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.
11.25 The Abyss of WonderLand
“Eyes follow you everywhere, my love.” Timothy whispered, drawing my hand to his side. “As long as their owners do not attempt to steal you away from me, I will ignore them.” I made a low-pitched noise of disagreement, pft! I guess you’d call it. Whatever it was, it made Timothy smile. “You’re adorable, Penelope. I don’t know how I lasted all these years without you. You make me laugh.” I’m not sure that was what I was aiming for, but at least it was something better than the emotion I’d gotten from the guys I’d met before who either yawned or fidgeted while searching their phones for something every time I opened my mouth. The waiter miraculously appeared, handed us the opened menu, took Timothy’s selection of wine, then moved away. I started reading. No prices. That was the first thing I noticed, and then I examined the offerings. Truffles, pork tenderloin with apricots and cranberries, cognac cream sauces. . . the goat cheese dishes were so prevalent I figured that they must have a goat out in the backyard. Thankfully, seeing my confusion, Timothy offered to choose for both of us. After checking with me about any allergies, he ordered us some kind of sea food risotto that he said contained a variety of sea life. That sounded interesting. But first the waiter delivered our house salad, an expression that always made my friends and me laugh. (We’d decided that house salad should actually be shavings of dried house paint, a joke no one else appreciated.) But this house salad had delicious treats mixed in with its very fresh greens and shavings of carrot and purple cabbage. In addition, there were glazed pecans, tiny cherry tomatoes, small balls of goat cheese, and a couple of beet slices which decorated the salad. And, they brought out warm buns, which were the most delicious buns I’d ever tasted. I guess I was oohing and aahing, although I hadn’t meant to do anything that gauche. But Timothy stopped that with a gentle remark about how a woman who savored food with an abundance of admiring sounds, was said to equally appreciate the arts of the bedroom. It took a moment for that to filter in, but when I understood, I kept my appreciation silent. Timothy, watching my face, just laughed softly, then picked up my hand and kissed it.
11.24 The Abyss of WonderLand
Penelope Our walk to the restaurant was at first quiet. Timothy seemed troubled by something, but all at once, his smile came back full force, and he apologized for not giving me his full attention. Then, as if he’d suddenly come alive again, he showered me with questions and answered mine with an ease that told me that his words held no lies. The walk became enjoyable, and holding his hand, such a high school thing to do, was more pleasurable than I remembered it being. The date progressed well after that. Timothy’s conversation was light and fun, and I could tell that he was interested in me, because he listened. He also remembered the things we’d discussed at the Simons’ house. Despite his wealth and his statue of David appearance, I began to believe that Timothy was someone I could feel comfortable with. I wondered why no one had snapped him up. He would surely be the most popular male at any function. And yet, Judy and Simone had both mentioned that no one had clicked with him. How was that possible? At one point, I asked about the restaurant we were heading to. Timothy named a place I’d never heard of. I hoped my fancy dress wouldn’t be out of place there. But he was dressed well: his suit had been specially cut for him, his tie was silk, and the shoes he was wearing were obviously of an expensive Italian brand. Cara’s artists friends had cued me in on such things. I wasn’t a snob, of course, but thanks to their instruction, I knew how to tell such things. When we arrived, it reminded me of Simone’s fancy styling salon. No doubt it was the number one place to be with its thick dark red carpet, elaborate crystal chandeliers, and the twinkling lights all about which gave it an almost magical feel. The host seated us immediately, and the maître d was at our table practically before we sat down. The man gave a slight bow to Timothy and then assured us that the waiter he’d especially chosen for us would meet all our needs. My friends and I had dined out rarely, but when we did it was at pizza parlors, Mideastern, or Asian restaurants. We ‘d never gone anywhere with cloth napkins, white tablecloths, sparkling water goblets, and maître d’s. I swallowed hard, nervous as a sheep surrounded by wolves. Others had looked up when we entered. Eyes appraised, scouring my dress and Timothy’s style. Even when we sat down and the maître d left, the glances continued, somewhat obtrusively as if their interest were an illicit secret.
11.23 The Abyss of WonderLand
Timothy I had chosen a restaurant that we could walk to, so that Penelope wouldn’t be intimidated by my vehicle and driver. Besides, it was a lovely evening. A pleasant walk would suit us for getting to know each other. Plus, I’d have an excuse to put my arm around her or at least to hold her hand. The restaurant had been recommended by several people I knew, and, according to Andrew wasn’t easy to get seating on a busy night, but I knew that Andrew would get us in. That was his specialty, one could say. Andrew had not only made the reservation but had demanded a pleasant corner for us that was out of public viewing and in a romantic stop. Andrew usually took care of such things for me, although he was not my servant. He and I had been together a long time, which made him almost more like a brother. But he still liked to make me feel that I needed him. I suppose I did. Who else could understand what we’d been through? Of course, I didn’t get off easy for such finesse. I had to endure a bit of ribbing about my “lady love.” Andrew insisted that I would find her boring during our dinner. He predicted that we would split up before the week was up. I kept a smile on my face throughout his lecture and warnings, but Andrew could tell that I wasn’t enjoying his haranguing. I suppose that I should mention that Andrew had once been burned very badly by love. His marriage didn’t last. And so, ever after that, he’d become bitter and distrustful. He also didn’t seem to believe that my family genes could inform me instantly Penelope was the one. I found his disbelief strange because he knew a lot of things about me, secrets that no one else knew. To doubt the gifts of my heritage seemed difficult for me to understand. But I quickly brushed his misgivings away and returned to the moment at hand. Penelope was mine for the night. My lovely Penelope, my future bride.