Chapter 4: Up and downA Chapter by SweetNutmeg Independent, capable Bonnie can take care of herself... until fate strikes and she must rely on others. Can Bonnie accept the help she needs? Can she find the key to freedom from her loneliness? Chapter Four Up and down Bonnie makes an effort to be pleasant to Pete when he comes in the morning to check on her. She feels awkward, still. Doubly awkward, actually. Pete's embrace and compassion hang there between them, and then her ugly behavior on top of that. To avoid a strained silence, she pumps him for information about the coffee shop. Jean has been filling in twice a week as opener and is a bit scatterbrained for the job, but with Adam's help, she manages. Julie, the manager, is getting tired of rising so early. Everyone is feeling her absence. That evening, Pete suggests visiting his apartment, to see how well she can manage one flight of stairs. The trip down is not so bad. Pete's apartment is a reflection of his interests. He has vinyl records dangling from fishing line by the windows like sun-catchers, and an entire wall is devoted to more vinyl, his huge collection in custom made shelves. “I have to have new shelves built every time I move.” Pete ushers her to the love seat facing the window and then stands before his record collection, hand on his chin. Finally, he selects two. “Billy Holiday or Bessie Smith?” “Bessie Smith,” she answers immediately. He's holding up her favorite album. They bridge the silence with talk about the Blockbuster selections Pete most recently made for her. Sleeping With the Enemy and L.A. Story went over well, but He Said, She Said was not her kind of movie. “You want more artsy type movies? I saw they had The Cook, the Thief, His Wife and Her Lover.” “Oh, Lord no, I saw that at the art house theater. Once was enough.” “For me, too.” Feeling she needs to be more cordial, she invites him to watch a movie tomorrow night. “You choose,” she says. “The Blues Brothers! I have it on VHS.” “I've never seen it. It's good?” Pete enthuses about it for a while, and Bonnie is happy to be talking about something, anything. “I should probably go back upstairs,” she says as Pete comes to a pause. Leaning heavily on the railing, going slowly and holding on to Pete for balance, she makes it back upstairs. “That wasn't so bad. I should probably try to do that once a day. They said the more I move around, the better, once I'm healing well.” Later, Elaine calls to check up on Bonnie's peace-making efforts and expresses her approval. *** The next evening, Pete calls at the end of his shift to ask if she wants sandwiches from Martin's Wine Cellar to have with their movie. A roast beef po boy suddenly sounds irresistible. They decide to watch their movie in his apartment as she can get her exercise that way. He helps her downstairs and settles her in a comfy armchair. The sandwich and the movie are both as good as advertised. She feels tired but peaceful when the movie ends. Pete helps her upstairs. Maybe it is her imagination, but perhaps it is a little easier this time? She falls asleep without thinking about her walkman. She and Pete begin a new routine. He stops by just before work as before, but now when he gets home from work, he helps her go down to the second floor and back up again. Two days later, Elaine is back from Arizona, where she helped put together an entire feature for the magazine. She jokes about carrying peyote through the security check at the airport. Bonnie can't tell if she's serious. Pete invites them downstairs for dinner the next day. He'll make crepes, his specialty. Elaine encourages Bonnie to go all the way downstairs. For the first time in two weeks, she fetches her own mail. She still needs the railing, but she does OK. The next night, the ladies are Pete's guests, ensconced on the love seat and nibbling pâté. The menu is mushroom, goat cheese and caramelized onion crepes, followed by pastries from La Bonbonnier. They bring Bonnie's espresso maker downstairs and have espresso with their pastries. Elaine, claiming to still be on Arizona time, begs off a nightcap, leaving Pete and Bonnie to have drinks by themselves. The first drink she's had since the appendicitis goes to her head. A bit tipsy, she can't stop laughing at Pete's descriptions of the foot fetish guy who comes into the record store regularly, among other odd customers. They are still laughing as Pete helps her up the stairs to her own apartment. She needs help more because of the alcohol than due to any weakness. She impulsively hugs him goodnight. When she gets in bed, she realizes mountain time is behind central, not ahead. Sly Elaine. She wonders if Pete realizes it too. *** Their next trip down and up the stairs leaves them standing at Bonnie's apartment door. She invites Pete in for coffee. Sipping from their mugs at her tiny kitchen table, she is close enough to smell him. It's pleasant, some kind of woody scent, very faint. “What do you think about going out tomorrow night?” Pete asks. “Wow. Out. That sounds so wonderful, to be somewhere other than here. Where would we go?” “Where do you want to go?” “A laundromat would be exciting after being stuck up here for so long. I don't know where I'd want to go...” “Somewhere in the French Quarter?” “Sure. Not drinks though, I might need a Percocet.” They decide on Port of Call for steaks. She doesn't think about it much, but Elaine isn't mentioned. When she thinks to call her, Bonnie finds Elaine is engaged to attend a gallery opening. “A business thing... making connections. A drag, but you've got to do it.” Bonnie is determinedly unromantic. She is wearing a long knit skirt and a t-shirt. The t-shirt is silk and the skirt is DKNY, but the look is definitely not date clothing. Pete is sporting his bowling shirt and jeans. Normal Pete clothes. She is relieved. Located on Esplanade, on the edge of the French Quarter, it is under the shadows of the ubiquitous oak trees. Bonnie is grateful the cab drops them right on the doorstep and the restaurant is reached by three shallow brick steps. The high narrow French doors lead into a dim cave, ceiling lost in shadows. The place is half full, it being a weeknight. The regulars at the bar look like bikers and appear to be doing serious drinking. They get a table away from the bar, but it is still noisy. They have to lean in over the table to be heard. The steaks are delicious, even by New Orleans standards. After-dinner coffee perks Bonnie up and when Pete suggests a movie at home, she is game. They decide to watch at Pete's place, to break up her long climb into two sections. She is doing better, but it is still an effort. Once home, Pete insists on making his hot chocolate and Kahlua specialty. Accompanying him into the kitchen, Bonnie watches as he arrays the mugs and heats the milk for the hot chocolate. Her earlier recounting of regional pests of great size brings on tarantula stories from Pete's native Utah. As Pete is relating a particularly comical tarantula in the bathroom story, suddenly Bonnie is pointing in alarm. “Oh, oh, you're on fire!” The dangling strings of unraveled oven mitt have caught fire, threatening to engulf the entire mitt. Pete dithers. Bonnie takes charge, grabbing him by the elbow and propelling hand, mitt and all into the kitchen sink and turning on water. “Quick, take it off.” Bonnie holds the smoldering mitt in the sink and yanks his hand out. It only takes a few moments to douse the flames as the fabric is flame retardant. This leaves them with their arms awkwardly tangled together. Pete's eyes meet hers and, disconcerted, Bonnie drops his wrist and withdraws to a safe distance. Drinks in hand, they retire to the living room. Bonnie lets Pete choose their movie again. She's never seen Edward Scissorhands. She is unexpectedly moved by the lonely, incomplete man who cannot touch without cutting. When the movie ends, she feels Pete's eyes upon her. His gaze catches hers and she can't look away. “Sometimes, I think you are a bit like him.” © 2020 SweetNutmegAuthor's Note
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SweetNutmegAboutI'm on hiatus and returning no reviews. I am sorry to say I don't do poetry. At all. As in, never. Not even for you. more..Writing
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