We've all seen it at one time or another. A beautiful couple gives birth to an ordinary or even ugly child and the mousy couple gives birth to a stunning beauty. So it is with the main character in this story. I know such a person as Anna but this story is pure fiction.
Anna's parents came from Europe. Her father was a tall blond from Poland and her mother a red-haired beauty from Ireland. Yet poor Anna was stuck with the wrong branch of the DNA. She was six feet and then some in her socks. Her face was plain with a broad forehead, long jaw and beaked nose. Most of her height was in her legs. She wore men's jeans with a 30 inch waist and 36 inch inseam. Her hair was neither blond nor red but a sad mixture resulting in a rough brown. Her height served her well in obtaining a volleyball scholarship to college where she majored in business. But there was little demand in the sales and marketing field for a tall and unattractive woman; BS degree or not. She wound up working in the customer service department of the phone company. Her most redeeming quality was a melodious, deep voice which soothed angry and confused customers who called to complain about their bill. She was so good at her job that her supervisor would not promote her knowing that she could not replace her at that salary with anyone of her skill level. And so, by 1992 she was four years into her career with little to show for her work. She lived in a studio apartment in a fairly large building. What few contacts she had outside of work consisted mainly of girl friends and occasional arranged dates which rarely went past the first night out. She had a brief affair with a guy at work who was married and made all sorts of promises to her, none of which were kept.
Bill graduated with a degree in chemistry in 1962 and immediately went to work in a plastics plant. Upon his 30th anniversary with the company he was informed that he could take a buy-out or get laid off. His position as senior manager of a company being downsized in an attempt to compete with overseas suppliers did little to guarantee his job. So, at the age of 52, he took the buy-out. Divorced now for nearly 8 years from a woman who could not bear the thought of living with a man who could not give her a child, [a bad case of mumps at age 23 left him sterile], he sold the house and moved into a two room apartment in the same building as Anna, .
Bill rarely saw many of tenants of the building. Occasionally he rode in the elevator up to the sixth floor with Anna and some others, but most of the time he took the stairs in a vain attempt to maintain a semblance of a good frame.
And so it was on a cold and blustery Friday afternoon, he was pulling the mail from his box in the lobby when he noticed a couple of letters on the floor. He picked them up and saw Anna Czerwinski's name and apartment number. He could have just shoved them in the outgoing mail slot and let the letter carrier sort it out but then he decided to do the nice thing and bring them to her door. He entered his own apartment and tossed the mail on the end table. He went into the kitchen and started his ritual of Friday spaghetti, based on a secret recipe his mother had given him years ago. With the sauce coming to a simmer, he picked up Anna's mail and went out to her door. He knocked lightly several times and she opened her door just a crack, with the safety chain still attached.
"Hi, I'm Bill Wilson. I live in the corner apartment. I found a couple of your letters that you must have dropped on the floor of the lobby when you picked up your mail."
He could see only a small portion of the long face that peeked out at him with a suspicious stare. He passed the letters through the crack. They were quickly snatched and the door slammed shut.
"Well, shit," he thought. "So much for being a good neighbor." Suddenly he heard the safety chain being snapped and the door opened. In a voice that reminded one of Lauren Bacall she said,
"Thanks for bringing up my mail. One of these is my yearly bonus check. I'd have been in deep trouble if I'd lost it. I didn't mean to slam the door in your face. It's just that I don't know anyone in the building and I was a little surprised. I thought it was some sort of scam.......or something"
"Aw, that's ok, as long as you got all your mail. That's what's really important. "
Now he could see her face and most of her shoulders as she leaned out of the door.
True, she was not a beauty by any stretch of one's imagination but there was a clean simplicity in her appearance that struck Bill. Although he was used to living alone,
the onset of another weekend by himself suddenly overwhelmed him and in an impulsive moment he blurted out,
"Look, I'm cooking up my famous spaghetti right now. I've made enough to feed a small army. If you haven't already started your own supper, why don't you come over and have some?"
"Oh, I don't think so. I'm kinda busy right now but thank you anyway."
"Well, I'll tell you what, I'll leave the front door open so if you change you mind, just come on in. You'll be safe for sure. I'm old enough to be your father and if you're at all like me, you don't particularly like eating alone every night. So just come on down to the end of the hall. Dinner will be ready in about 20 minutes."
He walked away from her and didn't look back. He heard the door slam and thought that once again his instincts where wrong and he probably scared her off. He went back to his kitchen and finished preparing his meal. He set the table for two places, just in case she might change her mind. He poured a glass of Chianti and was about to fill his plate when he heard a soft knock.
"Bill?" said the low and sultry voice." Am I too late?"
"No, no. Come on in. I was just about to serve up. Here, you sit there and I'll get you a plate."
At first there was little conversation other than a glowing compliment to the cook.
"This is the best I've ever had," she exclaimed.
Bill went on to tell her how his Irish born mother was an accomplished cook in an Italian restaurant while he was growing up. Eventually they began to talk about their lives, sharing with each other the ugly side of being in the work force. As she relaxed in the presence of this fatherly figure, she began to pour out her frustration of doing the same job with apparently no path to a future. She frowned when Bill told her how he had been ushered out the door of a company he helped to build. He wasn't sure what he was going to do but his interest in coins might prove to be something he could earn some income on. The discovery of 12 nearly mint twenty dollar gold pieces stashed in an old desk he bought at an estate sale brightened his finances as he began to sell them off. After cleaning up the kitchen he showed her some of his collections including a 1943 copper penny.
"It's a fake. They made them out of aluminum in 1943, during the Second World War but there was always the rumor that a few were minted in copper. I keep it as just sort of a curiosity."
As the evening wore on they found more and more in common. A howling wind began to come in off Lake Michigan. It whistled around the windows of the apartment and broke the flow of conversation. Anna said,
"I don't know why but the wind howls loudest in my apartment or at least on my side of the building. It must be the way the building is situated to the lake but sometimes it's so loud I can't sleep. Well, I guess I'd better get back to my place", she mumbled. "It's getting late."
"Ok, he said, but there is one thing you have to do before you leave. In my family it was always a custom that if you liked the food, you have to kiss the cook."
She looked at him with a small smile on her lips.
"Oh sure, I'll bet you say that to all the girls you bring here with your 'famous' spaghetti sauce."
