pretending

Pretending

8:00--perfect. He was in position to get through the doors at precisely the right time. The latch clicked and the doors moved slowly apart. "Hello, Mr. Price," the young voice greeted, and he walked into the room with his briefcase dangling from his hand. Ah, this is great. His seat was not taken yet. He pushed passed the bodies near him and walked quickly over to the oak table with the glowing green lamp. He laid his briefcase down and eased a thick black book out beneath the flap. This is the one, he thought. Now to find my place again. He checked the clock overhead. 8:13. He decided to take off his overcoat. Slowly unbuttoning the top button, he watched the clock hands move to 8:l4. The coat fell off his shoulders and he laid it in a bundle on the chair beside him. No time to waste. He was anxious to get started with the work.
The book opened up at the piece of pink paper he had laid into the center crease of pages 54 and 55. His eyes scanned the page until he saw the familiar passage where he had stopped reading yesterday. "Roughly, he took her into his strong arms and held her there..." His eyes darted around the room. Was anyone watching him from the other tables? That elderly lady who kept her green felt hat on seemed to be smirking, her pinched lips twisting slightly to the side. Could she possibly read the book title from that far away? He lifted the spine ever so slightly to check the size of the lettering. "Love's Burning Desire" curled across the cover. He decided it couldn't be done from that distance and cleared his throat to settle down to read again.
After a time, he checked his watch: 9:33. His wife would be back from taking the kids to school now. Would she be turning on the T.V.? He didn't even know if she liked any particular programs--maybe 'Opra'. Irma was always talking about how everyone should try to improve themselves. She especially wanted him to start working out, develop his body more, strengthen his muscles, flatten his stomach. He looked down at the soft bulge above his belt and sighed. Wasn't the walk to the library enough? He had parked his car in the town lot around the corner in the hope that no one would recognize it.
Now he felt in his pocket for his pencils. As part of his self-improvement program, he had decided to make notes on all the words he didn't know the meanings of--like
ludicrous, elliptical, and maybe homophobic. He had come across them before, but now he wasn't exactly sure how they fit into the story. This was a major regret in his life: he had never gone to college. His grades in high school had been only average, if not a little below, and his father had repaired watches before people just threw them away when they stopped working. There was no money available for further schooling and barely enough for food and rent. Bad luck, that's what it was. He was the victim of bad luck.
Now he stood, embarrassed by the sound of the chair scraping, and walked to the pencil sharpener. The green hat lady narrowed her eyes as he eased past her chair and avoided stepping on the frayed hem of her purple coat. What was she reading, he wondered? He craned his neck to look at her book but couldn't make out the words at the top. Probably something about birds, or gardening. Suddenly, she clapped the pages shut. 'Perfect Love' was the title. He made a mental note to look that up in the stacks later. Grinding his pencil made more noise, so he paused to see if anyone looked up. Miss Green Hat jerked her head around and stared. She had green eyes that matched her hat and he could just make out a tuft of hair on her chin. Too much rouge, he thought, and her lipstick was way too bright for her age. It only emphasized the lines surrounding her mouth. He hated the way women made up their faces, especially when they got older. Avoiding her stare, he brushed past her to his chair and eased into it as silently as possible.
10:03. Too early to have lunch so he fished a stick of gum out of his pocket. It was missing its wrapper. The remaining foil was cracked with fuzz sticking to the exposed gum. He debated about putting it into his mouth, then carefully picked off the pocket lint, eased back the foil covering, and lifted the pink stick to his nose. Nice. Still pepperminty. Good enough. The last thing he wanted to spend money on was a new pack of gum, so he quickly popped it into his mouth, trying not to make any noise as he rolled the foil into a ball and stuck it back into his pocket. He started to read again.
Finally, the clock said 11:42. Close enough to lunch time to quit and have something to eat. It was the highlight of his day. Irma had always packed the nicest sandwich for him, but today he had told her he had a business meeting in town and not to bother. All of the sudden, the phone in his pocket played the familiar tune.
He grimaced and grabbed for it. Who would be calling him here? He ran for the exit. Ah, Irma, from home. He pressed the call button and waited. Then "Charles, I'm sorry. I really hate to call you at work, but I have to talk to you."
"Yes?" He was irritated.
"The bank called today."
"The bank? What did they want?" He bit his lip.
"Well, for some reason they say your payroll check hasn't been deposited for several months and we're close to the minimum balance. I told them there has to be some mistake. Would you call them, Charles, and try to straighten it out?"
He sighed. "Yes, yes. I'll take care of it, Irma. Don't you worry. But I have to go now. Big pow-wow in Mr. Lane's office. You know how he hates us to be late!"
"Well, I thought you said you had a luncheon meeting in town, Charles?"
Her question and good memory aggravated him. Now he remembered; he had said that this morning before leaving the house. He cleared his throat. "Yes, that's right. We go from his meeting to the next meeting. I'll see you tonight, Irma." He tried to sound authoritative with her to end the call quickly.
"OK, Charles, but don't forget to call the bank, will you?"
"I'll call, Irma. Good-bye."
Maybe it was time to tell her. But he didn't know how to face her with the truth of the situation. She would cry, or possibly leave him, or take the kids and go to her mother's. He felt terrible. Remembering his last talk with Mr. Lane brought tears to his eyes. "You're a good worker, Charles, but you know how things are these days.
You've always been so punctual and responsible. You won't have trouble finding another job, I'm sure. Say hello to the wife." Mr. Lane had rushed him out of the office so fast that he didn't have time to ask any questions. What about severance pay, or references, or his pension? His pink slip still poked out of his book. Pink! The color of wimps! That's how he felt now. Hopeless. His shoulders shook.
Pull yourself together, Charles. You've got ten dollars in your pocket for a decent meal in town. You deserve something good for a change. He walked down the steps and turned past the maple trees lining the street. Wind rustled the leaves. He shivered and pulled the collar of his coat up around his neck. Let's see. Where should he eat--maybe a bowl of soup would be enough. He'd try Murray's Deli. He liked the liver and dumpling special. Nice and hot. Then maybe half a sandwich. His walk quickened as he rounded the square.
"Charles? Is that you, Charles?"
Now who could that be? He was afraid to look up but did anyway out of curiosity.
"Charles Price! As I live and breathe! I haven't seen you since we graduated high school! Whoa, not so fast. Come here! I wanna talk to you. Don't cha remember me? Wanda Pruit. We sat next to each other in study hall. Old man Brown, remember? What a riot. But you were the quiet one, right? Never a peep outta ya. Always with your nose in a book!"
Wanda Pruit. Yes, he remembered her. She wore those short mini-skirts and liked to tease Mr. Brown by crossing her legs to hike her skirt even higher. He stepped closer. Perfume. Rouge. Big dangling earrings. A gust of wind seemed to make them clink. At first he thought her blouse was torn, but then he saw that it was unbuttoned to below her bra. A slip of black lace showed and he thought he saw the outline of her breast above it. She actually recognized him from across the street! He was flattered. Smiling, he extended his hand, but she put her arm around his waist and pulled him through the doorway. He looked up. The words 'Bud Light' flashed off and on above him. "Come on! Let's have a drink. It's too cold outside. We have to catch up and talk about old times!"
He thought about his plans for Murray's. He shivered. He was cold and it was warm in here. He'd just stay long enough to take the chill off. A plate of French fries sat on the counter. The comforting smell made him dizzy with pleasure. Wanda was stroking his arm and asking him to sit next to her. "Wally, this one's on me." She leaned in until her head was only inches away. The perfume smell seemed to wrap around his brain and pull him toward her. "Wuddle ya have, Chuck?" she whispered. He couldn't remember the last time he had drunk any liquor. Maybe last New Years Eve? When he couldn't think of anything to ask for, Wanda yelled, "Make it a Scotch for me and my friend here! OK, Chuck?" she smiled in his face. A nervous twitch hit his cheek. Scotch? That was pretty strong. Oh, well. He didn't want to be a wuss. A pink wuss. Just this once. He nodded and the drinks appeared on the counter. Suddenly Wanda tilted her head back and swallowed her drink down in one gulp. Amazed, he stared at her.
"Come on, Chuck. What are you waitin' for? " He took a deep breath and swallowed the jigger, then sputtered, coughed twice, and, shaking his head, set the little glass down on the counter.
"Wanda, I can't do this."
"Honey, you can do better than that! Here, let's see what we've got in our pockets." She put her hand in his trousers, pulled out the ten dollar bill and held it high up in the air. "Oh,Chuck, this will buy a lot of drinks. Wally, start pouring!" His cheek twitched again. He reached up to grab the money back from Wanda, pushing her off the stool. "Chuck, now don't get so physical!" She stood up and, still holding the money in her hand, slapped Charles hard across the cheek with the other hand.
He was stunned. What had happened? All the warmth in the room faded. Wanda had a big grin on her face as if she were waiting to see what he would do next. He grabbed his stomach and knew he was going to vomit. Where was the door? His eyes frantically searched the dark room. He saw a stream of light come from the side and he ran toward it. He clutched the door jam, leaned over and tasted something like vinegar in his mouth. The cold air hit his face. Shaking, he headed for the alley next to the building. This was awful. He could hear Wanda laughing in the distance, louder and louder. "What a worm!" she yelled. He put his hands over his ears until he couldn't hear her anymore and let go of the contents of his stomach which spewed out on to the concrete alleyway.
He remained crouched over until the nausea passed. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he stood up. He tried to think. His brief case--where was his brief case!?
"Looking for this?" He turned around toward the voice. It was the last person he wanted to see--the lady in the green felt hat. "I just saw this come flying out of the doorway," she said. "Almost knocked me over! You were in the library, right? You're a mess and you look sick, too. I think what you need is a nice cup of hot tea at Molly's Cafe. It's down the street. How about it? Can you make it that far? Just lean on my shoulder and tell me what happened to you. My name's Grace, by the way. What's yours? And how's "Love's Burning Desire" coming along?"
He didn't feel like talking but took the briefcase from her anyway. Now what should he do? Her face seemed much softer than before in the library and he thought he detected a slight smile. Maybe he had misjudged her. He just nodded and followed her directions. He felt silly using an old lady like this for support. Maybe the tea would make him feel better, though. They entered the cafe and he slumped into the chair she had pulled out for him. "Charles," he said weakly. "My name is Charles." It was the first time since noon he had thought to check his watch. "1:34." he mumbled.