The Scent of the Blueberry -- 6

Michel grinned at her, then studied the floor like a kindergarten kid. “I totally screwed up. I locked myself out of my apartment and I can’t find the super.” Michel’s voice dropped. “And I really have to go to the bathroom.”

Evelyn smiled. “Well, I guess I can help you out. Does anyone else have a key?”

“Well, my friend Allen does.” (Evelyn smiled – “friend Allen” – of course, suspicion confirmed.) “But my cell phone battery died on me. I could go down to the pay phone at the corner, but I thought I would check to see whether I could use your phone. I hope it’s not inconvenient.”

“No, even a prisoner gets a phone call. And we can’t have you leaking all over the hallway.”

“Thanks, I really appreciate it. And my bladder will be eternally grateful.”

“Another one of my childhood ambitions achieved. But. . . your apartment, the super. . . Jorge? Do you live in this building?” Evelyn asked as she rummaged through her bag for her own key.

“Since September. Fourth floor – near the end of the hall. I hadn’t realized that you lived her until I saw you at the mailboxes last week. By the time I got there, you were gone. But your name was on the mailbox.”

Evelyn realized that she had no idea that Michel knew her last name – she certainly didn’t know his. She wasn’t sure that she liked that – it seemed to give him a slight advantage. He already knew far too much about her. Still, she realized that she was being silly. After all, Evelyn had no intention of knowing him well enough to ever care what his last name was. He would use his bathroom, call Allen, and be on his way. And she would feel that at least part of her debt would be repaid – and at a relatively low cost. No big deal – the low-fat Oreo cookies would keep for a few more minutes. Let’s see – the chocolate came from the brown vegetable food group – but what the hell was the white stuff in the middle? Well, it couldn’t be too bad, she thought – after all, it was low-fat.

As Evelyn let them into the apartment and flipped on the light switch, she reminded herself of the undeniable fact that, no matter how screwed up the rest of her life might be, she did have a point of refuge in her apartment. Her original décor had featured a kind of “impoverished college student” motif, but Evelyn had been upgrading the furnishings and décor in one room at a time . . . Living room, kitchenette, bathroom, separate bedroom. . . everything but the prerequisite cat. Her sister had visited one weekend, and they had spent most of the time rummaging through catalogs, the Internet and various furnishing stores. That one weekend – that one magic weekend – had done her more good than all the Scotches in the world, she thought. Fiber wall hangings, a sofa, everything in earth colors: browns and yellows and reds and oranges. The bedroom – now that was blue. A room for every mood, she supposed. But the place was always warm – these old apartments were always overheated, and she always felt that she could curl up on the sofa with a book and cup of tea until bedtime. Then she’d simply transport both book and comforter to the bedroom – where the curling process would be intercepted by the sleep process. If only the sleep hadn’t been interrupted by the dreams – the repetitive dreams – but maybe those would diminish in frequency and intensity as time went by. Evelyn had been told that time healed all wounds – well, she thought, she was definitely going to put that cliché to the test.

Michel emerged from the bathroom and Evelyn gave him her cell phone. “I don’t have a land-line, but the battery on this thing should be OK.” Michel nodded, “Thanks”, flipped open the phone and started to punch the keys while Evelyn went to the stove to put on the kettle. She thought that she might invite him to share a cup – it had been a while since she had cooked for a man, but maybe a cup of tea didn’t quite count as cooking. Still, she wasn’t sure where that would lead – maybe she wouldn’t play the gracious hostess. She was still debating the point when she realized that Michel had reached Allen – and reminded herself that nothing would lead anywhere with this one.

In a few moments, Evelyn overheard Michel’s explanation to Allen, but it lacked the pauses that generally characterize a conversation. Michel was leaving a message – maybe that circumstance took the decision out of her hands. Fortunately she didn’t have any plans – aside from her modeling gigs, her evening calendar seemed free for at least the next two centuries, she reflected. She went back into the living room just as Michel was flipping the phone shut.

“I’m really sorry, Evelyn. I can’t imagine where he’s gone. I’m sure he’ll be back in a few minutes. I really feel much better now, anyway. Thank you for the use of the bathroom.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble. But look, I’ve just put some tea on. You’re really not interrupting anything if you want to wait here and try again in a few minutes.” Not Evelyn’s preference but, really why not? She would probably work off all of her debt to Michel this way, and he was a good listener. And, if he said no, well that was up to him. So maybe this was a good situation, after all.

“Well, if you’re sure that it’s no trouble.”

“Absolutely sure. Do you drink tea? Herbal tea. I was planning on having some blueberry.”

“They make tea out of blueberries?” Evelyn nodded. “Well, I guess that makes sense. No limit to what you can make tea out of. OK, sure. As long as you’re sure that you don’t mind.”

“No, it’s fine. Have a seat and make yourself comfortable.”

Evelyn turned back to the stove, and thought that this process would seem much easier with a glass of Scotch than with a cup of tea. Still, it wouldn’t be so bad. She opened the box of tea bags, and the usually faint scent of the blueberries came spilling out. Usually faint but, in this case, unusually strong – almost fragrant, like a strong perfume. The room was warm, and the scent of blueberry combined with that warmth to fill her nostrils, to make her eyelids feel heavy. She lurched toward the chair, but Michel caught her before she hit the floor.