Linda Eastman exited the elevator, exhausted, sweaty and thankful to be home after running errands on such a hot and humid late August day in New York City. Heather, her five and a half year old daughter, had already run down the hall and was patiently waiting for her to open the door. Linda had gotten used to walking and taking public transportation to run errands, but today was one of those days during which everything was an effort. The heat made her feel like she expended much more energy than normal; it had even given her a slight headache. And, she still had to go to work; she had to photograph The Animals in concert at the Fillmore East, the venue where she took most of her pictures. Though she loved her job and would be among friends, she already anticipated going to sleep.
As soon as she walked into the apartment, she felt the unwelcome rush of hot air. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the oasis that was her peach, white and khaki striped, faded love seat. How she longed to sit down. She knew, however, that if she did, she would most surely not want to get up. And she had to call her messaging service to see if anyone called.
"Mommy, I'm hungry," said Heather.
"How about some cookies and milk?" Linda suggested as she yawned.
Heather agreed, going to her makeshift room to find her coloring book and crayons while she waited. She found her crayons but not her coloring book. 'Where could it be?' she wondered. By the time she had reached the bottom of her milk crate toy chest, a fire truck, a plastic doll, her tiger costume, a large green bouncy ball, wooden blocks and a puzzle box had been strewn across the floor. No luck. "Mommy, I can't find my coloring book!" she yelled.
"Look under your bed," Linda yelled back as she readied Heather's snack.
Heather took her mother's advice. There, against the wall and under her cot was, not only her coloring book but also Kitty, her orange tabby cat with white fur on his paws, around his mouth and on his front chest. Kitty was much more than just her favorite stuffed animal—he was one of her best friends. How could her mother have known where her coloring book and Kitty was? She knew that she would have to crawl under the bed to rescue him. Heather got on her stomach, wrinkling her green t-shirt, to retrieve her best friend and coloring book. It was hot under there, but the job needed to be done. Stretching her right arm, she reached for and successfully rescued him from the dark corner.
Heather hugged Kitty tightly in her arms and gave him a kiss on his right cheek. "I'm sorry, Kitty. Are you ok? Were you scared?" she said, full of concern. She was thankful that he was rescued after being stuck all alone for so long in such a dark space. When Kitty told her that he was frightened, she continued to hug him while scratching behind his ears.
Linda found Heather on the floor, clutching Kitty beside her chin-length dirty blonde hair. "Are you ok, Heather?" she asked.
"Mommy, Kitty was behind the bed the whole day! He was so scared under there! I just rescued him," she told her mother.
"Ohhh, well I'm glad you did," she played along. "How's he doing?"
Heather informed her mother that, "he's better but he's still a little scared."
"I'm sure he'll be ok," Linda reassured. "Want to go eat?"
Heather and Kitty sat on the living room floor as her mother placed the peach slices, three Oreos and tall glass of milk on the small, square mahogany coffee table in front of her. "What do you say?" Linda prompted.
"Thank you," replied Heather.
"You're welcome. I have to make a quick phone call and then I'll come sit with you for a little bit."
"Ok," Heather said through a mouthful of cookies. Linda reminded her daughter to not talk with her mouth full, then walked back into the kitchen and promptly lifted the phone from the receiver.
"Big Apple Messaging Service, this is Gloria," Linda heard the woman answer in a South Carolinian drawl. Before Gloria said her name, she knew it was her. Gloria had lived in Harlem since she moved to the city in her 30s with her husband. In the 20 years that she had lived in the city, she had never outgrown her accent.
"Hi, Gloria, it's Linda Eastman," Linda replied.
"Miss Linda! You have a message!" Gloria exclaimed. She was always happy to hear from Linda. Linda was always very friendly and always treated her with respect, which was more than she could say for some other customers; even in a city as diverse as New York, much prejudice still existed.
"You have an elephant's memory, Gloria," marveled Linda. "You didn't even have to put me on hold!"
"Honey, this is one message no onewould forget! It's from Mr. Paul McCartney."
Linda beamed. Her heart skipped a beat at the drop of his name and soon began to race. She hadn't heard from Paul since their "Dirty Weekend" in June at the Beverly Hills Hotel. Though she was disappointed, she wasn't surprised; Paul was a Beatle, after all. Since that weekend three months ago, she had thought about him whenever she heard his name, which, in the circles she ran, was frequently. Her memories of their conversations and the sex brought a girlish smile to her face; in the span of her romantic life, other men or rock stars she had dated or had sex were not even in the same league. There was something else that she couldn't put her finger on about Paul. The time they spent together was, for lack of a better word, right.
"Miss Linda? Miss Linda, honey? Ya still there?" repeated Gloria as she brought Linda out of her daydream.
"Oh, sorry, Gloria. I just, um, got a little distracted," she sheepishly replied.
"Uh-huh," Gloria said. Her skepticism made Linda smile with embarrassment. "Well, honey, he said he wants you ta call him. Do ya have a pen handy so I can give ya the number? He says it's his home number."
Linda grabbed a pad of paper and pen from the corner of the white Formica countertop. "I'm ready," she said with a quiver in her voice. Her right hand shook as she held the pen.
"Mommy, look!" exclaimed Heather as she ran into the kitchenette. She wanted her mother to see the progress she had made on her snack. Linda put her index finger to her lips, reminding her daughter to be quiet.
"Sorry, Gloria. What's the number?" As she read the number, Linda copied it down, then repeated what she had written. Gloria confirmed that she had written the number down correctly. "He called at 11:16 am," she said.
Linda looked at the clock—that was five hours ago. She just missed him, as she had left the apartment a few minutes earlier. "Any other messages?" she asked, staring at the number she had written, half in disbelief.
"That was the only one, but what a one to have! So, Linda, how's Little Miss Heather?"
Linda made it through the fog that had just settled on her mind. "She's good. We just got home from running errands."
"How old is she now? Four?"
"Five and a half. She'll be six in December. I can't believe it," she smiled as she stretched the phone cord, watching her daughter coloring in the living room.
"Whoo-boy, how time flies!"
"It really does," Linda agreed.
"Alright, honey. I best be gettin' back to work. Tell Little Miss Heather I said 'hello'. Y'all take care now."
"You too. Thanks for the message. Bye, Gloria," Linda said then hung up the phone and sat, distracted, with Heather. She wondered why Paul had called so suddenly. Looking at the clock, she wondered if she had enough time to call him before she had to leave for the show at the Fillmore East tonight. Danny would certainly have something to say about this, too. Heather interrupted Linda's musings as she showed her the horse that she had neatly colored in her book.
"Look how nicely you colored that horse," praised Linda. "Gloria asked for you. She says 'hi'."
"Hi, Gloria," Heather said as she colored the grass around the horse.
"I'll tell her you said 'hi' the next time I talk to her." Her motherly instinct kicked in when she saw that Heather still had half of her milk to drink, encouraging her to finish it. Heather whined; she wanted more cookies with the rest of her milk. Linda didn't budge, telling her that three cookies were enough for today.
As Linda sat on the love seat to ensure that Heather finished her milk, she tried to think of a way to rearrange her schedule so she could speak to Paul. She quickly came to the unfortunate conclusion that she did not have time to call him; in the course of an hour and a half, she had to take a shower, get dressed, ready her camera, make a salad for the babysitter and make Heather's dinner.
A frenzied two hours, Linda greeted Mrs. Diana Finch, the babysitter, and kissed Heather goodbye. With no time to wait for the elevator, she hurried down the stairs to catch the bus to the Fillmore East. The ride was filled with thoughts, mostly of Paul.