A tale

                                      ATTENTION

 

'Ms. Josie, come in here. I need you now.' Dr. Bloom told me to stand behind his patient who was barely covered with a thin sheet. She was lying still as death on a long table. 'Don't talk to her. Do nothing unless I tell you to. Unfold your arms!' Mine dropped almost to my shaking knees. 'Stand up straight, do your best to look like you' re not new here. ' I barely whispered, 'But I am. This is my first job.' Dr. Bloom turned a pale shade of green but kept his mouth shut. My mind traveled by leaps and bounds. 'Josie, you have a job, a real one day a week job to start'. So I stood straighter and felt like I was spreading a peacock's rainbow tail.

 

Almost a roar came from Dr. Bloom as he noticed the fake silver and gold circle pin I had on my blouse top. 'Take that god awful thing off.
You aren't at a party. Didn't your father explain what I expect of you in my medical practice?' I was stunned, didn't understand what he meant. My lips felt like they were glued together. I removed my pin and didn't know where to put it. With no purse, no pockets, I dropped it in the trash can.

 

The patient stirred. Dr. Bloom gently removed the sheet from her body and I almost threw up. The lady had only one breast. A long cut had fiery red stitches down it. I saw the patient's hand clutch the side of the table as a tear ran down her cheek. Her head tilted back a little and she saw me standing still, surely saw Dr. Bloom putting on fresh rubber gloves.

 

Was the room spinning around?  Were my feet as cold as they seemed?
Why, oh why, did my father ask his friend, Dr. Bloom, to give me a job other than to get me interested in something besides boys? The doctor's strong, yet warm voice, merely suggested I leave the room, talk to Daisy at the front desk. 'Watch her, pay attention to how she answers the phone, what questions she asks the caller. Now, get out of here. I'll call you if I need you.' My peacock tail shrank to a duck's behind. 

 

The ringing phone kept Daisy busy. Her voice was soft and pleasant. Sometimes one or two words to the caller sufficed. 'Tomorrow,' 'July 12, 2 p.m.' and she would end the call by lowering the receiver gently.
The lady with the horrible scar down her chest came out of the doctor's examining room. She smiled, toodle-oohed me and was gone.

 

At dinner I told my father about my terrible day, how gruesome it was.
'Then you want me to tell Dr. Bloom you won't be back, that you have no guts, aren't willing to learn, to help, that you don't want the $25?' 'Daddy, I didn't say that exactly. I can be helpful at the desk, weigh patients, always smile. Please call him for me, ask him if I can try again.' 'Straighten your spine, Girl. You call him.' Evening had already dropped its curtain and I knew for sure office hours were over. That put the skids on my bare feet.

 

Sleeping was fitful, bloody, gory. Broken dreams swirled, tossed me from side to side in my soft, usually comfortable bed. A weight was pressing on my mind. By the time the sun was making my room glow with pink lights, I knew what I had to do. I looked around for the brass pin I had been wearing at Dr. Bloom's and remembered how I trashed it. That proved to me I was an idiot. My parents had fixed their own small breakfast and left the crumbs for me to clear away. The sun, and our kooky cuckoo clock finally let me know it was almost noon.

 

Gingerly I dialed Dr. Bloom's office and heard Daisy's voice. 'Dr. Bloom's office, may I help you?'  'Daisy, this is Josie,  can I possibly speak to Dr. Bloom now? Soon? ' I could hear the little buzzer she had on the side of her desk to reach the doctor. Oh, God, let me get my words out right!' Somewhat grumpily, Dr. Bloom asked me what I want.
My heart pounded so loudly I was sure he heard it. I straightened my back a little and apologized for my mis-steps yesterday. 'Dr. Bloom, I am absolutely sure, with Daisy's guidance,  I can do a good job as a receptionist. I watched her, listened to her for two hours after I left you. She is so good at what she does but was definitely frazzled at times.' There was an eternal few minutes of silence before he suggested I come in after office hours Friday, 6 p.m. to discuss it.

 

Could he see my huge smile thru the telephone lines, hear my sigh of surprise and joy? That was my real  beginning with the medical profession. I did become good at my job full time, five days a week.

 

The one dark spot was I had the phone constantly buzzing in my ear
while  Daisy had Dr. Bloom wrapped around her finger, letting the sun make her two carat diamond sparkle.

story

                                  ECHOES

 

'Marybella, where are you?'  Her voice could have been heard while Niagara Falls fell. Three times she called me, three times I ignored her. The fourth time my anger escaped, became nasty, rude.  Her bellowing, would stop, if only she wouldn't call me Mary bella. In at least five of my 13 years, I've begged her to call me to dinner, call me to take a bath, but don't call me Marybella.

 

The last call had her usual threat, 'Daddy will put his strop to your rear, Child, if you don't show me respect.' I couldn't let her nagging get to me again. I answered her call,' Mean Machine, leave me alone. ' I hurried down the stairs with her right behind me. 'Careful Old Lady. Your knobby legs are showing,' and I escaped again. Outside I made an ugly face to her and ran like the wind, slipping a little on the snow that was just starting.

 

Daddy told me yesterday that we were having company for lunch today and I should behave myself. 'Who? Who?' I asked. 'Wait and see. They're family you never met. You'll love them. Wear a nice outfit, comb your hair, be polite.' That was a lot for him to ask me to do but I promised–if he would tell Momma not to call me Marybella.

 

At 11:30 a.m. the little bell over our front door tinkled and Daddy headed down the steps to see if family was waiting. I was right behind him. Everyone shook hands...except me. I got patted on my blond curly head. Momma had taken off her apron,  put on too much lipstick. Daddy introduced my cousin Alan to me. 'Alan,'this is our Marybella. She is tall for her age, isn't she? She must take after you.' Momma winked at Alan. I fell in love.

 

Darn, I was angry. 'Cousin Alan, 'Momma calls me Marybella and I hate it. Tell her to stop.' Alan  just waited while his beautiful wife came in. She had been in the bathroom taking off her black leather galoshes that had black fur around the top and high heels. She had to be a movie star. In comparison to Momma,  Momma was a witch. My cousin Alan looked at me, smiled, patted me on the head and did the 'no no'. 'Marybella, what grade are you in?' If I were a bit older and a lot taller I might have clipped him. Instead I stared at his gorgeous wife and her goulashes.  My snow boots had metal clamps that cut into my skin when I had to buckle them. If only I had real goulashes. Stop dreaming,' I told myself.

 

Cousin Alan introduced me to his new wife. 'Marbella, this is Valereigh. She is from France and doesn't know too many American words.' Then he whispered in my ear, 'I'm teaching her. I saw you  looking at her goulashes. Do you have any like hers?' I wanted to say I had two pairs but couldn't lie. 'No, Cousin.'

 

'Valereeee? Spell it for me please. I never heard that name before. It is so much nicer than what Momma calls me. Alan brought a folding chair into the living room and motioned to his wife to sit down. As soon as she did, he removed her goulashes and put them on me. Oh, my lord, I felt tall and beautiful and French. Valereeee still had her black furry hat on.  Something odd came over fourteen year old me. My name was going to be changed. 'Announcement, announcement!' I said loudly as soon as Alan and Valereee left. 'My name is now changed. It is Valeere and if you do not call me that from now on, I will neither see nor hear you. First thing the next Monday I told my friends, my teachers , that unless they called me Valeere, I would not not speak to them. Oh, how they laughed at me–but I stood straight and determined. Finally my parents gave in. They often stuttered, stopped on Mary–.

 

I fought the world. I loved my new name and gradually I won, reached eighteen and had my name officially changed at the Court House.

 

It became Zel Valeere Bass, then Zel Valeere Magee. So now you know that determination, desire, CAN work. I close, suggesting you not do as I did. It was tough going just to get my way and made too many people miserable.

 

I still don't have goulashes with fur on them.

#3

                               NEW WAYS- NO WAY

Joseph, whose Mom still insists on calling him, Yussel, unlocked his office door as usual the same way he did the other six days of the week- 9 a.m.-promptly 9 a.m. His portfolio tucked safely under his arm, he was anxious and ready to get the day moving. In his bones he was sure this would be the beginning of an upswing.

Wrong! Aging ungracefully, Miss Gladys was not at her desk. A guttural gasp shook him into shock. The desk top was helter skelter. Framed photos of grown children and her grandchildren were lying on the floor. Shards of glass almost sparkled when sunlight came thru the office windows. Miss Gladys' swivel ladder back chair was over-turned. Its attached pillows held on tightly. The phone was on the floor, silence filled the room, except for Joseph's heaving, wringing his hands.

 

In a turmoil he wept out loud, spouting words to Miss Gladys he had never dared say. 'Where are you? Where are you? I need you. You  are everything to me, my right hand, my very life.'

 

Trying to clear his mind, he reached to lift Miss Gladys' chair and pulled back. Mumbled words dropped from his lips. 'Stupid man. Don't touch anything. Call the police.' He pulled his perfectly folded handkerchief from his back pocket and lifted the phone, set it straight on the messed up desk  and got a dial tone. 411 answered at once and he babbled out what he could. Sirens sounded quickly. Kerchief still in his hand, he opened the office door and let the Captain in first. What seemed like a mob of officers followed the white hat. Each had his own notebook, pens and pencils in their jacket pockets. Captain Belmore assigned each man a small section and the two women officers were to classify the desk area.

 

My god, Jussel mumbled. 'Captain, Captain, my right hand is missing!' He bellowed. 'Gladys, Gladys, where are you?' His tears could not be held back.
The brilliant Captain looked at Joseph and declared Joseph's hand was ok, still attached to his arm. 

 

No one laughed when the Captain hit the floor.

 

 

DONE

                                      RED READY

I clenched my teeth and growled, 'Stupido!' at myself. Griped further, 'your tongue is bleeding!' From my purse I pulled out a small stack of crumpled pink Kleenex. It looked germy. With some hesitation I dabbed at the red spots. My tongue was really bleeding more than I expected it might. Yet, I was absolutely unable to swallow the blood. Being somewhat of a health nut, I spit on the pavement, endangering others and then I realized my cell phone wasn't in my purse. In the ladies room at 'Croix d' Glamour' I pulled out all the rest of the pink Kleenex, my make-up, my wallet, an old red lipstick I hadn't even missed, a few loose coins, sun glasses and keys. My purse was absolutely empty. 

My tongue may have still hurt but it was no longer important. Where can my cell phone be? The only logical place was back in my car. Hep, ho, with my stiletto shoes not yet fully broken in, I hurried back to my car and mysteriously knew already, my cell was not going to be in there. After a thorough search, three times, plus 4 in the empty trunk, I gave up.

My bleeding tongue was forgotten, the corned beef sandwich I meant to get at the deli for my light supper became unimportant. My head was swimming. Who do I call to report my cell missing?I needed a tonic…something to get me out of my funk.  Ahhh – the window of Sal Chasseure was just about glowing as I nearly passed it in haste.  I literally walked backwards to take a long look at some of the most mouthwatering stilettos known to man.  Louboutins…ruby red from toes to heels to soles. I heard them whisper my mother's name. 'Clarissa.' 

I heaved open the heavy Victorian door and entered the Louboutin sanctuary, aware of a lingering stare from a tall, handsome salesman in the middle of the store.  'And what can I do for you today, my beautiful?' said Mr. Gorgeous Italian god almost salivating with sexuality. He held in his hand a new slipper not yet on the deluxe turning display. Its beauty took my breath away. I wanted it, wanted it badly.

'I would like to try on the new Cirrus stiletto. It is my dream shoe, 5 1/2 narrow, please.' His arms were behind his back and as he turned towards me he showed me another surprise. His fly was bulging, about to unzip itself.

He lead me to a soft luxurious red sofa in an alcove I had never seen. As we approached it, a red velvet curtain enveloped us mechanically. My semi-worn, slightly scuffed shoes fell unaided to the floor. His hand slipped under my dress. My lacy red panties  evaporated. His investment paid off and so did mine.

I smiled as he handed me two pairs of  5 1/2 narrow redder than red, stiletto sandals. Two strong hands re-opened the red velvet curtain. One motioned to my handsome lover to get the hell out of there as he, Monsieur Louboutin,  entered.

Back with you ???

                                   OWL PLAY

 

Barry had to raise his head, lift his chin a little to kiss Amelia. She was not very cooperative as she turned slightly away. Her clumsiness did not stop Barry. His muscled arm slid easily around her waist as he pulled her closer, then closer still. When she kicked off her stilettos  heeled shoes, he was taller than willing Amelia and he was right in her face. The softness of her breasts on his chest aroused him. His left arm around her waist, his right hand holding hers, they walked down the paved park path to the unlit gazebo. The night was cool but Barry was sweating.

A little scurrying noise made his conquest jump in fear. 'It was probably a squirrel. Don't be afraid!' She snapped at him, 'Maybe it's a rat!  Let's get out of here!' Sounding very much like whatever it was, destroyed Barry's thoughts and hopes. Compared to other possibilities Barry had no fear, other than, Amelia might evaporate.

High above them, shiny black eyes stared at them, disappeared and suddenly re-appeared. Amelia let out a scream, was sure a real Boogie Man was out there someplace. Barry ridiculed her and got a punch in his belly for it.  'You ARE stupid, Girl, it's only an owl. Didn't you know an owl can turn it's head around half way and see its back?' Amelia  laughed like a silly child, glanced downward. Barry asked, 'What's so funny?'  Her voice dropped an octave as her eyes glanced at Barry's trousers. He looked at his pants too, thought for the moment he had brambles on stuck to his front.

By then her voice could barely be heard. 'Can owls really do that, Barry? We don't even look at ourselves sometimes, don't realize how we look to other people. Right? Her eyes wandered down his body and stopped at when his masculinity could not be disguised. With a new lilt in her voice she asked, 'What do you know, Lover boy? Want to use that thing?' She purred. He unzipped and the owl hooted at just the right moment.

 

A CHANGE OF PLANS

With rolling black clouds, distant thunder rumbling their warning to get inside, I quicken my three block walk to the Rialto to see a new movie that had a 3 1/2 star rating from the local reviewer. From the past I felt that was 'the kiss of death'. My thoughts race as fast as the scudding, fierce blackness rushes towards the box office -- or I must make a turn and head back to my car. As I dawdle a moment, something on the cracked tar surface of the pathway to the Rialto catches my eye. I skid to a stop, bend down and retrieve several coins--two quarters and two pennies and when I look closer at the pennies, an Indian Head stares at me. Yikes. It seems to have a glitter, has a flirting eye right at me.

 

I jump. I scream as a bolt of lightning streaks thru the sky, is surely aiming directly at the movie roof. My feet land in a puddle and loud cuss words fall out of my mouth. Something warm and instantly welcome grabs my arm, keeps me from falling. A large hand, somewhat tannish, reddish, is strong and gentle. A face, a smiling face, looks at me. Eyes, black as the darkest night,  gleam.  Thoughts of the movie fly from my mind. My attention zings onto my savior. A soft, almost angelic voice speaks a name. 'I am Sitting Tall', chief of the disappearing Hwanko Tribe. Once we were a great Indian tribe, strong, virile, but when the buffalo hunters came with their rifles we no longer had furs to keep us warm or food. Our tribe lost its leaders. I am the great, great, great grandson of our last chief. Manitoki took his own life.' He is silent for some time then asks, 'Will you walk with me, talk to me, instead of going to that silly movie that you were so determined to see?' I hesitate, wonder who he really is. I am afraid yet intrigued by Sitting Tall.

 

The sky lightens and my fears fly away. For the first time I notice the Indian carries a woven knapsack of many colors, geometric  designs. It is surely ancient. Sunshine, lovely warming sunshine peeps out of the fading black clouds. It smiles at us. We walk past the movie, the parking area, the cut rate shops. Sitting Tall leads me to a small garden I had never noticed before. Without a thought, a care, we sit on the wet bench and just stare at each other.

 

I show Sitting Tall my two pennies with Indian Heads on them. 'Chief Tall, the year the pennies were made, 1887, can still be seen. And honest to heaven, one Indian DID wink at me. Oh, how he laughs. 'My great, great, great grandfather must like you.' It is my turn to laugh and tell Sitting Tall he should change his name to Silly Tall.

 

He laughs at me, opens the pouch. From it he places a string of white beads around my neck. They are really shells. 'They are my wampam. They are my tribe's money. 'If I had the dark purple beads, you and I would be rich.'

 

'Come let us walk towards the rainbow.' We hold hands, talk and walk, never reach the rainbow.

 

True

CHANCES WERE

 

The blue sky burns hot. Sidewalks seem to sizzle.  And I don't know what to do with myself. Loneliness is a curse for which I have found no magic words, no balms to attract a friend, no smile big enough or wink flirtatious enough to 'make my day.'

 

I watch the newspaper small ads telling me all the activities for the week but none draw me. The plans are too far away for me to even find the locations or the timing doesn't fit into my food shopping or for a doctor's appointment. I know very well what I need but so far haven't found any who need me. The library is my haven. While I seldom read a book any more, spend time writing my own stories, I spot a showing at Elkton's main library where a documentary film will be shown at 1:30 p.m. this coming Fri. I call in, put my name on the list and at least have something of interest ahead.

 

Oh, I haven't mentioned yet I am eighty-eight years old, still look damn good. I'm slender, 5'5", dress fashionably but not wildly. The library is my sanctuary!  Readers are the friendliest of people. Just a glance at mothers bringing their tots to story hour, makes my heart open, feel the warmth. They are so adorable I stop one after the other to tell them how cute their pink shoes are, or ask about the dress the little blonde is wearing. Mothers kvell, enjoy my interest.

 

I am much too early for the film showing so I amble over to the aisle where I assume mystery books will be lined up like stalwart soldiers on guard. Rows and rows of authors, their books still looking brand new, never touched by human hands, until I remove a new James Patterson book, read page one and return it to its space. I try another, don't bother opening it at all and walk out into the large and active lobby.

 

Along one wall in the lobby are very comfortable armed chairs, separated with about 3 feet of space. I make myself comfortable, pretend I am reading. I shut Patterson and look again at those coming in and leaving. Time barely moves. No one has yet lined up at the door where the film will be shown. I am getting a bit antsy. A lady, younger than I but not by much, sits in the chair on my right and we get into a discussion about politics. She is waiting for a friend and keeps her eyes going back and forth to the door.

 

I swear I do not notice anyone approach me but suddenly, from the chair on my right, I see a blur just about ready to sit down. By the time his rear end is set ok  he is leaning towards me. 'Hello,' he says. 'I'm Bob? What's yours?' Well, we are in the library and I came to be with people so I reply, 'Susan.' 'And where are you from, Susan?' he asks. I smile and tell him with my fake Southern drawl, 'Why Georgia, Bob. Can't you tell? At that he turns towards me. Words fall quickly from his mouth which looks like it has held many cigarettes. 'Come outside with me, Susan.' I beg off. Bob repeats himself, 'Come outside with me, Susan' and I repeat , 'No, thank you, Bob. I'm staying right here.'

 

There is a definite change in his voice. It deepens, seems coarse, showing a sign of anger. 'I said,' he says, ' I told you to come outside with me now!' The lady sitting on the other side of me starts to squirm. I do not. He insists it is lovely outdoors and I tell him he's wrong. 'It's hot as hell out there and I'm staying in this nice air-conditioned building.'  Bob storms out, telling me to wait, he'll be right back.

 

Now, dear Reader, would you wait? I waited to see what he would do and of course, Bob never returns.  Chills go up and down my spine as I picture being inside the trunk of his car, bleeding, dead.

 

The lady sitting near me is very upset, not for me but because her friend hasn't showed up. Readers are piling in for the film and I sit, trying to concentrate on it, but just can't. What should I do? Bob may be waiting for me outside. Then I realize I still have James Patterson's book on my lap and have to return it to the shelf. Like a jackass, I walk silently right past the librarian. Where was my mind? Why didn't I tell her about Bob, have her call the sheriff? Why? I guess I'm stupid.

 

You, however have been warned. This man who at first seemed so friendly wasn't. This time he met his match but you, dear Reader had better be alert. Look around. Study strangers. Accept no invitations. Who knows, Bob may be Harry today and may be waiting at the library door for you.