by Charles Webb
‘I can take it,’ Doug said.
‘I’m not hesitating because I don’t think you can take it.’
‘Hit us with your best shot.’
‘It’s a beautiful little town,’ Colin said. ‘Clean. Very friendly people.’
‘But,’ Doug said.
‘What?’
‘I’m waiting for that “but” to come winging across the table.’
‘No buts,’ Colin said, ‘although there is one thing I’ve noticed.’
‘I’ll settle for an although.’
‘I don’t know if this is exactly a criticism,’ Colin said, ‘it’s more of a question. But it seems every time I go out I see a shopping centre I didn’t notice before. Almost like they spring up overnight while I’m sleeping. And I can’t help but wonder how this tiny little village supports them all.’
‘Commerce,’ Doug said, typing. ‘Good subject, good subject. Have you shopped Main Street yet.’
‘Yes.’
‘And how have you found our merchants generally.’ But suddenly, before Colin could answer, Doug looked up and began grinning at him across the desk. ‘You’re an artist,’ he said.
Colin nodded.
‘And you’ve shopped Main Street.’
‘Yes.’
After another few moments Doug crossed the fingers on both his hands and looked up at the ceiling. ‘Dear God, please make this happen. Please, oh please, make this the happiest day of my life.’
He looked back down at Colin. ‘Don’t answer this question yet,’ he said, getting up. ‘I’m going to ask it but I don’t want you to answer it till I tell you to.’ He went to a filing cabinet and pulled open one of its drawers. ‘Have you shopped Petersons Art Supply. Don’t answer.’ He removed a folder bulging with papers from the drawer and returned with it to his seat. ‘Just answer this much,’ he said. ‘Do you know where Petersons is, are you familiar with it.’
‘The little shop selling artists’ materials?’
‘You know the store I’m talking about.’
‘Yes.’
Doug set the folder down beside the keyboard of his computer, then put his hands together in a praying position and again looked up at the ceiling. ‘Dear God,’ he said, ‘make this be true. Make my prayers for the last year-and-a-half come true on this day. Just let Colin Ware be a person who has shopped Petersons and I’ll know that we live in an intelligent universe.’
Frowning slightly, Colin watched him from his side of the desk.
‘Well?’ Doug said.
It was quiet.
‘Well?’ he said again.
‘Me or God.’
‘You.’
‘Have I shopped at Petersons Art Store?’
Doug closed his eyes, his face tipped upwards, his hands still together.
‘I have,’ Colin said.
‘Have what,’ Doug said, eyes tightly shut. ‘I need to hear the words.’
‘Shopped there.’
‘Shopped where.’
‘Petersons Art Store. It was the first thing I did here.’
Doug raised his arms up toward the ceiling. ‘The first thing! Yes!’ He jabbed his fist at the air. ‘Shopping Petersons was the first thing he did here! Yes! Yes!’
‘Although I’m not sure it merits this much excitement.’
Doug brought his chair up closer to the desk. ‘I have here the Petersons horror stories file,’ he said, opening the folder. ‘I won’t go into all the cases. Suffice it to say, of the many fine artists that live in our community, not one of them—and I do mean not one single local artist—will set foot in there. A two-hour drive up to Rutland and back for a tube of paint: is preferable to the chronic depression following a purchase from Martha or Harold Peterson.’ He removed one of the sheets of paper from the folder. ‘Let’s pick a random sample,’ he said, looking at it. ‘Good. Definitely top ten stuff. Top five. Maybe even my all time number one.’ He held up the form. ‘A very fine Nigerian gentleman. A water colourist. Visiting from his homeland, wearing the costume of his nation, the robes and whatnot, very stately, one of his country’s finer artists as it turned out, here to render some New England scenery. By the way, if you’re wondering how two Neanderthals happen to be running an art shop, I’ll give you a quick fill-in.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘Daughter Judy had it first. A highly competent part-time artist herself, daughter Judy had built up a thriving little business, when mom and dad, recently out of the heating-oil business, decided retirement was getting a little stale and wouldn’t it be fun to help Judy out over at the store. How different can it be selling yellow ochre than it was flogging number ten grade diesel oil, right? Long story short—it’s now a mom and pop operation, and last I heard Judy was in an institution for the incurably insane up in Montpelier.’ Doug frowned. ‘Where was I—I’ve lost my thread.’
‘The Nigerian artist.’
‘Right. Timbu.’ He nodded. ‘So. Needing a new brush, he takes a stroll from his motel over to Petersons to pick one up.’ Doug put Timbu’s form back with the others. ‘But he never gets inside. He never even gets to the front door. When they see him coming—his robes, headgear—Martha runs up and locks it while Harold calls the police to say there’s a terrorist approaching the establishment. Out comes the shotgun from under the counter, and our gentle visitor is left to contemplate an obese American holding up a firearm and glaring at him through the glass till a squad car squeals around the corner.’ Doug closed the folder. ‘Now I know you can’t match that one, and I’m not asking you to. It’s my pièce de resistance, and you shouldn’t feel badly that you can’t rise to that level. But last council meeting, Colin, I came this close …’ He put his thumb and forefinger almost together. ‘That close to putting the Black Hole of Main Street out of business. And with your help …’ He pinched his fingers together. ‘Bang. Sayonara. Hasta la vista and ciao. Harold and Martha Peterson? You didn’t reckon on the likes of Colin Ware, fresh from the land of 007, come to root out evil and corruption wherever he may find it.’ Doug took a fresh complaint form from the folder. ‘You dictate,’ he said. ‘I’ll write it down and you sign it.’ He picked up a pen from the side of the desk. ‘Generations of artists yet unborn will sing praises to your name for what you’re about to do here today, friend.’ He placed the tip of the pen on the first line of the form and looked up to grin at Colin across the desk.
14
After his attempts to see her at Shining Shores, Colin was hesitant to call Mandy as he’d promised Joanie. Since her attitude toward him had obviously undergone a change—though only temporarily, he hoped—he didn’t want to put her in the awkward position of having to manufacture an excuse to get off the phone, which would set things back farther than they already were. So rather than call, Colin decided to stop by her apartment, which she’d once pointed out when they were driving past it in her car.
He was able to find his way to her neighbourhood, and then it was only a matter of walking up and down two or three streets till he recognised her building, which he remembered was on a corner. He walked up to its entrance, and looked down at the initials M M that were beside one of the doorbells. He glanced at his watch—he hadn’t wanted to get there before she’d had at least an hour to relax after getting home from work—then pushed the button.
Mandy’s apartment was on the first storey and when Colin reached the top of the stairs she was standing in her bathrobe just inside her doorway.
‘Hello,’ she said.
‘Hi, Mandy.’
They looked at each other a few moments as Colin stood on the landing.
‘Did you want to come in for a minute?’
‘I hoped I could.’
She stepped back. ‘I wasn’t really expecting you,’ she said, as Colin walked past her and into the room.
‘I should have called.’
‘That’s what Joanie said you’d be doing.’ She continued standing beside the open door.
‘Joanie gave me Doug’s name,’ Colin
said. ‘Thank you.’
She shrugged. ‘He was over at the Shores. I figured you might still be looking for people to draw.’
‘I was.’
She nodded.
‘That was very thoughtful.’
‘Not really. He just happened to be out there.’
It was a small, single-room apartment and on all the walls and ceiling were stickers, and in a variety of colours, sizes and shapes, of butterflies. Colin looked at a few of them on one of the walls, then tipped his head back to see some of the ones above him.
‘That’s my symbol,’ Mandy said.
‘Butterflies?’
She nodded.
‘They’re nice.’ He reached over to a particularly large black and yellow butterfly on the wall nearest him and picked slightly with his fingernail at the place where the edge of its wing was stuck to the wall. ‘I guess when you leave they’ll become your landlord’s symbol.’
‘Colin.’
‘Mandy, could you close the door for one minute please. I’m not planning to stay.’
She closed it, but remained standing where she was, and again it was quiet.
‘So how did it come out,’ she said.
‘What.’
‘The drawing of Doug.’
‘Oh. Very well. They seem to come out well when you choose the subjects for me.’
‘I won’t be choosing any more,’ she said.
‘You won’t?’
‘No.’
‘Why is that.’
‘Because I have to start getting on a new track,’ she said.
He nodded.
‘I have to start planning my future better. That’s my biggest problem. I always just drift along from day to day. I’m not going to be that way any more.’
‘No.’
‘I’m going to be future-oriented.’
‘Helping me find subjects won’t fit into the new track.’
‘It’s nothing personal. I just won’t have the time any more.’
‘I can see that.’
Again, for a long time, it was quiet.
‘Mandy, do you have to stand right next to the door?’
‘It’s my place, Colin.’
‘I know that, but you’re actually standing against the door.’
‘Which I can do in my own place, Colin.’
He nodded again. ‘True. In your own place you can stand against the door if you want.’
In the centre of the room was a low chair made of a red canvas fitted over curving iron rods. ‘I take it that’s a chair,’ Colin said.
‘butterfly chair. Obviously.’
Again he nodded. ‘I will say it’s been good having Joanie around during this period.’
‘What did Joanie do.’
‘Nothing specific,’ he said, ‘I’ve just felt happy knowing she’s there at the motel, even though I don’t see her every day. You said her friendship meant a lot to you and I guess I can see how you feel about her.’
There was the sound of a car passing on the street. Mandy walked to the one window in the room and pulled down the blind, revealing another colourful large-winged insect pasted to the blind’s inner side. ‘Joanie said you’ve been going over to the library a lot.’
‘Yes I have.’
‘What have you been reading over there,’ she said. ‘Not that it’s any of my business.’
‘Magazines mostly.’
‘Which ones. Not that it’s my business.’
‘Pretty much whatever’s lying around on the table.’
Mandy was wearing a pair of fuzzy blue slippers. She walked in them across the room. ‘Any particular ones you like?’
‘Magazines?’
‘I mean I’m really just trying to make small talk to be honest with you.’
‘Well, that’s better than no talk.’ He looked down at the floor. ‘Let’s see. Earlier today I was reading a crime magazine.’
‘Crime?’ Mandy said, seating herself on the edge of her bed. ‘I didn’t realise you were into that.’
‘I’ve always been very fond of crime.’
‘So what kind of crimes were you reading about today.’
‘Let me think.’ He put his finger up to his chin. ‘Oh yes. There was a case of a woman in Oklahoma who killed her husband, cut him up and fed him to his dog.’
‘Whose dog.’
‘The man’s dog.’
‘She fed him to his own dog?’
‘Apparently. They had a picture of the dog.’
‘How did he look.’
‘I don’t know,’ Colin said. ‘Sort of …’ He shrugged. ‘ … surprised.’
‘I guess he would be.’
‘Not the usual biscuit.’
Again it was quiet.
‘So in other words, it sounds like you’ve been spending your time sitting around reading trash over at the library.’ Mandy buttoned the large button on the bottom of her bathrobe.
‘I couldn’t have put it better myself.’
‘For some reason I always thought you were a little more of a resourceful person than that.’
‘I usually am.’
‘I wonder why you’re not these days.’
‘I wonder too.’
Mandy’s legs were crossed and one of her slippers was suspended on her foot above the floor. She began slowly turning it in a circle.
‘When you’re lonely,’ Colin said, ‘you sometimes tend to sort of drift along from day to day without being too resourceful.’
‘I’m sure you’re not lonely,’ she said.
‘I’m not?’
‘How could you be. Like you said, Joanie’s there. Vera’s here now. You have your work to think about.’
They both watched her slipper turn slowly several times.
‘What a whirlwind of fun for me,’ Colin said.
‘I’m not saying that. I’m just saying you have no reason to feel lonely. If you’re telling yourself you’re lonely because of something to do with me, I’m sure that’s not the reason.’
‘It’s not.’
‘No.’
‘Well that’s good to know,’ he said, ‘because that actually was one of the reasons I was giving myself.’
‘It’s not a true one.’
Colin stood looking down at the red chair a few moments. ‘What if I sat on this,’ he said.
‘It seemed like you said you weren’t staying.’
‘I did say that,’ he said, putting his hand on one of the curved fabric-covered supports, ‘but I’m thinking of trying this out for a minute.’
‘You’ve sat in those before, Colin.’
‘I really haven’t.’ He stepped around to the front. ‘You just basically lower yourself into it?’
‘Stop acting like such an ass.’
He lowered himself into the chair, then settled down into the fabric pouch. ‘I’ve done some pretty disreputable things in my life, Mandy, but lying about sitting in a butterfly chair is more contemptible than something even I would do.’
‘I think you’ve tried it out now.’
‘Very comfortable,’ he said, leaning back in it. ‘Kind of a sit-up hammock.’
‘I think you get the idea now.’
‘And I should be on my way.’
She nodded.
‘And I will be,’ he said, ‘as soon as I make a little correction.’
‘About what.’
‘A remark of yours a couple of minutes ago.’
‘Colin.’
He held up his hand. ‘It’ll only take a second.’
‘Did you ever think I might not want to hear it?’
‘You said my being lonely had nothing to do with you,’ he said. ‘It’s just a tiny point, I’m sure we can clear it up in no time.’
Mandy looked back at her slipper. She stopped revolving it one way and began turning it the other.
‘Then I’ll be off.’
She nodded.
‘So can we put that on the table ?’
‘
Can we what?’
‘Can we talk about that.’
‘There’s nothing to say about it, Colin. I can accept you might feel a little lonely about me. Because that’s how I felt at first too.’
‘You did.’
‘It’s perfectly normal at first.’
‘Because before you said you were sure my loneliness had nothing to do with you.’
‘And I could see why I said that,’ she said, ‘but I’ll admit I might have been wrong.’
‘You were.’
‘The reason I said it was because since I’d gotten over what happened between us myself, I just thought you probably had too. But what I wasn’t realising was it takes different people longer to get over those kind of things.’
‘What kind of things.’
Her foot stopped again. ‘You know,’ she said, ‘like when you have two people that think they like each other a lot.’
‘Think they do.’
‘Right. Then they might come to see it might have been just a physical thing or something and at first it’s hard to move on with their lives. But they have to. So they do.’
‘Just a physical thing.’
‘I’m not saying that was true in our case,’ she said. ‘I was just using that as an example.’
‘I see.’
It was quiet for a few moments, then Mandy got back farther on her bed so she could lean against the wall.
‘I wonder how long it’s going to take me,’ Colin said.
‘To what.’
‘Stop missing you.’
‘I couldn’t tell you that.’
‘As you say,’ Colin said, ‘it varies between people.’
‘It does, yes.’
‘Do you have any suggestions for me?’
‘About not missing me?’
‘Yes.’
Just what I said before,’ Mandy said. ‘Start thinking of other things and start making future plans.’ She turned her head to the side and reached up to separate some of her hair into a thick strand.
‘That’s good advice,’ Colin said.
‘It’s all you can do, really,’ she said, separating out a second wide strand of hair. She shook her head slightly to loosen her hair, then separated out a third strand.
‘Can I give you an example,’ Colin said, ‘of a time that thoughts of the other person swept over me?’
‘If you have to,’ she said. ‘I mean to be honest with you I’m not really that interested.’ She began to braid the three long strands together.