Like a sparkling glass of root beer, Toujours Moi is soft, sweet and fizzy. With a mix of warm sandalwood, musk and a combination of somewhat heady florals it’s jovial and pretty.
Toujours Moi, a woody oriental, is sold in its reformulated state by Dana; the original was introduced by Corday in 1927 (Corday 1927). The current version has a great deal of sillage and longevity and while it is now a “drugstore perfume” it still retains enough of its original charm to be worth a gander and sniff.
For the next four hours Gracie, Pat, George and I play in the water, drink root beer sodas and then Pat gets the idea to start a fire and roast weenies. He and Gracie will walk into town and buy some and presumably George and I will stay here. They leave in good cheer.
When they’ve finally crossed the distance needed for George to start a private conversation he stops and looks into my eyes, then starts with, “I really am sorry Beth about the last two weeks. I did forget about the time.”
I’m silent, but look at him with an attempt at an understanding expression. He looks down and continues.
“I can imagine it’s hard to believe.” He looks off into the deep water. “I didn’t forget about you. Just what day it was.” He looks a bit sad now but smiles slightly to himself.
I’m still silent, but I smile at him. He grabs my hand and rises suddenly. “Let me show you what my life has been like. Come with me.” Grabbing my hand he starts walking off, pulling me behind him.
We reach the shipyard in a few minutes of rather brisk walking. When we’re there we walk inside a cool, shady, muddy smelling sort of room with a lot of open space and a cement floor. Then there’s a door leading to a hallway that leads to another door and then a staircase. We go up the steps.
“Here we be.” He turns around and looks at me with an oddly surprised expression, as if seeing me for the first time. Then we walk into a dusty room where particles are flying about lit by sunbeams pouring in the window above a big mahogany desk. The desk is filled with papers, books, blotters, ink and pens. “That’s my desk.”
I turn around and our faces are inches apart before our mouths reach each other and we kiss – my first kiss, and it’s lovely. The kiss lasts for a moment or two longer before we part. His hands are still at my sides and we stand facing each other quietly smiling for a few seconds before we speak.
“I knew I would kiss you the next time I saw you.” He smiles and shakes his head. “That’s why I forgot I think. I was scared.”
“Oh it’s silly Beth, but not at the same time.” He rubs his eyes. Then he sits down in a chair next to the door and leans back and peers at me. “I wake up at 4:30 every morning, arrive here at that desk and stay until 8 or so every night.” He looks bemused and off into the distance. “Mr. Cook has us all working a lot right now, and me in particular.” He looks off, “He says I have a lot of potential and I don’t want to disappoint him.” He looks solemn. Then he looks at me quizzically. “I’m sorry Beth. I didn’t want to be dishonorable.”
“I don’t think I can stop seeing you. If I did I think it would hurt me in ways I’m not sure I can even put words to.” He looks a bit grave. He stands up and walks closer before grabbing my hand. “We should go back.”
We walk out the door and reach the steps. We’re two steps down when he stops, turns around and kisses me again. It melts me and we seem to float almost the entire way back to the shore, hand in hand.
Once we reach the beach, we find Gracie and Pat already starting a fire. “Where were you two?” Gracie asks, sounding confused.
The rest of the night goes by well. On the way home from the shore I hold hands with George until we reach the drugstore. Then he stops, lets go of my hand and walks a few feet ahead of us all. He lifts his arms and appears to be attempting to start a song that he wants us to join in singing with him, but instead a car pulls out of the Johnson house and roars down the path towards us. We all move out of the way, stand silent, wait and watch as the car passes us.
“He rides in it to work every day.” George follows the car with his eyes. He looks down at the ground and rubs the dirt with his foot like he’s trying to rub something out of existence.
“I see him sitting in it too and I often wonder why he doesn’t just walk to work like everyone else.” Pat smirks and then continues. “You’d think he was royalty, but he isn’t. He’s just putting on a show.”
George explains, “Archie married for money. I can’t think he sees a better way to make it count than lording it over everyone.” George shrugs.
Looking a bit surprised by her interest he continues with added emphasis on his words for dramatic effect, “Yes. He married her so he could buy his way into management. He aims to own the shipyard. I’ve talked with him about it.”
George nods with great seriousness. We all continue walking in a group. The conversation shifts about until we reach the start of my lawn. Suddenly, George grabs my hand and leads me near the rose bushes. “Say, I should tell you, it’s nothing really, but the other day Archie was talking.” He looks off a bit, “He said that I should meet his wife’s cousin from St. Paul. Her name is Violet. I told him no of course, but he was really stuck on the idea.”
George looks down. “I’m not so sure what he meant. He thinks it’s important in business to marry someone who’s your social superior. He often preaches to me about things a man should do to succeed and that’s one of them. He hardly sees his wife though, and I know he can’t stand her. You should hear the way he talks to her when she visits him.”
“Well, I suppose I could understand that, but it does seem one should marry for love. That’s so sad. We saw Rosamund the other night, the night we met you. Gracie and I. She looked unhappy.”
George falls silent before uttering, “Well, I’m a naive romantic but I certainly think love is important.”
I smile and give him a kiss on the cheek. He grins in his warm way and then places a kiss on my cheek before we part.
Of course, it’s days before I hear or see George again. I can’t say what it is exactly, but there seems to be a growing discontent that increases as the summer progresses and despite the many good times we have together, I’m always on edge. Then, one night, just after my mother serves her second helping of homemade ice cream on the front porch and leaves us alone for a few minutes, he begins, “I received a letter from home a while ago.” His face falls into a distant expression.
“My father is very ill. We’ve known he wasn’t doing well for some time, but recently his condition has deteriorated. They don’t think he will get better this time.”
Mother comes out the front door with glasses of lemonade. There’s a silence and then, “I might have to go back to Minneapolis at the end of the Summer if I can’t get a raise from Mr. Cook. My family needs the money.”
My mother, who has apparently heard the entire convesation so far, chimes in with, “Well, I’m sure you’ll be able to coax Mr. Cook into giving you a higher wage. You’re such hard worker, George.”
“I sure hope so. They’re awfully hard up.” His sensitive features look hardened, as if he is losing a battle he badly wants to win. That’s the last George speaks of it to me until one dreary Saturday a week later. We were holding hands. A storm had come up and there we sat alone, huddled by a rock on the shore.
“I can’t stand it anymore, I have to tell you.” Then turning to me, “I don’t think we can see each other anymore.”
“I can barely stand myself, but I… ” He looks off. “I’ve been seeing Violet for a week and she’s keen on going steady and I think I should. I should go steady with her, that is.”
“Then, what is this?” I stand up. He looks so small and scared, curled into himself like a bird waiting out a bad wind. “George.” I’m practically yelling now. “I do not understand. Not one bit.”
He looks at me and in a resigned, worn tone says, “I don’t think much of Violet. I don’t like her one bit, actually. But my choices are to either return home and work at the tire factory, and lose my chance, or stay here and see Violet. Mr. Cook refused to give me a raise, and I asked him three times.”
I feel the chill of the air and the rain falling on my head. I hadn’t noticed it was raining until just this moment. But it’s a quiet, soothing rain.
“I don’t think you do, and that’s fine. Just don’t ruin Violet’s life unless she wants you to. I’m sure she has feelings too.”
“No, of course not. Of course not,” my voice trails off. I decide my two choices are to stand here and argue with him trying to convince him that he should keep seeing me, or to walk away. If I walk away I’ll surely lose him, but I won’t lose myself. I walk away.
That night I cry for hours alone in my bedroom. I try to be quiet, but I can’t help it. Then, I hear a knock at the door. “Come in,” I shout.
It was my little brother Matthew. His face is gentle, sweet and compassionate. “Why are you crying?’
“No, thank you though. You’re very kind.” He is too. He nods his head in empathy and then closes the door.
So, my son had a severe reaction to having low blood sugar Monday morning and we had to bring him to the emergency room. We called 911 because of how bad it was and the paramedics thought he had had a seizure. Thankfully he hadn’t. He’s very healthy but apparently when kids are really little low blood sugar can affect them severely. He eats a lot, but now we feed him a snack before bed too. And, my husband was supposed to have a final interview for a job on Monday morning too. And I was supposed to have a cavity filled….
Oh, oh, and my mother’s friend decided to tell an estranged relative who none of us have seen in over ten years that we were at the hospital… And they just showed up in our er room while the nurse was trying to administer an ekg to our son.