The Cardinal Beret
The Swiss cheese, a baguette, and a container of cole slaw filled the grocery bag I packed for my grandmother. The slaw was from my mother’s famous recipe, and used a tarragon-flavored vinegar. I slipped in a bottle of 2001 Ridge cabernet at the last minute. I knew grandma liked wine with lunch, and hoped it might make her happy. She’d felt so sad this holiday season, her first Christmas since the death of my grandpa who died last December at age 61.
It was the winter break of my freshman year at Stanford. I’d led a sheltered upbringing in our small town of Half Moon Bay, isolated from the world over the hill. Grandma lived in San Francisco, so I had to take the train. My mother didn’t drive or have a car, and because I lived on campus in the dorms I usually walked wherever I needed to go. That was fine with me, because I was happier spending the days in my room reading than partying with the other students on my floor.
My roommate Susan gave me a lift to the train station. I loaded the bag into the back seat and adjusted the cardinal beret over my long blonde hair. Grandma had given me the red cap and a matching poncho when I was accepted at school, she was so proud. She had taken up knitting as a way to keep hands busy during the lonely evenings. I tried to spend time with her but had never gone to her apartment in the City by train before; she’d usually drive down the Peninsula and take me to lunch at Il Fornaio or Carpaccio’s.
Susan pulled up to the curb. “Give me a call when you leave the City. I’ll pick you up.” I took the bag, stepped over an oily spot on the pavement and shut the car door. “Thanks! It should be around 7 o’clock tonight,” I said.
The train was already there, so I rushed to buy a ticket and board. The only seat I could find was next to one taken by a man in a dark jacket and pants. He looked nice enough, so I went ahead and sat down. His jacket was grey Gucci and his dark hair curled around the neck of his cashmere sweater. I noticed a diamond in his ear, probably half a carat at least. When he spoke to me, it was in a rich accent, something I’d never heard before. “I am visiting from Italy,” he told me. He introduced himself to me as Rommy, short for Romulus.
The hour-long ride to the City seemed much shorter as we chatted about everything from music (I like Patti Smith, and he likes any type of jazz) to food (I like dim sum, and he likes barbecued flank steak) to art (I love Robert Arneson’s ceramic sculptures, and he likes photography by Mapplethorpe). By the time we arrived, I felt that I’d known him forever. I had his phone number and he had mine. “How about sharing a cab to your grandmother’s place?” he said. “I’m going that way, anyway.” I took him up on it because it had started to rain, and wasn’t looking forward to walking the seven blocks.
When the cab stopped in front of Grandma’s apartment, Rommy jumped out and ran around to my side of the door to open it for me. I blushed to think that I was really starting to like him. “I’ll give you a call later on tonight, if that’s ok with you,” he said. I nodded and turned to grandma’s door, my key in my hand.
Grandma opened the door before I could turn the key in the lock; she was so lonely that she was listening for every sound, waiting for me. When she opened the door, I rushed by her and ran into the kitchen. I threw the bag on the counter and screamed, “I found the man of my dreams!” Grandma hurried into the kitchen and held my shoulders, “Tell me about him!” We talked for a while and then I realized I was hungry. I opened the bag and took out the cheese and bread and slaw. Grandma opened the wine with her well-used ScrewPull. It was then that I discovered that I’d forgotten to bring any Dijon. “I’ll run down to the corner and get the mustard — we can’t do without — it will only take a minute!” So I ran out to the little French deli to get the mustard.
I didn’t notice that Rommy was sitting across the street in the bus stop. He must have been waiting for me to leave, knowing that I had to have Dijon. He knocked on Grandma’s door and in his charming manner, convinced her to open the door. Once inside, he grabbed her, konked her on the head, and stuffed her into the large freezer in her basement, planning to dismember her body and eat her later (he’d already eaten a large breakfast just outside the women’s locker room at the 24-Hour Fitness in Palo Alto.)
When Rommy removed his trousers, he smoothed the sandal-toe panty hose he always wore up around his hips. He took off his shirt and Gucci jacket and slipped into Granny’s 38D Wacoal bra. Then he opened her drawer and found a black negligee. It fit perfectly, so he wrapped a scarf around his hair, slid into Grandma’s bed, and pulled the covers up to his nose.
I returned, out of breath. The door swung open as I started to put the key into the lock. What’s up here? Grandmas didn’t answer my call, so I walked around her apartment to see if anything was out of the ordinary. I peeked into her bedroom and saw that she was in bed. “What’s wrong, Grandma?”
I walked over to the bed and sat on the DKNY duvet cover. She moved just a little and pulled the covers up tight against her lower eyelashes. “Grandma! I never noticed that you had such large hands before!” “All the better to knit caps and ponchos for my dear granddaughter,” she said.
She kicked at the covers — it was getting warm in the room. I saw a foot under the New Zealand virgin wool blanket. “Grandma! I didn’t know your feet were so big!” And she replied, “All the better to run in the Bay to Breakers, my dear.”
Rommy became warmer and more agitated and the Chanel scarf fell away from his hair. “Grandma! What large ears you have, and I love your diamond stud,” I said, almost petulantly, because Grandma had never bought me a diamond for my birthday, even though it was in April. Everybody knows that April’s birthstone is diamond. Grandma replied, “All the better to hear you beg for more things, even though I am on a fixed income.” I understood, and with tears welling up inside, said, “Oh, Grandma, I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me all these years — the tuition at Crystal Springs School, the trips to Paris and China, everything! I love you Grandma!”
Grandma smiled, and reached out to hug me. It was then that I noticed her abnormally large canines, shiny and white. “Grandma, what large teeth you have,” I cried. Rommy sprang from the bed and attacked me, but I had realized at that moment he was not Grandma. “All the better to bite your neck and eat your sweet meat,” said Rommy.
I ran from the bedroom into the kitchen. Rommy caught my Manalho Blaniks ankle strap stiletto; my foot slipped out of it. Swiftly, I unbuckled my other shoe, and with a strong blow, I gouged his eye out with its heel. Rommy groaned, fell to the floor and with his dying breath whispered, “Grandma is in the freezer. If you thaw her, she will have had suspended animation and won’t know that time has passed.”
I ran to the JennAire freezer and lifted the lid. I hauled Grandma out. After about an hour, the pink came back to her cheeks. “Where’s the Ridge?”
“Oh Grandma! I love you so much! I am so grateful for all your help! Without you I would never have been able to go to Stanford!” I hugged her and kissed the red tip of her nose.
The End
It was the winter break of my freshman year at Stanford. I’d led a sheltered upbringing in our small town of Half Moon Bay, isolated from the world over the hill. Grandma lived in San Francisco, so I had to take the train. My mother didn’t drive or have a car, and because I lived on campus in the dorms I usually walked wherever I needed to go. That was fine with me, because I was happier spending the days in my room reading than partying with the other students on my floor.
My roommate Susan gave me a lift to the train station. I loaded the bag into the back seat and adjusted the cardinal beret over my long blonde hair. Grandma had given me the red cap and a matching poncho when I was accepted at school, she was so proud. She had taken up knitting as a way to keep hands busy during the lonely evenings. I tried to spend time with her but had never gone to her apartment in the City by train before; she’d usually drive down the Peninsula and take me to lunch at Il Fornaio or Carpaccio’s.
Susan pulled up to the curb. “Give me a call when you leave the City. I’ll pick you up.” I took the bag, stepped over an oily spot on the pavement and shut the car door. “Thanks! It should be around 7 o’clock tonight,” I said.
The train was already there, so I rushed to buy a ticket and board. The only seat I could find was next to one taken by a man in a dark jacket and pants. He looked nice enough, so I went ahead and sat down. His jacket was grey Gucci and his dark hair curled around the neck of his cashmere sweater. I noticed a diamond in his ear, probably half a carat at least. When he spoke to me, it was in a rich accent, something I’d never heard before. “I am visiting from Italy,” he told me. He introduced himself to me as Rommy, short for Romulus.
The hour-long ride to the City seemed much shorter as we chatted about everything from music (I like Patti Smith, and he likes any type of jazz) to food (I like dim sum, and he likes barbecued flank steak) to art (I love Robert Arneson’s ceramic sculptures, and he likes photography by Mapplethorpe). By the time we arrived, I felt that I’d known him forever. I had his phone number and he had mine. “How about sharing a cab to your grandmother’s place?” he said. “I’m going that way, anyway.” I took him up on it because it had started to rain, and wasn’t looking forward to walking the seven blocks.
When the cab stopped in front of Grandma’s apartment, Rommy jumped out and ran around to my side of the door to open it for me. I blushed to think that I was really starting to like him. “I’ll give you a call later on tonight, if that’s ok with you,” he said. I nodded and turned to grandma’s door, my key in my hand.
Grandma opened the door before I could turn the key in the lock; she was so lonely that she was listening for every sound, waiting for me. When she opened the door, I rushed by her and ran into the kitchen. I threw the bag on the counter and screamed, “I found the man of my dreams!” Grandma hurried into the kitchen and held my shoulders, “Tell me about him!” We talked for a while and then I realized I was hungry. I opened the bag and took out the cheese and bread and slaw. Grandma opened the wine with her well-used ScrewPull. It was then that I discovered that I’d forgotten to bring any Dijon. “I’ll run down to the corner and get the mustard — we can’t do without — it will only take a minute!” So I ran out to the little French deli to get the mustard.
I didn’t notice that Rommy was sitting across the street in the bus stop. He must have been waiting for me to leave, knowing that I had to have Dijon. He knocked on Grandma’s door and in his charming manner, convinced her to open the door. Once inside, he grabbed her, konked her on the head, and stuffed her into the large freezer in her basement, planning to dismember her body and eat her later (he’d already eaten a large breakfast just outside the women’s locker room at the 24-Hour Fitness in Palo Alto.)
When Rommy removed his trousers, he smoothed the sandal-toe panty hose he always wore up around his hips. He took off his shirt and Gucci jacket and slipped into Granny’s 38D Wacoal bra. Then he opened her drawer and found a black negligee. It fit perfectly, so he wrapped a scarf around his hair, slid into Grandma’s bed, and pulled the covers up to his nose.
I returned, out of breath. The door swung open as I started to put the key into the lock. What’s up here? Grandmas didn’t answer my call, so I walked around her apartment to see if anything was out of the ordinary. I peeked into her bedroom and saw that she was in bed. “What’s wrong, Grandma?”
I walked over to the bed and sat on the DKNY duvet cover. She moved just a little and pulled the covers up tight against her lower eyelashes. “Grandma! I never noticed that you had such large hands before!” “All the better to knit caps and ponchos for my dear granddaughter,” she said.
She kicked at the covers — it was getting warm in the room. I saw a foot under the New Zealand virgin wool blanket. “Grandma! I didn’t know your feet were so big!” And she replied, “All the better to run in the Bay to Breakers, my dear.”
Rommy became warmer and more agitated and the Chanel scarf fell away from his hair. “Grandma! What large ears you have, and I love your diamond stud,” I said, almost petulantly, because Grandma had never bought me a diamond for my birthday, even though it was in April. Everybody knows that April’s birthstone is diamond. Grandma replied, “All the better to hear you beg for more things, even though I am on a fixed income.” I understood, and with tears welling up inside, said, “Oh, Grandma, I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me all these years — the tuition at Crystal Springs School, the trips to Paris and China, everything! I love you Grandma!”
Grandma smiled, and reached out to hug me. It was then that I noticed her abnormally large canines, shiny and white. “Grandma, what large teeth you have,” I cried. Rommy sprang from the bed and attacked me, but I had realized at that moment he was not Grandma. “All the better to bite your neck and eat your sweet meat,” said Rommy.
I ran from the bedroom into the kitchen. Rommy caught my Manalho Blaniks ankle strap stiletto; my foot slipped out of it. Swiftly, I unbuckled my other shoe, and with a strong blow, I gouged his eye out with its heel. Rommy groaned, fell to the floor and with his dying breath whispered, “Grandma is in the freezer. If you thaw her, she will have had suspended animation and won’t know that time has passed.”
I ran to the JennAire freezer and lifted the lid. I hauled Grandma out. After about an hour, the pink came back to her cheeks. “Where’s the Ridge?”
“Oh Grandma! I love you so much! I am so grateful for all your help! Without you I would never have been able to go to Stanford!” I hugged her and kissed the red tip of her nose.
The End
posted by Anne B Wright at 12:10 PM
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