State of Mind
Bernadette Miller
They’d agreed to meet late afternoon in Sutton Place. Ingrid arrived by cab from her Westchester apartment, the antique eagle head cane reaching out like a tentacle for the pavement. She tapped toward the corner and waited, her head twisting about to locate Vaughn amidst the sounds and odors. Behind her, patrons chatted at a sidewalk cafe. Nearby, a florist’s violets and chrysanthemums perfumed the hot summer air, compensating for the honking automobiles and buses.
Blind since birth, she refused to succumb to helplessness. She created collages in her studio near her apartment, impressions of scenes from Braille photographs. She also insisted on cleaning her apartment, and shopped and cooked, allowing only the maid’s weekly visit to ensure thorough cleanliness. After meeting Vaughn, her late father’s lawyer, she’d excitedly called her sister.
“Thank God, he’s normal,” she’d told Dagmar, and laughed. “You know I won’t date the blind.”
“Well, Vaughn’s pleasant and very handsome. But I think you should be more open about--”
“Dag, please, no more lectures. Let me seek happiness in my own way.”
Dag had sighed deeply. “Yes, I know, Ingrid.”
She frowned now. When Vaughn became engaged to Claire, his politeness resembled that of the nice artist she’d met last year while vacationing at Cape Cod. After telling her that she was the most stunning blonde he’d ever met, Phil had dated her for awhile, then suddenly one evening he’d broken the news as Vaughn had done, and the stockbroker the year before.
“Ingrid, I’m really sorry but I’ve met someone I care for.”
Sighing, she removed a purse tissue to blot her perspired face. It was almost ninety degrees; too hot for a linen suit. Vaughn should have chosen an air-conditioned restaurant.
Then, finally, “Hi, Ingrid, waiting long?”
She lifted her head. “I just arrived,” she lied, smiling, and held the cane at her side as Vaughn took her elbow and they walked.
“How was your morning?” he said.
“Mother called. She and Dag are leaving for Europe next month. I’m not going this year. All that hassle with planes and boats, and...” She stopped at what might be considered a complaint, her voice brightening. “Well, and how was your morning?”
He laughed. “Oh, the usual hectic atmosphere.”
She waited, still smiling, her head turned toward him. There was an awkward silence. As Dag had said, Vaughn was certainly tall, towering over her, and his musky cologne was enticing. She had to guess at his handsomeness; she’d never touched his face, discouraged by his businesslike manner. But it was too bad about his engagement.
“I’m looking forward to meeting David,” she said and laughed, too gaily, like a wound-up doll performing on cue. She hesitated. “Tell me more about him.”
“Oh, he’s a great guy. Owns a successful antiques business. At his last party I told him how lovely you are, and he wanted to meet you.” Vaughn paused. “Well, here’s his apartment building!” Guiding her to the lobby elevator, he warmly greeted the doorman as if he’d visited there often. The elevator whined to the thirty-second floor; they traversed an odorless, carpeted corridor that must be freshly-vacuumed. She nodded with approval while he stopped and rang the doorbell.
A young female voice exploded with delight, “Vaughn!” There was a pause, then, “And this must be Ingrid Swenson?” The girl’s heavy perfume drenched the foyer.
Ingrid nodded. “Yes, Miss...?
“I’m Claire, David’s cousin.”
“Oh, glad to meet you,” Ingrid said, surprised, and waited awkwardly for Vaughn who was probably hugging his fiancee. That overly-sweet perfume wasn’t flattering, but Claire was probably very pretty.
Vaughn finally took Ingrid’s hand and led her past chattering people, tinkling silverware, and waiters scurrying past with whispered orders. A console played Mozart’s Flute and Harp Concerto. How lovely. She twisted about, smiling at the presence of the party guests, and was guided to a leather armchair that still smelled new. The air conditioner behind her hummed softly; a distant grandfather clock chimed seven, and the outside elevator continued whining as more people entered and left.
“Hi, Dave,” Vaughn said. “I finally brought Ingrid.”
A teaspoon clinked in a cup of coffee with an aroma of hazel nut. “Ingrid, at last--wonderful meeting you!” With his deep, husky voice, David sounded fiftyish, yet with a boyish enthusiasm. “Can I get you something? Champagne, vodka, Scotch? We just made coffee. What would you like?”
She smiled. “Diet soda, please.” She avoided liquor so as not to give people an excuse to say, “Look at that--blind and drunk!”
A waiter brought her an ice-cold soda that cooled her parched throat. Vaughn hurried off to find Claire, and she chatted awhile with David, who asked if she’d exhibited her work.
She replied, suddenly shy, “No, I just imagine scenes in my mind and hope they capture my feelings.”
“My friend Ken has a brother who owns a gallery. Suppose Ken and I drop by, and if he likes your work, we’ll try to help you. Are you free tomorrow, say, about two?”
“I’d very much appreciate the help.” She beamed. It would be wonderful to exhibit her work. Relatives and friends meant well with praise, but professional opinions would help her improve. Besides, David sounded interesting in a romantic way. That deep, kind voice, the warmth and boyishness...
While they chatted, waiters served delicious dim sum: steamed kale dumplings, shrimp balls, pork pastries, and sweet, sesame red-bean buns. Balancing the tray on her lap, she ate sparingly, requesting extra napkins to avoid soiling her clothes and the thick carpeting.
David said softly, “Ingrid, I suppose Vaughn told you I lost my sight in an automobile accident. It was late, during a snow storm, when another driver skidded into my Mercedes. It wasn’t his fault with weather like that. My wife divorced me a year later.”
She paused. Vaughn should have prepared her for this! “Yes,” she murmured, at a loss to say more. Perhaps David sensed her sympathy. He didn’t seem bitter about the accident. “Sometimes events happen as though fulfilling God’s purpose,” she said, floundering.
“I believe that we determine our own destiny, at least somewhat,” David said gently, “otherwise we’re puppets on strings. But, as Unamuno said, we’re all in the mind of God, preserved there for eternity.” He leaned toward her, enveloping her in the odor of peppermint breath mints. He was adorable, like a little boy. He touched her sleeve. “Linen... Ralph Lauren?”
“Hmm...is Lauren your favorite designer?” Ingrid teased.
David chuckled. “Actually, yes.”
“Well, mine’s Natalia.”
Now it was David’s turn to tease. “Of course. I love her linen suits. May I examine it?”
“You may not. We just met.”
“Ah, then you don’t believe in special privileges for the blind.”
Ingrid smiled at the flirting and David’s sense of humor. As they began debating art, Vaughn arrived and said, “Well, Dave, thanks for a pleasant evening, but we must be going.” He touched Ingrid’s elbow. “Ready?”
“Yes.” Just once, it would be nice if she decided when to leave!
“I’m looking forward to tomorrow,” David said.
Her head swiveled toward him. “So am I.”
They left amidst a flurry of goodbyes, and Vaughn helped her into a cab. She turned her face toward the taxi window. David was fun! And intelligent and sophisticated! It was exhilarating to talk with him, unlike so many men with whom she had little in common.
At home, she settled with a Braille cookbook on the brocaded sofa. Perhaps David and his friend would enjoy home baked oatmeal raisin cookies. It was comforting having someone to bake for, like a husband and children.
The following day she wore an expensive silk dress that she’d bought originally to impress Vaughn, and spent extra time applying lipstick, daubing gardenia perfume on her thin wrists and behind her ears. She added pearl earrings to match the necklace.
David arrived promptly at two while the mantel clock chimed. She hurried to answer the doorbell.
“Ingrid?”
She smiled, “Yes,” and turned hesitantly, waiting for his companion to speak, although there didn’t seem to be anyone else in the tiled foyer, no clothes rustling, shoes scraping, or delicate coughs.
“Ken left on a business trip,” David said, voice dropping like Dagmar’s when she’d been caught sampling Grandmother’s strudel dough in the bowl. “Ingrid, I hope you don’t mind my visiting alone,” David continued. “I’ll bring Ken next time. I’m serious about helping you to exhibit.” He seemed genuinely sheepish.
Ingrid smiled. He really was adorable. “It’s all right. Well, we can chat in the living room. Give me your hand, please.” She felt a jolt at the touch of his pudgy fingers, as if electricity flowed between them. Trying to ignore it, she guided him around a wing chair, Chinese Buddha, and lacquered coffee table, and toward the sofa. He was big, about Vaughn’s height but heavier. Fighting nervousness, she felt for the sofa arm to sit as far away from him as possible. She must adjust to his not seeing her; two freaks stumbling around. God, how untrue! David was sweet and, in fact, exciting: the deep husky voice, the politeness which seemed natural and not forced, the warmth and sincerity, the peppermint breath mints...
They discussed Ken’s art background, then David said, “Ingrid, I’d like to take you to dinner Saturday at Le Plaisir.”
It was her favorite restaurant with intimate alcoves like little rooms. “I’d love to!” she exclaimed impetuously.
“Tell me about your work,” David said.
“It started at about age five, when I touched a Braille photograph.” She continued, surprised at her confiding in someone she hardly knew. “Creating collages is like stepping into a physical universe where I’m not blind.” She paused. David might resent that last remark. It became difficult to concentrate. Her body tingled at his nearness. “My parents encouraged my independence. I resented groping to find my toothbrush when my younger sister Dagmar could easily hand it to me. But later in life, I realized that my parents were right; I developed persistence. I’ve been told I have an unusual gift--I wouldn’t want to waste it.”
“I feel that way about antiques,” David said. “In fact...” he paused, as if reluctant to display vanity, “I’m considered somewhat of an expert on ancient artifacts from the Far East. Our fields aren’t that far apart.”
“Yes,” she said, smiling, and excused herself to serve the baked cookies with hazel nut coffee, and then showed him the apartment’s antiques collected by her parents. He enjoyed fingering the china cabinet’s exquisitely-carved ivory netsukes, especially the scene of a big-bellied, hook-nosed gnome perched on a garden bridge, and the dainty Japanese lady carrying a parasol.
The mantel clock chimed five--so soon.
“Ingrid, I must leave for a business appointment. I’ve enjoyed our time more than I can say.”
“Me, too,” she said at the door, but averted her face to discourage his kiss, and waited until his tapping cane entered the hall elevator.
During the following week, surrounded by canvasses, brushes, and Braille photographs in her studio, she assembled a collage--fighting the distraction of handsome, sexy David with his full lips and boyish mop of curly hair, drawing her toward him for a kiss. Finally, Saturday arrived. She chose a cool, sleeveless chiffon, high heels, and leather purse, then paced the living room. The doorbell would ring mom-entarily. How would they manage? He’d probably want to guide her, but how?
Suddenly there he was! Rushing to open the door, she blurted out, “Would you like a drink?”
“I don’t drink,” he said in the foyer. “I stopped altogether after the accident.”
“Oh.” Could he sense her chagrin? “That’s right, I remember now,” she added. He’d had coffee at his party and at her apartment. How silly to have forgotten; she must be nervous again.
He linked his arm through hers. “If you’re ready, we can go. The doorman will get us a cab.”
Their canes tapping in unison as they climbed from the cab was irritating, but his arm guiding her into the restaurant was reassuring. She held her cane at her side while he carefully swung his sideways along the aisle to avoid bumping people. He seemed to accept his disability as though blind since childhood, like her. Over coq au vin, they discussed literature, art, opera, classical concerts, and travel. David, a Harvard graduate, shared most of her interests, unlike Vaughn who preferred night clubs and skiing.
While sipping coffee, she rested her hand on the tablecloth; David covered it with his, and must have sensed her smile because he said, softly, “Ingrid, thank you for coming into my life.”
“I...needed to meet someone I could care for...”
“I know,” he said, caressing her hand. “I’ve been waiting for an intelligent, creative, warm woman like you.”
She flushed with pleasure at his remarks, and didn’t remove her hand. How could she? She didn’t want the evening to end.
Later, stepping out into the hot, muggy night, he hailed a cab, helped her from it, and then led her upstairs to her apartment. Sitting beside him on the sofa, she sucked in her breath. For the first time in her life she eagerly awaited a man’s embrace.
He touched her shoulder and finally drew her toward him for a lingering kiss that made her wrap her arms around him, and she trembled.
When they separated, he whispered, “Could you love me?”
“I don’t know yet,” she said, her heart turning to water. She reached up to stroke his face. Her manicured fingers touched flesh covered with scars. Shocked she jerked away her hand as though burned, and withdrew to the sofa edge. He was scarred and ugly. Ugly!
“If it bothers you that much I could seek a plastic surgeon. I didn’t think it would matter.” His voice trailed off, but now his boyishness didn’t seem appealing.
Why hadn’t he taken care of this? Didn’t he consider a woman’s feelings?
He said, “I thought...”
“You thought since I was blind...” She shrank against the padded arm.
“I’d...better go...” he said, rising. He hesitated, and stumbled toward the door, banging his cane against furniture.
She waited until the cane tapped to the elevator, then she reached for a tissue and wiped her damp eyes, smudging her mascara. For a long time she leaned back on the sofa, twisting the tissue until it shredded like dirty snow over her immaculate dress.
