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IN MY HUMBLE OPINION ROkie White FEATURED COLUMNIST R Ray Collins FICTION |
Tansy tapped a purple lacquered fingernail on the rectangular lump of frozen strawberries. She frowned. Darn. They couldn’t dip these berries in champagne. Should’ve bought fresh ones. Expensive this time of year. The champagne cost her whole paycheck – even wholesale at her father’s liquor store. Get good wine for special occasions, Dad said, and skimp on everything else. Still…square berries? Deep breath. Wouldn’t do to get upset. Corey didn’t like what he called her tantrums. She’d think of something. She always did. Maybe she could zap them in the microwave. But then they’d be mushy. Still, it wasn’t like breakfast would be ruined or anything because the strawberries weren’t fresh. But for her and Corey’s six month anniversary….it would’ve been nice. She sang tunelessly under her breath -- "Tansy and Corey sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g, first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes Tansy with a baby carriage." Six months. The longest she’d been with anyone. Time to start talking about getting married. Or at least love. He was so…masculine. Made her feel all sort of soft and weak. Hard for macho guys like that to come right out and say the word. Love. Like it got stuck in their throat. Like their Adam’s apple was Mount Everest or something so big the word couldn’t get over the top and out. No problem. She’d say it for him. Break the ice. First time would be the hardest. It made her stomach flip-flop to think of saying the word out loud. Still, she felt so wifely this morning puttering around the kitchen, making breakfast while he slept. As if they were already married. As if this was just another perfect morning. Early morning sunshine trickled through the kitchen window highlighting the small, potted African violet she put on the window sill. There weren’t many of her things around the sparsely furnished apartment. Corey liked to keep things clean and uncluttered. Nothing on the kitchen counters. White cabinet doors shut tight – black marble countertop gleaming. Minimalist, he called it. Six months they’d been together. Surely he’d let her move in more than just a few of her things now. She touched the white teddy she wore under a stained terry cloth robe. Confidence came from the feel of smooth satin and frilly lace under her fingertips. Glad she splurged and bought it a few weeks ago. Glad she hid it in the bottom of the dresser drawer Corey let her use. Should they eat breakfast in bed before or after? Surely after. She dreaded making eggs Benedict. But anything for Corey.
She’d tried to cut it into cubes – little strawberry ice cubes. The knife wasn’t sharp enough. Kept slipping off the frozen lump and gnashing the counter. Furious, she’d smacked the berry-square with a Calphalon skillet until it broke into pieces. Surprised her, after the fact, the noise hadn’t roused Corey. But there he was, sleeping like the dead. He slept hard with a few drinks in him. All those things he said to her last night. Hadn’t meant any of it. Problem was, Corey Willis couldn’t hold his liquor. Four or five shots of bourbon and he went all mean-mouthed. Sober he was a dear. Hung over -- Caution! Handle with extreme care! She watched as he moaned, turned onto his back, eyes closed. Chestnut brown hair stuck up in random spikes on his head. There was a damp spot on the pillowcase where he drooled during the night. One leg – long, tanned and muscular – jerked free of the black sheets. Tansy bit her lip. She’d look lovely against those sheets. All white lace, pink skin and blonde hair. Killer contrast. Like a perfume commercial. She moved toward the bed with mincing steps. Stepped over a dress - hers. Dodged a shoe - his. Remnants of last night. Before the blow-up. Cold air rushed through the slightly open window. She felt her skin curdle into goose bumps. Blast. She asked Corey nicely to close the window. Never noticed he hadn’t done it. She slept on the futon in the living room. He passed out and never knew. Now it looked like she had tiny pimples all over….everywhere. Didn’t see the belt. Her spike heel skidded on the buckle. Lost her balance. Pink champagne arched gracefully upward, free of the glasses. Tansy toppled forward, holding an empty tray. Landed face down on the bed. "What the…" Corey woke with a bellow. A tiny red strawberry lump adorned his rumpled hair. "Oh, honey, I’m sorry. It’s our six month ---" "What are you doing here? Thought I told you to go home last night." Corey thought she still had her apartment. She’d let it go five months ago. Stayed with her dad when Corey asked her to go home. That wasn’t often. But more times lately than at first. "But I knew you didn’t mean it, honey. I had to be here this morning. I made French toast and bacon and…," she smiled. Caution! Handle with care! Corey the hung-over bear. A little sweet talk. A quick trip back to kitchen for more champagne. Good thing the glasses were plastic. At least they didn’t break. "Honey, it’s our six-month ---" "I meant it." Corey dropped his head into his hands and moaned. Her smile sagged. She forgot to put on her lipstick. Scarlet Seduction. Brand new. Still in her purse. $17.50 plus tax. Smudge-proof. Kiss-proof. She struggled to push off the bed. There was a run in her white stockings. Started at the knee and ran up her thigh to where her silk garter held it in place. This wasn’t going right. "Let me get some more champagne, honey. That’ll help your head," she said. "It’s…," Corey squinted at the clock, "…it’s 7:30. What’d you do? Turn off the alarm? I’m going be late. Damn it, Tansy. What are you trying to do? Get me fired?" "Today is special. I thought you could be a little late."
She attained vertical and a precarious balance in her high-heeled
shoes. She struck a pose. Like a model. Pelvis thrust forward.
Hand on hip. Shoulders hunched for cleavage. She pushed out her
lower lip. An enticing pout she thought. Let him get a good look.
He’s still asleep. Blurry-eyed. Hasn’t had a good look
at me yet. "Or call in sick." "Call in sick? Right. Why don’t I quit? Save them the trouble of firing me. I don’t work for Burger Barn." He eased off the bed still holding his head and headed for the bathroom. "Gawd. Sometimes I think you’re stupid as a rock. Don’t you ever take a hint?" Tansy jumped when the bathroom door slammed. Hint? What hint? She kicked off her shoes and crawled onto the bed. Wish she hadn’t spilled the champagne. Could use a glass at this very moment. Corey was so complex for a guy. Most guys were very simple. Most guys wouldn’t have yelled at her looking the way she did this morning. She sat with her knees drawn up to her chin watching the closed bathroom door, listening to water run in the shower. Hadn’t got a chance to tell him it was their anniversary. Maybe he would’ve bought her a present. Roses. Or candy. Or a diamond. Sure he was mad right now. He’d get over it. He always did. Didn’t have to call her stupid though. Maybe she wasn’t Einstein, but she wasn’t stupid. Her head buzzed with the sound of the word. Stupid. A hiss. Like an annoying mosquito. It made her mad. "No one’s forcing you to stay if that’s what you think," she yelled at the door. He poked his head out the bathroom door, his face half-covered with froths of shaving lather, his eyes narrowed to slits. "It’s my apartment. You’re the one leaving." * * *
She knew he had a crush on her. First off, he let her work the drive-through window---major easy job after noontime rush. Second, he forever bumped into her in the narrow path behind the counter. Then he always said "Sorry" with his eyes fixed on her cleavage. Third, he never scolded her like he did the other girls when she freshened her make-up while waiting for orders. She never rushed to be on time. She arrived for work only a few minutes past four. Wayne looked her up and down and licked his lips. She might still be wearing her teddy. If only Cory were so attentive. "Hey, Tansy girl, you’ll never guess who drove by last night after you left," Wayne said. She settled herself on the stool by the take-out window. What did it matter? She crossed her legs and sniffed. Struck a poise. She was a tragic heroine. A martyr. Wronged for doing something nice. "Make my day…,"Wayne growled the words. Tansy’s eyes widened. She’d heard Clint was in town to do that movie about bridges. And Meryl, too. Here. In Des Moines. "Oh-my-god-oh-my-god," she jumped off the stool, "not really!" "The one and only. I took his order after you sneaked out early." "Oh-my-god, I could just kill myself. He’s so gorgeous. If he asked me, I’d leave Cory…" she snapped her fingers, "just like that." "People say I look exactly like him when he was younger." Wayne held out his arms. Turned his head to left profile, then to right. Tansy laughed. The kid was cute. But he was no Clint. If Clint only saw her. She was pretty. Movie stars were discovered in restaurants. She could act, too. Tansy took every order on her shift very carefully, pitching her voice low and sexy – "May I take your order?" – each syllable clear and distinct. She reapplied her lipstick fourteen times and refused to leave for breaks. Wayne had to push her out the door at closing time. "Hey girl," he said before he locked the door behind her, "there’s always tomorrow. They’ll be filming for three months the paper said." Tomorrow. How true. After all, tomorrow is another day. Shades of Scarlett O’Hara. Or rather Vivien Leigh. Gone with the Wind. Three months was a long time. Des Moines was a small town. Leaving the restaurant her thoughts reeled with dreams of being discovered. But, the closer she got to Cory’s apartment the more she remembered that morning and the night before. Corey didn’t mean it. About her leaving. He loved her. She looked up to his windows from the parking lot. One, two three – fourth story, third window from the corner. Candlelight flickered through vertical blinds. A romantic beacon. The champagne couldn’t be flat. Fingers crossed. Had he bought her something to make-up for being so mean? She ran up the stairs. Sweaty when she reached the door. Not good. Deep breath. Why was the key always at the bottom of her purse? Corey opened the door before she found it. "Didn’t you bring a suitcase or a box or anything?" he asked. She was right. She knew it. He wanted her to bring more of her stuff over. To move in with him. One step closer to an engagement ring. Diamond. At least one carat. "I can get my stuff later, honey." She tossed her long, blonde hair over her shoulder. Stay calm. Not too excited. A turn-off for Cory. And smile. A smile with promise. Sultry. Sexy. "Much later." She stepped forward. Corey didn’t move. He blocked her way into the apartment. That was cute. He wanted to surprise her with champagne and candlelight. She leaned forward to kiss him. "Corey is something wrong?" Tansy stopped in mid-kiss. The voice came from within the apartment. Female. And feminine. Almost – possessive. Corey turned to answer. Tansy slipped past him. She stared at the woman who had spoken. At the high-heel shoes discarded on the floor. Bare feet tucked under a short black dress. Champagne glass in hand. A distinct roll of fat at her waist. And a nose that shadowed half her face. This strange woman sat curled into a corner of Corey’s futon contented as a cat. Tansy couldn’t think. She stared. Blank. It didn’t make sense. "I told you this morning not to come back unless it was to get your things," Corey said. There was a tic under his left eye. Pulsing. In. Out. Drawing attention to his hazel eyes. An ugly color. Neither blue nor green. Indecisive. Wishy-washy. If not for the eyes he would be perfect. "But…but…I knew you didn’t mean it." Tansy faltered. She felt tears gathering. And a hint of betrayal. "I meant it," he said. "How could you?" It didn’t make any sense. He didn’t mean it. Especially…"Not with her. She’s not even pretty." There was silence. Total, complete silence. She could almost hear the tic under Corey’s eye. "My God, Tansy." He exploded. He grabbed her arm. Moved her quickly to the door. Leaning close he hissed in her ear, "Who did you think you are? Insulting my company. Do you think you’re pretty? Do you? Go home and look in the mirror you little witch. You’re downright ugly." Tansy didn’t realize she was standing in the hall until the door slammed.
Her father treated her like she was sixteen. Rules. Curfews. Housework. He even made her pay rent. And every time she started to cry he told her, "Buck up. There’s more fish in the sea." or "Why do you want someone who doesn’t want you?" or "The guy’s a jerk plain and simple." It took almost a week, but Tansy finally began to agree. Corey was only one guy. One opinion. And a jerk at that. For what he said, she’d never forgive him. Ugly? She wasn’t ugly. Wayne hadn’t stopped checking her out. Or guys on the street. Or even the occasional drive-through customer who tried to get her phone number. But his words hurt. And she spent more time in front of the bathroom mirror. And bought more make-up.
The smooth, tenor voice that reverberated through her headphones at Burger Barn caused her to drop her Blooming Roses blusher on the floor. It broke open and spilled. Pink powder dusted the gray tile floor. That voice. Unmistakable. Could it be? Clint? She loved him in all those westerns he made when he was so young, handsome and emotionless. "Yes. May I take your order. Please?" She spoke
clearly. Distinctly. Husky and breathless. The face framed by the car window was straight from the theater. Though wrinkled and gray-haired, he remained movie star handsome. He smiled at her as she took his money. She thought her heart would thump out of her chest. Corey was an indistinct shadow compared to this man. Why Corey wasn’t handsome at all! She mentally scrabbled for something cute or charming to say. Something to make him notice her. Remember her. Maybe offer her a part in the movie they were filming. She took his money and made change with shaking fingers. "Do you think I’m pretty?" she asked. He studied her for a moment with the same penetrating gaze that made villains’ knees shake on screen. A man famous for getting even. "Sure, honey," he said. Tansy clutched the five dollar bill he paid with after he left. Sure, honey, he had said. He thought she was pretty. He called her honey. Clint’s money wasn’t going into the register. No way. She tucked it into her bra. From her purse she got a crinkled five and stuck it into the till. He thinks I’m pretty, she thought and smiled. I’m pretty. Clint thinks I’m pretty. What do I need Corey for? What did she need Corey for? Well, she needed her clothes that were still at his place. That night after work she walked back by Corey’s apartment. From the parking lot she looked for his window. The lights were off. But his car was there. The green BMW convertible crowded the handicapped space next to it. The left wheels parked over the yellow line. So like him. So inconsiderate. Someone should teach him a lesson. What a jerk. What a bozo. She didn’t need him. It was over. The End. After she got even. Not pretty? How dare he say that. What she needed was a plan.
She knew he wasn’t there. His car wasn’t in the parking lot. And his apartment was spotless when she walked in. Minimalist. More like cheap. One black velvet futon. One gold satin pillow. One brass and glass coffee table. One white statue on a black marble pedestal. Or rather objet d’art as Corey called it. A naked lady who didn’t even have arms. One picture on the wall -- like a kindergartner’s finger painting. Red, orange, brown swirls. Ugly, she thought. Tansy walked over to the statue. She looked at it. Squinted. Ugly. The woman was fat. Corey had no taste. She moved closer. Her toe brushed the pedestal. It tottered. It wasn’t really marble. Only plaster painted to look like marble. The statue tipped. Started to fall. She caught it in her open hands. Ugly statue. Yuck. Reminded her of the woman in the short black dress. Her fingers released it onto the hardwood floor. It broke into three pieces. Good. But not perfect. She stomped it with her foot. Now it was a zillion pieces. It made her feel good. She snatched the gold pillow from the futon. Pulled with both hands. It tore with a satisfying rip. Shredded foam floated like dandruff over the room. She smiled. Corey would hate this. Served him right. The kitchen wastebasket was full of coffee grounds, orange peels, red soup cans and steak bones. Colors that matched the painting in the living room. She dumped it on the coffee table. Returning to the kitchen, she flung pots and pans out of the kitchen cabinets. Dumped silverware on the floor. Then started for the glasses in the cabinets overhead. Ominous thumps came from the apartment below. Five hard raps on the floor beneath her feet. She stopped. Too much. Too noisy. Didn’t want the neighbors to call the police. But there was still the bedroom. She had to do something to the bedroom. Something quieter. Much quieter now. Tiptoeing into his bedroom she glanced at the clock on the night stand. Three-thirty p.m. Her shift started at four. Clint might use the drive-through again. If he did, she wanted to be there. No more late arrivals for her. Darn. No time to plan. Something quick. Something nasty. A coup de grace. Something Corey wouldn’t soon forget. She put a manicured hand to her head. Blank. Nothing. She couldn’t think of anything awful. What she really needed to do at that very moment was pee. Which suddenly made her smile. Then giggle out loud. She jerked the bedspread to the floor, revealing black satin sheets. It would leave a stain. Off came her jeans and panties. No second thoughts now. She bounded into the middle of the bed. How perfect. Every time he slept with someone else on this bed he would remember her.
And she smiled when she did imagine it. She felt she got even with Corey. Really even. Not like in the movies where everything was pretend. She read in the newspaper they spray-painted the brown Iowa cornfields green for Clint’s movie. To make autumn look like summer. Cripes. How phony. Clint never came back during her shift for another hamburger or fries. A nice, young dentist did though. Brandon. He said she was pretty, too. And asked her out. Tomorrow was the one month anniversary of their first date. She needed to remember to buy champagne wholesale from Dad. Champagne for a one-month anniversary. And strawberries. No, not strawberries. Blueberries. Not frozen. And bacon and eggs. Brandon was down to earth. Scrambled eggs and bacon was his style. Not phony and put-on like Corey. Still he hadn’t said those three little words. Why was it so hard for guys to say? Too early for the marriage question. But not too early for love. No matter. She’d say it first. This time she would plan ahead. She wasn't stupid. Or ugly. |