Practically Perfect - 8. VIII. Seeing Things Clearly

VIII. Act Three – Saint Nicholas Day

Scene 2: Seeing Things Clearly

Bruce's hands work at loosening a bolt with a wrench, but his mind is free to roam. He labors at the back of a line of seats, but knows – can feel – Naomi on the other side doing the same work.

Four rows must be freed and placed out of the way for the day, and the voices of other Famousites echo faintly around them.

"You finished yet?" she asks.

"Yeah," Bruce affirms, the bolt in his hand making a rippling sound as he extracts it.

They stand. Naomi puts two fingers in her mouth; a shrill whistle follows, matched with a wide-armed beckoning motion. "Another one ready!"

Two beefy volunteers arrive and heft the section of seats. They gingerly walk it away, towards the movie palace's temporary storage area.

The young man and woman now stand side by side. A momentary indulgence allows both to gaze at the theater's gilded ornamentation, and massive crystal chandelier, fully lit and dazzling like an interior sun of ten thousand prisms.[1]

"The kids will appreciate it," Naomi tells Bruce with a radiant beam.

"They better. This is a lot of work."

She gestures with her head. "Shall we?"

"Yep."

They kneel next to one another and go to work on respective fasteners, front and back.

Bruce chuckles and turns conversational. "I'm glad I volunteered this year." He realizes only afterwards that his reason could be perceived as personal.

"Me too," Naomi chimes with artless ease. "The kids will have a great time. And if I hadn't signed up, I wouldn't have met you."

She spoke the exact thought on his mind. His relief comes out as a burst of laughter.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing. I was just remembering something Mary said."

"Which was…?"

"Which was…. Well, it all started one day while I was working in the studio…."

It was an ordinary afternoon. I was tackling some stubborn problem, and feeling frustrated.

Mary showed up.

After a brief conversation, I complained about my chore. Mary said, "Right tool for the right job, my boy."

She hauled up her carpetbag and set it down with a great clatter. "Now…let me see what I can…find." She reached in, and pulled out a small Robertson screwdriver. "Yes. Here it is. Try this, young man."

She handed over the perfect tool for what I needed, and of course it worked like a charm.

Just as I was using it, the studio cat jumped up and rubbed herself against the side of Mary's hands.

Mary leaned over, and lots of "Oh, I see" and "Oh, do tell" followed.

"It seems this cat has some rather personal observations to make."

"Oh, really?" I asked.

Just then the cat started eying me with interest.

"Yes," Mary confirmed. "She indeed commented on how often you eat lunch alone. Just you at your desk, with a sandwich and the newspaper."

Well, needless to say, the smile slipped off my face.

Notions made a sound and gazed up at Mary.

"Oh, I see," crooned the woman to the cat. She righted her head and told me squarely, "And she wants you not to worry about Mr. Fink so much." She nodded and stroked the feline's hindquarters. "And I must say, this is one wise cat, for I find myself in total agreement with her assessment and advice. He'll come around, eventually. Even a studio tabby can see that."

Naomi and Bruce are about midway down a row, and working happily.

The nearer they get to their goal, the freer the atmosphere feels to their spirits – the glints of gold against the ripples of the red velvet curtains begin to look holiday-festive.

Although Bruce cannot see Naomi's face, his mind's eye animates her voice and warms his experience with her.

The young woman says, "That's funny – I had my own odd experience with her.

We were strolling on the Skybridge, and I was telling her the concept of what we were seeing. How as part of the City's Bicentennial celebration, the bridge was converted into a version of the Seine book and art dealers.

She seemed most interested in the little wooden kiosks with their striped awnings tilted up at front. She stopped and browsed several of the book offerings, many of which were French.

I was drawn to the easels with watercolors on them, and to the bins with stacks of loose engravings and prints to thumb through.

The way the sunlight cast arching shadows over the clean, modernist structure – with white marble floors and window seats built along the entire length of both sides – was enchanting.

We moved farther along, looking out on the cityscape, and I gestured to where the legs of the Arch were rising.

Mary paused to peruse a mighty tome on Art History, and I wandered off a few steps before a landscape painting captured me in its pull. There was something about the way the natural sunlight filtered through the curved glass, and the faint shadows of broken arcs cast from the bronze 'ribs' of this great leviathan which made the watercolor seem to come to life. It was as if the artist's board expanded to take us in; as if Mary Poppins took my hand and we stepped in.[2]

We walked amid trees and grass, felt the cool breezes coming down from the height of the distant snow-capped mountains, and all was rushing reel by the babbling brook near our path. Blue skies, birdsong, and cotton puff clouds reigned overhead. All seemed nearly perfect…but then…a bittersweet longing intruded; I was not done 'desiring' apparently. Acknowledging that must have broken the spell.

When I 'snapped to,' Mary was by my side looking at the painting with me. I felt that time had slipped away – that the light cast from the ribs had shifted some, that they were more elongated than they should have been – but I was too afraid to glance at my watch.

Mary put her hand on my arm. "I'll do all in my powers to make your wishes come true."

I suddenly shivered. It was not from feeling cold, but the kind you get when you come in from the cold – that first kiss of warmth on bare skin.

Mary's mood turned darker. She told me, almost like a warning, "Although I sense the wind is about to shift again, my dear girl. So I must hurry."

Young man and woman rise to face one another at the end of their row. The unspoken expression on Naomi's face says what's on Bruce's mind.

But it's a silly notion, isn't it?

They tell themselves, it's all power of suggestion; that the awesome thing they each independently feel is no more than a Finkian-style load of hogwash.

Right? What more could it be…?

Bruce inhales and lets the suddenly festive surroundings overtake him. Their task nearly complete, the anticipation of a fun afternoon appears omnipresent.

Together, boy and girl smile and drink in the shimmering glints of the festivities to begin promptly at noon.

˚˚˚˚˚

Uproarious noise and laughter greets Fink's ears. The show's already in full swing. A packed house of two thousand children watch a clown on stage juggling and telling corny jokes, just the kind to loosen up young hearts.

The Display Department boss had arrived about an hour ago with the Chairman and other department heads to greet the store's holiday guests, complete with press availability, and to be there at the end of the film to help Santa distribute presents.

Now he's in the back of the house. Commotion draws his attention to the side. A late-arriving child is wheeled in, and Bruce Achitoff dressed in suit and tie strides ups to the little girl. With a huge smile on his face he sits on his haunches by her wheelchair, so his eyes are on her level, and explains in the kindest, most warmhearted way how he's going to take her down.

"The front row is reserved for the very best little girls so you can see Santa straight away. Okay?"

The girl nods – glows really – and Bruce springs to his feet. Going around to the back of the chair, his smile falls on Jerahmeel with a nod. He tells the young lady, "Hold on! Santa Claus, here we come!"

As Bruce rolls her away, Fink is left to consider how the smile and head gesture just given to him was genuinely open and unguarded…. The thought suddenly makes the man shiver in his own coldness to Bruce.

Jerahmeel turns to his side. Mary is there in full attire; her umbrella and carpetbag are in her hands as well. While they both avail themselves of the sight of Bruce Achitoff wheeling the child down the many, many rows of giddy children, Mary says to him, "He is a remarkable young man. He's good, and the sort of boy any father would be proud of."

Fink can say nothing, but he's a roil of emotions inside. One thing he notices right away is a lightness in his back, and springy sensation in his joints.

"Now, if you'll excuse me – I must start the show."

She leaves Jerahmeel Fink awash in his own thoughts and sentiments while she makes her way along the main aisle to the stage.

A wave of hush and shush follows in the wake of her long skirt and cutaway coat, while suddenly he feels as if a burden of sorrow has been lifted from his shoulders. The liberation is enough to make him want to dance.

˚˚˚˚˚

Naomi is lined up with many of the other store volunteers. They lean against the low-height wall, behind the last row of seats, with elbows splayed on top.

She suddenly raises her hand and waves; she has to get Bruce's attention. He's just coming back from taking a child to the front row.

In another minute, the handsome boy with his front-scrunched hair and eagerly serious Russian demeanor slides in smoothly next to her. He's also making the young lady feel very happy. She pulls him down by the tie, his special Dior from the thrift store, so they are companionably close. There's something special about this boy, and she can see it all clearly now.

At the front of the house, Mary mounts the stage. She hams it up for the assemblage of young magic-seekers and wanders the boards for a brief moment looking lost. Finally 'seeing' the audience, she strides straight up to the center front, sets her bag on the floor by her side, and says, "Ah, my – there you are! Such a fine looking troupe of merrymakers too. Welcome one and all!"

After hoots and the subsequent shushes subside, she continues with toes sticking straight out, "As some you may know, my name is Mary Poppins, and thanks to the fine assemblage of folks at Famous-Barr, I'm pleased to be your hostess for the day. Now, if you will kindly settle back…. No, I am serious." She raised her arms, brolly swinging, and gestures. "Lean back, settle in, and relax, for we are about to see a wonderful fillum starring – or, so I've been lead to believe – me!"

Mary holds her palm out, glancing up and sensing 'a spot of rain.' As she continues, the umbrella gets unfurled to full, black intensity. "After the show, you'll have a chance to meet me, see Santa and receive a few gifts for the season. Toodle-oo for now, dear ones!"

She picks up her valise, and just as the main curtain begins to draw open behind her, and the music and flickering projection of the film starts, she raises her umbrella, says "Enjoy!" and flies up slowly behind the top valance with its heavy gold trim.

Oogh and ahs erupt as the house lights dim and the voiceover of 'Bert' begins the motion picture show.

"Did you see that?" Bruce leans over even farther after he whispers the question to Naomi.

"Yeah. Did you know she was going to – "

"Nope."

"Me neither."

"Someone must have coordinated the harness with the theater…."

"But – isn't that literally 'your department?'"

Bruce makes an audible gulp. "It wouldn't be the first time Mr. Fink coordinated something secretly – "

He pauses, then forgets his train of thought completely. A delicate sheen has arisen on Naomi's lips, and the pretty smile of warmth she now offers him is beautiful.

As beautiful as the hand she has slipped into his.