Two Stories of the 1970s
Author’s Note: I don’t recall exactly when I wrote the following two stories, “Equanimity” and “The Key.” The first maybe 1976 and the second possibly in 1980. My original typescript drafts are not dated but they were obviously composed on my electric typewriter that was finally replaced by an IBM computer in 1983. Neither story was submitted for publication. In re-keyboarding these stories for The Hodge Review I couldn’t resist making a few revisions. R.A.
Equanimity
“To want little…”
He woke up on the living room sofa and watched the traffic light at the busy intersection perform its incessant and unappreciated task. The morning stream of cars had begun to accumulate and now and then impatient drivers would blast their horns.
He slept with his watch on--it was 6:50. He stiffly lifted himself up from the sofa and turned on the burner for the percolator. He always prepared the coffee the night before. He returned to the sofa and waited for the first bracing waft. In about fifteen minutes he’d hear Amy’s clock radio. He had a tiny bundle of time to think about the day ahead.
He had to first drive into Trenton for his unemployment check. It would be his next-to-last but he then would swing by the newly opened Grand Union. His interview last week had gone better than expected. The manager, a younger woman in a formidable pin striped pants suit who hadn’t appeared to like him much, surprisingly invited him back to take a test. She didn’t say what kind. After that, he could pick up the weather-stripping. Barely a week away from Thanksgiving, yet it was freakishly warm and humid. Still, he liked to be on top of things. He better buy finishing nails too.
He looked at the growing line of cars outside. The picture window could use caulking. He would make a list later. Management never got around to anything except collecting rent. When they first moved to Colonial Court two years ago the steady hum of cars and trucks kept him awake. He was used to it now, though often wondered if lack of sleep cost him his job with Patriot Printing.
Last night Amy asked why he preferred sleeping on the sofa. He thought she was suggesting something and went to bed when she did. But she only picked up one of her magazines. She had a disturbing habit of licking her index finger whenever she turned a page. So after she kissed his forehead and turned off the light, he moved back to the more inviting sofa.
He didn’t try to sleep right away but instead dipped into his book. For the past few months he had been reading The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius. Other than Amy’s worn collection of Harlequins, it was the only real book in the apartment. It had a thick dark red leather cover and sturdy pages gilded on all sides.He was never into books but he admired the craftsmanship and the quality of the paper. He had read it through three times.
He had come to possess it by an odd coincidence. Back in January, while he still earned a full-time salary, he and Amy decided to buy on installment a piece of teak wall furniture, a display model. Amy wanted it for her collection of glass snow globes and then used the bottom shelf to showcase her romance novels. He would take one of the bottom drawers for the cigar boxes full of his tied flies. He hardly ever got to Lambertville anymore for trout but couldn’t part with all the delicate feathered flies his father had tied as he distracted himself from the throat cancer that would finish him.
The drawer was stuck and he had to work to get it open. When it finally did pull out he found the book inside. It must have been intended for the showroom but never displayed because no one could open the drawer. After he read the book the first time he wondered if finding it was less of a coincidence and more of an act of God. Whenever he was done reading, he always placed it back in the drawer with the trout flies and never on the open shelves.
He inhaled the coffee and again stiffly rose from the sofa taking Marcus Aurelius with him. He filled a large mug with the steaming Bokar. It was a light blue mug with “CHIP” written across in big black letters. Chip was Amy’s first husband and by some twist of fate after they separated she wound up with his mug and Chip with hers. He found it amusing and wouldn’t let her throw it out. He had used it every morning since they married. .
He stood at the kitchen counter and took a sip of the hot coffee. No milk, No sugar. Just as he learned to take it at Fort Riley. He wasn’t especially fond of coffee but the ritual was important and the spike of bitterness felt fortifying. He noticed a post-it note on the wall phone. All it said in a thick red magic marker was “Donuts.”
Suddenly, he could hear Cat Stevens on the clock radio. The song about being young. He waited a minute, then hummed along carrying Chip’s mug into the bedroom. He sat on the warm bed, sipped his coffee and waited for Amy to come out of the bathroom on automatic pilot and dress for work. By some tacit agreement, no morning greetings were ever exchanged. She opened a drawer and decided on a bra--though different colors, each one had a tiny flower in the center. From another drawer she picked out her floral embroidered pantyhose and then moved to her little vanity chair and deftly uncoiled the stockings up each leg, left first, then right. Every weekday morning in that order. She stood up and shimmied the sheer black hose tight. He remembered how he would run his fingers across the nylon to feel the embroidery.
It was like a silent movie, maybe one of those antique porn films he’d occasionally seen flickering across a white sheet at stag parties. He felt too embarrassed to see Deep Throat a while back with a few guys from Patriot. He watched Amy’s head disappear into a black and white striped jersey. For a moment she looked like a referee. Or a convict.
“What’s with doughnuts?”
Amy looked puzzled, then slapped her forehead: “Christ, “I promised to bring some to our women’s group tonight. I left the note to remind me. And just now I remember there’s a big staff meeting all day today.” She raised her fists above her head and growled in frustration.
He watched her closely. Women exaggerated expressions and gestures. On Phil Donahue they vigorously bob their heads up and down when saying “yes” or can’t simply say “no” without tossing it sideways back and forth. Do they ever strain their necks? TV must enhance body language. Like yesterday with Donahue and all those young women who married much older men. Donahue asks a pretty one with cascades of dark red hair about her seventy-six year old husband. She laughs, tossing her head back. Then looks confused. When he asks “Is he still good in bed?” her head emphatically nods a “yes,” but then it shakes “no,” as she smiles. Then frowns. Then eyes open wide in surprise for some reason. He asks: “Isn’t it dangerous, I mean at his age?” Eyes shut tight as she giggles and shakes her head “yes.” Then seems confused and shakes her head “no.” Everyone laughs. She never once looked embarrassed. No one says to Donahue “it’s none of your business.”
It made him think of St. Bartholomew’s and how the nuns frowned on expressive gestures. “Stand straight and still when you speak to someone.” They considered fidgeting a moral failure. The sisters graded you on Deportment. He wondered if they still did. Those were some of his best grades. His drill sergeant admitted that he liked Catholic school kids best.
Amy struggled with a strap on her cork wedge heels. She let out a low scream. “Shit! This isn’t my day!” The strap broke off and she tossed the shoe across the room. “God damn this crap.”
“Don’t worry,” he said calmly. “I’ll pick up the doughnuts.”
“I thought you were meeting Jack today?” She’d taken a pair of white platform sandals.
“Jack’s tomorrow. After I drop Mike off, I’ll collect my unemployment check and then I have that test at the new Grand Union. I can pick up doughnuts at their bakery.”
“You’re going ahead with that? It’s a job for kids. They pay peanuts!”
She stepped into the bathroom and quickly applied some lipstick. “Jack says Patriot is starting to bring people back.”
“We’ll see. I’ve heard that before. Anyway, the Grand Union is definitely hiring. It’s a big new store and it’s very close. I might like it. It’s full time with good benefits.”
“God dammit I’m late,” She grabbed her purse and headed to the door. “With what you’d be making at that job I’d better be on time from now on.”
She turned back at the door. “Tell Mike Mommy loves him but she had to leave early today.”
She turned back again. “I won’t have time to stop back here after work. You could drop the donuts off at the office? A dozen…an assortment.”
She turned back again: “Good luck with the big test.”
As usual Mike refused to wake up. He pulled the pillow over his head. Already he could tell that his son would not be a morning person. Probably not a cooperative person either. Luckily, his school was only a few minutes away. That was the reason Amy jumped at the apartment.
Mike slowly climbed out of bed, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles like a three year old even though he was almost eight.
“I feel sick.”
“You’ll feel better after your waffles.”
“No I won’t. Mommy would let me stay home,”
“I thought there was a birthday party at school today?”
“It’s for a girl. I hate her.”
“But there’ll be cupcakes.”
“Cupcakes are crap.”
He helped Mike get slowly dressed. Mike grumbled about every suggestion. He then complained that his expensive new Converse sneakers were too tight and he needed new ones.
Mike ate only frozen Eggo waffles with Log Cabin syrup for breakfast. And he never spoke while he was busy eating. Watching Mike eat with such concentration absorbed his attention for a few moments.
He took a deep breath and picked up his Marcus Aurelius. The book had a thin red silk ribbon sewn in as a marker. He thought this an elegant touch. He gently stroked the leather spine, enjoying the sensation of the embossed gold letters on his fingertips. He glanced up. Mike would be silent for five more minutes. He opened the book and returned to where he had left off.
****
The Key
Rod and Lenore are on their way to visit their ailing friend, Gus. Gus lives with Matthew, Lenore’s one time fiance before Gus and Matthew embarked on a new life.
Heads bent, they brave the bitter late November wind, holding hands as they cross West End Avenue.
“Peter’s been acting strange ever since he moved to Rye,” Lenore says as she pushes the button to Gus’s eleventh floor.
Rod wonders if Lenore knows that Peter used to date his ex-wife Louise before she married a fading South American soccer star and moved to Argentina. But he doesn’t like to think about Louise these days.
“Did Dan tell you that?”
Lenore turns down the collar of her Jaeger jacket. “Dan? I haven’t spoken to Dan since Dana left him for Spencer. What made you think of Dan?”
“I ran into him last night at the Pendulum. He was having drinks with Wilson, remember that schizoid from Beth’s acting class? I thought maybe you had talked to Annabel.”
Lenore crinkles her nose. “No. But I did talk to Ellen and she didn’t mention anything about Peter.”
They can hear David Bowie’s “Life on Mars?” when the elevator door opens. Matthew is there waiting.
“Rod and Lenore!” Lenore offers a kiss but Mathew stands back and blows one. “Not too close, love, I picked up some kind of horrible bug. Where’s Natalie?”
Lenore looks at Rod as the elevator door closes behind them with a mechanical groan. “Natalie couldn’t get out. Larry’s flight was delayed in Chicago and Vickie couldn’t watch Ingrid. Natalie said she’d call Gus.”
“And Phillip?” Matthew looks at Rod.
“With Vicki,” Lenore answers. “It’s Miriam’s birthday and Perry’s in town. But, please, not to say anything to Gus about Perry. Gus doesn’t know.”
Matthew claps his hands and a bright white Highland terrier scurries from the apartment, woven leather leash trailing. The dog sniffs Rod vigorously and barks.
“You smell Pluto, hey Zack?”
Zack makes a low whining noise as Rod and Lenore sing out in a falsetto voice, “Pluuuuuto…Pluuuuuto!” Zack lowers his head and covers his ears with both paws.
“Let’s get out of here Zack before Anita gets on our case.”
“Anita’s here?”
“With T.D. Seems they’re an item again. You guys go on in. We’ll be right back, right Zack?” He gives the dog an imploring look.
“I told Gus we can’t stay long,” Lenore says.
“My Dad’s having a small memorial gathering later for my Mom.” Rod explains. “It’s a year ago she died.”
“Feels like it was just last month. I’m sorry.” Matthew shakes his head sadly.
“The memorial is Rod’s father’s excuse to mix martinis, if you ask me.” Lenore winks at Rod and giggles as if joking.
Matthew picks up Zach and waits for the door to open. “He still trembles in the elevator so I need to hold him.”
Rod and Lenore wait until the elevator door shuts before entering the apartment.
Gus is leaning against the refrigerator with a bottle of Sam Adams talking to Anita, T.D. and a couple Rod and Lenore don’t recognize.
“I think you mean Jules and Jim…” T.D. is saying to the new couple.
“I never know what people see in Foucault,” Anita shrugs.
T.D. turns and sees Rod and Lenore. “Well, look who’s here! ”
Still holding his Sam Adams, Gus tries to hug Rod and Lenore at the same time. Anita closes her eyes when Rod kisses her on the cheek. Rod and Lenore look at the other couple, then at Gus.
“Sorry, I forgot you guys don’t know Sebastian and Francie.” They all shake hands. Francie removes a crumpled handkerchief from her hand before extending it to Rod.
“Seb and I were at Groton together. And this comely young woman is Seb’s fiance--that word’s still OK isn’t it? Seb just moved back here and joined--what’s their name? Dwindle, Peak, & Pine? Something like that?”
He waits for Sebastian to follow up but Sebastian just pours himself a generous portion of Johnnie Walker. Skips the ice. T.D. is the only one who laughs.
Gus turns back to Lenore. “Natalie called earlier. She couldn't make it but didn’t say why. She sounded upset. Do you know what’s going on?”
Lenore turned to Rod. He hesitated. “I’m sure she didn’t want to say anything. But the problem is, the problem is--Ingrid has worms.”
“Please don’t say anything to Matthew,” Lenore whispers.
“Ringworms?” Gus asks.
Rod and Lenore shake their heads.
“Roundworms? Pinworms? A tapeworm? What’s the worm for God’s sake?”
Rod pours himself a glass of Absolut. Lenore watches him pour. “I think Natalie said something about spiny-headed worms.”
He turns to Lenore who confirms. “That’s right, Gus. She has spiny-headed worms, whatever they are?”
“Jesus Christ! Poor Ingrid! How bad are they? Is it dangerous?”
“They don’t think so,” Rod answers. “They’re still doing tests.”
Gus took a long swallow of Sam Adams and slapped the bottle down on the table. “How’d she get these worms? Who’s she been around?”
“I wouldn’t worry, Gus. I’m sure Ingrid will be fine.” Rod added some ice to his drink. “They don’t know how it happened. Apparently it’s not common.”
“I heard you can get those worms from eating roaches,” Francie says. “I don’t think you die from them. This Ingrid child probably started munching cockroaches.”
“Why would a kid eat cockroaches?” Gus looks at Lenore as though she might be responsible.
“Who knows what evil lurks in the heart of man, Gus?” Matthew removes Zack’s leash.”What’s all this about eating roaches, yuck!”
“I’m sorry, guys,” Gus says to Rod and Lenore, “but Matthew should know.”
“Can you believe it,” he says to Matthew, ”Ingrid has some horrid kind of worms--spiney-worms, and they think kids can get them from swallowing roaches….”
“It’s not life-threatening,” Francie interjects.
“You really don’t know that,”Gus replies firmly.
“Does Perry know?” Matthew asks quietly.
“Perry? What’s he got to do with it? He’s not around, is he? Gus’s mood is changing.
“Who’s Perry?” T. D. asks.
Gus glances at T.D. “You don’t know Perry.”
T.D. smiles. “I guess not.”
“Anyway, I’m sorry about that poor Ingrid,” Francie says. “We better get going, Sebastian. It was nice meeting everyone.”
“We’re moving to New Rochelle next month,” Sebastian adds. “You’ll all have to see the new house. We’ll have a party when we get settled.”
Francie turns to Lenore. “And you guys come too. We’ll let Gus know when.”
“Let’s hope the house isn’t haunted,” Gus says flatly..
“We should get going too, guys,” Rod adds. “Lenore?”
Anita checks her watch. “T.D. We’re late. We promised Marsha we’d be there by 5:30.”
Matthew glumly walks everyone to the elevator. Zach tags along. Sebastian slides over to T.D. and whispers: “Perry’s an old flame.”
Matthew theatrically backs away from hugs. “Sorry. Gus adores Ingrid. He’s upset. So am I. Sorry everyone.”
“I think it’s about more than Ingrid,” Lenore says as the elevator door squeaks open.
T.D. turns to Sebastian who is still holding his plastic glass of Johnnie Walker. ”’Dwindle, Peak, & Pine’. Christ, that’s too funny!”
************
Matthew waits for the elevator door to slam shut. He folds down his right ring and pinky fingers and makes the papal sign of benediction. “It’s all my fault, Zack.” He stiffly lifts Zack up and, scratching his ears, carries him into the kitchen.
“I’m sorry, Gus. I shouldn’t have mentioned Perry’s name. He does happen to be in town.”
Gus picks up the bottle of Sam Adams and realizes it’s empty. “Matty, me lad, do you remember the bottle of mezcal Jamey brought back from Mexico. Let’s crack it open.”
“With that disgusting worm inside? What is it with worms today?”
“I promise not to devour the worm. Let’s just get wasted, you, me, and the worm. How about it?”
Matthew climbs on a stool and reaches deep into the cabinet over the sink. “What sort of worm is in this stuff anyway?”
“Some kind of cactus grub. Let’s have a look.”
“Yuck, it’s fatter than I remember. Ii isn’t growing in there, is it?”
Gus finds two shot glasses and pours the mezcal carefully. He sets the bottle down and studies the worm.
“Why do they put the worms in there, Gus?
“It’s said that the worm contains the key.” Gus wiggles the bottle and watches the thick worm float.
“The key to what?”
“I don’t remember, Matty. A bartender told me about it a long time ago.” He puts the bottle down. “Let’s say it’s the key to life.”
Gus raises his glass: “To life, my friend, to life.”
Matthew takes a reluctant sip. He winces, then violently sneezes. He blows his nose, then tosses back the shot.
Gus pours another round. “And here’s to you, our worm friend. Glad you could join us.”
“Let’s give it a name, Gus.”
“Pancho. Si, Pancho. Salud!, Pancho.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Matthew finishes in one gulp.
Gus and Matthew sit silently gazing at the worm in the bottle. Gus pours another round, another.
“What happens to Pancho when we‘re done, Gus?”
“Excellent question, Matty. The matter requires another shot.”
Gus pours the last two shots, shaking the worm out into his glass.
“I propose we bury him. A tiny hole in the park, Gus. Earth to earth…”
“I think Pancho would prefer something less conventional. Don’t you think so, Pancho?”
Gus pensively savors the final shot, careful not to swallow Pancho. “I have it, Matty. You know that hideous silk square scarf Perry sent me last Christmas? Can you find it?”
“That ghastly silk bandana, right?”
“Scarf, bandana, ascot, pocket square…whatever it’s called?”
White Matthew searches for the scarf, Gus locates a large needle and the spool of thin twine he uses to prepare roast chicken.
Matthew hands Gus a bright red and yellow polka dot scarf that looks like an enormous handkerchief. “What was Perry thinking?”
“Maybe Halloween?” Gus expertly runs lines of twine down from the corners and sides of the square cloth. He is silent and methodical. Matthew finishes the last drop of mezcal and looks on with bewilderment.
“Now Matty--could you look in the bottom drawer with all the screws and nails and bring me a few large hex nuts.”
Matthew rummages through the draw and hands Gus a few large bolts with nuts attached. Gus unscrews four nuts and ties all the strands of twine together around them. “Ballast.”
Gus holds up the finished ensemble. “Here you are, Matty. Pancho’s silk parachute!”
Gus gently picks Pancho out of his shot glass and slides him from one hand to the other.
Zack scrambles out from under the table to investigate. Gus lets Zack sniff the worm. Zack sneezes and crawls back under the table.
“What’s it feel like, Gus?”
“Slimy. Dead.”
Gus meticulously works the worm into the string of hex nuts.”A snug fit, Pancho. Let’s do it.”
Matthew and Zack follow Gus to the living room. A moldering sun hangs over the Hudson. Gus raises the window and folds the scarf into a ball.
“Be careful, Gus. That might hurt someone.”
“If the chute doesn’t open. But don’t worry it will.” Gus checks the sidewalk below. “The coast is clear. Adios, amigo.”
Gus leans far out the window and lobs the scarf upwards. It drifts up for a few feet and then abruptly billows open into a red and yellow polka dot parachute. A gust of wind eddies the chute out towards the river.
Gus and Matthew huddle together at the window, eyes on Pancho as he gaily scuds across a darkening and decomposing sky.
****