The charm of his smile was almost painful.
“What flowers do you recommend?” she asked.
“For what occasion?” he asked.
“For this occasion.”
“What is this occasion?” he asked, innocently, but his smile was more playful.
Since she could not possibly say, “The beginning of the rest of our lives,” she said instead, “My entering this store for the first time even though I’ve been working three doors down for six years.”
“Oh, really?” he said. “Well, then, for this wonderful occasion, I would recommend …” and he looked around, his hand on his chin. “I would recommend creamy roses. How do you feel about creamy roses?”
“Good.”
He picked out the roses and wrapped them in silence, while she watched his every move. He handed them to her.
“How much are they?” she asked.
“It was nice to finally meet you,” he answered.
“Yes, finally. How much?”
“Very much.”
“No, I mean, how much do I owe you?”
“Nothing.”
“Really?”
“How about a coffee?”
Before she could answer, the other man, who had been sitting in the corner, addressed the man of her life with, “Hey, what do you think of this?”
The man of her life glanced back at the bouquet the other man had just finished composing, and gave him a thumbs-up. “Very elegant,” he said, before turning back to Lynn.
Lynn stared at him, baffled, and murmured, “You keep saying my name.”
“I do?” he asked, fascinated.
“Yes, my real name.”
He didn’t ask her what it was. He thought perhaps she meant it metaphorically.
“I have to go,” she said, rushing out.
“Shall we say six tomorrow?”
But she was gone.
That night, the nuts and the former bum had dinner. They still saw each other almost as frequently as ever. Now, instead of obsession, it was habit, grim mutual curiosity, and even a small degree of complicated friendship that drew them together.
Lynn brought Patricia. Midway through the dinner, the others noticed Lynn hadn’t spoken much, so they asked her how she was doing.
“I met the man of my dreams,” she replied.
“Really?” Ray said.
“Yes, he knows my name.”
“So do we,” said Roland.
“No you don’t. I have a secret name, a more real name.”
“Won’t you tell us?”
“It’s Airiella.”
“And he uttered it?” gasped Alan.
“Yes.”
“That’s quite something,” said Ray.
“What he uttered,” Patricia interjected, “was ‘scary elephant.’”
“Same thing,” Lynn retorted.
“Is it?” Roland said.
“Yes,” Lynn replied, and enunciated, “sc — airiella — phant.”
“Ah. A bit of a stretch,” said Roland.
“I don’t think so.”
“Clearly not,” said Ray, annoyed that despite his expertise in matchmaking, he hadn’t been able to provide Lynn with her ideal man. “What about hairy electrician?”
“What?”
“H — airiella — ctrician,” Ray repeated.
“Leave me alone.”
“We’re just concerned,” said Roland. “What about primary element? Oops,” he added, clasping his hand over his mouth, “I just uttered your real name. Prime — airiella — ment. This must mean I, too, am the man of your dreams.”
“Why are we trying to burst her bubble?” Alan said.
“It’s not a bubble,” Lynn corrected. “It’s real. He also said, ‘Very elegant.’”
“I hear it,” Alan said. “V — airiella — gant.”
“Lord,” said Roland.
“What is this nonsense, Lynn?” Ray said, as if talking indulgently to an unreasonable child. “We’ve just demonstrated to you that your secret name can be uttered very easily and very frequently by anyone.”
“Perhaps,” Lynn said. “But I never heard it before. I only hear it when he utters it.”
“And where did you get this secret name anyway?” Patricia asked Lynn.
“I was at a fancy birthday party when I was around six, and a fairy told me to think of a secret name for myself and that one day I would recognize the man of my dreams because I would hear him utter my secret name.”
“A fairy?” Roland asked.
“Yeah, Miss Tuttle, the birthday party fairy.”
“Miss Tuttle?” Alan asked, chills coursing through his body.
“Yeah,” Lynn said.
“Was she also a hairdresser?”
“Yes. You knew her? She was from Cross, actually. Miss Ann Tuttle.”
“You bet I knew her! Roland recently made me believe she was my childhood sexual abuser, but she was not,” Alan said, looking sternly at Roland. “I went to see her, and she had a mangofish in a fish tank in her house.”
In a blasé tone, Roland said, “That fish is probably a cover-up, a fish she bought to appease men who, over the years, have knocked on her door to confront her about having abused them as boys.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Alan said. “I hope it’s true. I kind of regretted finding out I hadn’t been abused.”
“You’re a sick son of a bitch,” Roland said.
“No. Abusers are like garbage cans. You can toss all your crap into them.”
“If you would like us to, I’m sure we could find someone to abuse you,” Roland said.
“It’s too late. I’m not little anymore.”
“You’re still pretty little.”
“Alan, I’m sure Miss Tuttle didn’t abuse you,” Lynn said. “I’m sure that mangofish in her house was not a cover-up. Miss Tuttle the fairy is responsible for my finding the man of my life. She’s a wonderful person. I owe her, if not my life, then my happiness, and I am categorically certain that she would never harm a child. She is divine, and I mean that literally.”
“Has anyone ever even heard of a mangofish?” Roland said. “I haven’t. Rest easy, my boy, you’ve been abused.” He patted Alan’s hand, and under the table he dropped a paper clip.
The following day, at six, the man of Lynn’s life was already there when she walked in the café. He had called her at the gallery and told her where to meet him.
He was sitting on a barstool at a high and little round table. He was not wearing an apron. She didn’t understand how she could have managed never to see him in the neighborhood, never to run into him on the street. He had sandy stubble around lovely full lips in whose lines a wonderful personality seemed evident. And his gestures were the furthest thing from superficial.
She sat on a stool across from him, leaned over the table, and said, “I don’t care about hairy electrician or primary element.”
“Neither do I,” he said.
They laughed.
Sixteen
Lynn was secretly envied by Alan and Roland, who were yearning to find the same magic she had found.
Roland, particularly, was on the lookout for an enchanting encounter. He kept waiting for it to happen, hoping it would, but nothing of the sort was happening to him. Until early one afternoon.
He had just walked out of his usual restaurant after dropping a paper clip near the door. Outside, the day was cold and sad.
He stood at the curb, wrapping his scarf around his neck, looking left and right, searching for a taxi.
He heard a female voice near him saying, “Usually there are more of them in the street at this time.”
He looked at who had spoken. It was an attractive young woman standing next to him, alone. This was rather romantic, he thought. He told himself it was perhaps, even, as romantic as what had happened to Lynn. And it was happening to him, now, that mind-blowing romantic situation.