Only Heaven Knows [part I]
"I think I want to be married with Luciano," Angela told me over dinner last week. She was moving back to Italy the next day, and I was helping her pack her winter clothes, purse collection, books, photo albums, and bottles of oil (Did I mention she's Italian?) to store in a locker down in the parking garage while she's gone. She's renting her townhouse out, furnished, "executive style" which means she can command 50% more than if it were unfurnished. Plus, the tenants get maid service.
Angela is a Foreigner. But her intentions are good and her heart's in the right place.
"He's birthday is in November. He's gonna be 29."
Angela is 41. Luciano told his mother she was 36.
"Do you think he's too young for me?" Angela asked.
I am so not the person to ask that question.
"I don'd know why he toll her my age. Why not just say, she's older?"
I pointedly avoid offering any advice on the subject. Angela knows about Jack. She knows about the X. She knows about more than I've told you about, Gentle Reader.
She knows better than to ask the inmates for the keys to the asylum.
Angela was out of town all summer, in San Francisco, on what she calls a "course," but what I call a four month inculcation program with the cult. When she left in April she hadn't finished packing what needed to be put in storage before it was time to leave for the airport. So I had to do it after she left. She didn't have the locker then, either, so ten boxes of Angela's stuff spent the summer in my bathtub.
The one in the spare room. Not the one I use.
The reason I didn't mind this imposition was twofold: she gave me her printer, and Boz helped me carry the boxes.
"Does Boz know you're leaving?" I ask, as Angela pours me another glass of wine.
"No, I haven't seen him. I don't know where's his number."
"He'll be hurt if he doesn't get to say goodbye to Leo and Daphne before they leave to become Italian cats."
The first time I'd looked after Angela's cats, while she was away on one of her cult courses, Boz had bumped into me coming out of her place, and truly did look hurt that she'd asked me to look after Leo and Daphne, instead of him.
"Um... Angela...You seem to know what's going on with people. Do you know, um, well." I take a deep breath. "Tammi's not coming back, is she?"
Tammi is the wife I told you about here.
Angela looks down at the floor and shakes her head slowly. She's like The Empath on Star Trek; she feels so for others. For a moment I thought Tammi might have died.
"Tammi's gone," she says.
I say nothing, hoping she'll say more.
"She got fed up wid him," Angela continues. "Because he doesn't work. She made him an ultimum? How you say?"
"Ultimatum?"
"Yes, she made him an ultimatum."
"He told me last spring that she was out east with her parents. He said something about some trouble the parents were having; I think the father had just retired, and there were some financial troubles, and they moved to Newfoundland, and that Tammi went with them to help them get settled."
He made it sound like it was a temporary situation, but in my experience when the wife moves back in with the parents it's never a good thing.
"That's when she leave him," says Angela, simply. "She come here and ask me to go there with her, in case he comes home while she's there."
"I didn't realize you knew her that well," I say.
I'd only ever had one conversation with Tammi. I'd knocked at Boz's door once, because I was next door at Magda's, to ask if he could watch Max later that day. Tammi answered the door and gave me a look like the one us non-Mormons use on the Mormons when they come 'round asking if we've heard the Lord's message. I wasn't sure whether she knew who I was, or whether, perhaps, she thought I had designs on her husband (I didn't. Not then.). When I inquired whether Boz was in she said, too curtly, "No," and moved to close the door on me, but before she could, I added, "Do you know if he'll be in this afternoon?" This time, her look seemed to say, "How the hell would I know?"
If I hadn't known they were married, I would have thought they were roommates — roommates who didn't like each other very much.
"Why? Do you like Boz?" Angela is asking me.
What are we, in high school?
"I've always liked Boz, but, you know, he was married."
"Well, he's not married anymore. All I know is, it's finish with Tammi."
"Do you still talk to her?" I ask.
"Yes, on email sometimes. She's finish with him."
Then Angela tells me more about Boz and Tammi than I really want to know. Than I think I should know.
"There were money problems," Angela is saying. "He was keeping secrets from her. She doesn't know about his money."
"What do you mean? Like, where it's coming from?"
"Yes."
"But he doesn't work, right?"
"Exactly."
I say nothing, pondering the good news/bad news situation.
"Tammi ask me once if I know you," says Angela.
"Me? You mean she said my name?" I didn't think she knew who I was.
"She ask me if I know the tall woman who walks the dogs."
That'd be me all right.
"She was worry maybe Boz is having an affair."
If only real life were as interesting as our imaginations.
I tell Angela about the hockey game. That I asked Boz to go to the Marlies game, but he couldn't go because of his brother coming in from out of town; how I'd mentioned that I also had tickets for an upcoming Leafs game, and did he like hockey; how he'd said maybe, but then mumbled what I thought was, "You don't want to go with me."
I tell her I don't know how to ask a man out on a date. That I don't want to ask a man out on a date. That this is just a hockey game, no big deal, we're neighbours, after all. It's not a date.
Right?
I ask her, should I ask him again?
The cult has trained Angela to be a Life Coach, you see.
"Ask him," she says, and she smiles.
* * *
To be continued in Part II.
Angela is a Foreigner. But her intentions are good and her heart's in the right place.
"He's birthday is in November. He's gonna be 29."
Angela is 41. Luciano told his mother she was 36.
"Do you think he's too young for me?" Angela asked.
I am so not the person to ask that question.
"I don'd know why he toll her my age. Why not just say, she's older?"
I pointedly avoid offering any advice on the subject. Angela knows about Jack. She knows about the X. She knows about more than I've told you about, Gentle Reader.
She knows better than to ask the inmates for the keys to the asylum.
Angela was out of town all summer, in San Francisco, on what she calls a "course," but what I call a four month inculcation program with the cult. When she left in April she hadn't finished packing what needed to be put in storage before it was time to leave for the airport. So I had to do it after she left. She didn't have the locker then, either, so ten boxes of Angela's stuff spent the summer in my bathtub.
The one in the spare room. Not the one I use.
The reason I didn't mind this imposition was twofold: she gave me her printer, and Boz helped me carry the boxes.
"Does Boz know you're leaving?" I ask, as Angela pours me another glass of wine.
"No, I haven't seen him. I don't know where's his number."
"He'll be hurt if he doesn't get to say goodbye to Leo and Daphne before they leave to become Italian cats."
The first time I'd looked after Angela's cats, while she was away on one of her cult courses, Boz had bumped into me coming out of her place, and truly did look hurt that she'd asked me to look after Leo and Daphne, instead of him.
"Um... Angela...You seem to know what's going on with people. Do you know, um, well." I take a deep breath. "Tammi's not coming back, is she?"
Tammi is the wife I told you about here.
Angela looks down at the floor and shakes her head slowly. She's like The Empath on Star Trek; she feels so for others. For a moment I thought Tammi might have died.
"Tammi's gone," she says.
I say nothing, hoping she'll say more.
"She got fed up wid him," Angela continues. "Because he doesn't work. She made him an ultimum? How you say?"
"Ultimatum?"
"Yes, she made him an ultimatum."
"He told me last spring that she was out east with her parents. He said something about some trouble the parents were having; I think the father had just retired, and there were some financial troubles, and they moved to Newfoundland, and that Tammi went with them to help them get settled."
He made it sound like it was a temporary situation, but in my experience when the wife moves back in with the parents it's never a good thing.
"That's when she leave him," says Angela, simply. "She come here and ask me to go there with her, in case he comes home while she's there."
"I didn't realize you knew her that well," I say.
I'd only ever had one conversation with Tammi. I'd knocked at Boz's door once, because I was next door at Magda's, to ask if he could watch Max later that day. Tammi answered the door and gave me a look like the one us non-Mormons use on the Mormons when they come 'round asking if we've heard the Lord's message. I wasn't sure whether she knew who I was, or whether, perhaps, she thought I had designs on her husband (I didn't. Not then.). When I inquired whether Boz was in she said, too curtly, "No," and moved to close the door on me, but before she could, I added, "Do you know if he'll be in this afternoon?" This time, her look seemed to say, "How the hell would I know?"
If I hadn't known they were married, I would have thought they were roommates — roommates who didn't like each other very much.
"Why? Do you like Boz?" Angela is asking me.
What are we, in high school?
"I've always liked Boz, but, you know, he was married."
"Well, he's not married anymore. All I know is, it's finish with Tammi."
"Do you still talk to her?" I ask.
"Yes, on email sometimes. She's finish with him."
Then Angela tells me more about Boz and Tammi than I really want to know. Than I think I should know.
"There were money problems," Angela is saying. "He was keeping secrets from her. She doesn't know about his money."
"What do you mean? Like, where it's coming from?"
"Yes."
"But he doesn't work, right?"
"Exactly."
I say nothing, pondering the good news/bad news situation.
"Tammi ask me once if I know you," says Angela.
"Me? You mean she said my name?" I didn't think she knew who I was.
"She ask me if I know the tall woman who walks the dogs."
That'd be me all right.
"She was worry maybe Boz is having an affair."
If only real life were as interesting as our imaginations.
I tell Angela about the hockey game. That I asked Boz to go to the Marlies game, but he couldn't go because of his brother coming in from out of town; how I'd mentioned that I also had tickets for an upcoming Leafs game, and did he like hockey; how he'd said maybe, but then mumbled what I thought was, "You don't want to go with me."
I tell her I don't know how to ask a man out on a date. That I don't want to ask a man out on a date. That this is just a hockey game, no big deal, we're neighbours, after all. It's not a date.
Right?
I ask her, should I ask him again?
The cult has trained Angela to be a Life Coach, you see.
"Ask him," she says, and she smiles.
To be continued in Part II.
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