––––––––
Susan spent the rest of the evening reading the Welcome to Mister Wright's Delights group e-mail posts and typing replies. Those people were so nice to her. She looked forward to meeting them face to face at the concert. If only someone would stop with all the It's-such-a-small-world posts about growing up in New York, working as a substitute teacher, and having a puppy. They kept forgetting to tell her when and where the concert was. Her eyes were tired and achy. She had a pain inside her cheek. Susan ran her tongue along it, then swallowed. It was after midnight but the lonely girl couldn't pull herself away from the big gray box of company.
Susan typed with her eyes closed and her head sunk into the back of the chair, to one side. She listened to the refrigerator hum. Little puffs of snort came out of Bob. A cartoon noise jolted her eyes open. A box had popped open on her screen.
Holding down the right shift key for 8 seconds turns on Filterkeys. Filterkeys causes windows to ignore brief or repeated keystrokes and slows down the keyboard repeat rate. To keep Filterkeys on, click okay. To cancel Filterkeys, click cancel. To deactivate the key combination for Filterkeys, click settings.
Susan clicked okay. Oops, now her computer wouldn't let her type. She panicked, dreading another full system restore ordeal. Just then, she spied some new odd little doodad in the taskbar tray. She clicked it and did the settings thing. Sighing with relief, she checked the time. It was 1:05 a.m. Her eyes were feeling really heavy. There was a little purple question mark flashing next to a teal ABC symbol at the bottom of the screen. She wondered what that was all about. Too many typos left unattended, she supposed.
* * * *
Susan woke up to a screen shot of Mister Wright lounging back on a bed. His zipper was half down. She shut the computer off for the night, stumbled upstairs and flopped into her bed before 3:00 a.m.
The inconsiderate clock radio began its emergency broadcast system-type blaring at eight-thirty. Susan pounded the button down and it shut up. She was half-mad and half-glad to have been woken up from a steamy dream. She swore she felt the weight of him on top of her. She could feel his breath. His whiskers were rough, in a pleasurable way. But it wasn't Brandon who was lying with Susan on the mattress of her subconscious.
It was Johnny.
* * * *
Instead of making the bed that morning, she yanked the sheets and stuffed them in the washing machine, sleepily slopping in detergent and fabric softener and setting it for a heavy wash and an extra rinse. She pulled the knob and the water flowed. Stumbling back to her bedroom, Susan folded the white lace comforter, stashing it on the cedar chest at the end of the bed.
Before leaving for work, she loaded the mugs from last night into the dishwasher. Johnny hadn't touched his hot chocolate. She picked up the phone and called the firehouse.
"Engine Ten—Ladder Ten, Firefighter Newman, how may I direct your call?"
"Right to yourself, Johnny. How are you?" she asked nervously.
"'Kay."
She couldn't pick anything up in that grunt which would clue her in on his mood. "I didn't get a chance to ask you last night, how come you didn't work on the wiring yesterday?"
"We've got a run."
Susan could hear the firehouse dispatch vocals in the background.
He excitedly said, "I have to go."
"Be careful!"
* * * *
Austin, Texas
As Adam Wright drove his dusty black Mercedes Benz minivan into the studio parking lot, his eyes darted. Three middle aged women were sitting on the bench outside the main entrance, eating fried chicken. His biggest fan stood by the Dumpster on the side of the building, holding a plain brown envelope. Penelope the Pest. He parked in his reserved spot and checked his hair in the visor mirror before stepping out, smiling.
He strolled up to the trio of corn fed females, all dressed in shorts and red Mister Wright tee shirts. Two wore white Keds sneakers with white ankle socks. One was wearing cheap beach thongs.
"Hello, ladies."
They giggled and blushed, shoving compact disc inserts and permanent ink markers at him. Adam cheerfully signed each one and smiled for their cameras. And smiled and smiled until one woman realized she forgot to load the film in it. He patiently waited for her to load the camera, as he stood with his arms draped around the trembling heavily perfumed shoulders of her friends. The special moment was captured on film and they regrouped to include the photographer of the first photo. She giggled and wrapped her arm around his waist. The fan began squeezing and releasing his side. Squeeze, release. Squeeze, release. He smiled through gritted teeth until the picture was taken.
Mister Wright politely said, "Thank you for coming to see me. Until we meet again." He entered his place of business.
* * * *
Adam Wright rushed out the studio door at 2:47 p.m. He had to get to the elementary school, in time to get a good spot in the car rider pick-up line. Unfortunately Penelope, his biggest fan, had Mister Wright publicity shots spread out on the hood of his minivan. He groaned and marched over to her.
"Sorry, Penelope, not today, I've got to go pick up my little boys."
"You never have time for me." She adjusted her red felt cowgirl hat.
"What?" he asked.
"You never have time for me."
"Penelope, I sign things for you every week."
"Kiss me," she said.
Adam removed the photos from his car hood and shoved them at her. "I really have to go."
She stood between him and the driver's door. "Kiss me now."
"I'm married," he huffed.
"So am I. Kiss me, now."
Adam glanced toward the security camera mounted on the side of the building and nodded.
Penelope's voice turned eerie. "For the last time, kiss me."
"I don't kiss fans."
Two security officers appeared. One asked, "Is there a problem, Mister Wright?"
"Not at all. I was just saying goodbye to my biggest fan. See that she makes it to the bus stop safely, okay?"
They escorted Penelope down the block. She defiantly stumbled as each guard guided an elbow.
As Adam Wright waited in line to pick his children up at school, he cringed thinking about Penelope. She just didn't understand. He didn't kiss fans. Never had, since his angel died.
If only Lauren hadn't been pregnant, maybe he could have admitted his feelings for the girl sooner, before she ran into the night and died. He felt the old guilt and shame and punishment. Tears streamed down his cheek.
* * * *
Brooklyn, New York
Susan had dozed off on the bus and missed her stop, forcing her to back trot four long blocks. She ran up the concrete stairs and into the office of the yellow building. The principal stood behind the desk and eyed the clock on the wall. One minute past nine.
Susan said, "Good morning," in the most cheerful voice she could muster.
Miss Stoneburner said, "You have Mrs. De Giovannetti's class, room nineteen. The assignment book is on her desk. The schedule is on the chalkboard. Your paraprofessional, Miss Espinoza, is watching your class. She knows the routine. You stay until four o'clock, providing all your children have been picked up.
While her class attended their weekly computer lab session, Susan bought a bag of chips and a soda from the vending machines in the teacher's lounge. She stood at a pay phone and nibbled while she called the firehouse again.
"Engine Ten—Ladder Ten, Lieutenant Van Dyke, how may I direct your call?"
"Oh, hi! It's Susan Cervini. Thank you so much for the tree, it smells so good."
"Not a problem at all, sweetness. How you doin'?"
"Tired. Couldn't pull myself away from the computer last night. Is Johnny there? I need to talk to him."
"Holt on."
Susan crammed a handful of potato chips into her mouth.
Rainbeaux came back on the line. "Hello?"
"Yes?"
"He's in the baffroom, can I give him a message?"
"Um, just tell him I called. I wanted to know when he might be able to come back and get started on wiring my basement."
"Okay, I'll tell 'im. He's been so mopey lately, no tellin' when he'll perk up and stop feelin' sorry for hisself."
Susan said, "Yeah, I noticed that, too...I'll bet it's Jenna. She broke up with him."
"You're probably right. Just another lovesick fool. I'll give 'im the message."
"Thanks." Susan hung up and took her chips and soda to gobble at Mrs. De Giovannetti's desk.
* * * *
Cooking in the firehouse kitchen, Johnny flipped thirteen thin steaks on the griddle. He checked the temperature of the peanut oil in the deep fryer and dropped a basket of hand cut waffle fries into the frothing heat.
"Newman, you had a phone call. Miz Cervini wants to know when you'll be by to wire up her basement."
Johnny sliced onions.
"You hear me?"
He glanced at the Lieutenant and nodded.
"What's on your mind, John?" She dragged a chair next to the stainless steel counter where he prepared the meal..
Lt. Van Dyke turned the chair backwards, sat down and wrapped her long legs around it.
He said, "I heard you."
"Well?"
"Thanks for repeating the message."
Lt. Van Dyke snatched a piece of raw onion and popped it in her mouth. She wrinkled her nose and grabbed a glass of water. "Whew, those are strong...listen, if you wanna talk, I'll listen. Some times you might feel better just sayin' it out loud. Find me if ya need me, Newman."
* * * *
Susan took the bus home, let Bob out, then in and changed into jeans and a mint green turtle necked sweater. She'd driven across town to the closest hardware emporium and found a "How To" book on electricity and thumbed through the glossy pages. Lots of pictures and the explanations seemed simple enough. She put it back and pulled out the one behind it, which was in better shape.
Wandering the aisles, she discovered that the amaryllis bulbs were seventy-five percent off. Hurrying to the front of the store to get a shopping cart, she plunked the book in the child seat and wheeled her cart back to the bulbs. Lots of the complete kits had their cardboard lids popped open with green cobra-like plants snaking out. She dug around and found eight different varieties and judged them for degree of sprouting.
Susan decided to buy all that were still dormant and ended up with fifteen, counting the two paper-white Narcissus kits she'd hoped were discounted as well. Wheeling the cart through the store, she found a sale on cordless drills. There were three left, so she balanced them on top of the bulb boxes.
Hmm...what else looked good? Oh, a leather tool belt for Johnny. Susan grabbed it and wheeled the cart to the cash register. She tried to decide if she liked the mental picture of him wearing nothing but the tool belt draped in the front or the back better. Drape it in the back. Definitely. She unbuttoned her coat. These stores were always too hot and overcrowded at Christmas time.
On impulse, while her sale was ringing up, Susan threw a green all-purpose, quick release clasp on the counter. It was from a point-of-sale box near the register. She figured Johnny could use it to clip his keys onto his belt loop. Susan had noticed his pocket bulging the other night when he'd come over for the dinner she didn't make.
Afterwards, at the grocery store, Susan picked up a ready-to-eat meal-for-two, Christmas wrapping paper, bows, tags and tape. A huge beef bone from the pet aisle and then an eight pack of water completed the purchase.
It was after eight by the time Susan had the unloaded the car and reheated one half of the meal. She ate in front of the computer, frequently hitting the "Check for new mail" button. The list was so quiet today. Finally she typed in a post; maybe there was a problem at Gobbledy Groups.
FROM: Susan Cervini
TO: Mrwrightsdelights@gobbledygroups.com
SUBJECT: Slow mail day/Tanya
Hi everyone. I'm kind of perplexed that I don't have any mail from the group in my box. Is old Gobbledy Groups being a gremlin today and holding them all hostage on the planet zoom?
Also, I e-mailed Tanya privately several days ago and I haven't heard from her and I haven't seen her post anymore on the list. Tanya, are you all right?
When and where is the next concert? <G>
Susan
She hit send, scraped her plate into Bob's chrome food dish, and placed her dishes in the dishwasher. Susan realized she hadn't checked to see if Johnny had done anything in the basement today. She trotted down and found nothing new, again. So she trekked up two flights to the laundry room, stuffed her sheets in the dryer, then crammed a load of towels into the washer.
Hurrying down the stairs, Susan was eager to check her computer for new e-mail. Bob wagged and sniffed alongside of her as she trotted to the kitchen. She was excited to see two posts. One from Cookies Crumble and one from Rainbeaux Van Dyke. She clicked and the first post opened in her inbox.
FROM: Cookies Crumble
SUBJECT: RE: Slow mail day/Tanya
Hi Susan,
You aren't getting mail from the list today because no one is posting to it. We're all talking privately. One of the local fans who is mentally disturbed made a move on Mister Wright today. We cannot discuss this on the list.
Tanya unsubbed, that's why you don't see her posts. Can't say as I blame her, after that post from Rosie-the-roommate-from-Hell. Whatever you do, don't agree to share your hotel room with her. She will ruin your trip.
Cookie, List Owner
She hoped Mister Wright wasn't hurt. That was horrible! Susan hit the compose button.
FROM: Susan Cervini
TO: Mrwrightsdelights@gobbledygroups.com
SUBJECT: Attempt on Mister Wright's Life
Hi Cookie,
Well you can't just leave me hanging! How is Mister Wright? Is he badly wounded? Who tried to kill the poor man? I'll pray for him and his family.
Is the concert still on?
Susan
Susan hit send and quickly read through Rainbeaux's post and invited her to come over Friday night. She kept clicking refresh and check-for-new-mail, but the only other post she received was the one she herself sent to the list. She shut down the computer.
Susan sleepily slipped the clean sheets onto her bed. It was after midnight.
* * * *
Susan didn't have any more e-mail from Mister Wright's Delights for the rest of the week. Nothing privately from the members, either. She watched the news on television each evening and they didn't mention anything about Mister Wright being attacked by a stalker, but then again America had pretty much written him off after his unprecedented immediate super-stardom. He was the only artist in recording history to have had his first seven releases all go to number one. After that, he was suddenly a big joke, Mister Wrong, the stupid looking guy in the red sunglasses.
American radio had more or less blackballed Mister Wright and refused to play his new music. The oldies stations generally played one of his seven hits in their daily rotations. But until Susan received the new album from Melody, she didn't realize Mister Wright was still around, releasing new music. How could she, since the radio stations didn't play any of it? He was still very popular in places like Hong Kong, Germany, and Chile.
Susan even watched the entertainment news shows and again, no mention. Searching on the Internet yielded the same result. So she settled into bed early with her new paranormal romance book and tried not to worry about poor Mister Wright.
* * * *
Susan arrived at school early on Friday morning. She had graded the week's papers and was sorting them into the Friday folders to go home with the students. Her paraprofessional, Miss Espinoza, interrupted with a message.
"Miss Stoneburner summons you to her guillotine."
"What did I do?"
"What do any of us do? Good luck, kid."
Susan walked down the long, dreary hallway with waxed linoleum floors. Papers rustled and televisions droned as she passed by the classrooms. The cafeteria stench was always the same.
Miss Stoneburner didn't look up when Susan arrived at the open door of her glass enclosed office. "Close the door. Sit."
Susan walked around to the far side of the room and sank into the chair. Through the glass wall, she noticed the office staff, looking at her and whispering.
"Mrs. De Giovannetti has resigned. Your teaching credentials are in order. I am offering you permanent employment. The hourly pay is double the substitute stipend. You will accrue one day of annual leave per each month worked and one half day of sick leave. All Federal holidays, the school is closed. You can be added to the full-time payroll on the first day back from Winter break. Are you on board?"
"I'll have to think about it."
Miss Stoneburner appeared puzzled. "What?"
"May I let you know on Monday?"
Miss Stoneburner flipped a white business card from her neat little metal monkey holder. She wrote on the back before handing it to Susan. "That will be fine. Call me at home. Get back to your classroom."
* * * *
Susan took a quick bachelorette shower when she got home and changed into freshly pressed jeans and her soft yellow sweater. She couldn't revive her hair, so she braided it into two pigtails. Squinting into the bathroom mirror, she ran a wet tissue under each eye to clean the smeared mascara. She applied a fresh coat, then brushed her teeth and slicked on some dark pink lipstick.
Rainbeaux would be coming over around seven. Susan had been looking forward to this visit. It had been so long since she'd had a girls' night. She didn't have any close girl friends. Brandon had been her whole world.
Bob followed Susan downstairs. She took the marinated shrimp out of the refrigerator and arranged it on a cookie sheet. She positioned it on the top shelf of the oven, so she'd just have to turn the broiler on when Rainbeaux arrived. Susan emptied the container of store-prepared salad into a teak bowl and set it on the dining room table.
Back in the kitchen, she arranged a platter of cookies from the bakery. The red, yellow and green Napoleons had been Brandon's favorite. She loved the black and white cookies and the shortbread dipped in chocolate. She set the platter on top of the toaster where Bob couldn't reach it.
Susan was vacuuming the living room when she heard the phone ringing. She switched the old wind tunnel off with her foot and ran to answer the phone, stumbling over Bob the whole way. It had stopped ringing before she could answer. The caller was leaving a message.
"Rainbeaux here. My sitter canceled. I can't make it tonight. Sorry, girl."
Susan didn't bother to pick it up. She dumped the shrimp into a plastic container, wrestled the lid tight, and shoved it in the freezer. Susan tossed the salad bowl onto the black and white checkerboard floor. Bob eagerly made a mess of it. Sitting at the computer, she ate the tray of cookies. All of them.
Her mailbox was full of spam. No private posts. She read the spam anyway, just for companionship. Wasn't that sad? She had no friends, just a box on her desk for pretend interaction.
She checked the Gobbledy Groups web page, but it said she didn't belong to any groups. Susan opened her e-mail program, licked her fingers, and typed a post.
To: Cookiescrumble@gobbledy.com
From: SusanCervini@quagmyre.net
Subject: Can't Get Into Mister Wright's Delights
Hi Cookie,
I haven't gotten any mail in a week. I can't get into the Mr. Wright's Delights group at the Gobbledy Groups site. Is there a problem on my end or is Gobbledy Groups the glitch?
Is Mister Wright all right?
When and where is the concert?
Have you heard from Tanya?
Susan
Susan hit send. While the dog was outside doing his business, she cleaned up the gooey green mess that he had made of the salad. Susan let him back in. Bob sniffed around as she planted five pots of Amaryllis bulbs. She set them across her kitchen windowsill, over the sink. After Susan thoroughly watered the spongy soil, she turned on "Mister Wright's Greatest Hits". The CD Johnny brought her. As she swept the kitchen floor, it occurred to her that perhaps Johnny wasn't going to finish her basement after all.