IN SEARCH OF ANGELIA - TWO

IN SEARCH OF ANGELIA
TWO
JUNE 26, 2006

Lawrence hopes that by the time he put his letter in the mail box, he'll find her second letter to him. He waits with anticipation.

"You think she’ll send you another letter if you don’t respond to her first?" Lilly admonished. She had called him two days ago wondering why, according to Angelia, he hasn’t responded to her letter. "For crying out loud, do you realize how insulting that is to a woman . . . or any one? She had reservations about contacting you first, but I assured her it’s okay; that you would be excited to hear from her. Now, you’re making a liar out of me."

So, Lawrence composed another letter.

"August 15, 1996

"Dear Angelia,

"I apologize for the delay of this response to your letter. It has been a very hectic month here in Wellesley.

"This afternoon we have a performance--a sampling of what we have been rehearsing all week. I'm playing only in a Bach cantata--which is sensational with the soprano we've got.

"Beginning September 1, I am taking an enormous risk. I don't teach any more. I won't have a salary for a year -- probably not even any insurance, except, of course, on the Porsche. A major (in my imagination) screenplay is developing, and a novel, called In the Hitler Time. It's a Holocaust story. True, the life of one of my violin teachers from 1923-1945.

"I'll tell you about it if you would like to know. A substantial part is written. I have applied for all sorts of fellowships and grants--even a Guggenheim, which is like climbing the Matterhorn, blindfolded.

"Again, thanks for the very nicely implied compliments in your missive. I'm an introvert. I was a fifth grade teacher for years; that's not sexy. I play violin seriously; you lose points on that, too. You know the beer commercials and what the men look like and how they act? I couldn't possibly be farther from the truth. Can't even drink beer. Don't like wine. (Now vodka, that is very good drink.)

"I truly never watch television at my house. If I should watch a video, unless it's a video of an opera, my dog (whippet hound, Claudia) goes under the bed. I used to listen to 100 Reds games a year on radio; big Joe Nuxhall fan. But after the Peter Rose scandal, and Marge Schott, I never listen, never watch. I also used to know football very well. But the stadium always seemed filled with drunken, obscene yahoos--usually an embarrassment to my date. The Icky shuffle and all that -- that was garbage. So I quit it. Some Olympic news has been highly interesting, I will say, but sports fan, I'm not. Almost all women in Cincinnati, it seems, are ardent Reds and Bengals fans, so they don't like my indifference.

"More popular and desirable than elementary school teachers and writers are Type A personalities, on the track to CEO. I have a company, too, actually, I'm highest level management, but we are Misfortune 100 company. Don't take the letterhead too seriously. A year ago there was a New Yorker cartoon, two executives flying business class, exchanging business cards, and the one says proudly, "We have two offices all over the world."

"I also own an airline WolFlight. All our pilots are veterans of the Uruguayan Air Force. During a financial restructuring we have curtailed flights on most routes. We still have the Indianapolis flight. It was supposed to be a Chicago flight, but the pilot was nervous about O'Hare and shortened his route to Indianapolis. North of Indianapolis, he said, there was mist and he couldn't read the Interstate highway signs. Used to be that women were impressed by men who owned airlines, like Howard Hughes. Then Pan Am went under, and all the rest. So if you own an airline you have FAILURE written all over you. And they think I'm responsible for the crazy fares. That's not fair to me. I have only two rates, Day Fare, and Night Fare. Night Fare is less expensive, of course. And you don't pay for your ticket in advance. You pay for your ticket only if we get you there, when the plane lands and you (what's the word?) de-plane. In other words, you have a guarantee with us offered by no other carrier in the world. Yet women hold the airline against me.

"I had a scare last week. I came in, my secretary said a FAX was waiting for me. It was an hour before I could get up nerve to tell her to show him into my office. She gave me a paper and said, "What do you mean, `him.' It's a letter." That was a relief. I thought a FAX was a Federal Aviation Examiner.

"If someone said to me, "We're replacing your record collection. The state is claiming your 2000 disks and CDs. However, we are replacing them with 2000 assorted CDs only string quarters, quintets, and trios--that would be all right with me, for 20 years or so.

"Women want men to be in Olympic Training, or something. I'm so thin I can't lose weight or gain it. I found the bathing suit I wore when I was a camp counselor in Jr. High School, with Jr. Life Saving emblem on. Still fits, though I suppose my certification has lapsed.

"They prefer that you are a runner, that you run, best of all, in August, in mid-day, to your tennis club and back.

"I went over the Williams "Y" to join up and get a personal trainer for the Nautilus program, to build up my back after the car wreck pain. I met several trainers; they gave me a tour, said they would call me back. They never did. Finally I called the Y again and asked when I would hear from my trainer. I guess I didn't pass some sort of try-out exam they conducted instead they referred me to a physical therapist at the Majorie P Lee home.

"I know you are current with this. Stairmaster is a machine of the times, and it's a good one, I assume. Maybe I should buy one. I like the sound of it. I had a rowing machine but had a bad experience with it. I put it in the tub. The instructions, I give you my word, said not one line about not putting it in the tub. (For more sedentary types - "chairmaster" for wolfs "lairmaster")

"Now I am rambling while I should be rehearsing Beethoven. Monday I start big Beethoven and Schubert quartets.

"Looking forward to receiving your next letter, I am--

"Sincerely yours,

"Lawrence"

He fixes his gaze at the sealed envelope, remembering everything he had written. I never talked about her at all, he says to himself. She’ll think I’m trying to be funny to impress her when I am not really funny. And what’s that stuff about the stairmaster and the silly Wolflight airline? And why did I put myself down about my physique? People have always said that I am very handsome; slim, yes, but handsome nevertheless. Angelia had seen my pictures in Cincinnati Magazine. Obviously she thinks I look just fine for a beautiful woman like her. Her self-portrait illustrates that. And Lilly even describes her as gorgeous and intelligent. This is a stupid letter.

The letter finds its way in the garbage can next to the mail box.

"Maybe, I should just get a Hallmark card," he says with frustration. "After all, don’t they advertise that they have cards for every occasion?"

(Still writing the first draft of this short fiction. Actually, I have no idea where this is going.)