The late afternoon sun squeezed its way into the gloomy café. Moments earlier, a busboy flopped a mop about. The musty smell of the dirty mop and the boy’s aggressive body odor clashed with the teasing sun and lent a suspended loneliness to the already oppressive atmosphere. The café was empty save for two women hunched over a table under a yellowed, shellacked poster of some Venetian alleyway and a disgruntled would- be actor, must-be waiter, straddling a tall stool while he foraged through a crumbled script.
The women in their thirties shared the same dark eyebrows and bleach-blond hair, teased into similar helmet styles – a dead give away that they were not from the city. The older of the two had higher hair, was tougher, eager to impress the younger, the younger was eager to be impressed. They were on their second glass of wine. The older, Janet, leaned back in her chair, the sun reflected her helmet-hair. It made a shadow on the café wall that looked not unlike a warrior in some biblical Ben Hur movie.
“Christ! Oh, well,” Janet pronounced, “I knew it from the beginning. He said he was better off, but I knew he didn’t mean it.” Ange, the younger sister, somewhat intimidated by the apparition on the wall, chimed in. “Did you get into it a bit . . . I mean . . . did you talk to him?”
“No,” Janet snorted, “he didn’t want to talk about it. I tried. Hell, what could I do? He looked so sad standing there on his porch, hugging himself, all perched up like a sick bird. “Yeah,” Ange agreed, “I’m really worried about him.”
The ladies were quiet for a moment. “I mean,” said Janet as she swallowed her last drop of wine, “what the fuck . . . that bitch! Remember last summer, how he pulled all those rocks out of that parched-ass old hill, dislocated his shoulder so Miss Prisspants could have a flower garden? Remember he didn’t even stop when we brought Mom up to see him. God, I hated the way she talked to Mom!”
“Yeah,” Ange added, “I couldn’t believe it, even after Mom had her operation, she made Mom ride in the back of the car while she sat in the front seat. I couldn’t believe Adam didn’t say anything to her about it.”
Janet sneered. “Ah, you could never say anything to Miss Know-it-all! Nothing went in. It was like rubbing Nivea on a rubber leg. And then at Mom’s funeral, her standing there, greeting everyone like she was the queen of fucking Sheba! Man that really pissed me off. And her hugging Rev. Krams the way she did, all flirty, with Mom lying there in the coffin.”
Ange sneezed. She fished around in her purse for a Kleenex. Janet grabbed a napkin off a neighboring table and pushed it toward her. “Bless you,” she said. “You still have those damn allergies?”
“No, no,” Ange said. She looked pensive for a moment. “I can’t believe the way she did it,” she continued, as she blew her nose.
Janet raised her voice, “Yeah, right! Tell me about it. Our little brother didn’t have a clue, not one word beforehand!” The waiter looked their way. Janet spoke more softly. He told me that much . . . just came home and she was gone. You know she took all the fucking money out of the savings account, right?”
“Oh, God, I didn’t know that. ”Janet paused, gave Ange one of her most serious looks and said, “Yeah, took everything!” Ange spilled some of her wine. “I can’t believe it! I just can’t believe it,” Ange said quickly, as she started sopping up the wine with the stolen napkin. “I’ll call him tonight. Maybe he’d like to stay with me and the kids for a while. I’m sure Tom wouldn’t mind.”
“Good idea, he’s probably lonely as hell. I would have asked him to come and stay with Bob and me, but Bob doesn’t get home until late, and then he’s half crocked,” Janet said, as she motioned for the waiter. “We fight all the time. That’s all Adam would need . . . to witness my happy marriage! Want another?”
Ange hesitated. “You going to have one?”
“Yeah, why not,” Janet said, reaching for Ange’s arm to look at her watch. “We’ve got a little while before the next bus leaves.”
The waiter put down his script and approached. Janet noticed he was somewhat adorned with new mannerisms. His sluggish movement when they first came in had morphed into an aggressive stance and his original gesture-less hands moved about in a flurry, imitative of some bad guys in a fashionably bad movie.
“Two more,” she said. “What? Are you an actor?” He looked at her a bit dazed, stood a little taller and said, “Yeah, how’d ya know?”
“Looked like a script you had there. We had a cousin acted on a soap opera.”
“Yeah, no kidding.” He wasn’t impressed. He knew they were from out of town. “I only act in film and the theater,” he casually announced as he cleared away the empty glasses. “Fucking snob,” Janet whispered to her sister as he walked away.
“So, how you doin’, anyway? The kids alright? Tom selling lots of Subarus?” “Yeah, you know, we’re going along. Hope you make it over for Thanksgiving. It’s been lonely since Mom died.”
“I know,” Janet mumbled, thinking to herself how she felt responsible for her younger siblings after her mother’s death and noticing how vulnerable Ange looked. “Listen, why don’t I make Thanksgiving at my house. I’ll make my specialty for you that you love so much . . . peas and carrots.”
Ange started laughing. “Well, that depends on whether your table has a drawer like Mom’s did!” They both started giggling. Janet took Ange’s hand and held it for a moment. “And to think, all that time when Mom had to work and I cooked for you kids, I thought you were the only one who ate and loved all those concoctions I cooked up. Imagine how I felt finding all that dried up rotten food in the table drawer months later!” They were both laughing when the waiter brought the wine.
“Thanks Brando,” Janet said. “Got any nuts?” She hated when people looked down on her. She felt protective of her sister. “You know, the kind you eat.”
“No,” the waiter answered, suspiciously wondering if she was trying to be funny or just mean. He would remember this feeling. Perhaps he would use it for the character he was studying. He gave them the check and walked away.
“Shit! This is lousy wine,” Janet said, putting on her glasses to look at the check. “I don’t know . . . I just don’t know what’s going to become of Adam. Christ, look how dark it’s getting outside and it’s only a little after 5:00. I guess the time will change soon. I like the long nights. Don’t fuckin’ ask me why.” She sighed. “Poor Adam, it’s going to be a long winter for him.”
They both stared out the window and drank their wine. The street lamps yawned their lights pale against the fading day. A Japanese restaurant across the street snapped on its neon sign and people hurried home from work in their too-thin clothing, dodging the cold of the unexpected fall wind. Ange broke the silence. “Yeah . . . well, the kids and Tom will be wanting their dinner. Listen, we better get going. Let me treat,” she said, reaching for the check.
“No, no, this one’s on me,” Janet insisted. “This was my idea. It was nice spending some time in the city together. We should do it again.” Janet paid the check and they wobbled out.
“You know what,” Janet said as they stood outside the café, “I think I’ll stay on, go to dinner or a movie, or something. Bob won’t be home till late. You going to be all right going back alone?”
“Sure, but why don’t you come home, have some dinner with us,” Ange said.
“No,” Janet smiled. “You know me, I like to wander around a bit. But, thanks. I guess Adam will be all right. We’ll just do what we can, right?”
“Right,” said Ange. “Okay, I better hurry, I don’t want to miss the bus. Port Authority’s going to be crazy. Let’s speak later in the week. Bye. Love you.” They embraced and Janet watched Ange run towards the subway. She wondered if Ange would turn to wave before she disappeared into the station. She didn’t. Janet began to walk away. A gush of wind so strong almost made her lose her balance. “Lady, lady” she heard from behind her. She turned, the busboy was holding her purse in his arms. “Lady, this is you?” he smiled. “Thanks,” she murmured, taking the bag from the boy. The busboy scurried off. Her bag was warm. The busboy’s scent lingered on it. As she held it to her chest to shield her from wind, the warmth and the scent made her remember an intimacy she had long forgotten.
The West Village was close by. She would have dinner in that tiny restaurant on Bedford Street, where she often ate dinner alone when she was in the city. The bad wine was making her feel a bit tipsy. Tipsy! . . . a word her husband used when he came home drunk . . . “Oh leave me alone! I’m just a little bit tipsy,” he managed to say before he passed out drunk with his clothes on. Well, she wouldn’t be there tonight to take off his pants and put him to bed. She walked on watching people happily walking their dogs, couples holding hands, laughing. Suddenly she felt cold, frightened, and exhausted by a deep loneliness.
She crossed the street and for a moment she thought she saw her mother reflected in the glass window of the Japanese restaurant. She smiled as she realized it was herself. The puff had gone out of her hair, the wind had blown it to one side. And she thought how sad she looked and noted how slowly she walked. She pushed the image away. Rummaging through her purse she found the bus schedule. She thought of her brother Adam. “I don’t know,” she thought to herself, “I just don’t know what’s to become of him.”
Kathleen Widdoes has been an actress for many years in the theatre, television and film. She received a Tony nomination for Beatrice in ‘“Much Ado About Nothing,” three Obie awards for Off-Broadway performances, in plays by Dumas, Chekhov and Brecht. She was Edith Wharton in PBS’s “Looking Back” and received four Emmy nominations as Emma Snyder in Daytime Soap, “As The World Turns.” She was Joe Papp’s first Juliet and all the dark ladies of Shakespeare at The New York Shakespeare Festival. Some films include, The Group, Masha in The Seagull, and Courage Under Fire. Kathleen’s writing has appeared in 12th Street journal and is now an honors student in the Riggio Writing & Democracy Program working towards a B.A. at The New School.
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