Sidney Sheldon - A Stranger in the Mirror

“I’m sure glad you came today,” Toby’s father said. His speech was slow. “I wanted to talk to you. I got some good news. Old Art Riley next door died yesterday.”

Toby stared at him. “ That’s good news?”

“It means I can move into his room,” his father explained. “It’s a single.”

And that was what old age was all about: Survival, hanging on to the few creature comforts that still remained. Toby had seen people here who would have been better off dead, but they clung to life, fiercely. Happy birthday, Mr. Dorset. How do you feel about being ninety-five years old today?…When I think of the alternative, I feel great .

At last, it was time for Toby to leave.

“I’ll be back to see you as soon as I can,” Toby promised. He gave his father some cash and handed out lavish tips to all the nurses and attendants. “You take good care of him, huh? I need the old man for my act.”

And Toby was gone. The moment he walked out the door, he had forgotten them all. He was thinking about his performance that evening.

For weeks they would talk about nothing but his visit.

17

At seventeen, Josephine Czinski was the most beautiful girl in Odessa, Texas. She had a golden, tanned complexion and her long black hair showed a hint of auburn in the sunlight, and her deep brown eyes held flecks of gold. She had a stunning figure, with a full, rounded bosom, a narrow waist that tapered to gently swelling hips, and long, shapely legs.

Josephine did not socialize with the Oil People anymore. She went out with the Others now. After school she worked as a waitress at the Golden Derrick, a popular drive-in. Mary Lou and Cissy Topping and their friends came there with their dates. Josephine always greeted them politely; but everything had changed.

Josephine was filled with a restlessness, a yearning for something she had never known. It was nameless, but it was there. She wanted to leave this ugly town, but she did not know where she wanted to go or what she wanted to do. Thinking about it too long made her headaches begin.

She went out with a dozen different boys and men. Her mother’s favorite was Warren Hoffman.

“Warren’d make you a fine husband. He’s a regular church-goer, he earns good money as a plumber and he’s half out of his head about you.”

“He’s twenty-five years old and he’s fat.”

Her mother studied Josephine. “Poor Polack girls don’t find no knights in shinin’ armor. Not in Texas and not noplace else. Stop foolin’ yourself.”

Josephine would permit Warren Hoffman to take her to the movies once a week. He would hold her hand in his big, sweaty, calloused palms and keep squeezing it throughout the picture. Josephine hardly noticed. She was too engrossed in what was happening on the screen. What was up there was an extension of the world of beautiful people and things that she had grown up with, only it was even bigger and even more exciting. In some dim recess of her mind, Josephine felt that Hollywood could give her everything she wanted: the beauty, the fun, the laughter and happiness. Aside from marrying a rich man, she knew there was no other way she would ever be able to have that kind of life. And the rich boys were all taken, by the rich girls.

Except for one.

David Kenyon. Josephine thought of him often. She had stolen a snapshot of him from Mary Lou’s house long ago. She kept it hidden in her closet and took it out to look at whenever she was unhappy. It brought back the memory of David standing by the side of the pool saying, I apologize for all of them , and the feeling of hurt had gradually disappeared and been replaced by his gentle warmth. She had seen David only once after that terrible day at his swimming pool when he had brought her a robe. He had been in a car with his family, and Josephine later heard that he had been driven to the train depot. He was on his way to Oxford, England. That had been four years ago, in 1952. David had returned home for summer vacations and at Christmas, but their paths had never crossed. Josephine often heard the other girls discussing him. In addition to the estate David had inherited from his father, his grandmother had left him a trust fund of five million dollars. He was a real catch. But not for the Polish daughter of a seamstress .

Josephine did not know that David Kenyon had returned from Europe. It was a late Saturday evening in July, and Josephine was working at the Golden Derrick. It seemed to her that half the population of Odessa had come to the drive-in to defeat the hot spell with gallons of lemonade and ice cream and sodas. It had been so busy that Josephine had been unable to take a break. A ring of autos constantly circled the neon-lighted drive-in like metallic animals lined up at some surrealistic water hole. Josephine delivered a car tray with what seemed to her to be her millionth order of cheeseburgers and Cokes, pulled out a menu and walked over to a white sports car that had just driven up.

“Good evening,” Josephine said cheerfully. “Would you like to look at a menu?”

“Hello, stranger.”

At the sound of David Kenyon’s voice, Josephine’s heart suddenly began to pound. He looked exactly as she remembered him, only he seemed even more handsome. There was a maturity now, a sureness, that being abroad had given him. Cissy Topping was seated next to him, looking cool and beautiful in an expensive silk skirt and blouse.

Cissy said, “Hi, Josie. You shouldn’t be working on a hot night like this, honey.”

As though it was something Josephine had chosen to do instead of going to an air-conditioned theater or riding around in a sports car with David Kenyon .

Josephine said evenly, “It keeps me off the streets,” and she saw that David Kenyon was smiling at her. She knew that he understood.

Long after they had gone, Josephine thought about David. She went over every word— Hello, stranger…I’ll have a pig in a blanket and a root beer—make that coffee. Cold drinks are bad on a hot night…. How do you like working here?…I’m ready for the check…Keep the change…. It was nice seeing you again, Josephine —looking for hidden meanings, nuances that she might have missed. Of course, he could not have said anything with Cissy seated beside him, but the truth was that he really had nothing to say to Josephine. She was surprised that he had even remembered her name.

She was standing in front of the sink in the little kitchen of the drive-in, lost in her thoughts, when Paco, the young Mexican cook, came up behind her and said, “ ¿Que pasa , Josita? You have that look een your eye.”

She liked Paco. He was in his late twenties, a slim, dark-eyed man with a ready grin and a flip joke when pressure built up and everyone was tense.

“Who ees he?”

Josephine smiled. “Nobody, Paco.”

“Bueno. Because there are seex hungry cars goin’ crazy out there. Vamos! ”

He telephoned the next morning, and Josephine knew who it was before she lifted the receiver. She had not been able to get him out of her mind all night. It was as though this call was the extension of her dream.

His first words were, “You’re a cliché. While I was away, you’ve grown up and become a beauty,” and she could have died of happiness.

He took her out to dinner that evening. Josephine had been prepared for some out-of-the-way little restaurant where David would not be likely to run into any of his friends. Instead they went to his club, where everyone stopped by their table to say hello. David was not only unashamed to be seen with Josephine, he seemed proud of her. And she loved him for it and for a hundred other reasons. The look of him, his gentleness and understanding, the sheer joy of being with him. She had never known that anyone as wonderful as David Kenyon could exist.