Ten

I got in my car and drove down town. I had just enough time to get to Le Bleu before Sabrina, who was notoriously five minutes early. I’d surprise her first by beating her there, and second by announcing that I’d walked out on my job.

It was one fifteen when I reached the restaurant. Sabrina’s car was nowhere in site. “Perfect,” I said to myself as I expertly parallel parked my car across the street, convinced that my day, and my life could only get better and better.

“Hello, I have a reservation for two at one thirty. Name is Santorini.”

The maitre d’ sniffed as he looked down at the reservation log. “I’m sorry, I can’t seem to find that name here.”

“But I’m sure…” then it hit me – it was the Betsy who hadn’t started looking for jobs that had made the reservation. Darn! I’d been looking forward to a good lunch at Le Bleu. “Oh, dear. I’m sorry, I was thinking of a restaurant down the street.” I received a glare from the maitre d’ at this reference to their major competitor.

I started to walk away, when inspiration struck. “Oh, wait! Now I remember why I needed to stop by here. Do you have a reservation for a meeting tonight? Gallus Pharmaceuticals, party of twenty for the back room?”

He flipped the page to the evening’s schedule. “Yes, I have that right here.”

“Well, Mr. Abbott asked me to come by – the phones aren’t working at the office today, some problem with paying the bill, but you didn’t hear that from me, of course. Anyway, he asked that I stop by in person to cancel that meeting.”

“Cancel?”

“Yes. Cancel. He won’t be able to come tonight. He’s got to go have surgery on his… man bits. Problem in the bedroom.” I lowered my voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “They’re worried he won’t recover.”

The maitre d’ almost cracked a smile at these lies that I was spouting. I suspected that he knew Peyton Abbott by reputation, if not personally, as this was Peyton’s favorite venue for his schmoozing dinners. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to hear that. So it is okay if I release the back room for our regular guests?”

“Absolutely.” I said as a wide grin split my face. Granted, it was very juvenile of me to seek revenge in this way, but I just couldn’t let this opportunity slip me by. “Thank you so much!” I said, as I walked back out into the cool fall day.

Fall in the city always surprised me. I forgot, year after year, how much I enjoyed the new crispness in the air, and the leaves strewn across the sidewalk. Everything started to speed up, after the hot, lazy summer finally made its exit. I loved seeing joggers wend their way through traffic, in various states of dress – some in sweats and scarves, some holding out in shorts or tank tops. We were still in the time of year where I didn’t need a coat during the day, but carried one around in my car for the chilly nights.

I took a deep, satisfied breath, feeling absolutely free for the first time since I took the job I’d just left. I actually laughed out loud as I walked aimlessly down the street, past an empty storefront and a small family run market. I was in the artsy part of town, populated with a mix of elegant restaurants and clothiers interspersed between bohemian style stores stocking incense and Damn the Man bumper stickers, and galleries showcasing the hottest local artists.

Seeing the art galleries reminded me of my promise to bring Sabrina some chocolate. Now would be the perfect time to surprise her in her studio with the chocolate and my news. I walked back to the market that I’d seen to see if they carried the requisite Godiva. On the way, I noticed the empty storefront, again. My old dreams of owning my own used book store came back to me. Peering through the window, I could see that this space would be ideal for what I had in mind.

I laughed to myself again, this time a bit more sarcastically. Right, Betsy. You’re going to conquer the world in one day. Quit your job, AND get your book store. Not gonna happen.

The thought stayed with me, though, as I entered the market, which didn’t appear to have a name, just a “Market” sign hanging on the door. I was delighted to find that they did, in fact, carry Godiva. “My wife’s influence,” the jovial old man at the register told me as I checked out. “I’d be happy to just carry Hershey’s, but ‘no!’ she says, ‘we’re living out our dreams, and my dreams include Godiva.’” He chuckled as he re-lived this moment in his head.

“Your dream? I got the feeling this was an old family market. One that had been handed down generation to generation.” I looked around at the old-looking shelves and signs scattered around the crowded area. “Is that not the case?”

“Oh, no, not at all. Gertrude and I just bought this place eight years ago. Do you know what was here before? A doggy salon! They actually permed dogs’ hair, can you believe it? No, no. Gertrude’s grand pappy ran an old family market like this, out in New York City, back in the forties. She loved working there as a child, and wanted to take over the business as an adult.”

“Why didn’t she?” I was enthralled by this old man and his story. He had an air of satisfaction and peace around him that I rarely saw in my life.

“Well, her daddy and her uncle couldn’t agree on how the place should be run after her grand pappy died, so they decided to sell the lot and split the profits. These old shelves and signs were the only things they didn’t get rid of. Gertrude kept them in storage for fifty years, until we had enough money to start this place.” He looked around, pride written across his features. “She did good, my girl did. Never gave up on her dreams – including that there chocolate!”

“The place is great.” I said, and then, even though I dreaded the answer, I had to ask, “Where is Gertrude now?”

“Ah, well, child. That’s a sad story, it is.”

Great. I just knew that the little old lady living out her dreams would be dead. Why do they always die? I don’t even know why I asked. I braced myself to hear about Gertrude’s tragic death.

“See, our little dog, Maggie, well, Gerty was out walking her, and her leash broke. She was a runner, that one, and she took off across the street.”

My God! She got hit by a car. How awful!

“The vet says she probably didn’t even feel the bus hit her.”

A bus! Even worse. Wait… the vet? “The vet?” I asked.

“Yes, the lady who had run the doggy salon that was here recommended a great vet to us. Anyway, old Gerty was so upset about the whole incident, that I treated her to a day at a spa to try to take her mind off of it.”

So she wasn’t hit by a bus. Did she die of some disease she mysteriously contracted at the spa? I was quite confused by this point, wondering how Gerty had finally met her heartbreaking end.

“Her friend Lula had been harping on her to try out the spa for years, but Gerty was too practical for such fripperies. But after I sent her to the spa to get over Maggie’s death, the old girl was hooked! She leaves me at least once a month to go get ‘pampered’ as she puts it, out at Day Lily Spa.”

“So she’s at the spa today?”

“You betcha! Abandons me, she does, in favor of Francis and his sea salt scrubs,” he had a look of feigned pain on his face, but then burst into laugher. “To tell you the truth, as much as I love her, it is kind of nice to have the old girl out of my hair for a day here and there.”

“How long have you guys been married?” I asked, surprising myself with my interest in this stranger’s life. I usually tried to move through my life with as little interaction with strangers as possible.

“It’ll be forty seven years in a week.” His face shone with obvious pride and love for his wife. I could not even begin to imagine spending forty seven days with one person, much less forty seven years.

“Wow. I’m truly impressed. What’s the secret?” It was a casual question, but I genuinely wanted to know how this couple had kept their marriage strong over the decades, when so many other people could not.

“You know how everyone says that communication is an important part of a good relationship, the most important part, even?”

I nodded, used to hearing such sentiments spouted by relationship counselors on day time television.

“I say, yes, communication is important, of course. But even more so? This,” he said, pointing to his head, “this,” his heart, “and this,” lastly, pointing to his stomach. Sensing my confusion, he continued, “You can talk, talk, talk all you want to, but if you don’t use your brain, all that talk is going to get you no where. You have to use your head. Think about where your wife is coming from.

Your heart is for love, of course. No matter what happens, you keep using that heart. It never stops beating, and it never stops loving. People seem to forget that sometimes, but love doesn’t end, girl – remember that. Once your heart finds what it wants to love, it won’t give up.”

“And your stomach?” I asked, curious.

“That’s the most important part!” he exclaimed, slapping his hand on the counter, “Belly laughs! Laugh as often and as hard as you can with the one you love. It’ll keep you young.”

I beamed brightly at him. “That sounds like a wonderful philosophy, Mr…” I realized that I didn’t know his name, even though I already felt as if I’d known him for years.

“Call me, George, girly. Everyone else does.”

“George, it was nice to meet you. I’m Betsy.”

“Betsy! I had a cousin named Betsy. She was a wonderful woman.” Another customer had come up to the counter by this point, so I felt that it was time for me to be leaving.

“Thanks for clueing me in on the secrets of success, George. I appreciate it. And thanks to your wife for making you stock the Godiva!” I said, picking up my bag to go.

“Betsy, girl, you make sure you come back to see me, you hear?” he said as I approached the door.

“I’ll do that!” I said, realizing that I actually meant it. Betsy Santorini, queen of the disengaged, making friends at a corner market. I think this Journey I was on was starting to affect me in ways that I had not imagined.


After leaving George, I strolled around the area a little more. Off the main street, I discovered that it was really a very nice little neighborhood. I felt as if I’d been tossed back in time to an era where true neighborhoods existed even within large cities. There were several brownstones, with hand painted flower pots on the stairs. I saw several elderly women out walking their small dogs together. I imagined that Gertrude used to be part of this group before the accident. I even passed a whistling police officer as I was heading back to my car.

Across the street from my car, I found myself, yet again, in front of the empty store, next to George and Gertrude’s market. This time, I noticed the “FOR LEASE” sign taped on the inside of the window. I pulled my calendar from my purse and jotted down the number. Maybe I can muster up the courage after all. Look what George and Gertrude did…

I put the calendar with the number back in my purse. I wasn’t brave enough to call yet.


When I got to Sabrina’s studio, I knocked on her door bell to let her know that I was there before I let myself in. The year before, Sabrina had decided to try her hand at papier mache as an art form. It had not lasted long (“I hate being sticky” the reason she gave when questioned about why she gave it up), but before it was over, she had sculpted a gigantic bell shape on the door to her studio. She got a kick out of telling people to knock on her door bell.

“Brina?” I called out, stepping gingerly into the room. I was never sure if I was going to knock over one of her latest creations, or a pile of debris stacked near the door. “Where are you? I come bearing chocolate.”

“Thank God you’re here, Helen! I was about to die!” She said, breezing into the room from the back patio, where I suspect she’d been sneaking a cigarette. Two weeks ago she had sworn off smoking for good, a resolution that had lasted all of thirty six hours.

“Helen?”

“You know, Helen Keller, the Miracle Worker. You’re working miracles by bringing me chocolate!”

“Helen was not the miracle worker, it was her teacher, Anne… Anne… Shoot, I forgot her last name. Anyway, it wasn’t Helen, it was Anne.”

“Well, then. Thank God you’re here, Anne! I was about to die of starvation.” She snatched the bag from my hand and started jumping for joy when she pulled out the gold box of chocolates. The bag she threw down on the nearest pile of trash. Sabrina had a hard time throwing anything away. She claimed that she might need it for her next project.

“Why are you starving?”

“You know I can’t eat before a date!” She said with indignation.

“Oh, that’s right. Nerves.”

“Nerves and the desire for flat stomach. If he’s a jerk, I’ll have to look fantastic as I walk away from him to make sure he eat his heart out; if he’s not a jerk, I’ll have to look fantastic as I walk away from him to make sure he’ll call me before the end of civilization.”

“Yes, because so many men don’t call you. What is this, your seventh date since you dumped Ralph?”

“Eighth, actually. But, Betsy, that’s just the problem,” she said, looking dejected, “I can’t seem to find one, steady guy. One that I want to call, and one that will call. I keep finding all the freaks and all the heartbreakers. I want a nice, happy medium.”

“I would like to say that maybe this Eddy is your guy, but I don’t know him,” I started.

“Because you didn’t come to the park yesterday!” she interrupted.

“Even so, I still wouldn’t know him very well. And I know you, Brina, and you have really high standards. Frankly, I’m not surprised that you haven’t met someone who meets those standards yet.”

She pouted as she said, “At least I try. That’s more than I can say for you, Miss I Haven’t Had a Date All Year.”

“Hey!” I protested, “I try! I’m just horrendously unsuccessful.” This was a sore topic for me. I rarely dated anyone, a fact that I attributed to the stupidity of men in general, and the ones around me in particular. I had dated one guy in college for almost a year, but that was the extent of my major relationships. He had broken my heart when he announced to me that he wanted to start dating a girl he’d met in his Differential Equations class. I’d been wary of getting involved with anyone since that time. I knew that I was just being chicken, but I could not seem to help it.

“Besides,” I continued, “you should be congratulating me.” I grinned broadly.

“Congratulating? Why?”

“I quit my job!” I’d almost been bursting to tell her this news.

“You what?” she asked in disbelief.

“I quit. I decided to start looking for new jobs today, thanks to yours and Edie’s friendly prodding, but nasty Peyton caught me, and reported me to Mr. Boggs.”

“No!” Sabrina was great to tell stories to, as she always gave you her undivided attention, and reacted in all the right places.

“Yes. He did, so Boggs called me into his office, and proceeded to rip me a new one. Meanwhile, Peyton stood there smirking at me. I couldn’t take it any more.”

“What did you do?” she asked, wide eyed.

“I told him what a jerk he was, and walked out. Oh, and I yelled at Peyton, too.”

“You did? That is so fantastic, Bets! I never thought you’d actually do it!” She gave me a big hug, “This calls for a celebration. What are you doing tonight?”

“I didn’t have any plans, as of yet, but don’t you need to spend tonight preparing for your date?” Sabrina had a whole ritual she went through the night before a date that she was excited about.

“Shoot, you’re right. Wednesday, then.”

“Wednesday’s no good. I’m going over to help Hannah open her wedding gifts.” A task I can’t say I was looking forward to.

“And Thursday is Gallery Night. Friday it is, then. That’s good, it will give me time to round up the troops so we can all go out and celebrate.”

“Sounds good!” I agreed, heading for the door. I’d just realized that I hadn’t eaten since I’d had a quick muffin on my way out the door this morning. I was famished. “I think I’m going to go get some Mexican for lunch. Wanna join me?”

“No, thanks. This Godiva will hold me over for now. I’m in the middle of a great project. It’s actually a fake poster for that Ex-Boyfriend Seminar we were talking about last night. You’re going to love it.”

I laughed, “I knew you’d do something with that. I can’t wait to see it. If I don’t see you before tomorrow, good luck with Eddy. I hope he’s a good one.”

A dreamy look crossed her face, “You know, Betsy, I think he will be.”

“I wish you luck with that. I’ll be going now – let you get back to your new project. I can’t wait to see it!”

“Thank you, Betsy.” She started opening her box of chocolates. “Want some sustenance before you go?”

“No, thanks. I’ve got gum.” I said, pointing to my mouth. Besides, for every piece of Forgive Me chocolate that I took, she’d expect me to be that much nicer. I preferred being on a level playing ground for as long as I could maintain it.

I waved good-bye and shut her studio door behind me. I was excited for her date, but I didn’t get my hopes up that Eddy would be Sabrina’s ‘one,’ she got just as excited and dreamy about most of her dates. I could never figure out how she was able to go on date after date without getting frustrated and feeling hopeless.

Even when guys did ask me out, which was rare, I usually said no, not willing to risk another failed attempt at happiness. I found that I was much happier just living my life the way I wanted to. Getting involved with someone else just introduced too much uncertainty; too much opportunity to get hurt. I figured I was better off sticking to myself until I met someone that would not hurt me.