The Bench Read online

  Chapter 6

  Her Saturdays were not like any other day of the week. She had no one to see, nowhere to go, no work to hustle off to. It was one of the days she detested most of all. It was so empty. She lay in bed and waited, listened for the day to start. It was already ten and most people had their lives well under way but she didn’t really have much on. She thought what to do. Only one thing sprung to mind and she immediately grasped at it.

  She slipped on some shorts, a loose fitting shirt and with her messenger bag she raced down to her bicycle. She was at the canal in under an hour with a screaming hot cappuccino and her notebook. She would sit back and wait for him to make an appearance.

  The canal teemed with weekend activity. Families were out and mingled with the pastiche of humans that strolled the banks and lazed through the sunshine. Rowers called, their fine toned muscles whipped the oars as they swept over the water. The trees, so often maligned by her, slept at attention. She waited against the base of a white ash as its leaves splattered a dance of shadows across the grass. It was nearing twelve and as each person strolled toward the bench she could feel her pulse quicken expectant and hopeful. But no one paused near the bench. Nothing. It seemed as though the bench were not even there. Her bench, a bench that held so many dreams for her, stood alone like a waltz no one wanted to dance to. The music and beauty of the bench was overflowing and yet no one asked her to dance, she stood forgotten as the waltz ebbed and sighed with the dreams of the music. The bench was more than mere iron and wood yet it said nothing, it had no voice to raise. It reminded her that apart from uttering the word ’cappuccino’ she too had said nothing all morning. Perhaps she was too visible and was scaring her poet off. She left the bench and walked the four hundred yards down to where a small bridge spanned the canal and crossed. The entire time she constantly checked back but there was no one. Once across she walked back along the canal and positioned herself on the opposing bank, not far from the picket line of trees. She watched and waited. It was almost two and no one had made a move for the bench. She felt dejected, as if both she and the bench were being ignored. She stood and moved back toward the bridge. She crossed and went directly to the bench. She sat and rubbed the wooden planks. They were warm in the sunshine and welcomed her. The rejection of the hundreds that had passed was forgiven. She took out the apple she’d brought and the notebook. She rested it on her lap. She knew what it was saying to her.

  Her fingers stroked the cover. She saw pictures of green eyes and wavy gray hair hang over her, she felt the warm tongue on her fingers before the black disconsolate eyes woofed the sandwich, she felt heat flush across her chest as she stood defending Charles and accused of needing to get laid, just before being called a caterpillar. Caterpillars were furry and ugly. Who did she hate more, Robert for his caterpillars, Charles for his frock comments, cyclists, hungry hounds, Green eyed heart throbs or stupid women’s TV shows? What was the point in hating or nurturing hate when there was so much love rushing inside her? Each time she touched the book of poems she felt a rush, like a first kiss full of hope and excitement, flooding her thoughts. Her focus of passions clattered about in her mind like a drunk. She thought of country fairs where you threw balls at dishes to break them. With her pen in hand she was throwing hundreds of balls shattering ideas, breaking, clashing and smashing.

  Her pen was a child on the pages giggling doing naughty wonderful things as she sought to respond to his poems.

  It was almost five-thirty when she finished her last poem to her mystery lover and she rested, complete. She felt she’d had an orgasm and was drifting down the creative slope of excited exhaustion. It was like nothing she had ever experienced. Her head tipped back and the orange and purple sunlight danced on her closed eyelids. The heat was warm, allowing. She wanted more of the passions to pulse through her, but also wanted to stop, to save herself for him or it or them – the pages. She bundled the notebook into her bag and jumped on her bicycle. She knew exactly where she wanted to go.

  It took only fifteen minutes and she had passed it everyday on her way to work for years but today she burst through the door. The cacophony of rustling and twittering excited her. She peered at all the shelves lined with products. It was a much bigger store than it appeared from the street and went back a long way. There was a woman near the till at the front. She looked harassed and tired, perhaps she’d had a long day.

  “I won’t be long, I know you’re closing soon.” ‘At six’ was the discouraging response. Jenny made her way past the colorful twittering birds and snakes. There were all manner of freaky reptiles, lizards and slithering things. She didn’t stop, just got past them as quickly as she could. She passed the kittens and more than a dozen enormous fish tanks all festooned with shiny colorful decorations racing on unseen paths through the water.

  She came upon them last. She had almost done a complete circle of the shop. She heard them first rather than saw them. The scratches and whimpers filled her with anticipation. She was in the puppy section. The land of wet noses, floppy ears and paws that were too big and too clumsy. She peered into the variety of different boxed areas at the stumbling, drunk little wrestlers. Some were eager to scrap with the others and chewed on sleeping ears or stepped on faces and tummies, as they crawled over drowsy brothers and sisters. She picked up two or three and gazed at their confused eyes. They seemed to question why the pretty young woman wanted to cuddle them and then put them back in the box with all the other stumbling drunken mates.

  The woman at the front cleared her throat suggesting it was closing time and Jenny moved toward her. “Do you have any Great Dane puppies?”

  “No, sorry. You can only get them from breeders.”

  “Oh.” Jenny was deflated.

  “Problem with Great Danes is that they grow. They have wonderful sleepy characters but they are big and often get returned. So you should really contact a breeder to get a good one and make sure it’s what you want.”

  “Sure, thank you.” Jenny left the shop. She wasn’t sure if she wanted a Great Dane or even a dog. She had just wanted to see those eyes that had stolen her sandwich. She wanted to meet her sandwich thief. The woman closed the door behind her and Jenny heard the lock click shut. How different from the funky spiky haired girl at the boutique. She would somehow find a way to wear that lemon outfit, somehow. The girl was so nice she couldn’t take the outfit back. She couldn’t pay for it and not wear it though. She just had to find a way. She packed her messenger bag back into her wicker basket.

  Once home she pushed the key in her door lock and as the tumblers rumbled it seemed to suddenly dissolve the ecstasy of the afternoon of writing. It was all gone, like the closed sign on the pet shop, the feeling was shut down. She entered her apartment. Nothing had changed.

  She hadn’t eaten and felt the despondency of her stomach affect her mood. She would have to make dinner for one. What was dinner for one? It wasn’t really a dinner because that would necessitate a conversation and opinions, ideas expressed, thoughts shared. No, dinner for one was little more than just a ritual feeding, a dietary duty. How much of a long sigh her weekends were. She would like to focus on the joy of writing but who was there to share it with, not even a puppy to love. She poured a glass of wine and put some water on to boil for pasta.

  The cupboard door revealed an array of products on the shelf. She stared numbly at the products. She looked for herself among them. Was she what Charles had said - a ‘cold fish’? ‘Jenny you’re a woman’ – what a prat, as if there was a question. ‘Christ’ she thought ‘what does he see me as - the office stapler.’ ‘You need to get laid girl’ – Bernadette had said, but then Bernie would sleep with anything.

  She looked everywhere in the cupboard but there was no form of pasta what so ever. She would go and borrow some from Mrs. Viallini. She had heard Sacha’s voice loud and clear last night during the argument and th
ought it would be good to have a little female gossip. Apart from the cappuccino and the pet shop, she had not spoken a word to anyone.

  She knocked on the door. Unlike most protective city dwellers, Sacha opened it wide. She always greeted her in the same way and consumed the petite Wyoming girl in her arms. Sacha Viallini was not that tall nor was Gianluca, but her round sausage like body, protruding melons in the wired bra and enormous toothy smile, swallowed everyone in her path. She was so much larger than even a large Italian’s life.

  “Jenny, my Jenny. How are you? Come, come good you are here. Is so good. You look wonderful. Why you look so happy?”

  “I, I’m fine Sacha. Do you have-”

  “No talk about me. Why you different? You get hair done. No, no and you still no put on more weight you too skinny. Must have bigger titties to catch man.”

  “Well, I just wanted-”

  “Ah, you have him, I can see. It’s good, congratulations.”

  “No, no I-”

  “Is he a good one?” Jenny looked at her puzzled. She leaned in close to Jenny. “You know is his rod strong. Jenny you must make sure. I tell you is so, so very important.”

  “Yes, I’m sure it will-”

  “Good because then you can give your mama one of these.” Sacha dragged Jenny through the small apartment to the living room where their daughter was standing with her six month old baby. Like all grandmothers Sacha was outrageously proud of the little bundle and had been in tears of joy for weeks after her arrival. It was unfortunate that the young girl, Leana was only just eighteen and had become a single mother as soon as the baby arrived. Leana was left high and dry by her supposed boyfriend but the grandparents, well Sacha definitely, were making up for any shortfall in the emotional department.

  “Hi Jenny.” Leana called as Jenny hurried over to the baby who was dressed in a small bunny type jump suit.

  “Hi ya. Wow she’s getting so big.” Jenny took the baby and cuddled her. Sacha glowed like a search beacon. Her granddaughter was the center of the universe.

  “Mama, I have to go.”

  “Yes, yes, you come back any time no worry, I know my babies.”

  “You going out?”

  “Yeah, got a date. Have to get back into the swing of things. Lord knows the first one was a disaster.”

  “Is no disaster, is a mistake, but gave us an angel. Go. Go. No hurry back.” Sacha literally pushed her daughter out the door. And then hurried back to Jenny at a half jog, but covered very little distance.

  “She is beautiful Sacha. So it’s true then.”

  “What’s true Jenny?”

  “Gianluca says you are the most excited Gran outside of Italy.”

  Sacha stopped and thought for a moment as if it was a deep philosophical question. “Yes, yes is so, so true.” She lowered Jenny down gently on the couch and squeezed beside her. The rotund little Italian stared at her grandchild sleeping in Jenny’s arms. “Can you stay?”

  “I actually just came to borrow some pasta, any kind-”

  “You must not borrow, I will make you pasta. My mother’s recipe. We do it together. Then you can cook for this new man of yours. Do you have picture?”

  Sacha stood up and helped Jenny, still holding the baby, out of the couch. It was definitely an older model couch and had that wonderful ‘once your in me sleep for the night’ - type feeling.

  “I don’t have a picture but I do have half a bottle of wine and if Gianluca isn’t around maybe…”

  “You get the wine I will start the baby... I mean the pasta.”

  Jenny laughed at the excited old girl. She was sure her mother would be the same when or if she ever had a granddaughter. She laid the baby in the cot and went back to her house to pick up two glasses and the opened bottle.

  Mrs. Viallini, who at one time had been a chef, threw together an amazing pasta as simply as if making toast. She was trying to teach Jenny but Jenny was fortunate enough to be able to cuddle the baby girl and in truth the baby brought out so many other feelings in Jenny that she missed most of what Sacha was saying.

  Once the meal was ready Jenny returned the sleeping baby to the cot and they sat sipping wine and whispering over their plates.

  “Sacha, how did you decide on Gianluca?”

  “Ah, you’re getting that close are you?”

  “No, no I was just sort of wondering.”

  “It’s very easy. Even for a woman like me. You see I never had nice body like you. I have never had curves, I am a fat salami, you have lovely shape for a man to enjoy.” Jenny had started to blush. “It’s true you have very nice, what do they say ‘booties’, no, booty is only one. But still I catch Gianluca.”

  “Well it’s not that easy for me.”

  “To catch a man is so easy, but keep him is not so easy. My Leana she lose her man, is not so good.”

  “How did you catch Gianluca?”

  “You know you catch a man is like you catch a baboon. I watch on television. You put a boiled egg in a glass jar. Baboon put his hand in jar to get egg out but won’t let go of egg so no can take out hand. Baboon is very stupid just like a man. When he is looking at jar you sneak up and put net over top. You catch baboon. Men are the same.”

  “Not sure I have the right eggs then because there aren’t any men grabbing for the jar.”

  “Your eggs are very nice. But you must make the eggs look like they are available. If eggs look like they are not for eating then baboon won’t come near.”

  The door opened and Gianluca entered. He was wearing his Napoli shirt and literally danced across the room and kissed Sacha. He had been drinking. Obviously Napoli must have won. He then reached across, grabbed Jenny’s hand and kissed it. He stroked it like a small bird. “Sacha did she tell you if there is a man to hold this lovely hand?”

  “There is Gianluca.”

  “Oh my God.” Gianluca grabbed his heart again. He turned back to Sacha. “Now I have only one beauty in my life.” He kissed her again and then saw the fold out cot. “Mama mia I have two again, maybe one and a half for now.” He smiled at them and then went to the crib and peered over it like a child staring at a Christmas present. He slowly touched the sleeping cheek and the hands shot up at his touch and he pulled away. He smiled at the women mischievously, so desperate to pick up the little one.

  Jenny stood up. “I better go now and leave you two with Christina.”

  “Christina is no problem, she will sleep. Napoli must’ve won and him, he has had too much wine and like all baboons he will want to grab the jar.” She raised her eyes at Jenny and a smile crossed her face.

  Jenny thought it would be a great time to slip out, further details were the last thing she needed. “Goodnight, thanks for dinner.”

  “I come by next week and you show me a picture of him.”

  “Who?”

  “Your baboon.” Sacha winked at Jenny and Jenny backed out the door.

  “Sure whatever. Goodnight and thanks for dinner.” They were edging toward the cot and she could see they were anxious to coo over the baby, so it was easy to slip out.

  Jenny made herself a strong coffee and grabbed a blanket. She opened her small patio door and settled on the chair to stare at the night. It was amazing she thought, no matter how much she had tried to tell Sacha she was still single, the old Italian refused to accept it and kept babbling on about that damn baboon. The only baboons she knew were either from Seattle and she’d tried to crush his career or the English baboon, perhaps buffoon, in any case he would never get near her jar of eggs. No her only baboon was too scared to show himself, maybe she had to do what Sacha suggested, trap him. Show him the bait. No, that wasn’t her style.

  A waft of laughter came from below. The gay guys two floors down were having a party and an effeminate lisp of laughter drifted up. No doubt there would be group action in that apartment tonight. She wondered if Terry and his partner
would be there. Terry was young and fun, he would no doubt be out somewhere.

  Her gaze returned to the street as she sipped her coffee. A blanket of completeness drifted over her, perhaps it was from holding the baby girl. Often Saturdays were the worst day because her friends would invite her out and she was always the odd number. There would be one guy who happened to show up or some such set up. It was always awkward. Sometimes she’d rather stay home than put up with the embarrassment. She heard laughter from the Viallini’s open window; the lights were off. Gianluca still had it she thought.

  She wasn’t envious in the least. Her three hours at the canal today had been a dream. Not the two hours of waiting and stalking but the three hours of writing to him had been almost like sex. Could she remember what that was? In any case to write to him was exciting and left her pulse racing so surely it was as good as any physical orgasm. She wasn’t even sure anymore. Hours drifted by as she sat entranced by the street life.

  A car door opened and closed below. Jenny peered down and recognized the tight white jeans of Leana as she leaned against the car to kiss her date goodnight. His hands were all over her. She might as well have been nude for his hands explored every inch of her while they were locked at the hips and lips. Leana pulled away but let her hand linger on his belt. Then she crossed to the stairs and waved. He waved painfully back. Jenny laughed at him. He was one very hard baboon going home without an egg.

  She drained her now cold coffee and crossed to take a long hot shower. She’d decided to wash and then crawl into bed with her notebook of poems. Maybe her Saturday was a bit different but it wasn’t necessarily all bad.