Yet another wintry sky blotted the horizon and made the thought of taking ageing bones along with a younger woman's mind to the South Seas.
Malaria?
Crocodiles?
Oh dear. The Hawaii Hilton perhaps and don't go outdoors except to ride in a cab to a restaurant for a lonely meal or brighten the day for the eighth day running by trolling through Ala Moana Center for something not sighted previously. Oh yawn.
Maggie McPherson was sure this episode of her favorite soap was being mistakenly re-run again – it looked so familiar. But then again didn't all episodes look familiar? She thought of booking in at the hairdresser's but they probably would say they had nothing available for another fortnight because they knew she'd only been there yesterday.
It would be a wet day, which was a pity. Everyone would be calling a real estate office and asking to be shown homes for sale so it was little use her calling. Anyway, for some reason her calls were cut as soon as she said Maggie McPherson calling.
The phone rang.
"Oh halleluiah!" she smiled, waltzing to the phone and neatly pirouetting around the sleeping Sabetha.
But that delight fast extinguished: "Hello-mom-are-you-okay?"
"Yes darling, I'm fine. What is the weather like over your..."
"Sorry-mom-must-dash-meeting-the-girlfriends-for-coffee."
Click.
The girls were so good calling her every morning to check that she'd made it through the night. Tim never called; too busy entertaining some slut into bed, the toad.
She poured some milk for Sabetha. Hello, the phone again – this would be another fifteen second breathless call.
"Hi mom. Puff-puff. Just out of bed. Phil the rat has been screwing me again when he knows he helped himself last night. Oooh, I do love Phil and his masterful control of me. You okay-good; the weather is piss awful over here. Bye."
Actually what cold-hearted Elizabeth said was: "(Yawn) You-okay-mum? Great. Bye."
Life had become so dismal that Maggie often thought of going to bed in her best clothes and not walking up but deciding what to wear was so damn difficult these days she usually was diverted before dressing for her final sleep. Twice she'd gotten into bed to sleep until death but decided she preferred other shoes and while up for that change of mind she had calls and forget her intent.
The phone caller had wanted to know her thoughts as head of the household on parents who didn't know where their children were at nights. "Oh, mine are probably safely screwing or doing their nails on the toilet wondering if they are pregnant this time," she'd said. The horrified woman had asked how old were Maggie's daughters and when Maggie said twenty-nine and thirty-two the bitch conducting the survey had said coldly, "Goodbye and thank you for wasting my time."
The caller at the door beautifully dressed had asked her for a donation for the church of something or rather but made no mention of salvation for her so she said frostily, "Not today – I don't donate on Tuesdays." He'd looked pleased and smirked saying that it was Thursday; she'd slammed the door, almost wrapping it around that smirk.
Maggie checked for the mail at least an hour before its normal arrival time. One could never tell if the delivery might be a few minutes early. She yawned and wished someone had been screwing her – oh yeah, she grinned; her back was giving her hell and she wouldn't be able to bear the weight of the smelly beast!
At morning tea time Sabetha began the customary irritation that created a useful diversion: "No Sabetha, it's too early for your evening meal" and she then began recounting to Sabetha some of the splendid meals she could recall from her past life when she cut a fine swathe through town.
Her glasses fell across her face.
Damn, the tiny screw had come out.
When had it fallen out?
She hadn't a clue.
Where?
Ditto but she was unlikely to find it, not with her creaky back and dimming sight. That screw would not have fallen conveniently on the table – no, it would have been swallowed into a sea of carpet. Stupid idiots who made glasses – why didn't they put a rivet through the hinge instead of a screw?
Annoyed that this crisis had ruined her beautifully planned day, Maggie combed her faded red hair, powered the grooved cheeks, put on her baseball cap and sneakers and grabbed her wallet and spare set of glasses. Blast – lipstick; she went back and got it spread reasonably straight. Maggie set off to walk to the town center to get a screw for her glasses from Mr Rich the optician and be screwed – probably he'd charge five bucks perhaps even fifty, the extortionist.
As Maggie was passing Smith, Smith & Smith, hardware specialists she had an idea. Tom Smith might be able to give her a screw – er find a screw in one of those 10,000 box things the Smith brothers stored their wares. Tom was a great bloke and they had gone through school together. On graduation night he'd...Maggie's face colored. Tom had asked her if he could take her home; his partner had gone off with someone else. As her partner was asleep on the floor she went home with Tom via the Town Gardens where they frolicked for almost two hours. God, why was it she could remember foul things like that when she couldn't remember what she did last Friday?
