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.
12.5 The Abyss of WonderLand
“Are you Penelope Casey? “ the man asked, glancing at a photo of me that was apparently attached to his clipboard. “May I see your ID?” Jodie, the biggest office gossip, just happened to be leaving at the same time as I was. She stood there watching, waiting to see what I was about to be gifted with. But, at least she didn’t crowd me. She stood a few steps back, pretending not be as interested as I could tell she was. The present was packaged inside a fancy gift bag with tissue paper of multiple pastel colors. I weeded through the mass of it, wishing for a more private location to discover my buried treasure. But when I reached the bottom and pulled out a pair of fuzzy slippers, each with a bunny face and fuzzy bunny ears, I broke into a laugh. Jodie crowded closer so she could get a better look. “That’s all?” she said. “Did he send a note?” Timothy never had before, but I dug down into the tissue once more. I hadn’t needed to. The card was attached to the bag’s handle. I tugged it closer. “If I may be so bold as to bring dinner tonight, I will see you at 7:00 pm at your apartment. Please wear your new fuzzies.” Again I laughed, but I didn’t share what was written. “Bye, Jodie,” I said. “See you tomorrow.” I waved a friendly goodbye, ignoring the disappointment on her face that I hadn’t told her everything so she could gossip about it with the others. Although I’d planned to walk home, I rushed to the bus stop and just made the next transit to my apartment. As we passed the Triton Art Museum, I felt a stab of nostalgia as I thought about my roommate and Cara. The three of us had spent a lot of time in that museum. I missed them. The stop for my apartment was only a little beyond that. I hopped off, clutching my new bunny slippers firmly in my arms. Hugging them so closely allowed me to wipe away my moment of sadness. Besides, I had something to look forward to. No need to stop for take-out or slip into the grocery store. Timothy was bringing dinner. What a luxury. I kept my apartment neat, things put away, the kitchen sink empty, and my table cleared, but I took a moment to make some fresh iced tea. I still had most of the fruit from the lovely basket Timothy had sent. I hoped he wouldn’t ask for a piece of the Godiva. That box of chocolates had disappeared quickly the day I’d brought it to work. The women might always be on diets, but chocolate floated all the borders. It was a given that something so delicious would be a prime workroom treat.
12.4 The Abyss of WonderLand
Any slight irritation at their attitudes quickly fled. With her words, I understood why the women had been more or less ignoring me and looking the other way when I walked through a room or passed by their desks. “Mr. Sanders said that?” I mused. “How funny. It’s just that I really connected with someone. I met him at Mr. Sanders’ house, in one of those dinners where Judy tries to set up anyone single. This man and I clicked. It was strange. It’s like I knew him before, like we’re on the same wavelength.” The ladies and I took an early break and went for coffee with a bit of gossip on the side, although I’d already gushed too much. I had nothing else to say. (Besides, I didn’t want to spoil my luck.) If the big boss noticed our early and slightly longer social time, he looked the other way. Mr. Sanders was usually like that, a rarity I’d been told, a kind and thoughtful boss. I was back in my office working again when the next orchid arrived. It was a Rhynchorides Bangkok Sunset. Never had I seen anything as striking. It displayed violet-colored blooms with apricot and orange centers, which sounds rather like a circus tent or a clash of color, but the orchid was honestly not only unique but absolutely gorgeous. It too had to be placed atop the file cabinet, where it shown like a full sunset of color. In fact, it distracted me — to the point that I couldn’t wait to call Timothy. Although we’d been chatting every evening, either via phone, e-mail, and or visits, this time, I had to insist that he halt his flower gifts. Timothy was warm and friendly, as always, and assured me that he would attempt to temper the flower arrivals. He even promised no more orchids. Reassured, I finished my work for the day and was just setting off on a pleasant walk to my apartment, only to be confronted by a delivery man at the exit of our building.
12.3 The Abyss of WonderLand
At least, I was private and unnoticed in my newness until the flowers began to flow. That Monday a lovely purple orchid came to sit on my desk. A flock of ladies managed to peek inside to get a glimpse of it, but still no one commented. On Tuesday, that plant gained a sister, an even larger white orchid in a large pot that took up more space than my desk allowed. After admiring it for several minutes, I placed it on a low filing cabinet, a place where I could still appreciate it fully, but could continue to manage my desk full of paperwork, along with the accepted and rejected wooden boxes that took up the whole left side of my desk. (The right side contained my fancy computer, and in the center, in the prime spot, sat the purple orchid, the dendrobium blue of happiness. (Yes, I looked up the type of orchid.) No cards accompanied either orchid, so there was no way that the curiosity of the workers around me had been satisfied. When the Vanda Viboon Sunset Spotted Tangerine Orchid appeared the third day of the work week, the tension around me broke. Three of the ladies came marching into my office, their arms crossed, their faces sternly staring at me, and their posture informing me that they had no intention of leaving until I told them everything. “What’s his name?” Carla demanded. I knew what they meant, but there had been two and half days of their silence. I guess I was more bothered by that than I’d imagined. I teased. “The orchid? I haven’t given it a name yet. How does one tell if an orchid is male or female?” Carla practically slammed her dainty red leather pump down on the floor. The shoes looked costly. I hoped she hadn’t broken her slender pointed heel. “Listen,” Carla said, with her fancy two inch nails of deep ruby at the end of slender hands suddenly perched on her hips in frustration. “Mr. Sanders said you were going through a difficult time and that we should give you some space. We did, but that’s over. Tell us what’s going on! Who is it that’s sending the orchids?”
12.2 The Abyss of WonderLand
Penelope: There were no queries at work about my dates with the hot new man and no sly looks or secretive peeks at me as I slipped into my office. I don’t know why I expected everyone to know. They hadn’t been at that particular dinner at the Sanders’ house. But the fact that none of secretaries and assistants commented on my new long hair, the subtle gold streaks in it, or the permanent fake eye lashes and fancy eyebrows I’d suddenly manifested was surprising. So why should I feel amazed when no one remarked about my change of wardrobe? People apparently didn’t SEE. I’d never formed any truly close friendships with my work associates, but we normally sat in the lunchroom and chatted like friends. I knew details about their children, grandchildren, husbands, and boyfriends. Several of the ladies had confessed to breakups. A couple had told me about their vacation plans. We’d always been a unit, so to speak, covering for each other, fetching items when we went out on a lunch break, passing around homemade goodies or sharing such things as my box of Godiva chocolates. But even the latter didn’t cause an uproar of questions. The office personnel munched, praised, then went back to work, as if I were semi-invisible. Had I died and no one informed me of the fact? I was closest, I suppose, to Carla who sat near my desk. I was one of the fortunate ones, having an office all to myself. No cubicle for me. Mine wasn’t a swank office. No window to some incredible view, no private bathroom, no fancy paraphernalia like upper management had, but I did feel privileged (or lucky for the coincidence of moving into a job that came attached with such a pleasant office.) But no one had ever seemed jealous of the fact. We’d all gotten along socially, and, as far as I knew, there wasn’t any backstabbing gossip going on. Oh, when someone got flowers, that sometimes set off bit of teasing, but even such playfulness was light and friendly. “New boyfriend? Does your husband know?” sort of thing. So, although I did question the absence of dialogue over my personal changes, I soon forgot about it, accepting it simply as a positive in my smooth progression toward the new me. I set to work and continued to labor at my slow and tedious paperwork, checking the finances of all potential clients. For that, I spent hours on the phone and the computer, stuck in private mode, and more or less isolated from the rest of the group.
12.1 The Abyss of WonderLand
Most men would have been offended that I’d taken the lead and not let their manhood win the day, but those men got knifed in the ribs or worse. I was glad that Timothy didn’t feel like what I’d done was competition. Meanwhile, I had to admit that I was impressed by his actions. He was no slacker. He’d been quick, efficient. and incredibly skilled. It looked like the ruffian was down for the night. He was breathing fine, but he looked done in, probably more from his drugs than from our actions. Timothy inspected me, found me to be fine, then walked over to gather up my shoes. I just stood there, shaking a bit from the aftereffects of the scene. Perhaps it was the adrenaline still pumping through my system, but at that moment, I felt slightly sick. Timothy returned to my side. “May I?’ he asked, giving our surroundings a quick scan before bending over to place each shoe on a foot. Wow. Cinderella, here I come, I thought to myself, as I held onto his shoulders for balance and because I was having a bit of a delayed reaction. ***** Timothy: My blood was up, my worry that she’d be hurt was now a dull ache pushed to the back of my mind — since the action had passed. But, yes, I wanted to scream at her, and I knew I couldn’t. I curbed my impulses and gave her a rather shaky smile. I didn’t lie when I praised her. I was relieved that she had some defensive strategies. She’d handled herself calmly and precisely. Yet, it tore my insides out that she’d felt the need to learn such things. And although, I was in part reassured, it made me resolve to immediately hire bodyguards for her. I couldn’t risk another such episode, one with possibly dire results. Yet, it was a surety that I couldn’t tell her so. She would refuse them. Besides, I knew she wanted to stand on her own feet. Women sought that in this time period. Not, that I found that wrong. I’d adapted to how things changed in regard to the role of women in each period of time. I remembered some of the women I’d come to know. They would never have stood up to a common criminal. They would have died before they did more than flutter their eyelashes and cry out, “Oh, woe is me.” Yes, I’d need to allow my Penelope to cherish that feeling of confidence she had. That I could not rob her of. I would just have to endure the pain that such helplessness brought to me. Because the truth was that I wanted to be her knight in shining armor as the expression went. I thoroughly understood that drive inside me, whether it was from my age or from my histories. It was a force I’d have to restrain. *****