Everett's apartment was similar in style to the men's parlour of a country club. His dark green walls were covered in black and white photographs of his younger self with friends and family. There were two leather arm chairs separated by a small wooden table with a lamp and ash tray. Two large bookshelves lined his walls. Each was filled with a variety of books, magazines, and photo albums. On the bottom shelf of one of the bookshelves was a sizable stack of incomplete manuscripts.
Not far from his living room was a small dining area with small yet heavy looking tables and chairs. A semi-completed crossword puzzle lay in front of Everett as he sat in the chair facing the window. He leaned close in, his thick-rimmed reading glasses only a few inches from the paper. He worked diligently for another 15 minutes until it was almost full. Saving the last few answers for later, Everett took off his reading glasses and rose from the table. As he walked to the door he tucked the rest of his newspaper under his arm and locked his door behind him.
In the hallway, Everett spotted his neighbor, Artie, cornered by Mr. Wok. He couldn't quite make out what Mr. Wok was saying at first but as he moved closer he heard something about Mrs. Wok's nail salon. As Artie listened she seemed to be battling fatigue and at times having trouble understanding through the thick accent.
When Everett got closer to the two he said, "Oh, Good Evening Artie. I uh, I'm so glad you're back. Thanks so much for watching my Iguana for me. I'll take her back now, she's probably homesick anyways."
Everett herded Artie into the door and gave a friendly nod in Mr. Wok's direction. Once inside the door, Everett spotted the everpresent grey smudge on Artie's cheek. She looked through the peephole and smiled. All of the tenants of Thallow Flats loved Mr. Wok dearly but at the wrong time, Mr. Wok's conversational stamina could be overwhelming. Artie walked to the back room of her apartment and returned carrying a small clear tank.
"Alrighty, here you are. Connie behaved very well. No trouble at all. "
"Thanks a million. I didn't want the poor girl to freeze. Luckily, the heat in my place got fixed this morning," said Everett taking the tank from Artie.
"Well I'll see you around Mr. Carson," said Artie opening the door.
"And remember," said Everett, "I want to know when you're having another one of your shows. An old man like me needs nice things to look at."
Everett returned to his apartment, placed Connie's tank in the corner, and went back out the door. Once in the elevator, Everett detected a very distinct, expensive smelling cologne. He recalled the day before as the young man with the slick hair directed the fat movers with his ornate furniture.
Leaving Thallow Flats, Everett walked in the direction of the diner. While he enjoyed walking during the evening, sometimes the smells wafting over from the ethnic food store made him lose his appetite. Everett couldn't help but smile thinking of the recent additions to the neighborhood: the ethnic food store, root emporium, and fortune teller. He couldn't even recall such places existing when he was young.
Entering the diner, Everett opened his newspaper. He took the arts and entertainment section with a special feature on jazz and took it to Pokey's booth nearby. Removing one ear of his headphones, Pokey muttered a soft "thank you" and Everett took his stool at the counter. He unfolded the rest of his newspaper and began to finish the crossword puzzle he had started that morning.
2 comments:
I wish I had known you'd have an iguanna I totally would have cooked it into my story. Jokes, jokes. But, really that has got to be the niftiest pet in the building, right on!"But I couldn't stop, not even by the mailboxes where an elderly man with graying hair and deep crows feet etched around kind, intelligent eyes paused and turned expectantly, a half bemused smile on his absent face, lost in the recess of his own thoughts."
Damn movers! Mamet navigated around the maze of overweight men lugging gaudy old furniture through the lobby. Mamet couldnt understand what people saw in ornate, expensive, completely functionless furniture like the stuff being manhandled across the atrium in front of him. He liked things simple, including the furnshings that he chose to surround himself with. Simple but useful, and in the case of furniture, comfortable. Mamet's bedroom held a plain brass bed, a lamp for reading, and an old radio. Television annoyed him. The one thing that showed some signs of excessive pampering was his terrace garden. Mamet had never been much of a people person and there was something about being alone in nature that put him at peace. He was an avid gardener who enjoyed watching things grow as he nurtured and cared for them. His plants were like children, just without all the diapers and whining, he told himself. This attraction for agriculture was why, at the moment, Mamet was ducking past the last leathered obstacle in the lobby and out the revolving doors into the sunshine. He headed to the garage to pick up his car. He would have rather walked, however, he was planning on buying something rather large for his garden and needed the transportation that a car provided. The valet Pokey wasnt at his stand and Mamet decided to wait. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed the number of the root shop on the other side of town. Next to television, cell phones got under Mamet's skin more than anything. What bothered him most of all is that society delegated that he must own one. He had resisted as long as possible but eventually was forced to purchase one of the infernal gadgets. He kept it turned off as much as possible and "forgot" it at home whenver he could. The woman at the root shop answered and told him that she did, in fact, carry the item that he wished to purchase. He thanked her and hung up. Pokey arrived with the car, Mamet handed him a few dollars tip, and drove off in the direction of the root shop. As he pulled up next to the store, his gaze fell on the book shop located next door. Thinking that it might be good to brush up on some seasonal gardening techniques, Mamet parked the car and walked into the store. A little bell on the door jingled as he pushed it open. The woman at the desk looked up and smiled. He nodded back and turned down one of the aisles that lay between the varnished oak shelves overflowing with colorful volumes. He passed the romance section, glancing over to see the numerous half naked women that were plastered on nearly every book cover in the section. He moved on toward the back of the store, the musty smell of less read books getting stronger. As he past the crime novel section he saw a guy looking at some of the court room dramas. The man was staring intently at the covers as though trying to absorb the content by osmosis. Mamet decided to do him a favor. "Don't read those court room stories. They are a complete waste of time and never even come close to painting even the slightest picture of reality. Thats the reason that young lawyers are always disappointed when they finally become litigators. Its cause they read those pieces of crap." The other man turned and grinned at Mamet. "Hi, Im Everett Carson. You sound like a funny guy. A couple of us have a poker game one night a week, you should stop by." Mamet was a little suprised at this amicable response but replied that he would think about it. The man gave him a telephone number and went on his way. Mamet continued on to the agriculture section, purchased his book, and headed next door to the root shop. He opened the door and was accosted by a strong earthy scent. As he stepped across the threshhold, he glanced to his right and the community garden. Thats when he saw her.
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