12.5 The Abyss of WonderLand
“Are you Penelope Casey? “ the man asked, glancing at a photo of me that was apparently attached to his clipboard. “May I see your ID?” Jodie, the biggest office gossip, just happened to be leaving at the same time as I was. She stood there watching, waiting to see what I was about to be gifted with. But, at least she didn’t crowd me. She stood a few steps back, pretending not be as interested as I could tell she was. The present was packaged inside a fancy gift bag with tissue paper of multiple pastel colors. I weeded through the mass of it, wishing for a more private location to discover my buried treasure. But when I reached the bottom and pulled out a pair of fuzzy slippers, each with a bunny face and fuzzy bunny ears, I broke into a laugh. Jodie crowded closer so she could get a better look. “That’s all?” she said. “Did he send a note?” Timothy never had before, but I dug down into the tissue once more. I hadn’t needed to. The card was attached to the bag’s handle. I tugged it closer. “If I may be so bold as to bring dinner tonight, I will see you at 7:00 pm at your apartment. Please wear your new fuzzies.” Again I laughed, but I didn’t share what was written. “Bye, Jodie,” I said. “See you tomorrow.” I waved a friendly goodbye, ignoring the disappointment on her face that I hadn’t told her everything so she could gossip about it with the others. Although I’d planned to walk home, I rushed to the bus stop and just made the next transit to my apartment. As we passed the Triton Art Museum, I felt a stab of nostalgia as I thought about my roommate and Cara. The three of us had spent a lot of time in that museum. I missed them. The stop for my apartment was only a little beyond that. I hopped off, clutching my new bunny slippers firmly in my arms. Hugging them so closely allowed me to wipe away my moment of sadness. Besides, I had something to look forward to. No need to stop for take-out or slip into the grocery store. Timothy was bringing dinner. What a luxury. I kept my apartment neat, things put away, the kitchen sink empty, and my table cleared, but I took a moment to make some fresh iced tea. I still had most of the fruit from the lovely basket Timothy had sent. I hoped he wouldn’t ask for a piece of the Godiva. That box of chocolates had disappeared quickly the day I’d brought it to work. The women might always be on diets, but chocolate floated all the borders. It was a given that something so delicious would be a prime workroom treat.
12.4 The Abyss of WonderLand
Any slight irritation at their attitudes quickly fled. With her words, I understood why the women had been more or less ignoring me and looking the other way when I walked through a room or passed by their desks. “Mr. Sanders said that?” I mused. “How funny. It’s just that I really connected with someone. I met him at Mr. Sanders’ house, in one of those dinners where Judy tries to set up anyone single. This man and I clicked. It was strange. It’s like I knew him before, like we’re on the same wavelength.” The ladies and I took an early break and went for coffee with a bit of gossip on the side, although I’d already gushed too much. I had nothing else to say. (Besides, I didn’t want to spoil my luck.) If the big boss noticed our early and slightly longer social time, he looked the other way. Mr. Sanders was usually like that, a rarity I’d been told, a kind and thoughtful boss. I was back in my office working again when the next orchid arrived. It was a Rhynchorides Bangkok Sunset. Never had I seen anything as striking. It displayed violet-colored blooms with apricot and orange centers, which sounds rather like a circus tent or a clash of color, but the orchid was honestly not only unique but absolutely gorgeous. It too had to be placed atop the file cabinet, where it shown like a full sunset of color. In fact, it distracted me — to the point that I couldn’t wait to call Timothy. Although we’d been chatting every evening, either via phone, e-mail, and or visits, this time, I had to insist that he halt his flower gifts. Timothy was warm and friendly, as always, and assured me that he would attempt to temper the flower arrivals. He even promised no more orchids. Reassured, I finished my work for the day and was just setting off on a pleasant walk to my apartment, only to be confronted by a delivery man at the exit of our building.
12.3 The Abyss of WonderLand
At least, I was private and unnoticed in my newness until the flowers began to flow. That Monday a lovely purple orchid came to sit on my desk. A flock of ladies managed to peek inside to get a glimpse of it, but still no one commented. On Tuesday, that plant gained a sister, an even larger white orchid in a large pot that took up more space than my desk allowed. After admiring it for several minutes, I placed it on a low filing cabinet, a place where I could still appreciate it fully, but could continue to manage my desk full of paperwork, along with the accepted and rejected wooden boxes that took up the whole left side of my desk. (The right side contained my fancy computer, and in the center, in the prime spot, sat the purple orchid, the dendrobium blue of happiness. (Yes, I looked up the type of orchid.) No cards accompanied either orchid, so there was no way that the curiosity of the workers around me had been satisfied. When the Vanda Viboon Sunset Spotted Tangerine Orchid appeared the third day of the work week, the tension around me broke. Three of the ladies came marching into my office, their arms crossed, their faces sternly staring at me, and their posture informing me that they had no intention of leaving until I told them everything. “What’s his name?” Carla demanded. I knew what they meant, but there had been two and half days of their silence. I guess I was more bothered by that than I’d imagined. I teased. “The orchid? I haven’t given it a name yet. How does one tell if an orchid is male or female?” Carla practically slammed her dainty red leather pump down on the floor. The shoes looked costly. I hoped she hadn’t broken her slender pointed heel. “Listen,” Carla said, with her fancy two inch nails of deep ruby at the end of slender hands suddenly perched on her hips in frustration. “Mr. Sanders said you were going through a difficult time and that we should give you some space. We did, but that’s over. Tell us what’s going on! Who is it that’s sending the orchids?”
12.2 The Abyss of WonderLand
Penelope: There were no queries at work about my dates with the hot new man and no sly looks or secretive peeks at me as I slipped into my office. I don’t know why I expected everyone to know. They hadn’t been at that particular dinner at the Sanders’ house. But the fact that none of secretaries and assistants commented on my new long hair, the subtle gold streaks in it, or the permanent fake eye lashes and fancy eyebrows I’d suddenly manifested was surprising. So why should I feel amazed when no one remarked about my change of wardrobe? People apparently didn’t SEE. I’d never formed any truly close friendships with my work associates, but we normally sat in the lunchroom and chatted like friends. I knew details about their children, grandchildren, husbands, and boyfriends. Several of the ladies had confessed to breakups. A couple had told me about their vacation plans. We’d always been a unit, so to speak, covering for each other, fetching items when we went out on a lunch break, passing around homemade goodies or sharing such things as my box of Godiva chocolates. But even the latter didn’t cause an uproar of questions. The office personnel munched, praised, then went back to work, as if I were semi-invisible. Had I died and no one informed me of the fact? I was closest, I suppose, to Carla who sat near my desk. I was one of the fortunate ones, having an office all to myself. No cubicle for me. Mine wasn’t a swank office. No window to some incredible view, no private bathroom, no fancy paraphernalia like upper management had, but I did feel privileged (or lucky for the coincidence of moving into a job that came attached with such a pleasant office.) But no one had ever seemed jealous of the fact. We’d all gotten along socially, and, as far as I knew, there wasn’t any backstabbing gossip going on. Oh, when someone got flowers, that sometimes set off bit of teasing, but even such playfulness was light and friendly. “New boyfriend? Does your husband know?” sort of thing. So, although I did question the absence of dialogue over my personal changes, I soon forgot about it, accepting it simply as a positive in my smooth progression toward the new me. I set to work and continued to labor at my slow and tedious paperwork, checking the finances of all potential clients. For that, I spent hours on the phone and the computer, stuck in private mode, and more or less isolated from the rest of the group.
12.1 The Abyss of WonderLand
Most men would have been offended that I’d taken the lead and not let their manhood win the day, but those men got knifed in the ribs or worse. I was glad that Timothy didn’t feel like what I’d done was competition. Meanwhile, I had to admit that I was impressed by his actions. He was no slacker. He’d been quick, efficient. and incredibly skilled. It looked like the ruffian was down for the night. He was breathing fine, but he looked done in, probably more from his drugs than from our actions. Timothy inspected me, found me to be fine, then walked over to gather up my shoes. I just stood there, shaking a bit from the aftereffects of the scene. Perhaps it was the adrenaline still pumping through my system, but at that moment, I felt slightly sick. Timothy returned to my side. “May I?’ he asked, giving our surroundings a quick scan before bending over to place each shoe on a foot. Wow. Cinderella, here I come, I thought to myself, as I held onto his shoulders for balance and because I was having a bit of a delayed reaction. ***** Timothy: My blood was up, my worry that she’d be hurt was now a dull ache pushed to the back of my mind — since the action had passed. But, yes, I wanted to scream at her, and I knew I couldn’t. I curbed my impulses and gave her a rather shaky smile. I didn’t lie when I praised her. I was relieved that she had some defensive strategies. She’d handled herself calmly and precisely. Yet, it tore my insides out that she’d felt the need to learn such things. And although, I was in part reassured, it made me resolve to immediately hire bodyguards for her. I couldn’t risk another such episode, one with possibly dire results. Yet, it was a surety that I couldn’t tell her so. She would refuse them. Besides, I knew she wanted to stand on her own feet. Women sought that in this time period. Not, that I found that wrong. I’d adapted to how things changed in regard to the role of women in each period of time. I remembered some of the women I’d come to know. They would never have stood up to a common criminal. They would have died before they did more than flutter their eyelashes and cry out, “Oh, woe is me.” Yes, I’d need to allow my Penelope to cherish that feeling of confidence she had. That I could not rob her of. I would just have to endure the pain that such helplessness brought to me. Because the truth was that I wanted to be her knight in shining armor as the expression went. I thoroughly understood that drive inside me, whether it was from my age or from my histories. It was a force I’d have to restrain. *****
11.30 The Abyss of WonderLand
He was right. It wasn’t safe to be walking here. I was just about to change my mind about ambling along the less populated areas when a young man who looked like a dirty representative of the gangbanger sect appeared around the corner, jack knife at the ready. I reached into my purse and seized my can of pepper spray. It was in my right hand, cap off and ready by the time the nasty got close enough so that we could see his red eyes and drug-stained teeth. “Give me da’ money,” the man bellowed. I raised up my can and prepared to position it at the perfect angle, but Timothy was also ready. He held no weapon except his bravado of confidence. He somehow thought he could wrestle a knife from a street jerk. My defense teacher has said that was the worst thing someone could attempt. The teacher had told us to pour out our money, run, and scream. Never to fight. The villain in this scene had an unsure gait, and his knife hand look like it was agitatedly jiggling. Maybe he was too stoned to do damage, but drugs gave people super strength. It wasn’t worth fighting with him. “Okay,” I said. “I don’t have much, but you can take it all, just leave us alone, okay?” “Get behind me,” Timothy ordered, giving me a gentle shove. But I was no pushover. My self-defense training was up to date and primed. I’d already kicked off my shoes so I could bend and kick as needed. I knew I should have yelled first, but I’d never been much of a screamer. Besides, the druggie could have friends around the corner, who’d come running to see if there was profit or violence in it for them. I almost regretted not waiting to see if my moves could subdue the man, but I knew that would be foolish, so I held up my full can of instant defense that would send this deviant weeping and wailing for his mommy. “Don’t come any closer,” I said, gesturing what would happen if he did. “I’m fine,” I told Timothy. I’d already right turned the trigger tub. In a second, my finger would press down. The guy lunged forward, and I sprayed him fully in his face. Timothy never had a chance to do whatever he planned to do, but he did whip the knife out of the man’s hand, toss it over into the bushes, then give a stomach-kick that tumbled the man over his feet and flat on his back. Timothy turned to stare at me. “What a woman,” he said. “You leave me in a state of wonder.”
11.29 The Abyss of WonderLand
I must have withdrawn slightly at his words, so he hugged me closer. “Reading a book is sufficient for now, Penelope. I ask for nothing more, as long as I can remain at your side, gaze into your eyes when you look up, touch your cheek with my palm once in a while, or just sit quietly with your hand in mine. And if that is too much, simply being in your presence will be enough to give me hope for our future.” Timothy was the most handsome man I’d ever encountered. He was polished, erudite, and poised. He could have chosen any of those strangely dressed women back at the nightclub, the ones with the goddess bodies, all of it on display. I bet he only needed to snap his fingers, and a horde of them would trample each other to get to his side. Yet, here he was, proclaiming that a night of Jane Austin would be fine with him. How could that be true? Did he think I sat around in my robe and slippers with a made-up face and a hairstyle that only Simone could fashion with such skill? Did he really see ME? “Yes,” he said. “I can see that you doubt me. Don’t. I have professed my adoration, the depth of my feelings for you, even my love. I . . .” “Stop. We’ve only had ONE date. You can’t make promises based on ONE single night.” “Two. We were together at the Sanders’ house. It was there I slipped into the knowing.” Okay. That was weird. “What is the knowing?” I asked. We were standing only a few yards away from the lines of people trying to get inside the Bonded Circle Nightclub. The music was still pouring through the closed doors, not as awful as inside, but still obnoxious, as far as I was concerned. “Let’s leave. Is there somewhere we can walk? Or is it too cold?” I asked. Timothy brushed a hand over my forehead and felt my cheeks. “You are already getting chilled even with your coat on, but if you will allow me to keep you warm, we can walk a bit. Because of the nightclub. this neighborhood is not too bad, however, will you accept my dealing with any situation that should come up? Would you allow me to protect you?” “Situation?” I repeated, sounding like I’d left some of my braincells inside the nightclub. Timothy didn’t respond to my pseudo question, nor to my query about the knowing. Even without being a hundred percent sober and having pierced eardrums, I could probably figure out what he was talking about. The knowing was his way of repeating that he was enamored with me for some strange reason. The situation was about walking around San Jose at night when drug dealers, the homeless, thieves, and drunks might share the street with us.
11.28 The Abyss of WonderLand
And the smell! The nightclub had an odor that combined sweat, booze, and women’s and men’s cheap perfume and aftershave. Already, although we’d only been there a minute, my temples throbbed, and I wanted so desperately to go home, that I felt like a small animal trapped inside a cage. “You are not happy here. I can feel it in the tension of your body,” Timothy said, peering down at me. “Your eyes are shuttered, your heartrate has accelerated, almost as if you’re about a mimute from total panic. We can leave, Penelope. I will not object. I only brought you here because I thought it would amuse you.” Timothy had leaned over to speak into my ear, but I could hardly hear him. Yet, the parts that I could understand seemed to wait for my response. I didn’t hold back. “Please! Let’s go,” I said. He nodded, asked the lady for the return of our coats, placed mine around me, and then as quickly as we’d entered, we ejected ourselves out. My ears were still reeling. My head felt like someone had crushed it in a garbage compactor. Timothy took my hand. “I am glad that was not your style. I am not fond of loud noise either, but I didn’t want to seem old. I wanted you to think I was as young as you are, and still possessed the kind of joie de vivre that you display.” I knew little French, but that was one expression I was familiar with. I smiled up at him. “You’re not that much older than I am. How old are you?” He smiled, then kissed me on the forehead and said, “We’ll save that for another day, my dear. Let’s go find someplace quiet and partake of another cup of coffee if you’d like. I bet we’ll be up all night anyway. I’ve heard that’s what going out on the town means.” “I wouldn’t know,” I laughed. “I’ve never been much of a party person. My nightly activity is mainly curling up with a good book, and I usually do that in an old robe and fuzzy slippers.” I giggled rather nervously then, already regretting my words. It was not what one should say to a man who thought you were full of joie de vivre. But my worry was assuaged by the way his smile widened. “You are a delight, my dear. I’m so very glad I found you. Curled up on the couch with you at my side and a good book to peruse is exactly what I would enjoy most, well, other than certain activities which you don’t seem ready for.”
11.27 The Abyss of WonderLand
The risotto was okay. I don’t think it matched whatever the amount of its high price tag. (The girls and I could probably have bought dinner for all three of us, plus leftovers to take home with the price of my risotto. And that wasn’t including the wine.) When we got to the point that the restaurant tried to sell us dessert, I opted out. Although they had Lava Cake, one of my personal favorites, I just didn’t have the urge to expand my tummy in the slinky black dress I was wearing. Besides, the risotto had left me feeling stuffed, even though I’d only eaten a third of what was on my plate. But piggy me had also nibbled (consumed) a second bun. That was after the waiter had exchanged our basket of buns for fresh ones, just out of the oven. (Temptation overload. The way those buns smelled, oh, my!) Timothy agreed that he didn’t really want anything to top off the meal either, so we opted for coffee and sipped the delicious brew with pleasure. I took note that Timothy drank his just as I did, black — no cream, artificial sweetener, or sugar. The night was still young. He suggested we visit a nearby nightclub. I’d never been to one before so it sounded like a good idea. But when we walked there, the first thing I noticed was that there was a long line of people waiting to get in. Timothy walked us straight up to the front, flashed some kind of card at the bouncer, and we were waved in. The power of money? Or was it something else: like connections, prestige, bribes? Always curious, I wanted to ask, but we were already heading inside, and Timothy was easing my coat off me. My first reaction to the place was an ear-cringe for the volume. Music blared from speakers hung on every wall. The noise was vibrant in its beat, although the loudness attacked at a primary level, like a kindergarten playground. Screams, laughter, giggles, clinking glasses, feet stamping and low-toned conversation seemed to echo the noise all around us. Big screens clung to the wall beside the speakers, displaying scenes around the club. Mostly they showed the contortions of dancers, many of whom were practicing pre-sex body rubbings against their partner. The costumes the women were wearing displayed firm breasts, most of them heavily perspiring and almost completely dangling outside of their overly tight and thin dresses, some which were more like transparent shower curtains than clothing. In the center of the arena, up on a high stage, stood a rock group in shaggy jeans displaying rips and gouges. Their tees had been painted with graffiti. One of the men was growling into a microphone while massaging his privates. I did not belong in this place. My reaction hit with a wave of revulsion. I despised everything the place stood for: the noise, the tension, the anger, and the way hundreds of bodies were pressed too closely together in what seemed more riot-like or sexual orgasm than a simple, pleasurable night out on the town.
11.26 The Abyss of WonderLand
My glass had been filled with white wine. I can’t remember what kind of wine it was, but it was nice. I knew I’d need to be careful about sipping it. I asked for ice water in case I got thirsty from all the salty fish. The waiter had placed hors d’oeuvres on our table: green olives, carrot and celery sticks, green and red peppers and a bowl full of some kind of sauce, which I skipped. But those buns! I could have made a meal on them. Fresh bread straight from the oven was a particular weakness of mine. I limited myself to one, however. Piggies probably never got invited on second dates. Timothy and I started chatting about current events. I found my date to be knowledgeable, much more so than I was. I could tell him more about the facts I’d read in novels than what I’d seen on recent news broadcasts. But instead of being negative about my lacking knowledge concerning the stock market, politicians, and what sports teams were in the playoffs, Timothy praised my reading, commenting that he needed to broaden his own knowledge of the classics. “I can think of nothing better than to snuggle up with you, each of us reading a book while the fire keeps us toasty warm, and the cat purrs on the rug in front of our hearth,” he said. I laughed. First of all, I didn’t have a fireplace, so no raging fire, and I’d never had a pet. My mother hadn’t liked cats or dogs. She’d said they were messy and gave nothing back for all their expensive care. Now that my roommates were gone, I supposed I might be tempted to adopt a cat. I liked that purring part, but cats scratched people and furniture. How did you get the purring without the scratching? We discussed that issue for a bit, with Timothy admitting that he knew nothing about domesticated animals, having never had a pet either. I sighed and then thought about sharing my life with a soft, gentle cat. I could pet it and cuddle with it. That would be great, really. “And what is your favorite kind of cat?” Timothy asked, after I admitted that I might actually decide to get one. “Siamese, Persians, or pound cats?” I shrugged, then shook my head. We were eating our risotto by then, and although I’d vowed not to drink all my wine, the waiter kept topping it off, so I’d lost any sense of how much I’d had. I pushed my glass away and pulled my ice water closer. “I have no favorite. I guess I’ve never investigated the cat world. Maybe we could do so together?” That was stepping into muddy waters. My timid lion persona didn’t like that and tried to jerk me back. But I could tell that Timothy was pleased that I’d suggested it. “Tomorrow?” he said. “Yes. Let’s.” Okay, I’d jumped into the whole pet thing with the rapidity of a daring individual, but in my new hairstyle and makeup, not to mention my expensive dress and brand-new coat, which Timothy had handed to the restaurant greeter with the nonchalance of someone expecting such service, I felt audacious.