Johnmichael Simon

  

The following works are copyright © 2008. All rights reserved. No distribution or reprinting in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

  

Two Stories

  

1. Hello Darling

‘Hello darling, I’m home’.

‘How are you?’

‘I’m fine, except for my stomach, its a little uncomfortable, its probably nothing, I’m sure it’ll go away soon’.

‘Let me get you some boolah boolah tea. Its very good for tummies’.

‘No thanks, I’ll be fine in a few minutes’.

‘I’ll give you a tummy massage. That’s sure to make you feel better’.

‘No thanks, I’ll be fine”.

“Darling, I just remembered. Jessica gave me some dried jolopini flowers. They’re excellent for stomach problems…saved her aunt’s life actually. I’ll brew you a nice cup of jolopini tea and put a little honey in it’.

‘No thanks really. I’m feeling better already’.

‘Are you hungry darling?’

‘No’.

‘How about a little wild aboriginal oatmeal? It only takes a few minutes to prepare. It’s very good for tummies. I’ll give it to you with your jalopini tea.’

‘No thanks really. I’m fine now and I’m not hungry’.

‘Darling?’

“Yes?.

‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m just sitting here relaxing’.

‘How’s your tummy?’

‘I’m fine now’.

‘Your boolah boolah tea will be ready in a minute, and I’ve made you a teeny bowl of aboriginal oatmeal. I put in some of those lava lava nuts you loved the other day at the vegan restaurant. I went specially to the health store to get them.  Why aren’t you eating?.

‘I’ll have it in a minute, I’m not really hungry’.

‘You should have it while its hot. It’s so tasty’.

‘I think I’ll lie down and rest for a few minutes’.

‘Oh my darling you’re really not feeling well. I’m so goddam insensitive. Here I am bringing you tea and oatmeal and everything and all the time your stomach is so upset that you can’t eat a thing’.

‘No its not that. I’m just a bit tired. Had a long day. I’ll just nap for a few minutes’.

‘OK, can I just give you a tiny little hug before you go to sleep?’

‘Huh?’

‘I love to kiss you. Your skin is so soft and sensuous. Your skin has a very special smell do you know? I love your smell. Darling?’

‘Ummh’.

‘I put a nice cup of jalopini tea on the table next to the bed. You can drink a little before you fall asleep. Then when you wake up you’ll be as right as rain’.

‘Sure’.

‘Darling can I tell you something?’

‘Of course’.

‘This morning I was just sitting here thinking about that day we were in the forest with the flowers and the waterfall and all that and it reminded me of Beethoven’s Pastoral symphony. My aunt Jessica, God rest her soul, used to love the Pastoral. Anyway right at that moment they played a commercial on the radio about this Pastoral face crème and do you know what darling? Well you guessed it. They were playing the second movement of the Pastoral symphony in the background. Now is that a message from the angels or isn’t it?’

‘Sounds like it”.

‘No really. Do you think I’m psychic or something? I’m always getting these déjà vu feelings. They come to me in a flash when I’m unaware, thinking of other things and then they just jump into my head ready made, you know? Where do you think they come from do you know what I think?’

‘I’ll sleep just a few minutes, OK?’

‘I think they come through me, not from my sub-conscious or anything, but through me from a higher source of energy, or even a parallel world or a past life if you will. I mean I’ve always thought that I don’t really belong here. You know that feeling, don’t you?’

‘Just a quarter of an hour’.

‘You didn’t drink your boolah boolah tea’.

‘zzzmm’.

‘Would you like to take a shower when you get up. Shall I turn on the hot water for you?’

‘zzz’.

‘I’ll turn on the hot water. Nothing like a hot shower when you wake up. Then you can have a little of that veggie soup I made from those mushrooms we picked in the forest. Garfield, Exupery, Zip-zip, get off the bed and let Honeybunch sleep. Off, all of you. Chin-chin stop eating that oatmeal, its not for cats. C’mon out you go. Oh shit goddam it look what I’ve done, spilt the damn oatmeal all over your pillow and your head…oh darling I’m so sorry, I’m so clumsy, I was just trying to shoo Chin-chin away and now look what I’ve done. I’ll get a towel and clean you up in a minute’.

‘Its OK, I’ll take a shower’.

‘The water’s not hot yet. Let me clean you up first. Oh shit what an idiot I am. I am so sorry. I’ll just mop it up and you can go back to sleep.’

‘No, I’m awake now. I’ll take a shower OK?’

‘Oh darling you’re such a sweet man. After you shower can I read you a poem that I wrote after we came back from the forest?’

  

2. The Numbers Game

Joanna was in the shower when the phone rang. She allowed the hot water to cascade over her for a few luxurious seconds while debating whether to answer or not. Then she muttered a curse, stepped out, wrapped herself in a thick towel and took the call. It was Lorraine. At eight a.m. it was usually Lorraine. “Joanna how are you this lovely morning?” she sang out.   Lorraine was calling from her car, which was one of her favorite forms of communication.

“What’s so lovely about it?” Joanna held the phone in the crook of her neck as she toweled herself.  “Are you in a good mood because your date last night turned out promising?”

“Seven plus rating,” Lorraine replied.  He’s not bad looking, definitely unattached, a little shy, good humored, and it didn’t bother him a bit that I ordered lobster and out of season strawberries at Fortesque’s.”

Joanna made a whistling sound as she wriggled into her panties.  “ Fortesque’s no less. That must have set him back fifty dollars.”

“Sixty two not including the tip, to be precise – and he’s invited me to Pavarotti in La Traviata on Friday night. It’s a charity premiere and the seats cost a small fortune.”

“Some girls have all the luck,” Joanna laughed brushing at her untidy hair and frowning into the mirror.

“Luck’s got nothing to do with it.  Love is a numbers game.”  The sound of honking interrupted her words. “Sorry I’ve just landed and some bastard is trying to steal my parking,” she said.  “Got to go, speak to you later”.  The line went dead.

Joanna studied her reflection in the mirror. Her face was too long, and her eyes too far apart.  Tiny tell tale wrinkles showed that she was on the wrong side of thirty-five.  “Lets face it,” she said to herself.  “You’re not much of an attraction. Plain, not young and twice divorced.”  She winced and wondered for the thousandth time how had it happened.  What was so wrong with her that she couldn’t sustain a relationship for more than a few years before it broke down like an unreliable second hand car?

She resented Lorraine for her upbeat optimism.  Lorraine had hardly let the sods settle on George’s grave when she contacted the singles dating service.  They kept her supplied with a constant string of leads.  Over the last few months she had been meeting new men on an average of one a week.  Joanna was getting tired of Lorraine’s constant blow-by-blow accounts of her dates accompanied by assessments of their bedroom skills or lack of them.  Lorraine also kept telling Joanna to get out there and start dating.  There was nothing to be gained from sitting at home watching television and fantasizing about Mr. Right who would one day come along.  “Dating’s a numbers game,” she reminded Joanna.  “It’s like the sales strategy we taught when doing that door to door promotion last year. Make enough calls and the sales are bound to follow. Make enough new dates and you’ll end up in a relationship.  Simple and foolproof.”

Joanna wasn’t convinced that the strategy would work for her.  For one thing she didn’t have the patience to be nice to a constant stream of potential suitors.  Her twelve-year-old son Jonathan was also a problem. He was very attached and loyal to his father, Joanna’s first husband and had been quite hostile when she mentioned the possibility of meeting other men. 

She was also beset with doubt about her image as a woman.  True, being divorced was no longer a stigma.  These days every second person you met had split up, was separated, or was in the process.  Was something wrong with me?  When divorce happens to you, it’s like an accident.  But when it happens twice in a row it becomes a track record. 

She joked about it to her social anthropology students.  “I can tell you a lot about relationships between societies,” she’d say, “but I don’t understand too much about relationships between men and women. Those, I’m afraid, remain a mystery to me.”

She finished dressing and looked at her watch. It was getting late; she would not have time for her usual breakfast.  She had a quick cup of coffee and left for the University.  She didn’t really miss having a man in her life.  She had a rewarding academic career and enjoyed the challenge of being a single parent.  Still, it would be nice to go out a little more, have some fun.  But not the numbers game.  She definitely wasn’t ready for that.

The week sped by in a whirl of lectures, committee meetings, and preparations for the seminar on primitive folklore. When Friday arrived, she packed a small bag of clothes for Jonathan’s bi-weekly visit to his father. The house would be quiet this weekend.  She would be able to work on her article without interruptions. 

She picked out five of her favorite classical disks and loaded the CD.  As the music brightened the quiet air, she imagined Lorraine sitting with her date in the crowded auditorium.  After the performance he would drive her home and then she might invite him up for a cup of coffee.  Suddenly she had an urge for a cappuccino and a piece of black forest gateau.  It wouldn’t harm to pop down to Café Vienna for a half an hour before getting down to work.

Café Vienna was packed.  She had never been there on a Friday evening before and had not imagined anything like this.  Couples were queuing up at the door to get in.  During the week it was such a quiet intimate spot, now it was bustling and noisy.  She stood outside feeling ridiculous. Even if she were to join the queue, how could she ever brazen it out to request a table for one?  She turned away and bumped into a man standing right behind her knocking his glasses off his nose.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized catching the glasses somehow in mid air and handing them back to him.  “I didn’t see you. It’s very crowded. I didn’t expect it. ”

“That’s all right, no harm caused.  I’ve never seen Café Vienna so busy,” he smiled at her.  “I often come in the afternoon. It’s quiet then. I usually take the table next to the small window overlooking the garden.  You can sit in that corner for hours over a cup of coffee reading a book or just watching the people.”

“Oh do you like that table too?  I always sit there.  It’s a wonderful place for marking papers, so secluded. But just look at it now, they’ve pushed it together with another table for that big party. “  She looked up at him, he looked about thirty with a shock of unruly brown hair. She noticed that he had quite hairy ears too.

“You’re not perhaps waiting for anybody,” he said, giving a shy smile.

“I don’t think so, not really, I mean I’m not,” she suddenly felt flustered. “I thought I’d take a break and just sit here quietly and enjoy a cappuccino. But now this,” she said gesturing at the crowd. “Sorry about the glasses.  It was nice er bumping into you.”

“Don’t go.  You can still have that cappuccino.  With me I mean.”  His eyes crinkled. He really did have a sweet smile.  “I’ve been standing here for almost an hour waiting for my blind date to arrive but it looks as if she’s not coming.  Will you join me?  I’d like that very much.”

Joanna hesitated then thought ‘what the hell’.  “OK,” she heard herself saying.  “But not for long.”

Three hours later she found herself on her second cup of coffee, oblivious to the crowd, deep in conversation and gazing directly into a very hairy ear.  It had all happened so naturally she thought.  As if meeting a strange man in the road and then spending the evening with him was a socially acceptable form of behavior. His name was Trevor and he too was divorced, but only once. She had a quite definite feeling that she wanted to see him again.

On Monday morning Lorraine called on her way to work.  She was inconsiderate, Joanna thought.  Just because she’s stuck in a traffic jam with nothing to do doesn’t mean that I have to miss my breakfast again.  “So how was your date?” she asked.

“A bit boring really.  He’s quite an aficionado of the opera.  Rambled on and on about Gluck, Bellini, Meyerbeer and other composers I’ve never heard of.  Thank God for Pavarotti. He was magnificent. How was your weekend?”

“Pretty quiet,” Joanna answered.  “Jonathan was with his father so I managed to catch up on some work". 

Lorraine chuckled.  “Still playing the workaholic hermit I see.  You won’t catch me sitting at home for a whole weekend.  I’d go bonkers.”

“Lorraine, tell me something,” Joanna said suddenly, “Would you go out with a man who’s been divorced twice?”

“Why not?  It’s not a criminal offence you know.”  She giggled. “Some of the nicest people I know have been divorced twice.  Oh Joanna you won’t believe what happened.  I double dated and screwed up.  When the first guy suggested we meet on Friday evening, I agreed but I wrote the arrangement in my diary for next week by mistake.  Don’t know how.  I only realized later that I’d left some poor chump waiting outside the Café Vienna while I enjoyed the opera.  I didn’t take his phone number so I can’t even call to apologize. Oh well that’s the numbers game for you.  Some you lose and some you win.”

Joanna smiled to herself. She’d be seeing Trevor in four hours time.