Two Roses

　 On a rainy Saturday evening, she is sitting on a couch in the spacious living room. Satie is playing on the stereo, and she is reading Francoise Sagan over some fruit and wine. The book looks old since it belongs to her mother. She read it a long time ago, but she loves rereading old books because she has different impressions every time. She looks at the clock on the wall. It is almost 7 o’clock. All of a sudden, the telephone rings. Even though she can hear the sounds of the music and the rain, she is surprised at the bell. She walks toward the phone and answers,

　 “Hello?”

　 “Hello. This is The Seattle Times. Would you like to hear about our half price Sunday paper?”

　 “No thank you.”

　 “All right. Have a good weekend.”

　 “A junk call,” she mutters and hangs up.

　 She comes back to the couch, sits down and opens the book again. After reading a couple of lines, she grabs the wineglass and thinks of the words the person on the phone said.

　 “Have a good weekend.”

　 This is not a usual weekend. She is staying home alone, reading. She does not like the idea of staying home on weekends, but she feels that way this weekend. Actually, her roommate asked her to go out with friends tonight. But she would rather stay home than go to crowded places with filthy stench of cigarettes. She recalls the conversation with her roommate this morning.

　 “Are you all right?”

　 “What’s that?”

　 “You know what I mean.”

　 “Never mind. I’m okay.”

　 She looks intently at the drops of water on the surface of the glass, thinking,

　 “Yes. I’m totally okay. It’s just that this is the first weekend since I stopped seeing him. That’s why I’m feeling like this. But it will get better in a few weeks.”

　 She takes a sip of wine. Again, she begins to read the book.

　 “The women in Sagan’s stories are sometimes very destructive. But this is one of the reasons I’m attracted to her,” she thinks.

　She looks at the telephone and says to herself,

　 “No way. He’s not gonna call me. Don’t dare expect his calls. It’s over. He knows it too. Remember what he has done to me? He turned out to be a real jerk. Forget it. I’ll meet someone soon.”

　 She shakes her head as if she tried to get rid of him from her mind. She eats a piece of Asian pear on the plate.

　 “Yum,” she utters.

　 Her eyes run over several lines, but she finds it impossible to focus on the words. Something bothers her. Obviously it is him. She does not have to admit it.

　 “It’s a drag,” she moans, throwing the book on the couch. She lies down and looks at the ceiling.

　 “All right. Let’s face it. He never calls whenever I call him. The reason is always the same; ‘I’m busy.’ Even so, he can have only a few minutes to say hi to me, right? I’ve had it. I’m sick of waiting for him. He’s not the right guy. He’s such an asshole, treating me like this.”

　 Once again, she glances at the phone despondently.

　 “But still, I’m waiting.”

　 Her eyes do not focus on anything in the room.

　 When she has almost fallen asleep, the doorbell rings.

　 “Who the hell is that?”

　 She gets up and walks to the door so slowly that the bell rings a couple more times, which makes her more reluctant to answer. She sees a boy standing there with a rectangular box.

　 “What the heck is that?” she says.

　 She takes the box from the boy and signs the form. With excitement and a little wonder, she opens it. A white and a red rose are in the box. There is no note or letter.

　 “Who sent these?” she frowns.

　 The phone rings again suddenly. She notices the CD has finished.

　 “Hello?”

　 “Hi, Nicole. This is Glen.”

　 It is the voice she has been longing to hear actually, but she tries to answer nonchalantly.

　 “Hi.”

　 “Am I bothering you now?”

　 She knits her brows and thinks,

　 “He never talks like this. Weird.”

　 “Not really,” she says, still obligating herself to sound aloof.

　 “How are you doing?”

　 He sounds too gleeful in a way.

　 “Not bad,” she answers.

　 “Ah, Nicole…” his tone changes.

　 “Here it comes,” she thinks.

　 She is absolutely ready for an argument.

　 “Don’t forget about his bad attitude. Have it out.”

　 She straightens her posture.

　 “Did you, um, did you get it?”

　 “Get what?”

　 “A box.”

　 She takes a look at the two beautiful rose buds.

　 “Is this you?”

　 She does not sound blasé any more because of her amazement.

　 “Yes,” he says.

　 “What are these for?”

　 “I’ve been just bad. I didn’t care about people at all. I was completely overwhelmed by my job. You sounded like you took me wrong last time we talked. I was too busy. That’s it. I’m sorry, Nicole. I really am.”

　 He stops speaking, waiting for her to say something. Yet, she remains quiet.

　 “Can I make it up to you?” he says.

　 She takes out the red rose and smells it.

　 “Did you mean anything by these two roses?” she asks instead of replying.

　 “Remember the movie you said you really liked? Lillian Gish talks to her dead husband in a photograph on their wedding anniversary. She’s drinking wine, looking at a red and a white rose, remembering the words that her husband used to say.”

　 “White for truth, red for passion. Truth and passion. That’s all we need,” she recalls the words in her mind.

　 “…So the truth is… I love you.”

　 She smiles warmly and then says,

　 “Glen.”

　 “Yeah?”

　 “I’ve got this gorgeous black dress the other day, but I haven’t had a chance to wear it yet.”

　 “Count on me. I know a good place to show it off.”

　 “I feel like French tonight.”

　 “OK. I’ll be there in a minute.”

　 After hanging up, she puts the roses in a tall, glass vase. Looking at them with a contented smile, she goes to the closet to take out the dress.

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性的な表現はありませんが、子供がいる前では普通使わないスラングを使用しているためR15にしました。

映画の台詞は「八月の鯨」からです。

９０年代後半に書いたものなので、まだ当時はレストランなどでタバコが吸えましたが、今では全面禁煙となっています。