The People in the Mirror Page 5

  Horrors, I thought, he’ll think I’m chasing him. But wait, I came into the store first, and getting milk is no big deal, millions of people do it everyday. But millions of people do not have to walk around someone who makes their heart stop just to look at him, in order to wrap their hand around a carton of milk.

  He stood studying cartons of milk as if they were the headlines. I waited for him to pick one, when I saw him catch my reflection in the glass. He turned.

  “Hi,” He said. Very straight-forward and almost like he knew me.

  “Hi. Excuse me, I need....” I gestured at the milk.

  “Sorry.” He stepped aside and I reached in and grabbed any old carton of milk. Was he nervous too?

  “My name’s Mitch,” he said. “I... I think we’re neighbors. Didn’t your family recently move in....”

  “On the seventh floor? Yes, we’re neighbors.” I was really glad that we were standing by the coolers because I felt myself getting warmer and warmer like I always did when I was shy or embarrassed – or, apparently, infatuated. And I was all three of those now. What to say?

  “Yes,” he continued. “I saw you. I wanted to, I mean, it seemed like – you seem like a nice person, someone I’d like to know.”

  There was just a hint of an accent to his voice, but I couldn’t place it. It was so faint, but it was ancient and warm and lovely. And there was that cologne of his I’d noticed in the hall when I first saw him, wafting toward me now in such close proximity it made me weak in the knees. “Well, ah, thank you,” I stammered. “I don’t know how you can know how I seem, you’ve only just seen me in the hall.”

  “I can tell a lot from hearing a person’s tone of voice, watching how she moves and seeing how she treats her parents. Actually, I was going for a walk last Friday morning when you and your parents loaded up the car in the parking structure. So, I must confess, I watched you then.”

  EUGH! I thought. Eugh, eugh, eugh! Me, half-asleep, my hair every-which-way, no make-up and in my ugly old sweats. It’s a miracle he’s even talking to me.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Are you angry that I watched you? You were right out in public.”

  “No, I’m not angry that you watched me, I’m just upset that you saw me.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I don’t look my best at six a.m., as a rule.”

  “Oh, you’re very wrong. You were so cute, like a little girl, tired and excited about the trip. And your father – is he your father?....”

  I nodded.

  “Yes, I was sure of it, your father teasing you so sweetly. It was very charming.” But his tone of voice was sad.

  I nodded again, putting the carton of milk in my basket, my fingers cold and stiff. “But... you seem sad.”

  “Oh! Do I?... I guess it does make me a bit sad. My father died five years ago. We were never close like that, but still....”

  “I’m sorry.” There, I thought, there is the reason for the sadness in his eyes.

  “Thank you. But now is not the time to be sad. I have finally talked with you, and I’m happy. I have to get some things for my mother, then perhaps we could walk back together?”

  “Yes. I have to get some things for my mother too. I’d love to walk back with you.”

  I quickly got the things on Mom’s list, and if everything wasn’t exactly what Mom had written, well, it was close enough, wasn’t it? I went up to the cash register where Mr. Zingas was ringing up someone else’s purchases. “You just can’t seem to get rid of me today, can you?” I laughed.

  “Not to worry, I enjoy your company,” he answered. But something was strange about him as he rang up my purchases, somehow he was distracted. Just as he was finishing up, Mitch came and stood behind me.

  “What’s...” I was going to say to Mr. Zingas “bothering you,” but as I watched his eyes narrow ever so slightly as he glanced at Mitch, I switched my sentence in mid-stream to, “what’s my total?”

  “Fourteen-twenty-one.” Mr. Zingas answered in a nothing-but-business-going-on-here tone of voice. I handed over a ten and a five and received back my change without so much as a wink. That was entirely un-Mr. Zingas like. Great mystery.

  Goodness, I thought, I’ll have to come back and see him a third time tonight just to find out what’s going on. I stood by the door and thumbed through a magazine while Mitch bought his groceries, but really I was watching what was going on between Mr. Zingas and Mitch. Which appeared to be exactly nothing. But Mr. Zingas was certainly not friendly to Mitch.

  As we stepped out into the swiftly falling night, I couldn’t resist wondering aloud what was wrong between the two of them. “Why did Mr. Zingas treat you so coldly?”

  “He did? I didn’t notice. He seemed the same as always.”

  “So he’s never friendly with you, never tells you jokes or stories about his wife and children?”

  “Never! Does he do that with you?”

  “Yes, always, until just now.”

  Mitch laughed, it was a beautiful laugh, and his bright, white teeth made me fall from infatuation into something deeper with a crash. “I have no trouble believing that a middle-aged man would spend time telling a pretty, intelligent, curious and charming young woman stories and jokes, while not having any particular interest in doing the same with some teenage boy.”

  “But he does it with my Dad too.”

  “And Dad is the source of the cash flow, no?”

  “Yes.” I thought about what Mitch said, and it almost made sense. Except for that fleeting look Mr. Zingas had given Mitch. That was clearly not neutral.

  Homer nodded and smiled as he opened the door for us. “I was wondering when you two young people would get to know one another. Aren’t you about the same age?”

  “I’m sixteen,” I said, dying of curiosity over what Mitch was about to say.

  “Well, I guess I’m about seventeen, although celebrating birthdays is not something we do in our family.”

  I didn’t say anything until we were on the elevator, alone. “No birthdays? Why?”

  “My great-great-grandfather, who, by the way, built this building, said that celebrating birthdays was how one grew older, and that if one was just oneself, one needn’t get old in the same way as everyone else.”

  I had never heard of such a philosophy. “I – I’ll have to think about that for awhile. It’s very interesting, but I don’t think I’m ready to give up birthdays just yet – there’s the pay-off of presents. I have to imagine what it would be like not to get any more birthday presents.” We were standing in the hall outside my apartment when Mom flung the door open.

  “Oh. Well, I thought I heard your voice. I thought you were talking to yourself, but I couldn’t understand why you didn’t just come on in.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  “What?”

  “You make me sound like a sort of lunatic.”

  “Everyone talks to themselves, it’s no big deal.”

  “Your mother’s right,” Mitch agreed.

  Mom gave Mitch a studied look. “I’ve seen you before, haven’t I?”

  “Mom, this is Mitch, he’s our neighbor. I think he lives in the very next apartment.”

  “I see. Well, it’s nice to meet you, Mitch. Did you folks get robbed too?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We were robbed over the weekend, and I was wondering if you were too?”

  Mitch fidgeted. I watched his metamorphosis from coolness to discomfort in amazement. “No, ah no. We weren’t. But we... ah, ahm... we don’t have nice things like you do, that is, the Rionews. I hope you – or they – have insurance. I saw all the commotion the other night, and I felt bad for all of you.”

 
“Did you?” I asked. “That’s so sweet.”

  “Actually,” Mitch went on, gathering his previous cool self, “I’m pretty familiar with a lot of the furniture in your apartment, since I’ve visited the Rionews on occasion. I’ll keep my eyes open for it, in case it gets fenced anywhere nearby. Well, Its been very nice meeting you Mrs. – oh, I’m not sure I know your last name?”

  “Francis,” Dominique and Mom said together.

  “Mrs. Francis. And I look forward to having another interesting talk with you, Nikki.” Mitch went on down the hall.

  “Cute boy,” Mom said. “Almost too cute, huh?” She took the bag of groceries from me and hustled into the kitchen.

  “What do you mean?” I tried hard to sound oh-so-casual, as I helped Mom put away the groceries.

  “You know what I mean. Listen, Dad called while you were getting groceries and one of his co-workers insists on taking us out to dinner, so get dressed. Dad said he’ll be home,” Mom glanced at the clock, “well, anytime now.”

  I shuddered at the thought. Dinner with adult strangers in a restaurant, trapped in one spot. Anyway, I wanted to go back down and ask Mr. Zingas what was up with that look he gave Mitch. “But, Mom, can’t I just stay here and do my homework, and stuff?”

  “No, Nikki. Your dad said they have a daughter about your age and the idea is to get the two ‘families’ together. They’re taking us to some elegant place that’s on the water with a fabulous view. So make the best of it. Dress nice.”

  Nice. I pulled myself down the hall to my room and into my closet. Nice meant... well, maybe this little plaid dress with the white collar and knee sox. Actually, although I probably wouldn’t admit it to any of my “cool” friends in Laguna Beach, I was fond of this outfit, one of several Mom and I had gotten for me when we first moved here. Trying to dress for the climate. There was something about the blue tartan, with its interweaving of dark blues and greens with a flash of red, yellow and white, that fascinated me. Especially if I was bored, I could just contemplate how these threads ran this way and those ran that way, over and under, and the crossings made sort of other colors. It was pretty interesting.

  I heard Dad come in the front door, hurry into the master bath and start the shower. Mom and Dad talked back and forth while they got ready. I could tell that Dad was “briefing” her on what he knew about the people we were about to have dinner with. I hoped with all my might that the daughter who was “the same age” wasn’t two or three years younger. Why didn’t adults understand that “about the same age” meant someone who was born within nine or ten months of you, and who was in the same grade in school. And sometimes even then....

  “Come on, Nikki, we’re ready, let’s go.” Mom called. I reluctantly joined them in the living room. Mom was wearing one of her “quiet black dresses,” as she called them, and Dad had put on a suit exactly like the one he left in that morning.

  “Oh, Nikki, good choice.” Mom smiled. “You look darling.”

  Darling. Well, at least she didn’t say “cute.”

  “You look great too, Mom.” Sophisticated, I wanted to say. And sure of herself. How did she know how to do all of that? I’d never be so together.

  On the ride to the restaurant I tried to imagine what it would be like if, for instance, I was an adult, with Mitch, off to some adult function.

  “You’re awful quiet,” Mom said. “Thinking about the neighbor boy?”

  “No, I’m not thinking about the neighbor boy,” I half-lied. After all, I was really mostly thinking about Mom.

  “What neighbor boy?” Dad looked at me in the rear view mirror, which I always found very disconcerting. It was like Dad really did have eyes in the back of his head.

  “Nikki came home with a boy appended tonight,” Mom said, “I embarrassed her to death because I could hear her talking in the hall and when she didn’t come in, I opened the door to ask her what she was doing, and there was this dangerously good-looking boy listening to her with undivided attention. Nikki says he’s our immediate neighbor. He only said a few words, but he has this very subtle eastern European accent. Very charming, lilting. Sexy, to be quite frank.”

  “Well, jeez Mom, you want me to ask him if he wants to go out with you?”

  “No thanks, sweetie, I’ve got all the man I can handle,” Mom pinched Dad’s cheek. “I don’t need any little boys.”

  “So, how long have you known this ‘dangerously good looking, sexy’ package of trouble?”

  “Well, let’s see, it’s seven-thirty, so I guess about two hours.”

  “He lives next door, but you just met him?”

  “Umm-hum. I’ve seen him a couple of times, but tonight he came into Mr. Zingas’ store when I was there and introduced himself to me, because he’d seen me and knew we were neighbors, and we walked back together. End of report. Shall I sign in blood? And how often am I required to file an update?”

  “My, my, we hit a nerve,” Dad observed.

  “Well, it’s a bit much, isn’t it, that I can’t have a civilized conversation with a neighbor without said neighbor being accused of being dangerous? Can’t a person be good-looking without being treated like it’s some sort of handicap? He’s very polite and interesting, so it seems to me the least one could do is be polite in return. By the way, his great-great-grandfather built the building we live in. For what that’s worth.”

  “Really? Very interesting. Well, Puss-Boots, you’re absolutely right, and I stand corrected. I look forward to meeting our interesting, polite neighbor, who happens, by total coincidence, and without fatherly prejudice and concern, to be good-looking.” Dad pulled into a driveway leading to a restaurant with a subdued nautical motif. “Here we are. Hey, this place looks great!”

  “Where’s the daughter?” I asked as we walked up to three people smiling at us.

  “I assume that’s her, on the right.”

  “Well, how old is she?”

  “Eighteen, I think, I don’t remember exactly.”

  “Oh, great,” I said under my breath. There was no time for further conversation as the introductions were made. The girl’s name was Stephanie.

  Stephanie had absolutely nothing to say to me. She had just started at the University of Washington – a college woman. It was much worse than trying to hang out with someone younger than me. Here I am, with all these attractive women, in my little white collar and knee sox. Jeez. The final humiliation.

  I salvaged the evening by enjoying the fabulous view and thinking about how much my fortune had turned for the better. I had met two interesting young men in one evening. And I had gotten Grammy’s ring back. Despite my internal awkward feelings around the beautiful and svelte Stephanie, I rejoiced in getting Grammy’s ring back. A myriad lights reflected in the rippling water. I turned over in my mind what Mom had so off-handedly said about Mitch’s accent being eastern European. Wasn’t that just entirely romantic?

  Chapter VIII

  Somehow I survived the humiliation of the dinner. Anyway, Dad was apparently elated by whatever it was he’d accomplished with Mr. Turner, who was his supervisor at work. Dad sang show tunes all the way home, no matter how much Mom and I, his captive audience, protested and begged him to stop.

  His mood was contagious, and by the time we pulled into the parking garage, Mom and I had decided that if you couldn’t beat him, you’d have to join him, and we were at the top of their lungs with the grand finale of “There Ain’t Nothing Like a Dame” when Dad shut the engine off. The requirement to become civilized and quiet had us all giggling by the time we arrived at the front door. There was one of the non-Homer doormen at the door, and he looked at us as if he suspected us of indulging in too much of something.

  We tip-toed down the hall after getting off the elevator, and once inside the apartment,
permitted one grand guffaw to get it out of out systems.

  “Okay, munchkin,” Dad said, “School in the morning, off to bed.”

  “Munchkin! Yeah, that’s me. By the way, Dad, a girl who’s eighteen and a freshman in college is really not about my age, you know?”

  “What?... You mean Stephanie? I guess the two of you didn’t have much in common, did you? But you seem so mature to me, I thought for sure someone a bit older than you wouldn’t matter.”

  “Two years, Dad. I mean, thanks for the vote of confidence, or whatever it is, but I hope to think that when I’m a freshman in college I’ll... I’ll be a lot more, you know, more... more like Stephanie. I hope.”

  “But you behaved like an adult tonight, and I’m completely proud of you. Especially if you were uncomfortable. I didn’t see it, which proves my point. And you were there for your old Dad. Thanks and go to sleep.”

  “You’re welcome and I’m gone.”

  I followed my dreams into a land where I danced with a prawn on the rippling surface of the ocean, until Mitch cut in and danced with me inside a dusky mirror. I looked up and saw myself watching me dance with Mitch in an ancient hall, with piano music swelling to the walls and pouring out through the mirror into my closet.

  * *

  The next morning, when I dragged myself into the kitchen, Mom was all atwitter because the police had called and said they’d found a couple of small pieces of furniture at a pawn shop, and that once a couple things turned up, more usually followed.

  “That’s great, Mom. This barren place was starting to get on my nerves.”

  “You and me both, but the worst of it for me has been the horror of facing the Rionews. Dad talked with Mr. Rionews, and he said he took the disaster very well, but I just want to get their things back, if at all possible.”