White Fox--Chapter 3, Part 3

Before long, Renardo and Corinne skirted the edges of Old Sacramento and approached the Sacramento River.  The expansive mass of water was placid, reflecting the tiered buildings and the yellow and rust colors of the leaf-laden trees.  Soon the sound of hoofs reached the friends’ ears, and in the distance they saw a horse-drawn buggy dragging along a dirt road.  Corinne halted near a bus stop and turned to her right.  Her eyes moved toward the sky, and Renardo followed her gaze.  Behind Old Sacramento loomed a titanic building constructed of grey stone and wide, dark windows that linked to each other with no apparent wall between them.  At the crest of the rectangular edifice protruded the building’s cap, its four sloped sides leading to a flat summit.  Corinne examined the construct and said, “It looks like they finally finished that new building.”

“Yeah.”

“What is it called, again?”

“Con Sumo Tower.  I think the words are Mandarin.”

“No, silly,” Corinne chortled, pushing him lightly.  “I remember now.  It’s Consumo Tower.  You know, as in Consumo Industries.  I think they’re some kind of life insurance company.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Yep.  So what do you think of it?”

“The building?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s kind of a weird question.” He looked more closely at it, paying special heed to the top of the structure.  “Well, it’s really tall.  I’d say maybe three to four hundred feet taller than the buildings around it.  Not something you’d want to fall off of.”

Corinne laughed.  “You’re right about that.  It’s just irritating that—” She stopped abruptly when something caught her attention.  Before Renardo could ask her what it was, she walked briskly away from him.  Rather than follow her, he watched her to see what had so suddenly captured her interest.  To his horror, she addressed a homeless man on a bench.  He was curled up in a ball, his face was dirty and stubbly, and he wore a stained grey sweatshirt, loose jeans, and some scuffed tennis shoes.  His long brown hair fell to his shoulders, oily and unkempt.  His face was tanned and gaunt.  A green bag lay in a shopping cart beside him, which was pushed against a stone wall crowned by a swath of grass and trees. 

“Hello, sir, how are you today?” Corinne asked him.

The man avoided eye contact with her.  “Oh, y’know, not too bad.  Sun’s out a little bit today.  But times are hard, y’know.  And it don’t look like times are changing.  But it could be worse.  I could be somewhere it’s cold all the time.”

“Yes, that’s true. Imagine if you were in Alaska! Now that would be something.”

The man shook his head.  “Lady, I wouldn’t favor that none.  Too much snow and ice.”

“Yeah, for sure.” Renardo nearly fell over with anxiety when she sat down on the bench beside the man.  “So do you hang out in this spot often?”

“No.  My friend Paul (he’s in the park over there on O Street), he’s mad at me.  We got in a fight ‘cause I called him a drunk.  The fool drinks too much, I tell ya.  All the money he spends on beer, he coulda bought a bike by now.  You get one of them, lady, and you c’n go wherever you like.  But he won’t listen to me.  He’s a drunk, ya know.  Drinks too damn much.”

“I’m sorry to hear that about your friend,” said Corinne.  “I hope that you two can work it out.  It sounds like you’re good friends.”

“Yes, yes, we’re good friends.  We’re old friends.  But he’s just a lousy drunk!”

Corinne’s face fell with genuine sympathy.  “Sir, you look cold.  Do you like coffee? I haven’t touched mine, and you can have it, if you want.”

The homeless man’s eyes tightened suspiciously as he studied her face.  “Oh, coffee!” His body relaxed as he took the cup from her and clasped it tightly.  “Thought you said ‘toffee’ like the stuff they sell in Ol’ Sac.  Don’t like that stuff none, I tell ya.” He took a sip of the beverage and winced.  “Ow, dat hot! Good, though.  Maybe I’ll save some for Paul, but he’s prolly drunk, the oaf.  Thank you! Are you with a church or somethin’?”

“No, I’m not here with my church,” she answered, continuing to look at him with sympathy in her eyes.  “You know, sir, why don’t you take my scarf? That is, if you don’t mind the bright red.  I don’t really need it, and I think it’ll help you more than it helps me.” She unwrapped the warm cloth from her neck and placed it in the man’s hands.

“Lord, it’s like Christmas!” he exclaimed, slapping his thigh and beaming.  “This’ll keep me warm for a year!”

“I hope it does.” She reached out her hand.  “I’m Corinne.  It’s nice to meet you.”

He accepted her hand and shook it with an awkward motion.  “I’m Frederick! Oh, I wish Paul was here so he could meet you, but like as not he’s drunk at the park.  I tell him to stop, but he don’t listen.”

Corinne glanced over her shoulder at Renardo, who had been nervously striking the ground with his toe the entire conversation.  “Well, Frederick, I need to get going, but I hope you have a good day! Try to stay warm!”

“I will ma’am, thanks!”

She left the man’s side and returned to her friend.  They continued their walk toward the river, and Renardo looked at her quizzically.

“What is it?” she asked him.

“Oh, I guess I’m just not used to seeing people help out bums like that.  I’m especially surprised that you gave him coffee and your scarf.  That sure was nice of you.”

“Nice?” She cocked her head to the side.  “Um, I suppose so.  I felt compelled to, I guess you can say.  It’s sort of natural.  I do it as often as I can.”

“Hm….” Renardo nodded, but he appeared uncertain about something.

“What? Do you have some kind of problem with someone helping a homeless person?”

“No, no, not at all.  I have a problem with me helping a homeless person.  I can’t help but think things like, ‘What if this person is just pretending to be homeless? What if I give this person money, and he just goes and buys alcohol and gets wasted? I might do more harm than good.’ Don’t you ever think of things like that?”

“Sometimes. But if I let those thoughts dictate my actions, I would never help anyone.  It’s really easy to overthink things.  There’s such a thing as ‘too much reason,’ you know.  Because at some point, it can outweigh your emotion.  And when that happens…well, all you have to do is look around to see the result.”

They were now drawing near to the Tower Bridge, and Renardo stopped.  He looked at Corinne and said, “You know, you’re a very intelligent and sweet person.”

Corinne averted her gaze from him and blushed.  “Well, um, thank you.”

“You’re different, and a little weird, but it’s refreshing.” He thought that his heart might burst from his chest and fall on the sidewalk between them.  What a poor way to end a nice morning that would be, he thought.  They had enjoyed each other’s company for a couple hours, but he felt that he could connect with her in a way he could never really connect with anyone.  Even when he had moved away from home a few years ago to “start a new life” and make new friends, he could never find that one person with whom he could talk about arbitrary subjects, rant, and laugh.  Surely, it was too early to start a relationship with this woman, but perhaps he could find a way to ensure that they meet consistently.  Was it really possible to make her a regular part of his life, and also hunt for Malvin? What would she think if she heard the story of the agony that wicked man had caused so many families of Sacramento? Would she react as Nathan had? He took a breath and decided that this was a girl whom he would love to know more deeply.  She was more than worthy of his time.

“So I was thinking….Um, if you’d like to—and I hope I don’t sound too aggressive or anything when I say this—maybe we can meet for coffee once a week or something? I mean, this has been a lot of fun so far.  I like talking about things with you, and I feel like I could learn a lot from you.  Maybe some of your goodness can rub off on me.”

“It’s not like you’re bad, Renardo,” she told him.  “I’m sure there is plenty of good in you.  It just comes out in different ways, depending on the person.”

“Maybe.” He plunged his hands into his pockets, something he often did when he was nervous.  “So, what do you think about the coffee thing? Would you like that?”

She paused.  “Well, today has been a lot of fun.  You’re right about that.  And I like the many things we discussed over coffee and while we went for a walk.  But, well….”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know if it’d be a good idea to do that regularly.”

“Um…may I ask why?” Renardo was puzzled.  She obviously had a good time, thought he was funny, and loved his stories.  Was it his appearance? He thought he was rather attractive, and had heard compliments throughout his life that agreed with his opinion.  What could it be?

“Well, I guess you didn’t notice this.” She held up her left hand and revealed a ring that glistened in the sunlight.  “I’m married, Renardo.”

“I did notice that,” he said, “but women wear so many rings today, it’s hard to tell if they’re married or not.”

She said nothing.

“So, you’re married, then.” He tried to hide his fury.  More than anything, he wanted to return home and unleash a series of punches on his practice dummy.  He was never good at handling rejection.

“Yes, I am,” she responded.

“Happily married?”

Her eyebrows furrowed.  “Yes, though I don’t know how it’s of any concern of yours, I’m happily married.”

“Really?” Renardo’s tone was now challenging.  “Is that why you were crying before you walked into the diner earlier?”

She glared at him and shook her head.  Her face reddened, and tears formed in her eyes again.  “I need to get going.  I should be back home by now, anyway.” Without another word, she stormed away toward the east, retracing the route they had taken to get to the area. 

Renardo groaned and leaned against a tree.  He watched as she disappeared into the chaos of cars, construction, and careless pedestrians.  Of course she was married.  He cycled through numerous women he had attempted to date throughout the years, and scowled to himself when he recalled how many times they had rejected him.  He was only in his late twenties, but he seriously pondered whether a woman would ever choose to be by his side.  Perhaps it was not his lot, at this time in his life, to be in a relationship.  Perhaps he was fated to end Malvin’s unholy reign of terror before focusing on his personal life.  So be it.  He should stop while he was ahead, and do his best to forget his feelings for Corinne and the time they had spent together.  He did not really need her, anyway.  He wanted her, and a desire can be forgotten while a need cannot.

Even so, he realized, there was no justification for talking to her the way he had.  In this time of her life, she was fragile, and the piercing words of a new friend were something she did not need.  At some point he would need to apologize to her, and at that time he would explain to her that he understood her reasons for not wishing to meet regularly.  That would be the end of it.  Apologizing would be his way of cutting off their connection.  He sighed and walked back toward Sacramento, hating himself for his poor choice of words in the last few sentences he had spoken to his friend.

“Renardo, you’re such an idiot,” he muttered, his words drowned out by the city’s cacophony.

White Fox--Chapter 3, Part 2

Noticing that she did not want to open up about her problems, Renardo continued his apology (which he had practiced at home, to some degree): “You know, what made the entire situation worse the other day was that I left without getting your name.  And I didn’t give you mine.”  He extended his arm across the table.  “I’m Renardo.”

She took his hand, and he marveled at the coldness, frailty, and subtle strength that were transmitted to him in such a simple gesture.  “I’m Corinne.  It’s nice to meet you, Renardo.”

A waiter came to their table, and they both ordered a French Vanilla coffee.  As she ordered hers, Renardo flashed her a thumbs-up.  The waiter took their menus and walked into the kitchen.

“So, Corinne, huh?” said Renardo.  “That’s a really nice name.  You don’t hear that too often.”

“Yeah, I suppose,” she answered, “but I’d have to say that Renardo is probably rarer.  You’re the first I’ve ever met with that name.  Is it Italian?”

“I don’t know if it’s only Italian, but it is in my case.  I’m half-Italian, and my other half is like a billion other things.”

“So is your mom, or your dad Italian?”

He looked toward the table and shrugged, then mumbled something under his breath.  “Um…what about you? I can’t even begin to guess what you are.”

“As far as I know, I’m British and Irish.  Clearly, I’m a few generations removed from those countries.  I don’t even have a hint of an accent, as you can see.  My grandfather does, and my parents have a tinge of their respective accents.”

“I see,” Renardo remarked.

“Yep.” The young lady began to fiddle with a ring on one of her fingers, and her countenance grew contemplative.  She gazed down at the table.

“Corinne, you doing ok?”

Her eyes returned to him.  “Um, yes.  Sorry, I have a lot on my mind.  I’m normally quite talkative, and I apologize.” She took a deep breath.  “Hey, do you mind telling me what your connection was to that guy you call ‘Mustache Man’? If it’s too personal, that’s fine.  I’m just curious as to how someone managed to get you so terrified, you ran out of the shop.”

“I wasn’t terrified,” Renardo retorted, somewhat offended.  “I was anxious.”

“You were anxious before you jumped up and fled like the place was on fire,” she pointed out as the waiter returned and set down their cups of coffee.  She grabbed the cup as if she were about to drink from it, but then she seemed to reconsider and placed it back on the wooden surface.  “I don’t think a little anxiety would cause such a response.”

“I didn’t flee,” Renardo answered, now annoyed.  “I vacated the premises quickly because I was anxious.”

“Isn’t that fleeing?”

“No, fleeing is vacating an area because you are terrified.”

“But you were terrified.”

“Woman!” Renardo shouted, officially frustrated and amused.  He seized his cup and slurped down half of the piping hot liquid.  “Ok, I was a little scared, I’ll admit.  But I wasn’t terrified!”

“Ok, that’s fair,” said Corinne.  “Then let me rephrase my earlier statement: I’m curious as to how that man managed to scare you so much, you ran out of the shop.”

“Ugh.” The young man snarled playfully at her and started tracing circles around the rim of his cup.  “Well, if you must know, I used to go to school with him.  Now this story goes way back to second grade, so bear with me.  He was a weird kid.  He was always hanging out by himself in second grade, and he had the strangest haircut.  It was like a mullet, but the back of the mullet wasn’t there, and instead there was a long ponytail.  But I’ll tell you this much: you did not want to tell the kid that he had a ponytail.  When anyone says ‘ponytail’ in elementary school, everyone thinks it’s a girly thing.  So when I walked up to him with some of my popular friends one day, and told him sarcastically that he had a nice ponytail, I knew what I was doing.  And to our pleasure, the kid began to cry, and he ran away from us.  I thought that was the end of it, and that he would just forget, as I’m sure I would.  But it was just the beginning.

“In high school, I had a system.  I would go to my first and second class of the day, make a trip to the bathroom, go to my next couple classes, go to lunch, go to my next class, make another trip to the bathroom, and then go to my final class.  Apparently, the kid who became Mustache Man knew my system as well as I did.  One day in my freshman year, after my second class of the day, he and a couple friends followed me into the bathroom, and his two friends held me against the wall in one of the stalls.  And you know what the kid did then? He takes out this electric shaver, orders his friends to hold my head over the toilet, and shaves all of my hair off.  Now you know how it is in high school.  Most people try as hard as they can to look attractive, and there is always a hairstyle deemed more attractive than others.  Well, baldness just so happened to be one of the least favored looks at my school.  And that kid, he knew it.  So he shaves off all my hair, yells, “Nice hair, baldy!” and runs out of the bathroom with his friends.  Too embarrassed to go to the rest of my classes, I stayed in the bathroom all day, and didn’t leave until thirty minutes after school ended.

“He left me alone after that day.  I suppose he decided that he had finally gotten vengeance for me and my friends being mean to him in second grade.  But what he did traumatized me.  After high school ended, I started forgetting about the whole situation.  Then I saw the guy in this very diner the other day, and all my fears came back.  Until that day, he was just a memory, and all the fears I used to associate with him had gone away.  But they returned to me when I saw him sitting there smugly, with a full mustache stretching above his lips.  I thought he might look over at me and start teasing me, or worse.”

“Wow, what a story,” Corinne said, laughing.  “So guys really do bully each other like that? I just thought those kinds of stories were exaggerations!”

“Oh no, things like that definitely happen,” Renardo chuckled.  “My friend, Nate, and I retell the story nearly every time we hang out and reminisce about the ‘good old days.’ Nate was actually one of the friends who were with me when we made fun of that kid back in second grade.  You should meet him; he’s a good guy.”

“Yeah, that would be fun,” Corinne replied, still laughing.  “I’m so glad I’m not drinking this coffee right now, because it would be coming out of my nose.  I just keep picturing these burly guys pushing your head toward a toilet and shaving off your hair.  Oh, that’s too funny!”

“Whatever you say, you bully,” Renardo joined in.

“Oh wow, that’s great.” Corinne shook her head, and Renardo grinned when he noticed that her face was nearly as red as her hair.  “You must have seriously loved your hair to still have such deep fears associated with that guy.”

“I did love my hair, and I still do.” He brushed the fine, golden strands of his hair to the left.

“Yes, Renardo, it’s very nice.” Corinne looked at her full cup of coffee, and then at the window behind her new friend.  “Oh, well, as warm and comfy as it is in here, I’d really like to get some fresh air.  Would you like to walk with me for a little while?”

“It would be an honor, milady,” Renardo replied with a polite bow of his head.  He chugged the remainder of his coffee and patted his pockets for his wallet.  “Just allow me to pay for us, and we can be on our way.”

“No, no,” Corinne objected.  “You paid for us the other day, so I should do it this time.”

“Well, I want to be a gentleman, if that’s alright.”

“And I want to be a gentlewoman.  Why does that sound so weird?”

“Because no one says it, just like no one ever says ‘by gum’ except me.  See, we have a lot in common.”

Corinne’s eyes met with his, and she smirked.  Then she fished out a wallet from her purse and pulled out a few bills.  Soon they received their check and, after she had paid and acquired a paper coffee cup in which she poured the contents of her porcelain cup, they left the diner together and walked south.   They went this way for a few minutes, commenting on some of the overpriced items displayed in windows of the scattered shops, and rubbing their arms whenever they remembered the biting cold.  Then they made west, though perhaps they did not know it as they discussed everything from the weather, to movies, to philosophical ideas and age-old debates.  The traffic had lessened slightly since Renardo had walked through downtown Sacramento earlier; now the streets were littered with drivers who drove around blocks repeatedly in an attempt to find a parking spot.  Visitors walked along the sidewalks, looking here and there with wide eyes, as if they had entered the largest city on earth.  Every half mile or so there was some kind of construction going on: workers coned off and repaired roads, added small structures to business properties, and restored depreciated regions of the city.