Lessons In Being A Flapper (22 page)

Y
ou know how you feel when you drank way too much on a night out and are now suffering the consequences? Well, that’s how I felt right now, even though I hadn’t touched alcohol or anything for 24-hours or more. My heart was aching, my insides felt like jelly and my brain was whizzing around trying to make sense of everything. It was not a fun experience.

After leaving the office, I headed home only to find it too quiet and lonely. I went to the local café and then the bookstore and then the library but still I couldn’t find any solitude. Eventually I decided to go to Marisol’s. In all honesty that was the only place that I felt OK. I picked up Clara on the way and we walked over to The Painted Ladies together. Her exuberance was a little catchy. After a few minutes, I felt my shoulders fall down from their permanent place near my ears and my body relax. It was a beautiful sunny day in California. I didn’t have a terminal illness, I wasn’t homeless or starving.  I was just heartbroken. I could survive that, couldn’t I?

When I arrived at Marisol’s I was surprised to find her door closed and locked. I knocked and knocked but no one answered. The black BMW sat in the driveway but there was no sign that anyone was home.

“Are you looking for Marisol?” a tiny man in a suit jacket asked from across the road. “If so, she’s not home. She’s gone to the hospital. They found her unconscious yesterday and took her away. Haven’t heard anything since.”

Oh my God! That’s why Marisol hadn’t called me! She’d been ill! I was so busy thinking of myself and my stupid problems that I forgot Marisol wasn’t looking too good when I left the other night. I should have taken her to the hospital myself or at least told Bernard she wasn’t looking like herself. Now I wasn’t only heartbroken, I felt guilty too. Marisol had been too good to me and I let her down when she needed me most.

“Do you know where she is? Which hospital?”

“No, sorry. She’s never been one to share information with people, probably doesn’t want anyone to know she’s ill. Try the phonebook. I’m sure she’s close by.”

I ran down the road as fast as I could with Clara in tow. At one point I even took off my heels to help me run faster. The jagged rocks and shards of glass I was encountering were nothing compared to
the pain I was feeling inside.  When I finally reached a little restaurant, I asked for a phone book. Since I had broken my cell phone and had yet to get it fixed, I didn’t have a way to look up hospitals or call them. I was relying solely on the generosity of others.

“Please, can I use your phone? I need to find my friend. She’s been taken to a hospital and I don’t know which one,” I pleaded with the waitress who gave me the phone without hesitation and told me to start with California Pacific Medical center as that was closest. I called and she wasn’t there. I then continued down the list until I came to Saint Francis Memorial Hospital. The receptionist told me that yes, there was a woman there by that name but they couldn’t give me any other information since I wasn’t her next of kin. “But she doesn’t have any family!” I screamed, getting the attention of all the patrons. Though understanding, that fact got me nowhere with the receptionist who told me that my best bet was to come in and see if the doctors and nurses could assist me further.

“Does anyone know how to get to Saint Francis? It’s an emergency!” I asked the entire diner. One man, in his early thirties said he’d take me. Though I was cautious about getting in the car with strangers, I had no choice. I had to see Marisol.

When we got into his SUV I realized that I couldn’t bring Clara with me to the hospital. I didn’t want to bring her home either. A chubby figure wearing a rancher’s hat and jeans was crossing the street at that very moment. It was Esteban.

“Esteban! I need your help! My friend she is ill, I need you to take Clara just for a little while. Please. I’m begging you.”

“Si. Si. I take her and we go to park. You come get me there when you home. No rush. Now go!” he said, taking Clara’s leash from me and insisting that I go and see Marisol.

At that very moment, I had never been so thankful for two people in my entire life.

W
hen I arrived at the hospital I thanked the man profusely and then burst into tears. I explained that I had just broken up with my boyfriend and was so caught up in that that I failed to notice Marisol’s declining health. He let me cry for a minute (which was kind of him as I’m not the most feminine crier. I’m rather snotty and disgusting) and then he said that he’d come in with me for moral support.

We figured out that Marisol was on the 8
th
floor in room 232. That wasn’t the intensive care unit, thank God, but it wasn’t a unit for people ready to home, either.

I was prepared to see anything when I walked in her room but what I saw was not at all what I was expecting. Marisol had a crowd around her bed of nurses and students all fawning over her and laughing. She looked good, not perfect but better than I expected. When she saw me her face lit up like a Christmas tree.

“Well look who it is! My chickadee! Come and give me a hug won’t you dear?” I did as she asked, almost throwing myself at her and crying into her hospital gown as she rubbed my head. “Shush, dear. I’m fine. It’s just a little blip, that’s all. Now, tell me who is that fine specimen of a man behind you?”

Oh right. In all my hastiness I hadn’t even gotten the
man’s name.

“He’s, um…”

“I’m Noah,” he said, extending his hand and complimenting Marisol on her good looks and youthfulness. What a charmer. I found myself smiling but knew I shouldn’t be. I didn’t know this man from Adam and I was still mourning the loss of Bayani.

“It’s been a pleasure meeting the two of you but I must head back. I’ve got to pick up my sister at the airport. If you need a ride back, here’s my number,” he said before tipping his hat and taking off.

“Darling, it’s a good thing he’s gone. There’s someone else around that would probably be very jealous to see you with another man so quickly.”

“Who would that be?”

“Don’t be daft, dear girl. You know exactly who I’m talking about.” I huffed, all while wondering why Bayani had been here to see Marisol and hadn’t called me. Oh. That’s right. We weren’t together anymore. He didn’t have to call me at all. I banished that thought from my brain and decided to focus on Marisol but she was having none of it.

“I don’t know what happened between you two but let me assure you that he is cut up over it. That boy is in pieces!” For some reason it made me happy to know that Bayani was suffering just as much as I was. Twisted, I know, but it eased my pain a little and that was good.

Marisol stared at me intently as I imagined Bayani at home, alone and unkempt. Her dramatic sigh brought me back to the present.

“Since you’re not going to give in I suppose I should just keep my nose to myself. Although that is hard to do when you have a nosy spirit telling you off for not interfering. Either way, it’s your choice at the end of the day. But while you’re here I do have some other business to discuss with you…”

Apparently Marisol’s quick rise to fame on the internet brought her a host of opportunities back home and the one she took on she could no longer complete alone.

“Darling, while I’m incapacitated will you do me the favor of organizing the San Francisco Senior Center’s Valentine’s Day Ball? I know you’ll do me proud!”

How could I say no? I loved the idea of having a Valentine’s Day ball for the elderly who were probably lost without their partners. I could definitely do Marisol justice with this one.

“Now I’m not a blushing violet but I do need you to help get the word out. I also need you to order some decorations and help me make the place look spiffy. As you’ve probably
guessed, I’m going with a 1920s theme. Oh the fun of being a chairwoman!” Marisol said, clapping her hands and looking quite exuberant in her flimsy hospital gown and assortment tubes hanging from her body.  I really liked the idea of helping Marisol. It gave me something to do and was bound to take my mind of off that love rat Bayani for a while.

Speaking of the devil…

“Hi Autumn,” he said, looking much better than I anticipated. Damn it. I thought Marisol said he was a wreck? He didn’t look like one. In fact, he looked pretty immaculate, though the dark circles under his eyes were a dead giveaway he hadn’t been sleeping well either. I saw sadness there too, behind his usual charm and confidence. Good, I hope he spent his days crying his eyes out. In the meantime, I was going to make a graceful exit and ignore him completely.

“Bye, Marisol. I really must be going now.
Noah
is expecting me to call him so we can arrange that date later,” I said, kissing Marisol on the cheek and sneaking a glance at Bayani who looked suitably shocked and saddened by the fact that he thought I was moving on.

If he wanted to break my heart, there’s no reason I couldn’t break his, too.

T
he following weeks I worked tirelessly on finding inspiration and decorations for the senior center.  When everything I picked seemed wrong somehow, I decided that I should visit some of the men and women who frequented the center and would be attending the ball. I thought there would be no better time to catch a group of seniors together than on Bingo night. It wasn’t as if I had anything better to do anyway, so bingo with the local geriatrics seemed like a bright spot in my lonely life.

Bingo was held every Wednesday in the function room at the center. I hadn’t yet been inside the room where the ball would be held so this would also serve a reconnaissance mission in that sense too. I showed up one Wednesday in mid-January and walked into a room full of lively men and women all eager to start their weekly game of bingo. There were large boards on the wall where the announcer would write the numbers in large script as they were called so that the hard of hearing could get a fair shake and there were long tables that sat ten in all areas of the room. Apparently bingo night was a hopping night at the senior center.

I introduced myself to a couple of the women who remarked that I looked like their grand-children or someone they knew and then I found my seat. Iris, who was sitting next to me piped up and said that since I was new it might be fun to have me call out the numbers.

Oh no. That wouldn’t be my thing. I was here to question them on their favorite décor not yell “B12!” at the top of my lungs. But seniors have a way of corralling you into doing things so that is how I found myself standing at the front of the room with 57 pairs of eyes staring at me in expectation.

“Good evening Flour Lovers and Mustard Plasters! I’m glad to see you all made it here for weekly bingo! This game is going to be the cat’s particulars so get ready to rock! I see a few Father Time’s and Face Stretcher’s out there, y’all better be paying attention!”

Y’all?! What was I a Southern Belle now? God, that was horrific. Judging by the blank faces staring back at me, none of the over 65’s found it slightly amusing. I guess they didn’t talk twenties slang like Marisol. Either that or they hated Southerners. Or, even worse, I had mixed up slang and called the women dirty words. I did. I know I did.
Shit.

Despite my reservations and my extremely rocky start (I read B6 as B9 and F10 as F01 – like I said it’s not really my thing!) I found that I was enjoying myself just a little for the first time in weeks. I yelled out he numbers with wild abandon and clapped eagerly as each player marked off their cards with a blue or red dot. They’d probably never had such an energetic MC and I’d never had such fun with a room full of people more than double my age.

Everything was going smoothly until the door creaked open at about half past seven. Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked as a tall, slender man with dark hair and a leather jacket entered the room. The woman gawped and the men sneered but I just felt sick. Why was Bayani here? This was my territory not his!

“Um, excuse me, sorry I’m late. I’ll just…I’ll just take this seat here,” he said taking a seat next between Dora, Nora and Kora. That should make for a fun evening for him, those three were like wolves on the prowl. Maybe they’d claw his eyes out in a fight over who gets to take him home later. No.
Scratch that. I particularly like his eyes so please don’t let them claw them out.

I realized the initial murmur had died down and everyone – including Bayani – was looking at me expectantly again.

“Right. Where were we before the VERY rude man over there walked in and ruined our fun?” I said, somewhat snippily.

“I think you had just called G13 and were doing a jig, my dear,” said Dorothy. Darn
her did she really have to give away the fact that I was enjoying this a little too much now to Bayani? He must think I’m even more pathetic than usual!

I attempted to remain calm but every time I held up a number I saw nothing but Bayani’s face staring at me and couldn’t seem to focus. I mumbled out my words to the obvious disdain of everyone in the room and a lot of “what’d she say?” among the players. Eventually a tall man with a limp and a cardigan from 1930 said “Why don’t we let the fella give it a try? Let our Autumn have a little break.”

I was ashamed that I couldn’t be a better MC but agreed that I needed a break. As I walked away from the stage and handed Bayani the tools needed to call out the remaining numbers, my hand brushed his for just a millisecond and I jumped. It was as if I had been electrocuted. His touch was still so shocking to me – literally. It gave me chills.