Installation 34: A Girl Wants a Little Romance previous
On a Thursday morning, Phoebe woke up to rain. Lots of it. Rather than a pleasant spring shower, it was an angry downpour. She rolled out of bed and went to the bathroom to take a shower. There was no hot water. She cupped her hand under the rush of icy water issuing from the faucet, clinging to hope that she was mistaken. Her hand went numb. She threw on a robe and went into the hallway to knock on her neighbor, Hannah's, door.
“Hey, Phoebe,” Hannah said, standing in her doorway wearing a thrift store dress and munching a piece of toast.
“Did you have hot water this morning?”
“Uh, I don't know,” Hannah said. “I didn't notice.”
“What did you do?” Phoebe asked. “Take a cold shower?”
“Uh, I only take a shower every third day,” Hannah said. “It's part of my commitment to the environment.”
Phoebe returned to her apartment to eat a bowl of cereal and get dressed. While slipping into her skirt, she became engrossed in a segment on the “Today Show” about Internet predators. Before she knew it, her bus was due to arrive in seven minutes and she hadn't put on her shoes or rain jacket or located her umbrella. Her umbrella. She remembered doing some sort of dance with it while belting out “Singin' in the Rain,” the last time she and Karl got drunk, which was just two nights ago. And then Karl had thrown the umbrella out the window.
She ran to catch her bus, splashing through puddles and holding up her purse to cover her head. She hadn't thought to grab a newspaper or magazine. The bus was already at the curb and about to pull away when she skidded up to its door and knocked. The bus driver gave her a sour look as he opened the door and pulled out into traffic before she'd had time to get tot sit down. She fell into a seat right in front of Young Woman and Old Woman, the worst possible place to be without the safety net of headphones or a book.
“He's the sweetest guy in the world,” Young Woman was saying. “He drew me a bath and filled the bathroom with candles.”
“Wow,” Old Woman said, practically drooling. “That's romance.”
“And tonight he's making me Kung Pao Chicken,” Young Woman said. “And we're going to eat it while watching Sweet Home Alabama.”
“The spicy Szechuan dish with diced chicken, peanuts and chili peppers?” Old Woman said. “I'll probably just watch 'Dancing With the Stars' and eat a Lean Cuisine.”
Phoebe stared out at the wet streets. She was mad at Karl for throwing her umbrella out the window. Madder that he never went to retrieve it. Did he think it would never rain again? Did he think she had an unlimited income to spend on replacement umbrellas?
Something else was bugging her - Karl's roommates, five guys with lots of time on their hands to drink beer and set coffee tables and mattresses on fire. The previous evening, she went to Karl’s for dinner, expecting a quiet meal served al fresco. Upon arriving, she found a crowded barbecue complete with hamburgers, a container of mashed potatoes from KFC and 40 ounce bottles of beer. Although Phoebe kept dropping hints that she'd like to do something else after dinner – go for a walk, go get a drink – Karl was content to sit on the front stoop and take turns trying to break dance. When she got home, she called her mother.
“You’ve always been mature for your age,” her mother said. “I remember when I came to pick you up from your first day of kindergarten, I asked the teacher how you got along and she said, ‘Phoebe is very mature for her age. She likes to do quiet things alone in a corner.’”
“Maybe everything would be perfect if he didn’t have those room mates,” Phoebe said, knowing that this wasn't quite true.
Through the bus window, Phoebe watched a man scratch his balls as he waited to cross the street, oblivious to the rain. There was also the question of Karl’s sense of adventure. How many more nights could Phoebe sit in her apartment with him watching kung fu movies and getting drunk? It seemed fun at first, trashing her usual 10:30 bedtime, but now it was becoming taxing. And when she tried to confess her ambiguous feelings about kung fu to Karl, he looked hurt and then incredulous.
“You like it,” he said. “You just need to become more versed in the genre.”
The bus arrived at The Museum and Phoebe got off. A gray cloud devoted specifically to raining on her parade floated directly over her head; a cloud version of a personal pan pizza.
At 10:30, Phoebe took a break and walked down to Karl's office, where he was in the process of refiling every single file in the Sculpture Department. She dropped a note on his desk which said, “Meet me in the African gallery, ten minutes.”
Five minutes later, Karl found Phoebe gazing at a death mask made by the Chokwe people.
“Beautiful, isn't it?” Karl said, putting his arms around Phoebe's waist.
“Karl...” Phoebe pushed his arms down. “We need to talk.”
“Are you hung over?” Karl asked. “I can't believe I took that bet on the second 40.”
“Look,” Phoebe said. “Where is this relationship going?”
“Where is it going?” Karl said. “I thought we were having fun.”
“We are,” Phoebe said. “Sometimes.”
“I don't know,” Karl said. “Right now I'm sort of about, just, you know, living my life. Walking around the planet and having fun.”
“Walking around the planet?” Phoebe said. “More like sitting home every night watching Seven Samurai. In the beginning, you were wooing me...”
“I can be romantic,” Karl said. “Let me buy you some roses.”
“Yuck,” Phoebe said.
Suddenly, the lights went out. The gallery, which was without natural light, was so pitch black Karl couldn't see his hand in front of his face. But he felt a swooping – a big wave of air that brought with it the smell of body odor and turpentine. Someone knocked into him and he fell to the gallery floor just as Phoebe cried out.
“Karl!”
“Phoebe!”
“Karl, help me!”
But Karl was immobilized on the floor. Crouched on all fours and turning in helpless circles, he continued to shout Phoebe's name long after he knew he was alone.
Karl was afraid of the dark.