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Macklin & Marci
By
R. G. Larsen
Macklin shrieked as he removed the transmission’s metal cover. It was neither the hot oil which ran down his arm in the cramped quarters of the tiny garage of the flat that he and Marci had rented on San Francisco’s Minna Street nor the hell that Marci would later give him for carelessly ruining another shirt that caused his shock. Bright, yellow scrambled eggs covered the transmission’s filter that now stared back at him. He was amazed at the eggs’ brilliant color. It was if he had cooked them on the stove. He dropped the pan onto the garage floor and let the entire filter fall into the cover’s concave recess.
Macklin wanted badly to be living elsewhere, perhaps a real home with a real car, a place about which Marci could be proud. He wanted to take Marci in style on a Sunday afternoon drive. He wanted not to be out of work so often. He wanted not elegance and ease but a chance to prove himself. He needed to do that for Marci, and he needed it for himself. They were lichen clinging tenuously to one rental after another, digging their fingers into crevices in the monolith that was San Francisco. He worked construction, she nursed, and they ate peanut butter and jam sandwiches on bread bought at Wednesday’s discount market sales. They stole apples by reaching over the neighbor’s fence when the season offered them up. Supper was make-do, surprise soups followed by goulash or stew later in the week when it thickened, and they served it over toasted pieces of the same bargain loaves. A few weeks back, when Macklin found a few extra dollars, he bought Marci a jar of Kozlowski’s Red Raspberry Jam. Marci had cried.
The car became a focal point in their lives. Sometimes he needed it for transportation to out-of-the-way construction sites. Oftener, Marci needed it to get to and from her job at the hospital. The thought of her pretty, young body waiting for a bus in the Mission District or making transfers through the Fillmore at night made him cringe. She had once joked that she could wear her short red skirt to and from work and make more money in one night than they made together in a month. Macklin grew red in the face. “Don’t ever say that,” he screamed. “Don’t even think that way.”
“Chris sakes, Macklin, I’m just joking. Will you lighten up?” Marci said.
“I don’t want to be reminded how tough things are for us. I just don’t want to hear that talk,” responded Macklin.
“You can’t tell me how to talk, Mr. out of work half the time, if that’s what you are getting at. So don’t even try.”
“You know that’s not what I mean.” He could see his concern turning instead to argument. He could feel his self-control starting to slip. He turned and stalked off.
“Later in bed, she teased him with, “Still mad?”
“No,” he lied, “just upset that I can’t get our lives going,” he sighed.
“Come over here,” Marci said with mischief in her voice. He didn’t mistake the change in her tone.
“Another jam sandwich?” he asked.
“A Marci sandwich,” she teased.
He wondered what their lives would be like if their physical attraction waned. “That would be desperate,” he thought.
A reader’s letter to the editor of an automotive magazine had given him the courage to attempt his quick transmission fix. “It shouldn’t come down to this,” he mused. Their relationship hung on keeping alive a vehicle that had been hemorrhaging transmission fluid for months, red like blood, and leaving a smelly, smoky trail as it contacted the hot exhaust system. He went upstairs to scrub up.
“Does it work?” She asked, smiling yet doubting.
“I haven’t really tried it yet. Do you want to go for a ride?”
She was uncertain; “Wait until I pack a lunch for us in case we get stranded somewhere. I’ll get our raincoats, too, just in case.” She really didn’t want to go. “I’d rather do nothing else,” she said. She was tired of the car, this house, their lives, and, sometimes, even tired of Macklin and his constant enthusiasm. This would most likely be another dreadful adventure. “I’m coming,” she cheerily called. His boyish grin was what had first attracted her, his energy, too, and there was his charming unpredictability. He was always surprising her. The jam was one recent example. Another was this morning when he found her in the kitchen clad only in her light flannel nightgown. “Now, stop that, Macklin,” she had begun before grabbing the counter with both hands to steady herself as his passion overcame her resolve. “Damnit, now I’m going to have to shower again.”
Now, with the raincoats over one arm, she grabbed their brown bag lunch and headed for the waiting sedan. Pale, blue exhaust smoke hung about ten feet above the narrow street, just below their flat’s second story.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Let’s do it.” She smiled in answer and put on a good face. It really was nice to see him happy. Lately their lives had been as rutted as a country road and tension came and went like the smoke in the alley. “I packed half a bottle of Guiseppe Mazzoni Zinfandel that was left over in the cupboard from last week. If all goes to hell, we’ll drink it and walk home,” She joked.
“We’ll drink it, burn the car, and collect the insurance money,” he laughed back.
“We’ll drink it, burn the car, and screw each other crazy in the back seat because there isn’t any insurance money.” She was laughing harder now.
“Good plan.” Said Macklin, but we better burn the car last.”
“It’s almost afternoon. Drive, Macklin,” she roared. “If it doesn’t blow up, we’ll go up the hill to the old cemetery and make out like we were in high school again.”
He placed the gear selector in drive and felt the transmission shift smoothly up through the gears. He smiled to himself when he noticed the telltale odor of oil no longer surrounded them when they stopped for a red light at Army Street. This was going to one helluva day at the old cemetery.
It was Tuesday, and Marci stood before the full-length mirror on the back of their closet door straightening her uniform before leaving for work. Her skin was fresh and taught over her cheekbones; she hardly needed to accent them with layers of base and tint. She was quite pretty with her dark, lustrous hair, graceful limbs, and small waist. A little wide in the hips, she thought, but her tummy was flat, and she liked what she saw. She was long waisted. This made the shoulders a little tight if she wore a uniform off the shelves. She compensated by loosening the waist pull and letting the waistline float up and down as she walked. This made the hemline rise and showed a little more leg when she bent or reached. Most of the doctors had noticed, as had the interns, nurses, and maintenance staff. She enjoyed the attention even if it irked the other nurses. Only Doctor Ruiz seemed oblivious to her charms. He was polite but never gave her that look that she had come to expect from most of the male staff.
Ruiz caught Marci just as she was leaving the Cath Lab. “I’ve got to get these over to Doctor Pricewater at Mount Zion. Can you take them over for me?”
Marci hesitated, “I would love to, Doctor, but I’ll need Hilda’s permission.
“Already did that. She said fine. As a courtesy, remind her on the way out. You still driving that old wreck?” Marci was astonished that he knew that much about her.
“Yes, it’s still running. It always starts,” she began somewhat embarrassed.
“Here,” he said, tossing her a key ring, “better take mine. It’s in slot 157 downstairs in the garage. It’s blue.” With that, he smiled and turned to leave, then turned back for just a moment. “You’ll miss your normal lunch. We can’t have that. Use the commissary card in the glove compartment and eat a lot. Looks like you’ve dropped a few pounds lately. Don’t expect to see you back here before 2:30 p.m. I can’t afford to lose one of my best nurses to malnutrition.” With that, he was off down the corridor.
Marci was overwhelmed. Doctor Ruiz had said one of his best nurses, noticed that she had lost several pounds, and knew that she drove Macklin’s old wreck. All this time she had thought that he had paid her no attention; she may as well have been one of the bedpans. Obviously, he didn’t miss the tiniest detail about anything. She stopped briefly on her way out to check the bathroom of one of Doctor Ruiz’s patients. This morning she had noticed some hair and grime around the base of the toilet stool but had left it for the cleaning staff. It was still there two hours later. Wouldn’t do to let Doctor Ruiz, who paid such close attention to detail, see that. She wondered if he also had noticed the subtle changes to her hair. She’d let some of its natural curl return and added some highlights.
As she entered the hospital’s garage, she looked for space 157. He did say 157? The beautiful blue Mercedes cabriolet with the top down rested quietly in the designated space. Even in the dimmer light of the garage, the deep blue paint seemed iridescent and the white leather seats looked soft and inviting. She slipped the key into the trunk lock expecting to hear sirens and alarms but, to her surprise, heard none. Seconds later she was in the sun and heading up Pacific Avenue. “My God, this is wonderful,” she thought. On impulse she pulled over and unbuckled to hike the back of her white uniform up, then rebuckled. As she sped on, she could feel the cool of the leather against her thighs, the wind tossing her hair and her dress, the sun full on her face. She was so absorbed that she did not even think to look up at the hospital as she left. Had she done so, she would have seen the blinds in Doctor Ruiz’s office spread apart ever so slightly as she drove away.
Macklin was having quite the opposite kind of day and it was about to turn worse. The crew with which he worked was digging a trench for a sewer connection for an addition to an old building in the Potrero district when Macklin ran into a maze of pipes, conduit, and old lines of uncertain age, all unlisted on the original building plans. He slowed his digging and stopped to look at the plans again. Caution now might save time and grief later, “What’s the hang up, Macklin?” roared his supervisor obviously irritated. Hector Ramierz, who worked along side of him, had also stopped and was now leaning on his shovel. The boss’ long stride quickly brought him to the trench’s lip.
“Pipes everywhere, Boss, and old electrical. Looks like three wires at least.”
“Dig that dirt away and pull those fuckers up so I can see them better,” said the boss, Devicenzi. Macklin didn’t like pulling on the wires, didn’t know if they were still hot, didn’t know that he hadn’t nicked them with his shovel. “Well, what are you waiting for, Macklin, grab those sons-of-a-bitches and haul ‘em up so I can look at them.”
“What if they’re hot?”
“Jesus Christ, do I have to climb down there and do it for you? Give me that shovel.” The big man used the shovel as a brace to let himself down into the three-foot deep trench. “Yeah, old direct burial stuff. People didn’t worry about conduit or any of that environmental bullshit back then. Probably two hots and a neutral.”
“No ground wire?” asked Macklin.
“Don’t need one. Besides, you are the ground, dipshit. See that conduit, the light gray one, electrical? They just laid new lines and abandoned the old ones, easier than digging it up. Okay, let’s get back to work here.” Macklin looked at him for more explanation, which Devicenzi took for recalcitrance. “You still worried about them old wires?” He took the shovel from Macklin and sliced through them. Macklin couldn’t see well because the big man was in his way. He thought he saw a spark, but it could have been the sun’s glare off the shovel. He caught the shovel as it was thrown back to him. “They’re dead, hack them out with a bar.”
Macklin pretended to dig with renewed energy until the boss’s attention took him elsewhere. He then motioned Hector aside and walked fifteen feet up the ditch to where the wires again disappeared into the earth. He brought the shovel down through the wires. Nothing. Hector just grinned at him as Macklin pulled the loose wires free and tossed them out of the ditch. All went well for a while until Hector’s mattock broke through an old four-inch pipe, unleashing a flood of water into the trench. Macklin was laughing hard at the sudden rush of water when he climbed out of the ditch. Boots were expensive and he didn’t want to ruin them with mud. He was just turning back to tease Hector when he saw the man’s face twist in sudden pain and his arms shoot outward. Macklin knew what had happened and was moving even before the cry of help left his lips. He caught Hector by the collar and one arm and yanked him out even as the shock flung him sideways onto the dirt. Every joint hurt. He tried to raise himself up. Hector lay before him eyes and mouth wide open, not stirring. Everything seemed to be moving slowly. Macklin was on one knee. He was rising up, only to be bowled over by a crane operator and Devicenzi who and come full speed. They lifted Hector into the air. “ One, two, three.” With that, both men let go. Hector dropped on his back onto the packed ground and the crane operator began to blow into Hector’s mouth while pinching the unconscious man’s nose. Macklin heard the gasp and cough that followed, and rolled onto his back while tears filled his eyes. The boss picked him up and shook him, “You okay?”
“Yeah, just sore. I’m fine.”
“Good, then you’re fired. Get your ass off this site right now.”
“I didn’t bust that pipe.”
“Those wires on the ground?” Devicenzi pointed accusingly.
“Yeah, I pulled them out, but you cut them first and told us to hack through the pipes.”
The boss leaned close to him, “But that’s not the story I’ll tell. Now get off my site. I’ll mail your time to you.”
“Hector saw what happened, you asshole.”
“Hector is lucky to be alive. Hector doesn’t have a green card. Hector sometimes forgets he knows English, especially when people come around and ask questions. Now get your ass out of here or do I have to do it for you?” Others had come up behind them. Macklin looked at the man and then at his shovel on the ground. “Don’t even think about it. I’ll break you in half before you get that far.” The boss held his fingers an inch apart. Macklin moved slowly away toward his lunch box and jacket while six sets of eyes followed him.
Marci took the news better than he had hoped, better than the last time few times he had been let go. She was still on a high from her pleasant afternoon after the attention from Dr. Ruiz and her ride to lunch and back in his beautiful, sporty convertible. “You’ll find something soon,” she said, “I know you will.” The ride home in Macklin’s old jalopy only irritated her a little less than usual.
“I hope so,” he said. However, the next two weeks brought no work, no leads, and Macklin began to grow desperate. It showed in his dress, in his face, in his eyes that seemed to lack their usual sparkle. His grin was gone.
Marci found Doctor Ruiz now teased her a little or gave her a nod as he passed. What she noticed even more was his quiet authority and the deference others showed him. This was an important man, medically correct, dynamic, forceful in a quiet way, and always self-confident. His confidence was a shocking contrast to Macklin’s struggle to find himself, doing what she wasn’t sure.
Not finding employment in the city, Macklin decided to look across the bay in Oakland or Alameda. “I’ll stay over with a buddy so I don’t have to fight traffic every night. That okay with you, Marci? How are you going to get around?”
“With these legs?” She hiked up her uniform to show him a little thigh. “I’ll be okay, she teased. She remembered his sensitivity almost too late. But the sleek curve of her calf and the well-defined thigh had already sidetracked him.
“Hmm,” he said, reaching his hand to caress her. As often as he had done this, it still excited him.
“Not tonight, Macklin, I’m really exhausted,” she said brushing his hand away. “Here,” she said, reaching into her purse. I don’t suppose you have much in your wallet.” She gave him a look that he interpreted as tiredness, although it could have been something else.
“Thanks,” he said, pocketing the money. She looked at him.
“Macklin, what are you going to do with your life?”
“I’m trying, Babe, I’m really trying. I’ve pounded the pavement for days. I just can’t seem to connect anywhere.”
“I don’t mean that, Mack. What are you going to do with your life? Are you going to do what you’re doing now all your life?”
“Oh that,” he said. “It’s not a good time. I can’t do this right now, Marci; I’m feeling beat up.”
She turned without comment and left the room. He could hear the shower running and then silence. Instead of risking further escalation of what was sure to become a nasty argument, he went out for a walk all the way up to Nick’s for slow beer. When he returned she was asleep. He slept on the couch that night. In the morning, she was up and gone before he awoke. Marci customarily left him a word of encouragement, a smiley face, something. There was nothing this time.
About ten-thirty that morning Doctor Ruiz caught her taking a coffee break in the little hospitality room across from the nurses’ station. “Donuts this morning, Marci?” She unconsciously tightened her abdomen and smiled back.
“And you never eat one?” she jibed.
“Quite the contrary, Mi Corazon,” he said. “I love them, and I’m under my lifetime quota.” He took a raised jelly donut from the box and set in on a napkin while he poured coffee.
“And how many would that be?” asked Marci, warming to the game, flattered that he was going to sit and have coffee with her.
“One hundred thousand, plus or minus, works out to about three per day.” They laughed together as Marci felt a warm feeling beginning to spread to every part of her body. “So where’s Old Betsy? Did she finally explode or simply rust away on the street?”
“And what makes you think I didn’t drive her to work today?”
“I didn’t smell the usual heavy aroma of exhaust and burning rubber when I drove in.”
“Macklin has it. He’s looking for work across the bay, probably be gone all week.” She stopped and paid attention to her donut. She didn’t need to add the last part; none of his business was it? When she looked up, she saw his eyes fixed on hers, nice eyes, soft and brown, intelligent and friendly.
“Does construction doesn’t he?” asked Ruiz.
“My God, nothing escaped the man. He’s a magnet,” she thought.
“I have a friend, actually left med school to run the family construction business in Hayward, who now makes twice what I do. Why don’t you give your fellow his number (he handed her his business card with penciled phone number on the back) and tell him to be sure and say that I recommended him. Have him ask to speak with Mr. Charles Hanratty directly. Use my name. He told me that he can’t get enough good men. Knowing you, I have no reservations about recommending Macklin.”
“That’s so nice of you, Doctor,” she said.
“When I share the intimacy of donuts, I prefer to be called Vincent, and next time I get the banana-crème bar with the chocolate on top, deal?” he grinned.
“Yes...”she hesitated, “Vincent.” He hurriedly wiped his mouth with a napkin, checked his watch, and put his hand on her shoulder as he was leaving. “Now have him make that call.” She felt his warmth. She thought about it again an hour later when checking a patient’s pulse and felt her own pulse racing. Macklin called that evening. As she gave him the number, she repeated the good doctor’s instructions. “He said to be sure and call; don’t wait, Macklin.” Their conversation was cordial but seemed to have gaps she was not able to fill. “I’m a little tired, Mack,” she explained. “I’m not focusing well. I think I need a hot shower and some rest. You doing okay?”
“Sure, honey, I’m fine. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Just tired. Call me in a day or two. You don’t have to check in every night, you know.” She hung up and looked for her bath oil. Tonight she would soak in the tub with soft music and just a light in the hallway. She hoped Mack wouldn’t be too stubborn to call Vincent’s friend.
Macklin was short on options. He called the number Marci had given him and was hired for a job near Emeryville. Although the job looked promising, he did not want to tell Marci right off in case things did not work out. He began to think about what steady employment might mean to them. It was only his third day on the job when his sharp-eyed construction superintendent, Joe Spediacci, pulled him from his work to fire a number of questions at him. Then, satisfied with his answers, told him to just sit outside while he made a few phone calls. When called back inside, he saw a grin on the man’s face. “Something wrong?” asked Macklin.
“I wouldn’t say that,” began Spediacci, but I can offer you at least six months steady employment, six days a week, if you can guarantee me punctuality and sobriety.”
“I really don’t drink much, Mr. Spediacci, that is I don’t have that kind of a problem even if I do enjoy a beer or two from time to time. I’ll do the best I can on punctuality, but I have to commute from San Francisco every day. I never know what’s going to happen with the traffic even if I leave real early.”
“Own a place there or rent?”
“I’m renting a place in The Mission.”
“That your wreck parked over by the materials lockup?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Shit, Kid, you won’t last a month that way. Tell you what. I need a good man, but I also need some security on the site, no strong-arm stuff just someone to call the cops if anything looks suspicious. We have a fully equipped trailer. You get that to stay in plus you get a hundred and seventy-five smackers a week extra for being on-site. We pay everything, including utilities. Interested,” asked Spediacci.
“You bet I am, but I have a woman. She works in The City. If I’m here every night, I’ll never get to see her. She’s a part of my life.”
“Hell, that’s no problem. You don’t have to be here all the time. You can have a regular life, see your girl and stuff, have her stay over on her days off. We just like a close watch between 10 p.m. and 3 a.m. on Friday and Saturday nights and a random schedule otherwise. That the only problem?”
“Well, I was fired from my last job. I mean I really didn’t do anything wrong, and I’m still a little sore about it,” confided Macklin.
“Son, let me guess. Devicenzi screwed up and nearly got you and an another guy electrocuted, and then he blamed it on you to save his own skin from a lawsuit?” Macklin’s jaw dropped, and he was unable to think of a quick reply. “Can’t keep much quiet in this industry. I heard about it, and the first thing I said was, Devicenzi you have always been a lying son-of-a-bitch. I got the real answer about a week later from some guys who work with him, work with him not like him. That’s why I was laughing. You are really a hero, aren’t you?”
Macklin just shrugged and looked away.
“You saved that other guy’s life and risked yours doing it. That counts you know?” Macklin didn’t reply but nodded. I figured you for an intelligent, on-the-ball go-getter. That’s why I had you step out and made a few phone calls because I’m always looking for good people. When I saw Devicenzi’s name on your application, I recalled the scuttlebutt that was going around. I had to check to see if you were the guy he tried to fuck over. So you want the deal?”
“Very much, Sir.”
“Just call me Joe. I’m glad you made that decision.” He extended his hand. Macklin shook it and for the first time felt like his life had taken a dramatic change for the better.
It was nearly quitting time when Hilda approached Marci at her station. “I need you to stay’ we’re really backed up and I have three people off tonight.”
Marci smiled weakly. “I can give you a few hours, three maybe even four, but I’m tired, too. Is that okay?” She’d grabbed a light snack to keep her going around six p.m. At 8:30 p.m. she was still not through updating her charts as Hilda came by.
“Go home, Marci, we’ll get by. Thanks.”
“I’m fine,” she replied. “I only have to make a few more entries. I really should get things set up for tomorrow before I leave tonight.”
“You were dozing off last time I came by,” said Hilda. “Better give those to me.” With that she plucked the files from Marci’s hands and laid Marci’s coat across her lap. “Now go.”
The cool evening breeze revived her a little as she left the hospital. She checked her watch and decided she may as well walk to the next bus stop as stand there and wait. She did not even hear the automobile as it came up behind her. The quick toot of the horn made her jump. Doctor Ruiz, You nearly scared me to death,” she stammered.
“Saw you walking. What are you doing here this late?” he asked, reaching over to open the door for her. She hesitated. She couldn’t very well refuse, she decided, and slipped into the white leather seat. Not to get in would be foolish and insulting. “I figured you might not want to walk through this area at night. I’ll give you a lift. I was working late myself.” He smiled as he eased into traffic. “Mission right?” he asked. She nodded and smiled and then closed her eyes and gave into the softness of the seats and the music and the gentle motion of the Mercedes. When the car gave a little lurch, she awoke. They were in front of the Sir Francis Drake Hotel, and Marci realized that she had been transported downtown instead of to the Mission District.
“Doctor Ruiz?” she questioned, but she immediately knew exactly what was coming. Hadn’t she been flirting with him, not unexpected was it? He smiled back at her. My God he was handsome. What would Macklin think?”
“I know you are tired and so am I because I’m covering for Doctor Spencer until 9:00 a.m. tomorrow morning so I have to get right back. When I came by your station earlier, your eyes were closed. I insisted that Hilda send you home for some rest.”
She thought that the entire world must have seen her sleeping at her post. What an embarrassment, she thought. “So what are we doing here? She asked, affecting a sleepy girl’s demeanor, her mind was now fully alert, her pulse again racing. Just being next to Doctor Ruiz in his convertible was enough to accomplish that much without the thought of spending the night or a few stolen hours with him.
“Look,” he began, “I maintain a nice room here for times when I can’t trust my tired nerves to get me all the way back to Saratoga, especially after long shifts. Mostly I just lend it to visiting doctors or use it when I need a private place to relax and study. You are a very special person and an excellent nurse. Enjoy yourself. Doctor’s orders.” She began to shake her head and protest when he leaned back in closer to her, put his finger to her lips, and said, “Just enjoy. You mentioned this morning that your Macklin was out of town looking for work, and I’m obviously not using it. The suite has its own whirlpool bath, the linen is clean, and you can order whatever you like from room service. Don’t worry about anything as I write it all off anyway.” He placed his keys in her hand. “Robert (he pointed to the approaching valet) will park the car and someone else will fetch it for you in the morning. You work hard so why don’t you just enjoy a good night’s rest and drive yourself to work tomorrow in style. Just drop the keys off when you come in to work. I might not be there but you can leave them in my box.”
“Doctor,” she began to protest. He was already out of the car and motioning Robert to get him a cab.
“No arguments please,” he said. With that he was gone and she was handing Robert the keys. Her head was spinning. This had all happened too fast. As she stood transfixed, she felt her tiredness return and simply sighed. She hadn’t done anything wrong had she, she thought? Well, why the hell not. She deserved some luxury after all the hard work of the last eighteen months with Macklin. God, how good a whirlpool and clean linen sounded.
“I see the good doctor has brought us another patient,” Robert joked. “I’m Robert, and if you tip me Doctor Ruiz will have my head on a platter. I’ll have someone show you to your room.’ He seemed to know she didn’t have luggage, didn’t ask and didn’t look.
“Does he bring a lot of guests here?” she asked, faking an air of disinterest.
“Oh no. Sometimes other doctors. He is a proper gentleman, Miss, the best sort I believe. He’s very generous and kind to all of us. You must be very special, very special indeed. She merely smiled in return. “Please follow me,” he requested.
Marci closed her eyes in the dimmed bathroom and let the bubbles swirl around her. There was cold champagne on a dressing table, and she poured it slowly, holding the long-stemmed
goblet above the froth. She felt only a tiny guilt about Macklin batching it with a friend. Soon the warmth from the bath and the champagne began to take hold of her. Towels were carefully placed on the counter next to her, soft and as inviting as the room. It wasn’t until after she had toweled off that she noticed the small envelope with the blue ribbon on her pillow. It read, ‘Marci – Do Not Open Until Morning.’ “I’m going to open it right now,” she thought but instead held it to her breast as she snuggled between the clean, crisp sheets under the quilted comforter. The light was still on by her bedside and the envelope by her side when she awoke the next morning.
Damn, she thought. It was 6:30 a.m. and she wasn’t even up yet. She quickly found the envelope and opened it. Inside was a card that said, “Look in the closet.” There she found a large package, elegantly wrapped, adorned by another blue ribbon. There were no cards. Obviously she was meant to open it, wasn’t she? She fumbled with the paper. Then, lifting the lid, she gasped. Inside was an expensive black evening gown. As she lifted it out and held it up, another envelope tumbled to the floor. She read it twice to make sure she did not miss a key word or phrase. Neatly written in his beautiful hand it read, “You are the most dedicated and beautiful woman I have ever had the good fortune to know. Please put this on and see how it fits. I think we would look elegant together, and I cannot imagine anyone I would rather dance with. Perhaps we could do a night on the town?”
Without waiting, she let the dress fall over her shoulders and down over her hips. Even before she turned to see herself in the mirror, she knew that the result would be breathtaking. How could he know her size so precisely? Everything about the Doctor seemed to surprise and please her. “Yes. Absolutely yes, Doctor,” she said as she packed the dress and rushed to put her uniform on. Despite his instruction to order room service, she was afraid her lateness would cause tongues to wag. She just had time to run home, change, stop at McDonald’s on her way to work, and return Doctor Ruiz’s automobile before her shift began.
Macklin left several phone messages attempting to share his wonderful news. Marci would be astonished at his good fortune. He was sure she’d like the trailer when she saw it. It brought up a problem as far as their place in the Mission District. He really couldn’t ask her to give it up and commute from the East Bay. He knew they’d work something out. Perhaps with the money he saved they could really afford a decent automobile and eventually a down payment on a place of their own. They could go out more often to movies or supper at a restaurant for a change. He needed some new clothes while Marci would be able to use her checks to get things for herself, things she desperately needed. It would work out; he knew it would. He couldn’t make it home that week, but talked to her twice later in the day. The next week she said she had some plans so don’t worry, they could get together the next Saturday night and spend all day Sunday together. And they did.
After that his work and hers kept their contacts to a minimum. Joe suggested he take evening college courses he needed to graduate over the next year and a half. He assured him that the on-site experience he gained and the help Joe could give him would help secure his position. Meanwhile, Joe would show him how to organize jobs and a little of the duties of estimator, bidder, and project manager. There was lots of work coming down, and they would need their own men, men who were familiar with their methods. Macklin would be no longer be shopping around for a job every few weeks. If work came in steadily and he made progress, he could choose his own route within the company at that point. He tried to describe his options to Marci with little success. She seemed a bit distant with him. It was almost a month later when Marci suggested their lives had taken different turns. “I like living my own way, Macklin,” she explained over the phone one afternoon, “so maybe we should just back off and give ourselves a little space to find ourselves.”
“Marci, I don’t want to have this conversation on the phone. Have I done something wrong?”
“Of course not, Mack. I just need to be by myself. I need to figure out my life, too.”
“It sounds like I’m being asked to step out of our relationship? Is that it, Marci? Now that we are starting to get our lives together you want to go separate ways. How long is this supposed to last? I just don’t see what’s happening here, and I don’t understand why?”
“If that’s the way you want to be, fine, Macklin. I’m saying I need some time to myself.”
“So how long do I help pay rent on the Mission and not get to see you?”
“So this is about money?” she said.
“I don’t know what it's about,” Macklin replied. He was determined not to lose his temper or even appear irritated. “I’m trying to find that out. Have you met someone else or are you just tired of me?” His world was falling apart on the phone. There had never been anyone but Marci for him.
“If that’s what you think, fine. Why don’t you just come over when you can and get your things? You can move out to your trailer in the mud flats. You have a key. Just leave it on the kitchen table.”
“Marci?” His voice was soft now, almost pleading. “Please, Marci, let’s not to this, not after all we’ve been through. I’m sorry if I got you upset. Let’s just not do this, please, Babe? Whatever is wrong, we’ll work it out. Our lives are just changing, and we’re going to be happy; things are turning around in a big way. Please, Marci?”
There was no response for a long time. Finally, she said, “It’s not going to work out for us, Macklin. I have to get going with my life. Just get your things, please.” With that, she hung up. Macklin walked around for a while, got in and out of his old car several times, and then sat on the bumper and put his head down in his hands. He was in that position when Joe found him.
“Hey, you okay?” he asked.
“Just some woman trouble. I’ll handle it,” replied Macklin
“How bad?” asked Joe.
“Real bad. She wants me to get my things and get out.” Macklin explained.
“Don’t go over there to get your things today,” suggested Joe. “That’s a bad idea. Trust me. Come on, I’ll take you to a place I know on East 14th Street and we’ll toss a few down and talk this out.” Macklin nodded because he was incapable of more at the moment.
Three months later Marci’s affair with Doctor Ruiz abruptly ended. He announced that had taken a position in Boston and told her how much he had enjoyed her company. He probably wouldn’t be coming back to San Francisco. “I could find a job in Boston,” she said.
“I don’t think you really understand, Marci,” he replied. “I enjoyed being with you, and we were good together, but I’m not taking our relationship back to Boston.” She felt her legs growing liquid as she got out of the Mercedes.
“I’ll see myself in, thanks,” she said and turned without looking back. It was hard to miss the wobble in her walk as moved toward the steps leading upward. As if this wasn’t shock enough, a remark by one of the nurses brought her up short the following morning.
“Well, I’m not too surprised that Doctor Ruiz chose Boston over New York,” she said. “I heard he’s back with his wife after their separation. Guess he wanted to be near his kids.” Marci showed no sign she had heard as the other nurses nodded. She pretended this was old news. She had kept her relationship out of the public eye and now suffered privately. She stood and slowly left the nurses’ station to pick up her pay envelope in her mailbox on her way out. She fumbled with the envelope as she made her way down the hallway. Despite the openness of the hall, she felt confined. She needed air. Inside the envelope was a memo attached to her check. In italics it proclaimed -
Due to unforeseen events, revenue shortfall, and recently hiked HMO costs, we regretfully must terminate some of our most valuable employees. Your date of hire and experience unfortunately places you in this category. We will attempt to assist you in seeking employment elsewhere should you so request. Please accept our deepest regrets.
She folded the paper and placed it back in its envelope. She had the rent coming due and scant savings. What little she had put aside, she had already spent on clothes for her dates with the doctor. What now? She opened the door of her darkened house and looked inside. Macklin had taken his chair, his music collection, his clothes, and the rest of his things last month, coming during the afternoon when he wouldn’t see her and leaving his key on the table. No note, just his key. She sat on the bed in the cold room for a long time before she wrapped her quilt around her and laid down. She had eaten out so often that she had not restacked the pantry. She checked the phone answering machine but, as usual, there were no messages.
The following Wednesday she finished her last day at the hospital, put off the landlord with a hard luck story, and began her search for new employment. As the days rolled by, she began to experience the desperation that comes from looking for work that doesn’t exist. Surely nurses were needed elsewhere? Of course transportation would be a problem without Macklin’s old wreck. Fruitless days stretched into weeks while lonely nights were almost unbearable in the partly empty house. Perhaps another line of work, she thought. She visited secondhand clothing shops to sell the pretty things she’d begun to acquire when she had bedded Doctor Ruiz and waited for Macklin to call her. She stubbornly held onto the black evening dress for one more week before selling it to a shop called ‘Barely Used’ for food money. She’d stupidly refused to ask Macklin for his new phone number when he had called. Now, no one seemed to know how to reach him, at least that was the answer she got when she called his friends. There were still no messages. Her phone would soon be disconnected when she could not pay her bill.
It was already seven p.m. on a Friday night. There would be no looking for work on the weekend. She sat on the edge of her bed to rest her feet, tired from walking the city looking for work. It was for no particular reason that she looked up at her nearly empty closet and saw her red skirt with the short hemline. It did not reach mid-thigh. She put it on and looked at herself in her full-length mirror. Her stomach had all but disappeared between her hipbones. She smiled as she smoothed the skirt over her legs and buttocks, and then tucked in a black silk blouse as she turned to admire her profile. “I’m still pretty,” she thought. The rent was due, actually overdue and payable in full next Tuesday or she was out on the street. No sad tales would buy her even a two-day reprieve. She put on new heels that she bought to go with the black evening dress Vincent gave her and walked suggestively across the bedroom floor, watching herself in the full-length closet mirror. She grabbed a thin sweater before locking the door on her way out to stroll down Mission Street.
Copyright © 2004 R. G. Larsen
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