THIS IS HOW WE END OUR DAY

This is part 5 of my newest piece. We've just crossed over into the Novella Zone, and I'd say we're half way there. This is Act Three; scene one and two.

I know it’s long, and I apologize (in a way.) But it’s the weekend, and the whole idea is to sit up in bed and read it while your partner serves you either coffee, or breakfast in bed. What? They don’t do that? You’re gonna have to talk to them about that, because that’s what I do for mine. I make coffee, while she sits in bed and scrolls through her iPad. Of course, she’s sleeping right now and will probably be mad at me because we went to bed late, and I got up before 6:00 so I could put this out. It looks like four and a half hours of sleep. I say, if you’re going to suffer through life with a touch of insomnia, take advantage of it.

Anyway, this is STORIES, AFTER EIGHT, and THIS IS HOW WE END OUR DAY…

Photo by K. A.S. on Unsplash

Act Three; scene one

She said her name was Avery.

I said, “I coulda swore your Grandmother said it was something different?”
“Oh, you mean Evangeline?” she said with a laugh.

“Is that what it is?” I asked, knowing full well it was, because Mrs. Naramova had just told me before asking me to go meet her at the door.

“Too fuckin’ long,” she said. “I’m changing my last name, too.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to be an actor, and you can’t make it in Hollywood with a name like Evangeline Naramova; too many syllables. So I’m changing it. Now, I’m Avery Byrd; that’s with a Y, by the way.”

“I didn’t know there was another way to spell it,” I quipped.

We were standing on the sidewalk, in front of the steps leading up to the apartment building. She’d arrived by way of taxi; expected, but unannounced. I thought it was a sign of her independence, her taking a cab in from the airport like that. She was way more grown up than I could ever pretend to be, I told myself. She was tall, and skinny, with tied-back auburn hair, and one of them red polkadot handkerchiefs tied up like a headband. She had a buck-toothed grin, and a face full of freckles as well as thick-rimmed glasses. She wasn’t pretty, just sorta plain I guess, but her looks had a way of growing on you. Maybe it was the headband, I don’t know; it could’ve been the glasses.

Anyway, she was wearing bib overalls with one of the suspenders hanging loose, a man’s undershirt underneath, and I could see her left nipple poking against the fabric. She didn’t have big tits, in fact, hardly any at all, but it was distracting and I couldn’t stop looking at it. She knew I was looking at it, too, but didn’t seem to care. When she arrived, she was carrying a single suitcase and wearing heavy work boots that were scuffed and scarred, with the frayed laces tied and retied in three different places. I’d been standing out on the steps, waiting for her. Like I said, Mrs. Naramova had asked me to wait at the door for her so I could help with whatever luggage she had. She only had the one suitcase and it was tied with a thin hempen rope looped through the handle.

“Are you the granddaughter?” I asked, walking down the steps as the cab drove away.

“That depends on who you are,” she said, turning and looking at me closely.

“Danny. Your grandmother sent me down to help you with your luggage.”

“You always do what she asks?”

“I help her when I can. Buy food for her, pick up her medicine, and smokes. Take her for walks when she wants to go out.”

“Take her for walks? You make it sound like you’re taking out the family pet,” she laughed. “Well, if you’re the bell-boy at this fancy joint, there it is,” she said, looking down at the suitcase.

“If I’m the bell-boy, I guess that means you’re going to give me a tip,” I shot back.

She looked at me and smiled. That’s when she told me her name.

“Pretty quick. You a comedian, or something?”

“Probably more of the or something,” I said, picking up the battered bag.

“Well, lead on McDuff,” she said.

I pulled the door open and walked her to the old elevator. We waited in silence as the car made its way down, groaning and scraping as if it was protesting having to come pick us up. It was one of the reasons I usually used the stairs. The other reason was that it broke down sometimes and it would take hours before someone showed up to fix it.

The doors slid open with a clunk, and I stepped in, waiting for her to follow.

“Is it safe?”

“Reasonably,” I said, putting the suitcase down and reaching over to push the button for the fourth floor. She was staring up at the numbers and I was standing slightly behind her. I could see the gentle swell of her small tit where the undershirt dropped too low because it was obviously too big for her, and I shifted my position thinking maybe I might see her nipple.

“Jesus, how old is this fuckin’ place?” she asked, turning to look at me. She saw me looking down her shirt. She smiled. “Like what you see?”

“What? I wasn’t looking,” I said, feeling myself turn red.

“If you’re nice to me, I might let you see them,” she laughed.

I looked up at her and she laughed again, just as the door opened. She stepped out, dancing lightly as I followed with her suitcase.

“It’s down the hall on the left. Number 403,” I said. “The door should be open.”

“Is that opera?” she asked, pausing at the door to look at me.

“She listens to it a lot. That’s all she has. She’s got one of those old fashioned record players. A gramophone, I think.”

“So now I gotta listen to that shit all day?”

“My brother’s got a portable record player. He’s not going to need it, he said, and he’s going to give it to me.”

“Why doesn’t he need it? That seems kinda weird,” she added.

“He got drafted. He leaves in a week. The door’s open,” I said.

“Why doesn’t he go to Canada? Lots of guy are going there.”

“He wants to go to Viet Nam.”

She looked at me quietly, letting it soak in I guess, and then pushed the door open.

Act Three; scene two

I dropped the suitcase by the door and waited for a moment in case Mrs. Naramova needed something from the store. She turned to look at me and I smiled, opening the door and leaving without another word.

“Danny!” I heard her call out.

I poked my head back in through the door.

“Thank you,” she said. “Evangeline? Did you say thank you?”

“For what?” she asked.

“For Danny meeting you at the door and helping you with your bag? Usually, when someone does a good turn for you, you thank them.”

“Why? All he did was try to look at my tits,” she replied, and I could feel myself turning red, wishing I was anywhere else but standing at the open door. I saw her smile at me, winking when Mrs. Naramova turned to look at me; she turned back to look at her granddaughter, shaking her head.

“You don’t even have tits to look at,” Mrs. Naramova said, reaching into her purse and pulling out a handful of coins. She held her hand out and gave them to me. “I hope this is enough?”

“Thank you,” I laughed, knowing it was more than enough. She always overpaid me.

I walked down the hallway, pushing the door open and entering the apartment, glad to be away from the girl. I couldn’t for the life of me figure her out. I’d never met anyone like her before. She spoke about things that are usually hidden in the dark, for lack of a better expression. I’ve never met a girl that spoke about her own tits. Most of the girls I knew were embarrassed by their own bodies, and couldn’t explain themselves, or the why’s about themselves. I was the same way. I’d only recently come to terms with myself. I’d had hard-ons in class and felt awkward trying to hide them when I’d have to stand up, and collect my books off my desk. They always came at the most unexpected times. I mean, who gets a hard-on in Geography class?

But her, telling me I was looking at her tits — all right, just the one — but the fact that she saw me looking at the stiff nipple and asking me what I was looking at, well, I didn’t know what to say, or how to react. Of course I was going to feel embarrassed, and she probably knew it; she probably, secretly, wanted me to look at her. And that’s the part about her I didn’t understand. That’s the part of her that set her apart from every other girl I’d ever met. And the fact she said she might show it to me set me off on a magical fantasy of naked breast and erect nipples that made me want to put my hands down my pants even as I walked down the hall to my own apartment. My hard-on seemed to grow with each passing step.

And then I remembered that my mother had been crying for the last two days, because of Brad’s draft notice, and I saw her standing at the sink, looking out of the small window above it watching the cars on the new freeway singing across the pavement. At least she isn’t crying, I thought when I looked at her. She looked at me in the reflection of the window.

“Did Mrs. Naramova’s granddaughter make it in alright?”

“Yes.”

“Is she pretty?”

“No,” I laughed. “Not by a long shot. She says she wants to be an actress, though. I mean, why else would she be here? It’s Hollywood, right?”

“If it were that easy, we’d all be in movies,” she said, turning the tap on and letting the water warm up.

“Maybe she thinks because her grandma was a big star, it’s in her blood?” I said.

“That was forty years ago when you didn’t have to say anything. It’s a little different now.”

“Did you ever go to any of her movies?”

“How old do you think I am? No. I was just born when she was on the screen. I’ve seen some, but most of them have been lost over the years. Well, that’s what she told me.”

The door opened and my sister walked in, holding Billy’s hand and carrying a bag where she’d piled all of her things. She let him go and he ran across the room throwing his arms around my mother, while my sister pulled a pair of sneakers out of the bag and changed out of the slippers she was wearing.

“I’ve gotta go out,” she said, balancing on one foot. “Can you watch Billy?”

“Go out? I thought it was your day off?” Mom said.

Lizzie looked at me briefly before answering.

“I’ve got a line on a new job.”

“What’s wrong with the one you got?” I asked.

“This one’s in an office. Secretary in the typing pool. It pays more.”

“When did you learn to type?”

“What’re you writing a book?” she said, sounding irritated.

“I just never seen you working on a typewriter before, is all.”

“Well, I have. They were getting new ones at the hotel and so I bought one of the old ones. Cost me twenty bucks, but it’s an Underwood.”

“So? What does that mean? Is it good?” I asked.

“It works. They gave me the carrying case, ribbons, and even threw in some carbon paper as well.”

“Where’s your appointment?” Mom asked.

“It’s in the city. I gotta take the Rosewood bus clear across town. I would’ve asked Jenny to watch him, but she’s not feeling very well. She’s the one what told me about the job.”

“Who’s Jenny?”

“Her neighbour, ma,” I said.

“Why would you ask the neighbour to watch him, when you got family? You could’ve called Danny to come watch over him. All you’d have to do is feed him — wouldn’t cost you anything, right Danny?”

“You know, Ma, some people get paid to babysit,” I said.

“I shouldn’t be long. The appointment’s supposed to be at four,” she said, and crouching down called Billy over for a hug and a kiss. “I promise I won’t be long.”

“I’ll get Danny to take Billy down to the park while I get dinner ready. You’re staying for dinner, I’d imagine?”

“I’ll try. I don’t know how long it’ll be,” she said, and with that she was gone.

“You don’t mind do you? Taking Billy down to the park? I’ll give you some money and you can get some ice cream.”

“That sounds good. You want some ice cream, Little Buddy?” I’d started calling him that because of the Skipper on Gilligan’s Island. Billy just grinned and nodded.

“I’ll get dinner started,” Mom said, picking up her purse.

I know, I had the money in my pocket Mrs. Naramova gave me, but what sensible kid is going to say no to having more? Besides, why should I have to spend my money to buy him ice cream. It wasn’t my idea.

“You ready, kiddo?” I asked.

“Ice cream!” Billy squealed.

I grabbed his hand and opened the door, stepping out into the dark hall where I saw Avery standing at the elevator. She looked over her shoulder and smiled when she saw Billy. She crouched down to look at him

“Who this?” she asked. Billy slid in behind my leg, looking at her.

“My nephew. Say hi, Billy.”

“Hello,” he said in a soft voice.

“He’s so cute. He looks like you. But you probably hear that all the time?”

“Me? Never,” I smiled.

“Come on, really? Don’t you have a girlfriend?”

“I’ve never been very good at talking to girls,” I confessed.

“No? You’re talking to me,” she laughed as the elevator door opened.

“That’s different. I mean the girls at school,” I said, stepping into the elevator.

“I’m sure they all secretly like you,” she said, and I thought she was just being nice. “There must be one you like?”

“Me? Why do you think that?”

“You mean you don’t like girls?” she grinned. “Boys then? Is that it?”

“Of course I like girls,” I said, grabbing Billy as the elevator doors slid open.

“Have you ever kissed a girl?”

“Have you?” I asked.

“Kissed a girl? Sure.”

I was quiet, and looked down at Billy who seemed oblivious to what we were saying. We stepped out onto the street and I made him hold my hand as we walked, telling him we’d cut through the park and he could play on the swings for a while.When we got to the park, he let go of my hand and ran to the swings, climbing onto the first one and trying to swing himself by leaning forward and then leaning straight back. I smiled at him.

“Want a push, Little Buddy?”

“Yes! Push me! Push me!” he screamed out. She followed me and stood beside me as I pushed Billy.

I looked at her staring off into the distance, wondering what she was thinking.

“Where were you going?” I asked. She turned to look at me.

“Nowhere, really. Some old lady came by just after you left, asking about some sewing thing. I didn’t want to sit there, so I asked if I could go for a walk and look around.”

“And she let you?”

“She was happy to let me go. And why wouldn’t she? I’m a big girl. It’s not like I’m nine, or something.”

“How old are you?”
“Older than you, probably.”

“I doubt that,” I said with a laugh.

“How old are you?”

“Fifteen. I’m thinking you’re probably thirteen, at the most.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot, but sorry. I’m sixteen.”

“What? You’re sixteen?” I said.

“Why? Because I don’t have any tits?” she laughed. “Every boy I’ve ever known says the same thing about me. And if they don’t, I’m sure they think it.”

I looked down at her chest again — it wasn’t something I did on purpose — and then looked at her, trying to look her in the eyes. I could feel myself flushing, knowing she could see me looking at her flat chest. She was shaking her head, and turned away again, ignoring me. I felt bad, and didn’t know what to say. God, I thought, I’m so stupid. I just met her and already she hates me, I thought.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean — I mean, I didn’t say anything about that —”

“What? My tits?”

“I didn’t say it. You brought it up. Obviously you think it matters,” I said, feeling awkward.

“You were just looking at them,” she said.

“It’s not like I haven’t seen any before,” I said. Maybe I was trying to make myself sound sophisticated? Or defiant? I don’t know, but I doubted if she’d see it that way. She probably thought I was just like every other guy she’d ever known — just like she’d said. And maybe I was, I don’t know; she was just a bundle of confusion to me. For some reason, I didn’t want to be like every other guy she’d ever known — not that it mattered. I just didn’t.

“Really?” she said, obviously not believing me.

“I’ve got two sisters.”

“What? You spy on your sisters? What’s the matter with you?” she said, looking down at Billy, who was laughing as I pushed him higher. She walked away from me and I followed her.

“I wasn’t spying on her,” I said, thinking I should try to explain myself. “It just happened. I walked into the bedroom and she was there with no shirt on. She was looking at them. I didn’t do it on purpose. I just wanted to ask her something. She yelled at me. My dad hit me for not knocking on the door first.”

“Serves you right,” she said.

“Okay, so I looked,” I said. “But it was my sister, so that doesn’t count,” I said, suddenly feeling bold.

“You would think that, but no,” she said. “A tit’s a tit. Tit for tat,” she laughed. “Admittedly, some are nicer than others. Me? I don’t have any. Just nipples. Triple A’s I call them. Like batteries.” She laughed again.

I looked at Billy sitting on the swing. I needed the distraction. My mind was all over the place. For one thing, I was looking at her flat chest again. The last thing I needed now was to get a hard-on. She’d definitely notice that, I told myself. And then what?

“Maybe we should get Billy his ice-cream?” I suggested.

“Sure, then when we take him home, you can show me your record collection,” she added with a grin.