Carpe Bead'em (7 page)

The square is busy with the shop owners
putting out their wares out on the outside in front of their stores. The doors
are open and inviting. Everyone says good morning as I pass. This is something
you don’t see in Chicago.

I can’t believe this is something I miss
about living here. I was so busy trying to get on with my life when I moved to
Chicago, I didn’t even pay attention until
now
.

Trees in full bloom line both sides of
the square’s center and frame the wood park benches. The fountain gurgles with
water spewing from a stone panther’s mouths.

I pop my head in the open door of One
Bead at a Time.  A group of women sit at a table and scour through all sorts of
designs and colors to make the perfect bracelet, necklace or ear rings.

I catch myself smiling as I watch the
four friends—obviously friends, and overhear their conversation.

“How does this one look?” A blonde asks
one of the others about the beads she picked out.

“Oh I love it,” her friend said, “But
you know,” she adds, as she hands over a different bead, “this one will really
make it stand out.”

The others nod their head in agreement.

It makes me long for my friends. The
simple pleasure of just being around them is something I will not take for
granted again.

I run my finger down the beading class
schedule hanging on the open door. My interest is flying.
I’ve spent a ton
of money buying beaded jewelry.  Why not try to make my own? My girls are five
hours away. I’ll have plenty of down time at night. I make a mental note on the
class times to see if any of them fit into my work schedule. 

But as I make my way back to my new
home, I wonder what my friend’s are doing in Chicago, without me.

Prudence is probably working at home in
her office, stopping briefly to take in Lake Michigan and watch the sail boats
going out for the day.

I check my watch. It’s about time for Georgia
and Lucy to meet at Moksha Yoga. And Georgia is probably taking a walk the
Lincoln Park, before heading to baby in the belly appointment.

I long to be next to Lucy, lounging on
the terrace watching television and relaxing the day away.

And me? Looks like I’m going to take up
beading.

I toss my cup in the trash can outside
the Hyde Bark, the cutest pet store I’ve ever seen, and could make almost
anyone want to get a pet. But I won’t. I have a hard enough time taking care of
myself and I don’t like wiping my ass, much less a furry one.

I shrug away the thought of a dog and
remember my bagua awaits me. I jog back, trying not to think about my friends,
or pets, or the fact that I’m alone.

The last box is calling me when I walk
into the door.

“All right, Buddha. Hold on,” I say as I
get my compass and lay down, with my feet almost touching the front door.

I need to feel the energy of the house
to check my chi.

Arms stretched way out to my side, eyes close
tighter with every breath. I begin to feel the coziness of the house.  I even
think about stripping down to my birthday suit to feel liberated like I had
last night.

But my eyes bolt open when I hear a door
slam.

“Hi, there.” Suddenly a man is standing
over me with the goofiest-ass grin.

“Get back!” I scramble to my feet, with
fear knotted inside me. “I know karate.” I do my best Ralph Macchio pose. That
pose is the only karate I know.  But I know I can hit him in the balls and take
off running.

“Yes Daniel-son,” the stranger says in
Mr. Miyagi’s voice, bowing down. “I come in peace. I’m Wilson, and you?”

“Get out! I’m going to call the police.”
I stand with my fists clinched in the air, panic welled in my throat.

“Hi, Mr. Buddha?” Wilson bends down and
picks up my Buddha, pretending to talk to him. “Checking out the bagua?”

He tilts the Buddha back and forth as if
in agreement.

“How do you know? Were you listening to
me?” Stepping forward, I snatch my Buddha out of his greedy hands. The Buddha
is heavy so
I
can use him as a weapon. “Who are you?”

I pat my pockets for my cell phone. The
only problem, I don’t know my own address to give to the 911 operator.

“I heard someone up here talking and I
wanted to introduce myself since we’ll be running into each other. Especially
late night refrigerator raiding.” He pats his belly.

“I’m really going to call the police.” I
yell after he goes into the pantry and shuts the door.

I’m tired of screwing around with this
lunatic.

“Where do you think you are going?” I
don’t hesitate to go after him.
e

With Buddha pointed over my head and
ready to throw, I carefully open the door, fully expecting him to jump out and
scare me. I only find stairs. Not a pantry.
A basement. 

I walk down the stairs trying to ignore
the theme song from
Nightmare on Elm Street
that’s playing in my head.

I want to make sure Wilson leaves the
same way he came in. He may be harmless, but you just can’t walk into someone’s
house without being invited.

There he sits, on a black leather couch
enjoying a steaming cup of coffee.

“Now you decide to come down and say
hi.” His glasses fogged with steam. “Let’s start over. Hi, I’m Wilson and I
live in this apartment which is down stairs from your apartment. I am assuming
that your fancy employer didn’t tell you that it was an apartment.”

“No, they did.” I can feel the red creep
up my face with embarrassment. “I just thought it was a mistake. I thought the
basement door was a pantry.”

“Didn’t the refrigerator and pantry full
of food give it away?” He walks over to the coffee pot. “Would you like a cup?”
he asks.

“Yes, please.”
Apartment?
 I’m
trying to wrap my head around what’s happening. “I, I’m, um, sorry for yelling
at you.”

“It’s okay. I was going to say hello
last night, but I didn’t think you were dressed properly for the occasion.” He
smiles.

Oh, my God!
I’m not shocked
by his beautiful white teeth, I’m shocked because he saw me in my panties and
t-shirt when I went down to get a drink of water. I cross my arms over myself,
trying to hide what he saw last night. 

“So you were spying on me?” I have to
wonder.

“I was going to come and introduce
myself to clothes-wearing Hallie, not t-shirt Hallie. Though I might like
t-shirt Hallie better.” He laughs handing me the cup. “Sugar or cream?”

I pick up the creamer and avoid eye
contact. With sarcasm dripping in my voice, I say, “You’re a funny guy. We
might just have a lot of fun for the next three months.”

“Who might have fun, clothed or
unclothed Hallie? If you’re asking me, I think I will try out unclothed Hallie
first.” He held his coffee cup up to toast me. I oblige.

“First off, the place was so hot, I
could’ve fried an egg on the radiator and I couldn’t find the thermostat. Why
were you up so late? Don’t tell me you’re some perv.” I stand at the edge of
the steps ready to bolt.

“I was coming home from work and I heard
the faucet turn on.” He pretends to twirl the edges of a fake mustache. “Watch
it or I could mess with your bagua.”

Wilson is not like any other man I’ve
met. He’s direct, and I like that about him. 
 

“Okay joker. Show me around since you
know my place like the back of your hand.” He obviously knows what a bagua is.

“This is my office.” He points to the
coffee table. “That’s my bedroom and bath.” He points to the only door off the
room. “Last on the big tour, my dining room.” He nods towards the bar with four
black bar chairs. It’s not big, but it’s perfect for one person.

I notice the Persian rugs, and I feel a
twinge of envy. His apartment is nice, especially for a guy.

“So where do you work?” He must have a
pretty good job to afford some of these luxuries. “Procter and Gamble
downtown.”

I should’ve guessed. Half of Cincinnati
works there.

“Cool. I work at the Gucci boutique in
Saks.”

“Oh, la-la.” He flashes his irresistible
devastating grin.

He certainly doesn’t look like an
executive in his Ohio State pajama pants. The hint of ginger in his blonde
crew-cut, stands out against his tan skin.

“Again, Wilson, I am sorry for freaking
out on you. I have to say you’re lucky I didn’t go all Karate Kid on you.” I demonstrate
my best karate chop in the air. “See you later?”

“Absolutely,” he says. “Bring my mug back
when you’re finished.”

This isn’t going to be so bad, I smile.
Wilson’s sense of humor really isn’t my type, but he is definitely someone I
can see myself hanging out with having a few beers.

The rest of the afternoon I tiptoe
around so Wilson won’t hear me. With each box I unpack, I’m finding myself
getting into a funk.  It takes all the energy I have to finish unpacking all
the boxes. I’m so mentally exhausted.
I
close my eyes, just to take a break.

Chapter Thirteen

Shit!
The ringing phone makes me jump
from the perfect slumber. For a brief moment I’d forgotten I’m back in
Cincinnati.

“Hello, Aunt Grace.” I try to wrap my
head around my surroundings.

“I swear you are psychic just like your
mom,” she says.

“No, Aunt Grace. Caller ID.” I don’t
know how many more times I‘ll have to say that before she gets it. Furthermore,
my mother wasn’t close to being psychic, and I don’t know why Aunt Grace says
that.

“You need to come right away.” She
sounds suddenly desperate.

I look at my watch. “It’s six p.m.”

I’d rather have my eyelids turned inside
out and propped open with toothpicks before I drive to her neighborhood just
before darkness closes in. My heart is heavy once I realize where I am.

“Toto, I don’t think we are in Kansas
anymore.” I frown looking out the window next to the bed.

“What? Who’s Toto?” she asks.

“No one.” The words fall meekly out of
my mouth.

The first phase of dread, loneliness and
depression sets in. I knew it was inevitable. My Hyde Park high seems to have
deflated like a soufflé.

“I need you. You know I wouldn’t ask if
I didn’t.” She pleads. 

“Why do I need to come
right
now?” I ask and continue, “What’s so important?”

“I can’t talk about it over the phone.
Can’t you please come?” She is convincing.

I reach for my running shoes and put them
on. There is no reason to push for more information because I know I won’t win.

Wilson is outside watering the front
lawn. “Where are you going in such a hurry?” His eyes peek over his sunglasses.

“Getting toothpicks,” I shout, then stop
and turn around. “You have any toothpicks?”

He pats his pockets. “Nah, fresh out.”
He continues watering the wisteria vine with a questioning look on his face.

I flash him a smile, and jump in my
car—only to zoom back to the other side of the tracks.

A haze looms over the city.  That’s one
thing this city hasn’t cleaned up. My eyes water and my nose itches. The valley
of allergies is what everyone calls the Ohio valley. I fell prey to it when I
was younger and now.

I say a little prayer of gratitude for
Daylight Saving Time. I have at least an hour before dark.

Uncle Jimmy is sitting on the stoop
watching the traffic go by. “Hi, Uncle Jimmy.” I smile looking for a nod, or a wave,
or something to show life.

He doesn’t look up. His gray thinning
greasy hair is plastered to his head. With a hint of annoyance, he asks, “You
gonna be stopping by all the time since you live here?”

“Lucky you. You never know which way the
wind might blow me.” 

I want to tell him to shave his ass, but
I don’t think he would like that. Besides, Uncle Jimmy never fit in with us
Italians,
as he puts a stress on the
I
. He
always
rolled his eyes at our big family
functions. Italians love their families.

We had to ignore his comments out of
respect for Aunt Grace. She was good at reminding us. “Now, now, Jimmy doesn’t
know any better,” she’d say. “He’s an orphan.”

“Umph.” Is all he can muster up? Never
once can I recall a time when he was even a bit positive.

I burst through the door.  “Aunt Grace?” 
I find her in the bedroom.  She’s there, wearing
a long curly red wig.

“Hi, Aunt Grace.” I hid my laughter,
looking at her real hair matted down the side of her face.

“Like it?” She twirls her fake hair
around her finger.