Matecumbe (19 page)

The more Mary Ann thought about her most recent layoff, the more she was convinced that her bosses got rid of her because of Paul.

“They figured I didn’t need the money as much as the other two girls I worked with, plain and simple,” she concluded. “The bosses know that Paul makes more than enough to support me.”

During the time that she continued to search for work, Mary Ann also kept busy with her needlepoint class (every Thursday night), her sign language studies (Tuesdays), and her singing lessons (Saturday mornings). She also carried one of Paul’s watercolor paintings to a shop over at the mall and picked out a frame and matting for it.

“I never really wanted a college education, but there are some things I’ve always been interested in—singing, signing, and anything artsycraftsy. If I find out I like these things even more, then great. If I find out that they bore me after a while, then at least I’ve tried, and I won’t be going to my grave wondering what they would have been like. Some day in the future I might be using sign language to help deaf kids. Or, I might be singing Christmas carols while being backed up by a live orchestra. If I keep up my studies, who knows? I might reach goals I haven’t even dreamed of yet.”

Mary Ann was aware that her current craving for self-enrichment courses, although not overly expensive, was costing Paul a fair amount of money. So, in a cost-cutting move, she canceled her and Paul’s favorite pastimes: gourmet dinners in restaurants and shopping just for the sake of shopping. She even eliminated another cherished diversion—their racetrack jaunts.

“I’m a cheap date now,” she declared, convincing Paul that their entertainment should be confined to free museums, long walks, and family-type restaurants.

Paul was happy to oblige, and, overall, he seemed to enjoy their continuing status as an engaged couple.

Mary Ann did notice, however, that Paul’s interest in sex seemed to have diminished recently. Immediately, she began to think that she might be at fault.

“Aside from my real sinus headaches, which stopped us twice,” she recalled, “I am definitely to blame for two other fake headaches that hit me when I just wasn’t in the mood.”

After their sexual fasting had passed the 30-day mark, Mary Ann did a bit of soul searching.

“This may just be some sort of a power struggle,” she told herself. “Ever since I’ve been out of work, he’s been controlling my life even more than before. I depend on him for everything now. Maybe I’m rebelling because of this control.

“I’ve gained some weight lately, too. I guess about ten pounds. I can’t feel good about that. But maybe my coolness toward sex just turned downright cold because of Paul’s lack of interest. The more I think about this, the more it sounds like the chicken and the egg.”

Mary Ann and Paul even had their first real argument. Previously, whenever they’d gone to the movies by themselves, without the girls, they’d pick pictures that Mary Ann liked—action adventure or slapstick comedy. Paul now stated that he was tired of those kinds of movies and said he wanted to see some “think pieces.”

“We’ve been together for over a year now,” Mary Ann reflected. “We should be able to sit down and talk this out.

“What we’ll do is go to that same Chinese restaurant we visited a few months ago where I first tasted leechee nuts. We talked for the longest time about whether the leechee nuts tasted more like pears or more like mandarin oranges.

“After dessert that night, it was quiet and we talked, and talked, and talked.

“I hope Paul’s ready for a long conversation.

“I am.”

Dutifully, like a husband who might have been away on an extended sales trip, Joe called Melissa at about eight o’clock in the evening on Tuesdays and Fridays.

And like the wife who is ever faithful, Melissa stayed at home to receive each of these calls.

“I guess he feels he owes it to me,” she reflected, sadly. “But it’s really an insult. The phone calls could be his way of keeping me on a string. If he ever decides he wants physical contact again instead of just hearing my voice, he can claim that we’ve never really lost touch with one another.”

In their conversations, Melissa and Joe talked about the tourists who were crowding the Florida Keys, the blizzard that was immobilizing Philadelphia for an entire weekend, the police departments that were rejecting Joe’s job applications, and the occasional workaday smiles that were highlighting Melissa’s Monday-to-Friday routines as a reference librarian.

Like old times, they laughed together when she told the story of the patron who was astounded when informed that Philadelphia’s phone book information pages were printed only in English and not in Italian.

And, as always, Melissa and Joe prefaced every good-bye with a vague promise to get together as soon as possible.

One Friday night in late March, after she had finished her chat with Joe, Melissa returned almost mechanically to the mindless chore of removing the dry dishes from the dishwasher, one-by-one, and putting them in their resting places in the overhead cabinets.

Suddenly, within only a few minutes from the time she had hung up the phone, Melissa heard it ring once more.

Thinking it was Joe again, who might wish to impart some sort of an afterthought to their conversation, Melissa casually lifted the receiver.

“Hello.”

“Melissa? How are you doing, my dear? This is Joe’s Uncle Steve.”

“Oh. Hi, Uncle Steve. Sorry if I sounded listless, but you surprised me.”

“I’m usually full of surprises.”

“I just got finished talking with Joe, and I thought it must be him calling me back. How have you been?”

“Fine, just fine, Melissa. No real big problems, just little ones. Listen, the reason I called was to ask you if you’d like to come on over to Jersey and spend some time cheering up an old man. Like lunch maybe tomorrow or Sunday. I’ll do all the cooking.”

“Well, I’m flattered, Uncle Steve. I really am. And I don’t even have to look at my appointment calendar. I know that tomorrow would be good for me. What time?”

“What about high noon?”

“Sounds great. Should I bring some white wine, or a bottle of red?”

“Just yourself.”

Melissa wasn’t quite sure why she had agreed so quickly to have lunch with Joe’s Uncle Steve. True, she really did like the old gentleman, but considering the current deterioration of her now bleak relationship with Joe, she was a bit surprised that he would ask her at all.

Certainly, Uncle Steve must know that she and Joe haven’t exactly been seeing each other on a nightly basis.

The determining factor, though, was that Melissa was too kind a person to turn down an invite from Uncle Steve. Besides, she did enjoy his company.

Also, Melissa’s constantly calculating mind perked up at the possibility that she could make some points with Joe through his uncle.

During her traffic-free drive to New Jersey, Melissa wondered if she would be seeing Uncle Steve for the last time. Her reasoning had nothing to do with the condition of Uncle Steve’s health, but rather with the likelihood that she and Joe were probably headed, without too much doubt, toward an “official” breakup.

Melissa knew from her own cold personal experiences that the relatives and friends of one’s lover seem to disappear into oblivion when the lover finally says good-bye. And with Uncle Steve seeming to be such a genuinely warm and pleasant human being, the loss of his friendship would be like giving up a cream-topped dessert in addition to the main course.

Weather-wise, compared to her first visit with Uncle Steve during the cold and wet snowstorm of Christmas Eve, today’s driving conditions were much more tolerable. Countless rays of sunlight beamed through a cloudless sky, and the late March air was following the dictates of the calendar.

At shortly before the noon hour, the heavens’ clear, cerulean glow was dominant in all noticeable directions. And with a temperature already exceeding sixty degrees, it was a fit beginning for the twentieth of March. More importantly, it felt like spring.

Melissa was glad she had chosen to wear bright, cheerful colors. Her blue and white dress was complemented by an airy, lace-like sweater and blue, summery shoes.

While she was thinking about her clothes, Melissa remembered the array of watercolors bedecking the walls throughout Uncle Steve’s house. Most were horseracing scenes, with jockeys in bright pastels riding roan and chestnut thoroughbreds.

Melissa also recalled a light-hearted comment Uncle Steve had made about Sally, his late wife. “She was taller than me,” Uncle Steve had said, “so tall that she could have been a bouncer in a jockeys’ bar.”

As she began her approach to his house, Melissa saw that there would be no need to knock on Uncle Steve’s front door. For long before she pulled her car into his driveway, she could see him waving hello from the porch.

Uncle Steve was dressed in a racy pair of electric-green golf duffer’s slacks and a two-tone, green and yellow, striped shirt. When he offered his hand to help Melissa exit from her car, he flashed a foot-long smile that would have melted a golf hustler’s heart.

“Old Man Winter has finally hit the road,” he chuckled, in his normally loud conversational tone. “And old man Steve enjoys talking to young women who dress correctly for the warmer months. In January and February, unfortunately, too many layers of bulky clothing just kill the art of girl watching.”

In a sheepish manner, typical of her introverted nature, Melissa looked immediately to her hemline. Then, as soon as she had completed this modesty reaction, she remembered Uncle Steve’s penchant for flattery. It was a style of chatter no longer fashionable, but charming nonetheless. A much younger man with the same line of compliments could be branded a chauvinist.

Melissa also recalled, warmly, that older men like Uncle Steve have the ability to make her feel younger and sexier much more so than men her own age. Maybe that’s why so many women fall for older men. The same feeling works on men, too. Just as the guy in his thirties can be smitten by a teenage girl’s youthful sex appeal, so can an elderly gent start to swoon over a woman who’s reached her so-called prime.

When they entered his house, Uncle Steve continued voicing his phrases of praise, telling Melissa that her “dainty” sweater and “colorful” dress accentuated a “trim and alluring figure.”

“You look like some of those beautiful girl jockeys that are riding thoroughbred racehorses these days,” Uncle Steve pointed out. “Not only are they pretty but some of them are much better than the boys at handling horses.”

The food in Uncle Steve’s luncheon spread was pleasant on the eyes as well as the palate. It was a true potpourri of traditional Polish foods. The red beet soup was warm and tangy, providing the perfect beginning for a series of entrées such as meaty kielbasa topped with a sparkling yellow sauerkraut, potato and cheese-filled pierogis that were browned at the edges, and sweet-smelling golabki—ground beef wrapped in whitish cabbage and swimming in a light tomato sauce.

“Ever since Joe told me that you were part-Polish, too, just like us,” Uncle Steve grinned, proudly, “I’ve been waiting for a chance to feed you a spread of my homeland recipes. These are all authentic, from my mother, who was born in Poland. In fact, I have a copy of every one of my Polish recipes. As soon as we’re finished with the dessert, I’m going to give them to you to keep. I doubt if anyone has ever written these down before. I think they passed from generation to generation by word of mouth. Naturally, I don’t want the recipes to die when I die.

“When Joe told me that you also like to cook, I knew then that you were just the right person to give them to.”

The dessert, as Uncle Steve promised, was delectable. Cheese babka, a combination of bread and coffee cake, was satisfying to eat. The krusciki, a kind of flaky, butter crust cookie topped with white-powdered sugar, was what Uncle Steve called a “Polish potato chip.”

“Nobody in this world can eat just one krusciki,” he beamed, while doing his part to finish a moderate-sized helping.

In deference to the enjoyment of their luncheon, Uncle Steve waited until the meal was complete before mentioning the “problem” with Joe. And it came as no surprise to Melissa that Uncle Steve knew about the separation that Joe had requested.