12.25 The Abyss of WonderLand
The last two pictures he had so far found for the ocean room exhibited the sea from the beach, looking out into the horizon. They were both morning reflections. One gave us a sea lion looking up, as if he were noting a person on the beach. But it was subtly done, the viewer had to draw close, to notice the seal. As a juxtaposition, the display was perfect. I couldn’t stop praising Timothy for the framings, his selection of paintings, and the way he’d displayed it all so brilliantly. He was a professional art connoisseur, yet he seemed pleased with my gushing praise. As Timothy filled up the rest of his rooms, he continued to ask for and receive my opinion about everything, and he was always encouraging when I gave it. We spent many evenings there as his gallery approached the perfection he desired, and I loved every moment and told him so. As the big opening arrived, Timothy, although I know he had a manager who was arranging the PR, catering, and all that went into planning such a big event, still I would imagine that Timothy must have been on pens and needles for the actual revealing. If the gallery was to be a success, then the reviewers must sing the paintings’ praises, the right people must be suitably impressed over the gallery, and the pros of the art world and their clientele would need to be overwhelmingly awe-struck, or at least give favorable appraisals that would convince people to come visit. It was quite a load to carry. But, despite all that, Timothy never grouched at me, nor snapped. He even made sure that Simone chose a magnificent dress so that I would feel good about being his arm candy (his words, not mine.) I’d have preferred to stay home and hear the results afterward, but that was not allowed. Timothy said, “I need you,” and that was that. I’d never been needed before. How could I turn him down? And so, the big night arrived. Simone helped me become the movie star character I needed to be, my hair a graceful fall with parts entwined like a wreath. My makeup shone with hints of silver shining above my eyes. The contours of my face were artfully designed a la glamour queen. When I looked in the mirror, it wasn’t me, which in a way helped, because the real me wouldn’t be the one in front of flashing cameras. I was in a costume, merely pretending. Simone laughed at that when I told her. “You are beautiful, you silly girl. Radiant, in fact. There is no play acting in your appearance.”
12.24 The Abyss of WonderLand
The orchids had stopped coming, but not the gifts. A plate of cookies “for the staff” arrived, a bouquet of flowers for the breakroom, fancy coffee flavors showed up one day, along with a new single serve coffee machine. I knew the source of all these goodies, and I appreciated that Timothy was no longer embarrassing me by putting me in the spotlight. If my co-workers guessed at the reason for these treats, they probably thought it was Mr. Sanders. I think he was showered with thanks, which he covered with curt nods and always absented himself immediately, as if we’d all ganged up to ask for a day off. And my paycheck! Mr. Sanders had doubled my salary. I thought the first time I peeked at my pay stub that there must have been some computing error, but when I went to bookkeeping, I was assured that it was the amount inputted by my boss. Of course, I never said anything to anyone, except Timothy. How could I? But it relieved a great deal of pressure from my shoulders. I actually began that retirement fund I’d been talking about. I set it to automatic so that I wouldn’t be tempted to splurge on anything. Although I continued to explain that I had no background in art, Timothy often showed me pieces that he liked at his under-construction-gallery. Sometimes, he asked me to sort through the albums of works he was considering. At first that felt like a vice squeezing my confidence, or lack of it, I guess, but when I discussed my choices, attempting a kind of nonchalance he wouldn’t allow, Timothy approved my judgements and actually seemed to enjoy hearing my opinions. Timothy’s art gallery was almost ready for its opening. It was the most incredible place. He obviously had good taste. Nothing was extreme, and he’d actually bought two genuine Turners, (something that should have been impossible since they were hoarded like a dragon’s gold.) I couldn’t wait to get to see them. When they arrived, I sat staring at them. Chaos and turbulence were often Turner’s theme, but I saw that these weren’t like that. They showed the artist’s interest in ships, the setting of the sky, and the ocean water. Sure there was darkness in the paintings, but he had appreciated that dichotomy, as if the darkness of ugliness could be overcome by the light of goodness. Timothy told me that he planned to balance them with a couple of ocean scenes by several local artists. Those new works showed the opposite of Turner’s pieces. For two of them, the ocean displayed the peacefulness of evening, with the sun sinking into the gentle swells of tranquility. Another let us experience the ocean during a rainstorm, but there was no darkness in the canvas. It was more about the water cycle, not in a scientific manner, but artistically. Something to be appreciated, something satisfying to the senses.
12.23 The Abyss of WonderLand
I have at my fingertips more magic than a thousand men. I have the wisdom of ages and the money of long term planning, which my darling was discussing so innocently — all that juicy long term interest that accumulates so readily when held in a fat trust account, monitored by those of a similar sort as Simone and me. I have more power than the president of this country, yet, one fair maiden leaves me trembling and unsure. It is a severe comeuppance for someone like me. And patience, which I know wise people historically say is a virtue, is not a quality that I was apparently supplied with. Penelope: In the days and weeks that followed, Timothy and I had numerous little dates, most of them insignificant, except we grew to know each other better. Often he would bring dinner by or pick me up at work and want to show me something, like San Jose at night. Sometimes, we’d go to a show and/or get a light dinner in a local café where big, fancy meals didn’t intimidate me. We visited the Sandors’ for a couple of meals. Judy, having fulfilled her plan for me, no longer pushed for me to meet eligible bachelors. I guess she could tell that I was completely happy with Timothy. I’m sure it was obvious because I couldn’t stop smiling at him, and we touched often. A closure of hands, a tap on the arm, the way he corralled me with his arm around my shoulders, even when we were sitting on the couch, they were lovers’ touches, weren’t they? But nothing was said. I think there were some exchanges between my boss and Timothy, but I assume they were chatting about business, while Judy and I discussed Simone and her miracle-working salon. I’d gone back there several times, too, on Simone’s insistence. She never accepted my money and always had a new outfit she wanted me to try on. The hair treatments she gave me made my hair shine and brought out the color, as she put it. Since there were no more drugged teas, I was content to chat with her. It was strange how she was always the one to work on me. Her “girls” as she called them, never did. I don’t know why I was treated so specially. I figured it must be connected to Timothy or Judy. But for whatever reason, even my co-workers always remarked about my hair after a visit with Simone. Obviously, the treatments did something for me since there was constant praise of my appearance among the ladies.
12.22 The Abyss of WonderLand
“But, the funny part, Timothy, is that when I did get called into the boss’ office, he gave me a raise! I’m not really sure how much that is. He might have told me, and I was too much in shock to hear, mainly because I was being praised instead of fired, but I’m getting a raise! It’s the coolest thing ever. Now, maybe, I won’t need to find a roommate. Although, I should because I need to start saving for retirement.” “Retirement?” Timothy said, raising an eyebrow. “Well, someday. We’re supposed to start early so that the interest will compound. All the financial advisements say that.” “Very true. But before you worry about retiring, let’s celebrate your success.” I think he meant by that to order champagne, but I was the one paying for this dinner, and I wasn’t about to add a fancy bottle of anything to the check. “I’ll tell you what,” I said. “Let’s just touch our water glasses and smile at each other. That’s my kind of celebration.” So we ate our enchiladas and refried beans and enjoyed the evening. And, as I said, when the check came, I paid the bill. Timothy: I swear this independent streak of hers is both adorable and irritating. I have never met anyone like her, which I guess is the reason why I’m madly in love. I firmly believe that wooing ought to be easier than this. I should be able to swoop her up in my arms and carry her off into the sunset (or her bed, since I’m now living in modern times.) Andrew says this slowness is good for me, that it will teach me patience and to appreciate Penelope more (once I have finally won her heart.) How would that be possible? She has already become the center of my being. Every moment is spent on wondering how I can speed up this process. I can see that she is now more relaxed around me. Her fears have subsided, mostly. But Andrew continually harps about how I have to tell her the truth. How can he say that after what happened to him? The truth is the reason his wife left him. Which is why I’m afraid to tell Penelope. What if she ran from me? What if telling her the truth meant that I’d lose her forever?
12.21 The Abyss of WonderLand
Penelope: Timothy was as good as his word. On Monday at work, no orchid came waltzing into my office in the hands of a delivery person. Instead, a very young, probably college boy, bowed to me, and began to sing: “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine . . .” I’m afraid that totally stopped all work in the office. Everyone poured into my office, wanting to get in on this strange new happening. I endured the full length of the song, thanked the man, and tried to tip him, but he wouldn’t accept my money. Once more, I heard the refrain, “I’ve already been splendidly tipped for this. Thank you. Goodbye.” As he left, the ladies all clapped for him, so he took another bow. Later in the afternoon, my boss asked me to step into his office. I knew exactly what he was going to say. All this work-stopping production due to Timothy’s manipulations needed to stop. I hoped I wouldn’t be fired for it. I’d be happy to promise my boss extra hours, if needed. I absolutely couldn’t afford to lose my job. Mr. Sanders ordered me to sit down and then began to talk. His face didn’t look angry. In fact he was grinning! I was dumbfounded to hear something entirely different from what I’d imagined. “I have decided that due to your excellent work,” my boss said, then went on to describe several accounts I’d worked on in the last few weeks. Because of that, I am giving you a raise. It is long overdue, and you deserve it.” I was too stupefied to say much other than thank you, but as I left his office, the beating of my heart slowed down from its riotous terror about getting fired. Mr. Sanders hadn’t even mentioned the orchids and the singing. I breathed a sigh of relief, letting out the tension. Then, I began to smile. In fact, I felt like doing the old kick in the air of great joy. I might have done so if I weren’t still in the office with a bunch of people working. (And, besides, I knew that if I tried to do such a bizarre stunt, I’d fall flat on my butt.) But I’m sure there was a new lightness to my step, or maybe it was the sudden buoyancy my body felt. I was almost sure I could fly. When I met Timothy for dinner that night — where I paid — and berated him (softly) for the singing of Sunshine, or whatever the old piece was called, I explained. “It was really, really sweet, Timothy, but I thought it was going to get me fired. I can’t get fired. I need that job,” I told him. “No more singing,” he agreed, sighing with a bit of a shady smile.
12.20 The Abyss of WonderLand
I think Timothy just ignored my words as he threw his arm over my shoulder and walked me inside. The waitress seated us without any wait. Obviously, we were too early for the dinner rush. But by stopping early, we’d not only avoid the heavy traffic heading back to San Jose, but it would allow us to dine in leisure, not being pressured by people waiting for a table. The meal was elegantly prepared. We both got squash ravioli, and it came with green beans, carrots, and Brussel sprouts, which was an odd combination, but seasoned to perfection. Everything was delicious. Apparently walking in the zoo all day really spurred one’s appetite. Afterwards, Timothy even talked me into dessert. Blueberry cheesecake, and it was beyond words. When the waitress came back to ask if we’d like more coffee, I asked for the check. Her eyes widened, and she said, “But it’s already paid for by that man over there.” Andrew. I hadn’t even seen him come into the restaurant. I thanked the waitress and then glared at Timothy. “Darn you. I said I was going to pay for dinner.” Timothy just shook his head, shrugged his shoulders, and circled his arm around my shoulders. “I adore you,” he said as we walked outside and climbed back into the limo. Timothy: After dropping off a very tired-looking Penelope, I ran down the stairs and hurled myself into the front seat of the limo. Andrew glanced at me, smiling. “Well, what did you think, Andrew?” I asked. “Is this honesty time?” he said, risking a sideways glance at me. I nodded, disturbed that he’d even needed to ask me that. I was always up front with him and hoped he’d do the same. “She’s running scared, and you haven’t even told her the zinger, yet. If this is the ONE, you’re going to have to let her pay for something and loosen up on your need to take care of her. I mean, I understand the two bodyguards you placed on her. Good luck with that, though. If she spots them, you’re in big trouble.” “They’re professionals. As to the money thing, she is gasping for breath. Her roommate left her in the lurch for rent, and I think she’s paying most of her salary just to live there.” “So get her a raise.” I shot a look at Andrew. He was starting up the car again, ready to drive me home. I didn’t punch him in the arm for his clever idea, but instead just exclaimed. “You’re brilliant, Andrew, which is exactly why I pay you your big buck salary.” He chortled, turned into traffic, and remained silent the rest of the way home.
12.19 The Abyss of WonderLand
We walked through the lizard, iguana and snake area, and even gaped at the amazing frogs, but that was our shortest visit of all. Neither one of us cared to stay and watch them for long. I think we were both getting tired by the koala crossing, and I never liked to stay long at the flamingo encampment. The smell always gave me a headache. I was sorry we didn’t make it to the prairie dog and meerkat areas, but I’d be back. Timothy said he was willing to come again too, “Only to see you ooh and aah over the animal’s cuteness,” he told me, but I think he’d actually enjoyed the zoo as much as I had. Timothy spoke into his phone, letting Andrew know we were heading out, and so by the time we made it back to the main entrance, we had only a few minutes to wait before our driver pulled up. We weren’t the only ones exiting, so Andrew again didn’t get out of the car to open the door for us. A frowning guard was looking like he was about to write out a ticket if we didn’t scurry away from the gate. (We managed to insert ourselves without Andrew’s door holding just fine.) There was a bit of traffic bottle nosing as we approached the exit, but we were back on the major road within minutes. Timothy handed me a water bottle, and I sank deep into the seat, enjoying the luxury of relaxing on comfortable seats. “Thank you for sharing the zoo with me,” Timothy said. “What? I’m the one who needs to thank you for a perfect day. You paid for everything and you put up with my needing to spend time bench-watching some of the animals. The next date is on me. I don’t think it’s right for you to have to be . . .” “If your pride disturbs your pleasure, I will permit it, but money is not an issue for me. It is my delight to bring you joy. I told you that.” I sighed. Sometimes Timothy was just too good to believe. I was getting sleepy again. It was the motion of the car. I don’t know how other people keep wide awake. But Andrew pulled off onto a side street, slowed down, then stopped in front of a nice-looking restaurant. “Dinnertime,” Timothy said. “Okay — if you let me pay.”
12.18 The Abyss of WonderLand
We continued our leisurely walk through the maze of the zoo, passing mandrills, monkey and river otters, and ending up at the lion house where Andrew was waiting for us with the picnic lunch that Timothy had promised. Unbelievable. The two of them had planned for everything. Sandwiches of three kinds: cheese, ham, and turkey, plus sodas, water, chips, fruit, and cookies. I praised the thought that had gone into the selection and the clever way everything had been packaged so neatly with ice packs, napkins, and even a tablecloth. When we’d eaten all we wanted, Andrew came back from the bench he’d been sitting at and packed up all our leftovers. I know he’d been eating lunch when we did, but I didn’t feel comfortable about him having to eat by himself. It seemed wrong. Timothy only laughed. “He could eat with us if he wanted, Penelope. He’s a loner, happier to be off by himself.” When Andrew returned to pick up our much lighter basket, I asked him if he wanted to join us and see the rest of the zoo. His eyes crinkled and a smile broke out, but he shook his head. “You two do your thing. I’ll meet you with the limo when you’re ready to leave.” He started to walk away, then turned. “I like you, Penelope. Thanks for the invite.” I might have said more, but his long strides had him halfway down the path before I thought up something to say. Timothy and I strolled by the rhinos, penguins, and seals, then visited the bears and wolves, saw some wild horses, then moseyed by the Komodo dragons, anteaters and the wolverine’s lair (We didn’t see the wolverine. He was hiding or else taking a siesta.) Of course, we piled into the Little Puffer Steam Train. It circled the whole park and was a lot of fun, especially since it was filled with kids going, “Look!” just like were. We paused to use the facilities and ate ice cream cones, then continued on. A new construction held a virtual reality theater. We saw something about gorillas that was amazing. When we entered the tropical rainforest and aviary, Timothy pulled out pictures with the names of the birds that he’d copied from the Online Zoo’s Bird Identification Chart, so we were able to figure out which bird was which as we spotted them. That was fun. The scarlet ibis wowed us both, but my favorite was actually the blue-singed teal. He wasn’t flashy like some of the parrots, and seemed a rather humble little bird, but I think he had a great personality.
12.17 The Abyss of WonderLand
Next Andrew drove us to the Dutch Windmill. That was something else completely wacky. In front of it was the Wilhelmina Garden, full of flowers — tulips, in fact. We’d been transported to Holland! The windmill seemed to be working well, and the flowers were so perfectly colorful I almost believed they were fake, but they weren’t. I saw a small child pick one and wave it about. His parents scolded, and a guard came storming over. Andrew drove us next to Rainbow Falls. I’d been to San Francisco lots of times and never seen any of this. The falls were artificial, but in a lovely setting of greenery. In front was a water dragon named Naga. I’m not sure why they constructed it there, but it was fun, especially when the dragon started blowing bubbles! As we walked back to the limo, I told Timothy how delighted I was to get to see all these marvels. In fact, I was so thrilled that I threw my arms around the man and gave him a gigantic hug of thanks. “You’re absolutely wonderful,” I said, kissing his cheek. Back in the vehicle, Andrew turned about and looked at us. “There is a lot more to see in San Franciso, he told us, but if you want to be at the zoo when it opens, I’ll need to head out.” I cheered for the zoo, so Andrew turned back around and we were almost immediately immersed in traffic. It wasn’t far, though, even with too many people on the road. Twenty minutes later, Andrew drove in through the parking ticket entrance, then onward to the main entry way, pausing for us to get out. He didn’t open the door for us, not with a couple of guards glaring at him. I wondered what Andrew would do with a stretched limo. Where would he park the monstrously huge vehicle? I asked Timothy, but he just shrugged and said, “Andrew knows those things.” Since Timothy had gotten our tickets online, ours was the easiest entry ever. We showed our tickets, then walked on in, passing by the lemur forest, admiring the giraffes and zebras, and then stopping to sit on a bench in front of the gorilla preserve. We’d picked up coffees at a snack cart beside it and sipped the delicious brew as a huge gorilla studied us while we studied him. It was a mutual appreciation society, obviously.
12.16 The Abyss of WonderLand
“Thank you, Andrew,” I said. “The drive was wonderful. You’re an excellent . . .” “Enough apple polishing, Penelope. He knows you were asleep the whole time and didn’t pay any attention to his driving,” Timothy said, clapping Andrew on the back with a fond pat. “Thank you, Ma’am,” Andrew said with a huge grin. Timothy and he exchanged friendly looks a second before the chauffeur gave a stiff bow, closed the door, and stepped back into the front seat of the limo. “He doesn’t get breakfast?” “Judy told me that you’re always concerned with others. That’s a nice attribute, Penelope, but isn’t coffee calling?” The Smothered Egg had scrumptious omelets with pancakes on the side. Their coffee was made with filtered water, and I could tell that their brewers used top quality coffee beans. The bathroom had been pristine. And the restaurant in general was sparkling clean. It was a great place to stop. I was also delighted to see that Andrew had come in to have breakfast. I wondered if Timothy would pick up his chauffeur’s check. Was that the way it was normally dealt with? I never got to determine that because when we were ready to go, I found out that Andrew had already paid our tab. What was up with that? Did Andrew have Timothy’s credit care or something? We loaded back into the limo. Traffic was still light, but the zoo didn’t open until ten o’clock, so we had time for Andrew to drive us through Golden Gate Park. Timothy wanted to see the buffaloes in the Bison Paddock. I’d never heard of wild animals being corralled in the middle of a big city. I scoffed at Timothy’s words, but he was right. When Andrew got us close enough to see the sign directing us Bison Paddock, we had to get out of the car because the road was closed to traffic, but it wasn’t far to walk. Seeing a whole herd of buffaloes was beyond belief. I mean we were in the land of skyscrapers, in one of the most populated cities in California. But there they were. Most of the shaggy beasts were grazing, but a few were sleeping, or chewing their cuds like their cousins, the cows. I think all of them had long, pointed horns, which made me glad that the bison weren’t free to roam about the park. A crowd of tourists were crowding in to watch the animals. Many of the people were speaking in foreign languages and snapping pictures and selfies right and left. I wasn’t sure I’d want to turn my back on horned wild creatures, but while Timothy and I were standing there by the fence, no one got backstabbed. When Timothy and I returned to the limo, we were both laughing and breathless, too. Buffalos in the middle of a city like San Francisco? It was bizarre, but absolutely cool.