Mark Dunn - American Decameron

That was the old Leonora. The new Leonora wanted to see a live naked man in all his muscular glory before time ran out.

There was a man sitting next to her — a man perhaps in his mid-thirties — a good-looking man with curly black hair, a smooth-shaven face and half dimples that revealed themselves when his ear caught the punch line of a joke being told by another man a couple of chairs away. The good-looking man said hello to Leonora when he sat down and tipped his homburg brim politely before removing the hat altogether.

The clerk at the window called his name. It was James. James Touliatos.

“Aren’t you next?” said the man, turning to Leonora. “You were here before me.”

Leonora shook her head. “I’m just waiting for a friend. She works here and we’re having lunch together.”

The man — Mr. James Touliatos, who bore a slight resemblance to Pavlos the waiter, but was, thought Leonora, even better looking — got up from his seat and carried a sheaf of papers over to the window.

Leonora could hear snatches of his conversation with the clerk. Since the clerk had the louder voice, she got only half of the exchange: “Here is the application for certificate of title. Fill this out. The fee is a dollar. Have you owned a car before? Are you aware that the receipt of registration must be carried in the car at all times? What kind of vehicle is it? No reason. I just like cars. Except Fords. Don’t tell them that in Dearborn or I might find myself out of a job.” The two men laughed. Leonora thought that Mr. James Touliatos had a friendly, engaging laugh.

Amanda came out. She said that she couldn’t get away. Someone from the Secretary of State’s office was coming over for a meeting and they needed a stenographer. She was very sorry, but perhaps they could see each other over the weekend. She’d come up to Redford and they could go to that new musical picture, Applause with Helen Morgan. Cities were banning it all over the country, so it had to be good.

Amanda returned to her office. James had overheard the conversation. He approached Leonora. “You’ve been stood up for lunch. If I might be so bold, given that I’m a total stranger to you, how would you feel if I took you to lunch?”

“I would say, sir, that you are total stranger to me and no .”

James nodded. He ruminated. “I wouldn’t be a stranger to you if you got to know me. My names is Touliatos, by the way. I’m a welder with Great Lakes Engineering Works in Ecorse. I help to put freighters together.”

He helps to build freighters , thought Leonora. He has large arms. He must have a nice physique. I’ll say no again as any proper woman would, but if he persists, I will pretend that he has worn down my resistance and agree to have lunch with him .

She said no again. The man put on his hat, tipped the brim, and walked out.

Leonora died a little inside. She didn’t get up. She sat for the next moment ruing her decision. Then something miraculous happened. Mr. James Touliatos returned. He walked straight up to Leonora and said, “I’m going to ask once more, not because I’m a rude s.o.b., but because you seem like a very nice woman, you’ve been stood up for lunch, and I feel just a little sorry for you. I also note from the absence of a wedding ring on your finger that you aren’t married, and I happen to think that you might be a charming and stimulating table companion.”

“Sir, you have won me over,” said Leonora with relief, and with a sudden feeling of reckless abandon that took her by surprise.

James had a favorite restaurant he wanted to recommend. The New Hellas on Monroe.

The two ate and drank and talked for over two hours. James loved his job, but he was getting ready to move to upstate New York and try his hand at farming. His life was a series of discrete chapters. He said this made it interesting. He had been married, but the marriage hadn’t worked out. He saw his young daughter in San Francisco twice a year.

Leonora talked of her job, a little of her mother (trying her best to couch her impatience with her mother’s all-too-mothering personality in gentle, non-critical terms), and then over baklava and American coffee, she confided to James that she was going blind.

She didn’t happen to mention the other thing.

James had a sister who was blind. She lived there in Detroit. James wanted Leonora to meet her. James asked if Leonora might wish to go to his sister’s apartment and say hello.

“That would be nice. I mean, having someone I could talk to — someone who could give me a sense as to what to expect.”

“My newly registered car’s just down the street. I’ll drive us over.”

“You mean right now?”

“Why not?”

Leonora shrugged. A jolt of happiness shot through her. It mattered less now, her original mission. Just to know someone who could help her now that the lights were rapidly dimming — what an unexpected gift that would be!

*

James rang the bell. The sister was not home. “I have a key. We’ll go up and wait for her. She’s probably out shopping.”

Leonora grew suspicious.

“It’s all right. She won’t mind.”

It was Leonora who minded. It didn’t feel right. Although James had been funny and warm and kind, Leonora didn’t trust people easily. But this had to change. Because life is difficult for a blind person who is incapable of putting trust in those whom she meets — those who have the benefit of sight. The blind man who asks for help crossing the street, isn’t the request usually made of a total stranger? A balance must be struck. A balance between commonsensical caution and faith in the good intentions of the majority of human beings — even brash young men who don’t take “no” for an answer.

James took two bottles of Pepsi-Cola from his sister’s icebox and poured them into glasses of chipped ice. The two talked for a few minutes before James excused himself to use the bathroom, closing the door between the sitting room and the intervening bedroom behind him. He was gone for several minutes. Leonora felt awkward. Then Leonora felt a little afraid. She questioned why she was there, sitting with a stranger in a strange apartment. She wondered if she should leave. She even started up from the sofa, but then sat back down again.

And then the door opened and James appeared. He was naked. Completely naked. His body had been perfectly sculpted from years of manual labor. He was Michelangelo’s David, but with greater muscularity (and no Victorian-appended fig leaf). All the colors of James’s body sang out to Leonora: the Copenhagen Blue of his eyes, the Rustic Brown of his lips and Ebony Black of his wiry hair. The French Tan of his sun-kissed forearms, the more muted Cinnamon Heather and Velvet Brown of his upper arms, shoulders, chest, and legs. The Oyster White of his exposed buttocks and groin, the Autumn Brown of his scrotum and shaft, the Blush Pink of his peeking glans. It was all magnificent to Leonora. She didn’t turn away. She got up from the sofa and walked up to the naked man she hardly knew and touched him, ran her hands all over him, absorbing every inch of muscle and sinew and appendage. Memorizing his body with both her eyes and her hands.

“How did you know?” she asked.

“Amanda’s a good friend of mine. She knows that I’m a nudist. I’m joining Mr. Barthel’s League for Physical Culture. He’s starting a group in the Hudson Highlands in New York.”

“Your body is beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful, too, Leonora.”

“Amanda told you to say that.”

“She did. I won’t deny it. So now I’ll say it again, because I want to say it. I find you very attractive. I want to get to know you better. How about I get dressed now and the two of us take a nice walk through Belle Isle Park?”