CONTINUED: Feeding A Woman

She listened for a moment, then spoke. “I’m sorry, I can’t fill in today. I have company and he’s already here.”

She nodded, listening to someone evidently from her place of work.

“Well, I’m sorry, but I just can’t leave. I’ll see you Monday. Good bye.”

“I hope you’re not in trouble,” I said. I didn’t want to cause her any concern at work.

She glanced at me and smiled. “If I am, I am.”

She lay back down on her side and pulled one of the daybed’s large boxy pillows to her. Arranging it front of her she wrapped an arm around it and embraced it in a hug. I was envious.

She said she was hungry.

“We can go down to the diner on Amsterdam Avenue,” I said.

She tilted her head in thought. “We could buy bread and eggs at the little deli on the corner and make our own breakfast.”

“Yes.”

She sat up. Her hands slid up her arms. “But it’s so cold out.”

“You don’t have to come with me,” I said. “I’ll just run down and be back in five minutes.”

I pulled my loden coat from her tiny closet and put it on. Then I bent over her as she sat on the couch. She looked up at me with a questioning look, only a hint of a smile.

“I just wondered,” I said, “if I should buy … mustard.”

“For what?”

“For … the eggs.” It was obvious I was just making this up to hover over her.

“Are you going to the store or not?” she said, now with a smile.

“It’s just such a long, long way to the corner. I might get cold.”

She popped up and quickly planted a kiss on my lips. “Hurry back.”

On the street the hard leather heels of my wing tip shoes tapped sharply on the pavement. I hopped off the curb onto the upper Manhattan street. In college less than three months before, I wore only soft sole moccasins or sneakers. I’d just purchased the wing tips to wear on my first real job. I was so impressed with the shoes … their comfort, their weight, their message … that I’d begun to keep them on in the evening and switch from my suit to wool slacks and a sweater. I dressed as an adult now. And when I thought of it, I realized this morning was quite adult and also quite special.

The Dos Abogados Deli sat right on the corner in a neighborhood where English was a second language, a distant second. Near the front door an ancient meat cooler throbbed out a tired rumbling sound. I grabbed a package of bacon and slammed the cooler’s door. When I turned from my task I saw a girl out on the street with a coat like I’d seen in her closet when I put mine on. She rounded the corner and disappeared down 92^nd Street toward Broadway and the subway. It could have been her, but she didn’t seem the type to run out on a guy. Unless she had reconsidered working today. But she knew I was here in the Deli and would have stopped to tell me. Unless …

No, that hadn’t been her. I laughed and stepped to the Deli’s other wall. I took  a dozen eggs from the dairy cooler and a slid a loaf of bread from the wire stand beside it.  My arms full, I  brought everything to the counter. Rafael manned the cash register.

“Thank you for journeying to my uncle’s humble supermarket today, your Lordship.”

Rafael’s Jamaican accent was somewhat slurred this morning. I never knew if he was sarcastic or had learned his manners from Edwardian set pieces. The correct answer might have been both. When he wasn’t waiting on a customer, his nose was stuck in a book

I passed the bacon, eggs and bread across the counter and he smiled brightly. “Going to make breakfast today, Your Grace?”

”I’m feeding a woman,” I said.

“Most of us are, kind sir.”

“No, I mean we ... uh … we spent the night together and I’m getting things for her to make us breakfast.”

“You are gentleman and worthy of your station in life, Master.”

Busy punching the prices into his cash register Rafael was unfazed by my singular announcement. This was a momentous occasion. I had never had the opportunity to proclaim anything like it in my entire life. Since reaching puberty some years before I had bought popcorn, hot dogs, and cotton candy for two or three girls. And occasionally an inexpensive meal. But I had never brought groceries home to a woman. Nor spent an entire night with a girl, despite nothing of any importance happening. Still, I was beside myself with the heady thought that my life as a man was off to a great start. I was with a young woman who didn’t have to be home by midnight.

To be realistic, what could Rafael possibly say about the most common of morning occurrences between a man and woman? But somehow he sensed I was impressed with myself.

“Got yourself a girl, huh?” and he smiled.

“Well, yes,” I said too matter-of-fact.

As I climbed the stairs up three floors to the apartment I thought I smelled her perfume in the hallway. The terrible thought struck me she had indeed left. Sending me out for food was a ruse, so she could flee from my company and not return home for hours, assuming I’d be gone by then. She’d gone into work to be with a man she liked better.  I couldn’t think of anything I’d said or done to lose her affection. But I had had indications in the past I might be more boring than I suspected.

I knocked on the door. Nothing. I tried the knob, but of course it was locked. This was after all New York City. Her employer might have called back. A boyfriend she never mentioned to me may have called. That’s why she didn’t stop at the Deli to tell me she was leaving. She ran off with a guy who had just returned from an African safari. Or maybe with an entire rock band, back from their successful concert tour. What did I know about her, really?

This was silly. I was standing in the hallway with a bag of eggs and bacon and I was getting hungry. I knocked again, this time louder. I heard the sound of her springing up off the day bed.

“I fell asleep,” she said, opening the door.

“Understandable, since we’ve been up all night.”

“Were you waiting very long?” she said.

“No, you must have woken up right away.”

She took the bacon and eggs and bread from me and moved to the tiny kitchen on the end wall of the studio apartment.

Soon the wonderful smell of frying bacon filled the apartment. I set the table with dishes from the cupboard that held six plates and six of everything else except for five coffee cups. Maybe she had thrown a cup at one of the rock musicians. We sat down and ate our scrambled eggs and bacon with instant coffee and wonderfully burnt toast.

”What are you doing today?” I asked.

“Nothing. Want to walk in the park down by the river?”

“Yes,” I said. I was delighted to be asked. “We can walk up toward Grant’s Tomb.”

“That’s over twenty blocks.”

“Yes, but I think I need a nap,” I said.

She looked at me, then down at the table. For an instant I wondered if I should have said that.  What the hell, I thought, I’m a man. She took a breath and then laughed lightly.

“I’ve never fed a man before.”
    ”Not your brother or father?” I asked.

“You know what I mean,” she said.

“It’s no big deal,” I said, smiling as I needled her. “It’s not as if breakfast is ever a momentous occasion.”

 “I also do lunch and dinner,” she said, “but only if I like you.”

“Do you like me?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“You don’t have to make lunch for me. We’ll get something at a restaurant after our walk.”

“And after my nap,” she said.

I nodded yes.

“You can sleep in the chair,” she said. “I’ll take the day bed.”

I wondered how I’d ever fall asleep, listening to her breathe as she lay hugging that lucky pillow just a few feet from me in the tiny living room. I wondered how long I’d have to stay in my chair.

.copyright 2014 by David Griffin