Oscar Flimmer, wearing a zoot suit, hesitated before he walked through the lobby of the Nez Perce Apartments, but once he stepped through the glass doors onto the broad sidewalk along Tower Street, the lone silver tooth in his smile caught the last fling of sunshine. He paused at the curb, shaking his head at the frantic rush of late afternoon traffic. No chance crossing here, he thought and walked to the corner of Tower and Main to wait for the traffic light.
It was Halloween and he was heading to the Friday afternoon Happy Hour at the Broadview Opera House. As he passed the Hiccup Tavern on the corner, the tables outside were already buzzing with conversation. The Nez Perce, a building of steel and glass, took up the whole block, and during the three years he lived here, Oscar had asked each of the seven or eight managers why it had been named after an Indian tribe from Idaho. Not one of them knew.
He thought it interesting, so he did a little research on his own. He couldn’t find any reasonable explanation for naming the apartment building after the tribe, but during his research, he had come across what Chief Joseph had said at the surrender of the Nez Perce to General Nelson Appleton Miles on October 5, 1877, in the Bear Paw Mountains of the Montana Territory: I am tired; my heart is sick and sad. From where the sun now stands, I will fight no more forever.
He repeated this under his breath as he waited at the crosswalk for the light to change. How sad it is to surrender completely and irrevocably. Forever is almost incomprehensible.
The Broadview Opera House was a short walk. The sun hung low in the sky when Oscar walked through its front door and hesitated in the dark. Once he had his bearings, he walked to the long wooden bar, overrun with the Friday afternoon crowd. He squeezed in next to the waitress’s station and ordered a beer.
When the bartender brought his beer, he stepped away, looking around for a quieter place to stand. When he saw Charlie Musselshuck, dressed as a pirate, sitting at a corner table, he made his way to join him. Charlie had been a member of the dating service, Let’s Talk, for over a year when Oscar met him a couple of months ago at one of the Happy Hours. Oscar liked Charlie because Charlie had even more scars from dating than Oscar had, which was saying a lot because Oscar had been wounded many times. I will fight no more forever.
Oscar often wondered why he even bothered coming to these Happy Hours. For him, it always ended the same way, going home alone at the end of the night. He saw other men leave with women at the end of the night. Why not him?
“Hello,” Charlie said.
“Good evening, my friend,” Oscar said. “Do you mind if I join you?”
“I was reserving the table for the many women who would want to join me later, but since they haven’t arrived yet, please take a seat,” Charlie said.
Oscar had always thought Charlie something of a vagabond, so the pirate costume fit. Besides, it gave Charlie an excuse for not shaving. And an excuse for going home alone.
“How are things?” Oscar asked.
“Things?” Charlie said. “Things couldn’t be better. My life on the other hand sucks.”
“Yours and mine both,” Oscar said. Oscar shifted in his chair, looking back at the bar.
“At least I have the warmth of whiskey,” Charlie said.
Oscar turned back to Charlie. “Yes, at least there’s that. I always get anxious at these things. I feel as if everyone is staring right through me. Charlie, am I here? I mean, can you see me?”
“There, in all your glory in your pink zoot suit, I see you plain as day.”
“It’s not pink.”
“No?” Charlie bent closer. “Yellow?”
“Not yellow,” Oscar said. He held his coat sleeve up to the fading light. “It’s gray.”
“Gray? Not likely.”
“It is, I’m telling you.”
“But that’s no color at all. Boring.”
“Well, it’s all I could find. And what’s wrong with gray?”
“Nothing if you want to be a crack in the wall,” Charlie said.
“Might as well be a crack in the wall, I’m invisible anyway,” Oscar said.
“Now there’s an idea, wish I’d thought of it,” Charlie said. “I could have come as the invisible man. Listened in on all the delightful conversations. Maybe even snuck a peek inside the ladies’ room. I’ve often wondered what they talk about in there. Unlike us men, who have nothing to say to each other as we’re taking a piss. Won’t even look at each other, just stare down at our dicks in our hands, amazed at this new discovery.”
“I know what you mean. It’s always struck me as strange how we become so engrossed in something we’ve been doing our whole life. Since women aren’t standing right next to each other when they pee, they probably can carry on an intelligent conversation.”
“Or say nothing,” Charlie said. “We always have to say hello to the guy standing next to us. And then we quickly look down at our dicks. And then, not even looking at the guy, we say something lame like, “good game, huh?” Or we ask him how he’s doing? How’re you doing, for christ’s sake? And we’re not even looking at the guy. And he’s not looking at us either, he’s just staring down at his dick just like we’re staring down at ours. And he says he’s doing all right, how’re you doing? But then we have to sneak a peek at the guy’s dick, right? We don’t want to, but we can’t help it. We don’t look at him when he asks us how we’re doing. Instead, we sneak a peek at his dick. What’s that all about?”
“Pure instinct,” Oscar said. “Instead of tangling antlers during rut or butting heads or beating our chests, we look at each other’s dicks to see who’s dominant.”
“And here in this male sniffing place, it is especially pungent.”
“You got that right,” Oscar said. “What is it with all these egos? But I guess I’m even worse because I think I’m better somehow. I think I’m superior. And I’m here just like the rest of them looking for a little companionship. Maybe even someone to take home for the night. How do you know someone after an hour’s conversation?”
“Maybe you know them better than after thirty years of marriage.”
Oscar thought about this. He had been married to Catherine for almost thirty years and they divorced because each of them told the other one that he or she didn’t know her or him anymore. How could that be? It’s true that they’d drifted apart. But they didn’t know each other anymore? That seemed unlikely. An excuse. A reason to move on. If anything they had come to know each other too well. So it came down to boredom. After thirty years in the same relationship, you just get bored. And you don’t want to say that. You don’t want to tell the person you’ve given thirty years of your life to that one day you woke up and realized you’re bored with them. That would be mean. So you both agree that you’ve drifted apart. It is a kinder way to say that you’re bored with them and the whole damn thing.
“What’s with the raven on your shoulder?” Oscar asked.
“Raven? It’s not a raven, it’s a parrot.”
“No, it is definitely not a parrot.”
Charlie glanced at his shoulder. “It’s supposed to be a parrot. I can’t help it if it looks like a raven.”
“A raven’s a raven. It looks like a raven because it is a raven. A parrot’s a parrot and would look like a parrot if it were a parrot. That is not a parrot.”
“It’s a fuckin’ bird on my shoulder,” Charlie said. “What’s it matter what kind of bird?”
“It doesn’t matter what kind of bird, but when it’s a raven, say it’s a raven, not a parrot,” Oscar said.
“OK, it’s a raven. Happy?”
“Exceedingly.”
Oscar shook his head and looked around the room. It was crowded and noisy. He didn’t know why he came to these things. He guessed because he’d paid money to be a member of Let’s Talk. Why? He didn’t mind living alone. He’d gotten used to it. And it was simpler than marriage. Let’s Talk didn’t do anything for him. Sure, they had Happy Hour and a website where he could look at the profiles of the other members of the dating service. But he was still left to his own devices. If he was going to meet someone, he would have to do it on his own. But he had met Charlie. Not exactly what he was looking for in a partner, but entertaining nonetheless. And isn’t that what everyone was looking for? Someone to entertain them?
“Charlie, have you ever met anyone through Let’s Talk?”
“I met you,” Charlie said. “And let’s see, I met Susan. She was a hoot. Gave me the best blowjob I ever had. But she expected something from me that I couldn’t give her. It’s kind of sad, but it was after I spent a couple of weeks with Susan that I realized I didn’t really want a relationship. I was looking for more than a blowjob, but I wasn’t looking for anything long term. I guess I’ve grown a little frayed around the collar. A little worse for wear. No, I think Elsinore and I are just fine the way we are.”
“Elsinore?”
“My parrot.”
“Raven.”
“You’re going to hurt her feelings,” Charlie said.
“I think she knows she’s a raven,” Oscar said.
“She told me she was a parrot.”
“Well, I think it’s high time she learned the truth.”
“The truth?”
“She needs to face the fact she’s a raven. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with being a raven.”
“There is if you want to be a parrot.”
“We all can’t have what we want,” Oscar said.
“Why not?”
“It just doesn’t work that way.”
“If you convince yourself that it is what you want, then you can have anything you want,” Charlie said.
Oscar paused. Charlie did have a point. Disappointment comes from believing there’s something better. If one simply accepted everything for what it is and nothing more, then one couldn’t be disappointed.
“OK, I’ll give you that. You and Elsinore seem well matched and I’m happy for the two of you.”
“She has a sister,” Charlie said. Oscar laughed.
“Is she a parrot or a raven?”
“Does it matter?” Charlie asked.
“Not really,” Oscar said. “As you can see, there’s plenty of room on my shoulder.”
Oscar was staring at his empty shoulder when Esmeralda startled him. In her bright gypsy dress, she spun around before flinging herself down in the chair next to him. He had never seen her at any of the other Happy Hours and instantly fell in love with her dark gypsy eyes and black curls that hung down from beneath her silk scarf.
“Well, boys, don’t mind if I do,” she said. “Commotion everywhere. Just needed a respite from the storm.”
Oscar and Charlie both stared at her in disbelief, neither of them knowing exactly how to proceed.
“Hello,” Oscar said. “Funny you flew in here at the precise moment I was about to turn to this empty chair next to me to ask if it needed another drink. And there you are. Dreams do come true.”
“Can’t say I’m exactly an answer to your dreams, but, yes, I’d love one,” the wild gypsy said.
“Any preference,” Oscar said, “or should I leave it up to Fate?”
“Fate hasn’t exactly been kind to me, I’d better take this one into my own hands,” she said. “By the way, the name’s Esme. Esmeralda for short. Or you can refer to me as just that wild gypsy woman with the red flower in her ear.”
Oscar bent closer. “Flower?” he asked.
Esmeralda reached for her ear. “Oops, seemed to have lost something. But that’s the story of my life.”
“You’re just as pretty without it,” Oscar said.
“Why thank you, kind gentleman,” Esme said. “You are most gracious. And now for that drink. Hmm…something delightful but with a kick. Always looking for a kick. Can’t seem to get kicked enough. The stronger the better. Life is such a bore. But not tonight. No, not tonight. There is magic in the air. It sparkles. Everywhere I look I see ghouls and ghosts. Whoosh. Another one. Have to be on the lookout.”
Oscar watched her. Her energy was contagious. He looked around hoping to see those same ghosts swooping around the room. He even ducked when she did. And he laughed, looking across the table at Charlie, but Charlie only threw up his hands.
“As long as you’re willing to take your life into your own hands by risking a trip to the bar, mind getting me another whiskey?” Charlie asked.
“Not at all,” Oscar said. “And for you, fair lady?”
“A hobgoblin,” she said.
“A hobgoblin?” Oscar asked. “I’ve never heard of it. What’s in it?”
“I have no idea,” she said. “Let’s see if the bartender does.”
“Let’s see,” Oscar said and stood up. Without thinking, he reached over and kissed Esme on the cheek. She squeezed his hand.
Oscar hurried to the bar, looking back over his shoulder in anticipation. What did this night of magic have in store for him?
The bar was crowded and he waited a long time for the bartender to come. He bent his ear close to Oscar and Oscar ordered a beer, a whiskey, and a hobgoblin. The bartender never hesitated, pouring the beer and the whiskey and throwing several ingredients together in a tall glass and brought them back to Oscar. Oscar paid and walked back to the table. Esme was leaning in close to Charlie. The noise was deafening. He passed the drinks out and sat down. Esme settled back in her chair and leaned in close to him and took his arm.
“Thank you, love,” she said.
“You are quite welcome,” he said. “I have no idea what’s in it, but he seemed to know.”
“Let’s see,” she said and took a long drink. “Wow!” Esme coughed and threw her head back and howled. “Shit. That is a kick.”
Oscar reached over and took her hand. “You do have a way about you, don’t you?”
She smiled at him. “Let’s just say that I am inspired by the spirit of the night,” she said. She reached over and kissed him. The night was opening up into something beautiful and fantastic, and Oscar hoped it would never end.
“What’s your story?” Charlie asked Esme. “You seem to have dropped from heaven.”
“No, nothing like that,” Esme said. “I’m just your typical working girl out for a night on the town. Don’t get out much, so when I do, I like to howl.”
“You’re anything but typical,” Charlie said. “And how is it I’ve never had the good fortune of crossing your path before?”
“You just weren’t looking behind the right tree,” Esme said. “Or, I should say, up the right tree. I often hang out in trees, especially when the moon is just right.”
“Full moons.”
“Not necessarily. Any moon will do. But it has to be the right moon.”
“And how do you know when it’s the right moon?”
“I know.”
“Well, in any case, we are blessed by your presence tonight,” Charlie said. Oscar squeezed Esme’s hand. As the noise and confusion pressed in on him, he looked around the room filled with vampires, monsters, and ghouls. Devils and zombies. The night of the living dead. He wanted to take her away from here. But she seemed to be enjoying herself. He would have a chance to talk to her at length later. He hoped. He squeezed her hand tighter. She smiled at him, lost in her own world.
Charlie threw his whiskey down and stood up to get another. The barroom was in full swing now. It was impossible to know who was with Let’s Talk’s Happy Hour crowd or who was just in the tavern celebrating Halloween. Charlie bent over to ask Esme if he could get her another hobgoblin.
“No, let’s try a Zombie,” she said.
“Ah, a Zombie, a good choice,” he said. “It was my drink of choice when I lived in Carmel-by-the-Sea. Used to sip them with Steinbeck on the beach in Pacific Grove. Steinbeck. I miss him. He was a helluva writer. And a damn fine drinker.”
Esme looked with some interest at Charlie, trying to decide if she should believe him or not. She wasn’t sure, but she guessed Steinbeck had been dead for almost fifty years. It didn’t seem likely that Charlie had sipped Zombies with Steinbeck on the beach in Pacific Grove. But who was she to question him? She was a wild gypsy and had experienced many strange things. She sat in trees with the moon’s spirit. It was good that Charlie had sipped Zombies with Steinbeck. Hell, she thought, with her wild and colorful past, she could have inspired one or two of Steinbeck’s stories. Why not? Tonight she would toast Steinbeck.
Oscar stared at Esme. He wondered what was going through her head. He wasn’t even sure if she was real. He squeezed her hand even harder.
“Esme, can I ask you something?”
“Of course, love. Anything. There’s always the possibility I won’t have an answer, but you’re always welcome to ask me anything.”
“What’s it like?”
“Like?”
“Yeah, what’s it like to be a gypsy? As far back as I can remember, I’ve wanted to be a gypsy. My whole life has been spent in pursuit of the one desire I just can’t seem to fulfill. And now a gypsy step into my life and all my dreams and desires come rushing back to me.”
“Being a gypsy is easy. Being isn’t.”
Oscar looked at her a long time before he said, “It isn’t easy, is it? You know, I think I’m falling in love with you.”
“In love with me, or in love with the wild gypsy?”
“Are they two different people?”
“Yes and no.”
“That’s hardly fair. So, how about this, I’m falling in love with both of you.”
“But it doesn’t work that way,” Esme said. “You have to choose.”
“But I can’t choose because I only know you as a gypsy.”
“Then you have to choose whether I’m a gypsy or not.”
“That’s easy, you are definitely a gypsy.”
“Then you’ve made your choice,” Esme said. “See how easy everything is when you’re forced to choose.”
“Unfortunately, life doesn’t work that way,” Oscar said.
“Sure it does,” Esme said. Charlie stepped back to the table with Esme’s tall Zombie and another beer for Oscar. The noise had reached a crescendo. Charlie bent over to Esme and shouted into her ear, “Elsinore and I are going out to have a cigarette with our good friend Steinbeck.”
“Elsinore?” she asked.
“My parrot,” he said.
She laughed. “Looks more like Edgar than Elsinore.”
“Shh, she thinks she’s a parrot.”
“Then a parrot she is,” Esme said. “Give Steinbeck a kiss for me.”
“I should warn you, he will fall instantly and dangerously in love with you,” Charlie said.
“Life is all about danger, my friend,” she said.
“It is, indeed,” Charlie said and fought his way through the crowd to the front door.
Oscar moved closer to Esme. “Wild tonight,” he said. “Are you a member of Let’s Talk?”
“Let’s Talk?” she asked.
“I guess not,” Oscar said. “I’m sorry to say, but it’s a dating service. Charlie and I are members. They have this Happy Hour every Friday night. We come here often, but nothing ever happens. Until tonight. Tonight is magical.”
“It is magical,” she said. “Halloween. My night to shine.”
“But you shine every night.”
“Not every night,” Esme said. “Most nights I’m lost in thought. The life of a gypsy isn’t all fun and games. But mostly it is. Otherwise, I’d find another lifestyle. I’ve never been able to take myself too seriously. Or life, for that matter.”
“It doesn’t pay to take it too seriously. There was a time when I thought I needed to be serious. Got me nowhere. A lot of heartache and grief. A divorce and a lot of fumbling around. Not knowing where to turn. Now, I try not to take anything seriously. Might be dangerous, but life’s short. Right?”
“Life is short,” Esme said. “And filled with surprises.” She seemed to be having fun. And Oscar leaned closer. He was unsure of how to proceed. He wanted to show her that he was interested, but he didn’t want to appear too eager or desirous. On the other hand, he didn’t know how to play it cool. He always wore his heart on his sleeve.
He leaned in close to her and asked, “What’s the chance of seeing you again? You know, I find you incredibly attractive and charming.”
“Charming?” Esme laughed. “I can’t remember the last time someone said that I was charming. Thank you.”
“But you are,” Oscar said. She turned away, not embarrassed, but rather in an indifferent way. She was caught up in the flow of the night. Oscar sensed her indifference and sat back in his chair. He looked around and noticed the commotion at the front door. The realization that Charlie had been gone longer than it would take to smoke a cigarette slowly crept into Oscar’s consciousness. He stood up to make his way toward the commotion at the front door. Esme held onto his arm but Oscar pulled away. He turned to look at her. Her eyes were embers. At the time, he thought they glowed with the reflection from an overhead lamp but later realized that what faint light there was inside the barroom came from above the bar mirror and the few wall lamps. No light would have been reflected in her eyes.
He squeezed through the crowd at the front door. Outside, another crowd gathered around a man lying on the sidewalk. Even before Oscar could make out the figure on the ground, he knew it was Charlie. Two men knelt next to Charlie. One of them had begun CPR. Oscar managed to fight his way through the crowd and knelt down next to the two men. He asked if anyone had called 911. The one who wasn’t performing CPR nodded yes. The other one stopped. He bent down to listen to Charlie’s chest and then put his finger on Charlie’s carotid artery. He shook his head and took up the chest compressions again. He seemed to know what he was doing, Oscar thought.
Oscar looked up into the faces of the crowd. Everyone looked hollow. He looked toward the entrance for Esme. She hadn’t come out. Time seemed to have stopped. Before, when he was inside with Esme, time whirled. And now, it had slowed to a drip.
He looked down at Charlie. There was no movement. The two men looked at each other and then at Oscar. Oscar wanted the man to go on. To keep trying. Something. Anything. But he stopped. He shook his head. Oscar watched him stand up and then he turned back to Charlie. Charlie’s face was pale, it didn’t look real, a mask of Charlie. Charlie’s eye patch. Charlie’s beard. But it wasn’t Charlie.
Oscar reached for Charlie’s hand, which held a red flower. At first, it didn’t register with him. But then, he saw it. He looked right at it. In the night on a dark sidewalk surrounded by strangers, the red flower was out of place. What was Charlie doing with a red flower? Where would he have found a red flower?
Something else suddenly occurred to Oscar. Esme had said she was that wild gypsy woman with the red flower in her ear. But there wasn’t a red flower. What happened to her flower? From far away, the sound of the ambulance finally pierced the cold, dark night. Oscar stepped away. He couldn’t do anything for Charlie. Not now. Could he have done something earlier? No, he didn’t think so. But he needed to talk to Esme.
He hesitated. The ambulance pulled up and the paramedics hustled out. The crowd stepped back. Oscar wasn’t sure if Charlie even had any family. He didn’t know who to call. He turned and walked back inside. Esme was gone. He looked around. The barroom had emptied out onto the sidewalk. The crowd outside was slowly making its way back inside. Oscar walked back to the restrooms. He asked the first woman who came out of the ladies’ room if anyone else was inside. She said no, no one else.
He walked quickly to the side entrance and peered out into the eery light from the street lamp. There wasn’t a soul on the street. She had disappeared. Did she have something to do with this? He didn’t believe in coincidences. As Charlie had said, all in good fun at the time, it was as if she had dropped from heaven. More likely, she had come up from hell.
Oscar stepped out into the street. He knew he wouldn’t find her anywhere near the commotion in front, so he walked into the dark alley behind the Broadview Opera House. His shadow spread out in front of him as he walked away from the street lamp. His footsteps echoed along the empty alley. He didn’t know what he was looking for, he just needed to be away from the noise inside the opera house, and away from the commotion out front. But he was looking for something. Something specific. He had fallen in love with a wild gypsy woman who had lost the red flower in her ear. Where? Where was she? Where had she lost her flower? More importantly, how had Charlie found it? And what did it have to do with his death? He was sure Charlie was dead. He would go to the hospital later to confirm this. But for right now, the only chance he had of helping Charlie was to find Esme.
The alley was deserted, inhabited only by the hollow sounds of his footsteps. But he could feel a draft. Something swirling through the night air. And laughter? He was far enough away from the Broadview that he knew the sound didn’t come from inside. The darkness was playing tricks on him. But something told him she was watching him.
How could he have been taken in by her trickery? It is true that he’d always wanted to be a gypsy. Was this why he was so easily deceived? We are always taken in by that which we desire the most. Desire is the evil in men, not crime, not vanity, not pride. Desire. He was easily seduced by Esme because he desired her. He desired her gypsy ways. Her swirling dance, her seductress moon, her dark, penetrating eyes. She was a conjurer, a sorceress, an enchantress.
He looked up into the star-filled night. From the depths of the alley, the moon wasn’t visible. Was there a moon tonight? He didn’t know. And if there was, was it what Esme called the “right” moon?
His shadow led him down the deserted alley, pushed on by the light from the streetlamp behind him. Halfway down the alley, he stopped. His shadow had disappeared between the push of light from behind and the pull of light from the streetlamp ahead. In the soft circle of light under the street lamp ahead, he could make out the shadow of a woman sitting on a bench. He looked over his shoulder. Nothing but emptiness. He couldn’t make out details of the shadow, but it had to be Esmeralda. He took a step forward.
As he moved cautiously toward the shadow of the woman sitting under the glow of the streetlamp, his footsteps echoed back to him, and he began to realize that no matter what happened, life was as transitory as his shadow in this deserted alley. If Esmeralda waited for him, so much the better. He was ready. Time moves away from us, up until a point in our lives when it stops. We chase after it as if it has meaning when, in fact, it has none. Shadows and whispers and laughter. A red flower in a black night. Ghosts in a dark alley.
