The People in the Mirror (6 page)

  “See you tomorrow,” Alex said.

  “Yeah. Cool. See you tomorrow!” Boy, that felt great to be able to say. I hurried home thinking this would be a
huge
entry in the GOOD side of my GOOD–BAD lists.

  As I came through the door, Mom stood in front of me, clearly waiting for the elevator to ding, announcing my arrival. She held her fists out in front of her. “Guess which hand,” she said with a huge grin, just like she used to do when she had a special treat for me when I was little.

  I pointed at Mom’s right hand. She opened it, and there sat Grammy’s emerald ring!

  I squeaked in delight, grabbed the ring and kissed it. “Where did you find it?”

  “Right on top, in your jewelry box, silly girl. You must have been so scared that the ring was gone, that you shuffled everything around, and buried it without even noticing. I decided to look for it, because it didn’t make sense to me that it was missing. I mean, everything else that was gone was furniture and paintings. Thank goodness they didn’t take the piano.”

  “Yeah, Mom, like they could move a baby grand out real subtly.”

  “Well, anyway,
I
didn’t have any jewelry missing, in fact, my jewelry box hadn’t even been touched. So that’s what made me think to look for your ring myself. And there it was. I should have known we couldn’t get rid of the ugly thing.”

  I was so stunned by her finding the ring in the jewelry box that I didn’t even argue. But one thing I knew for sure, the ring had
not
been in my jewelry box. How had it re-materialized? Had Grammy somehow done that? Made her ring come back to me where it was supposed to be?

  “Well, now that the two of you are reunited,” Mom continued, “I need you to pick up a few things for me that I forgot to get earlier. I tell you, I can’t think straight with the house empty, and all the activity of the police and everything. Here’s a list.”

  I took the list. “Why didn’t you text me?”

  “I wanted to surprise you with the ring.”

  “Oh, yeah. Good job, Mom. You really did surprise me. I guess Mr. Zingas is going to get his fill of me today.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I just came from there on the way home from school to, ahm, to pick his brain. About what he knows about the neighborhood, you know, and the people. To see if he had any ideas about what might have happened, who might have done the robbery. He’s lived here forever.”

  “And did he know anything?”

  “He knew we were robbed and was very sympathetic, but he didn’t tell me anything I don’t know. His son, Alex was there. And guess what? He’s in my World Lit class. And we talked and he’s really nice.”

  “That’s wonderful Nikki,” Mom said, but in that distracted way, like she heard me but it didn’t register that I had an actual talked with a peer. She carried on about the robbery. “I’m still hopeful that the police’ll come up with something. They struck me as pretty savvy last night.”

  “Yeah. The policewoman was very sweet.” I went to my room, closed the door, closed the closet door, closed the bathroom door and pulled the shades, then, in the darkness, I hid Grammy’s ring in a place I hoped
I
could find it again. I ran back out to the living room and picked up the money Mom left for the groceries. “I’ll be right back,” I hollered over Mom’s arpeggiated scales.

  Just as the elevator doors closed, I heard a door down the hall open. Once out on the street and heading for Mr. Zingas’ I looked over my shoulder. There was the gorgeous boy from next door. He acted as if he didn’t see me, but his long legs gained on me, and he entered the store right behind me. I felt my heart race, while everything around me seemed to recede. What did Mom want me to get? I looked down at the list. Okay, milk. I moved to the cooler. There he stood.

  Horrors, I thought, he’ll think I’m chasing him. But wait, I came into the store first, and getting milk is no big deal, millions of people do it everyday. But millions of people do not have to walk around someone who makes their heart stop just to look at him, in order to wrap their hand around a carton of milk.

  He stood studying cartons of milk as if they were the headlines. I waited for him to pick one, when I saw him catch my reflection in the glass. He turned.

  “Hi,” He said. Very straight-forward and almost like he knew me.

  “Hi. Excuse me, I need....” I gestured at the milk.

  “Sorry.” He stepped aside and I reached in and grabbed any old carton of milk. Was he nervous too?

  “My name’s Mitch,” he said. “I... I think we’re neighbors. Didn’t your family recently move in....”

  “On the seventh floor? Yes, we’re neighbors.” I was really glad that we were standing by the coolers because I felt myself getting warmer and warmer like I always did when I was shy or embarrassed – or, apparently, infatuated. And I was all three of those now. What to say?

  “Yes,” he continued. “I saw you. I wanted to, I mean, it seemed like –
you
seem like a nice person, someone I’d like to know.”

  There was just a hint of an accent to his voice, but I couldn’t place it. It was so faint, but it was ancient and warm and lovely. And there was that cologne of his I’d noticed in the hall when I first saw him, wafting toward me now in such close proximity it made me weak in the knees. “Well, ah, thank you,” I stammered. “I don’t know how you can know how I seem, you’ve only just seen me in the hall.”

  “I can tell a lot from hearing a person’s tone of voice, watching how she moves and seeing how she treats her parents. Actually, I was going for a walk last Friday morning when you and your parents loaded up the car in the parking structure. So, I must confess, I watched you then.”

 
EUGH!
I thought.
Eugh, eugh, eugh!
Me, half-asleep, my hair every-which-way, no make-up and in my ugly old sweats. It’s a miracle he’s even talking to me.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Are you angry that I watched you? You were right out in public.”

  “No, I’m not angry that you watched me, I’m just upset that you
saw
me.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I don’t look my best at six a.m., as a rule.”

  “Oh, you’re very wrong. You were so cute, like a little girl, tired and excited about the trip. And your father – is he your father?....”

  I nodded.

  “Yes, I was sure of it, your father teasing you so sweetly. It was very charming.” But his tone of voice was sad.

  I nodded again, putting the carton of milk in my basket, my fingers cold and stiff. “But... you seem sad.”

  “Oh! Do I?... I guess it does make me a bit sad. My father died five years ago. We were never close like that, but still....”

  “I’m sorry.” There, I thought, there is the reason for the sadness in his eyes.

  “Thank you. But now is not the time to be sad. I have finally talked with you, and I’m happy. I have to get some things for my mother, then perhaps we could walk back together?”

  “Yes. I have to get some things for my mother too. I’d love to walk back with you.”

  I quickly got the things on Mom’s list, and if everything wasn’t exactly what Mom had written, well, it was close enough, wasn’t it? I went up to the cash register where Mr. Zingas was ringing up someone else’s purchases. “You just can’t seem to get rid of me today, can you?” I laughed.

  “Not to worry, I enjoy your company,” he answered. But something was strange about him as he rang up my purchases, somehow he was distracted. Just as he was finishing up, Mitch came and stood behind me.

  “What’s...” I was going to say to Mr. Zingas “bothering you,” but as I watched his eyes narrow ever so slightly as he glanced at Mitch, I switched my sentence in mid-stream to, “what’s my total?” 

  “Fourteen-twenty-one.” Mr. Zingas answered in a nothing-but-business-going-on-here tone of voice. I handed over a ten and a five and received back my change without so much as a wink. That was entirely un-Mr. Zingas like. Great mystery.

  Goodness, I thought, I’ll have to come back and see him a third time tonight just to find out what’s going on. I stood by the door and thumbed through a magazine while Mitch bought his groceries, but really I was watching what was going on between Mr. Zingas and Mitch. Which appeared to be exactly nothing. But Mr. Zingas was certainly not friendly to Mitch.

  As we stepped out into the swiftly falling night, I couldn’t resist wondering aloud what was wrong between the two of them. “Why did Mr. Zingas treat you so coldly?”

  “He did? I didn’t notice. He seemed the same as always.”

  “So he’s never friendly with you, never tells you jokes or stories about his wife and children?”

  “Never! Does he do that with you?”

  “Yes, always, until just now.”

  Mitch laughed, it was a beautiful laugh, and his bright, white teeth made me fall from infatuation into something deeper with a crash. “I have no trouble believing that a middle-aged man would spend time telling a pretty, intelligent, curious and charming young woman stories and jokes, while not having any particular interest in doing the same with some teenage boy.”

  “But he does it with my Dad too.”

  “And Dad is the source of the cash flow, no?”

  “Yes.” I thought about what Mitch said, and it almost made sense. Except for that fleeting
look
Mr. Zingas had given Mitch. That was clearly not neutral.

  Homer nodded and smiled as he opened the door for us. “I was wondering when you two young people would get to know one another. Aren’t you about the same age?”

  “I’m sixteen,” I said, dying of curiosity over what Mitch was about to say.

  “Well, I guess I’m about seventeen, although celebrating birthdays is not something we do in our family.”

  I didn’t say anything until we were on the elevator, alone. “No birthdays? Why?”

  “My great-great-grandfather, who, by the way, built this building, said that celebrating birthdays was how one grew older, and that if one was just oneself, one needn’t get old in the same way as everyone else.”

  I had never heard of such a philosophy. “I – I’ll have to think about that for awhile. It’s very interesting, but I don’t think I’m ready to give up birthdays just yet – there’s the pay-off of presents. I have to imagine what it would be like not to get any more birthday presents.” We were standing in the hall outside my apartment when Mom flung the door open.

  “Oh. Well, I thought I heard your voice. I thought you were talking to yourself, but I couldn’t understand why you didn’t just come on in.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  “What?”

  “You make me sound like a sort of lunatic.”

  “Everyone talks to themselves, it’s no big deal.”

  “Your mother’s right,” Mitch agreed.

  Mom gave Mitch a studied look. “I’ve seen you before, haven’t I?”

  “Mom, this is Mitch, he’s our neighbor. I think he lives in the very next apartment.”

  “I see. Well, it’s nice to meet you, Mitch. Did you folks get robbed too?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We were robbed over the weekend, and I was wondering if you were too?”

  Mitch fidgeted. I watched his metamorphosis from coolness to discomfort in amazement. “No, ah no. We weren’t. But we... ah, ahm... we don’t have nice things like you do, that is, the Rionews. I hope you – or they – have insurance. I saw all the commotion the other night, and I felt bad for all of you.”

  “Did you?” I asked. “That’s so sweet.”

  “Actually,” Mitch went on, gathering his previous cool self, “I’m pretty familiar with a lot of the furniture in your apartment, since I’ve visited the Rionews on occasion. I’ll keep my eyes open for it, in case it gets fenced anywhere nearby. Well, Its been very nice meeting you Mrs. – oh, I’m not sure I know your last name?”

  “Francis,” Dominique and Mom said together.

  “Mrs. Francis. And I look forward to having another interesting talk with
you
, Nikki.” Mitch went on down the hall.

  “Cute boy,” Mom said. “Almost too cute, huh?” She took the bag of groceries from me and hustled into the kitchen.

  “What do you mean?” I tried hard to sound oh-so-casual, as I helped Mom put away the groceries.

  “You know what I mean. Listen, Dad called while you were getting groceries and one of his co-workers insists on taking us out to dinner, so get dressed. Dad said he’ll be home,” Mom glanced at the clock, “well, anytime now.”

  I shuddered at the thought. Dinner with adult strangers in a restaurant, trapped in one spot. Anyway, I wanted to go back down and ask Mr. Zingas what was up with that look he gave Mitch. “But, Mom, can’t I just stay here and do my homework, and stuff?”

  “No, Nikki. Your dad said they have a daughter about your age and the idea is to get the two ‘families’ together. They’re taking us to some elegant place that’s on the water with a fabulous view. So make the best of it. Dress nice.”

  Nice. I pulled myself down the hall to my room and into my closet. Nice meant... well, maybe this little plaid dress with the white collar and knee sox. Actually, although I probably wouldn’t admit it to any of my “cool” friends in Laguna Beach, I was fond of this outfit, one of several Mom and I had gotten for me when we first moved here. Trying to dress for the climate. There was something about the blue tartan, with its interweaving of dark blues and greens with a flash of red, yellow and white, that fascinated me. Especially if I was bored, I could just contemplate how these threads ran this way and those ran that way, over and under, and the crossings made sort of other colors. It was pretty interesting.

  I heard Dad come in the front door, hurry into the master bath and start the shower. Mom and Dad talked back and forth while they got ready. I could tell that Dad was “briefing” her on what he knew about the people we were about to have dinner with. I hoped with all my might that the daughter who was “the same age” wasn’t two or three years younger. Why didn’t adults understand that “about the same age” meant someone who was born within nine or ten months of you, and who was in the same grade in school. And sometimes even then....