Now That We’ve Met 
 
 
 

      The door opened just wide enough to frame her 60 year old body. A long white ball-gown draped her in satin, and a band of diamonds choked her wrinkled neck. She was blonde, she was styled, she was extravagant.

      He must have been staring because she raised her eyebrows and tilted her head as she said, “Yes….”

      “Hi, I was wondering if there was any possible chance I could use your phone for a short call?” he asked, feeling his face grow warm.

      “Well I suppose there’s a chance,” she replied, the emphasis on chance accompanied by a smile creeping in from the edge of her mouth.

       He didn’t know why she made him so uncomfortable; maybe it was her complete lack of discomfort. Maybe it was the way that she stood, with one hand raised and limp as if controlled by a puppeteer, or the way she drew out her words, or looked him straight in the eye. He had never seen anything like her before. The only woman he knew that was her age was his grandma. His grandma wore chunky sweaters, hobbled around her garden, and called him Bub. He guessed that this woman had never pulled a weed in her life, let alone put on a sweater that was anything but cashmere.

      She stepped out of the doorway, revealing a marble entrance, a rounded staircase, and an enormous gold vase filled with red roses.

      “Don’t you just love roses? I absolutely adore red; nothing captures romance more than a dozen red roses. I, myself, prefer a couple dozen.”

      She waltzed across the entrance, past the golden living room, past the mahogany dinning room, and into a small room with an antique velvet couch and an ivory rotary telephone.

      He stepped in, his scuffed sneakers clashing with the imperial rug.

      “You can use this phone here. I’m going to pour myself a glass of wine, would you like one? I’ll get you…white or red? I think you’re a white. Am I right? You can tell a lot about a person by the wine they choose.”

      “Oh, no thanks,” he said, but she was already out of the room.

      He sat next to the phone, and stared at it for a few seconds. His mind wandered as he wondered who this woman was, and what she was doing all alone in this huge house. He picked up the phone, but there was no dial tone. He hung it up, picked it up and waited. Still nothing. Confused, he checked if the phone line was loose, finding no phone line at all.

      Just then she came floating in. In one hand she held a scotch, in the other a glass of white wine.

      “Uh, ma’am, the phone isn’t plugged in.”

      “Oh dear, how foolish of me. You see, I never use this phone. To tell you the truth, I hardly ever use the telephone at all.” She sat down, handing him the glass of wine. “You’ll have to use the phone in the guest room.”

      He nodded, taking a sip of his wine, but she stayed seated. “Oh sure,” he said, in case she had missed his nod. The woman made no attempt at getting up; her mind was obviously somewhere else.

      “How do you like it?” she asked. “I got it as a present from a man while I was in Italy. He was a quite handsome man, the most wonderfully tanned skin. He had a beautiful accent, but he also had a wife.  Anyways, he had quite the extensive cellar, and this was supposed to be the best bottle in there. I’ve been looking for someone who would enjoy it.”

      “It’s good,” he said. He couldn’t look up at her. Instead his eyes stayed tied to the ground. Her feet looked as if they were trying to break out of their shoes. The tight leather bands cut into her loose skin. He imagined thousands of tiny men inside her foot, pushing out against the straps.

      “Well, I’m so glad you like it. Earl never drank much wine. He always said ‘If you’re gonna have a drink, have a real drink,’” she imitated in a deep voice.  “Earl was my husband, you see.  Now, I met Earl after my Italian friend - I don’t want you thinking poorly of me. I met Earl while I was in Paris. It was absolutely fabulous. The meals, the apartments, the clothing…”

      The phone.

      “He took care of me - he really took care of me.  I never had to ask for a single thing; anything I wanted was already there waiting for me. Things were never complicated. Even after he was gone he was still taking care of me. Up to this day, you know?”

      No wonder Earl liked to drink, he thought. If he lived with this woman, she’d probably drive him to alcoholism too.

      “It’s a good thing I met him, because I really needed him. You see, I had saved up some money, but at this point in my trip I wasn’t going to have enough to get home. I was down to my last few dollars, which I realized weren’t going to pay for a whole lot more than a drink. As I walked into the bar I saw the most handsome, well dressed, and utterly depressed man at the far end. Propping myself next to him I ordered a drink. Let’s just say, that was the last thing I ever paid for. Modern day fairy tale isn’t it? We’re talking Cinderella.”

      She gave a short laugh at the end of her story, which he echoed to disguise the fact that he hadn’t been listening to a word.  His mind had been darting from question to question. Should he ask her about the phone? Had she forgotten? Did she care? He began forming a sentence in his head. I’m sorry, but where did you say the other phone…

      “I have a picture of Earl – do you want to see it? Actually, I have many pictures of Earl, but I’ll show you our wedding day. We were married in Greece, on an Island named Crete. Flew everyone out there, and had just the most fabulous wedding you’ve ever seen. There were all sorts of beautiful people there; you would have loved it. Why, if I had known you then, you would have been invited too. I wish I had…let me show you the picture.”

      With that, she was out of the room. He sat for a second, still staring at the rug.  The designs danced around his feet. He had to get home.

      He rose from the couch, quietly making his way into the hall.  The click of her heels sounded distant, so he continued carefully past the living room, the dining room, and back into the grand entrance. The entrance was no longer lit up from the sun; he noticed now a large chandelier overhead. It glittered as the light reflected off the hundreds of crystals. It could easily crush him if it decided to fall. While momentarily entranced by the chandelier, he saw the door and snapped back to the task at hand. He reached out, feeling the cold doorknob in his hand. A short twist and a click, It was locked.

      He felt his heart begin to pound as he stared at the door.  He scanned up and down, searching for a deadbolt. Defeated, he moved to windows. He pulled back the delicate curtains to find only fixed windows. He moved into the living room, now a little frantic, yanking at the heavy floor length drapes. Half expecting to stumble across a trap door, he inspected every inch of the room. He was standing in the middle of the room, his eyes wide, when she reappeared behind him.

      “I was wondering where you had gone.”

      He spun around, his face warm with embarrassment. She looked so small and sweet standing there in the archway. Both her hands were wrapped tightly around a picture frame.

      “Wandering, I see. Oh, I don’t blame you; I spend most of my afternoons just wandering around this old house. It’s perfect for that, you see, because there’s never anyone here to disturb. You can slip in and out of every room without ever stumbling across a soul.”

      He awkwardly produced a smile in some sort of feigned agreement. As if he had any idea what she was talking about.

      “I found the picture I wanted to show you. Here, come sit down,” she said.

      She looked up at him, standing rigidly in the corner, and tapped the seat next to her. He responded by slowly sitting down, keeping his back perfectly straight.  The photograph was of a young woman and a slightly older man. You could tell it was their wedding day by the white gown, the tuxedo, and the huge smile stretching across her face.  The photo had that sort of glow that wedding photos do – the glow of the sun reflecting off the dress, and the glow of the newlywed’s faces. She was holding a toddler, whom the two of them were admiring.

      “Is that your son?” he asked, surprised to hear the words come out of his mouth, and unsure whether it was safe to show interest.

      “No, no, no. That’s Earl’s son, from a previous marriage. A cute little boy, wasn’t he? He was an angel; I would have loved to have a son like him. But, of course, one was enough for Earl.  Never saw too much of him. It wasn’t as if his mother ever let him come over to our house, but there was nothing I could do about that.” She paused for a moment, it wasn’t clear if it was for dramatic effect, or if she really had run out of things to say. “Last I saw him was when Earl was sick. He was probably one of the last visitors we had in this house.”

      Her speech had slowed now, as if she were actually thinking about what she wanted to say before she said it. “Listen…I’m pretty exhausted. I hate to push you out, but I’ve got to lie down. I’ll walk you to the door.”

      She rose to her feet, keeping the photo clutched in her hands. She slowly glided to the door, turning back to see if he was following. Placing the photo gently on a small table in the entrance, she grasped the doorknob with both hands. A couple wiggles and jerks, and the door slid open.

      “It gets stuck sometimes,” she said with a faint smile.

      He made his way out the door, taking each step lightly as if he were trying not to make a sound.

      “Bye,” he said, turning back. In his final glimpse of the woman she stood supported by the doorframe. She was slightly hunched and small – crushed in the doorway of her massive house. For a second he worried about leaving her alone.