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Wednesday, November 24, 2010

CHAPTER ELEVEN

ELEVEN
Running into Millie was upsetting, to put it
mildly. Here I thought she was dead all this time.
She knows where I live, that is obvious,
accosting me as she did right outside my brownstone.
Then again, why would she not know? We lived here
together once.
“Gus, we have to talk,” said the ancient but
elegant woman on the sidewalk in front of my stoop,
wrapped in a white cloth coat against the chill.

“Excuse me? Do I know you?”
I did not recognize her features through the
layers of make up and the decades of aging that
elapsed since the last time I saw her, though her voice
was familiar.
“I’m not surprised you don’t know me, even
though we were married once. It was a long time ago,
sixty-seven years to be exact.”
Then I knew it was Millie. I did some quick
mental math and realized that she was now a year
shy of ninety. I was shocked that she was out on the
streets on her own. Then I recalled who I was facing,
and it was no longer quite so surprising. If anyone
was ever ahead of her time in fulfilling the ideal of an
independent woman, that was Millicent Grant.
“Don’t stand there with your jaw going slack.
Invite me inside. This discussion may take awhile.”
That was Millie – still as fearless as ever.
“I believe you may have me confused with my grandfather, ma’am.”
“If your grandfather was my husband and we never had any children, what does that make you?”
I was at a loss for words. Millie always had a way of doing that to me.
“You’re right. Maybe we should go inside.”
It was nine p.m. This night was not off to a good start, and the fact that it came on the heels of me having to traipse around in daylight did not help.
As I guided her up the stairs to the front door, memories of Millie as a young beauty flashed through my mind. She was still surprisingly agile, though I sensed she was relieved to have my arm to lean on.
Three score plus years ago Millie was my one and only, the love of my eternal life, the companion I could not do without, despite the futility, despite the impossibility. Once inside, I got her settled into an armchair and asked, “Whiskey, ice and seltzer?”
“So you do remember me,” she said, vindication ringing in her voice.
“I remember my grandfather telling me that his first wife always had the same drink, and only one, every night – whiskey, ice and seltzer. I’m trusting your word that you were married to the ‘great Gus’ as he’s called in my family. Your name is Millie, right?”
“Oh cut the bullshit, Gus. That family story might work for journalists. It won’t work for me. I shared your bed for two years. I shared your life. I might be old but I’m not feeble-minded. I know that you are who I married.”
I chuckled and said, “But that’s impossible, Millie. Look at me, and look at you. With all due respect, there is a substantial age difference.”
I punctuated the end of my statement with eyebrows arched above my sunglasses.
“I don’t know how you do it, Gus. But you’ve done it for all this time. And you’re still doing it, whatever it is. I have some ideas about you rattling around inside this old noggin of mine. Is there really such a thing as a pact with the Devil? If so, I wish you’d told me so I could have made the same deal. Maybe Oscar Wilde had it right with his Dorian Grey. For all that, Wilde could have known you and based his story on you. I don’t know. What I do know is that you have not changed a bit, and I have grown old, so old, and now I have to beg you for your help.”
“You don’t have to beg me for anything, Millie; and you don’t have to make a pact with the Devil, as you put it.”
I wanted to add that she was the only one I ever loved but kept my peace. There was no point. I was thankful for the moment that I might be in the position to help her.
“What is it? Do you need money?”
The rocks glass was at her mouth and she took a good gulp before lowering it and gesturing her chin in the affirmative, her lips wetted but tight. I could tell this was difficult for her.
“What else would it be these days?”
“Just tell me how much and it will be in your bank account tomorrow.”
She nodded again.
“Do you mind if I smoke?”
I laughed out loud and said, “Sure.”
“What’s funny?” she asked, regaining the composure she had almost lost. She flipped open a solid gold cigarette case that I gave her a long time ago. I picked up a lighter, reached across the table between our side by side chairs, and lit her cigarette.
I smiled. I wanted to say ‘Same old Millie, one whiskey and one cigarette once every night’ but I didn’t. She did.
“Same old Millie, right? One whiskey and one cigarette, like clockwork when the evening sun goes down. Some things never change, and I’d rather drop dead than be put into a position where my little indulgences are denied me. That’s why I’m here.”