Chapter Twenty - The Neighborhood Meeting
The Misery of Mrs. Geesky Number 20. The Red Reticule.
Before Chapter Twenty
The main character in the HEART SUTRA is the embodiment of compassion. Avalokiteshvara is an androgynous figure. There are several key points to this androgyny:
The teaching is to unite the opposites such as male and female into ONE being, ONE pure existence without division. No up and down, no mine and yours, no like and dislike, no male and female and on it goes. This essential knowledge is required for those who want to transcend the material realm. The material realm is measured and tallied along the lines of opposites.
Also, Avalokiteshvara is the presentation of compassion. It is not compassion of pity or sorrow for another - it is the strength of being along side the other without anything in it for us. It requires all acceptance without measure.
A third point is twofold. Avalokiteshvara’s strength comes from his deep practice of wisdom. The Divine presence of Avalokiteshvara rests his practice on a knowing certainty of the immutable truth. It is not on belief that he rests…he rests on the wisdom in knowledge. He knows this truth through an all-encompassing gratitude. In many traditions it refers to confidence and trust.
Sooooooooooooo…what about Mrs. Geesky? A woman as a child who killerd her baby sister, who grew up in an institution, who became a certified chaplain to sit along side the dying stranger, who was self-supporting, looked after her pets, stayed the long night of dying and cherished her idea she was making them happier -
What about you in your life?
Chapter Twenty - The Neighborhood Meeting
‘It’s time.’ Jane thinks. ‘Not just any old time. Not yesterday. Not my time. It’s time.’ Jane rolls a pen along the mouse pad between her ring finger and thumb. “Time. It’s time.”
She confirms aloud. She sits back and rubs another finger along the edge of her brow in a feeble attempt to measure her worry with time. In the emergence of this odd spot, Susan remains the only one she can talk to, but both she and Dee Dee told her not to worry.
‘The meeting is not about me, not about Dee Dee; the woman living in my backyard. At the very least it might be about my retirement, but Dee Dee leaned more to the idea it was about that strange woman.’
Jane decided to attend the meeting, just this one time; she looks through her closet. Dresses on one side, assorted styles of slacks and jackets on the other…. shoes, boots, sandals underneath. At the far end of the closet is a double rack. Blouses on top…. lightweight sweaters below. Multiple colors and clothes. She picks through and chooses. Footwear. Embossed leather, low-cut black and white tennis shoes. Top. An Italian collared ivory-colored blouse with a long-sleeved, long length design. Pants. An expensive pair; black, straight cut jeans a perfect contrast with her Italian selection.
‘I need a dresser,’ pops up in her mind as she remembers the make-up artist, the dresser, hair stylist all running their hands over her before she ran the catwalk. She looks at her choices hanging together on the back of the wood armoire door.
‘Conservative but chic. I don’t want to stand out. I want to make an appearance and be gone and be done with any introductions. A fast getaway.’
Dressed. Stylish. Her champagne hair brushed back in wisps along the angles of her cheek bones; Jane arrives late.
There are cars lined bumper to bumper along the street. ‘It looks like a big to-do.’ She figures but can’t be certain. She slows down in search of a bigger spot for her Town Car.
‘Nothing, nada.’ She turns around on the cul de sac back through the lines of cars. Surprisingly, there was a long empty section of curb in front of a house with newly planted trees. The space is ample room for her long, luxury car. She doesn’t need to parallel park; she pulls in with ease.
Along the front side of the Baines house Jane admires a pair of Foo dogs, a female on the left, the male on the right. She remembers. ‘There was only the male in Beijing.’ And wonders if the Baines are Chinese.
Jane fobs her car doors and notices a couple standing on the ornate entrance at what must be the front door. A big, white-haired man pulls up behind her in his shiny red Jeep.
“Well,” she says to him as he rushes across the street. “I am glad I am not the only one arriving late.” Courteous and with a smile he looks back pointing at his Jeep and her Town Car.
“We are living dangerously.” He yells. His admonition puzzles her, but she shrugs it off.
She hurries her step to catch up with the older man thinking it important to arrive late with him. “Never good to enter late solo.” She mutters hurrying up the steps. He is already at the door and ignores her comment.
‘Maybe I was wrong altogether. This is….’ Her thoughts are cut off. A thickset, square looking woman opens the interior door and pushes open the heavy storm. Jane stands a head above the older man in earshot of the murmur of voices coming from inside. Unable to distinguish what is being said she notes. ‘A packed house.’ The stocky cubed woman is an obvious greeter, not the woman of the house. Wearing a bright flowered chintz apron over an uninhibited sleeveless dress, Jane admires the younger woman’s showy tan and bulked up arms. Over the competing crowd of voices from inside the woman shouts at the latecomers, “My name is Irina.”
She delivers her name in a stern monotone. Then repeats her name and adds a word. “My name is Irina. Welcome.”
The greeting is polished, practiced, and padded down under the weight of her foreign accent. As Irina makes proper eye contact, she repeats her salutation. Jane is only sure of her name when she reads over the head of the older man the tag pinned on Irina’s apron.
‘The Baines have help.’ Jane assumes as if it is an eyebrow raising conclusion. ‘I need to look into that for myself.’ She notes.
Once ushered in by the stocky woman, Jane scans for a seat, someplace where she can sit down and recede enough to get the lay of the land. The room is stately the length of the entire front of the house. ‘Imperial in size.’ She thinks. Thick rugs lay upon wall-to-wall carpeting. ‘Expensive.’ She tallies. A masonry old brick fireplace is the center of mahogany bookshelves built-in down one wall along to the next. ‘A bookish elegance.’ An exquisite desk is paired with a matching chair positioned and pushed under the fretwork hinting it is not for guests. The set is arranged off-center in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows.
The light piles in and falls across the backs of those in attendance. Those early arrivals assembled in small groups of two and three…. chattering, laughing checking to see who just came in. Jane stands close enough behind, an acceptable distance, from the older man as a shield against all eyes on her as she knew her height alone often drew attention.
A man nearest the door seated in a pale orange chair flies up to greet the older man.
“Joe. I haven’t seen you. It’s good to see. Who is your guest?”
The flyer mistakes Jane as Joe’s guest. Joe turns back to look at Jane and shrugs his shoulders. “Someone who lives dangerously. But I don’t know her name.”
The flyer apologizes to Jane. “Oh. Sorry. Don’t mind Joe. He’s harmless.” Out of redemptive reprieve he offers Jane his chair. Jane in her confident way touches the man’s arm in a breezy manner telling him no need, no need. To herself she adds, ‘I don’t want to get caught up in this man’s mistake.’
She pushes on through the small pairs and little groupings to get through to the double arches leading into an interior hallway. She wants to see the room from another angle. The straightness of the high-backed chairs; she runs her hand along the thick linen fabric.
‘Robust. Long lasting beauty.’ She notes. Each wall is adorned with custom prints, originals high end frames. Oriental rugs, the kind where part of the foot disappears as one steps into it. The windows across from the fireplace are of most interest.
‘Modern, working glass doors. Spanning different times, straddling the outer and the inner worlds.’ They are wide, high and lift into exits and entrances. One side is opened onto the last bouquets of a professional terrace garden.
‘Jazzy colors of flowers arranged along a path of angels. Fine. Very fine. The Baines have money.’ Jane is comfortable. Well used to luxury, she feels at home in the sophistication of the house.
“Excuse me. You’re Jane Firestone.” The voice quivers but seems familiar to Jane. It belongs to a young, freckled faced woman, a red head who touches Jane’s wrist in an unobtrusive way.
“I wanted to introduce myself before the meeting got going. I’m Julie Berker. I called you on the phone?”
“Of course.” Jane looks at the woman without recognition. “I know the name. Yes. Well, it’s nice to meet you Julie….” Jane is comfortable no matter what faux pas is made or by whom.
“Berker. Julie Berker. Likewise. I love it when I can match up a face with a voice and of course with a name. Have you met anyone else?”
Jane does not answer.
“Thank you for coming. We weren’t sure….” Julie Berker stops herself only to add…. “if this was your cup of tea.”
“I don’t know if it is. And no….no I haven’t met anyone else. I got a late start. Just arrived. I was admiring the house. It’s….
Knowing, Julie finishes the sentence. “Yes. It is!”
They both smile.
Jane takes this sympathetic bond to ask. “Do you know what the meeting is about?”
Julie takes a small step closer to Jane as though she is going to confide in her all the secrets of the meeting when a petite dark-haired woman begins to call out.
“Welcome. Welcome. Welcome everyone.” Her diminutive presence is robust and formal. There is something official, a no-nonsense style; something cultivated and conserved over years. A self-possessed control.
The conversations between the twos and threes drain into silence. “Most of you know who I am.” She speaks from her center as the room quiets down while everyone finds a seat. With her dark eyes she reads the faces around her. “There are plenty of chairs…. Please, if you will make yourself comfortable. We’ll get more chairs. John? Irina?” Her husband, John with Irina hastens to count the number of those standing and return with chairs. “For those of us who have not met, I am Mrs. Baines. Mrs. Angela Baines. But….as you already know…. I go by the name Angel.”
‘That explains the garden arrangement.’ Jane says to herself.
Angela Baines continues to search for those faces she does not know. She looks at Jane who is still standing next to Julie Berker and stops. Angel smiles. Stops. Begins to nod her head up and down as she raises her finger towards Jane. “And today, ladies and gentlemen we are honored to welcome Jane Firestone to her first meeting.”
Jane feels squeamish. ‘Uh oh.’ She thinks. ‘Here we go.’ But nothing happens. Angel turns back to the rest of her neighbors and encourages them to introduce themselves to Jane Firestone during the coffee. “I’ll leave it up to Jane to tell us who she is.” With a wink and a tilt of her head at Jane, Angela Baines remains the master of ceremonies; the wink and tilt of recognition to Jane is all she gives. Jane, relieved and bemused watches the spotlight remain on the tiny dark-haired woman.
Mrs. Baines moves to stand more to the front of the group. With all eyes on her she explains that coffee, tea, and delicious cheesecake would be served following the discussion. She reminds them that everyone knew about the meeting because of the hard work of Julie Berker. Mrs. Baines gives a quick thumbs-up to Julie.
“It’s come to our attention, to John and I, as well as a number of you.” Her voice lowers, becomes more somber, more serious, bloated with authority. “I don’t think I need to point out anything. But I do think it is important to remind us that we are here this morning because we have an interest in the well-being of this neighborhood. Many of you have young families, others want to retire here. And those of you who recently moved in know and sense the community, the commitment of the neighborhood to make this a fit place, a safe and congenial…. a neighborly place to live.”
Before Mrs. Baines continues with her plenary speech there is rapid fire pounding coming from the direction of the front door.
Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam!
Irina runs to the front door. Before she can reach the door, everyone hears.
Bam! Bam! Bam!
Followed by, “My name is Irina. Welcome.”
“Don’t give me that! I know who you are. You park on the wrong side of the street! I warned you. What’s going on here? I have every right to know.”
Irina looks at the caller and repeats her greeting. “My name is Irina. Welcome.”
“Stop repeating that!”
Once Mrs. Baines recognizes the voice, she calls for her husband. “John. Please John. See if you can see what is going on.” John freezes in place. “John!” she shouts at him as if she has switched a horse. “Go darling. Go!”
The other men in the main room rustle to get up. “Wait” Mrs. Baines directs them with an uplifted palm. “He can manage it.”
There is disbelief. There is curiosity. The men stand in pause mode. Mrs. Baines repeats. “He can manage it.” The men remain standing. Silent.
John Baines moves through the chairs to make his way to the foyer out of sight of his guests but in earshot. “How can I help you, Rada?”
Rada? Heads turn. The men sit back down. Few if anyone knew Mrs. Geesky by her first name. They glance at one another in surprise. One woman mouths, “Rada? Who knew?” No one knew John Baines knew Mrs. Geesky in this way.
“Don’t give me that!” Her voice is bold…. loud. She is wound up. Irina speaks. “My name is Irina.”
“Shut up.” Mrs. Geesky cuts her off and takes a step towards John who stands behind Irina. “It’s you I want to talk to.” There is a rustle once more from the other room. She hears it. “Something is going on in there. And I have every right to know what? What is going on here, John?” She says his first name as though she has stomped out the life of a bug.
John looks at her like a human taxidermy.
“Don’t give me that look! You! You know. You are in league with the criminals in the other room.”
“Rada.” John mouths her name softly.
“Stop it!” she scolds. “You allowed someone to park in front of my house. A big ugly car is sitting right out in front of my trees. It’s the one in front of a red Jeep. You allowed it, didn’t you?”
She now is facing John at eye level. “Don’t try to pretend. I watched them all come in here. I’ll bring you all up on charges. I am not like you, John. I don’t play favorites.”
The men in the other room itch to help John. “No.” Mrs. Baines whispers. “It will make it worse. Let John handle this.” Mrs. Baines pleads as she moves her petite frame towards the archway near the foyer to block access. The owner of the Jeep searches for Jane and when he finds her, he points his finger toward the front door. “Isn’t that your car?”
Stunned, Jane wonders what his pointing might mean. The women murmur in low audible voices. “She shouldn’t have parked there!” Julie Berker hears the whispers and calls out “She doesn’t know.”
“She should know. She’s lived here for years!”
Julie stands up to defend Jane. “No, she hasn’t. Ok. Ok. Yes, she’s owned the house for years, but she’s never here.” A man jumps in. “That’s right. She has an old caretaker living in her backyard.”
The hum begins to die out. Jane remains stiffened and silent. ‘Maybe this meeting is about Dee Dee?’ This concern is what she thinks.
John speaks in a low even murmur making it impossible to understand what he is saying. The group listens to Mrs. Geesky.
“So, you say. You say lots of things, John. Must I remind you each time? Write it down. Write it down from now on.”
The crowd imagines John. Standing with her hard, hailstone words stuck all over him with his phlegmatic nature as his only defense.
Everything goes silent, followed by the sound of the door closing and whispered words between Irina and John. John, in a slow-witted pace reappears in the archway where everyone was seated and waiting.
“It seems….” in a monotonous report. “Someone parked in front of Mrs. Geesky’s house.”
Before anyone offers a reasonable rebuttal about the street being public property, the murmuring women point to Jane. “It’s her car.” John pierces through any further comments.
“Rada.” He stops and changes it to “Mrs. Geesky. She doesn’t want me to call her Rada now. Has given those of you who have parked in front of her house a stay of execution.” John looks in the direction of Jane. “What this means is you are not required to move your car today. And she won’t report you to the police.” Everyone shuffles, mumbles negatively and laughs. John continues. “She wants you to remember not to do it again.”
Julie Berker is the first to call out. “It’s not a crime to park on a public street.” A man who had gotten up during the kafuffle at the door adds. “Stay of execution? Are you serious?” Two women laugh at the ridiculous nature of her empty threat and her bewildering show of mercy. “Who is she to give us anything?”
Jane is acutely attuned to the heat generated from the woman at the door. ‘Mrs. Geesky.’ She repeats her name to herself. ‘That is the same woman. The woman Dee Dee dead eyed as the reason for the meeting. The strange woman. But this crowd is more like a mob, ready to go after someone.’
Before things get too out of hand Angela Baines takes up her previous post in the middle of the chairs. With her raised voice of authority, she roars. “She.” She stops, lifts her arm motioning towards the foyer archway, “She is the reason for this meeting.” The noise of voices dies down; the neighbors nod and elbow one another to pay attention to Mrs. Baines.
“As I was saying before the interruption.”
“We know…. we know.” One man’s voice clamors over Angel’s words.
Angel clears her voice, straightens up her tiny frame, filling her chest to its broadest edge. “Yes. We do know. We know all the many interruptions we all have suffered. Everyone here has had a run in with her.” Mrs. Baines eyes the man nearest to her when she sees the neighbors who live next door to Mrs. Geesky and stares at them. “Some more than the rest of us.” The room murmurs in recognition.
“What are we going to do about it, Angel?”
“That is a good question.” Mrs. Baines looks up at a woman who is seated near Jane. “That’s what we need to talk about. We need to strategize. Try to manage her.”
The man, a Tim Barrows, seated with his wife Emily, who lives next door to Mrs. Geesky’s raises his hand. Angel gives Tim the floor.
“As we know we’ve had serious run-ins with her. Banging on our door like she did today but in the middle of the night.” Others call out. “Been there.” The man nods in understanding. “Stealing one of our cats.” More uh huhs follow. “Breaking into our gate. To this day she says she didn’t do it.”
“Fake news.” Carl Beist mocks the current headlines. Everyone smiles in understanding. “Didn’t you have her arrested Tim?”
“Yes. Yes, we did.”
“Did it ever go to court?”
“Yes. Yes, it did. She was given a fine and a warning. You know… if you do it again then kinda warning….”
“Has she done it again?”
“Not to us. We steer clear of her. We have locks on our fence gate. We posted signs. The police told us without a sign we don’t have a right to keep her off our property. We also got a dog.”
“That’s a hellava way to live next to someone.” Another woman says, “It doesn’t mean she’s not been a problem. She bangs on our fence now instead of our door.
The call outs and complaints against her continue until there is not much more anyone might add. The words peter out. Most everyone has had something to add. Jane remains quiet, a little dumbfounded when she recognizes the Baines as the couple on the curb in the traffic jam. Nervous that they will try to rope her in, she wants to become invisible. She isn’t sure what to make of this…. didn’t know that a neighbor could be such a problem.
Angel, still standing, looks around and thanks everyone who spoke for giving their details. She then returns to the question at hand. “We need to discuss what we are going to do to manage her. We are concerned neighbors. We all have the well-being of the neighborhood. We need to figure out ways or a way to corral her.”
“Do you have any ideas?” Tim and Carl ask at the same time.
“Whatever we decide we need to stay within the law. We need to post NO Trespassing signs as you did Tim. Make clear our property lines. If your property is posted, it protects your rights. Put up NO Trespassing at the entrance to your house. Put up NO solicitation signs by your front and back door. Lock the gates to your fences. Install motion detecting lighting in places that are vulnerable to trespassing. And if need, put a fence.”
Someone yells. “Put security cameras up!”
“Yes.” Angel agrees. “Camera’s help. But I need to tell you they are not the whole story in a courtroom. It’s not enough. But yes. If you can afford them…. they can be helpful. What we are looking for are lawful deterrents…. things that will keep her away without harming anyone. If you have a dog, post a dog warning sign. That protects you from her.”
Julie Berker adds. “Do what’s best for you, a pain maybe, but best for you not to park in front of her house when possible.”
The crowd moans. The older man, Joe, the longest resident in the neighborhood stands up. “I’ve raised my kids here. I made my livelihood in this city. My wife died in the house I own. Every dog I owned is buried in my back yard. There’s only one thing that works when you have a bad neighbor. You learn to live and let live.”
Another man calls out. “Do we do that Joe by throwing a rock through one of her windows?”
“Hold on. It’s not wise to inflame things.” Angela says to put the fire out. Lock your car. Don’t make eye contact. Cross the street if you see her coming. That’s how you learn to live and let live. Leave her alone.”
“Angel, this is a lousy way to live.”
“I know.” Angel says sympathetically, “but the alternative is worse as Tim can attest to. As we all know. Placate by distancing yourselves. Warn. Lock up. Post.”
“What do we do when it doesn’t work?” Julie Berker asks in innocence.
“I hear you, Julie. I hear you. It is possible….” Angel stops and corrects herself. “Likely. One or more of us will be bulldozed by her. And that is when we support one another. We discuss what the incident was. Have another meeting if necessary and discuss the options. But no matter what happens, we follow the law. We don’t become vigilantes. We call the cops. You can always call the cops.”
Another woman tightens the hold. “Angel is making sense. We don’t fly off the handle. She is our neighbor. She is one person. Yes, I know. She causes a lotta disturbance. But it doesn’t mean we sell up and move. It doesn’t mean we break the law. We start with signs. Keep your distance. Tell your kids to stay away from her. Tell them she’s not happy when they get too close.”
Angel looks around at the faces. “Ok. I think we’ve covered our options. I appreciate your coming. We need to stick together. If anyone comes up with something else, let us know and we’ll send something out to everyone. Julie?” Angel looks at Julie for confirmation. Julie shakes her red-haired head. “Irina and John have arranged some cheesecake and coffee for those of you who can stay.”
Julie Berker catches sight of Jane and calls out. “Are you able to join us?”
Jane shakes her head as she twists and turns her way towards the foyer thinking, ‘Hell no.’ She smiles at Julie and mumbles, “Maybe another time.” She pushes away loose strands of hair on her forehead, stepping and looking down with care not to tread on top of anyone else. “Excuse me, excuse me.” She repeatedly moves hand to hand from one chair back to another. She wants to avoid catching anyone else’s eye as she hears the discontent in the background. No one has caught her or recognized her. Determined to leave she projects a stubborn indifference. Getting to the front door is paramount.
Outside on the front stoop the air is cooler, less sun, more clouds. A wisp of a breeze catches Jane’s loose hair. She has fled. Intact. In the light of day, she recognizes the extended stiff claws, inside ready to scratch.
‘They are out for blood.’ She breathes out. ‘That Mrs. Baines and her camera shooting husband don’t want to get their hands dirty. They are the worst types. Onlookers. Gawkers. No matter what, don’t break the law. Ideologues.’
Jane makes up her mind as she slips away between the Foo dogs. With head down she crouches and fobs her car door.
“Oh my God, what a crazy bunch! I don’t know who is worse, the nut who came to the door, or the ones inside.”
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