A Taste of Fame (15 page)
I jerked a cart from the outside corral and began pushing it toward the store’s entrance. “Well, I’ll let you go, Liz. I’m at the grocery store now, and I was thinking about our girls.”
Lizzie chuckled again. “Can you just imagine Evangeline in New York City all by herself? ”
I grinned at the thought. “Well,” I said, “she does have Lisa Leann.”
“I just hope Lisa Leann doesn’t leave her behind in some pink dust.”
I couldn’t help myself; I had to laugh.
I returned home about an hour later, juggling several bags of groceries in my arms. Jack was reclining in the family room, watching ESPN. I stuck my head in the door and said, “Hey. A little help, please?”
Jack kicked the footrest of the recliner back into place, then bounded up and toward me. “How much more you got in the car?”
“A good load. One more trip ought to do it.”
He stepped past me and out the door, kissing my cheek on the way. Less than a minute later, he returned and placed the sacks on the kitchen counter as I continued to pull groceries out of those I’d brought in. “Anything good to eat in here?” he asked.
“Typical question from a man.” I looked at him. Looking into one of the green sacks, he reminded me of a little boy peering into his Christmas stocking. “Would you get out of that?” I asked.
He looked up at me then, a pained look etching itself across his face.
“Jack? Jack, what is it?”
He pressed his fist to his chest and pounded a couple of times. “Nothing. Just a little indigestion.”
“From what?” I asked as I stepped over to him and placed my hand on his thick arm.
“Coffee, I think. Lately coffee has been giving me indigestion.” I tipped my head. “I didn’t know that.”
He shook his head a bit, then smiled at me. It was a weak smile, but a smile nonetheless. “Not all the time. Not even often. Just a few times lately.”
I looked him in the eyes for any signs of lying. When a woman has lived with an adulterous husband for the majority of her marriage, she learns how to read the man’s eyes. From what I could see, Jack was playing it straight with me. “Okay,” I said. “But you’ll talk to the team doctor about this, okay?”
He stepped back. “About what? Indigestion? Goldie, we’re getting older. We just can’t eat or drink the kinds of things we always could.”
I pulled a few groceries from a sack and set about putting them away. “I won’t argue that,” I said. “Still …” I turned to look at him. “For my own peace of mind.” I thought of Olivia and of our conversation at the café in which she expressed her worry over her father’s health. “And Olivia’s. Just talk to him.”
Jack winked. “You’re just trying to get out of the trip to New York.”
I hadn’t thought of that, to be honest. “Do you want me to stay?” I asked.
I was genuinely concerned, but my question only added to Jack’s mirth. He burst out laughing. “Oh, Goldie,” he said between breaths, hand pressing on his chest. “You do beat all.”
Evie and I entered the red brick subway station and walked down a flight of stairs. We melted into the crowd that flowed toward the station’s entrance. I opened my big, red Brighton purse and thrust my hand straight to the bottom to fish out my wallet. Evie had been quicker on the draw. With her MetroCard in hand, she followed the crowd, ready to swipe her card and press through the turnstile. I grabbed my wallet and opened my coin compartment and pulled out my MetroCard, just in the nick of time. Just ahead of me, Evie, as slick as greased soap, swiped her card and pushed her body through the rotating metal arms. Next in line, I swiped my card and pushed.
The turnstile pushed back.
I swiped my card and pushed again.
Is it locked?
Like in that old credit card commercial that showed a customer holding up a line of fast-paced shoppers because she tried to pay with cash, the rhythm of the travelers ground to a halt. My neck prickled as I felt the breath of the man behind me. “You’re holding up the line, lady. Step aside.”
Without turning to look at my critic, I watched Evie disappear down the stairway. I raised my card and called, “Evie, wait!”
She was apparently so caught in the hustle of the crowd she couldn’t hear me. I desperately tried to swipe my card again and pushed against the metal arms that should have twirled me through.
But, again, nothing happened.
Feeling as confused as a cow on Astroturf, I stepped aside and stared as the crowd continued their subway dance without me. Each traveler swiping his or her card before waltzing through the ever-turning bars that for whatever reason had barred me. A sense of alarm jangled down my spine. I had to act fast or Evie might take off without me.
I ran to a small glassed-in booth that housed a tiny lady in a blue work shirt over a pair of dark pants. Her jet-black hair was obviously dyed to cover her gray. But the severity of her dye job only served to deepen her frown lines, which appeared to have hardened her face. I pushed a five dollar bill through the open lip of the booth and pleaded, “I need a new card. Mine doesn’t work.”
The woman shook her head. Her scowl deepened as she avoided eye contact.
“Can you help me?” I shouted, wondering if the glass in the booth was too thick for a real conversation.
The attendant pointed at the subway card vending machines behind her, then helped another woman who pushed in a five dollar bill through the slot. I blinked as the woman promptly received a MetroCard in exchange.
I rethrust my money through the slot. But the attendant thrust it back and pointed at the vending machine again. For whatever reason, that little gal had chosen not to help me. But why? Was it because I was frantic enough to be rude? Feeling punished, I hurried to the card vending machines and fished out my credit card, then swiped it. A message appeared on the machine’s display that read “Cannot process.”
What in the world?
I ran to the next machine, carefully swiping the card in accordance to the illustration on the machine. “Cannot process,” the screen said, repeating the previous message. Maybe my credit card company was smart enough to know I’d purchased a one month pass the day before.
Okay, I’ll use cash.
I tucked my five dollar bill into the “cash” slot, but before I could blink, the machine spit the bill back at me. What was this, an episode of
Candid Camera
? I looked around, realizing not only was no one watching me, no one even cared to notice that I was in a dill pickle. This wasn’t
Candid Camera,
it was the
Twilight Zone,
I realized. Even the automated machines were giving me the business.
My pink sleeveless tee in a high-fashioned knit suddenly felt damp as I flashed hotter than the blue blazes. At this rate, how was I ever going to get through all the plans and meetings I’d scheduled?
I ran back to the lady in the booth and thrust my five dollar bill at her again and called out, “Machines won’t work.”
She merely pointed back at the machines. I shrugged to illustrate my plight and shook my head, wondering if she could understand English. I slowed my speech and shouted through the circle of slots in the glass wall that separated us. “I tried. They won’t work.”
The woman pointed to a gate next to the turnstile, and when I reached it, an electrical sound whirled and I pushed it open. “Thanks,” I cried as I waved back. The woman continued to scowl as I ran down the now empty staircase and onto the train platform. There was not a soul in sight as the last couple of trains must have just whisked the crowd away. But where was Evie?
My eyes started to burn as the empty track before me blurred.
Stop that,
I silently chided myself. After all, I was a grown woman, and though I’d just lost my dear friend in the bowels of New York City, it wasn’t like she’d deserted me on purpose. And, it wasn’t like I’d have to call her new husband and tell him that his wife was missing. I mean, surely she’d find her way to the bottom of the Empire State Building without me. Right?
I pulled the strap of my red purse higher onto my shoulder as I stared at the double yellow lines that stood between myself and the empty track, feeling more alone than I’d ever felt before. As a new crowd began to form around me, I tried to stop my emotional roller coaster, which seemed to be fueled by my fear of abandonment. After all, I was alone in my marriage, and now I was alone in the NYC subway.
When my train finally pulled into the station, I allowed the exiting passengers to swirl around me before I walked inside. As the benches were already occupied, I grabbed one of the center poles and braced myself so I wouldn’t fall when the train jerked forward.
As the train started to accelerate, I stared down at my boots just in time to see a woman’s hand jut into my open bag. Was this stranger on a fishing expedition for my wallet? I jerked my purse away from her and zipped it shut before looking up to see a welldressed young woman who diverted her eyes. With her light gray suit and neatly cropped brown hair, she looked like a business professional on her way to work. I broke the unspoken rule of subway silence and said, “Honey, where I come from, women don’t paw through each other’s purses. It’s not polite.”
Without speaking, the woman pretended I didn’t exist and turned to face the other direction. I tried to make eye contact with the others near us, but they all looked away as if they hadn’t seen or heard a thing.
I hooked my elbow around the metal pole and wrapped both arms around my purse as I stared out the window. The dark walls of the tunnel flashed a deep brown as we passed an occasional light.
I tried not to blink so I wouldn’t spill the tears that were gathering in my eyes. If I wasn’t careful, my mounting stress would soon wash my makeup right down my cheeks. I took a deep breath and tried to focus on the one who always calms my fears. After all, I wasn’t alone. I knew Jesus was right there with me. As I thought about his presence, my anxiety melted and his peace calmed my spirit. As my personal darkness lifted, I stood a little straighter.
One of my favorite Scripture passages, from Psalm 51, flowed into my thoughts like a gentle voice: “Create in me a pure heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me. Do not cast me from your presence or take your Holy Spirit from me. Restore to me the joy of your salvation and grant me a willing spirit, to sustain me.”
The words helped me to square my shoulders before I bowed my head to present the Lord with a prayer.
Jesus, thank you for giving me a renewed heart and a steadfast spirit. Thank you for being here now. You alone restore my joy—not my husband, this catering contest, or even my work. My joy comes from you. Lord, you’re invited to come with me as my guest today. And, Lord, help me to find Evie. Soon.
After my prayer, it was as if, like the movie The Wizard of Oz, my world changed from black and white to living color. A subway station rocketed past, and I watched a cluster of brightly clad people stare back at us. I turned and looked at the would-be pickpocket. She glanced at me, her face tight with shame. Poor thing. She thought she’d find a bit of happiness in a stranger’s wallet. But all she’d done was embarrass herself. Still, her would-be thievery hadn’t stolen my joy. It couldn’t. I had put my trust not in my wallet, my marriage, or even my friends. I had put my trust in God.
At the 34th Street station, I stepped over the double yellow line onto a path of beige tiles that spread between a series of red columns. I walked to the green metal stairway and soon stepped into the sunlight that filtered between the towering buildings. Instantly, I was inside a cantata of street noises, punctuated with car engines, horns, and streams of chattering tourists. As I walked past a tour bus trying to merge into a parade of yellow taxis, I unzipped my purse and reached for my cell phone. But before I could dial, Sandi Patty began to sing “Majesty” on my ring tone. I checked the ID and squealed. “Evangline Vesey,” I sang into the receiver.
“Where have you been?” she demanded. “Why did you leave me?”
“You left me, friend.”
“That’s impossible. You hopped a train without me.”
“I had a little trouble at the station with my card. It took me a while to get here. In fact, I’ve just arrived at the 34th Street station.”
“What?”
“Never mind,” I said. “Where are you now?
“I’m at the Dunkin’ Donuts at Herald Square. Across from Macy’s.”
“I’m practically there now,” I crowed as I rounded the corner. As I did, I spied Evie sitting at a booth in the window. The frown she was wearing disappeared into a smile, and before I could wave she ran out the door and gave me a hug.
“I missed you,” she said.
“And I you, girlfriend. You’re a sight for sore eyes. Powdered sugar crumbs and all.”
“What was the deal with your MetroCard?”
“I have no idea.”
She put her hands on her hips. “You did use the second card we bought yesterday, right? The first card that let us into the subway system has already expired.”
I opened my wallet and looked. Sure enough, there were two cards tucked inside.
“Oh dear, I must have picked up the wrong one,” I said as I spied a nearby trash receptacle.
“And here I thought you were the most organized woman I’d ever met.”
I dropped the expired card in the trash. “Maybe we need each other more than we realized,” I said as I motioned her to follow me.
We walked down the sidewalk on 34th Street as Evie chuckled. “That could be.” After a couple of blocks, she looked around. “So, where is this Empire State Building that we’re heading for?”
As we were almost to 5th Street, I pointed up. “Look.”
Together we stared, not even trying to hide the fact we were tourists. Our mouths gaped open, our eyes grew as large as the donuts Evie had apparently eaten without me.
Evie managed to whisper, “Oh, my.”
“And to think,” I said, “the Empire State Building, at 102 stories tall, was only 8 floors shorter than the World Trade Center.”
“Can you imagine what it would be like if this building were to fall straight down right here and now?”
