In My Father's Eyes (2 page)

Chapter Two

Emily walked through the mall. It was very much like being at a zoo; anthropological exhibits of hominids in their native habitats.

The short Hispanic woman with the gold tooth who sold her coffee every morning never made faces at Emily’s tattoos and piercings. Probably she was much too worried about her son heading for prison if he didn’t quit hanging with his trouble-making friends than to take note of a pathetic girl lurking about.

Then there was the shaven-headed janitor with the loose jowls and skin as wrinkled as a dried plum. Emily imagined he was a refugee from an oppressive country. Finding himself after a harrowing journey in the land of freedom and stuck on the bottom rung of the American Dream.

Maybe in some way they had found answers of their own. Had they? Did the man sweeping the marbled floors across the food court have in his mind the answers she so desperately needed? Did he know who he was and where his life was leading?

Emily didn’t know if any of her imaginings were accurate. But it didn’t matter. She made up these stories about these strangers because she needed to know them; needed to have an understanding of what drove them to live these tired, lonely lives.

Broad expanses of glass displayed goods ready for purchase. Long sequined gowns. High-end electronics; furs and leather. Lotions, potions, amalgams and emollients for every variety of bathroom need. Everything on perpetual sale marked down for quick turnover so the next fad or style could take its place.

After graduation she’d tried getting a job at several of these stores. One look at her piercings, tattoos, black lipstick and kohl-smeared eyes and the buttoned-up shopkeepers chased her from their temples of rectitude; unwilling to admit an apostate to their sacred rites.

Walking down the marbled esplanade, Emily stopped at each window peering at the stylish displays until some wary-eyed salesperson shooed her away. At half past ten, teens and moms pushing strollers slowly displaced the elderly walkers. Despite the growing crowd, she had little problem navigating through the pedestrians parting around her as if they feared ramming their fragile hulls on the shoals of her ennui.

Making her way past a jeweler that would have shuddered at the thought of selling any of the trinkets studding her face or fingers; she slid onto an armless bench nearly hidden by plastic topiary.

Reaching into her purse she retrieved a pair of silver opera glasses. Ducking through the plastic fronds she silently scanned the store on the other side.

A luggage and gift shop, Emily fancied it one of the more interesting dioramas. Strolling in the shop an older man; by the look of him, middle-aged or later. His face was lined with deep, ragged valleys as if he’d spent a life exposed to harsh weather, had seen too much and finally washed up here in the serenity of daily commerce. But his eyes were alive. She saw it when he greeted customers or spoke to passersby; those eyes flashing with kindness and a secret knowledge Emily found irresistible.

Today he’d worn yet another version of his usual tweed jacket over light brown wool pants, pale blue oxford shirt with a plain, thin tie. She watched the old guy moved from point to point touching, adjusting and shifting various items with persnickety attention.

When he stopped to talk to a customer he looked over his shoulder. Emily ducked quickly, uncertain if she’d been seen.

What’s his deal? She wondered. How did he end up here, doing this? Is this what he wanted for himself when he was my age? Is this the plan when he started out? Emily liked watching the high-end luggage store. She imagined filling the trunks and suitcases, setting out on a journey to exotic lands and faraway destinations; places where no one knew her. Places where no judgmental eyes stared back at her; places where she could forget the demons that drove her, the sorrow that never left her.

A moment later she parted the fronds, again using the opera glasses. She searched the store before spotting him behind a counter piled with racks of luggage tags, lanyards and manicure sets. He took a moment to attach a
Help Wanted
sign on the window.

Hmmm, Emily thought, this is new.

She watched awhile longer until the man disappeared beyond the curtains at the back.

Seeing her chance Emily scooted into the store. Moving between the aisles of stacked luggage she passed a pair of steamer trunks and dove deeper into the interior. The smell of tanned leather and chemically treated fabric wrinkled her nose.

Just in time she dodged into the back aisle as the man came out of the storeroom carrying a large box. Peeking around a display of makeup bags, she watched as he opened the box and began inserting eel-skin wallets into a silver rack.

He was interrupted as another customer entered. The man, leaving off his work with a welcoming smile, escorted the new arrival toward a display of rolling carry-ons.

She was nearly done when the man returned.

“What are you doing?” He asked sharply.

“You looked like you needed a hand.” Emily answered, and finished filling the display with the last of the wallets. “I thought I’d help out.”

“That’s kind of you, but I’ll take it from here.” He took the empty box from Emily.

“Sign says you’re looking for help. I’m your help.” Emily said smiling, giving him a theatrical bow.

“You?” The man smothered a chuckle and looked her up and down. “I don’t think so. Now if you’ll go, you’re scaring the customers.” He moved to grasp her elbow.

Emily stepped away.

“Something wrong with the way I look?” Her voice carried.

“I wouldn’t know,” he answered. “I can’t see past the costume you’re wearing.”

“Costume! I’m not the one who dresses in the same stupid clothes every day. And if you think those pleated pants are hiding your fat belly, think again. They make you look like a kangaroo with a baby in its pouch.”

“Joey.”

“What?”

“A baby kangaroo is called a joey.”

“Whatever. You still look poufy.”

“I don’t think I need to take fashion advice from Dracula’s daughter. Now, would please keep your voice down and leave?”

“Fine.” Emily shifted her bag to her shoulder. Taking two steps she turned. “You people are all the same. One look at a person and you think you know everything about them. Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to judge a book by its cover?”

The man caught up with her just outside the store, the short jog making him pant for breath.

“Wait,” he called. Emily slowed. “You’re right. I shouldn’t judge you.” Emily stopped and turned on her heel looking into his surprisingly deep brown eyes.

“Does that mean I get the job?” Her voice a challenge.

“Well…I don’t…”

“Uh-uh. That’s what I thought.” Emily interrupted.

“What can you do?”

“Anything.” Emily answered.

The man paused giving the young girl a closer look.

“If you can lose the…” he said waving his hand across his face at a loss for what to call her piercings. “Come back tomorrow…ten o’clock.”

Emily nodded. “I’ll be here.” She had no name for the expression on his face, but the soft upturn at the corner of his mouth and softness in his eyes tugged at her. Lifting her hand in a brief wave, she left, her steps lighter than they had been in a long time.

Chapter Three

“Dinner’s ready!”

Emily heard the ever cheerful sound of her mother’s voice through her locked bedroom door. Ignoring her, she continued to study her face in the mirror. She licked her bottom lip noting the absence of the two rings. Her tongue felt weightless without its silver stud.

Carefully she edged the industrial bar from her eyebrow, massaging the soft tissue. The nose studs clanked hollowly joining the rest of her jewelry on the mirrored tray atop her dresser.

With an oiled wipe, she cleaned away the dark kohl eyeliner. Another wipe revealed plum colored lips beneath the black lipstick.

Her face, bare and stark, looked foreign and out of place beneath her jet black hair with its purple tips.

“I’m coming!” Emily barked at her mother’s insistent knock. Turning from the mirror she clicked off the black and white TV and the laugh-track sitcom wishing she could have a family as normal as the Partridge Family. A family that had a mom and a dad; whose biggest problems were who was dating who, math homework and how to pay the bills.

She emerged from her lair to the heavy smell of corned beef pervading the split level suburban ranch house she was forced to call home.

“Oh, honey!” Her mother gushed as Emily entered the dining room. “You look so beautiful. Such a pretty face.”

Sliding into the chair farthest from her stepfather, Emily tried to avoid the hug her mother aimed her way.

Tom, her stepfather, as usual had his attention on the television game show and barely noticed her arrival, much less her altered appearance even as he handed her the platter of boiled corned beef.

Setting it down untouched, Emily spooned creamed spinach onto her plate and reached for a whole wheat dinner roll.

“So what brought that about?” Tom asked when the show went to commercial, noting her appearance. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“Gee, Tom,” Emily said, “Your interest is overwhelming.”

“Be nice.” Her mother, Carol, urged both.

“No. No. Of course,” Tom agreed. “You look very nice, Emily.” Prompting Emily to smirk around a mouthful of bread.

“Nice backbone, Tom.” She muttered under her breath. Sinking into sullen silence Emily shoveled food into her mouth as her mother nattered on about her day. After the divorce her mother had gone to work as a guidance counselor at a private high school several miles away. That’s where she met Tom, the assistant principal and eventually married him three years ago.

Emily, in a stroke of brilliance, had tanked the entrance exams on purpose and ended up in public school blessedly away from her mother’s overbearing presence for eight hours a day. That still didn’t stop her mother from nagging her about college. During her junior year, every day she came home to find glossy college brochures littering her bed.

She’d tried explaining that college wasn’t in her plans for the future, but typically her mother ignored Emily’s objections continuing to pressure her until she had finally agreed, desperate for respite, to apply to the local community college.

“I saw Dad last night.” Emily said.

Her mother stopped in mid sentence. The unwritten rule in the house forbade mention of her father. It was a rule Emily observed more in the breach and she’d dropped the D-bomb to spur a reaction.

“He came into the restaurant?” Carol asked quietly. Tom’s eyes shifted left and right watching his wife and stepdaughter.

Emily nodded, chewing. She hated lying to her mother about dancing at the men’s club. Not out of any sense that she owed her mother the truth; more out of the belief that dishonesty only led to sorrow and misunderstanding. But the strip club did serve food of a sort. So, technically it wasn’t a lie. And, anyway, it hardly mattered anymore since she was never going back there.

“What…” Carol began, clearing her throat before continuing. “What did he want?”