No Ordinary Love (20 page)

“I’m sure she did, Tony,” Angela said, “but you didn’t say anything to her first. I thought you were going to talk to her before you gave her the shoes.”

“It is hard,” Tony said. “My voice freezes in my throat whenever I see her.”

“You don’t have to say much,” Angela said. “Simply explain why you got them and then give her the shoes. Go ahead. Say, ‘Trina, I got you these shoes . . .’”

“Trina, I got you these shoes,” Tony said.

“So that . . .”

“So your feet do not hurt anymore,” Tony said.

“That sounds like a great start,” Angela said.

“And then I will go to her home,” Tony said.

“Um, Tony,” Angela said, “let’s see how it goes with the shoes first.”

“I want to go to Trina’s home,” Tony said.

“I know you do,” Angela said. “Just see if she likes the shoes, okay? And let her
invite
you to her home.”

“I cannot go to her home,” Tony said.

“Not unless she invites you,” Angela said.

Tony looked out the window at Huntington Park. “Help me talk some more. Aika helped me by acting like Trina.”

“I will,” Angela said, “but you have to go first.”

“I will go first,” Tony said. “Hi, I am Tony. What is your name?”

“I’m Trina,” Angela said.

“It is foggy today,” Tony said. “It is like clam chowder without the clams and potatoes. Do you like clam chowder, Trina?”

“Yes,” Angela said.

“How do you think the Giants will do this year?” Tony asked.

“What if Trina doesn’t follow baseball?” Angela asked. “What would you say next?”

“I do not know,” Tony said. “I would probably say nothing and give her the shoes.”

“You have to think of something else to say,” Angela said. “You know, work your way into giving her the shoes.”

“I will tell her I have memorized all the streets in Nob Hill and Chinatown,” Tony said.

“Why not cut to the chase and tell her the real reason you came to see her?” Angela asked. “Tell her you’re on a quest to meet her.”

“Only knights went on quests,” Tony said. “I am not a knight.”

“You’re the most chivalrous man I know,” Angela said.

“Trina will think I am crazy,” Tony said.

“Or charming,” Angela said.

“I am not charming,” Tony said.

“I think you are, Tony,” Angela said. “Let’s try again.”

“Hi, my name is Tony,” Tony said. “What is your name?”

“I’m Trina,” Angela said.

“I have a confession to make, Trina,” Tony said.

“Um, no, Tony,” Angela said. “That’s a bit . . . strange. You just met her. Just say what’s in your heart.”

“I cannot say what is in my heart,” Tony said. “My heart is too confusing. I will say what is in my head.”

“Okay,” Angela said. “Tell her what’s in your head.”

“Trina, I feel as if I already know you,” Tony said. “In fact, I already know a few things about you. I read your biography on the
Second Chances
Web site, and I took an airplane from Brooklyn to San Francisco to meet you. I think you are very pretty, and I would like to get to know you better. I saw you rub your feet yesterday so I bought you these shoes.”

Angela didn’t respond immediately.

“Is that okay, Angela?” Tony asked.

“That’s great, Tony,” Angela said. “That’s perfect.”

“I will try it tomorrow,” Tony said.

“Let me know what happens, okay?” Angela said.

“Okay,” Tony said. “Thank you, Angela.”

“No, thank you, Tony,” Angela said. “You may be the last truly romantic soul left in the universe.”

21

A
s Trina entered Huntington Park for her lunch break the following day, she saw the man from the bus bench the night before putting several shoe boxes on the park bench where she usually sat.

No Brooklyn Dodgers jacket today. Nice clothes. A little wrinkled. Do I stop? He seems harmless. Tall. Italian. Dark eyes. Is he dangerous? Dangerous people don’t normally tip barbers a thousand bucks, do they? If this is even the guy.

Trina approached the bench cautiously. “Are you . . . Tony?”

“Yes,” Tony said. He looked in Trina’s general direction. “I am Tony. Trina, I feel as if I already—”

“How do you know my name?” Trina asked.

“I read your biography on the
Second Chances
Web site, and—”

“I sounded pretty pathetic, didn’t I?” Trina said.

“No,” Tony said. “You were honest. Um, I took an airplane from Brooklyn to San Francisco to meet you. I think you are very pretty, and I—”

“Thank you,” Trina said.

Tony’s eyes moved from her white shoes to her thighs. “I think you are very pretty, and I would like to—”

“Thank you, Tony,” Trina said.

Tony’s eyes flitted briefly to her face. “You are welcome.”

“And you want to . . .”

“Oh,” Tony said. “And I would like to get to know you better.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” Tony said. “I saw you rubbing—”

“Are those Sanitas?” Trina interrupted.

“Yes,” Tony said. “I saw you rubbing your feet yesterday so I bought you these shoes.” He sighed loudly. “I have said everything now.”

“Are you a Good Samaritan or something?” Trina asked.

“No,” Tony said. “The Good Samaritan was a man in a parable Jesus told in the Bible in the Gospel of Luke chapter ten. I am not in the Bible.”

This sweet man has something wrong with him. Is he autistic? He seems high functioning, and he’s super-polite.
“Well, I think you’re a modern-day Good Samaritan, Tony.” She stepped closer to the bench and looked at the boxes. “Those are too big—wait.
Those
are my size. Six and a half. How did you know?”

“I measured your feet with my eyes,” Tony said. “They were nine inches. I will stand over here while you try them on.” He backed several feet away from the bench, toward the fountain.

“Why?” Trina asked.

“I am a stranger,” Tony said. “You do not know me.”

“You’re not a stranger,” Trina said. “You’re Tony from Brooklyn, and you’re giving me shoes I desperately need.” She nodded toward the bench. “You can stand closer. I won’t bite.”

“I will stand closer,” Tony said. “I will not bite either.”

Trina smiled, slipped off her Danskos, and opened the shoe box. “Did you really fly all the way across the country to meet me?”

“I did not fly,” Tony said. “The plane flew.”

Trina smiled. “Right.”
He takes everything I say literally. What does he have? I should know this.
She put on the Sanitas and danced around the bench. “Oh, these feel like heaven.”

“Heaven is where Poppa and Mama are,” Tony said. “Tonto may be there, too. I do not know if dogs are allowed in heaven.”

“I hope they are,” Trina said. “I had a dog named Max when I was little. I still miss him. He was a big old Saint Bernard.” She pushed aside the other boxes and sat. “These shoes feel great. And I can just . . . have them?”

“Yes.” Tony bagged the other shoe boxes. “I can return these to Bea at DSW if I bring her the receipt.” He stared at her photo ID hanging from a lanyard around her neck. “That is not a very good picture of you.”

“I know,” Trina said. “They caught me first thing in the morning. Pictures should never be taken first thing in the morning.”

“You are very pretty in the morning,” Tony said, staring at the ground.

“Thank you,” Trina said. “You’re pretty handsome yourself.”

“I look like my brother Angelo,” Tony said.

She patted a space next to her on the bench. “Why don’t you sit with me?”

“I would like that very much.” Tony sat two feet away, the bag at his feet.

“You don’t have to sit so far away,” Trina said. “I didn’t bite you, right?”

“No,” Tony said. He twisted his fingers and began pulling them. “I am . . . nervous.”

He is definitely autistic. I’ve seen autistic kids do that in the children’s ward.
“I hope I don’t make you feel nervous,” Trina said softly.

“You make me feel . . .” Tony stopped pulling on his fingers. “I am not as nervous now.”

She slid a few inches closer to Tony. “So you saw me online and just decided to come see me.”

“Yes,” Tony said, “because the other women were not honest.” He looked at her knees. “And you have clear eyes. You have an honest face. Bambi Bennett is . . .” He remembered what Aika said. “Bambi Bennett is a big-eyed, big-chested Rapunzel who is long on legs and hair and short on intelligence.”

Trina laughed. “I’ll bet she is. Still, she gets to go on television, and I don’t.”

“You cannot find love on television,” Tony said.

“I suppose you’re right.” She swung her legs back and forth. “This is so nice of you. My feet are happy.”

“I have made your feet happy,” Tony said.

“And you’ve made me happy, too,” Trina said.

“I am glad,” Tony said. He looked at his hiking boots. “My feet do not get happy. They get sweaty.”

“So do mine,” Trina said. “How long are you staying in San Francisco?”

“I do not know,” Tony said.

Trina leaned back on the bench. “So, Tony from Brooklyn, you know a lot about me already. What’s your story?”

“It is called
Living with the Sponge, the Biography of Art E.,
” Tony said. “My brother Angelo wrote it.”

Trina’s arms filled with goose bumps. “What’s your last name, Tony?”

“Santangelo,” Tony said. “I am Italian. But I am shy. Italians are not supposed to be shy. Angelo is not shy.”

Trina moved closer to Tony, her thigh brushing his. “You know, there’s nothing wrong with being shy. I’m shy.”

“You are not shy,” Tony said.

“I really am,” Trina said. “It takes me a long time to warm up to people.” She smiled. “But here I am warming up to you.”

Tony nodded. “I like shy. Shy is good.”

“So you’re . . . Art E.,” Trina said.

“I am Tony Santangelo,” Tony said. “I am not Art E. I want you to like me, not Art E. I write music as Art E. It is not my name.”

“I like your name,” Trina said. “Tony Santangelo. It’s easy to say.”

“It does not mean anything,” Tony said.

“I think it does.”
Am I really sitting next to a living legend? I need to read that biography. Naini recommended that I read it, but I turned her down because it sounded too depressing.
“I like your beard.”

“It is scratchy today,” Tony said. “My face is normally smooth. I forgot my electric shaver. I brought my map book of San Francisco. I have memorized all the streets in Nob Hill and Chinatown. I will not get lost. It is not foggy like clam chowder today.” Tony sighed. “I am sorry I am talking too much. I am supposed to be listening.”

“It’s okay,” Trina said. “I want to know more about you. Did you really come out to California to meet me?”

“Yes,” Tony said.

“I’m really quite ordinary,” Trina said.

“I do not think so,” Tony said. “I have learned so much about you since yesterday.”

Trina pressed her thigh against his. “What have you learned?”

Tony stared at Trina’s thigh. “I have trouble . . . talking to women . . . who are close to me.”

Trina moved even closer, sliding her left arm to the back of the bench. “You’re doing fine.”

Tony looked behind him at Trina’s hand. “But I have Asperger’s. It is . . . hard. I like you very much, but I do not know how to tell you without saying the wrong thing.”

Asperger’s. I should have known that. But Tony
knows
he has Asperger’s. That’s good, right? And for a man who often gets lost in his own mind, he’s trying to get out of his mind for me. That’s so sweet.
“What do you want to tell me?”

“I want to tell you how much I like you,” Tony said. “I saw you yesterday on this bench, and when the sun came out and made your face glow, I had never seen anything so beautiful. Your face glowed like an angel, and now your feet feel like heaven.”

“Yes, they do,” Trina said.
Thank God for that brief sunbeam.

“I wrote notes about you yesterday.” Tony took out several notepads and began to flip through them. “I think I have a song here. ‘If you asked me what is beauty, it won’t be a woman’s booty, it won’t be a color or race, it’s sunlight’s lace on Trina’s face . . .’”

Did he just say . . .
booty
?

“Some rapper will do that part,” Tony said. “It is the style now. Then a singer will sing, ‘Streams of gold shine all around her, I thank God that I have found her, I will remember this sunlight moment as long as I live, as long as I love . . .’ It still needs some work.”

Oh my goodness! He’s got me tearing up! Is he the real deal? Is he really Art E.?
“That was beautiful, Tony. ‘As long as I live, as long as I love.’ And you wrote that while you were looking at me?”

“Yes,” Tony said. “I may call it ‘As Long as I Live, As Long as I Love,’ but I might want to call it ‘Trina.’”

A song named for me. Wow.
“You’re the songwriter, not me.” She looked away.

“You are beautiful, Trina,” Tony said. “I look at you and see notes all around you. The words come to me easily. I could write many more songs about you, too.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Trina said. Her eyes filled with tears.

Tony glanced up at Trina’s face. “You are crying. I have made you cry. I have just met you and I made you cry.”

Trina wiped her eyes. “You’re not making me cry, Tony. I sometimes cry when I’m happy. You’re making me happy. No one’s ever written a song about me before.”

“It will sound better with accompaniment,” Tony said. “I will be better with accompaniment.” He moved a shaking hand to Trina’s thigh, lightly touched it, and returned it to his lap. “I will be a better man with accompaniment.”

Trina looked into Tony’s eyes. “I don’t understand.”

Tony focused on his feet. “I want to be your second chance, Trina.”

Oh, my heart, my heart, and here come some more tears.
“You do?”

“Yes,” Tony said. “You deserve a second chance.” He checked his watch. “You are ten minutes late back to work.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Trina said. She put her hand on his thigh. “I have a really good excuse for being late.”