Dear Diary, I'm In Love Read online

  “Hi,” was Tony’s first word to me when we’d settled down. I managed a “hi” of my own. Then, for a moment, we were silent as we looked into each other’s eyes. The silence was broken by his contagious laugh.

  The taxi driver glared back at us. “Where to?”

  “Good question,” Tony said, turning to me. “Where to?”

  “My car’s parked in a garage about five blocks from here.” I leaned over the seat and told the driver the location. I would have followed that with directions if I hadn’t been interrupted by a surly grunt of acknowledgement. We were on a one-way street, with the garage five blocks in the other direction and with traffic piled up in the blinding rainstorm.

  Tony reached over and took my hand. All the pent up feelings of the past few months welled up inside of me. The moment back at the campsite when we had almost kissed came rushing back. This time, neither of us hesitated.

  “Do you have to go back?” Tony asked, in a whisper.

  “Yes. But I don’t want to.”

  “Can’t we be together for even a little while? You can’t imagine what it’s been like, talking to you and not being able to touch you.” His hand traced the drops of water still trickling down to my chin.

  By then the driver had managed to make a turn and we were approaching the garage. I heard myself say, “No. I don’t want to go back. Tell him to keep driving.”

  The taxi driver shrugged in resignation at the new instructions and headed through the now declining rain toward the outskirts of town. “Tony,” I said, “I want to go to bed with you. Today. Right now.”

  Did he hesitate before he answered? I’m not sure. I doubt that my emotions would have allowed me to make any reasonable judgment at that moment. Tony leaned over the seat and spoke to the driver again. In a few moments we had pulled up in front of the Blue Moon Motel. I remembered the place well. In high school it had been notorious, deservedly so as I later learned, for being a by-the-hour stopping place.

  I’m not sure if it was that memory, or the leering look the driver gave us as Toni paid him the fare, or maybe it was something else, something about marriage vows. As the cab drove away, I shook my head. “I’m sorry, Tony. I can’t. I’m really sorry.” Was I wrong, or did I sense that he was relieved at my change of mind? Instead of going to the motel office, we crossed the street to a small coffee shop.

  I hadn’t realized how cold I was until I held the hot cup in my hand. I looked through the rising vapors at Tony. This was a time when we should have talked, but the hours we’d spent on the phone seemed to have covered everything. I wanted to reach across the table to hold his hand. I didn’t.

  We left, we walked, we said little. We caught a taxi and went back to the garage. I said goodbye. I didn’t look as his cab drove way. I could feel a weakness just behind my knees as I waited for the attendant to bring my car down to the ticket booth.

  Surprisingly, Gil was home when I got there, though his usual arrival time was still hours away. It took only a few moments for me to realize that something was wrong. I prepared for the worst. How had he found out? Someone had seen Tony and me. The taxi driver? Surely there was no way the man could have known who we were. How could Gil have heard so soon? And we had done nothing. Nothing!

  Gil wouldn’t look at me. Was he as embarrassed by the confrontation as I was? I was hoping Stone Face would live up to her reputation. I didn’t want him to have the least inkling of the turmoil inside of me. If I had gone to bed with Tony, I might have tried to brazen it out. But how could I brazen out what hadn’t happened? Gil’s voice droned on. I caught a name. “Bea.” The context was a complete muddle. Was he sinking to a level of hypocrisy where he was going to cry for the hurt to Bea and not for the hurt to himself?

  I shook my head to clear it. He must have thought I was saying no to something he was saying. His words began to come together into sentences, but the sentences had little meaning. “We have to all act like adults. These things just happen sometimes.”

  My mind began to race. “But nothing happened,” I said to myself and was about to repeat it aloud. His next words made sense. Remarkable sense. Unbelievable sense.

  “It’s just that Bea and I have felt that way about each other for a long time, and we finally decided we have our own lives to lead. Divorces aren’t such terrible events in this day and age. The children are grown and on their own.”

  He prattled on and on, still not making eye contact with me. By then I’d recovered enough to ask the important question. “Does Tony know?”

  Gil looked at his watch. “He does now. Bea was going to tell him an hour ago.”

  The immense relief I felt was mirrored in Gil’s behavior. He couldn’t believe that I wasn’t about to throw a tantrum, to play to a tee the part of the scorned wife. I was enormously grateful at our quick settlement, though not too openly so. He was to leave the house immediately—which is what he wanted to do. We would split our possessions down the middle—which was probably inevitable anyway under the law. And I would file for divorce on any grounds mutually acceptable to our respective attorneys, both of whom he would pay for.

  It was amazing to find how easy it was to ease out of twenty-plus years of marriage. Fifteen minutes settled it all.

  I couldn’t wait. While Gil was packing, I went outside to call Tony. The phone rang before I could punch in his number, but the connection was abominable. I finally made out that it was Tony. To his repeated “hello” I asked, twice, “Did Bea talk to you—about Gil and her?”

  The answer was an abrupt, “Yes.” The connection was improving, but not enough. I cursed the cell phone which prevented me from catching the nuances in his voice. What was it I was hearing? Why just “yes?” I began to panic. Gil’s words about acting “like adults” came back to me. Was Tony going to act like an adult?

  “I have to meet you. I have to talk to you, Tony.”

  Again, the voice fading in and out seemed almost non-committal. “I think we should talk, too. Where do you want to meet?”

  As I look back at that moment, only sheer desperation made me say what I did. “At the Blue Moon Motel.”

  The loud and clear laugh followed by his quick question was the most reassuring sound I ever heard in my life. “Where do you think I’m calling from?”

  ____________________

  KISSING THE BULLFROG

  Laverne was the first to comment. “You're looking like death warmed over. One day off from work wasn't enough. You should have stayed home today.”

  Daisy Callahan didn't feel exactly chipper, even though she had had a whole weekend to recover from the flu. But she preferred working to staying at home—had even hated to take Friday off, for that matter. While she would never have admitted it to the three phone operators in the other cubicles at Faux Jewelers, Inc., she really missed their company. Laverne could maintain a running commentary on anything and everything, Sissy kept them in stitches with stories about her latest boyfriend, and Hallie knew more jokes than anyone since Bob Hope—and her delivery was just as good. Even the supervisor, Emmy Barker, was great to work with.

  The work area left something to be desired, however. It was a long narrow room, with partitioned desk spaces for the operators along a hallway, which was the main thoroughfare through the warehouse-like building. That did have its advantages though, a point which came up almost immediately when Daisy arrived at work that morning.

  Laverne didn't wait for Daisy to reply to her remarks. “You missed the new NatEx delivery man. What a loser? Eyeglasses like the bottom of a coke bottle, and it looks like they couldn't find a uniform to fit him. His bony wrists stick out a foot from the sleeves. And you should see him blush when he comes through on his way to S&H.”

  Sissy looked over the edge of her cubicle, wearing her earphone and mike with the cord dangling from her head, “His name's Sidney Feingelt—according to his name tag.”

  Hallie broke in. “Sissy's looking for a replacement for Herman. He's stopped even bring
ing her take-outs, and expects her to cook for him every night.”

  Sissy stuck out her tongue. “Herman-even without take-outs-is better than Goonball Goldberg. How can you stand someone who spends all his time telling you about the last big real estate deal he almost made?”

  Hallie acted indignant. “His name is George—not Goonball—thank you very much. And at least he's presentable in company. That's more than you can say for your Herman.”

  Laverne had just finished a phone call and chimed in. “Even Herman looks good next to Sidney Feingelt. Wait'll you see him, Daisy. He's the Ichabod Crane of the delivery world.”

  As with most Monday mornings at Faux Jewelers, the hours were full ones. Phones seemed to be continually ringing. UPS, FedEx, USP, Airborne and other deliverymen streamed through the work area on the way to and from S&H, but the object of the early morning discussion didn't show up until almost noon, when a brief lull allowed him to be surveyed by eight pairs of eyes.

  “See?” Laverne spoke up the moment he left the room. “What'd I tell you? He's a real nebbish. Did you see the way he turned red when he snuck through?”

  Sissy guffawed. “I think he's got his eye on Daisy. Boy, are you a lucky girl.”

  Daisy was still feeling a little queasy, but the thought that the gawky Sidney, who probably couldn't see any too well through his thick glasses, could have had his eye on anyone made her join in the laughter.

  It was Hallie's idea to have Daisy at the water cooler when Sidney was due back. Eyes peered over partitions as the carefully instructed Daisy, seeming not to notice his approach, backed into him as he passed.

  “Oh, sorry. I didn't see you coming.”

  A red flush started at the collar of his uniform, and he muttered a few unintelligible words.

  Daisy was hard pressed to come up with a response to something she hadn't caught. “Oh. You're with NatEx.” The comment sounded inane to her, since a banner-sized logo on his uniform loudly proclaimed his employment, but Sidney didn't seem to mind.

  “Yeah. I'm new. Just started on delivery last Friday.”

  At least that was comprehensible. But where to go from there? Before Daisy could pick up the thread, Sidney excused himself. “Gotta go. Gotta make a lot of deliveries yet.” He almost ran for the exit but, just as he was closing the door behind him, he turned and said, “I've got a five o'clock delivery back here.”

  A cheer went up from the audience. “He's head over heels in love with you,” Laverne said. “Anybody want to bet he asks Daisy out?”

  “First night Burger King, second night take-out, third night you'll have another Herman on your hands.” This from Hallie.

  Sissy broke in. “At least he won't be trying to sell you real estate.”

  Daisy was amused. “Just watch! If he does come back today, I'll maneuver him into a date. Maybe for tonight.”

  “Dinner out and maybe a quick peck on the cheek as he drops you off at your apartment,”

  Laverne chimed in as soon as she'd finished with a phone order.

  Daisy became serious, and shrugged. “Why not? It would be a nice change to go out with someone who isn't a groper.”

  The maneuver worked. Sidney seemed startled by the quick acceptance of his very tentative offer of a date, but he recovered quickly, and a grateful smile spread over his face.

  The next morning, all phones were put on hold as the crew listened to the details of the evening.

  “He's really kind of a nice guy,” Daisy began.

  “Oh, oh!” Laverne broke in. “I can see it now. Sidney's Irish Daisy.”

  “Hush up,” Sissy said. “Let's find out what happened first before we marry Daisy off.”

  “He wanted to go to that fancy French restaurant on Thirty-Third. And he was serious about it. I was appalled. It would have cost him a week's salary. I insisted on the Sizzler.”

  “Boo-o-o!” from Hallie. “You missed your big chance. But going from the Sizzler to take-outs won't be as big a drop as going from Chef Henri to Chinese.”

  “What's he like?” asked Laverne. “Is he going to be a deliveryman the rest of his life?”

  Daisy looked thoughtful. “You know… he's really different. You know how guys like to spend all their time gabbing about themselves—like George wanting to tell you all about his real estate deals. Well Sid just kept me doing the talking.”

  “A listener!” Hallie exclaimed. “They're the worst kind. He doesn't have anything to say. That's why he listens.”

  “Well, it was still nice for one evening.”

  “No plans for another?” Sissy asked.

  “I'm not sure. I gave him my phone number. And he'll be delivering here today. Who knows?”

  “Peck on the cheek?” Hallie asked.

  Daisy seemed embarrassed and finally said, “He helped me out of the taxi, told me he'd had a marvelous time, shook my hand and said goodbye.”

  The office erupted in cheers, almost drowning out the sound of the phones and Emma's whiskey baritone, “Office party's over, girls. Man your stations before Old Man Kushner shows up. He's supposed to drop in sometime this week, and that's all I need—to have the owner of this outfit find everyone in here making whoopee.”

  A hush fell over the office when Sid walked in at noon. He stopped by Daisy's cubicle, and the silence was palpable as everyone tried to catch the conversation. Another date was scheduled, and Daisy seemed not at all reluctant.

  The week turned into a whirlwind courtship.

  “Look,” Daisy kept saying. “He isn't pushing. We haven't made any kind of commitments, and here all of you have me practically married with three kids.”

  Laverne ignored her. “You ain't seen nothin' till you've been around a Jewish mother-in-law. Does he have any brothers and sisters?”

  Daisy shook her head. “I haven't asked him about his family, but I do know he's an only child.”

  “Oh, my God! A Jewish mother with her only son marrying a shiksa! You don't know what martyrdom is. My ex's mother had two other daughters-in-law to worry about, and my being Jewish took some of the burden off my shoulders, but it was still a living hell—believe me…”

  “Don't listen to her,” Hallie interrupted. “George's mother is the sweetest person imaginable.”

  Laverne snorted. “Sure. You aren't in her clutches yet. She's just baiting the trap. Just wait.”

  “What about a deliveryman's salary?” Sissy asked. “Does NatEx pay enough for you to start and raise a family?”

  “UPS has five kids,” Hallie volunteered.

  “Sure,” Sissy went on, “And his wife had to start a day-care center to make ends meet. Can you imagine trying to handle a dozen kids at a time? Makes life here look like a Caribbean holiday.”

  Hallie wasn't giving up so easily. “Yeah, but NatEx is the biggest delivery company in the U.S.”

  Sissy snorted. “That doesn't mean a thing. Just because a company's big doesn't mean the wages they pay the peons are any better.”

  The argument dwindled away for lack of evidence.

  By Friday, some of the novelty had worn off, and only a few eyes followed the ungainly figure as he hovered around Daisy's desk near closing time. The storm broke at that very moment.

  The entrance door swung open to reveal the stocky frame of Seymour Kushner, himself, owner of Faux Jewelry, Inc. He took in the scene at a glance and stormed over to Daisy's cubicle.

  Before either one of the couple could say a word, Kushner's booming voice rang through the room. “We're not running a dating service here, young man. Taking up the time of my employees is something I won't tolerate. I'll be notifying your supervisor about this behavior. And as for you…” He glanced at her nameplate on the desk, “. . . Miss Callahan, I want to see you in my office at ten on Monday morning. Now, you,” he pointed an accusing finger at Sidney, “Pick up your package or whatever it is you're paid to do and get out. I'll see to it that you don't come back again. And I'm going to have this whole building remodeled so that I
won't have deliverymen traipsing through the order department on the way to S&H.”

  With that, Seymour Kushner stormed out of the room and headed for his office, but not before he had seen Sidney make a hurried departure. The crew closed down quietly, wanting to express their concern to the unhappy Daisy, but feeling certain that the wound couldn't be healed by words. Decent jobs weren't that easy to get. They wondered who would have the tougher time finding other suitable employment—Daisy or Sid.

  The following Monday opened with a funereal atmosphere. For a change, as though in sympathy, the phones were silent. Daisy was the last to arrive. The other three, along with the supervisor, watched her entrance. She seemed singularly undisturbed by what had to have been a thoroughly unhappy weekend.

  To no one in particular, she announced that Sidney had taken her out to see his folks that weekend.

  It was Laverne who responded first. “What part of Brooklyn?”

  Daisy shook her head. “His folks live on Long Island. Turns out his Dad is CEO of NatEx.”

  Mouths dropped open. “Sidney didn't tell me before, but all the executives of NatEx are expected to do delivery work for a while. Last week was his stint. He's supposed to be coming in this morning—no uniform. He's got contact lenses now, too.”

  At that moment, the entrance door opened and Sid walked into the room. The face, now almost handsome without the accustomed spectacles, and the figure, now trim in an expensively tailored suit, brought exclamations from the gathering. Even more impressive was the fact that Sid was accompanied by a Seymour Kushner, whose face was aglow with a nervous smile. “Good morning everyone,” the owner of Faux Jewelry, Inc., boomed out in a jovial voice. “I wonder if I could please have a moment to talk to you, Miss Callahan?”