed her. “Send her straight in and make sure I’m not disturbed until she leaves.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Before Danielle had a chance to ponder why Nita wanted to see her, the wedding planner arrived, escorted into Danielle’s posh office by the secretary. The two women embraced as was their habit but Danielle could sense trepidation on Nita’s part and knew why.
“Listen,” Danielle said, after she and the Jane Seymour look-alike took seats next to each other on a small couch, “I know I told you this over the phone but I’m glad to have the chance to do it in person. I want to apologize to you again for my behavior some time ago; you know, when I was threatening to kill you and all that. In retrospect it was terribly rude and I hope you’ll forgive me. I tend to fly off the handle at times and I need to learn to control that. In any case, although I think the timing may be a little questionable what with her marriage having just broken up I can see that my mother enjoys your company and that you do seem to be helping her forget her troubles. For that I have resolved to be grateful. So, do you forgive me?”
The answer to that question came in the form of Nita breathing a huge sigh of relief and sinking back on the couch as though a doctor had just told her that the spot on her x-ray was merely a thumbprint on the film.
“Oh, darling!” she uttered. “You have no idea how relieved I am you’ve said that!”
Danielle laughed and patted her friend’s hand.
“All day long,” Nita continued, “I was so nervous about coming here! Your mother told me I’d have nothing to worry about but still…you are on the twenty-fifth floor, darling, and I was so afraid I’d end up being thrown through your window.” Nita laughed at her own fears but she still cast a nervous glance at the office’s picture window.
“Will some white wine make you feel better?” Danielle asked and when Nita eagerly nodded Danielle went to a cherry wood liquor cabinet near the dreaded picture window, poured a healthy splash of wine and brought it over to Nita. She refrained from pouring one for herself. Her 2:30 meeting was too important to walk into with even mildly dulled senses.
When Nita had taken a couple of swallows Danielle asked, “So what is it you wanted to see me about?”
“Well, it’s about your mother, darling.”
“What about her?” Danielle asked warily. Her first thought was that Nita was about to break up with Arlene but wanted Danielle to be the one to tell her. Bitch. Her second thought, disturbingly enough, was that Nita was going to bring up something related to her and Arlene’s sex life. A shiver ran down her spine.
“Well…” Nita seemed to not know how to proceed and took another fortifying swig of the Australian vintage. “The thing is…well…I want you to know that I care for Arlene very much, darling.”
Oh God, Danielle thought, she is breaking up with Mom. Mom’s first chance at an openly lesbian relationship and she’s going to get her heart broken.
“Go on…” Danielle prodded.
“In fact, I’ve never felt so connected to another woman,” Nita went on. “There truly is something magical between us, darling.”
Oh God, Danielle now thought, she is going to talk about their sex life!
“May I have a sip of that, please?” Danielle asked, indicating Nita’s glass.
“Oh, of course, darling.”
“Okay, that’s better…go on…”
“Well, darling…I guess what I’m trying to say is that your mother and I are really hitting it off. I really do feel that she’s the woman I’ve been looking for all my life. She’s funny, stylish, creative and very attentive. Not to mention very dishy.”
Danielle winced.
“And did she tell you I’ve invited her to join my business? I’m quite excited about that.”
“Right, I’m sure you are,” Danielle said. “Although I should warn you that I’m not sure how much of a head Mom has for business.”
“Oh, darling, you underestimate her. In fact, she’s got quite a flair for my line of work; she’s a very imaginative person. I believe the two of us can plan beautiful weddings together.”
“I’m sure you can.”
“Including our own.”
“Yes, I’m sure you both can come up with some great ideas for wedd—wait, what?” Danielle was staring perplexedly at her guest.
Nita swallowed and then forged ahead.
“I’ve asked your mother to marry me,” she blurted out. “And she’s said yes.”
Danielle rose and looked down at Nita.
“You’ve what? And she said what?”
“That’s why I’m here, darling, to formally ask you for your mother’s hand in marriage. Now, I know this may seem a little surprising but it’s what we both want.” Nita stood also.
“You’ve only just met each other!” Danielle stated incredulously. “How can you possibly want to marry her when you’ve known her for all of five minutes? And she’s not even divorced yet!”
“Actually, that’s not true, darling. Your mother called her solicitor in the States today and as luck would have it your father has just signed the papers.”
“You mean they’re officially divorced?” Danielle asked quietly. She had been expecting this, of course, but it still rocked her to realize that she was now the daughter of divorced parents—another statistic. Still, though, her father got what he deserved. In any case, she had bigger fish to fry now.
“Are you insane?” Danielle said, doing that trick of hers where she channeled Max. “Are you both insane? Nita, my mom is no position to be discussing marriage with anybody. Her only marriage so far has just ended! And she just came out of the closet—which, if you ask me, I’m still having trouble believing—so therefore how can you possibly trust that she’s prepared to settle down with one woman already?”
“Because I do, Danielle,” Nita said with such conviction that it stopped Danielle from right away stating again that this whole discussion of marriage was beyond ridiculous. “You need to trust that, darling. Besides, this kind of whirlwind love is not as uncommon as you younger generation believes. My own parents met on December fourth of 1949 and were married on January tenth of 1950—and they stayed together until Father died three years ago. When it’s right, darling, it’s right.”
Sighing, Danielle went to the chair behind her desk and slumped down onto it.
“But it’s so…I don’t know what!” she said wearily. “First I have to cope with my parents’ marriage falling apart because of the worst kind of treachery; I then have to come to terms with the fact that I’ll never speak to my father again; then Mom shows up here asking me to believe she’s a lesbian which means that I never really knew my own mother and now I’m expected to stand by and watch her marry a woman she just met, what, a few weeks ago?”
She looked up at Nita.
“I suppose you’re here asking for my blessing, is that it?”
“Yes, I am,” declared the wedding planner. “When it comes to matrimony I believe some of the oldest traditions are the best traditions.” She paused. “B
ut…”
Holding up her hand Danielle said, “Wait, don’t tell me. You’re prepared to proceed without my blessing. Am I right?”
“Well, yes, darling. Your mother and I are both in our fifties—”, Nita seemed pained to admit this fact, “—and it would be unseemly to be held hostage by someone as young as you.”
Danielle smiled wryly.
“Sometimes I don’t feel so young, Nita. I just hired a new marketing strategist who’s twenty-four. Fresh out of college and not a gray hair on her pretty head.” She sighed again. “Nita, I just feel it’s my responsibility to try to talk you out of this. Do you know for sure what you’re getting into? The woman just came out; if I were her I’d want to sample all that I’ve been missing. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“And I appreciate that, darling, really I do.”
“Plus there’s the fact that Mom is, well, Mom. She’s not a successful businesswoman like you are—someone who’s had to risk a lot and struggle against the odds; she’s someone who got pregnant way too young and then spent decades doing nothing more challenging than organizing neighborhood bake sales.”
“I know that.”
“And she’s not nearly as worldly as she thinks she is. Her world until recently was Fountain Hills, Arizona…which is like Stepford.”
“But she’s a wonderful person, Danielle,” Nita said. “And I love her. True love has eluded me for a long time.” She paused for a second. “Maybe this thing with your mother will be a disaster but I’m willing to take a chance.”
The bank president admired the honesty. She could also see it would be fruitless to continue arguing. Besides, she was tired—tired of, well, everything that had happened since her mother showed up unexpectedly at the mansion. If these two ninnies wanted to take a stab at marriage then why should she bend over backwards trying to stop them? It was easier to just sit back and let the train wreck happen.
Two for One-Relatively Speaking (The Two for One series) Page 22