Serenading Stanley (10 page)

Stanley stepped deeper into the room. He found Sylvia huddled in the corner on the floor behind a table, her arms wrapped around her knees, her cheeks moist with tears. Her dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail, making her look even younger than she already was. She gazed up at Stanley with a wan smile, perhaps making fun of herself a bit for being so ridiculously depressing.

“You caught me,” she said.

Stanley dropped down beside her. He reached out a hand and squeegeed a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “What’s wrong? Why are you down here all by yourself?”

Sylvia didn’t answer. Instead she looked around the room. “This is where they’re throwing my party. Did you know about my party?”

Stanley nodded. “Arthur told me. To help you raise money for… you know. Your surgery.”

Sylvia gave the tiniest shake to her head. “It won’t make any difference, Stanley. This party, none of it. I need thousands. It’s sweet of Arthur and everyone to go to all this trouble, but—” Her front teeth took a tiny nip at her bottom lip. “—but it won’t make any difference. I need too much.”

Stanley took Sylvia’s hand in his and stroked it like he would a kitten. His voice was gentle. Soft. The sound of it barely carried across the dead, dusty air. “You don’t know. Maybe somebody will think of something else to help you out a little more, then maybe a little more after that. I think if you want something this badly, fate finds a way to make it happen.”

“Do you?” Stanley could see she wanted to believe him, but still her face was filled with doubt. He watched, fascinated, as a tear sparkled on her lower lash, lingering there for just a moment before skating down her cheek. It hung on her jawline then, catching the light like a diamond, until she impatiently brushed it away.

Stanley wondered if she was right to doubt what he’d just said. He hoped not. Things did happen sometimes just because they were the right things to happen. Didn’t they? Otherwise people would never have hope for anything.

“You really want this, don’t you,” Stanley said. It wasn’t a question, because questions you don’t know the answer to. Stanley already knew the answer to this one.

She nodded. “I’ve wanted it since I was a kid. Since I was… a
boy
. My whole life has been leading me toward it. And I’ve lost everything in the pursuit of it, Stanley. My family disowned me, my lover left me. All I have now are a handful of friends in this crappy apartment building.”

“It’s not that crappy,” Stanley said. Then, with a smile, he added, “Well, maybe it is.”

Sylvia smiled back, but there wasn’t much heart in it.

So Stanley decided to smile wide enough for both of them. He balled up his fist and gave her the gentlest chuck under the chin. “Sometimes friends are enough, don’t you think? Sometimes friends are
more
than enough.”

She bowed her head at the wisdom of that, even while smiling a bit at the innocence of Stanley’s words. “I know they are. For a while. But people need love in their life too.” She gripped Stanley’s hand a little tighter, then to Stanley’s surprise she brought it to her lips. She spoke with her lips brushing his skin. They were a friend’s lips on a friend’s skin. Nothing more. “I want to be a woman, Stanley. A real woman. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

She fell silent and dropped Stanley’s hand to her lap. She gave him a sad, curious smile, all the while studying his face as if seeing it for the very first time. “What do you want, Stanley? What do you dream about?”

Stanley shrugged, embarrassed to have the conversation turn to him. Sylvia’s needs were more important than his. He knew instinctively he would survive if his dream of becoming an archaeologist fell through. But if Sylvia’s dream was taken away, he wasn’t sure she would survive at all. Or even want to. And that was a heart-wrenching realization.

Stanley forced a grin, trying to lighten the mood. “I dream about you being a woman.”

Sylvia buried her face in her hands and giggled. Embarrassed. “Oh, please.”

“And by the way,” Stanley added, in the process keeping the conversation away from himself, “as far as I’m concerned, you’re a woman already. A beautiful woman.”

A memory lit Sylvia’s eyes at Stanley’s words. She pulled her hands from her face and leaned in closer to him, once again cradling his hands in hers. “I remember my mother telling me once I was too pretty to be a boy. I couldn’t have been more than six or seven. I wonder if she remembers saying that. Her opinion on the matter seems to have changed over the years. And my father’s even worse. He won’t even mention my name. I’m a freak to them both, I guess. Just… a freak.”

“I’m sorry,” Stanley said. “Try not to think about them. Just keep your eye on the ball.” With a twinkle in his eye, he added, “Well, maybe that’s the wrong expression to be using.” And they both laughed.

“Yes,” Sylvia tittered. “Let’s not talk about balls at all. Ladies don’t, you know.”

Stanley laughed. “That’s true. Ladies don’t.”

Smiling now, Sylvia spoke with a lightness in her voice, much to Stanley’s relief. Perhaps the tide had turned. “I have a friend who had the change. She’s Cuban. Her name was Juan. Now it’s Joanna. She comes into the deli sometimes to see me.” Sylvia reached out and touched Stanley’s cheek, her eyes bright, her tears forgotten. “You should see her, Stanley. She’s beautiful. And she’s
married.
She married a gorgeous plumber named Carl. He’s nuts about her. Oops.” She giggled. “Let’s not talk about nuts either. Oh, but you should see them together. They’re trying to adopt a baby. I hope they can. That’s always been Joanna’s dream. To have a child.”

“Does her husband know about…?”

“The change? Sure. She told him everything. Isn’t that wonderful, Stanley? That he would accept her for who she is
now
, rather than thinking of her as she was
then?
She’s a lucky woman.”

Stanley smiled at the glow in Sylvia’s eyes, the radiance on her face, the kindness he saw there, the selflessness. Beyond caring about herself, she was happy for her friend. Only a big heart can do that. Stanley smiled, too, at the way Sylvia spoke the word “woman.” With respect, with even a certain amount of awe. The way only another woman will say the word. With understanding. With…
knowledge
of all it means to be one.

Stanley struggled to find the right thing to say. In the end, he simply said what was in his heart. And he believed the words he said. He believed them completely.

“You’re already a woman to me.”

Sylvia tilted her head, studying Stanley’s face, letting his words seep into her heart where she wanted them to go. “Am I?”

And Stanley pulled her into his arms. “All the way. If I was straight, you’d be in big trouble right now.”

She tittered. “Ooh. I like the sound of that.”

“And you know what?” Stanley asked.

“What?”

“Someday you’ll have your own plumber.”

And again a tear gathered on Sylvia’s lash.

Stanley watched, spellbound, waiting for it to fall.

L
ATER
,
Sylvia helped Stanley fold his clothes as they came out of the dryer, pooh-poohing his objections about her handling his unmentionables.

“Only a faggot would say unmentionables, Stanley. Or a woman.”

“Ah, well,” Stanley droned, “such a fine line separates the two.”

“No shit,” Sylvia said, and they both laughed.

Sylvia turned to him and laid a cool hand on his forearm. “Did you hear what Roger did?”

Stanley considered the question. “Changed water into wine? Fed the masses with a box of fish sticks and a Diet Coke? Walked to Coronado Island without using the bridge? What?”

“He got Charlie his job back.”

“No.”

“He did! He went to Charlie’s supervisor at UPS, told the man the whole story, sitting there in his nurse’s scrubs like he was on a medical mission. Told him how Charlie had failed to take his medication for a few days and that’s what caused the whole problem, and after a few embellishments of the facts and a few out-and-out lies, not excluding the possibility of legal action from the state disabilities commission and the ACLU, he persuaded the man to rehire Charlie with only a slight cut in pay. He won’t be driving a truck, of course, but he’ll be working in the warehouse. Roger said he may have unintentionally given Charlie’s supervisor the impression he was a doctor instead of a nurse, but it was purely accidental if he did.”

“I’ll bet,” Stanley said.

Sylvia smirked. “I know.”

Stanley thought it all over, and then he groaned. “You realize of course that Charlie can steal even
more
stuff from the warehouse than he could from the truck. Hell, he’s got the
world’s
deliveries at his sticky little fingertips now. UPS must be nuts.”

“You just can’t stop talking about nuts, can you?”

“No. And nobody else can stop talking about Roger Jane. Why do you suppose that is?”

Sylvia planted a friendly kiss on Stanley’s chin. “Because he’s a wonderful human being?”

“If you say so.”

“Stop grumping, Stanley Sternbaum. And take me home. I have a sudden overwhelming desire to bake cookies.”

“It’s a hundred and ten in the shade.”

“It’s a hundred and twenty in my kitchen. What’s your point?”

If Stanley had a point, he no longer knew what it might have been because he suddenly remembered how delicious Sylvia’s cookies were.

“May I have some?” he asked.

When her eyebrows shot up in surprise, he thought maybe he should clarify the question. “
Cookies
, I mean. Can I have some
cookies?
”

Sylvia made a great show of wiping sweat from her forehead and flipping it to the floor. “Oh. Thank God. I thought you meant—well, never mind what I thought you meant. And in answer to your question: yes, Stanley, you may have some cookies. You may have them all. After all, I’m baking them for you.”

“You are? Why?”

“Because I like you and you cheered me up and you make things look all rosy even when you’re talking out of your fucking ass.”

Stanley narrowed his eyes. “You know, once your transformation into womanhood is complete, you might want to take a stab at cleaning up your vocabulary.”

“Now, Sternbaum, let’s not be a prude.”

She was kidding, of course. Even Stanley knew that. But still he wondered,
Am I a prude
?

Seeing the look of uncertainty on his face, and maybe even a little hurt going on there, too, Sylvia planted a sisterly kiss on his cheek. Then she dropped the last pair of clean socks in his laundry basket.

“You’ll find your own plumber, too, one day, Stanley.”

Stanley blushed. “You really think so?”

Sylvia warmed him with a radiant, secretive smile. “I have it on the best authority.”

S
TANLEY
struggled up the stairs with two bags of groceries in his hands, a backpack stuffed with fifty pounds of textbooks on his back, and a bigass watermelon under his arm. He was beginning to regret stopping off at the grocery store on his way home from school. He especially regretted buying the fucking watermelon. What was he thinking?

He had made it to the fifth-floor landing, legs quivering, back aching, sweat burning his eyes like battery acid, when a familiar voice caught his ear. It floated through one of the apartment doors like swamp gas seeping from a bog. And it was just as welcome as swamp gas too.

The voice belonged to his mother. And horror of horrors, she was laughing. Stanley couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard his mother laugh, but he thought it might have been at his fourth birthday party when Jimmy Rawlings slipped on a slice of cake and tumbled down the back steps on his keister. His mother didn’t laugh often, and when she did, it was usually at someone else’s expense.

With his twin cowlicks trembling like antennas, Stanley homed in on the sound. It was coming from the other side of the last door down the hall. 5D. Ramon’s apartment. At least, he was pretty sure it was Ramon’s apartment. He hadn’t really met the guy yet.

But that was beside the point. What the hell was his mother doing in Ramon’s apartment? And why the hell was she laughing? Had Ramon accidentally cut his hand off in the Cuisinart?

Since he was laden with two bags of groceries, a backpack, and a watermelon, Stanley eschewed social niceties and knocked on Ramon’s door with his foot. Hard.

Ramon answered on the second kick. He flung the door wide, grinning from ear to ear.

Stanley could still hear his mother chortling in the background.

Ramon was a cute little Mexican lad with brown puppy-dog eyes and two very fetching dimples in his cheeks. He was wearing a black smock like a goth pharmacist, and he had a comb and a pair of scissors in one hand. The other hand held a fifth of scotch. His hair was hot pink. Aside from the fact he was drunk as a skunk, he looked the epitome of a freshman beauty student in over his head and totally unaware of the fact.

“Oh!” Ramon beamed, finding Stanley on his doorstep. “Now the whole family’s here!” With the hand holding the scotch, he poked a finger into Stanley’s sternum and said, “Take a seat. You can be next.”