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.
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.