Thursday, September 30, 2010
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Up Next: SAILING II
Up next: SAILING, Part II...and back to Corporate Headquarters in NYC with....THE BUSINESS LUNCH II. (25 hits yesterday -- does that make me a hit?)
SAILING
"No, I can't go sailing today. I have friends coming over," Elizabeth said.
Debbie lifted her sleepy head off the pillow.
"Hold on. Debbie, do you want to go sailing?"
"Yes." Debbie had perked up instantly upon hearing the word "sailing."
Elizabeth knew everyone in their high school class which graduated almost ten years ago.She still kept in touch with Rick Homesly, who was now on the phone and wanted to go sailing this Labor Day, ten years later.
On a snowy morning in November, Debbie sat on the school bus as it stopped at a white farmhouse and red barn amidst sprawling lawns, hills and a pond in the back yard. The new snow had just started to fall. A curly haired blond boy with blue eyes and a bright fresh face stepped up.
"It's a nice day," he said in quiet reverence, to the bus driver. Debbie watched the new snow as it slowly fell around him.
She never forgot that memory of the boy she graduated with, yet never got to know. Such was the case with most of the others in her class of 1980.
And now, here in Elizabeth's sister's apartment in Connecticut, she had the chance to go sailing with him.
"He probably won't pay for anything but he's fun. I'll give you a couple of hard-boiled eggs to take with you because he's impatient. He's a real baby about waiting. See if you can get him to drive you back here afterwards. But he can be a baby about having to drive," Elizabeth instructed her.
"He's here. Do you mind if I finish my toast? Then I'll be ready," Debbie asked politely.
He entered the sunlit kitchen. A slap-happy grin on his face, his hair had lost the blond color and was cut close to his head, the curls gone. He was clad in fishing gear, Debbie thought, a flannel shirt and cut-off jeans.
"So, you live in New York? I was up there at the Big Kahuna."
"I know that bar. I've been there twice. I can't believe he's been to the Kahuna!" Debbie said excitedly to Elizabeth over the breakfast table.
"If she comes back mad at me, don't blame me," he said to Elizabeth, as they got into his car.
His mother had lunch already made for them. Debbie stared out the big picture window. Suntan lotion, baseball caps, hooded sweatshirts, everything was packed.
"Do you want a straw hat?" his mother asked.
"No,' Rick insisted. "It'll fall off."
"My parents. They're from upstate New York. They don't have a clue." He explained.
Debbie admired the red barn, the pond, the acres and acres of sprawling lawns and hills.
"It's nice, " she said.
"Oh, you like that? I would've showed you...In the summer, we have otters."
"I didn't know there were otters on land."
"Freshwater otters. The pond is man-made."
"Oh, yeah?"
Debbie lifted her sleepy head off the pillow.
"Hold on. Debbie, do you want to go sailing?"
"Yes." Debbie had perked up instantly upon hearing the word "sailing."
Elizabeth knew everyone in their high school class which graduated almost ten years ago.She still kept in touch with Rick Homesly, who was now on the phone and wanted to go sailing this Labor Day, ten years later.
On a snowy morning in November, Debbie sat on the school bus as it stopped at a white farmhouse and red barn amidst sprawling lawns, hills and a pond in the back yard. The new snow had just started to fall. A curly haired blond boy with blue eyes and a bright fresh face stepped up.
"It's a nice day," he said in quiet reverence, to the bus driver. Debbie watched the new snow as it slowly fell around him.
She never forgot that memory of the boy she graduated with, yet never got to know. Such was the case with most of the others in her class of 1980.
And now, here in Elizabeth's sister's apartment in Connecticut, she had the chance to go sailing with him.
"He probably won't pay for anything but he's fun. I'll give you a couple of hard-boiled eggs to take with you because he's impatient. He's a real baby about waiting. See if you can get him to drive you back here afterwards. But he can be a baby about having to drive," Elizabeth instructed her.
"He's here. Do you mind if I finish my toast? Then I'll be ready," Debbie asked politely.
He entered the sunlit kitchen. A slap-happy grin on his face, his hair had lost the blond color and was cut close to his head, the curls gone. He was clad in fishing gear, Debbie thought, a flannel shirt and cut-off jeans.
"So, you live in New York? I was up there at the Big Kahuna."
"I know that bar. I've been there twice. I can't believe he's been to the Kahuna!" Debbie said excitedly to Elizabeth over the breakfast table.
"If she comes back mad at me, don't blame me," he said to Elizabeth, as they got into his car.
His mother had lunch already made for them. Debbie stared out the big picture window. Suntan lotion, baseball caps, hooded sweatshirts, everything was packed.
"Do you want a straw hat?" his mother asked.
"No,' Rick insisted. "It'll fall off."
"My parents. They're from upstate New York. They don't have a clue." He explained.
Debbie admired the red barn, the pond, the acres and acres of sprawling lawns and hills.
"It's nice, " she said.
"Oh, you like that? I would've showed you...In the summer, we have otters."
"I didn't know there were otters on land."
"Freshwater otters. The pond is man-made."
"Oh, yeah?"
Retro Recap
"Debbie & Nicole" at the Surf Club!..."Debbie, Nicole, and Maxine" outside of "Penthouse Fourteen"...Just another New York City quack! (you'd be surprised at how friendly the New Yorkers were that day! :)...Atop "Penthouse Fourteen"...and Just another tacky tourist (on her lunch hour) at the Channel Gardens in Rockefeller Plaza. Circa late 1980s.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Monday, September 27, 2010
DEDICATION
DEDICATION
I would like to dedicate my short story / chapter in my novel, "Fool's Gold," FORGOTTEN to the spirit of my grandmother (Memere), Juliette Hickey (July 11, 1907 - April 1979), who lives on in our hearts today. My niece Julia, born March 3, 2003 is lovingly named after her by my sister Karen. May the Spirit of Memere watch over us all.
Monday, September 20, 2010
FORGOTTEN III
Past the uncertainty of the West Nineties to the lower Eighties. She chose a side street, where the architecture reflected an earlier age, a more civilized era. Or was it? Her gaze was pulled upward, toward curved ivy leaves etched in stone, swirling wrought iron railings folding over antique window panes and her eye was caught by one minute detail. Patterns formed in the stone, swerving and curling into -- what was it? A face? Was it man or beast? She noted the simple eyes and puckered lips. Again, similar faces met her gaze. At last, there appeared a lion, snarling and growling silently in the ancient stone. A pudgy child-like face, frozen in a granite yawn, unable to break the stone, protruded from a banister. Lions, brass hoops dangling from their teeth, guarded private doors which forgotten keys, long lost, had forever locked...Bearded wise men held forbidden secrets, their stares fixed, stoic. From bannisters of porches, rooftops, and cornices, came faces of all sorts, some resemblances, others unique, humans and gargoyles, at all angles, some disguised, others obvious, all fascinating.
She stopped and stared, stepped further, stopped again -- arrested in her tracks at their ancient beauty.
She approached the metropolis of Broadway, the alluring pink and lime green, aqua, coral and purple storefronts so unlike the doldrums of the Upper East Side.
The earthiness of West End Avenue calmed her. Quiet brick residences rose high along the streets. Riverside Drive curved along the Park on the Hudson River, creating unexpected corners in the streetscape.
Neighborhood kids, sporting last year's spring jackets, shot a frisbee across the marble steps of the Sailors and Soldiers Monument at Riverside Park. Its columns reached into the blue sky, full of promise on this glorious afternoon.
She stepped down to the river walkway, settling herself against the rounded outpost of the fortress wall and gazed out over the vibrant blue waters of the River.
ALL THAT GLITTERS
Winter of '87
Doc. # 0214D
Denise Hickey
She stopped and stared, stepped further, stopped again -- arrested in her tracks at their ancient beauty.
She approached the metropolis of Broadway, the alluring pink and lime green, aqua, coral and purple storefronts so unlike the doldrums of the Upper East Side.
The earthiness of West End Avenue calmed her. Quiet brick residences rose high along the streets. Riverside Drive curved along the Park on the Hudson River, creating unexpected corners in the streetscape.
Neighborhood kids, sporting last year's spring jackets, shot a frisbee across the marble steps of the Sailors and Soldiers Monument at Riverside Park. Its columns reached into the blue sky, full of promise on this glorious afternoon.
She stepped down to the river walkway, settling herself against the rounded outpost of the fortress wall and gazed out over the vibrant blue waters of the River.
ALL THAT GLITTERS
Winter of '87
Doc. # 0214D
Denise Hickey
FORGOTTEN II
The new leaves were about to burst forth on the trees in Central Park and soon there would be new buds everywhere. And her grandmother would not get to see them. How could she forget her?
Everything in her life seemed small, insignificant. She had to have that expensive new dress. Going out to the exclusive Surf Club, Friday nights suddenly did not matter anymore. Her job was senseless. How meaningless, to keep on top of ordering hundreds of supplies, day in and day out, stacks of paper growing beyond her desk, reaching to the corporate ceilings, all around her. It was not the real world. College was not the real world, once again. What was?
She surveyed the runners, the trees, the muddy track, the wide, wide Reservoir, blue as the sky today.
Tiny branches of unfamiliar plants grew along the edge of the Reservoir, outlined in the bright sunlight. Muddy feet padded the ground behind her. She made way for a jogger. She hid her face from the runners before her, young and old, out in full force onm this Spring day. Rollerskaters whizzed past on the street, below the track. Cyclists skirted its outer edges.
She remembered her grandmother. She had forgotten how much her grandmother loved her and her sisters, how she told them daily, how she showed it with every action and deed. Her grandmother! She yet felt exhilarated in her sadness, with the memory of her grandmother in full bloom.
She did not care for the beach, yet she loved to take her grandchildren, Sunday afternoons. Once, in immature frustration, Debbie had said she hated dresses.
"I think it's the most beautiful thing a woman can wear," Memere, their Canadian French colloquialism for grandmother, had said, her voice soft but strong.
When she was buried, so were all memories of her.
She was "living the high life." The glamour of it all paled when she thought of her beloved Memere.
She had been so involved with all the concerns of a seventeen-year-old when her grandmother died that she had hardly taken notice. She let her die, alone and pitiful in that terrible home. Why didn't she tear herself away from the phone long enough to visit her, that Saturday afternoon long ago? Why hadn't she brought to her that watercolor she softly requested? She had painted it herself. "Dream," it said, in large hollow letters filled in with scenery. She had felt relief for the poor woman who suffered and died an ungraceful death. And she had not shed a tear. Until today. How long ago was it? High school. Eight years ago. It was almost ten years ago.
The very birds gathered here at the Reservoir, soaring and dipping overhead, opted for the most breath-taking part of Central Park for their Spring arrival.
She regarded this New York thing as if looking at it through a telescope. The view began to spin until she was standing outside it, here on the edge of the Reservoir, for the first time since she had moved away from home. The picture was turned upside down as Debbie thought of her grandmother, of her childhood home, the small town of Seaville and her New York experience suddenly seemed encompassed in a small package: a picture postcard, the past few months boxed into one compartment of her life. She felt far away, as if the city and its enticements were no longer real.
What would Memere have thought if she knew now that her granddaughter were here in New York?
"All my love to a girl who will be a great success in life," the note came back to her from a card written, a long time ago. It must have been attached to a graduation gift or was it a birthday present? She couldn't remember. ("Traces of love...long ago...that didn't work out right...") {sic{ She looked to where the earth fell away, the ground becoming hilly. Several equestrians rode past her, their horses clumping heavily on the grass. She waited for one to pass, then headed toward the twin look-out towers of the El Dorado Hotel.
Everything in her life seemed small, insignificant. She had to have that expensive new dress. Going out to the exclusive Surf Club, Friday nights suddenly did not matter anymore. Her job was senseless. How meaningless, to keep on top of ordering hundreds of supplies, day in and day out, stacks of paper growing beyond her desk, reaching to the corporate ceilings, all around her. It was not the real world. College was not the real world, once again. What was?
She surveyed the runners, the trees, the muddy track, the wide, wide Reservoir, blue as the sky today.
Tiny branches of unfamiliar plants grew along the edge of the Reservoir, outlined in the bright sunlight. Muddy feet padded the ground behind her. She made way for a jogger. She hid her face from the runners before her, young and old, out in full force onm this Spring day. Rollerskaters whizzed past on the street, below the track. Cyclists skirted its outer edges.
She remembered her grandmother. She had forgotten how much her grandmother loved her and her sisters, how she told them daily, how she showed it with every action and deed. Her grandmother! She yet felt exhilarated in her sadness, with the memory of her grandmother in full bloom.
She did not care for the beach, yet she loved to take her grandchildren, Sunday afternoons. Once, in immature frustration, Debbie had said she hated dresses.
"I think it's the most beautiful thing a woman can wear," Memere, their Canadian French colloquialism for grandmother, had said, her voice soft but strong.
When she was buried, so were all memories of her.
She was "living the high life." The glamour of it all paled when she thought of her beloved Memere.
She had been so involved with all the concerns of a seventeen-year-old when her grandmother died that she had hardly taken notice. She let her die, alone and pitiful in that terrible home. Why didn't she tear herself away from the phone long enough to visit her, that Saturday afternoon long ago? Why hadn't she brought to her that watercolor she softly requested? She had painted it herself. "Dream," it said, in large hollow letters filled in with scenery. She had felt relief for the poor woman who suffered and died an ungraceful death. And she had not shed a tear. Until today. How long ago was it? High school. Eight years ago. It was almost ten years ago.
The very birds gathered here at the Reservoir, soaring and dipping overhead, opted for the most breath-taking part of Central Park for their Spring arrival.
She regarded this New York thing as if looking at it through a telescope. The view began to spin until she was standing outside it, here on the edge of the Reservoir, for the first time since she had moved away from home. The picture was turned upside down as Debbie thought of her grandmother, of her childhood home, the small town of Seaville and her New York experience suddenly seemed encompassed in a small package: a picture postcard, the past few months boxed into one compartment of her life. She felt far away, as if the city and its enticements were no longer real.
What would Memere have thought if she knew now that her granddaughter were here in New York?
"All my love to a girl who will be a great success in life," the note came back to her from a card written, a long time ago. It must have been attached to a graduation gift or was it a birthday present? She couldn't remember. ("Traces of love...long ago...that didn't work out right...") {sic{ She looked to where the earth fell away, the ground becoming hilly. Several equestrians rode past her, their horses clumping heavily on the grass. She waited for one to pass, then headed toward the twin look-out towers of the El Dorado Hotel.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
FORGOTTEN: Part II
What new intrigue awaits Debbie on the Upper West Side. Stay tuned to find out. P.S. I would like to thank all 19 readers (anon hits to my Blog) for staying with me and reading more, this past Tuesday! :) (Not LOL!)
FORGOTTEN
FORGOTTEN
(A Walk on the Wild Side)
"Debbie, do you want to be a guinea pig this weekend?"
"Oh, no," Debbie groaned. What could Joyce possibly be up to now?
"I just want to do your family tree," the psychology major explained.
"Oh! That sounds interesting! I'll do it," Debbie agreed, unknowing. She was game for anything. She finished the dishes, her newly blond strands reflecting the bright light of the pantry. Joyce's younger sister, Nicole was fashion consultant, beauty expert, and could be trusted with any dye job, for the girls. Joyce was their psychoanalyst, whether or not they wanted one.
The phone rang. It was Olivia.
"Hello? Who?" Joyce spoke into the plastic banana, liting it off the white/ gray carpet in half-sleep.
"Are you laughing or crying? It's eight o'clock in the morning." Joyce demanded. She dropped the banana down on the carpet. "I don't know what she was talking about. I think she was delirious or something." Joyce lay back in the bed.
"We never know what she's talking about!" Maxine said from the other side of the bed.
"What?! She called at EIGHT o'clock in the morning? She better not ever do that again!" Debbie said sternly. She answered a thirty-line phone five days a week and could not be bothered with a constantly ringing banana after hours.
"Debbie, do you want to go for a run around the Reservoir? Then we'll do your geneaology tree."
Debbie sighed. Work on her day off. She slept while the girls jogged up the hill, crossed Lexington, Park, Madison, and Fifth, and headed toward the Park. She would go later. The walk around the Reservoir, circled by the stunning backdrop of the New York skyline, always refreshed her.
"O.K., here's you," Joyce pencilled a circle in her notepad and wrote Debbie's name on it. "What's your family like?"
"You mean, how many sisters?"
"Yes, family members," and Joyce diagrammed the four sisters into their own separate little boxes.
"And how would you describe your father? Adjectives," Joyce suggested.
"Oh, proud. Arrogant."
"Really?" Nicole asked.
"Which sister was married?" Joyce asked. "Nicole?"
Both Joyce and Debbie had a sister named Nicole.
"No, she's the unhappy one."
"What do you mean by unhappy. Elaborate on that."
"Sad." Debbie giggled.
Nicole laughed.
"She's the divorced one, right?"
"No! Sherri is!"
"Oh, she's the unhappy one?"
"No, Nicole is," Nicole said.
"No! You guys!" And Debbie laughed in exasperation and punched the rug.
"Now, your grandparents," Joyce pencilled in more boxes and branches. "Were they married? I mean, are they alive?"
"No. One is. I didn't know my grandfather. He died when I was little. I mean, before I was born."
"What was his name?"
Debbie paused.
"I don't know."
"You don't now his name?" Joyce asked objectively, not unkind.
"I didn't even know him." Debbie said slowly. "I don't even remember his name."
"Your grandmother. What was she like?"
"She..." Debbie stopped. She couldn't speak. "She was..." She poked at her half-eaten poppyseed bagel in its plate beside the green bottle of lemon-flavored Perrier mineral water.
"Can I write it?" she asked faintly.
"No, you don't have to write it," Joyce insisted.
She felt her throat weaken, give way, as she tried to summon the words that would describe her long gone grandmother, if any words could. Great? Beautiful?
"I have to think about this," she slipped the words out of her tender throat. It was too late.
"You can take your time."
"I can't or I'll start to cry," and Debbie ran out of the room, whimpering. She hid in the white tiled bathroom, where Nicole had gone into hibernation with the yellow plastic banana phone.
"Debbie, want to give it another shot?"
"Not yet."
"Did your grandmother pass away just recently?"
"No. It was a long time ago. I was in high school."
"You were very close to her, then?"
"Oh, yes. I didn't even cry when she died, until today. It was years ago!"
"You were close to your grandmother. I was never that close to my grandparents. That's what I thougth would happen. I did my family tree and it was very draining." Joyce said matter-of-factly.
"I have to go for a walk. Don't worry, I'll come back." But not before she let out three big sobs, at long last, for her dear grandmother.
She ran up the hill, across Park, Madison, and Fifth, past the old brownstones with their wrought iron gates, past mothers with strollers, couples, students, mid afternoon joggers, shielding her face, bleary-eyed with tears, from all. She had forgotten all about her grandmother, put her away in a box. FORGOTTEN.
MORE ADVENTURES AWAIT DEBBIE ON THE MYSTERIOUS, INTRIGUING Upper West Side. Stay tuned for FORGOTTEN: Part II.
"I didn't even know him." Debbie said slowly. "I don't even remember his name."
"Your grandmother. What was she like?"
"She..." Debbie stopped. She couldn't speak. "She was..." She poked at her half-eaten poppyseed bagel in its plate beside the green bottle of lemon-flavored Perrier mineral water.
"Can I write it?" she asked faintly.
"No, you don't have to write it," Joyce insisted.
She felt her throat weaken, give way, as she tried to summon the words that would describe her long gone grandmother, if any words could. Great? Beautiful?
"I have to think about this," she slipped the words out of her tender throat. It was too late.
"You can take your time."
"I can't or I'll start to cry," and Debbie ran out of the room, whimpering. She hid in the white tiled bathroom, where Nicole had gone into hibernation with the yellow plastic banana phone.
"Debbie, want to give it another shot?"
"Not yet."
"Did your grandmother pass away just recently?"
"No. It was a long time ago. I was in high school."
"You were very close to her, then?"
"Oh, yes. I didn't even cry when she died, until today. It was years ago!"
"You were close to your grandmother. I was never that close to my grandparents. That's what I thougth would happen. I did my family tree and it was very draining." Joyce said matter-of-factly.
"I have to go for a walk. Don't worry, I'll come back." But not before she let out three big sobs, at long last, for her dear grandmother.
She ran up the hill, across Park, Madison, and Fifth, past the old brownstones with their wrought iron gates, past mothers with strollers, couples, students, mid afternoon joggers, shielding her face, bleary-eyed with tears, from all. She had forgotten all about her grandmother, put her away in a box. FORGOTTEN.
MORE ADVENTURES AWAIT DEBBIE ON THE MYSTERIOUS, INTRIGUING Upper West Side. Stay tuned for FORGOTTEN: Part II.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
FORGOTTEN
At last, it's the long-awaited FORGOTTEN, the TURNING POINT, shall we call it during Debbie's foray in New York. Stay tuned...this may take a while...Thanx for staying!
Thursday, September 9, 2010
TO BE CONTINUED Next Week!
"Don't forget about me." I'll only be gone three days, Fri-Sunday afternoon. Then it's Monday, Dr. appt and the final Cruise Nite. See you here next Tuesday.
THE BIRTHDAY
"Debbie, you have a package out here for Crystal."
"OK, thanks, I'll get it as soon as I can."
"Not 'as soon as you can.' Try and pick it up right away, OK?"
Half an hour later, an enormous pink bouquet with a large purple balloon floating high above it, was carried into the office.
"Oooooh," Debbie breathed. Did we send it? And then, "Oh, I forgot! The receptionist said there was a package but she didn't say flowers."
She had not even thought to make the call herself. And she ran past the office manager, who stood at the filing cabinets, into Crystal's office to examine the roses. Pale pink buds poked the plastic wrap. She helped Crystal unveil the delicate bouquet to reveal explosive white mums, like quiet fireworks, white and purple spotted lilies; pink carnations sprinkled throughout; and fluted white and purple flowers whose name she did not know. A heavenly scent wafted up from The Bouquet. Debbie was subconsciously reminded of the smell of pink soap.
"How feminine," she said. Crystal agreed.
"Purple!" Debbie exclaimed.
"We wanted to get you something to smell up the office because you haven't been here for a few days," Mary joked.
"You want to forget it's your birthday but you can't," Debbie teased.
And Mary adjusted the beautiful bouquet on Crystal's coffee table. So she had made the call to save Debbie the trouble, in the midst of travel arrangements gone awry.
"Debbie, see if you can take lunch at one. We're taking Crystal out for her birthday," Mary whispered.
"Oh. Thanks for telling me," Debbie said, remembering.
"Elyse, I want to go to lunch at one. It's Crystal's birthday," she said, walking into the VP's office where Elyse stood.
"Tell the temp. I have lunch at one."
"All right, I'm walking over there now," Debbie said quickly and left before anyone could say anything.
"Hi," she said to the temporary secretary, working hard at Cecily's desk. She did not like to think of anyone as "the temp," but she could not remember her name.
"How are you today? Um, I'm going to lunch with my boss for her birthday. Elyse sent me here to ask you to take the twelve lunch. You would then watch my phones, OK? Thanks a lot."
She hurried back to her desk. What a nice, sweet girl, the temporary secretary Betty, who was old enough to be her mother, was probably thinking. She knew it. Parents always liked her, were easily charmed by her polite manners and demure ways.
She ran to the Credit Union in the downstairs lobby. No one actually walked down the stairs of the fifty story building, but never the less said they were going "downstairs."
She ran down the sidewalk to Houlihan's Bar & Grill. She stood at the entrance at the top of the stairs but she could not see them. She did not have her contacts in. She looked nervously at a tall girl who she thought to be the hostess and the girl returned her nervous gaze. Finally, she asked the real hostess and was pointed to a table by the window.
"Does that look like them?"
"Yes," she said uncertainly. She thought she could detect the familiar forms of her staff, as she called them. She sat between Mike and Rob. She opened the menu, although no one else appeared to be in a hurry. She thought of ordering fish or chicken, but had a feeling Mary was covering the dinner on her expense account, so she chose instead an old-fashioned cheeseburger. It arrived on a small silver pan with steak fries, the best she had ever had.
"I'm starving," she said.
"You can't be starving. Isn't that a little extreme?" Mike asked her.
"No. I am extreme." She said slyly. She turned away and had the feeling he was giving the guys one of his devilish knowing looks. Because, after all, he did know.
"What's everybody drinking?" she asked.
"Coke," Rob said.
"That's what I'll have."
"Virgin Mary. That's what they call the Bloody Mary's without the horseradish," Mike stated.
"Oh, is that what they call it?" Debbie asked him.
"Yeah, that's what they call it," Mike answered, averting her eyes with his cool gaze. "Can I have horseradish?"
She smiled and shook her head. She looked at him quickly, then looked down at her plate, or rather, frying pan.
"The card, Debbie, the card," Mike was urging her.
"What? Oh," she said. She had forgotten that she put the birthday card in her purse.
"Should I open it now?" Crystal asked discreetly.
"Yes," Debbie said.
"Go ahead, you're not getting any younger!" Mike joked.
"Does anyone want dessert?" Mary asked stoicly.
"No," Debbie said. She had to get back to the office.
"Look at this. Apple Strudel. Mississippi Mud Pie. Georgia Pecan Pie." and Mary began to read off the descriptions of scrumptious desserts. Mike surveyed the menu with big eyes. Rob started to groan.
"I'll hit the gym tonight," he promised himself. He had been on vacation in Maine all last week and returned with reports of fresh lobster and all the trappings Kennebunkport had to offer.
"What an awful-sounding place. Kennebunkport." Mike said.
"I like it. Kenney-bunk-port." Debbie said.
"Did you miss me?" Rob asked.
"No," Mike said.
"You're so quiet, anyway," Debbie teased.
"Yeah, you gained weight. We noticed," Mike chuckled.
"You look healthy. Your face is full," Debbie said.
"Nobody missed me," Rob sniffed.
"Well, I did. Just a little," Debbie consoled him.
And then the waiters came. Marching to the table in single file, they sang.
"Happy birthday, Dear Crystal...", they sang in barbershop unison and Mike joined them, in harmony.
Crystal looked at the rich hot fudge sundae they brought to her, adorned with a big strawberry and a glowing candle and her face grew red as tears welled suddenly in her eyes. She looked down at her thirtieth birthday present, incongruous to the dignity of her age and diet and put the whole strawberry in her mouth, like a small child obediently eating her dinner.
"Oh! A huge strawberry! I didn't know they were doing that," Debbie exclaimed, attempting to fight back the responding tears herself.
Mike cleared his throat and excused himself from the table.
"I have to relieve Amanda from the phones," Debbie looked at Mary.
"I've got it, Debbie," she said.
"Thanks." She looked at Mary appreciatively.
"Debbie! What's the matter?"
She looked up to see the exotic face of Sylvie, her hairdresser. She had been walking with her head down, as her father so often told her.
"Nothing." She blinked back tears and she kept walking down the sidewalk.
0765D/ Sept. 89/ DH
"OK, thanks, I'll get it as soon as I can."
"Not 'as soon as you can.' Try and pick it up right away, OK?"
Half an hour later, an enormous pink bouquet with a large purple balloon floating high above it, was carried into the office.
"Oooooh," Debbie breathed. Did we send it? And then, "Oh, I forgot! The receptionist said there was a package but she didn't say flowers."
She had not even thought to make the call herself. And she ran past the office manager, who stood at the filing cabinets, into Crystal's office to examine the roses. Pale pink buds poked the plastic wrap. She helped Crystal unveil the delicate bouquet to reveal explosive white mums, like quiet fireworks, white and purple spotted lilies; pink carnations sprinkled throughout; and fluted white and purple flowers whose name she did not know. A heavenly scent wafted up from The Bouquet. Debbie was subconsciously reminded of the smell of pink soap.
"How feminine," she said. Crystal agreed.
"Purple!" Debbie exclaimed.
"We wanted to get you something to smell up the office because you haven't been here for a few days," Mary joked.
"You want to forget it's your birthday but you can't," Debbie teased.
And Mary adjusted the beautiful bouquet on Crystal's coffee table. So she had made the call to save Debbie the trouble, in the midst of travel arrangements gone awry.
"Debbie, see if you can take lunch at one. We're taking Crystal out for her birthday," Mary whispered.
"Oh. Thanks for telling me," Debbie said, remembering.
"Elyse, I want to go to lunch at one. It's Crystal's birthday," she said, walking into the VP's office where Elyse stood.
"Tell the temp. I have lunch at one."
"All right, I'm walking over there now," Debbie said quickly and left before anyone could say anything.
"Hi," she said to the temporary secretary, working hard at Cecily's desk. She did not like to think of anyone as "the temp," but she could not remember her name.
"How are you today? Um, I'm going to lunch with my boss for her birthday. Elyse sent me here to ask you to take the twelve lunch. You would then watch my phones, OK? Thanks a lot."
She hurried back to her desk. What a nice, sweet girl, the temporary secretary Betty, who was old enough to be her mother, was probably thinking. She knew it. Parents always liked her, were easily charmed by her polite manners and demure ways.
She ran to the Credit Union in the downstairs lobby. No one actually walked down the stairs of the fifty story building, but never the less said they were going "downstairs."
She ran down the sidewalk to Houlihan's Bar & Grill. She stood at the entrance at the top of the stairs but she could not see them. She did not have her contacts in. She looked nervously at a tall girl who she thought to be the hostess and the girl returned her nervous gaze. Finally, she asked the real hostess and was pointed to a table by the window.
"Does that look like them?"
"Yes," she said uncertainly. She thought she could detect the familiar forms of her staff, as she called them. She sat between Mike and Rob. She opened the menu, although no one else appeared to be in a hurry. She thought of ordering fish or chicken, but had a feeling Mary was covering the dinner on her expense account, so she chose instead an old-fashioned cheeseburger. It arrived on a small silver pan with steak fries, the best she had ever had.
"I'm starving," she said.
"You can't be starving. Isn't that a little extreme?" Mike asked her.
"No. I am extreme." She said slyly. She turned away and had the feeling he was giving the guys one of his devilish knowing looks. Because, after all, he did know.
"What's everybody drinking?" she asked.
"Coke," Rob said.
"That's what I'll have."
"Virgin Mary. That's what they call the Bloody Mary's without the horseradish," Mike stated.
"Oh, is that what they call it?" Debbie asked him.
"Yeah, that's what they call it," Mike answered, averting her eyes with his cool gaze. "Can I have horseradish?"
She smiled and shook her head. She looked at him quickly, then looked down at her plate, or rather, frying pan.
"The card, Debbie, the card," Mike was urging her.
"What? Oh," she said. She had forgotten that she put the birthday card in her purse.
"Should I open it now?" Crystal asked discreetly.
"Yes," Debbie said.
"Go ahead, you're not getting any younger!" Mike joked.
"Does anyone want dessert?" Mary asked stoicly.
"No," Debbie said. She had to get back to the office.
"Look at this. Apple Strudel. Mississippi Mud Pie. Georgia Pecan Pie." and Mary began to read off the descriptions of scrumptious desserts. Mike surveyed the menu with big eyes. Rob started to groan.
"I'll hit the gym tonight," he promised himself. He had been on vacation in Maine all last week and returned with reports of fresh lobster and all the trappings Kennebunkport had to offer.
"What an awful-sounding place. Kennebunkport." Mike said.
"I like it. Kenney-bunk-port." Debbie said.
"Did you miss me?" Rob asked.
"No," Mike said.
"You're so quiet, anyway," Debbie teased.
"Yeah, you gained weight. We noticed," Mike chuckled.
"You look healthy. Your face is full," Debbie said.
"Nobody missed me," Rob sniffed.
"Well, I did. Just a little," Debbie consoled him.
And then the waiters came. Marching to the table in single file, they sang.
"Happy birthday, Dear Crystal...", they sang in barbershop unison and Mike joined them, in harmony.
Crystal looked at the rich hot fudge sundae they brought to her, adorned with a big strawberry and a glowing candle and her face grew red as tears welled suddenly in her eyes. She looked down at her thirtieth birthday present, incongruous to the dignity of her age and diet and put the whole strawberry in her mouth, like a small child obediently eating her dinner.
"Oh! A huge strawberry! I didn't know they were doing that," Debbie exclaimed, attempting to fight back the responding tears herself.
Mike cleared his throat and excused himself from the table.
"I have to relieve Amanda from the phones," Debbie looked at Mary.
"I've got it, Debbie," she said.
"Thanks." She looked at Mary appreciatively.
"Debbie! What's the matter?"
She looked up to see the exotic face of Sylvie, her hairdresser. She had been walking with her head down, as her father so often told her.
"Nothing." She blinked back tears and she kept walking down the sidewalk.
0765D/ Sept. 89/ DH
Thursday, September 2, 2010
NEXT: The Birthday
No, not Debbie's birthday, again! This one's for her boss, Crystal. Uh-oh...beware those messy -- EMOTIONS!
WILDFLOWERS
DELICATE WILDFLOWERS
"I'm not going to lunch," he said apologetically.
"Oooohhh!" she groaned and reached out to punch him. Everyone laughed.
She sniffed the fragrant bundle. Out peeked an array of wildflowers; pink, purple and a hint of yellow.
"Should I bring them to lunch?" she asked.
That night, opened at last, the bundle revealed the birthday bouquet.
"I picked each of those flowers out, you know," Mike told her proudly.
"You did?"
About to leave, she searched for Mike.
"Thanks for picking out such a..."
"They're beautiful," he said.
Is this how you see me? she thought.
Yellow freckled tiger lilies peered out from the ferns. White lilies, their rosy insides revealed, stretched upwards. A fuzzy purple plant stood in the center of the soft pastel wildflowers. A single pink carnation, freshly plucked, rose beside the yellow tiger lilies.
An elegant purple iris had not yet opened. A spray of delicate yet firm little lavendar wildflowers, scattered throughout the bouquet. There were closed white lilies and one radiant pure white daisy.
A pale yellow mum exploded quietly, a star. Underneath it hid a bright yellow carnation, its edges rimmed with pink.
A delicate yet wild country bouquet.
0887D
Denise's Birthday
March 3, 1990
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Up Next: WILDFLOWERS
How does Corporate Mike really see Debbie? what does he really think of her? STAY TUNED...and find out if it is possible to find love in Corporate New York in the 1980s...
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