I Could See Olives

I got dressed quickly when Cherry called to say she'd pick me up in fifteen. I let my hair go with nothing more than a pass of the brush. I had on my blue dress and black heels, not ready for anything but driving to Cherry's for her afternoon gathering. She wanted me there before anyone arrived. I could taste the martini she promised, with her famous blue cheese stuffed olives!

Then I heard a sound like a chair being scraped back and forth across the floor in the condo upstairs. But the sound didn't go away as you'd think it would with someone moving a chair, unless they were purposely trying to scar the floor of their own condo. That would be the Mortimers, but I couldn't imagine one of them doing something like that. Old Mrs. Mortimer, with her puff of purple hair, her pink lipstick and green eye shadow, could be excercising in her black tights and platforms.

But now it sounded not so much a mechanical thing as a voice. I pulled up the blind, opened the window, stuck out my head. A grown man sat on the curb across the street, his knees up and his face buried in his hands. He had a full head of red hair above his hands, yellow shirt, green sport coat--not exactly dressed for curb crying. I ran out through the livingroom, out the door, and across the street, no small feat in heels.

I stopped right beside him. He didn't look up though he must have seen my feet in those shoes. I felt self conscious about being well dressed at a time like this, but he had on nice wingtips and brown slacks, so he wasn't homeless. The sun actually felt good on my arms.

A blonde woman in a yellow shirt and jeans came toward me from the nearest building, her arms crossed over her stomach. I had seen her once or twice, coming and going, and knew for a fact she drove a little red convertible.

Her pale face had small, shiny eyes looking out like the eyes of a tiny animal. "Do you know him?" she asked me. "Do you know who he is?"

He had not stopped crying during her approach.

"I'm Marge," she said. "I live in this one." She thumbed back over her shoulder, and I could see she had a cigarette between her fingers. "I saw him come from that one."

Marge pointed with the cigarette hand toward a building directly behind mine. I looked, even though nothing distinguished one building from another.

"He was stumbling," Marge said. "I thought he'd been drinking, but I think something happened. I don't mean physical. I didn't see blood or anything. Emotional. His wife left or someone died, that kind of thing."

Though she didn't have any makeup, I noticed her nails were painted.

"I was getting ready," she said. "I work in the city. I like that dress. The shoes too. Something lighter would be good too."

The man had not exactly stopped crying, but he removed his hands from his face. His eyes were squinched and his mouth worked like he would have been saying something if words came out.

"He dropped on the curb once he got across the street," Marge said. "I saw from my window."

She pointed back at her window. "That's Binky, my Siamese," she said. "He's a dollbaby."

The man looked over his shoulder at the woman.

"Are you feeling better now, Sweetie?" she asked him.

Then I heard an angry voice shouting, "Jason! Jason, goddamn you!"

I looked back at the building from which Marge said he had run. A man leaned out the window, shouting angrily, "Jason! Get your ass back in here and finish this!"

The sound of a honking horn startled me. I turned to see a black Regal pull up beside me, then Cherry's long, bare arm came out, holding up a large martini glass.