The Note

by William Cass

Through the open sliding glass door to her apartment’s third floor balcony, Mary could hear pigeons cooing faintly and occasional traffic in the street below. The salty smell of the bay wafted on the cool evening breeze.

The bell on the microwave rang. She went into the kitchen and brought back the low-calorie frozen dinner she’d heated. Mary set it on a tray table and ate in front of the television, flipping through channels with the remote as she did. The early spring light fell outside, and a dimness gradually crept into the room and inside of her.

As he stood at their bathroom sink shaving, Tom could hear his younger brother, Mike, on the phone laughing with his girlfriend. Tom wondered if he looked his age; he was five years older than Mike, whose twenty-sixth birthday they were going out to celebrate that evening. People said they looked alike, but Tom knew that was a stretch. His own features were more elongated, less defined somehow, and lacked the assuredness that Mike’s always held. Mike had done some modeling when he was in his early twenties, but that hadn’t panned out, and he’d worked in fitness equipment sales for the past several years. Mike regularly used the equipment he sold. Tom didn’t, which wasn’t hard to tell.

Tom heard Mike end his call with Lisa. She’d been around so much the past couple of years that she almost felt like a kid sister herself to him.

Mike shouted, “All set?”

“Just about.”

Tom finished shaving and was splashing cold water on his face when Mike appeared in the bathroom doorway of the little house they rented down the street from the elementary school where Tom taught.

“Really appreciate you taking us to dinner,” Mike said, “but I can pay for Lisa. It’s not her birthday.”

“No problem,” Tom said. He dried his face with a hand towel from the rack on the door. “I want to.”

Mike nodded and smiled. “All right,” he said. “You get yourself a lady friend, and I’ll do the same on your birthday.”

Tom felt something fall inside. He hadn’t gone out with anyone in over a year.

Mike said, “I’ll go get the car and pull around in front for you.”

Mary didn’t go to the Harbor House every night, but she’d begun walking down to it a couple evenings a week. Perched on pilings at the edge of the bay, it wasn’t really a singles place; there was no dance floor, and tables for dining were arranged around the bar area in its center that sat on a raised island of dark wood. The bar itself was a square with the bartenders inside, and a few tall-top tables were scattered along a gold railing separating the island’s edge from the dining area. Mary sat on a stool on the bar’s far side with an empty glass of Chardonnay and a partly full one in front of her when Tom and Lisa came in. She watched the hostess seat them at a table at the opposite corner of the room from her.

Lisa gave Tom’s shoulder a squeeze when they were seated, leaned into him, and said, “This is very nice of you. Taking us to dinner.”

“My pleasure.”

Lisa licked a fingertip and ran it across Tom’s cheek just below his earlobe. “You missed a bit of shaving cream,” she said, and they both laughed. He patted her hand and thanked her.

Mary took a sip of wine watching them. Then she saw Mike come in and caught her breath. She watched him look around in the foyer and raised her fingertips to her lips. “My, God,” she whispered. “You’re beautiful.”

She saw the couple who’d just settled at the table wave to him. He walked over to them and sat down with his side to her. When he smiled, her heart quickened, and she took another sip of wine.

At the table, Mike said, “Sorry. Had a hard time finding a parking spot.”

“No worries,” Tom told him.

A waiter came up to the table, handed them menus, and took their drink orders. As they studied the menus, Mary regarded herself in the short mirror above the liquor bottles across from her. She smoothed her hair, straightened her chin, and thought that she still looked all right for almost thirty. She’d put on a few pounds since her college days, but she didn’t think her face had changed too much. People at work still complimented her on her appearance, although that was usually about a dress or outfit looking nice on her rather than the things men had said to her when she was younger. She’d only been in San Diego for less than a year after moving west from Pittsburgh for a new job as a speech therapist at a children’s hospital. Part of the reason for the move was to get away from an emotionally abusive relationship. She liked the work and the weather, but had only dated twice since arriving, and both had gone nowhere.

She watched the waiter serve drinks from a tray to the couple and the man. She watched them raise their glasses, toast, and sip. There was something in the way the man held himself that gripped her; she felt a tingling in the bottoms of her feet. As he drank, she did the same. Her glass grew almost empty. Evening had faded, and it had become completely dark outside. She thought of her empty apartment. She thought of the nights alone there, the ones behind her and the ones ahead.

“What do I have to lose?” she whispered to herself suddenly.

She took a pen from her purse and reached for a clean bar napkin from the little stack in front of her. She wrote the note quickly, put a ten-dollar bill inside the napkin, and folded it.

She finished her wine, took a last look at the man with the couple, and walked to the hostess stand, where she stood with her back to their table.

The hostess glanced from her reservation book to May and said, “Yes?”

“There’s a man sitting with a couple at a table at the far end of the restaurant.” Mary tipped her head to show the direction. She kept her eyes lowered and extended folded napkin. “Would you give this to him for me?”

There weren’t any tables occupied between the hostess stand and where Mary had indicated. At that table, Tom was taking a photograph with his cell phone of Mike and Lisa; they had their arms around each other and Lisa was kissing Mike’s cheek.

“Yes,” the hostess said smiling. “I can do that.”

She felt the hostess take the napkin and thanked her, then left quickly without turning around. The night air outside felt chillier than she expected. But she was sweating a little in spite of it, and her heart pounded. “I’ve never done anything like that before,” she said aloud. She pulled her jacket closed. “Never.”

The hostess walked across the room and handed Tom the napkin. With the same smile, she said, “A woman asked me to give you this.”

Tom frowned at the napkin. He looked up at the hostess, then at Mike and Lisa who sat holding hands and staring at him expectantly.

“Well, open it,” Mike said. “Tell us what it says.”

Tom unfolded the napkin, read the message, and slowly set the ten-dollar bill on the table in front of him. He looked back and forth between the two of them.

“Well?” Lisa said.

Tom shrugged. “She wants to buy my drink. She’d like to get together. She left her name and phone number.”

Mike reached over and clapped him on the back. He and Lisa were both grinning.

“How about that?” Mike said.

Lisa grinned. “Good for you!”

Mike looked up at the hostess and asked, “Where is she?”

“She left.”

“Was she attractive?”

The hostess raised her eyebrows. “I guess,” she said. “I mean, sure.”

They watched her walk away. Tom sat staring at the napkin. He held it in front of him with the fingertips of both hands.

“You must get so tired of that,” Mike told him.

Tom said, “I do.”

They all laughed, and Tom tried to look grim. Inside, his heart raced.

“Are you going to call her?” Lisa asked.

“Are you kidding?” Tom replied. “I don’t know.”

Late that night, Tom sat up in bed. He took Mary’s note from the top drawer of his nightstand and propped himself against the pillows with it. He switched on the nightstand lamp and read it again. He read it a second time, then ran his fingers through his hair, pursed his lips, and rubbed his chin.

Across town, Mary lay awake in bed with her hands behind her head staring at the ceiling. A foghorn belched across the bay. She blinked several times and said, “Did I actually do that? Did I?”

Mike wasn’t home from work yet when Tom came into the house the next day after school. He changed clothes and tried to grade some papers at the kitchen table, but found himself biting his nails and staring out the window at the fence. He got a broom, went outside, and swept the back deck. Then he stood holding the broom handle, watching some children riding bikes up and down the alley. He went back inside, opened a beer, and took a long swallow from it. He went into his bedroom, took out the note, and read it again. Finally, he sat down on the edge of his bed, dried his palms on his pants legs, took out his cell phone, and dialed Mary’s number.

Mary was unloading the dishwasher when the phone rang. The sound of it made her jump and give a little cry. She picked up the phone; the incoming call was from a number she didn’t recognize. She cleared her throat, exhaled once, and answered it.

“Hello,” she said.

“Is Mary there, please?”

“This is she. I mean, I’m her.”

“Well,” Tom said quickly. “Listen. The thing is, someone left me a note last night at the Harbor House asking me to call her. Is that you?”

She pictured the man from the night before and felt the same tingling in her feet that she had then. “Yes,” she said. “It is.”

There was silence for a long moment. Tom could hear traffic behind her. She could hear him breathing. Finally, he said, “My name is Tom.”

“Hi, Tom.” Mary closed her eyes tightly and said, “I’m glad you called.”

“I am, too. I mean I want to thank you for the drink. That was nice of you. Listen, would you like to get together?”

“When?”

“Well, I don’t know. Is tomorrow too soon?”

“That’s fine. Where? When?”

“Well, we both know the Harbor House. Would that work? Say, five o’clock, in the bar?”

“That sounds perfect.”

“Okay, then,” Tom said. His eyes had grown wide. “So, how will I know you?

He heard her laugh. “I know you, remember? I sent you that note.”

He laughed, too. She liked the sound of it. He said, “Of course.”

She smiled, picturing him, and said, “I’ll be watching for you.”

“Okay.” Tom paused. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Me, too.” She put her free hand against her cheek. “All right, Tom. I’ll see you then. Goodbye.”

Tom listened to line go still and set the phone on the nightstand. He made a fist and smacked his palm with it. Mary set the phone on the counter. She looked at the reflection of her happy, startled face in the kitchen window.

Mary was sitting on the same stool at the Harbor House the next afternoon twenty minutes early. The place was crowded: Happy Hour on a Friday. She’d ordered a glass of wine and was swirling it. She adjusted the front of her dress, licked her lips, and sipped. She put her hand against her chest and said to herself, “Stop it. Relax.”

Tom entered just before five and went into the restroom off the foyer. He’d borrowed a shirt of Mike’s and wore it untucked beneath his sports coat the way his brother did. He regarded himself in the bathroom mirror. He unbuttoned a second button under his collar, then re-buttoned it. “All right,” he said to his reflection. “Come on. Let’s go.”

He left the restroom, passed the empty hostess stand, and stepped up onto the near edge of the bar’s island. Every stool and table was occupied, and several groups of people huddled together along the railings drinking and talking. Three bartenders scurried back and forth inside their cavity. His eyes slowly scanned the room.

Mary saw Tom through the crowd and sucked in a breath. She frowned and shook her head, slowly at first, then faster. “Not you,” she whispered, staring at him, then looked down quickly. “No. No, no, no.”

Tom stretched uncomfortably where he stood. His eyes briefly met several women’s, but they all glanced away. He put his hands in his pockets, and then took them out again and let them dangle at his sides. He blew out a breath.

Mary looked at him once more before taking money out her purse, placing it on the bar next to her glass, and climbing off the stool. She went down the back steps of the island, circled around the perimeter of it behind Tom and left through the front door. A low fog drifted off the bay like smoke. She walked over and sat on a bench between the restaurant and the harbor, shaking her head and watching the fog swirl among the boats.

A group of men and women vacated a pair of tall-top tables at one corner of the bar, and another replaced them. The place was full of voices, laughter, the clink and shuffle of glasses. A slant of dull, late afternoon light crossed the room. Tom continued to slowly scan the faces until he thought his gaze met that of a blonde-haired woman standing alone next to the railing across the island from him. Bartenders passed back and forth between them for a handful of seconds, and when they’d cleared, it appeared to him that she was still looking his way, craning her neck a bit towards where he stood. He thought her fingers may have wriggled in his direction.

He looked down quickly at his hands and thought, “What the hell.”

He zig-zagged through the crowd and made his way across to her. She was still facing the entrance, so he tapped her gently on the shoulder, and said, “Mary?”

The woman turned and looked at him blankly. “No,” she said. “I wasn’t Mary when I came in, and I’m pretty sure that’s still not my name.”

Tom felt himself blinking rapidly. “I’m sorry.”

“Sure, you are,” she said evenly, then pushed past him into the crowd.

Tom stood staring at where she’d been and swallowed. A flush had spread over him that he hoped didn’t show in his cheeks. He leaned as casually as possible against the railing in her empty spot and stared at the floor. He folded his arms and felt the flush turn cold. He listened to the voices and laughter, standing perfectly still and glancing up now and then for another ten minutes or so before leaving himself.

Light had descended towards evening, and the fog had thickened. Tom had nowhere to go, and he didn’t want to appear home so soon with Mike and Lisa there. He walked towards the harbor and stopped at the bench where Mary sat.

“Can I bother you for the time?” he asked her. “I don’t have a watch and I forgot my cell phone.”

Mary looked up at him. Their eyes met for the first time. She saw the uncertainty and pain in them, and her heart clenched a little. She turned her wrist so he could see the face of her watch.

Tom nodded and gave a small smile. He said, “Thanks.”

She recognized something in his smile that stirred something further in her. He looked nice, gentle and kind. Then he was gone into the fog. “Wait,” she whispered. But it was too late; he’d disappeared completely, and there was no way to try to explain herself. What could she say?

Tom walked to the far end of the harbor where he found another bench to sit on himself. The streetlights had blinked on but were just muffled globes in the fog. He listened to the hulls of the boats rocking in the water and knocking quietly against the dock. So did Mary. Perhaps a hundred yards separated them, which was as close as they’d ever get.

Originally appeared in Gravel: A Literary Journal, 2018