Cracked Ice - Part 10.5

“CRACKED ICE” by Leora Tozer © 2014 -Part 10.5 

Art’s two-toned cream-colored Caddy Roadster was idling outside the boarding house at 10pm. 

I was walking downstairs in a long peach-toned silk dress. Nellie was standing by the front door, and said to me, “Looks like someone’s waiting for you.” 

“Yes, but do you have a shawl I could borrow?” I asked. 

“Of course,” she answered, while holding up a colorful and beautifully embroidered silk shawl. 

“Thank you Nellie,” I smiled. “I’m not even sure where we’ll be going. Should I be nervous?” 

Nellie’s clear blue eyes twinkled slightly, “No, it seems like everything’s been going well for you so far.” 

“Thank you for the shawl. Off to a new adventure,” I said. 

“That’s right,” Nellie replied. “Embrace life.” 

I smiled, “And have a good evening.” 

“Thanks. You too, sweetie,” Nellie answered. 

I opened the front door and walked down the steps and onto the sidewalk. I watched my step and listened to the click-click of my Oxford shoes on the cement. As I walked closer to the car, I could feel a strange energy surround me for just a second. 

I looked up and smiled at the car. The passenger door popped open slightly. I caught the door handle and opened the door enough for me to slip into the car. Art had moved back to the driver’s side of the car, “Good evening.” 

“Thank you. Good evening to you,” I replied. “Am I appropriately dressed for tonight’s adventure?” 

“Yes,” Art smiled. “Perfect.” 

Since I’m not familiar with town, I didn’t recognize where we were going. However, it didn’t seem to take long to get to an area of town where a few bars and restaurants were open late. 

He parked the car, and we went into a small building with a brick façade. We went into the bar, and sat on bar stools. The bartender asked us what we wanted. I ordered an iced tea and Art ordered a ginger ale. 

One of the waitresses came in from the back room; she was tall, and as I looked more carefully, I realized she was a man dressed and made up like a woman. As she was waiting for the bartender to make up her orders, I asked her, “Your fingernails are beautiful. How did you get your nails done so precisely? I don’t have the patience to get the polish that smooth.” 

Art didn’t say anything, but I could see in my periphery that he looked momentarily surprised by my question. The waitress smiled, “Thank you. I have a few drinks to deliver, but in a bit I can show you a couple of makeup tricks.” 

“I could use the help,” I replied, smiling. “As you can see, I generally look like a ghost when I’m done putting on makeup.” 

After she left, Art looked at me carefully, “For a Benson, you’re full of surprises.” 

“And why’s that?” I asked. "Life’s a continuous gift as long as you keep an open mind.” 

“I know,” Art said. “But not everyone sees that.” 

“That’s true. They can miss a lot,” I answered. 

The waitress came back, took my arm, and told Art, “I’m temporarily borrowing your date.” 

Art grinned and tipped his hat, “No problem.” 

While Leora was gone, Art surveyed the place. It was a small room, with dark wood paneling. Drawings and small paintings dotted the walls. The bar was busy with only a few people standing and talking, but several waitresses with drink orders were coming in and out of the second room. 

“So what’s in the other room?” Art asked the bartender. 

The bartender smiled, “When your date comes back, you can go in and find out.” 

Judy led me to a small dressing room that the waitresses and other staff shared. I held out my hand, “By the way, my name’s Leora.” 

“Nice to meet you, Leora. I’m Judy,” the waitress said while shaking my hand. Judy and I sat down in chairs at a makeup table. Judy opened a drawer, and pulled out a kit with blush, eye makeup and lipstick. She also selected nail polishes, which were setting in the corner of the table. 

“We’ll do your nails first. Which color do you like?” Judy asked. 

“I like the mauve tones,” I answered. Judy and I talked while she worked on my fingernails, starting with my right hand. “What type of work do you do?” 

“I’m a secretary,” I replied. “The nail polish will probably get chipped up from typing tomorrow.” 

“We’ll apply a second coat and see if that will delay the chipping,” Judy suggested. Judy had me set my left hand on the table, so she could apply a first coat. 

I smiled and asked, “How long have you worked here?” 

“Not long,” Judy said. “I moved here from New York a few months ago, because I heard there are jobs here.” 

“That’s why I’m here temporarily,” I replied. “Thought I’d work in an office a short while and then go back home to the Midwest.” 

“So what’s your story with that sharp-dressed New Yorker you’re with,” Judy inquired with a smile. I smiled back, 

“Sorry to disappoint; not much of a story. He’s one of my bosses and he wanted to check out this place, and he thought I should tag along.” 

Judy looked thoughtful as she blew air onto my fingernails to dry the first coat. The polish changed from dark to light to shiny as they dried. 

“From what I’ve observed, people come to either find someone or to get to KNOW someone,” Judy stated. 

“Not to presume, but do some folks come to gawk out of curiosity?” I asked. “I mean, some people don’t see that we are all the same, so they think they are seeing something different.” 

“Oh, there are a few like that, but they don’t stay long. They get nervous,” Judy replied, with a wink and a smile. 

I giggled and smiled back, “I bet they do.” I looked down at my fingernails; with the second coat, they were perfect. 

Judy opened the makeup kit, and found blush for me. “Take off your glasses, Sweetie,” Judy said. I took off my glasses and set them on the table. Judy applied blush, lip and eye color while we talked. 

 “You know, if you get the chance tonight, you should kiss him,” Judy stated. 

I blushed slightly, “He’s been very kind ever since I started there. But that could get awkward with my other bosses. 

Judy asked, “Do they know you two are out tonight?” 

“Well, no,” I said. “I’m not saying anything. It would make one boss think I should go out with him and the third could feel jealous.” 

Judy asked, “Oh, you have three bosses? And are they in the picture business?” 

I smiled, “Sorry, I wouldn’t feel right answering that.” 

Judy replied, “Oh Sweetie, everything is private here. Otherwise, people wouldn’t come back.” 

“Well,” I stated, “You may have seen them in the movies.” 

“Sounds fair,” Judy said with a smile. “I’ve always heard the quiet one’s a real sweetie.” 

I had tried to watch Judy apply the makeup on me, but I got distracted by the conversation. 

Judy said, “There. What do you think?” 

I looked at myself in the mirror. I felt in awe; even though I’ve tried many times, I could never quite get it right. “Thank you Judy. I’ve never looked this put together before,” I said. 

“Glad you like it,” Judy said. “My dream is to get a job doing makeup.” 

I thought a moment, “Have you tried at the studios? Or is it hard to get a job there?” 

“I haven’t asked yet. Maybe with a bit more practice…” Judy said. 

“You have real talent,” I smiled. “After all, look at the magic you did with me.” I put my glasses back on. “Thank you. And trust your gifts.” I gave Judy a quick hug. 

“Now it’s time for you to take that handsome man dancing in the back room,” Judy suggested. 

We walked back out into the bar, where Art was waiting. Art smiled at Leora and teased Judy, “Where’d my date go? Did she sneak out the back?” 

I nudged his left arm playfully. “If I didn’t get scared off from Henry last week, what makes you think I’d run off tonight?” 

 It seemed like Art couldn’t quit looking at me. Meanwhile,Judy motioned to the other room, “Now you two go back there, enjoy the music and dance.” 

“I don’t remember how to dance. Can you show me?” I asked. 

Art asked, “How can you not remember?” 

“Too many years of not dancing,” I replied. 

“We need to correct that,” Art stated, taking my right elbow with his left hand and leading me down the small, dark hallway. 

I opened the door and the room was mostly dark, except for a small candle on each table and a lone spotlight on the small stage. The three piece jazz band was playing a fast song as we carefully walked into the room. Our eyes began to adjust and we noticed the doorman nodding to Art and pointing to an unoccupied table for us to sit down at. 

We quietly moved through the small room and sat down at the table. I slipped my shawl onto the back of the chair, while Art set his hat on the table. 

“The beat is too fast for me, at least to start out with,” I said. 

“The only way to learn is to start now,” Art replied and took my hand. 

We took a few steps to the small dance floor, and I followed his lead, taking a step or two with the music. He swung me around in a circle, and spun me back. Surprisingly, I kept on my feet during the dance, and we applauded when the band finished the song. 

As the band started a slower song, a female impersonator walked onto the stage. The singer sang a torch song about missing her man. Many more couples came onto the dance floor for the slow song. 

Art moved closer and gently put his right hand on my waist. With his left hand, he took my right hand; in his grasp, our fingers became entangled. I placed my left arm across his shoulder and my hand rested lightly on the back of his neck. 

We danced close, but our bodies were not quite touching. As the music infused the crowd, it was easy to sense love lost and unresolved longing from many. The fingers of my left hand began to trace soft circles on the back of his neck in time to the music. 

Usually I would watch the crowd, but I felt transfixed by Art’s eyes. I felt surprised by a sense of recognition within the deep recesses of my soul. Getting lost within his gaze, I felt something more, another stirring, more primal, more physical. 

As the band kept playing slow, sensual numbers, we kept dancing. My body felt so aware and awakened by each minute change in pressure from his fingertips on my waist and his hand squeezing mine. My body felt washed with longing and desire; I blocked other people’s emotions and realized I was feeling my own long repressed want. It had been so long since I had felt attracted to anyone. I was uncertain what I was feeling, until it hit me like a ton of bricks. 

As soon as a faster song started, we both stopped dancing. Art didn’t say a word; he kept hold of my hand. We went to the table and he picked up his hat, while I grabbed my shawl from the chair. He led me out of the club and we walked to his parked car. 

We were standing by the passenger door, and as he was reaching over to open the door for me, I kissed him, just one gentle kiss on the lips. He looked at me with such human hunger. I realized the music must have affected him too. 

I draped my arms around his neck and kissed him again, and stepped back. He stepped forward and took my face in his hands and kissed me back. We got as lost in the kisses as we had in the dancing. 

Time seemed to stand still as he leaned me against the side of the car while we kissed. My arms slipped around his neck; my body quaked against his. Every nerve ending in my body felt awakened and my fingers worked through his hair. 

After 15 minutes or so, Art pulled back and looked at me. I’m sure he could see the pure want in my eyes, since he whispered, “I should take you somewhere. But where?” 

He opened the passenger door. I crawled into the car, and opened the driver’s door from the inside. I leaned my stomach on the back of the car seat, looking out the back window. I felt keyed up from our kissing and wasn’t ready to sit down yet. 

Art slipped into the driver’s seat beside me. My eyes shined down at him with pure, innocent lust. He wrapped his arm around my waist and sat me down on his lap for a minute. His left thumb slowly caressed my cheek and jaw line. I softly sighed. 

 He whispered in my ear, “If I kiss you anymore, I won’t be able to drive home.” My body trembled slightly with his statement and with my lustful thoughts. 

I slid off of his lap, “The music and atmosphere must have influenced us too much.” 

 I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. It felt like he did the same. When I opened my eyes, I smiled at him. “Thank you for taking me here this evening. I should go home.” 

He looked at me carefully, “Are you sure?”

 “Yes, it’s a work day tomorrow,” I stated. “Besides, don’t you have to rest for all the things you need to do tomorrow?” 

“You mean golf and a card game?” Art asked. 

He drove me back to the boarding house, and I thanked him again for taking me to the night club. Before I hopped out of the car, he held my left hand briefly. My eyes flashed another lustful look at him, and then I slipped out of his grasp without looking back. I knew if I looked back I’d be too tempted to slip back into his car and too soon into his bed.

Cracked Ice - Part 8

“CRACKED ICE” by Leora Tozer © 2013 Part 8 {Week 2, Monday} 

On Sunday evening after supper, the Temp Agency called me and stated that I should be at the Archers' office by 8 am. I had the realization that Ms. Roy must have suggested to them that I have Friday off, so I could have a few days to adjust to this experience. The time off helped me feel more grounded. 

Through the reflection and rest during the weekend, I felt reconnected to myself. I felt confident as I walked into the office Monday morning. I sat at my desk and set my satchel on the floor next to the desk. I found a letter to work on and started typing. Henry rushed out of his office to find out who was making the noise. 

“Oh, so you decided to join us this morning,” Henry remarked to Leora, while rocking back and forth on his heels. “What made you think you could skip Friday?” 

I looked at him calmly. “The Temp Agency told me to stay home on Friday. I thought you asked them to get rid of me. Imagine my surprise when I was called to come back.” 

Henry remembered the friend who suggested using the TTTA had stated that sometimes the Agency would be unpredictable, but it was worth it due to having a highly qualified employee. 

“Well, I suppose you can continue working this time. Next time, I might not be so understanding,” Henry stated. 

I smiled, “Do you think there’s a whole line of goofy people willing to work in these conditions?” 

“What conditions?” Henry asked. 

“Work being impeded by card games, chair races and other distractions,” I claimed. Of course, I wasn’t going to mention that my main distraction was standing right in front of me. 

“I’ll need to supervise you more closely to make sure you get your work done,” Henry suggested with a smile. He looked at Leora for a moment, thinking of a few different ways he’d like to supervise her. He was about to mention one way when Leo barged into the office. 

“Hey,” Leo exclaimed. “She’s back! See Henry, even though you tried, you didn’t scare her away.” 

I smiled at Leo. “Good morning. I’ve been through scarier things than last week and survived.” Henry stepped back into his office as I talked with Leo. 

“Yah, you’re a smart cookie,” Leo stated. “Much smarter than Henry’s used to.” 

“Do you want some coffee?” I asked Leo. “Sure,” Leo said. 

I walked into to the next room, where there was a small aluminum coffee pot on a hotplate. I found a white coffee cup, poured some and brought it to Leo in his office. 

Leo smiled, “Glad you’re back. Henry was extra cranky on Friday.” 

“With the Temp Agency telling me to stay home, I didn’t know I’d be missed here,” I answered. 

“No problem. Work any day should be optional,” Leo stated. 

 It was strange how everything fell into a comfortable pattern. In the morning, I prepped the letters, organized things, and answered the phone. The morning went by fast. When it was noon, I went outside and read a book while eating a sandwich. After lunch, I went back to work on the letters. Occasionally, I found myself staring at Henry’s office door, wondering what was keeping him so busy. 

On Monday afternoon, Art walked into the office. He noticed Benson was lost in thought, staring at Henry’s office door. Art didn’t think too much of it until he walked into Henry’s office. Henry was leaning on his desk and staring at the office door, but shook himself out of a trance when Art walked in. 

Art smiled to himself as he decided to have some fun with Henry. “I’m going to ask Benson out for dinner tonight. Where should I take her?” 

Henry looked at his brother, not sure he could believe what he just heard. “You mean Leora, out there?” Henry pointed towards the door. 

“Yah,” Art smiled. 

Henry’s mind was quick. “I’ll need her to take notes at a dinner meeting with a writer tonight,” Henry stated. “You’ll have to go to your little black book for a dinner partner.” 

“Oh. No problem,” Art said, feigning slight disappointment. “I’ll have to go make some calls.” 

Art walked out of Henry’s office and shut the door behind him. He started whistling, but stopped after he passed her desk. “Hey Benson,” Art said, smiling. “Hope you’ll enjoy dinner tonight.” He thought she looked puzzled. 

I was making edits on a letter when Art said something about enjoying dinner. I didn’t know what he meant, and didn’t get a chance to ask him before he was out the door. 

A moment later, Henry stuck his head out of his office. “Leora, can you work tonight? I need you with for a dinner meeting with a writer.” 

I looked at him and answered, “Yes Mr. Archer.” 

He looked at me slyly and whispered, “Weren’t you going to call me Henry…or Tiger?” He went back into his office to make a phone call.

Finding My Voice

One of the reasons I've been scarce from this blog is that each time I feel

close to finding my voice (IE: finding my way to writing again), it seems like something shuts me down again.

Sometimes, it's my own attitude towards work; it drags me down and I can't focus on expressing myself in positive ways.

Other times, it's a more deep rooted pattern in my life. When I was a child, besides witnessing my dad's cruelty towards my mom, she told me more than I should have known about her life, and her marriage with dad. I was emeshed for a few years of my life. I couldn't formulate my own opinions, thoughts or feelings. Anytime I tried, it was shut down by mom. {This isn't something I blame her or dad for; it was a traumatic situation for everyone involved.}

I spent my 20s and 30s getting free from this unhealthy bond. However, I have found within the last year, that my mom uses my weekly phone calls as a way to review her life, her childhood.

It's as if I'm her biographer, and she telling me these stories of her life for the first time. She's telling me them with a purpose; as if she intends me to records these stories in a permanent record. I keep telling her she needs to get a notebook and write down these stories - to tell him within her voice.

I keep suggesting this because I don't want the burden of holding her stories anymore. It is not my responsibility to tell her story.

I feel as if I lose my own voice each time she expects me to unravel the mysteries of her life.

I have felt my creativity clog up so many times this year, and I couldn't understand why.

I know in my heart, this has to be why. This unspoken burden of being my mother's chronicler. 

Yet, I know, I can't do that. I can only tell my own story. I could never accurately tell anyone else's. I shouldn't expect myself to do do. 

Now that I realize this, I feel at peace within myself. I no longer have to keep this expectation.

Thoughts of Enlightenment

Several quotes from a specific character have jumped out at me lately as being very astute, wise and thoughtful.

For example:

"I want to share something with you: The three little sentences that will get you through life. Number 1: Cover for me. Number 2: Oh, good idea, Boss! Number 3: It was like that when I got here."

These are the type of things that would get most people though their work lives with little conflict. In many jobs, employees have to keep their heads down and not get noticed in order to survive. [Unfortunately, it's that way; I'm hopeful that things will shift in the upcoming years and change for the better for people who are repressed at work and elsewhere.]

Second example:
"It takes two to lie. One to lie and one to listen."

Simply, a universal truth. Sometimes we know someone is lying to us, yet we continue to believe it. It's a part of human nature to trust. Unfortunately, there are times the people we trust are not worthy of that trust. I believe we could all admit to ourselves {at least} that we have lied to ourselves at one time or another. {Unless we choose to lie to ourselves right now.}

Truth we all face from time to time:

"Dear Lord.. The gods have been good to me. For the first time in my life, everything is absolutely perfect just the way it is. So here's the deal: You freeze everything the way it is, and I won't ask for anything more. If that is OK, please give me absolutely no sign. OK, deal."

One of the constant things in life is change. Yet, as humans we want to resist change (at least, it seems like most people resist change). So, we try to make a deal, keep things like they are. But would we really be happy if things never changed? It would mean stagnation, people wouldn't grow up and be who they are meant to be. It is the one truly thing I'm fairly certain won't change, there will be change in life.

Is this your truth?

"I've always wondered if there was a god. And now I know there is -- and it's me."

In my belief, we are all a part of the divine source. God is within us all. It is what connects us to every living being out there (animal, plant, human). The interconnections between us all can be powerful. Sometimes we feel pain, sadness, despair; yet, these feelings can lead to great growth. After weathering the storm and a quiet peace settles in, we find love within our hearts and souls. That is God ~ God is love.

A final bit of wisdom:

"Sometimes you have to break the rules to free the heart."

When the rules force us to conform into someone we're not, we have to find our way to break out. We can choose to live life as everyone else expects us to, or to live life in a way that honors our soul. 

Thank you, Homer J. Simpson for your humor, inspiration and wise words over the years. You have led by example (and many times by showing us what not to do).