by Guy Harrison
***
A plastic bag of Italian takeout in hand, I get to Ronni’s place and knock on her door. Through a window overlooking her dining room, I watch her skip out of her bathroom and open the door. Without saying a word, she greets me with her signature smile and wraps her arms around me. Ronni’s hugs are nice. Not the limp ones you’d give your grandmother. Her smile and her hugs; those are the things I enjoy most about Ronni.
I step into the apartment and set the bag down on her dining room table. “How are you?”
“I’m okay.” As she pulls out a chair, she pauses and glances at her reflection in the dining room window. She then turns around and walks back to the bathroom.
I sigh. “Ronni, you look great.”
As usual, my refrain goes unheard. It is true that old habits die hard; my friend, despite being an otherwise sensible sort, is as vain as they come.
I grab a few utensils from Ronni’s kitchen and take a seat, arranging our separate entrees and garlic bread. “It’s just me, you know.”
After she puts the finishing touches on what I’m sure is a reapplication of the day’s eyeliner, Ronni sits down across from me, grabbing a fork and knife as though nothing happened. She dives into her spinach ravioli as I start to spill my guts over a well-prepared batch of chicken parm.
Bursting at the seams with excitement, I tell Ronni everything. Of course, I give her the rundown of the day’s events after prefacing that my encounter with Carla was a matchmaking appointment. And I bend some of the details, such as Carla’s economic status. Instead of telling her that Carla was an impoverished single mother who wants so badly to escape her daily life, I tell her that Carla was an affluent single mother who wants so badly to escape her daily life. Ronni buys it, too, though I don’t think she’s enjoying the story as much as I am. I’d even go so far as to say that she seems sad, though that’s nothing new.
For the past few years, Ronni’s been exuding a sort of subtle sadness and it wafts over me whenever we’re together. She won’t admit it but I’m certain it has to do with our relationship. While I’m content with what we have, that sentiment is not mutual. Her feelings began to intensify after I was abandoned by the girl I thought I was going to marry.
“But I could go on and on. How was your day?”
“Oh,” she says, waving me off, “it was the same old, same old. Everyone at work complaining about City Hall.”
“What? Bean counters actually have feelings and get mad?”
She shoots me a tired look.
“What’s the latest with that?”
“A lot of people were giddy yesterday, like today was going to be Christmas or something.”
“Today?”
“Didn’t you hear? The state just finished investigating the mayor.”
“Oh. Right. Yeah, I heard he was cleared. Not what you guys were hoping for, huh?”
“No. Not for the mayor, the city council chair or the police chief. It would’ve changed things for us.”
I furrow my brow. “Really?” When she doesn’t answer, instead only looking down at her food, I take a moment to regard Ronni and notice how the dining room light hanging above us gives her jet black hair a sort of navy blue tint. I then look at her face, which she holds in her hand as she plays with her food. She can’t be full, she hasn’t eaten much. Something’s on her mind.
“What’s wrong?”
She speaks without looking at me. “Nothing.”
“Want to talk about it?”
She shakes her head.
“You can tell me. It won’t bother me.” Yes, it may be sadistic but hearing Ronni profess her desire for more out of our relationship never truly annoys me. She’s my friend. I care about her feelings. But I do wish there was something I could do about them. “I’m sorry I can’t, you know, give you what you want.”
Ronni raises her head and simply meets my gaze with a blank stare.
My phone rings. “Do you mind if I take this?”
She shakes her head before again looking down at her ravioli with a melancholic gaze. I stand up and take my phone over to her small kitchen.
“Hello?”
“Calvin. It’s Jimenez.”
“Hi, Elena,” I say. I trade glances with Ronni. I probably shouldn’t have let it be known that I was speaking with another woman.
“Do you think you can come in to the branch?”
“Right now?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m in the middle of dinner.”
“Fine,” Jimenez says. “When you’re finished, get over here right away.”
“Why? What’s up? Something new with Carla?”
“Negative. It’s someone else. We need to brief you,” she says. “It’s an emergency case subject. Possible suicide.”
“Suicide?” I say. “Damn, I’m on my way.”
I hang up the phone and look over at Ronni.
She’s not happy.
“I have to go. A friend of mine—don’t look at me like that.”
She throws her hands up. “Why’d you even come over?”
“I’m sorry. I really have to go.”
If looks could kill, Ronni would be tried for murder and given the chair. I walk over to her side of the table, her eyes locked on me the entire time.
“What’s wrong?” I say, kneeling down to her level.
“We don’t even talk anymore.”
“Sure we do. We did tonight, right?”
“That’s not what I mean.” She sighs. “Whatever, just go.”
I take a deep breath and pat Ronni’s leg. “Look, when all of this dies down, I promise, we’ll pick a day and just hang out. Maybe even go to Six Flags.”
I notice a subtle change in Ronni’s expression. I can at least leave her apartment in one piece now.
I kiss her on the cheek and stand up while looking into her razor-sharp gaze again. “I love you.”
“Love you, too,” she says. “Call me later.”
“I will,” I say, opening her door. “Keep my chicken parm in the fridge, will you?”
She nods with a faint smile before I close the door. I love Ronni but I wish she didn’t mope around me all the time. Maybe she needs a visit from her friendly neighborhood Agent of Influence.
I leave Ronni’s apartment building, hop into my Kia and drive toward South Philly, burning rubber in the process.