11.19 The Abyss of WonderLand
I laughed. “Godiva chocolates — do you want some, or all. I really shouldn’t be eating such things.” I giggled, hoping she wouldn’t scold me about my weight, like everyone else did. “No, thank you, dear. That would insult Timothy.” “He also sent me a basket of fruit. At least I can eat that without needing to exercise twenty minutes per piece. Would you like some fruit?” She looked at me strangely. “Penelope, it is obvious that Timothy likes you just the way you are. I wouldn’t worry about dieting overly. Although exercise is always good for everyone, but no, thank you, dear.” She rose up in a feline movement of grace, then walked over to remove the towel from my head. “Let’s start on the hair, and then I’ll do your makeup.” So I was to be made up like a robotic doll, perfect for the man coming to pick me up? Something about that rubbed me wrong, but I didn’t want to hurt Simone’s feelings. After all, she’d given up a weekend evening to come bring me a warm coat, and now she was offering to beautify me once again. How could I complain? I sat down in one of the kitchen chairs, and she began the process of making me presentable. She had just finished her last tease and touch of lipstick when the doorbell rang. “Ah, Timothy has arrived,” Simone announced. “Time for me to leave.” She leaned forward and gave me the kind of kiss that didn’t touch but made the smooching sound on both cheeks. “Thank you,” I said. The door began to creak open in slow motion. I’d thought I had locked it after Simone arrived. That was an automatic habit. Not that the area I lived in was rough or unsafe, but almost everywhere was dangerous nowadays. “May I come in?” Timothy asked, when he saw me watching. His eyes flashed with appreciation at the sight of me in my new dress. “You are exquisite,” he said, with a pronounced bow. It hit me then, how unDarcy Timothy was. He was polite, at least to me. And his European manner of bowing to me and kissing my hand reeked of old-world wooing. But, although I’d thought he was full of himself, conceited, and rude, he had proven to be far from that in our conversations. Perhaps, I should say that he was more than Darcy yet still seemed to harbor some of the mannerisms of Jane Austin’s time. I guess the latter was kind of nice.
11.18 The Abyss of WonderLand
“I don’t think I should be accepting all these gifts from a man I just met. It’s . . .it’s. . . well, unseemly.” I know that was a word straight out of the Jane Austin books I favored, and it probably didn’t rate an airing in today’s world, but it seemed most appropriate for the moment. Showering a woman with so many gifts for a FIRST date. . . that just wasn’t apropos. (I wondered if that word was also dated, although I was sure I’d seen it on legal documents.) Neither word seemed to disturb Simone. “When a man takes an interest, lavish it. Lap it up like cream.” “Why? Because it’s short-lived?” Simone laughed. “I do so like you, Penelope. You are a rare jewel.” She made herself comfy on my second-hand powdered blue couch. I felt reassured that the couch was impeccably clean. I’d shampooed it after Cara and Sammy moved away. “Are you needing to dash into the shower?” Simone asked. I glanced at the clock, a cutesy one that Cara had given me. It had a clock face made up of a silly cat with eyes that moved round and round while its tail swayed back and forth. Not my style, but presents from friends are always treasured. “Did you pick out which dress you’ll be wearing?” Simone called out as I headed for my room. “Yes. The black one with the strip of mesh across the top.” “I approve. You have good taste, my dear.” My shower was quick, and when I stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped up in a fat towel, I saw that Simone had set out everything I’d need: underthings in black, shoes, purse, and a matching gold chain and bracelet. It took me only a few minutes to dress, thanks to her help zipping up the back. I turned to put on my shoes, then stepped out in the living room to find her snuggled up on my couch glancing at one of the books Cara had left behind. Cara had never been my roommate, but she’d flitted in and out, sometimes spending more time at our apartment than at the flat she’d shared with her artist friends, who I think were all males. When Cara left, her art books remained. They took over the whole coffee table, except for the gorgeous red roses presently occupying the center spot. “Timothy has incredible taste, doesn’t he?” Simone said, placing the book she’d been looking at in the exact spot as before. “Anything else he gifted you with, besides the clothes and the roses?”
11.17 The Abyss of WonderLand
I breathed in deeply, no longer smelling the roses. Chocolate filled the air. I carried the box into my kitchen, shoved it into the refrigerator and slammed the door. If I could have, I would have wrapped a steal chain around my fridge and added a combination lock. Instead, I drank down half a glass of water to curb my desire, then made a U-turn back to my bedroom, where I stood surveying the mess. Hopeful of gaining control over the chaos of too many new items to fit in my smallish bedroom, I set to work. Thirty minutes later, when I’d only opened half of the jewelry boxes, tried on four pairs of shoes, and settled on the dress I wanted to wear for my date, the doorbell rang. Again. Was it Timothy? I looked even worse than I had before, but there was no getting around it. I shuffled to the apartment’s front, barefoot as a farmgirl, and opened the door. Another delivery person. This one held a big basket of fruit. At a glance, I saw apples, oranges, pears, tangerines, bananas, a pile of red grapes, and, wow! Cherries! I was far more eager to accept that gift. I guess the man wasn’t expecting such a big smile. He gulped and said, “I’ve never see anyone as enthusiastic as you. You just made my day.” I offered him a tip, as I had the others, but he declined, as they had. “The sender already gave me extra and said that I was not to take a penny from you, but thank you.” I carried the basket into my kitchen and set it on the table. Then I practically fell into my chair as I sat there staring at all the fruit. I hadn’t noticed before when I’d looked, but there was even a small watermelon under the other goodies! I quickly moved the fruit perishables into my fridge. When I tapped on the watermelon, I decided that it needed to go inside, too. It sounded ripe. I grabbed a cherry, enjoyed the flavor, then sat down with a single kiwi. My roommate Sammy would never eat the fuzzy outer part of a kiwi. She insisted that the fruit had to be peeled. Cara argued that fruit peelings were the best part, providing fiber and extra vitamins, but she didn’t like kiwi. Me, I liked everything. And I didn’t peel the kiwi. I just munched on it as if it were an apple. Delicious. A quick washup, a glance at the clock, and I knew I needed to hop into the shower immediately. I was just about to head that way when the doorbell rang again. I groaned. Enough was enough! But it wasn’t a delivery person this time, well, not exactly. Simone was holding a hangar with a beautiful black, full-length wool coat. It was wrapped in a dry cleaner bag, but it still had a price tag on it, so I knew it was brand new. “I just came over to see if you needed help getting ready,” she said, “Oh, and to bring you this. Timothy was afraid that you might not have a warm enough coat.” He was right. I’d been meaning to spend a day shopping for a new one. The one I’d worn in past years was looking shaggy. But still, I hesitated
11.16 The Abyss of WonderLand
The delivery man had told me that the roses came with no card, but, of course, I knew who they were from. I inhaled their fragrance. The buds, just opening up into full glory, were fresh and full of scent. The smell filled my entire apartment and made me feel even dizzier. I knew what red roses represented. Did Timothy? But as sophisticated and worldly as he was, I was positive he knew they symbolized love. Did he know that they also represented passion and commitment? There were boxes of clothing, racks full of new dresses, intimate clothing, and jewelry boxes yet to open. I stopped admiring the roses, breathed in one more delightful nose-pleasing sniff, and began dragging, wheeling, and carting my new acquisitions into my bedroom. I had worked no more than half an hour on sorting them when the doorbell rang again. What had happened to the call box downstairs? This was a serious breach of safety. However, I half expected Timothy would be the one at the door, although our date for the evening wasn’t supposed to be for another two hours. Too bad. He was about to see me at my worst: sweaty, frazzled, and energy depleted. But it wasn’t Timothy. Instead another delivery person was standing there. This time a young woman wearing a similar delivery costume as the person before her, except minus the smart little cap, was waiting for the door to open. “Penelope Casey?” the young woman asked. When I nodded, she handed me a box of chocolates. I took it in hand, double-checking that it was meant for me. I received a big smile for my doubt before the woman took off at a run, obviously bound for her next delivery. The large box was gold wrapped with a large golden silk ribbon and neatly tied into a full bow. Whoever had formed the bow needed to be praised. My own ribbon decorating skills lacked anything near this proficiency. I lifted up the top of the box and counted the jewel-like pieces of chocolate inside. Thirty-six pieces! I set the box down, walked over to my tablet and looked up the calories of Godiva chocolates. Sixty-three calories per piece, which would take seventeen minutes of fast walking to burn off. The good news was that there were no trans fats in the candies.
11.15 The Abyss of WonderLand
Penelope (continued) “Simone, I never asked for any of this, and I can’t pay for it. Even if I raided my bank account and completely emptied it out, there wouldn’t be enough to cover the cost of all this. I signed for it, I know, but that was because I was in shock. I need you to send someone to take it back. I’m not rich!” She cut me off with a laugh. “My darling Penelope. No worries. You will be soon. Timothy is richer than the proverbial Midas. He has already instructed me to buy whatever I think will suit you. This is only the beginning. I’ve got to go. Bye. She left me stuttering, still holding the phone up to my mouth, even though I saw that she’d disconnected. I was about to call her back and demand her once again to pick up the clothes when the doorbell rang. Nobody should be at the door. We had a safety feature. The box downstairs was the first inhibitor. I looked through the door and saw a man in livery. In his hands was a huge bouquet of roses, red roses. I shouldn’t have, but I opened the door, expecting to hear that he’d mistakenly come to the wrong apartment. He spoke my name and started to hand me the flowers. Then, when I didn’t reach for the heavy crystal vase they occupied, he said, “Would you like me to carry these inside?” Alarm bells were going off. That was something that should never happen. I was just about to tell him no when he stepped into the living room and marched forward toward my coffee table. He set the roses on top of a table coaster, from the small basket on the side. The table coasters were the result of one of our art museum visits; each one showed a famous painting. The uniformed and head-capped man turned about like a military man, said that he hoped I’d enjoy the roses, suggested that I add more water to the vase, then walked out, closing the door behind him. I scurried over to lock it, but that was the only sensible thing I’d done. I was still in shock from the clothing delivery, followed by the arrival of three dozen red roses. How did so many roses fit inside one vase? Once my brain absorbed my surprise over the bouquet and the unbelievable beauty of so many vivid dark red roses, I realized that I was one gasp away from fainting like the heroine of some old-time melodrama. I plopped down in the chair across from the flowers and simply stared at them.
11.14 The Abyss of WonderLand
(Timothy continued) Andrew teases me, but he isn’t cruel. We’ve been friends too long for him to push. He recognizes that I am committed and has resigned himself to the change in my aspirations and ambitions. There is now the assurance of a wife in my plans, and the faint prospect that Penelope and I might be lucky enough to have children. Although that is not always assured, which is the one reason my lineage is dying out, it is a possibility, and if the normal method doesn’t work, there will be medical treatments which might aid in that endeavor. Yes, my whole life has changed from Judy’s last effort at matchmaking, and I have already sent evidence of my deepest gratitude. I deposited a mighty sum into her bank account, not because it was owed to her for her deed, but because I am and will be forever indebted to her for bringing Penelope into my life. Penelope: If my friends had still been around to discuss this situation, they would probably be telling me to back away, to ponder the idiocy of such a complete and total falling into the love pot. It would have been good advice; except I had to admit that it was already too late. The joining of hands, the sharing of art lore, the way we two had cliqued in every way: it had bonded us. I felt like I’d always known Timothy, like he’d been the missing part of me that had wandered off. Silly romantic drivel, but my soul recognized him. That was undisputable. Even when we parted later, the link between us remained. It was the tether of a fishing boat, tied to land. (Or maybe in his case, a yacht tied to its dock, an analogy which sent chills down my spine because the fact that Timothy was not only gorgeous, but wealthy enough to buy a museum (even if the backers came up with a sizeable percent) was a gigantic no-no in our relationship.) ***** All the dresses that Simone had pulled aside for me to try on were delivered the next day. I signed for them in a blank, mystified way, then I rang her up. “What’s going on?” I asked. “Why did you send over all these clothes? There are dresses, slacks, blouses, even shoes that I never saw. The delivery guy even brought boxes of jewelry.
11.13 The Abyss of WonderLand
And the smile that Timothy gave me when he lifted his lips from my hand, sent another tremor deep inside me. I was far too awed to fight this sudden dependency. If someone had told me that this man was as essential as the air I breathed, I’d merely have nodded. That was my conviction. I’d been hooked and landed. Full consciousness was no longer relevant. Timothy She is in a trance from our interaction. That doesn’t please me greatly. I do not want an artificial relationship fostered between us. The males of my line could and probably have taken advantage of such saliva and proximity infatuations. She could easily be brought to the altar without being free from the compulsion of my heritage, but I do not want that. I want her love to blossom. I desire the full commitment of her soul. It will come, I tell myself. She will soon fall in love with me naturally and wholeheartedly, but such an assumption is risky, and I tremble with doubt in case I should be wrong. Yet the Fates have spoken. I do not believe they would allow our severing now. Andrew continues to mock me. He says to tell her that I’m rich, to offer her jewelry and trinkets, but I can already sense that Penelope is not fashioned that way. She is the woman I dreamed of, the one whose morality is as firm as her resolutions to be independent and strong. She is shy, modest, and well-read. She shares my passion for art. We meld perfectly. However, the two components that I respect the most in her may prove the greatest challenge. I have lived a long life, seeing fashion change along with the rights and customs of females. I respect the current viewpoints. In fact, I cherish them because they are part of who Penelope is, but I will admit that it is difficult for me to stand away and not swoop in and save her from her current semi-poverty. She is so alone, so destitute of family and friends. I know I could easily trample her resistance, but I will not.
11.12 The Abyss of WonderLand
My nervous twitching only popped out another of Timothy’s dimples, as he smiled at me like he was utterly fascinated by my actions. “You are a delight, my sweetness,” he said. Eventually the dinner passed with some kind of fruit torte brought out. I figured if I even tasted it, I’d be sick. I shook my head when Timothy tried to feed me a bite. “I’m full,” I said. “I can’t.” I know there was a whole conversation going on between Timothy, Ed, and Judy. I vaguely listened now and then but commented little. I tuned in only when I heard that Timothy had just bought a new art gallery in the downtown area. Caldwell Fine Arts it was to be called. And then mortification set in. I’d been discussing art with a connoisseur. Apparently, a rich connoisseur. “I’m so sorry I babbled on with my inexpert opinions as if I knew something about art. You must think me a fool.” Another breathtaking smile, a pat on my hand, and reassurance followed. “Your sentiments are as worthy as any art museum professional. You have emotion in your heart. You dip into the soul of the artist and feel. That should be the cornerstone of any great expert, my dear.” Maybe so, but it didn’t keep me from suspecting that my words had been amateur hour at a children’s art class. “I really know nothing. I shouldn’t have . . .” “Sh,” he said. “I enjoyed our discussion. In fact, you’ve convinced me that I need to buy at least one Turner for my little neophyte Gallery. We must expose our city to the passion of darkness and chaos.” The man was smiling into my eyes. The deep soul-searching of his intensity was vacuuming up every thought I had inside of me. I couldn’t open my mouth to argue. I could barely think. Timothy reached out, took up my hand, and turned it over. “You were made for me, my Penelope.” Then, once more he kissed the soft part of my palm, and argument was the furthest thing from my mind. I dissolved into a new kind of air-floating amoeba, one dependent on pure sensation and in total disconnect from both surroundings and reality.
11.11 The Abyss of WonderLand
“We were sharing our thoughts,” Timothy said. “But in so doing, we became stupefied by the process of soul matching. Getting knocked out with the suddenness of Cupid’s arrow befuddles even the most solid of individuals. “I do beg your forgiveness for my earlier rudeness. I know you tried to prepare me, Judy. I only half believed, and then . . . Well, you were absolutely right. There is no doubt. Penelope is the one I was waiting for.” As if my brain hadn’t been, what had Timothy called it? — ah yes, befuddled. . . Hearing his words and the sincerity in his delivery of them, I was suddenly doubly befuddled, if there was such a thing, or call it flustered, swimming in a tide pool that sucked you downward, screaming in a white straight jacket of hopefulness. Somehow I found myself planted on a chair beside Timothy, and in a minute, dinner was being served. First, we were served an arugula green salad with carrot shavings, pieces of orange, and goat cheese. I could barely bring my fork to my mouth I was shaking so visibly. Timothy stabbed up a bite and carried it to my mouth, then fed me several mouthfuls as if I were a two year old toddler. When the salad dishes were carried away, we were given plates with servings of tortellini in a hazelnut sauce. It was incredibly delicious with morsels of sweet potato inside each tortellini. Yet, I found my appetite gone. The shock of what had preceded dinner was too new, too raw. My stomach clamped down as it deliberated the shocks administered to my nervous system. Once again, Timothy hand fed me until I took the fork from his hand and shook my head. “I can do it myself, you know.” “Yes,” he laughed. “You have fed yourself without my attendance. I am aware, but I am at your side now. Surely you are not so cruel as to deny me the pleasure of taking care of the one who has given my life new meaning.” Once upon a time, women had fans in their hands to hide their confusion or the blush such words brought them. I didn’t have one of those fans and sorely missed it, although I’d never owned one. But taxing days require special benefits. Denied my soft, old nightgown and fuzzy cat slippers, I was left without any pseudo security blanket and could only harness wishes and longings as a buffer for my trauma. Timothy bent forward and kissed me on the cheek, right in front of Ed and Judy. I was positive that act alone exceeded my limit for both excitement and wonder. I clutched the navy blue cloth napkin in my lap and twisted it into strange shapes, entirely oblivious to proper table manners.
11.10 The Abyss of WonderLand
Oh my. I couldn’t see any of that, so where was my mental image coming from? Why did I have a sudden desire to rip off the man’s clothing in order to confirm my predictions? Perhaps I was simply recalling the images of the statue that Cara had painted endless editions of. That must be what it was. Timothy had stopped moving forward. His eyes stared down at me. The smile he cast was knowing, as if he were cognizant of my thoughts. That wasn’t possible. I wasn’t indicating in any way that I was thinking of a certain nude statue. “Yes,” he said. “I modeled for Michaelangelo, you know. That is exactly what I look like beneath this shirt and pants. Would you like a peek?” Oh, my. I wanted to break my handhold and fan my face. Heat was burning me up. I’d turned into a dragon, full of flame. Embarrassment kicked me in the stomach. I should tear my hand from his, dash away, curl up and hide. Yet, I did none of those. I just stared at him, speechless. It was crazy the things he’d said. Modeling for Michaelangelo? He was pulling my leg while searing me with the heat of desire at revealing what I yearned to see. Because despite his brag, I knew, as sure as coffee was the right drink to start off each morning, that underneath his clothes, Timothy did look like the statue of David. “You blush like a virgin. I find that enchanting, my dear. Do not fear my words. I will woo you slowly. Flowers and chocolates. Many nights out on the town. We will dance and see movies. We will dine in the finest restaurants. I will take my time with you, my love, but know this: from this moment, you are mine.” Timothy walked a zombie to the table where we found Judy and Ed sipping brandies. They didn’t look angry or even impatient at the lateness of the hour. “Are you alright, Penelope?” Judy asked. What could I say? I was overwhelmed, happy, confused, frightened, and ecstatic. Which should I say? I glanced at Timothy and said nothing. I’m not sure I could have spoken anyway, not with his hand holding mine and our recent conversation about the statue of David in my mind. Plus there was that other thing he’d said — the possessive nature of it, the way my body reacted to his words, and the fact that I hadn’t argued with his statement, nor wanted to.