Chapter Ten - The Phone Call & The Letter
The Misery of Mrs. Geesky Number 10. The Red Reticule.
BEFORE CHAPTER TEN
Do not say that it is harder for lay people living in the world of senses and desires to sit and meditate…it is hard for each one of us to drop our identification with the things that come to us from our senses and from our desires no matter where and how we live.
Our life as spiritual adepts is to pay full attention to all the work of our lives. The reason for this practice of attention is that when we pay full attention to all the work we come closer to realization. The type of work does not matter - whether it is paying bills or being a supermodel in the competitive world of fashion.
In meeting Jane Firestone, a big time supermodel, we see a woman distracted by daily activities. Annoyed by misplacing her phone, agitated listening to a stranger invite her to a meeting and befuddled when opening an offical letter.
Jane is on her own now. No bright lights and admiring crowds on a catwalk. She’s home. Alone. The first time she must deal with how she wants to live without recogntion.
Whatever our circumstances we benefit from paying full attention to the work at hand - in the moment - without agitation, without complaint…but with full awareness without selfcenteredness (empty of ego).
CHAPTER TEN - THE PHONE & THE LETTER
“Hold your horses!” Jane yells at the ringing phone.
In her den, at her writing desk sorting, in fits and starts, an ever-growing pile of mail she jumps up salivating like a dog and hunts for the phone.
“Where is it?” she talks to herself as searches the usual places - on the long dining room table, on the counter in the kitchen, in the bathroom. All prove unrewarding.
“Holy God!” she shouts aloud in more of a curse than a plea to an unseen deity. The phone continues to ring. Becoming more frantic she deliberates to herself. ‘Who could it be? Did something happen to Susan? The dog? Too early for one of those solicitors to call, even they have their limits.’
Jane Firestone didn’t use an answering system, believing it unnecessary to be available 24/7. The unexpected intrusion, the relentless ring presses her to hurry her search.
‘Something is wrong!’ Her words fuel her hunt. Only a handful of friends have her number. ‘Susan wouldn’t call this early unless it’s an emergency. Dee Dee? She reminds herself, ‘Dee Dee doesn’t have a phone.’
Not quite out of breath she locates the handset on top of the unfolded laundry in a leather hamper at the bottom of the stairs. ‘More work!’ she natters at herself, ‘I forgot to take the laundry up last night.’
“Pay the bills. Fold the laundry. Get the phone!” It rings again. “Hire a housekeeper!” She mumbles and mutters as she straightens up to her full height of six feet with all the self-possession of a showgirl.
“Hello.”
The caller is silent.
“Hello?” she repeats, this time louder. As a question.
Still nothing.
“Ok. I’m hanging up.”
“Wait. Wait. I’m sorry. I…this is Julie Berker. I really am sorry.” The woman’s voice on the other end sounds sincere, even remorseful.
“Who is this? I don’t know any Julie.” Jane snaps at the caller. “Am I supposed to know you?” She chops out the words. “What did you say your name is?”
“No. No. You’re not. Well. Maybe you know me. Maybe?”
Jane hears the woman take a few short breaths.
“You may have seen me in the neighborhood. I’m your neighbor.”
“To be honest, Miss, I don’t know any of my neighbors.”
“Oh.” The woman holds her breath, silenced by her sense of surprise.
“Hello!” Jane not surprised, more annoyed.
“Yes. I’m still here. Sorry.”
There is a jumpy quality, a little childlike discomfort in Julie Berker’s voice. She pleads, “May we start again?” Jane hears the use of the word may and smiles as she affirms with an emphasis on the word may. “Yes. Yes we may. You first.”
Julie laughs, nervous as she senses Jane Firestone will cut her off. “Thank you. Thank you.” Idled by a hiccup of a cough, she continues. “Mrs. Baines.” Julie starts but before she gets very far Jane interrupts.
“Who? Who is Mrs. Baines. I am afraid dear, I don’t know a Mrs. Baines. And what did you say your name was…Julie what?”
“Berker. Julie Berker. Should I spell it?”
“No, Miss. Don’t spell it. What is it that you want Ms Berker?” Jane, used to getting to the point especially when preoccupied by the pile of bills on her desk, wonders if this woman wants to sell her something.
“Yes. Of course. I am calling…Mr. & Mrs. Baines…I know…I know you don’t know them…you don’t know them.” Julie repeats herself which doesn’t help matters.
“No. I don’t know them and…” Before Jane continues, Julie interrupts.
“I know, I know. I know you don’t know them. I am calling for them.”
“Who are they? Are you their secretary?” Jane asks in earnest to understand who this Julie Berker is and what this phone call is about?
“Oh God no.” Julie answers a little insulted. “The Baines are neighbors. They live on the next block over. On the dead-end street by the park. The very big house. It has a veranda. They are. I am not sure what to call them.” Julie mutters. “Concerned neighbors. Yes. They are concerned neighbors. They organize neighborhood meetings. Not that we have that many.” Julie stops to count how many meetings she’s attended. “Now that I think of it, I’ve only gone to one. But they have parties. Holiday fêtes. Lavish. They own the big, maybe the biggest house. On the corner…it’s on a double lot.”
Jane listens. Tries to place the house. “I think I know which house you mean. But really Miss Berker, I don’t know them.”
“Yes.” Julie pokes in an inactive word. “My husband tells me I am the worst on the phone. I prefer face to face, don’t you?”
“No.” Jane stamps the caller with her one-word answer.
“Sorry. Let me get to the point. The Baines, ugh…other neighbors as well…my husband and I, a number of us want to have a neighborhood meeting. And Mrs. Baines asked me to call you. I am calling to invite you to come to the neighborhood meeting.”
Jane Firestone owned her house for over twenty-five years and can’t recall even one invitation to anything in the neighborhood. Up until this year she traveled for work, making her an itinerant resident. All Jane knew about the neighborhood was the house design and architecture. The attraction for her was distinct designs making the value and beauty rooted on how the neighborhood looked and not on who the neighbors were. In some droll, almost comic cleverness Jane matched a face with the style of the house making the style and design paramount. Sometimes it was the variegated landscaping from massive oaks to vast prairie flowers, the colors of the front door, none were uniform, other times it was a gardening inventiveness to hide large paned windows, or a flat green lawn of clover hedged with boxwoods.
“The house with the Foo dogs?” Jane entertains the idea that Foo dogs show power.
“Yes. That’s the Baines’ house.”
“You are calling on their behalf?”
“No. Not really. I am calling on behalf of the neighborhood. They are just hosting the meeting.”
“Well,” Jane hesitates with her habitual word to consider whether she wanted to get involved in anything in the neighborhood. The early hour suggests that something important must be on the agenda.
“Well,” she repeats as she wanders into thinking she might be the subject of the meeting. ‘Maybe the neighbors know of my work. Maybe they want to meet me because of my work.’ Before she goes much further with her mental suppositions Julie Berker fills in.
“I suppose you’re wondering why I’d call so early in the morning?”
“Well,” Jane repeats, “now that you mention it.” ‘It must be they know my celebrity,’ she thinks again.
“I thought so. I’d be wondering. The Baines….”
Jane clears her throat to assure Julie Berker that she knows the house where the Baines live. “With the Foo dogs. On the corner. The big house on a dead end. By the park.” Jane stops hoping to cut Julie off from repeating things.
Julie snickers. “Yes. Oh good.”
Jane imagines round, chubby rich people and Julie a thin wiry minion.
“I’ll be quiet.” Jane promises.
“I’ll introduce myself. The next time I see you on the street.”
“Yes, how sweet of you.” Jane says impatient to hear more of the Baines and what they might want.
“I am calling to invite you to the neighborhood meeting. It will be this Saturday next…in the morning… early before the day gets going. Most of us work. Have kids. The point is, Jane. It is Jane, isn’t it?”
Jane laughs as her earlier foolishness of thinking this minion knows her celebrity. “Yes. It is.”
“Oh, good. I’d hate to call you by the wrong name. I’ll be sure to introduce myself to you so we can put faces on these names. Anyway, the neighborhood wants to meet to discuss something important and everyone feels…” Julie Berker hesitates in her usual anxious way as she searches for words.
Jane hears Julie exhale.
“It will be a short meeting. Just to get the ball rolling, if ya know what I mean?”
Jane is not sure what she means, but she does sense Julie Berker was told not to go into detail on the phone.
Nimble, Jane presumes, “I assume the meeting will reveal the importance of it?”
“Why…yes!” Julie says relieved.
Jane, impatient to end the call, taps the handset against the side of her head as she continues to feel some embarrassment. Mortified, she manages to ask, “When?”
“Oh. Yes. As I mentioned it will be on Saturday. Morning.”
Before Julie gives the location again…Jane intrudes, “Yes. The Foo dogs, the big house, on a dead end…” Before she can finish Julie apologizes for being thick-headed and goes on to say, “I’ll put a note in your mailbox or if you have an email, I’ll add you to our neighborhood watch group.”
“I do have an e-mail. But go ahead and leave the details in my mail slot. It’s not a box.”
“Oh. Ok. Does this mean you’ll be there?” asks Julie in bold advance.
“No. It doesn’t.”
“Ok.”
Julie Berker, a bit bruised by Jane’s bluntness, feels awkward and fumbles to end the phone call. In a palpably clumsy manner she forces herself to say.
“Nice talking to you.”
Jane blinks several times, remains silent as she reconstitutes her detached but friendly status.
Julie, awkwardly, coughs without a laugh and manages to remain polite. “Thank you for your time.”
Jane waits for nothing more than a goodbye followed by a click. With the dead phone in hand Jane drops her head, chinbone against chest while she mentally assails herself.
‘Those days are over Jane, gone for good. Susan is right. My day in the sun is done.’
“Finally! Congratulate yourself, Jane.” She boasts to herself as though she’s won the lottery.
Back at her desk. There in front of the stack of mail she vows to forget the phone call. After a short rummage through a stack of envelopes, she pulls out a hand addressed one. Turns it over in search of the sender’s name. Stamped by hand is the name and title of the sender, Stephen Marchman, Alderman, District 21.
‘I don’t know this guy.’ His title washes away her brief pat on the back for her restraint. ‘Maybe I should call Susan. Or bang on Dee Dee’s door? One of them might know this guy.’
Flipping it from one side to the other doesn’t offer any more clues. ‘Why is an Alderman sending me a personal letter? Something must be wrong.’ The fortitude to go it alone diminishes.
She wants to delay. Wants to take another stab at self-sufficiency. ‘I can handle this.’ Jane bolsters herself with restraint by going through several more envelopes. ‘I’m stalling.’ She admits. ‘Dee Dee and Susan know more about these things than I do.’ A shuffle and shove of several more envelopes suspend a decision; further delays her impulse to make contact with the content of the envelope.
After several fits and starts Jane gives in to her curiosity and opens the letter.
Dear Ms. Firestone:
The City has been reviewing and revamping many of the older ordinances regarding the limitations on unrelated inhabitants living together in one domicile. (Please see Ordinance 6324UID on the City website). The City has called for an open meeting inviting the citizens to come and offer views and concerns. The City is well aware of the call for affordable housing, and it is in this light this ordinance is under review.
I, Stephan Marchman, as the Alderman of the 21st Ward, feel this is an important review that will impact the neighborhoods of the constituents in my Ward. Please consider attending. If you have any questions, please call my office. I personally or a knowledgeable volunteer will return all calls.
I hope to see you at the meeting.
Sincerely,
Stephan Marchman
‘This must be it!’ Her thoughts shut down her worries, but not for long. ‘Why wouldn’t that woman, Julie whatsername just say this was the reason for the meeting?’ The phone call lingers. It pouches out in the shape of an uneasy ghost and haunts her.
‘There is something going on here. Maybe I need to go to this meeting? Why me? If it is not about me, it must be about Dee Dee. She’s an unrelated person living in my backyard.’
‘None of it makes any sense. The phone call. Now this!’ She picks up the letter and shakes it in the air; a gesture to scare away the bothersome thoughts. ‘This is like a summons to serve on a jury!’
On rare occasions when summoned she was excused. She never served. The demands of the fashion industry kept Jane on the catwalk, in front of a camera except for a small number of off days making for limited involvement in the goings on of a neighborhood. And on those few free days Jane was apt to seek out a quest, a sort of adventure where she satisfied a longstanding urge to find something beautiful and something true.
Off and on throughout the rainy morning she returns to the stack of mail, rubs her palm across the opened letter in disbelief. In aimless worry she’d read an advertisement for a cheaper phone system or one of many slick requests for money. One after the other she glances at it and toss one into a green metal can. ‘I didn’t know the City could tell us who we can live with. I wonder if Susan knows about this?’
“Too, too impossible to imagine.” She says aloud giving the thought power to take over her mind. She passes through the kitchen onto the sunroom where she stares at Dee Dee’s hut.
There is a flock of birds flying in and out of the large boxwood she planted earlier in the year. One lands on the railing, another scares the first one off, another one follows all the while chirping and flitting up and down in the air.
She steps outside to watch the birds wash and shake off the water. She recalls her diminishing fame. Fewer shows. Overall she is relieved to be off the catwalk but the found days and weeks of no work require she find an interest in something else. Something closer to home. It turns out to be birds.
The birds are the largest number of tenants in her back yard. Earlier in the year she put up two bird baths and took great delight in the young robins splashing and wetting their wings in the shallow tubs. New to identifying birds she studies each bird assured she can tell a hawk from a sparrow. The muted gray sparrow hawks dive from the telephone wires above into the boxwood making a swift kill of the roosting sparrows. ‘Is it legal to feed the birds? Maybe I should be worried about bird feeders. Bird baths?’ She feels a tinge of ire regarding the laws of occupancy.
The backyard is beautiful. There are over ten mature trees. ‘Don’t worry, not going to cut you down, not yet at least,’ she speaks to the old barren mulberry. ‘Fight for the light you scrawny girls.’ She encourages the volunteer maples.
There is a new fondness for the collage of trees, volunteer maples, a big bold linden along the border, prolific apple and plum trees surrounding the center garden of multiple prairie flowers and one shedding sycamore. The white and purple lilacs amid the wild prairie flowers reach out in praise of the tall, sweet Joe Pie-weed above them. The birdsong, the many-colored flowers, and the rowdy chipmunks settled her back in to the feeling that everything is workable.
With little prior interest in anything outside the world of fashion she was a novice when it came to daily town life.
Jane lives in the Midwest, not quite in the center of the country, just east of the Mississippi. On the plains along one of the Great Lakes. This disinterest once included the flora and fauna as well as the neighbors. All that mattered to Jane was her ability to leave it behind.
The small joys of history were charming but not of great concern. She remembers reading somewhere that her property was once part of the beach which was now over a mile away from any body of water. ‘Hard to believe’ was her only thought on the matter.
“I’ve built a pretty high fence out there,” she says out loud as she turns to go back into the main house. “But maybe not high enough?” She imagines what Susan might say, ‘There comes a time in everyone’s life to settle down. And Jane, this time is your time.’ She laughs.
‘My time alright! I can’t wait to tell Susan about the phone call. The ordinance.’
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