Authors: Gail Cleare
The toddlers quickly found the
children’s play area in the corner, I was happy to see. I had gathered some
second-hand toys and games to help keep the little ones busy while their
parents shopped. There was a low table with four small chairs, occupied by two
little girls having an imaginary tea party with their dolls. The boys seemed to
be interested in a basket of rubber dinosaurs and wooden blocks. They dumped
everything out onto the floor and constructed a sprawling maze.
Siri pulled a blanket out of the big
pocket on the back of the stroller and spread it out on the floor. She lay the
two babies down on it. Siri’s daughter rolled over onto her tummy and fell
asleep, while the little brown-skinned baby cooed with excitement and began to
squirm his way over to where the older children played.
“Thomas,” she called to her son, who
looked up obediently. “You watch, eh?”
Thomas nodded.
“Who are all these other children?” I
asked her, watching the activity. “Do you run a daycare center in your
apartment?”
“No,” she answered, “Not a real
daycare, it is not allowed. I just help the other mothers from time to time. We
take turns, so everyone gets a little break.”
I showed her around the shop. She
admired everything, speaking very quickly in a light, musical voice.
Siri told me she had been born and
raised in India, living there until she reached her teens. Then her family had
moved to the U.S., and she had finished her education here in the public school
system. She had been accepted to the state university, but was unable to attend
because of her mother’s sudden illness with cancer.
Staying at home after her mother’s
death to care for her father and younger brother, Siri married an American boy
she had met in high school. Her brother now worked for the city as a policeman
and their elderly father lived with Siri and her husband, Tom. I guessed that
it must be getting rather crowded, with two children and three adults in one
apartment.
“And, your father, is he well?” I
asked.
“Oh yes,” she said, “Very well.
Perhaps a bit bored, I am afraid. He is retired now, with no job to keep him
busy. Just his books, his beloved books. My father was a professor. He taught
at a university in Delhi, when I was little. When we came to this country, his
credentials were not correct to teach in the schools, so he became a substitute
teacher and a private tutor.” She waved her arms, using hand gestures to underscore
her words.
“Siri,” I said thoughtfully, thinking of my recent
conversation with Mr. Paradis about hiring some part-time help. “Would you
possibly be interested in taking on a little job, just a few hours a week?”
“Here?” she asked, her eyes widening.
I nodded.
“Oh yes, please! Thank you, very much!”
“Would you be able to leave the
children with one of the other mothers?” I asked. “Would your father be all
right by himself for a little while?”
“Most certainly!” She was obviously
excited and began to speak quickly. “My father has his chess games every day.
He plays with his friends down the street. And I can arrange something for the
children, too, if it’s not for too long.”
“What exactly would you have me here
to do?” She looked around with an appraising eye.
“Help with the customers when it gets
busy,” I said. “Dust a little, help me keep the store clean. And, I was
thinking of serving tea and espresso, maybe some baked goods or something like
that. What do you think?”
“I think it is a lovely idea,” she
replied, her eyes shining. “There is nowhere close by to sit down and have
breakfast or lunch on the weekdays. Perhaps we could offer this as a way to get
people interested in browsing. Do you have the permits for serving food?”
I had already asked Mr. Paradis to
look into it. He had agreed to some minor renovations in the kitchen, too. I
helped her gather up the children and put the toys away, carrying the
still-sleeping baby out to the sidewalk for her while she re-opened the
stroller and tucked the other child under the seat belt. Pulling a long shawl
out of the bag on the stroller, she arranged it across her chest and knotted it
at the side, making a little sling for her daughter to snuggle in. Supporting
the baby with one hand, she was able to steer the stroller with the other. She
managed it all effortlessly, with a calm born of much experience. I found it
amazing.
Siri promised to return that evening
with her husband and her father. I urged her to bring her children too. She
said that many of the other women who lived in her building were also planning
to attend.
“It’s a good arrangement,” she said. “We
all help each other. You’ll have to meet them!”
“We can start on that tonight,” I
agreed, gently stroking her baby’s soft little head with the back of my index
finger. What a little lovey. And what a lovely woman! It made me feel more
secure just to be around her.
I felt my guard slipping down as I
relaxed, the feminine softness in me welling up to replace the hard shell I had
developed over recent years.
It was a comfortable feeling, and I
sighed happily as I watched Siri and the children make their way down the
street. Being near her was like water in the desert, and I looked forward to
the next soothing sip with happy anticipation.
Description: The
Emperor is a strong, paternal man with wealth and power, dressed in flowing
dark robes and carrying the orb of power.
Meaning: A powerful
leader and figure of authority. Paternal influence, fatherhood. Providing materially
for the family, the community.
At seven thirty that evening, the store was packed with
guests and the party was peaking. It was a huge success and I was ecstatic.
Winding my way from the coffee bar through the mob in front of the buffet
tables was a challenge. Everyone was talking at the same time, in various
languages. The background music could barely be heard any more.
Many people had obviously come
straight from work. Several women wore medical uniforms, and members of a
landscaping crew all had on identical logo-emblazoned T-shirts. Laurel’s team
was easily spotted, with their Green Thumb aprons. The
barista
she had hired for the party pulled
shot after shot of espresso. He entertained the waiting customers with jokes
and coffee trivia as he worked. The combination of his upbeat personality plus
the caffeine kick created a dynamic energy that had spread throughout the room.
The beautiful food Laurel had prepared
was very well received. There were several salads, a vegetarian lasagna cut
into squares and a big pan of spanakopita
,
flakey Greek pastry stuffed with
spinach and feta cheese. The second table held an assortment of desserts.
Everyone helped themselves enthusiastically.
A noisy cluster of kids was building a
block city in the children’s corner. Siri’s father, whose name was Gupta, was a
dignified gray-haired gentleman with wire-framed glasses who sat in a nearby
rocker and supervised the construction. He seemed to be enjoying himself. I had
also met her husband Tom, earlier. He was a friendly redhead with freckles and
hazel eyes like his daughter, the little love who had stolen my heart that
afternoon.
Mr. Paradis had installed himself
majestically behind the cash register in the front of the room, where he held
forth on many subjects. The neighbors greeted him as though they had not seen
him in a long time. He had dressed for the festivities in a long purple caftan
decorated with embroidery that contained little mirrors, worn over his
traditional black sweatpants and slippers. He looked magical and mysterious.
He was kept busy by a steady trickle
of sales, as the guests explored the shop and were thrilled to discover amazing
things. We were definitely getting the word out. Two local newspapers had
interviewed me so far this evening, and one of the reporters had snapped some
photos.
“Welcome to
Paradis
,” I said as a new group entered.
“Welcome to Paradise! Welcome to
Paradise!” several of the children echoed, giggling.
I smiled. Maybe they were right!
I introduced myself to the newcomers,
directing them to the food and drink, then I ducked into the front hallway for
a moment to catch my breath.
“Paradise lost, or Paradise found?” A
sexy male voice with a slight foreign accent came out of the darkness behind
me. It sounded like the person who had been phoning my employer.
I jumped.
He leaned forward into the light with
one eyebrow raised. It was the same man I had glimpsed on my first day at work
and now I had a chance to get a better look at him. He was tall, dark and very
handsome in a dangerous, brooding kind of way. I shivered. Dressed in a dark
jacket over a black shirt and slacks, he blended in with the shadows. He looked
like a vampire but I was pretty sure he was just European.
“Newly found, for me,” I said, trying
not to stare. A little tingle started in my cheeks as my face flushed.
“And newly re-found for my friend
Henry,” he said, stepping forward into the light. “Thanks to you!”
“Anton Novak,” the dark man said,
taking my offered hand, not to shake it but to hold it in both of his, dashing
European-style.
His fingers were long and elegant, his
grasp warm and firm. It was an intimate gesture, and my breath caught. I
couldn’t help noticing that he wore no rings. A lot of married men don’t,
though. Sometimes they carry their wedding rings around with their pocket
change, presumably to slip them back on when they head for home and wife. I’ve
seen it several times at the cash register, when I’ve been making a sale.
“Hi, I’m Emily. I’m so glad you could
come,” I said, reclaiming my hand and pretending to adjust one of my earrings.
I recognized his name from the list of special customers. “Were you already in
the U.S.? Or did our invitation reach you in London?”
“I was in New York when Henry emailed
me about the party. He said he had something he particularly wants me to see.”
He looked at me frankly and
approvingly. I mean, from head to toe.
“Well, well then, “ I stammered
nervously, “I’ll just have to, um, relieve him from his cashier’s duties and
let him talk with you personally.”
I smiled and nodded, cursing myself
for feeling so awkward, then spun around to slip back into the showroom and
behind the jewelry counter. I indicated to Mr. Paradis that he should go
mingle. Anton Novak leaned in the doorway, watching.
They caught eyes and my employer
headed over to take the European by the arm, clapping him on the back like an
old friend. A broad genuine smile transformed the younger man’s face. Mr.
Paradis waved his arm in my direction as though he was discussing me. Novak
looked over at me too, in a suspicious manner. He seemed gloomy, dark. I glared
back at him, my guard going up like the wall around a medieval castle. The two
of them turned and disappeared up the stairs.
I was kept busy with sales and
conversation for the next half hour, when things started to wind down. Siri and
her family found me at the front of the store and lined up to say goodnight.
She also introduced me to her neighbors.