situated between two windows, was the focal point of the room. Whoever had lived there previously had dramatically different taste from Celia. The pollen-coated fireplace had been painted with a medley of colors. The outer molding was colonial blue, the middle was mustard yellow, and the inside was a barnyard red. The colors contrasted with the brick surround. The walls around were dark yellow on the bottom and pastel yellow on the top. A golden chair rail surrounded the entire room. Months after she moved in, Celia had abandoned her plan to paint the room a soft creamy white. Now, three years later, she was oblivious of the eclectic array of colors.
She reached to the little round table alongside her bed and lifted the pale lace tablecloth. She pulled out a cigarette from the package taped underneath the tabletop. She used to hide the packs in the freezer, but Kate had once discovered them between the ice cream and frozen corn, and then flushed them down the toilet. Currently, Kate had not caught on to the fact that there was always a fresh pack neatly secured in the little hideaway beneath the table. Celia stretched to the nightstand on the opposite side of her bed. She fumbled for matches, which were stored in a small porcelain box. It was 8:47 a.m.
“Damn!” Out of habit, she glanced at the clock. She wanted to wait for the bells to ring before she knew the time. It had been years since she stayed in bed this late. She lit the match and slowly drew it up to the stick of tobacco that extended from the center of her lips. Leisurely and deliberately, she inhaled to light it and then just as gradually and deliciously, she exhaled a soft swirl of smoke. A cloud puffed out of her mouth, while the rest of it filtered through her nostrils. She rested back against her pillows and enjoyed her moment. The strap to her silky nightgown slipped from her shoulder. She left it down and dramatically savored her habit.
Celia used the first cigarette to light the second. As she enjoyed the second as much as the first, the bells rang. Initially, they rang beautifully and musically and then they chimed nine times. She stared out beyond her puppets, where she could see the top of the old church steeple through her window. She loved the sound from those bells.
From the kitchen counter, her cell phone rang and interrupted her peaceful moment. She threw the covers back, adjusted the straps on her nightgown, and got out of bed. She didn’t check the caller ID when she answered the call.
“Hello?” She crushed the butt in the ashtray.
“Hey, Celia, it’s me. Are you interested in a Mexican brunch at Tequila Maria’s?”
“Kate, how can you think of eating that stuff this early in the morning?” Celia walked to the sink, took a large glass from the strainer, and filled it with water. The small kitchen table sat below a large window, where a rectangular flower box was attached to the outside sill. Celia lifted the screen and poured water into the soil that held pink and white begonias. The strap of her nightgown again fell from her shoulder.
“I like it there. Please come with me. Don’t forget, I’m the birthday girl.”
“Yesterday! Yesterday you were the birthday girl. Not today.” Celia lifted the strap of her nightgown back up to her shoulder. Again, it fell off her shoulder, where it remained.
“It’s still my birthday weekend. Come on, my treat.”
“I can’t be ready for a while. I haven’t even had a cup of coffee yet.”
“I’m not ready either. Tom’s on call and left a little while ago to see a couple kids at the hospital. How’s 11:30? Could you be ready by then?”
“I’ll be ready.” Celia emptied the glass and placed it in the strainer. “I’ll pick you up. You drove last night.”
“It’s quite all right, Celia, I’ll drive. I want to get there.”
She ignored Kate’s comment about getting there. “I’ll be ready at 11:00.”
“I said 11:30!”
“Oh, yeah, sorry, 11:30. I need to go down to Pete’s to get a paper and a coffee first. See you at 11:30.”
She stepped over her clothes that had spent the night on the floor by her bed and went into the bathroom. She pulled out a plastic tray from below the sink and picked out a brown-coated hair band.
Celia stared in the mirror and sighed. Her sleepy eyes, surrounded by smudged and flaky mascara, stared back. Her hair was flattened to the back of her head and tangled by her temples. She gathered it in one big clump and pulled the band around it. The ponytail, which held most of her hair, was high on the top of her head. A few snarled strands didn’t make it into the clustered mane. She didn’t notice how her big green eyes sparkled like sun-drenched sea glass or her beautiful high cheekbones. She saw the bump on the bridge of her nose.
She lowered the straps of her nightgown and let it fall from her tall, thin body. She walked naked to her closet and found her favorite light-gray sweats. In her tattered sweats, she walked to Pete’s for her morning coffee and a Globe.
Pete’s Market was next to the bell-ringing church at the bottom of the hill at the end of her street. The store was famous for its freshly brewed coffee and homemade muffins. For Celia, Pete’s was the only place to shop. It didn’t matter their prices were higher than other markets. She didn’t need a big superstore for her staples of lottery tickets, eggs, cheese, chicken, potatoes, onions, garlic, bananas, ice cream, and cigarettes.
Celia was surprised when she found several Sunday papers still stacked by the cash register. She took a paper and walked to the back of the small store. She ordered a large coffee with cream and three packets of sugar. With the paper tucked under her arm, she took a quick gulp of the coffee. The paper was too large to be handled this way; it slid down to her hip. As she reached to stop it from falling further, she bumped into someone standing to her right. In front of her stood a well-built handsome man with deep, dark eyes. She glanced down and saw a massive brown coffee stain on the front of her sweat shirt. She felt the heat from the coffee seep through her shirt and the hot blush of embarrassment on her face. She had never seen this man at Pete’s before; she would have remembered if she had.
“You okay?” He reached around to the counter, grasped a cluster of napkins, and then handed them to her.
“Yes, I’m so sorry. Did I spill any on you?” The flush intensified on her face.
“I’m all set. I think you got the worst of it.”
“Thank you.” She turned and walked toward the cash register. She left the store as fast as humanly possible.
Celia walked up the three flights of stairs to her apartment. She took the last few sips of her coffee, tossed the empty cup into a brown paper bag by the stove, and pulled the damp sweat shirt off. She filled the sink with cold water and liquid soap and threw in the shirt to soak out the fresh stain.
She walked into the bathroom and gasped out loud at her reflection. Never go to sleep without taking your makeup off. No mascara is better than these dark circles.
Vigorously, she rubbed her eyes and further smudged the mascara. She turned on the water and stepped into the shower.
Orange Margarita
“Good morning, ladies.” The waitress
