“So...her name is Rose. She's
sixty-three years old, loves dogs and has done a lot of travelling.
Never been to D.C., though.”
Lucille hoisted the water glass to
her mouth and gulped gratuitously. She reached across the table and
lay a hand over Clayton's. His right hand calmed from the storm of anxiety within.
“That's nice.” She nodded
toward the paper boat which his napkin had become, resting atop waves
of silverware in a sea of brown tabletop. “Where did you learn to
do that?”
“Rhonda. She was good at
origami. Tried to teach me but this boat was all I could master.
Never very good at folding stuff. She was the right brain, I was the
left.” He smiled to himself.
“Perfect combination, I'd say.
You know, Clayton, you're not replacing her, just adding to the
mosaic of great people you'll befriend in your lifetime. It's not a
crime to want company.”
“Yeah.” He scanned the
breadth of the restaurant for a familiar face. This particular
location should be out of the way enough that he'd not run into any
old acquaintances or friends.
“What's wrong with you?”
He realized instantly how badly that came out. “I mean, do you
find me attractive?”
Lucille beamed, her face turning a
deeper shade of pink. “The answer is “yes”, I do find you
very attractive. But I'm married...to Harv.”
“Aaah.” He grinned. “Guess
that means you're not available, then.”
“Well, I'm truly flattered,
Clayton. I'm here for you, anyway, until you find someone just as
dazzlingly captivating as me.” She flipped her curls in coquettish
playfulness.
Their attention turned
simultaneously to the restaurant door, swinging open to reveal a
silver-haired woman in flattering pantsuit.
“O.k., Clayton, it's Rose. Are
you ready for this? I suggest you keep things on a first name
basis...for anonymity.” Lucille winked. “Just in case it
doesn't work out.”
She rose from her seat and Clayton
followed suit. Lucille made the necessary introductions, excused
herself to a mountain of laundry back home, and was off.
Brandy leaves a beautiful amber
residue around the inside rim of a snifter, its bouquet equally
exotic and uplifting. Clayton sipped from the glass cupped within
his hands. The Oxycontin bottle rested on the lamp table beside him
as he reclined further into the armchair. He carried it around
occasionally as a tangible reminder of his intentions. Orange
fingers coursed upwards from the fire at its source, pointing
haphazardly, this way and that, toward the two photos mounted atop
the mantle; Rhonda and Rose.
He'd liked her...a lot. She was
no beauty queen, somewhat overweight, but perhaps this was to her
advantage. Clayton didn't go for the under-nourished look that the
world fancied so much. Like the waitress who'd served them tonight –
too skinny. It was a cruel reminder of Rhonda's emaciated core in
her final days.
They'd hit it off, he was sure,
her story as compelling as his although she'd been single longer and
more familiar with loneliness and the need for distraction in human
form. They'd discussed politics, health issues, travel adventures
and past relationships. The death topic was off limits – they'd
agreed on that quickly. They also agreed, before the evening was
done, that neither would expect anything of the other. They would
not sit by the phone and pine for a call or message.
He picked up the pill bottle and
shook it, its contents rattling against a secured lid. He almost
felt a need to leave a note behind for Rose, explaining his hasty
escape from mortality to assure her that there was nothing in it to
be taken personally. But a note would suggest to the family that
she'd meant something to him, a girlfriend in his life. He couldn't
have that – because she wasn't – she was just a travel friend and
that's all.
Lucille called at ten, curious
about the “date”. It wasn't a date, he reminded her, just a
meeting.
“She's exceptional, in a
pragmatic sort of way. She doesn't talk with her mouth full and is a
pretty good listener. Wants to see the Smithsonian and Lincoln
Memorial before she dies.”
“What about the other two
ladies? Are you ready for another “meeting”?
“No. No, I don't see any need
to put them through that. They're probably nice enough but I don't
want to get their hopes up. I only have two tickets to D.C and one
of them has my name on it. Can't take them all and I'm not good at
this dang Dating Game. Will it be bachelorette number one, two or
three? You know what I mean?”
“Of course. Has Rose agreed,
then, to accompany you on this trip?”
“She said it was my call but
she'd be glad to escort me if I'd like. We'd get separate rooms.”
He didn't altogether know why that was pertinent to Lucille.
Clayton checked the airport
monitor for his flight number; it was on time. Thirty more minutes
and they'd be cruising at thirty-five thousand feet, shuttling to the
nation's capital at break-neck speed. He'd stopped and picked up a
pack of chewing gum at the sundries shop, just in case she had
trouble with her ears at that altitude.
He checked his carry-on again,
taking inventory of his necessities – camera, toothbrush and a
variety of casual wear. He believed in packing light, hoped she
shared his sentiment. The terminal echoed with the next announcement
- “all passengers travelling on flight 417 for Washington D.C., you
may begin boarding now. Parents with small children and persons with
handicaps first.”
Clayton looked around for a sign
of Rose. He checked his watch again. She said she'd be here at
least a half hour ago. He flicked his cell phone to “on” and a
message prompt blinked on the screen. He listened – it was Rose.
“Clayton, I'm terribly sorry.
Something's come up. I've had to take Edgar to the vet. He kept me
up all night vomiting. Hope you have fun in D.C. You can tell
me all about it when you get back.”
He'd been upstaged by a dog.
That's how the cookie crumbles sometimes. He picked up his carry-on
and boarded the plane.
Stuffing his luggage into an
overhead compartment he dropped into his seat. The lady next to him
was staring out her window, fidgeting with the lid of the armrest
ashtray.
“First time flying?”
She turned to meet his gaze. She
had auburn hair with a pinch of grey showing at the roots and laugh
lines even when she wasn't laughing.
“No, but I don't travel enough
to ever fully get used to it. You heading to D.C for business or
pleasure?” Her breath smelled of lemon drops.
“Pleasure. Always wanted to see
the Museum of Natural History. That's where Night At The Museum was
filmed. You've seen it...with Robin Williams?”
“Mm hmm. Love Robin Williams.”
She relaxed into her seat and brushed a hand through her hair. “Did
you know that the Smithsonian was established by an English fellow
named Smithson? Well, he didn't actually have it built but he
bequeathed his estate to the American government to have a place
established where people from around the world could learn more about
their history. That's why admission is free. He wanted everyone to
be able to access it.”
“I'll be. I wasn't aware of
that. Where are you staying?”
“At a five-star near Capital
Hill. That's where my husband and I stayed one year for our wedding
anniversary...just before his heart attack. Haven't traveled in the
ten years he's been gone so this is going a bit out on the limb for
me.”
“Staying long?”
“Three weeks. I need time to
get through the crowds. I get arthritis flares that slow me down
some, not as quick out of the gate as I was once. How about you?”
“Same. Three weeks. No
arthritis yet, but I have a bum knee and numerous other ailments not
worth the mention. I suppose you're familiar with the Great American
Bird?”
Her eyes searched him with
curiosity. Clayton leaned back and laughed.
“Please move your seats into the
upright position until we're in full flight.” A pretty flight
attendant interrupted their banter. “I'll be by with some pillows
and blankets later so you two can snuggle in.” She winked, smiled
and moved on.
Clayton reached into his trouser
pocket and produced a package. “Gum?”
Oxycontin was the furthest thing
from his mind.
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