Читать книгу Freeing the Magician - Dawn Leger - Страница 4

Michael’s mom lived in a small Cape Cod-style house on a street filled with similar homes, densely but comfortably rubbing up against each other. Yards with swing sets, sleds, and Christmas decorations suggested the presence of children.

“Did you grow up here?” I asked.

“Yep,” Michael said. “See that window, the one near the garage? That’s my room. I used to go out the window, slide down the roof, and climb down the rose trellis to meet my friends at night.”

“Get out,” I said. “You? A bad boy? I don’t believe it. I would’ve thought you were the kind of kid who was studying at his desk every night, then early to bed so he could get up and do his paper route before school.”

“Are you kidding me? I had the record for the most tardies in a single school year. My mother, the sainted Margaret Simone—known to everyone as Peggy, by the way—thought they were going to expel me at one point. All I thought about in high school was wrestling and getting high. And sex, of course. I was a normal teenage boy. I just couldn’t express the fact that I wanted to have sex with the other teenage boys, so I had to pretend to chase the girls.”

“That was tough, huh?”

“Yeah, but you know, a blow job’s a blow job, after all. As long as I wasn’t expected to do anything reciprocal, it worked out. And I was very respectful of their virginity. Ha!” He opened the door. “Come on, let’s go in.”

Peggy was at work when we arrived, but she’d left a large note on the kitchen table with instructions for lunch: Eat soup in fridge. I guess we could handle that.

“What does your mom do?” I asked. We were sitting over steaming bowls of clam chowder, having deposited our bags upstairs and used the facilities while the soup was warming on the stove.

“She’s a baker,” he said. “She took a lot of time off when I was injured, so she’s been working extra to make up for it, picking up some overtime for the holidays.”

“I hope she can have some time off while we’re here,” I said.

“Oh, yeah, she said she will,” he said. “What should we do now? Hey, how about doing what everyone does in the suburbs? Going shopping? There’s nothing like a crowded mall parking lot to put you in the holiday spirit.”

“That sounds perfect. I need to find a gift for my father and something for your mother, and you can help me.”

We cleaned up and headed back down Route 9 to the Natick Mall, where every other non-working person in the greater Boston area had decided to converge that afternoon.

“Drop me off here,” Michael ordered. “I don’t think I can hike all the way from the overflow lot. I’ll meet you inside.”

It took me a solid fifteen minutes of driving and cursing to find a spot and eventually I landed one by following a couple of women to their car and waiting patiently for them to pull out of their spot. I almost had a fistfight with a Masshole who tried to sneak into the space, but I prevailed. When I made it into the mall, Michael was nowhere to be seen. I sent him a text.

“Come to Levenger, second floor,” he replied.

I located a directory and found the store on the map, then made my way there. I had drooled over their catalogues and when I entered the store, I was engulfed in the scent of leather. It was good. Michael was having an intent discussion with a young man and I hesitated to approach, not knowing if it was a sales talk or a hookup I would be interrupting.

“Oh, here you are, finally,” Michael pulled me closer. “This is Niles. He has the most delicious leather goods, and I was thinking that something like this would be perfect for your father. He spends a lot of time at his desk, yes? So, what do you think of this?” He handed me a leather notebook with a Burberry fabric lining. “There are other matching accessories, see?”

“They are lovely,” I agreed. “Good idea, Michael.”

I fingered the goods while Michael and his new friend wandered off to look at briefcases and other “scrumptious” leather things. I closed my eyes while holding the notebook in my hands and tried to imagine my father’s reaction to such a gift. It was hard. He was a man who didn’t scrimp on things, so it wasn’t that, but maybe it was the Burberry that didn’t seem right for him. I wandered to another display, touching various objects and hoping something special would catch my eye.

Towards the back of the store, on a clearance table, I picked up a portfolio. It was darker and heavier cut leather, with a thick zipper around three sides. When I opened it, there was a writing pad on one side, and many pockets and compartments on the other. It was antiqued in such a way that it looked used and the leather softened with age. The portfolio conveyed warmth, and it felt comfortable in my hand. I zipped it up and went looking for a pen to add to the gift.

A salesman materialized by my side. “May I help you find something?” he asked.

“Yes, I would like to see your pens. I’d like something to go with this portfolio,” I said, holding up the leather case.

“Certainly. A classic, then. Would you prefer a fountain pen, or something more modern?” he asked.

“It’s a gift, for my father; he likes a nice fountain pen,” I said.

He led me to a glass display case with dozens of pens and slipped behind. “Let me know what you are interested in looking at,” he said. “We have pens in metal, wood, or glass. Or perhaps we should start with your price point?”

I put the portfolio on the counter. “That’s a good place to start,” I said. “Can you tell me the price of this portfolio? I didn’t see a price tag on it anywhere.”

“That’s not ours,” he said. “I assumed it was something you brought in with you.”

“No,” I said. “I found it on the back table. The clearance area.”

“I’m sorry. Someone may have switched out a product from one of our boxes and left this…item… behind,” he said. “But it’s not our product. You may keep it if you like, or I will discard it. Now, may I show you any of these pens?”

“I, yes, I’d like to see that black one in the second row,” I said, pointing to a classic fountain pen with silver trim. When I held it in my hand, the heft and circumference of the pen were perfect. “I love it. What other colors do you have in this style?” I asked.

I left there with two pens, the black one for my dad and one for my own desk in red. I also splurged on some ink and a fancy blotter to complete my dad’s gift. The salesman was happy to wrap that up for me. I had him place it in a larger bag, along with the portfolio, which I felt had been left on that table just for me to find.

I collected Michael and we went off in search of something appropriate for his mother, since I felt my gift of wine was only the beginning of what I was going to owe the woman for her hospitality.

“Tell me more about your mother,” I said. “Why didn’t she remarry?”

“Oh, I think she was afraid, maybe?” Michael said. “We never really talked about it. Maybe she wanted to protect me, I don’t know. That sounds pretty awful of me, doesn’t it? I never really thought about it. How bad a person does that make me? Oh, Godiva, let’s go in there. I need to treat myself.”

I took his arm and firmly steered him in the other direction. “How about we sit down for a minute and rest your leg? Then maybe we get out of the mall and find some small boutique where we can get something really unique for your mother.”

“That’s a good idea. Where can we find something like that?” he asked.

“Isn’t there a downtown here?” I asked.

“There was when I was a kid, but I’m not sure what’s there now,” he said. “We’ll go look. It might be all touristy stuff. Oh, I know, there are shops like that in Arlington, or is it Lexington? I’m not sure. We’ll just go and look.”

“Are you all right?” I asked.

“I’ve been away from my life for too long, I can’t even think straight anymore. Oh, my God, did you hear what I just said?” he laughed.

We sat in a small lounge area and people watched for a moment.

“It’s interesting how we don’t think of our parents as people with lives outside our own existence, isn’t it?” Michael said. “Until you asked me, it never crossed my mind that my mother was a young woman when my father died, so of course she could have dated and maybe even married again. But no, that was it. And since I left home, I have no idea if she goes out. She talks about going out with people from work once in a while, very rarely actually, but she doesn’t have much of a social life, she never takes vacations, and I just never even thought about it.”

“My father is the same. Once, years ago, I asked him about it and he shut me down so fast that I never had the nerve to ask him again. He travels, mostly for work—to conferences and doing research—and he’s pretty private about the rest of his life,” I said. “I mean, he could have a lady friend, and I would have no idea. Maybe the same thing is true of your mom. You never know.”

“I guess,” he said. “I always tell her everything, so I just assumed that she would tell me if she had something going on. But maybe she wouldn’t feel comfortable. I don’t know.” He shook his body all over like a dog. “This whole conversation is freaking me out. I might have to go back to therapy if we keep talking about it. Let’s get out of here.”

We headed to the exit and found our way to Lexington, where parking was even more challenging than the acreage surrounding the mall. I closed my eyes for a second and envisioned a space opening up and voila! There it was—someone pulled out just ahead of us. We got out and entered streets filled with shoppers amidst stores decked out in holiday finery.

“Now, this is classic New England,” I said.

“Yes, Paul Revere will be coming ’round the bend any minute now, so ready your musket,” Michael said.

“If it starts to snow, that will be the icing on the cake,” I said. “Let’s make it so.”

I closed my eyes and visualized a lightly falling snow, and when I felt the cold drop of a flake on my cheek, I opened my eyes and it was happening. Michael was staring at me, open mouthed.

“What are you, some kind of witch?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “I’m just trying to tap into my inner magician.” I stopped in front of a store. “Here. Let’s check this place out.”

An hour later, we came back out into the winter carrying bags, our wallets lighter, and our spirits lifted. The proprietor of the store was delightful, helping us find just the right scarf to match Peggy’s hazel eyes and a pair of earrings made from discarded scrabble tiles, her favorite game.

“We have to make one more stop, and then we’re all set,” Michael said.

“Your wish is my command,” I said. “Lead on.”

“Oh, if only you were the right gender, those words would be so exciting to hear,” he said.

I laughed. “Don’t worry,” I said. “Someday your prince will come. You are quite a catch, after all.”

Our next stop was a tiny spa, where we plunged our feet into lavender-scented water and drank hot chocolate.

“You sure have terrible feet,” he said.

“I know,” I said. “It’s the years I spent dancing and doing gymnastics. Very hard on the feet as well as the spine.”

“Now I know why you never wear sandals. You have some ugly toes.”

“Thank you. I agree. Now, can we drop it?” I asked.

“Tell me about being a professional dancer,” he said. “What was that like?”

“It’s not very glamorous, as you can see. It’s hard work. Every day, all day, hard physical labor,” I said. “I mean, I loved it, don’t get me wrong—there’s really nothing like performing in front of a crowd. It makes all the hard stuff go away. But it’s amazing how quickly it can end. And then, you have nothing. So that kind of career is really tough. It’s short and hard and it can be brutal.”

“Are you sorry you did it?” he asked.

“Oh, no. I’d always have regrets and questions if I hadn’t done it. And at the time, I wasn’t ready to grow up. I just wanted to keep dancing. I thought that I’d die if I had to stop. So I chased that dream as far as it could take me. So no, I’m not sorry. And when it was over, I still had time to do something else with my life, so I guess I’m lucky. I could follow my dream to its conclusion, and then find another dream to pursue. Not everybody gets the chance to do that.”

“I bet your father wasn’t happy about you going off to join the circus and dance instead of getting a job after college.”

“That’s quite an understatement,” I said, laughing. “I tried out for some Broadway shows, but it was the circus that recruited me to dance for a year with their European troupe, so I sold him on the idea as my way of having the post-college grand tour without him having to pay for it. But I stayed longer than that one year, and I left the big circus and joined up with a smaller troupe. I joined a family gymnastics act, and that’s what I was doing when I fell and broke my neck.”

“Wow. How long were you out of commission?”

“I spent six months in traction and then about a year in rehab. I thought my life was over, wasn’t sure I was ever going to walk again. But here I am, ugly feet and all.”

“And so, you obviously went back to school… ”

“Yes, that’s when I decided to go to grad school, and that helped my rehab quite a bit. Once I had a new focus, I got back on track. I moved to Boston, did my doctoral research abroad, and you know the rest of the story. Hopefully I’ll be able to stay at NYU. Although all that police business last fall is probably not going to be a very positive part of my tenure application. But maybe they’ll forget it by the time the review comes around. What do you think?”

“They never forget anything, I’m afraid,” he said. “But maybe if you join some Dean’s committee and behave yourself for the next five years, they’ll overlook it.”

“Bummer.”

“Yeah.”

“Hey, are you getting polish?” I asked.

“Absolutely. I’m going for the ribbon candy red. What color do you think?” he smiled and handed me the selections card.

“Let’s take a look.”