Double-Take

            by Lani Rosenthal

 

            At six o’clock, Dave began bringing the flowers in from the sidewalk.  He carried the skinny metal buckets three at a time, setting them carefully in the corner behind the door.  By 6:10 the flowers were in, the lights were off, and his key was in the lock of the tiny shop.  It had been an unusually cold winter for Berkeley, and, hesitating for just a moment, he went back inside to grab his beanie from the shelf under the counter.  After double-checking that the sunflowers had enough water to make it through the night, Dave relocked the door and made his way up Solano.

The Oaks’ old marquee announced its current films – Freedomland and Mrs. Henderson Presents – with a gentle white glow.  Dave paused at the corner of Solano and The Alameda.  With the bright lights coming from the windows of Cactus Tacquería and The Oaks now behind him, he was able to see the stars clearly.  The Big Dipper wasn’t visible yet, but the familiar cluster of the Pleiades shone on his left.  The chilly air gnawed at his fingers, urging him to keep moving.

Dave crossed the street and walked briskly toward the tunnel.  A waist-high chain-link fence stood to his left, separating the thin strip of sidewalk he was on from the cars rushing past.  A cement wall began to slope upward on his right, engulfing Dave as it closed overhead and became the tunnel.  The curve in the road meant he could only see about seven feet in front of him, so he heard Stephanie’s echoing footsteps long before he saw her.  When she finally rounded the bend, her face lit up with a smile.  She walked slowly, but confidently, her deep-brown hair falling lightly to her shoulders and framing her delicate features.

“Hey Dave!  I figured that was you,” she said.

“Hi, Stephanie.  How’s your back doing today?”

“It’s alright.  Physical therapy was better than usual, I guess,” she replied.  “It’s getting a little bit easier.  Oh, thanks for suggesting that I try swimming.  It’s great finally being able to get in a good workout.”

“Yeah, definitely.  I’m glad it’s working for you.  Well, I’ve got to keep moving before I freeze.”

“Me too,” Stephanie said, pulling her peacoat tighter around her body and readjusting her bright red winter scarf.  “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, have a nice evening,” Dave replied.

Stephanie brushed against him as she made her way down the narrow walkway past him, toward the bright lights that he had left behind.

 

***

 

Saturday morning had been gray and quiet in the Solano Flower Shop.  The sidewalk display attempted to entice potential buyers with low prices and colorful floral groupings.  Inside, beautifully arranged bouquets lined the shelves, with potted orchids thrown in playfully here and there.  Dave sat behind the counter, eating his bag lunch.  Hot tomato soup, compliments of the microwave by his feet, struck him as the perfect meal for such a gloomy day.  When he finished his soup, Dave got up and walked through the store, checking the water level in the flower buckets and mentally designing arrangements for the next day.  The bell above the door rang lightly as a younger man walked into the store.

“Hello,” Dave said.  “Feel free to look around, and let me know if I can help you with anything.”

“Alright,” the man replied, running his hand along his stubble and glancing around the room.  He walked over to the wall and stood looking at the flowers for a moment.  “I’d like a small bunch of irises.  Light purple and white, please.”

“OK, sure,” Dave said, grabbing two buckets off the shelf and taking them to the counter.  He pulled out seven flowers and grouped them together, holding them out to the man for approval.  “How’s this?”

“Perfect.”

Dave trimmed the stems and wrapped the flowers in a sheet of lavender tissue paper, deftly tying them with a piece of dark purple ribbon.  “That’ll be $11.34.”

The man paid and left, bouquet in hand.

 Twenty minutes later, a group of teenage girls entered the shop.  “Hi,” one of them said.  “We’re trying to buy flowers for our friend who’s in a play, so we need a sort of ‘manly’ bouquet.  Do you think you can help us?”

After sending them off with an arrangement of tropical flowers – the least feminine combination he could think of – Dave leaned back in his chair, propped his feet on the counter, and opened up the S.F. Chronicle.  He had finished the business section and made it halfway through the comics before his brother entered the shop.  He looked a little younger than Dave did, in his late-forties maybe.  The wind had wreaked havoc on his brown hair, and his stiff, charcoal-gray jacket was speckled from the light rain coming down outside.

“Amos!  What brings you here?” Dave exclaimed.

“Hi, Dave.  I wanted to get a flower for Janie.”

“Oh… Amos, Janie’s gone.”

“No, she’s coming back to me.  I saw it.”

“Well in that case, take your pick,” Dave said gently.

Amos turned to the buckets of roses lined up on the wrought-iron table and began inspecting them.  After several minutes of scrutiny, he pulled out a delicate light pink rose and brought it to the counter.

“Just the one?” Dave asked.  A patronizing tone crept into his voice, “A big bouquet might really impress her.”

“No, I just want this one.  It’s the best one you have.  It’s perfect.”

“Well alright.”  Dave carefully wrapped the solitary flower.  “Do you have any plans tonight?  It’d be nice to go out to dinner together, catch up a little bit.  We can go to Rivoli, it’s one of my favorites.”

“Sure.”

“Great, I’ll meet you down there after I close up, say, 6:30?  I can make reservations for us.”

“OK Dave, I’ll see you then,” Amos said.  He left the shop and hurried down Solano through the wind.

The rest of the afternoon passed slowly and without interruption.  At six o’ clock Dave closed up as usual, then dashed the five blocks through pouring rain to meet Amos for dinner.  Amos walked through the door, soaking as well, ten minutes later, and the brothers were quickly seated in the corner next to the window.  Mushroom fritters, grilled pork chops stuffed with roast apple and walnuts, good conversation, and several glasses of an old Rosso di Montalcino filled the evening, and it was late by the time they said goodnight.  The rain had subsided, but the wind was still whipping fiercely down the slick, empty street.  Dave walked briskly, wanting to get home and out of the cold as quickly as possible.  He paused as he passed the flower shop, looking through the windows affectionately before hurrying on.

As Dave approached the entrance to the tunnel, a flicker of red, illuminated by the streetlight, caught his eye.  On the hill across the street, snagged on a spindly tree branch, Stephanie’s scarf was flapping viciously in the wind.  Checking the street for cars, Dave swung over the short fence and dashed across the street to retrieve the scarf for Stephanie.  He waded a few feet through the calf-deep ivy, reached into the tree, and suddenly froze.  There on the ground, hidden from the street by the trees, was Stephanie’s mutilated body, a bloody knife lying next to it.

 

 

*       *       *

 

 

Amos Delaney woke up, his dream from the previous night still fresh in his memory.  Today was the day that Janie would finally come back to him.  He was sure of it.  Amos pulled his legs out from underneath the covers and swung them onto the floor, immersing them in the chilly morning air.  He shuffled the few steps to the bathroom and brushed his teeth while he waited for the shower to warm up.  Within minutes, he was grinning deliriously from beneath a cascade of steaming hot water.  After he had lathered, rinsed, and repeated, Amos turned off the water and stepped over the rim of the bathtub.  He wiped a circle in the condensation on the mirror and ran a black, fine-toothed comb through his hair, parting it neatly down the middle.  How could she not come back to him?

Amos puttered around his tiny apartment, getting ready for the day.  He made his bed, ate his usual breakfast of grapenuts and orange juice, and double-checked that all of the lights were off and the windows were locked before he stepped out the front door into the biting wind.

There were no trees to block the wind at the bus stop, and Amos was very glad for his jacket during the long wait.  Finally, the 43 showed up with “San Pablo via Solano” scrolling across the front display in purple block letters.  Amos stepped aboard and took a row to himself near the back, facing forward.  He got off when the bus reached Solano and The Alameda.  Amos had a lot to do.

 

***

           

            It was a quarter after six and Amos was leaning against the wall holding the flawless bouquet of roses, just the way he’d been in the dream.  He wished that the dream had shown him somewhere else, because the wall was grimy and his jacket was getting dirty, but he had been here and there was no way around that.  He wanted everything to go perfectly – just as he’d seen it.  The rain was streaming down, but it didn’t matter, Janie was worth it.  Amos breathed in the aroma of the roses and smiled.  Everything would go perfectly.

            He heard her footsteps, slow and steady, coming toward him.

            “Janie,” he whispered under his breath.  “Janie, Janie, Janie.”  He repeated himself, louder, as she rounded the bend.  “Janie.  My Janie.  You came back to me.  I knew you would.  I saw it, you know.”

            “I’m sorry, you must think I’m someone else.  I don’t know anyone named Janie,” the woman replied, stiffening.

            “No no no, I’d recognize you anywhere, Janie.  Don’t try to trick me, I love you.  See, I brought you flowers.  They’re perfect.  Each and every one of them is perfect.  A different store for each, and only the very best from each store.  Only the very best for you, Janie.  Only the very best.”

            “I don’t know who you are, and I don’t know who Janie is,” the woman said firmly.  “Now please excuse me, I’d like to get by.”

            Amos stood firm, blocking the narrow walkway.  “Why are you in such a hurry, Janie?” he pleaded.

            “My name isn’t Janie, it’s Stephanie,” she said, beginning to slowly move backward into the tunnel.

“Janie, where are you going?  I love you, can’t you tell?  I brought you flowers.  They’re perfect, too.  Each and every one.  Come with me, Janie.  I know you love me.  I saw it in the dream.  I saw you.  You came with me.”

Stephanie turned and began running.  Within moments, Amos had knocked her to the ground and pinned her down.

“Stop it, Janie.  I know you love me.  Come with me.  Come with me to the hill.  That’s where we went when I saw us.  We can stay there forever because we love each other and that’s enough.  Come with me, Janie.”

“Get off of me!  I’m not Janie!” Stephanie screamed.

“Don’t lie to me, Janie.  Don’t make me mad,” Amos said, opening his pocketknife and pressing the blade against her throat.

Tears streamed down Stephanie’s face as she stood and walked forward, followed closely by Amos.  “See, Janie.  See how good this is?  See how perfect?  We’re together again and everything is alright.  I’ve waited so long for this, Janie, so long.  Here.  This is where we climbed over the fence.  Go on.”  Stephanie’s body convulsed with sobs as she felt the press of the cool metal against her neck.  She slid one leg and then the next over the handrail.  They crossed the street together and started up the hill.  And then, together, Amos and his love disappeared into the trees.