Disclaimer: I don't own anything WAT-related, not even a red push pin!
Each of us angels
Summary: Can Danny Taylor ever admit that he needs someone? Danny-centric.
"We are each of us angels with only one wing, and we can only fly by embracing one another." - Titus Lucretius Carus
A heartfelt thank you to everyone who posted a review: you give me all the inspiration I need to write. I appreciate every word.
anmodo: as usual, you are absolutely right! I was thinking of "Breakfast at Tiffany's"! I am a fan of old Hollywood movies with their emphasis on witty banter and the chemistry between people! Danny, partly because of his sense of humor, and partly because he does cover his emotions with jokes, always seems to me a bit of a throw back to these days. Which I consider to be a good thing:)
Danny took his customary brief morning walk toward a short side street where he parked his car. He could have parked closer, but he liked the rout. It took him every morning by a little Dominican restaurant that was by now his familiar breakfast stop. Not strictly a restaurant, more like half-deli half coffee-shop, Casa Santo Domingo had a grand name and a tiny space, crammed with mismatched tables that were really too small for grown people, and possessing of Caribbean charm that Danny found appealing. It served unapologeticly hot, old-fashioned sandwiches that would give nightmares to the carb-counting culture of today, and, to Danny's taste, the best cup of coffee this side of the Atlantic.
As Danny entered the place, the proprietess, a small, curvy, middle-aged Dominican woman known to everyone as simply Mama Arevalo, smiled at him affectionately. She has been supplying Danny with coffee and an occasional scrambled egg for several years now, and has grown to regard him as something of a son. That is, she has taken to berating him for not putting milk or coco in his coffee, for not wearing a coat warm enough for this time of the year, and for not finding a nice girl to love him and to remind him to do all these things.
Danny traded lighthearted barbs with her, taking her concern as due course and even liking it. He knew he brought it out in middle-aged women sometimes. Something of a lost puppy syndrome that he still occasionally projected to the world. A feature that he first strove hard to overcome and had finally grown to accept.
"Ah, Danny, no hat again, I see! You catch your death!"
"I won't, Caro, just so I can prove you wrong!" Danny laughed taking a large paper cup from her hands, letting that wonderful coffee aroma envelop him for the moment. He counted this as his first real coffee of the day. The one he made himself every morning qualified as an eye-opener, but as a real beverage it couldn't hold a candle to Mama Arevalo's.
Danny suspected that, like most addicts, he has gone and substituted one addiction for another. He reasoned, however, that this one was far less lethal, and, what the hell, a man needed a hobby. It could have been worse: he could have taken up smoking.
"Danny, Danny, no food again? You skinny, you need food! No good starting day with no food! Let Caro make you nice tamale."
Danny laughed involuntarily as he thought of Martin. "Thank you, but you know I don't eat that stuff. Especially not so early in the morning. I have a friend, though, who'd be delighted to try your tamales, Caro! I've got to bring him here some day."
"You bring friends, Danny. Bring a nice girl, too," Mama Arevalo climbed her favorite conversational horse. "Why not you find a nice girl, Danny? A boy like you! You should be fighting 'em off! I have a niece, you know. Nice girl, educated, too! She been to college! And good cook!"
Danny gave the lady his patented smile. "I really appreciate it, Mamacita, but you know I am waiting for you! When are you going to leave old man Arevalo and marry me?"
Caro laughed and waived Danny off: "Ah, laugh at old woman! I tell you, Danny, if I was 20 years younger. . . ."
"I though you were!" Danny winked at her and turned to leave.
"Here, take this, don't argue!" And she thrust a brown paper bag into Danny's hand as he was about to exit.
Danny closed the door carefully and inhaled the cool morning air. More out of curiosity than anything he opened the bag and laughed. Inside, was a carefully wrapped slice of the Creole Meringue cake.
As he turned the corner and approached his car, thinking of how a day can change on a dime, remembering how depressed he was just an hour and a half ago, and how elated he now felt. Part of it was coffee, and part - habitual morning banter with Mama Arevalo, combined with a wonderful cup of coffee and a site of a ridiculous cake in his hand. But mostly, it was excitement. A familiar excitement Danny recognized from far too long ago. A feeling of something, if not wonderful, then at least memorable, about to come. And he couldn't deny that the feeling was tied to his morning meeting with Audrey.
An odd girl, Audrey. Not at all what he would consider his "type." But he couldn't stop smiling remembering their, admittedly insignificant, but all the same meaningful conversation. He was aware of the connection: of that subtle recognition of a kindred spirit. It's been ages since Danny made that king of a connection with a woman. Never easy to get close to, he was especially weary of entering into anything emotional that spelled some kind of a permanence. Battle-scarred by his childhood and by few too many broken attempts at closeness in his early adulthood, he has grown to accept that people would inevitably disappoint, that not everyone was meant to share a life with someone, and that, ultimately, his way of forming fleeting attachments and moving on quickly was best.
After all, look what getting deeply involved did to everyone he knew? Look at Mrs. Fuller: years and years of sharing a life, and what is left in the end is desolation, loneliness, and a semi-abandoned cat. Look at Jack: all that love, all that hope tied into creating and raising children together, and it comes down to sordid details and shouting matches in a lawyer's office. Look at Sam: finally, a healthy relationship after years of complicated dead ends, and she can't allow herself to be happy, because, Danny suspects, she simply doesn't know how. And look at Martin, the incurable romantic of his acquaintance: he's got the girl, but he is restless because she is so, and Danny worries that the restlessness is only going to grow and eventually destroy them.
Of course, there are exceptions. Danny didn't generalize, even in his more cynical moods. There was Vivian, with her outwardly stable family, though Danny knew from some of the things she said, and from quite a few she didn't say, that not all was sunny and well. Reggie, her son, has entered teenage years, and that was never a picnic. And there was something else, something Viv was trying hard not to disclose. Danny didn't pry, hoping she'd tell him in due time, but he guessed it was something personal and not work-related.
Even Mama Arevalo's example couldn't inspire Danny. Yes, she had a large, noisy, affectionate family around her, and a lot of love to spare for strays such as himself, but people like that were rare, and in the end, their loving and generous natures did not spare them the heartache and disappointment. One of Caro's sons was killed two years back in some trivial street dispute, and it nearly destroyed the family.
No, Danny wasn't looking for attachments. Not at all. He had enough of loss, enough of pain, enough of disappointment to last him nine Oscar's lives, and he worked hard these days to avoid anything that could get him in harm's way. He had his friends, and caring for them was sometimes heartbreaking enough. He really wasn't looking to take on more.
And yet, the excitement of this morning would persist. Danny's treacherous memory would produce an image of those dimples, and that golden hair, and those four stubborn freckles on the bridge of her nose.
And how easy it was to talk nonsense to her that wasn't really nonsense.
"So, Danny, if it isn't too early in our acquaintance to ask, what do you do for a living? No, no, let me guess: nice coat, severe suit, striped tie. A job with a dress code and a 7 a.m. apartment exit. Hmm, clearly, a dog-walker or a night manager at the local Duane Reade Drugs is out. And it's a bit early for a Matre d'. . ."
"I sell insurance door to door. I need to look impressive." Danny was enjoying this game.
"Nah, you are not the type. You are nowhere near anal enough."
"And you arrived at that conclusion based on all of 20 minutes of knowing me?"
"Sure. I am an excellent judge of character! I let you in, didn't I? I even let Oscar in, though that's based mostly on faith rather than on his hitherto displayed behavior."
"And my displayed behavior?"
"So, far, promising. But you are stalling! I know! You drive a limo for a celebrity!"
"Yep, you got it. I drive a limo for a super secretive, very important celebrity. In fact, I need to go back to my place and fetch my hat. The celebrity hates it when I don't wear a hat."
" See, I'm good!" She looked at him carefully, with that semi-smile that was already favorite with Danny. "Seriously, though, you don't work on Wall Street, do you? I am not sure why, but I'd be disappointed if you did."
"No. No Wall Street, no insurance, a little bit of driving, but very seldom celebrities. I am a Federal Agent. I work for the local FBI Missing Persons Unit."
She gave it thought. For some reason, Danny expected a more pronounced reaction. A surprise, perhaps even apprehension. He was used to people getting apprehensive when they first learned of his job. It was the inherent defensiveness inevitably brought out with the mention of either law enforcement or the government. However, Audrey didn't seem defensive, or cautious, or weary in any way. She contemplated the information and then pronounced:
"I should have guessed. You did drop a clue with that mention of a friend in law enforcement." And then, with a smile that told him she was kidding: "At least she was raised by a Bogart fan. What's your excuse?"
"I just like the ties."
Danny laughed again, remembering bits of their conversation, and got into his car.
