If I Told You Once by Judy Budnitz

Author:Judy Budnitz [Budnitz, Judy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Literary, Fiction
ISBN: 9781466835658
Google: iUsoHIsUcAYC
Amazon: B00ANI9G9A
Publisher: Picador
Published: 2000-11-04T08:00:00+00:00

There were small photographs hung on the walls, propped on the dresser. The sepia-toned cardboard kind, of the sort my mother kept.

Probably his parents came from over there as well. We had that in common.

He stood before the mirror smoothing his shirt. He stuck out his chin, studying one profile then the other. I did not think him vain. He acted like a man with a fine new car: not vain, simply justifiably proud. He looked strong. He looked as if he had a healthy appetite. He moved with dancing steps.

He reminded me of my brothers, he was like a refined, chiseled version of them. Perhaps if you skinned one of my brothers like a bear, if you peeled off the heavy thick skin, you would find a clean-shaven, well-groomed fellow like this inside.

He fixed a carnation in his buttonhole. Wearing a flower in November! The audacity!

He put on an overcoat and paused for a final inspection before the mirror. I realized with a sudden sinking feeling that of course he was about to go out to meet a woman.

I sighed but could not stop looking at him until he left the room, still whistling. How dear the back of his head looked; the nape of his neck, the backs of his ears were boyish looking and vulnerable. I felt a gush of concern for him, I imagined him cornered in a dark alley, thugs pounding on that sweet unsuspecting neck with a crowbar, mussing the perfectly smooth hair.

Seen enough? Annabelle said.

I nodded. We made our slow way down to Annabelle’s apartment. She hobbled more stiffly than before on her tiny useless feet. They made me think of stories I had read about Chinese girls whose feet had been bound since birth.

We sat again in the crowded apartment as Annabelle lit a cigarette for herself. She was puffing and haggard from all the walking, but her voice was more intense than before.

So, which one? The last one, isn’t it?

Yes, the last one.

Hmmm, she said. Ten B. Good. His name is Joe. Steady job. Parents are dead so they won’t get in your way. He’s a good one, Shirley, I promise you. Built to last.

He looked like he was getting ready for a date, I said tensely.

Annabelle waved her hands. Pay it no mind, he’s all yours, she said.

I looked at my mother. Her face was thoughtful, undecided, the way she looked when she tasted a soup in progress.

What now? How will I meet him?

I’ll send him over to your home for dinner. Next Sunday? Some night this week. Thursday? Wednesday? The sooner the better.

I don’t understand. He’s never even seen me. What will you tell him?

Ah, Annabelle said and brought her face close to mine, smoke drifting from her nostrils. You see, Shirley, some men are bad with money. Most of the men here are behind on their rent, and some owe me for other favors as well, they have debts. I’ve been very generous with them. And if they are disagreeable, I have a special arrangement with the butcher downstairs.

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