12.15 The Abyss of WonderLand
Andrew nodded. He and I would talk later. This wasn’t the moment to trade thoughts. But for some reason, I wanted him to approve of Penelope and to say, “Yes, I see. She’s special.” But that wasn’t necessary. The inner knowing reaffirmed every moment that she was my one. The fates had been extremely kind. I smiled. It was then I met Andrew’s eyes in the mirror. “I can feel it,” Andrew said so low it was no more than a ripple in the air currents of the limo, but it was enough for me to know that he approved. Penelope When I woke, probably because the limo’s gentle purr had changed, and I could tell that the limo was slowing down. I opened my eyes to see that my head was in Timothy’s lap, although I definitely didn’t remember putting it there. I sat up. No drool. That was the first thing I took note of, right after the position of my head relative to his lap. “Whoops, sorry,” I more or less whimpered. He chuckled with that low chest vibration of his that sent a tickle throughout my body, the kind that counseled that I needed kisses and embraces of the extremely close kind. I did my best to ignore it. “Are we at the zoo already?” I asked, resolving to brave it through and not comment about how I’d ended up with half of my body stretched out on top of his. Timothy’s eyes twinkled. (Honest, I never knew eyes could do that. His were like tiny, golden lights of suppressed laughter. Was I really that amusing?) “No. We’re stopped for that breakfast I spoke of. Anyone interested in coffee?” I broke out in a grin so wide I could feel my lips complaining. “Oh, yes. And a restroom would be nice.” The limo turned into the parking lot. There were only a sprinkling of cars around, but I still saw no place big enough for the big limo that Timothy had hired for the day. (I assume it was hired. No one actually owned a limo, did they?) “What is your driver’s name?” Timothy tilted his head as if he’d just learned something else about me and wanted to file it away in a side pocket of his brain. “Andrew. He has been with me for many years. He’s a reliable driver, a trustworthy employee, and a good friend.” I hadn’t asked for all that information, but it struck me that Timothy probably hadn’t just rented a limo and assigned his favorite driver to it. “Does that mean that you own this wooly mammoth?” That brought a toothy smile. Timothy was really devastating when he displayed one of his all-out grins. The guy was seriously creeping under my skin. It would be very easy to get used to having him as a constant in my life. As we crawled out of the limo, Andrew stood there, holding the door open with a hand outstretched to help. The chauffeur was a fine-looking black man in a jazzy black and grey uniform that didn’t prevent me from noticing that he had the kind of muscles the weightlifters down in the basement idolized.
12.14 The Abyss of WonderLand
We were heading down Interstate 280, whizzing along at a speed I doubted was legal. Most of the sights weren’t all that interesting, but I enjoyed the spaces of green. Every so often we even saw waterways, where birds had made their homes. Timothy pointed out a pelican. Nice. It was very cozy on the ultra-plush seats. I started getting sleepy before we’d gone far. I guess I yawned once too many times because Timothy grinned then stood up. I thought he was just stretching and marveled at an automobile having sufficient room to stand in, but he seemed intent on opening the cabinet next to the refrigerator. He pulled out a blanket and unfurled it, then spread it over me. “There, now you can take a nap. I have a very comfortable lap for laying your head down,” he said as he sat back down and buckled up again. Like that was going to happen. I almost snorted at the humor of it, but then another yawn hit me. “Are you saying you’d welcome drool covered pants?” I mumbled. “A love souvenir?” Timothy said through a smile I could hear, if not see. My eyes were already closed. The blanket had further disinclined me from wakefulness. I was too snug, too comfortable, and too sleepy to engage in further discussion about that subject or any other. I think I was only a minute away from sagging against his amazingly comfortable shoulder, and then it was lights out for me. Timothy Having her so near, giving me the kind of trust that said she could fall asleep sitting next to me — it was amazing. When I saw that she was breathing deeply, I slid her down into my lap, so she wouldn’t wake up with a cramped neck. That was even more incredible. I was free to drink her in, to touch her hair, to admire the delicacy of her features. She was beautiful. That was a given. I remembered how I’d felt that evening at the Sanders’ when I thought her no more than another beauty queen. What a fool I’d been, more judgmental and negative than a thousand kings. Her breath was a gentle puff against my leg. With another woman, I might have flared with sexual hunger, but not with Penelope. Oh, I wanted her, of course, but right now, my feelings for her were sternly restricted to friend mode. I absolutely refused to allow my body to respond in the way it yearned. Not yet. Not until she was ready. Looking down at her, a wave of emotion hit me. Never had I felt so much affection for anyone as I did at that moment. “She is my everything,” I whispered to Andrew.
12.13 The Abyss of WonderLand
“Actually, I love mornings,” I informed him. “Most mornings I visit the gym in the apartment basement, trying to beat the other residents to the treadmill. Most of the guys who are down there at that time are working with weights, so I can almost always catch a free machine.” We were chatting about gym equipment when we stepped out into the early morning mist. “Oh, no,” I said. “Hair frizz weather.” Timothy laughed. “That sounds delightful.” He walked us over to a large black limo, and the chauffeur standing next to the vehicle opened the door for us. “What is this? I thought we were driving,” I sputtered, staggered from the surprise of such a thing. “We’re going by car, I think I said.” I smiled at the chauffeur, then slid inside. The seats smelled of genuine leather. I was sure that someone had just treated it. Cara used to rub her fancy purse with the same substance and told me the odor reminded her of a saddlery. Inside the limo, I smiled as I wondered if I should start searching for a horse. “Wow,” I gushed after Timothy climbed in. “I’ve never been in a limo before. I missed that at my high school graduation. Some of the kids rented one, the kind with windows on the ceiling, so they could stand up and shout at people as they drove by.” I was smiling at the memory. I’d never really been into such frivolity. That was what rich kids did, not kids like me, living with a grandmother whose budget was tight. “I’m delighted to offer you a first. Life should be filled with such new experiences. Today will be a new experience for me. I’ve never visited the San Francisco Zoo. What should we see first?” We’d already fastened our seat belts, but Timothy offered me a refrigerated drink, which I refused. Drinking a liquid would mean needing to use a restroom, and San Francisco was a long, long drive. More than an hour, if I remember correctly. Timothy spread out a map of the zoo that he’d found online. I pointed. “I usually head for the cat kingdom, but on the way we pass the Lemur Forest and the African Savanna animals. I love to stop and admire the gorillas.” “That sounds like an excellent plan,” Timothy agreed.
12.12 The Abyss of WonderLand
For some reason, he started laughing. “I never know what to expect from you, my darling. But that was surely a first. I think from the expression on your face that I’ve just been rejected. No matter. I will win you over.” Before I could respond to that, he’d shut the door, and I could hear him running down the stairs, completely ignoring a perfectly good elevator. ***** Timothy Andrew was definitely not correct about my losing interest in Penelope. Of course, when he said that, he hadn’t met her. He had only heard about her from the ravings of a love-sick man, one completely infatuated and bent on wooing a bride. I could already tell that this was going to be a slow process. Penelope was skittish. She took one step forward and one step back with regularity. Yet, I think she was softening towards me. Her lips told me so, and I could read it in her eyes. She was already teetering on the brink of trust. No pressure, a slowly progressing friendship, that was the route to success. No matter what Andrew said about telling her the truth from the start. I couldn’t do that. She was still uncertain of me. Just a hint about my wealth, and she scurried away. I found that amazingly odd. Riches usually attracted women, yet it frightened Penelope. Penelope Saturday was a beautiful day weather wise, at least in San Jose, but one never knew about San Francisco. It could be foggy and damp or windy with an ocean breeze that sent chills through every sweater, jacket, or vest. Unpredictable is how I’d classify the city. I remembered one time the three of us ladies had visited SF in late August. We’d ended up buying sweatshirts and Mexican wool ponchos and still felt chilled by the icy breeze. I hoped the weather would be mild at the zoo. I wondered if I should have warned Timothy about the changeability of my favorite city’s weather. The next morning, he buzzed me earlier than I expected. I hadn’t even finished my mug of coffee. But that didn’t matter. We had a long drive ahead. I grabbed my jacket and joined him at the doorway. He kissed my cheek, then turned to go. “Are you a morning person?” he asked as he swung his arm around my shoulders.
12.11 The Abyss of WonderLand
I suppose the gape of an open mouth was probably my least redeeming feature, but it was better than letting out a rant about how I wasn’t a rich person who could afford to splash money around when I could barely handle the rent on my living quarters. As if he understood, Timothy held up his hand. “Easy, my sweetling. We’ll just drive to San Francisco for the day and have a picnic lunch. Then, we can return when the park closes. Is that acceptable?” I nodded, feeling a bit like a party pooper at that point. Timothy had suggested such a marvelous idea for going to a place I’d been wanting to go, and I’d immediately stamped on it, probably rudely, too. But Timothy didn’t act upset. He just asked to use my tablet so he could check San Francisco’s zoo hours. “Ten to five,” he said after a minute. “Perfect. That means we could leave here around eight, but then we’d hit traffic. I’ll make a deal with you. If we leave a five, we could eat breakfast in a small coffee shop near the zoo, and by doing that, we could sail down the freeway, avoiding most of the traffic. Does that sound good?” Of course, I nodded. I even praised his clear thinking. He smiled, picked up my hand, and after one of his incredible hand kisses, bid me goodnight. As I was seeing him out, he turned to look at me. “Another time we can be truly adventurous and go down to San Diego. I’d be willing to book us two rooms if that’s what you’re worried about.” I would guess that my cheeks, which had warmed from the idea of even separate rooms, were sending out beacons about being a prude, but I needed to make it clear to Timothy that it was something different that was bothering me. I absolutely couldn’t be a big spender. Before I could get that thought out, Timothy added, “You know I plan to marry you. That means that whatever I have is yours. No more money worries, my dear. You deserve a shift in thinking. If you want something, buy it. If you need cash, ask.” That caused me a sputter and a half. Was this a marriage proposal? Did Timothy think I wanted to be a bubble-headed, kept woman?
12.10 The Abyss of WonderLand
One of my normal zoo passages entailed a quick glance at the alligators and the monkeys. Monkeys sometimes got a longer pause unless they became angry and started throwing their poop. Most people skipped the snakes and spiders, but everyone seemed to love watching the otters and seals. Everyone, nowadays, usually avoided the elephants because those gray giants were controversial. I often wished I could feed them peanuts or offer them a fruit. It made me sad that they were deserted when they were so social and acted as if they enjoyed the interactions with their trainers. But they were herd animals, and it was sad to think they’d been stolen from their friends and relatives. But back to the crowds of people. The afternoon mostly brought the parents to the playground where the kiddies had fun on the monkey bars and other climbing equipment. An ice cream cone came after that, and then it was time for the gift shop. I saw the families exiting the zoo several hours before it closed. I suppose the check off on their bucket list was fulfilled. I sometimes heard the parents making promises to their children that they’d all return soon. That was a happy thought. Zoos had a lot of expenses. I had splurged on a pass since I revisited frequently. My zoo outings required lingering. I took my lunch and studied the felines. They were my favorite. The only time they peeked at me was early in the morning. In the evening, when I stayed with them that long, the predatory animals were too busy pacing, hungry for their dinner. But moments were caught, moments when the huge male lion rubbed his head against the female. I liked to think that meant love, but it’s doubtful. We humans tended to relate all gestures to our own human behavior system. But there were also the cubs, who made playtime so highly entertaining. I often laughed when they charged each other or ran about like wind-up toys at the peak of their energy level. My least favorite of the zoo animals were the flamingoes, which seemed to be many people’s favorite. I couldn’t stand the smell of them. They reeked. But I’ll admit that from a distance, they were pretty, and standing for hours on one foot was pretty amazing. That was a stunt I’d never achieve with my gawkiness. I explained my usual habits to Timothy, and he said he was game to try it my way. “I’ll pack a lunch,” I told Timothy, but he shook his head. “This is my date. I get to choose the contents of our picnic basket.” As we continued our zoo discussion, I explained how I’d heard that the San Francisco and San Diego zoos were the best. Los Angeles has a nice zoo, too, or at least, I’d been told so. San Jose just has a little children’s zoo. “There’s not that much to see, but I like to visit anyway.” Timothy looked thoughtful a moment. “Then we’ll go to San Francisco. Or we could make it an overnighter and head down to San Diego instead.”
12.9 The Abyss of WonderLand
I made a face. I wasn’t fond of talking about myself. It was too sad — and dull as unseasoned lima beans. “I went to school. I rode my bike. I played volleyball with my friends. There. Finished. Your turn.” He laughed again. “That’s amazing. An academic, a two-wheeled contortionist, and an expert at ball over net. I knew you were exceptional.” It went on and on like that — the joking around, the exchange of stories, and the laughter. There were some serious moments like when we talked about how zoos were being picketed despite the fact that they were keeping certain species from complete eradication. I defended zoos by adding that they were a well-known place for bringing injured wildlife so vets could nurse them to health and then set the animals back into their native habitat. “People just aren’t aware of the good zoos do,” I noted, sighing wistfully. “I think you just solved one of my next dilemmas,” Timothy said with a squeeze to the hand he was holding. “And what is that?” I asked, disconnecting my hand so I could stand up and do a quick stretch. Timothy, like an old-time gent, stood up, too. “Our next date, on Saturday, we can go to the zoo together. Agreed?” I’d always been a pushover for zoos. I usually meandered among the animals by myself. It was easier than arguing that watching the animals was the important part of visiting. Even Cara and Sammy grew impatient with my need to spend quality time with the animals. Most people treated zoos like they did art galleries: a quick walk, a glance to the left, then the right. Whoops, time to go. I liked to visit the zoo and sit on a bench, watching the animals, observing how they interacted with each other, and noting what they liked to do. Because I sat for a while, the animals sometimes even paid attention to my presence. They became as fascinated with me as I was with them. Of course, my zoo observations also included the other visitors. I watched as couples pushed their strollers about, restless children whined for ice cream, the flirtatious teenagers, who completely ignored the zoo animals chatted loudly and kissed, the small boys who poked at each other, then raced around obstacles until a zoo official calmed them down. . . The zoo visitors were almost as interesting as the zoo animals in their individual habitats.
12.8 The Abyss of WonderLand
When Sammy moved in, she’d brought with her a few odd souvenirs from her past: a poster of France, although she’d never been there, some trophies she’d won at tennis events, a modern art sculpture, which she claimed was a sea horse, and knickknacks from here and there. The apartment had looked more lived in with her collection. I guess I needed to spice up the apartment again, if money ever flowed more freely. I did have some nice paintings that Cara had left behind. She’d added seven of her paintings to our stark walls, none of them of the statue, David. Mostly, they were flower arrangements, trees, and one really pretty sketch of a mother with her child that had been done in art class. I’d looked around the first day Timothy visited and wondered if I should try to make a statement of my own, but what would I want to hang on the walls? Pictures of nature, wild animals, copies of famous works of art? It was something to think about, especially if I didn’t get another roommate. Timothy was a very good guest. He didn’t complain, move things around, take off his shoes and socks, or even pick up an art book to thumb through it as Simone had done. “You can check out the coffee table books if you want,” I’d told him. “They actually belong to Cara, but she left them in my care.” “So, she’ll be coming back?” “Probably not. Besides Cara wasn’t really a roommate. She just spent most of her time here with Sammy and me. We had great fun together. Lots of laughs. The two of them often forced me play a game where we had to draw sketches. I totally flunked. My drawings belong in a kindergarten classroom.” “It took me four years to paint like Raphael, but a lifetime to paint like a child.” That was a Picasso quote, right?” I nodded. “Yes, because a child paints with simplicity and creativity. I guess if my sketches had been purple cows with multiple eyes and a background with a green sun, Cara wouldn’t have laughed so hard,” I told him and then I laughed because I couldn’t imagine myself painting such things. “Come sit by me, Miss Bunny Rabbit Feet.” “Did I thank you for the slippers?” He nodded. “Yes, several times. I may be on to something. You were more enthusiastic over fuzzy slippers than the orchids I sent.” “No. It’s just that slippers are more fun.” I was laughing fully by then since I knew he was only joking. His face was a crease of smiles. Even his teeth were flashing in amusement over our conversation. Timothy pulled me down beside him and slid me closer. “Yes. This is exactly what I imagined. Cozy and quiet. And plenty of time to get to know each other. Tell me about your childhood.”
12.7 The Abyss of WonderLand
Timothy had brought us pasta, picked up at a local Italian restaurant. Lots of garlic, but since we both ate it, I guess that wouldn’t matter. The meal was certainly delicious. Clean-up was easy, too, although I insisted that all the take-away dishes needed to be hauled downstairs to the outside garbage can. Anyone who lives in a small apartment can tell you how remnants of such things, even when enclosed in a plastic bag, saturate the air and creep into the walls to become an apartment’s permanent odor. After hearing my explanation, Timothy and I gathered up our garbage and walked it downstairs. Even that was fun with him. Who knew there was so much comedy in garbage dumping? The first time Timothy had visited, I’d opened the door to each bedroom, pointed to the space, labeled it, then shut the door. I’d presumed that nothing more was needed than a quick peek. Simone hadn’t even been given that tour. I realized I’d been an inadequate hostess for her visit. But weren’t all apartments more or less the same? White walls, bedrooms, living room, and kitchen. My apartment had two bathrooms, a rarity in areas with high rents, but the most important demand of my grandmother when her own house had been condemned was separate bedrooms. She’d told me that old people had their needs and that was her primary one. But then, she’d announced that I was a growing young lady and needed my own bathroom, too. Anyway, Timothy had been shown what there was to see and had only commented that the apartment seemed quite comfortable. I think seeing the garbage dump was a whole new close-up. Dumping trash in a big bin outside was obviously something he’d never done before. He seemed mesmerized by the fact that a garbage truck came by regularly to pick up our detritus. It seemed as if he’d been distanced from such modern marvels. Didn’t they have garbage bins where he lived? When we returned inside, Timothy made himself comfortable on the old couch. He hadn’t commented about the furniture’s shagginess or that my apartment looked sparse since most of the decorative items were now gone, having belonged to either Cara or Sammy. My grandmother’s things had been of the senior sort, and, after her death, I‘d packaged them up and donated them to a local charity store. I hoped that someone would appreciate souvenir items from Hawaii, Las Vegas, and New York. Especially the hulu girl and a small copy of the bull whose original full-sized one actually lived in front of the New York stock exchange.
12.6 The Abyss of WonderLand
Someone pushed the button on the ground floor call box, and when I heard his voice, I buzzed in Timothy. On the day I’d received all the presents, that box hadn’t been working, but it was fixed now. That meant a double layer of protection, one of the reasons I liked living in this particular apartment complex. The building lacked the pool, fancy gym, and garage parking of the more expensive sites in the area, but that made it reasonable enough for me to afford it. Well, it would be viable, if I still had a roommate to share in the rent. Whether or not I should be trying to get someone to pay half of the expenses was something I was still debating. No one would be like Sammy, but maybe there’d be someone equally considerate, someone who wouldn’t blare music twenty-four hours or bring a stream of guys around who walked about semi-clothed and raided the refrigerator of even the things marked clearly with my name. And then there were the thieving roommates, pawing through your clothing when you were gone, or the ones who weren’t dependable for paying the rent. Even worse were the druggies or heavy drinkers. Some roommates, I’d heard, left the door unlocked or walked about in a fog of carelessness. Getting a roommate was a big risk. It would be a major decision if I chose that gamble, and I dreaded advertising and then having to interview people. Better to be poor, than to sink that low. Or so I rationalized. Maybe I’d post the sharing at San Jose State or ask Judy if she knew anyone who needed a comfortable place to live. Referrals would be much safer. The doorbell rang, and I invited Timothy in. He’d been at my place before. He scanned it briefly, then took a second look at the roses. I supposed that they needed to be tossed out soon, but I hated to do so. Their fragrance still permeated my apartment. I’d try to dry the petals and see if the fragrance lingered in the potpourri they’d make. I had on my new slippers and that broke the ice between us, the stiffness that always came from having a stranger in my apartment. I trusted Timothy, yet this new dating thing still made me feel uneasy. There was also the fact that Timothy felt really, really large in my small-sized living room and even worse in the kitchen, when he entered it to unload the dinner he’d brought. It made me see my apartment differently, through another person’s eyes. My grandmother and I had lived here just fine. Then, after she died, I’d gotten several problem roommates. That was a nightmare times three. When Sammy had interviewed, my luck had changed. She’d become my best friend. But none of my roommates had made my apartment seem as small as it did with Timothy standing in it. I shrugged off that thought and waited to see what he’d brought for dinner, almost as excited as a kid on Christmas morning.