When their apartment building is going to turn Condo, two senior citizens from opposites sides of life turn to each other.
Elvira paused, her hand shook only slightly as the first notes began to filter through the wall. She gently set the plastic watering tin down lest she allow too large a drink to her African Violet. The notes were extra muffled this morning, as if Ruther knew it would be cloudy. On this side of the building, Ruther's early piano was the first sign of the day breaking.
"Don't ya shush me none, Irma."
"Shh. Shh, I tell ya, it smells like piss out here again."
"Irene Peters, if you didn't have your bridge in, I'd wash your mouth with soap."
"You try. You try. You just try."
"Shush, now. Here comes Mr. Geiger."Most at 5417 complained that the walls were too thin, and the doors worse than a wafer when it came to noise. But Elvira knew the Peters twins needed to be heard as much as they needed to talk. Their argument wandered the halls and was as worn through as the carpet. Henrietta Lawson said they came from Marshalls. Only slightly irregular.
The clock said 7:15. The elevator door opened with its pneumatic wheeze, then closed. Elvira smiled. Johnny didn't bump the wall with the vacuum. Bill Knox could hear bumps on the wall but not the electric whoosh. He'd oversleep again today and miss the first stock reports. For a moment, Elvira considered entering the hall. She pulled her bathrobe tighter around her neck. No. Johnny expected her to be fully dressed and coiffured. The real Elvira Dickson; gums, wrinkles and gray, would never do. Johnny didn't expect much from anybody, but Elvira knew a different case.
Just then a loud bump hit. Seconds later came the next. With the third slam against the hallway plaster, the frog bellow of Bill Knox scratched out from under his doorway.
"Lordy, can a man have peace in the morning?"
"Sorry, Mr. Knox."
"Every morning! Clumsiness is a bad habit."
"It won't happen again, Mr. Knox."
"Better not."
She wanted to see Johnny's face just once during his ritual lie. Bill Knox could no more do without that bump to rise in the morning than she could do without Ruther's coffee concertos. She walked lightly to the sofa. If she opened the window a crack, she might just be able to make out the tune. Ruther had a habit of taking Beethoven and making it honky tonk. He claimed it was genetic distress, his mother having been frightened by a German baker while carrying him. Elvira had tried to explain that his genes had been set into motion by that time, but Ruther only smiled. When he smiled at her, they shared a joke that only he knew.
The vacuum hit the torn spot by her doorway and buzzed a dragon fly. Johnny had tried everything: sewing thread, electrician's tape; and once, super glue. The tear was there better than original sin. (Another Rutherism). She finally asked Johnny to stop. As long as it remained torn, she would have the memory of his trying to fix it. Once repaired, all would be forgotten, eventually. She was sure he was going to cry when she said it. It was a casual observation, but very nearly opened a door to an emotion that was surprisingly touching. Elvira wasn't from the South for nothing. And she knew enough to let him off the hook, as quickly as he had fallen onto it. She straightened and looked at the clock. She was going to have to hurry if they were going to have Thursday coffee at 8:15.
"I wish you'd stop worrying about conversion. That particular fad is over. Too many realtors lost their shirts trying to turn buildings like ours into condos."
"Did you smell the halls this morning?" Irma jammed a scrawny elbow into her sister's side. Sam Farnsworth continued, "Irene's right, you know. In one sense."
Irene grinned at Irma. To have a retired accountant on her side was proof enough for her. Bill Knox shuffled his paper at the end of the rectangle.
"It's not the Winston's we have to watch out for. When the old man turns the building over to his son, then we have trouble." He never looked directly at anyone over breakfast. He talked into his paper. "Sam, you know the advantages of initiating a conversion as well as I do."
Elvira put the napkin to her mouth. She didn't want Sam to see her smirk. Sam didn't like to be talked to through the paper. Everyone knew that Bill's wife had died at the breakfasttment, as they all were, was an efficiency. The best possible use of space. One person didn't need more than that. Elvira had taken a long walk around that idea before finally arriving at its truth, too tired to avoid it any longer. It was too tiring now to go back to her childhood home. The memory was too dainty, too lady-like and Southern. She never felt so close to dying as when she thought of her father. How he would disapprove of her surroundings. And her neighbor! A retired janitor. A retired black janitor.
Elvira nodded. She was closer to death than to life, here. Her father must lose a toenail every time she used the term 'black' instead of the other. She had become a lady despite her genteel upbringing. How could she explain what she now knew to her father? He was as dead as the dinosaurs.
"Miss Dickson?"
Elvira started mildly. For a custodian, Johnny walked lighter than any man she'd ever known.
"Good morning, Johnny." He was her favorite violet.
"I heard there was a bit of an argument over breakfast." Johnny carried a little touch of crimson in each cheek. Luckily, he didn't know how dangerous that would be.
"Palaver, Johnny. They're bored." A puff of wind threatened her hairnet. They both reach instinctively. An envelope fell from his hand and he knelt down to catch it. She could see a tiny round thin spot through what seemed to be a bushel of blond hair. And she had thought he would always be twenty-one. Her titter reminded of Irma and she blushed. The bend-over brought Johnny up reddened also.
"Here. I didn't want you to just find it under your door, like the rest."
She recognized the Winston stationary. The 'W' was so curliqued, it looked more like a nest or scribble.
"Let me guess. A rent increase?"
Johnny wasn't speaking. He only shook his head and Elvira could feel the mining begin in her stomach. Her startled expression was worse than Johnny had expected and he reached for her. She fluttered and brought her hand to rest against her right cheek. The left was prettier, had been since childhood. A girl learns what to show, what to hide.
"It's okay. I'm okay, Johnny." And she was, to their mutual relief.
"It'll take a while, all this." The bald spot and now this concern, brought Johnny closer to thirty. She knew he'd had trouble with the law. Scrapes. Couldn't have been more than scrapes. Tussles. Her father called them tussles. She looked right at him.
"Johnny, have you ever thought of growing a beard?"
His expression told her she'd made a mistake. The question was inappropriate. Their 'courtship' was only possible as long as she didn't act like one of 'them'. She should be discussing the impending conversion.
"I don't care about this, Johnny." she said casually. "You're more important than this is, you know." Now they could both smile. She had patched the broken plaster in the wall they used against the truth. Spackle-talk. Ready for painting.
"I suppose you're right, if somewhat over generous."
Elvira looked up at the small corns rows of brick kernel. She was closer to death here than to living. The only sense this game made was because it was the only game to play. She bowed lightly as Johnny held the door. Two raindrops had saved them both. Johnny had work to do, for sure. If she could only figure out what to do about being so poor. So poor she couldn't afford to give up her pride.
The others listened to the operas that filled every channel around the noon hour. Elvira sat in her faded pink chair and knitted while listening to the music that came from Ruther's room. She wished that she had some kind of music in her hands, she might not worry so much about being alone, or having to hear it second hand, should anything happen to Ruther. And now, if this conversion to condominium went through, she might just lose the music anyway. There was barely enough money to eat, let alone buy her apartment. And what if she was able to buy it? Ruther didn't have any money, though she supposed he very well could have.
Elvira didn't like to dwell on money matters. It was un-ladylike, as her father told her every day of her childhood. His guarantee of her future had been somewhat overstated. Aside from losing the inheritance to taxes, there just never had been a man who seemed genuinely interested in making Elvira his wife. Perhaps her father had been too thorough in making her a lady. No man had ever even dared approach her. Now no one ever would.
"Elvira?" The voice drifted in through the window.
"Yes, Ruther?"
"What you gonna do if we go condo?"
"I was just thinking about that. What about yourself?"
"Gonna will my body to science and get it over with."
"Hee hee." Elvira tittered, her glasses slipping down on her nose.
"You laughin'?"
"Just a little, Ruther."
"That's nice."
"Yes, it is. Isn't it?"
"Yes, it is."
"Mr. Knox. Mr. Knox."
Elvira could hear the whisper down the hall. She smiled. Irene was courting again. Must be near a full moon. Irene was regular as the seasons. Not a very ladylike thought, but true nonetheless.
"Mr. Knox. Mr. Knox."
Irene tapped on the door lightly. She wouldn't dare do it louder. Irma would hear her and the hall would explode with another sisterly argument. Irma must be sleeping for Irene to venture out so boldly.
"Who is it?" Knox's voice was its standard boom.
"Me. Irene Peters. Open the door, Mr. Knox."
"What do you want?"
"Open the door."
"I need to put on my pants. Hold on a moment."
"Nooo- leave 'em off, Mr. Knox. Open the door."
"Just a moment."
Elvira moved closer to her own door. This was the closest Irene ever got to getting inside his apartment. Elvira peeked out into the hallway in time to see Knox's door open. Suddenly there came a flapping from down the corridor.
"You get away from that man, you slut!" Irma was awake.
"Stay out of this, Irma. I got my own life to lead. Don't I, Mr. Knox?"
"What are you talking about, Miss Peters?"
"He's a man, ain't he, Irene? You get away from that man, this moment."
"He's mine! You can't have him, Irma. Stay away."
"I don't want him, Reenee. Come away before trouble starts."
"Trouble? What trouble? What's going on here?"
Irma looked up as she grabbed hold of her sister's arm. "No trouble, Mr. Knox. Just one of Reenee's spells. Come along, sister. We have enough problems without you starting more."
"He's mine. You can't have him, too, Irma."
"I don't want him, Reenee. And he doesn't want you."
"Yes he does. Yes he does. Don't you, Mr. Knox. Don't you want me?"
"I'm sorry, Miss Peters. There's been some kind of misunderstanding here."
"See what you did? See what you did? Leave me alone. Leave me alone."
Elvira closed the door as Irma dragged Irene back to the other end of the hall.
"If you would have left me alone, I would have had a place to stay. Now you ruined it. Just like before."
A sudden tiredness overtook Elvira and she sat next to her knitting. It was all over here. Everyone was going crazy over this condo conversion, and it was just announced this afternoon. She pulled a scarf from the table and fixed it under her chin. She was going to take a stroll, clear the cobwebs.
As Elvira stepped out of the old elevator, she saw the owner's son walking toward the boiler room. He looked about the same age as Johnny, but his clothes were a lot nicer. Rumor was that Winston's only son liked boys better than girls. A shudder passed through her. It was a spiteful rumor, spread because everyone blamed him for the conversion. As far as she could tell, Winston made his own decisions in such matters. If he wanted to convert the building, he didn't need his son to push him into it.
She pushed the outside door and Maude Farnsworth came charging through.
"Have you seen Sam, Elvira?"
"No Maude, I haven't."
"If you see him, tell me. It's important."
"I will."
Outside, there was a slight chill in the air and Elvira turned to check the thermometer on the side of the doorway. She could always tell when it wasn't quite seventy degrees out. Actually, it was her southern bones that made the measurements, but she liked to double check her accuracy. She peered at the rusty white plaque, but she had left her reading glasses in the apartment.
"Sixty-nine degrees," came from above her. Elvira peered up. He was leaning out his third floor window. For a moment, she felt dizzy and had to look at her feet.
"You okay, Miss Dickson?"
"Yes, Ruther. I looked up too quickly, that's all."
"Takin' a walk?"
"Thought I might."
"Want company?"
"Company or protection?"
"Company."
"Do I have a choice?"
"Is it sixty-nine degrees?"
"Can't tell. I don't have my glasses with me."
"Then it's company. I'll be right down."
Elvira rested on the paint-flecked, wrought-iron seat at the front door. Sam Farnsworth came around the side of the building. He had his hands jammed in the pockets of his frayed coat.
"Sam. Maude is looking for you."
He didn't answer or acknowledge the information. He simply walked through the door as if he hadn't heard her at all. Ruther appeared a moment later. She stood and they began their walk down the street. She couldn't remember the last time she took a walk without his company, or protection, really. Another small joke.
"Trouble brewin' somewhere."
"How so, Ruther?"
"Hear the siren?"
"No."
"Wait a sec."
Then she heard it, off in the distance, a faintly sinister hum.
"There always seems to be something happening."
"It's society, Elvira. Things changin' again."
They walked quietly another half block. No man had ever called Elvira by her first name before. She never expected it from Ruther, of all people. But if anyone was her friend at 5417, it would have to be him. No one made as much sense, if any at all. And she needed someone to make sense, even if he was black. But that didn't matter. Suddenly, it just didn't matter at all to Elvira.
"What are you going to do, Ruther, if the building converts?"
"Converts? Ruther chewed the word like tobacco. "Sounds like somethin' religious. Specially the way people make such a big fuss 'bout it."
"Do you have a plan, Ruther?"
"I suppose I'll have to move, or find a roommate. What about yourself?"
"I'm tired. I don't know."
"If I could find the right roommate, someone who didn't mind my playin' the piano."
"Lots of people like the piano."
"You're the only person I know who does."
They stopped walking. She was tired and it was beginning to dawn on her what he was trying to say. It didn't shock her, but she was awfully tired.
"Can we go back now?"
"I was just goin' to suggest that."
Elvira's ankles felt like concrete and she could barely put one in front of the other. She felt as if her father had hold of her feet, trying to keep her from moving forward. He had had a hold of one part or another of her the whole she'd been alive. It may have been easier to take Ruther up on his veiled invitation if she'd ever been married, or even had a roommate. Now, the prospect loomed so large, bigger than she had the strength to deal with at the moment.
As they neared 5417, she noticed a large crowd out front. There was a police squad and ambulance slanted toward the sidewalk, and all the residents were outside. Irene Peters had a blanket over her shoulders. Irma stood next to her sister, protectively. The weight left Elvira's feet and they hurried to join the crowd.
"What happened here?" Ruther seemed indignant.
"Sam Farnsworth killed himself." Bill Knox was ashen grey as he spoke.
"Shot someone else, too. Shot someone else, too." Irene kept pulling on the corners of the blanket.
"Where's Maude?" Elvira couldn't help thinking back to Sam's face before her walk.
"She's inside." Bill Knox seemed to have something caught in his throat. "Damn fool. I told him to plan."
"Irma, what happened here?" Ruther pushed up next to the sisters.
"Sam came looking for the Winston boy. Said he wasn't leavin' so some punk could make a killing turning the building into condos. Said it just like that."
"I heard him. I heard him, too." Irene began flapping her blanketed arms like a hawk.
"Did he shoot him?" Elvira asked nervously.
"Naw. Saw the kid talking to the police a couple of minutes ago." Irma grabbed Irene's arms to make her stop.
"Who'd he shoot?"
"No one knows."
"Where? Where did he shoot himself?"
"Police said the boiler room."
Elvira's legs started out from under her. Ruther took her by the elbows and steered her to the bench. He set her down gingerly.
"I'll get you some water."
"No. Don't go in there. The police and all."
"No matter."
"Really, I'll be okay." She looked up into his face. She realized she had never really looked at Ruther. Before, all she'd ever thought of was his music and her father. His cheeks were smooth and the only lines he had were scratched into the corners of his eyes. She didn't know if he had been good looking. She stopped thinking about that sort of thing a long time ago.
"I'll be right back."
"Ruther- ?"
"Yes?"
"If it comes to it, Ruther, I'll probably need to find a roommate also."
She had been wrong. His cheek wrinkled with his smile.
There was a knock at the door and Elvira paused long enough to check herself in the mirror. Her hand shook only slightly as she touched the brim of her hat. She reached for the small pot on the end table and moved to the door. Ruther was outside. He glanced at the pot and took her by the left elbow.
"Do I look okay, Ruther?"
"Yes. The hat is very nice."
"It's the only one I own."
"That don't change how nice it is."
"Thank you."
There was a cab waiting for them in front and Ruther held the door for Elvira. She had begun to look forward to his constant touch on her elbow. It was a mild heresy to her father's memory, but that was growing dimmer in the wake of more important events.
They rode in silence past the city limits. When they pulled up to the cemetery, Ruther leaned forward and asked the driver to wait a few minutes. He helped Elvira out of the cab and they walked slowly to the freshly turned space that held Johnny's casket. Ruther had been one of the pallbearers. He and five young men whom Elvira had never seen before. She knelt in front of the grave and placed the pot next to the head stone. Then she said a prayer and stood, brushing the dirt from her dress. They returned to the cab.
"It was nice, you giving him one of your plants."
Elvira nodded. There were tears in front of what she wanted to say. She caught herself with a will and glanced back through the window.
"They won't last. Those damn African violets are too sensitive. They won't last more than a day or two."
"Doesn't matter, Elvira." Soothed Ruther quietly.
"Nothing lasts. Everything goes too soon."
"Be a different worl' if nothing changed."
"Will you play the piano when we get home? I'd like to hear one of your songs about now."
"That's the only reason I play, you know that, don' you?"
"Yes, Ruther." Elvira sighed, patting his hand. "I know."
They came to fix the carpet the next week. Winston's son came to take over Johnny's job. It was the least he could do since Johnny had saved his life, stepping in front of the bullet the way he did. And nobody laughed or even shoot their head when they found out it was the son who came to tell Johnny that he had convinced his father not to turn the building into condominiums. Maude moved, of course, and when Irma Peters took sick, Bill Knox was very good about stopping in to check on her condition. That is, on the mornings he didn't oversleep.
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Elvira paused, her hand shook only slightly as the first notes began to filter through the wall. She gently set the plastic watering tin down lest she allow too large a drink to her African Violet. The notes were extra muffled this morning, as if Ruther knew it would be cloudy. On this side of the building, Ruther's early piano was the first sign of the day breaking.
