The police and Steede Toesnapper are gone. Norah hobbles over to the thermostat and cranks it back up to her comfort zone...92 degrees. She adjusts her 'as seen on tv' wrap around sunglasses, licks the Milky Way residue off her fingers and plops down on her uncomfortable love seat next to Poindexter. He is sitting at an odd angle, rubbing the nagging spasm out of his hamstring.
"Lyrica?" she offers.
"No thank you," he replies. "This will pass...it always does."
There is a lingering silence and Norah seems to be drifting off somewhere in her mind...wondering, perhaps, if she should check on the bowling ball and head of cabbage who sleep like the dead in her bed room. The 'twin' thing still does not register. Then because silence is short lived on live soap operas, she speaks.
"Poindexter...might I ask you how you found me? You came to my door claiming to be the Avon Lady...then a pizza delivery boy. If it hadn't been for that giant bag of Milky Way bars, I would have never let you in."
Uh Oh...and camera zoom to the horror on his face. How could he tell her he has been watching her every move through a telescope for over a year?
He clears his throat and shifts his weight around on the love seat. "Well..." he begins. "I live across the street. Because I am a fibromite, I spend long hours just looking out my window, watching the traffic and people walk by. I have seen you many times, hauling your trash to the road, hailing cabs and basking in the sun on your small yet sufficient deck. I could tell by your painful expressions and staggering gait that you too are a victim of the evil fibromyalgia. Yet, you are a beautiful woman, Norah Fairchild...and...and..I adore you."
"Oh," she sighs. "I thought it might be because you recognized me from my days in television commericals. I'm the Lanicane Woman, you know. 'Lanicaine...for that pierceful itching every where except the eyes.' Also...Gold Bond Fungal Powder and my favorite...Dr. Scholl's corn remover. I DO, have fabulous feet, you know. I hope that phoney toesnapper has not disfigured my finest feature. Anyway...those commercilas have paid for all of this! (she waves her arms in a circular motion, pointing out the extravagant brownstone she is living in).
Lanicaine Woman? Poindexter thinks. How could he not have known that? It was one of his favorite commericals!
"I too have the luxury of being able to pamper my fibro. My family owns the Wicker World franchise. I just sit in my fabulous brownstone and cash the checks. Of course, I am a man and don't have the decorating-thing down to a science yet. But I DO have granite counter tops and marble flooring, thanks to the power of wicker."
Norah pulls off her sunglasses. Owie and double owie...the joint in her elbow pops like a champagne cork.
"Oh Poindexter...I just LOVE Wicker World...say...do you think I could meet your father one day? That would give me such a thrill..."
Zoom to his face. No way would she ever meet his letcherous father, gosh dang it. No way. "Yeah, sure," he lies.
Norah giggles at the thought. Then her mood changes abruptly and she peers over at her fibro chair. It is nothing but a smoldering carcass. Poindexter sees the sadness in her eyes. "Norah Fairchild...let's go to Fibro R Us and get you a new chair. This loveseat really bites, if you want to know the truth. ...even though it has been crafted from the finest Corinthian leather."
"I DO need a new chair..." she replies, her eyes shifting around the room as she is once again lost in some kind of fibro distraction. "I wonder what would happen if I switched my cable television to satellite? Those dishes are very small now and would not be an eye sore if it were drilled into the brick outside my window..."
Poindexter moans. Why oh why was he in love with a fibromite? Yet...he too had thought about switching from cable to satellite. Cheaper and such a lovely selection of channels. After this brief and irrelevant pondering, he snaps back to reality. He gentley wraps his arm across her shoulders.
"Come, Norah Fairchild. Freshen yourself up, we'll grab and cab and look for a new chair. It will be fun!"
She turns her head to look him in the eye a little to quickly and gets a head rush. She hates it when that happens. "Do you have you arm on my shoulder?" she asks.
"Yes...yes I do," he replies.
He removes his arm and stands up. Holy Moly, that hamstring spasm is NOT behaving itself.
"Hurry, Norah Fairchild, before the store closes. You might want to check out your left eyebrow...the magic marker is dripping down your face."
Long silence...then "Oh, okay. But...we have to stop at Shifty Eddies on 86th Street. He sells deep fried Milky Way bars in his back room."
Poindexter nods. Anything for the woman he loves.
Organ music, fade to black and a commercial for Febrez where that smart mouthed kid tells his mother he's not going to clean his room....until he discovers this product will magically clean it with just a spray or two..yeah right.
Oh..and I don't know how to spell Lanicaine.
fibro, menieres disease, RLS, anxiety disorder, disc compression, scoliosis, spinal stenosis TMJ Meds: Lexapro and valium
Post Edited (vestabula) : 11/3/2009 8:23:54 AM (GMT-7)