The 'L' Word

Grover had just gotten out of rehab and was trying to get a fresh start. Pay as a dishwasher at the local club wasn’t much and when a member told him of a furnished room offered by an eccentric old lady for just $800 a month, all utilities included, he jumped at the chance.

“You have your own bathroom and I expect you to keep it clean.”

“Yes Mrs. Stamp, I will.”

Miriam Stamp, owner of the handsome was clearly a wealthy woman she still kept the welcome mat at the front door, the one she handmade when she was thirty. It ready, Welcome Prize Patrol.

 “Please, call me Miriam. Mrs. Stamp reminds me of my husband.”

“You lost your husband?”

“A little over ten years ago, we’d been married 42-years.”

“I’m sorry. Did he die of natural causes?”

“Oh no, he didn’t die. I just lost him. I’m always misplacing things, but I actually think Wendy does it. She likes to tease me by hiding things like the TV remote.”

Miriam, as Grover would learn, took the art of eccentricity to Olympian levels

 “Who’s Wendy?”

“You’ll meet her in a minute. Now, where was I? Oh yes, besides tidiness, I have one rule and it must never be violated.”

“And what’s that Miriam?”

“The ‘L’ word is never spoken in this house.”

“Uh, the ‘L’ word?”

Miriam grew suspicious of Grover, ‘how could he not know what the ‘L’ word was?’ Sensing this, Grover tried to recover.

“Oh the ‘L’ word! Right. Sorry, there are so many ‘L’ words. I try to use as few as possible.”

“You can use any ‘L’ word you like except for that one.”

“I’ll make a note of it.”

“Come with me, I want you to meet the others.”

“Others?”

Miriam moved with a spry, spring in her step. Grover had to double time to keep pace. She took him to a closed door and stopped.

“Some of them tend to be a bit suspicious of newcomers. But I’m sure they’ll come around and you’ll get along just fine.”

Grover felt uneasy and steeled himself for whoever waited on the other side. Miriam opened the door and insisted Grover, go first.

Nothing could've prepared him for what he saw next.  Perched on counters and tabletops were over forty plastic head busts wearing wigs, each with distinctive hand painted facial features. Some had blue eyes, some brown, some green. One had eyes like a bullseye on a dart board, eyebrows, lashes and lips in different shades and hues. When Oliver turned to Miriam for an explanation, she was bald. She held a wig in her hand.

“I started losing my hair at seventy. That’s when I met Connie!”

Miriam guided Grover to Connie, the simplest of the bust designs. Her wig was old and thin like straw. All of her features were drawn with a black Sharpie.  It wasn’t until after she’d completed Connie that Miriam decided to invest in multi-colored markers.

“I know she looks simple but there’s a certain beauty to that, don’t you think?” 

Grover nodded robotically. Miriam stroked Connie’s plastic face.

“There’s a special place in my heart for Connie. We both know how we feel and don’t need to use that word. It’s always a lie when it has to be said.” 

Grover felt it safer to agree which he did in a soft, nervous voice.

“Yes Miriam, the word actually cheapens it!”

Miriam replaced the straw wig Connie wore with the grayish silver more convincing one she’d been wearing. She put the stringy blonde wig on her head then pranced and pointed to the others.

“Next, I met Rebekah! Then Sheila! Then Taylor!” 

She reminded Grover of the Scarecrow in search of a brain. Miriam clapped her hands once.

“They all know how I feel about them, and I know how they feel about me. We never have to say the lie! Isn’t that a beautiful thing?”

Grover had two choices, find far less comfortable digs or stay here and humor the old lady. Given his limited resources, the decision was obvious

“You know Miriam, I think you’re on to something here.”

“On to something?”

“Sure! Life without the ‘L’ word! Like you say, most of the time it’s a lie anyway, right?”

“Yes, it is! My husband said it to me all the time but never really meant it. Sometimes I feel like I’m glad I lost him. But I'm never glad to lose the TV remote! No sirreebob, never that!”

Concerned he might not be able to continue his pretense of accepting the madness much longer, Grover tried excusing himself.

“Well Miriam, I think I’ll unpack my bags and get settled.”

“No, wait! I want to introduce you to someone first.” Miriam grabbed Grover by the arm and pulled him to a bust with a flaming orange wig. The face on this one made it seem as if it held dark and dangerous secrets.

“This is Stella, she’s the dream weaver.”

“Dream weaver?”

“I want you to put her on the table next to your bed, just move the clock radio to give her room.” Miriam gently picked Stella’s head up and offered it to Grover.

“Thank you, Miriam, but I couldn’t do that.”

“Oh, but you must! You’re in a new bed, a new room in a new house and that kind of thing can lead to the horrifying to nightmares. Stella will keep you safe from them!”

Grover couldn’t possibly refuse the old woman’s insistence. He took the plastic head as if he held an affection for it.

“Thank you, Miriam, I’m sure Stella and I will get along fine.”

Miriam walked Grover back to the door and stopped at a bust sitting on a shelf of a curio stand.

“This is Wendy. You must be very careful of Wendy.”

“Why is that?”

“She’s a trouble=maker. She’s the one who takes things and hides them.” Miriam looked into Stella’s Sharpie blue eyes.

“Where is my can opener you little minx?”  

Grover’s eyes rolled as he risked a joke.

“Are you sure it was her?”

“Of course!” Then she leaned into Grover to whisper.

“I think she’s the one who lost my husband.”

Grover turned to glance again at all the hand painted heads.

“Well, I better get unpacked.”

Miriam ushered Grover out of the door.

“Dinner is at six. I’m making meatloaf and mashed potatoes.”

“Sounds great, I’m looking forward to it.”

With Stella cradled in his arms, Grover ascended the stairs and entered his room. Once he felt certain he was safe, he tossed Stella onto the bed as if she were a football and proceeded to unpack. As he did, he talked to himself.

“Wow, talk about loony. No wonder the old man got lost. I’d lose myself too if I had to have all those heads staring at me.” As he hung his shirts in the closet, he glanced at Stella’s head as it lay on the bed. The bust had landed on its side. The blazing red wig was half on, half off.

“Whattaya say Stella? Can the old lady cook?” 

Stella stared blankly ahead. Grover glanced toward the door then unplugged the clock radio and moved it over to the dresser. Next he picked up Stella, adjusted the wig so she looked good as new and put her on the end table.

“There, just in case the old lady comes in.” 

Grover finished unpacking and put his toiletries in his private bath. It was Monday, the country club was closed, and he didn’t have to work. He had no car or other means of transportation, like a bike. He considered calling an Uber to take him out to the beach and the relative sanity of gulls and other seabirds but decided against it. A round-trip Uber would cost over thirty bucks, and his budget couldn’t handle the expense. He decided to go downstairs to look for the TV remote so he could watch a Law & Order rerun.

When he got to the den, there was the remote sitting on the coffee table. The door to the room with the heads was open and Wendy’s sat on the curio counter on the other side. She was looking at Grover. For a moment it felt as if she were watching him, looking for his reaction to the remote waiting on the coffee table. Just then Miriam, wearing a red and white checkered apron walked in.

“Oh! Look at that! You found the remote! Well done, Grover!”

Grover’s eyes darted from Miriam to the remote then to Wendy.

“Um, it was there when I walked in.”

Miriam gave the playful head on the curio shelf a playful look, “Wendy? Did you do this?” Wendy stared blankly back. Miriam picked up the remote.

“Well, that’s a first. She usually makes me have to hunt all over the place.” Miriam handed the remote to Grover and whispered.

“I think she likes you.” 

Grover took the remote. “Yeah, um, well I like her too.” 

“That’s fine, you can say you like someone all you like,” she giggled, “but remember…”

“I got it. The ‘L’ word, that’s a no-no.”

“Dinner will be in an hour. Do you like bacon on your meatloaf?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Good, so do I.”

Miriam scampered toward the kitchen. Grover glanced at Wendy one more time, shook the silly suspicion from his head and watched an episode of the cop show he’d seen ten times before. He was glad for something so familiar, a story where he knew the ending and could almost recite portions of the script by heart. He almost felt as if her were in a sane place. The suspect in the drama had killed her cheating husband. When she got to the point where she cried out her feelings for the scoundrel, the sound muted over the ‘L’ word. Startled, Grover looked at the remote. It hadn’t moved. It happened again when the D.A. Jack McCoy repeated the woman’s claim.

“Wendy does that. Isn’t that sweet of her?” Miriam stood in the doorway with a spatula in hand.

“Huh, does what?”

“She knows how I feel about the ‘L’ word; they all do. Anyway, would you like shredded cheddar mixed in with your mashed potatoes?”

Grover’s mind was in a place far from thoughts of mashed potatoes, but he managed to reply.

“Sure, sounds good.”

“Oh good! I do too! You know, I think we’re going to get along fine!”

After Miriam left the room, Grover dared look back at Wendy’s head on the curio shelf.

“How did you do that?”

At that very moment Jack McCoy’s assistant D.A. read a line from the script.

“It’s easy. All you’ve got to do is put your mind to it.”

Having seen the episode so many times Grover knew the line was a part of the script. But the timing of it, as if meant to answer his question, unnerved him.  He quickly turned the channel to a program he knew wouldn’t have the ‘L’ word, a basketball game. He was grateful it wasn’t a tennis match.

Miriam’s meatloaf was delicious. The best Grover had ever tasted. And the mashed potatoes were flavorful and buttered to perfection. To dine on this kind of cooking as a part of his room and board, Grover would be willing to put up with a hundred painted heads. 

“Do you play backgammon?” Miriam asked.

“Yes, I do.”

“Splendid! It’s as if you were sent to me by the gods!” she gushed.

“I’ll do the dishes.”

“Oh no, you needn’t bother with that.”

“After a meal that good, I insist. Besides, dish washing is what I do.”

Miriam laughed.

“Okay. You wash and I’ll set up the board in the den.”

Grover rolled up his sleeves and did the dishes the old-fashioned way. No machine required. He was feeling full and good. For a moment he thought he could hear Miriam talking underneath the sound of water rushing from the faucet but thought nothing of it. When he turned the water off, the voice became a little clearer.

“He’s very nice. I agree. I think he’ll fit in perfectly.”

Miriam was whispering to one or maybe all the heads. The hint of dread he'd felt before returned. He liked Miriam and tried to chalk her madness up to the other ‘L’ word that never needs to be spoken, loneliness.

Grover went to the den to find Miriam ready and waiting. The backgammon board was set up and something he didn’t expect, a bottle of the delicate and expensive French brandy Grand Marnier was on the table. Miriam had taken the liberty of pouring two generously apportioned snifters.

“I’m not a drinking woman. People say the word so much more when they’ve had too much to drink.”

“Yes, it’s a very popular word for drunks.”

“My friends are wonderful company but poor drinking companions. I was hoping you’d join me in a glass of Grand Marnier. Do you like Grand Marnier?”

“Oh yes, very much but I can hardly afford it.”

“Well, I can. Here’s to you and your happiness during your stay!”

They toasted with a sip to Grover’s happiness. Not drinking was a promise he made to himself after coming out of rehab but for some reason, Grover had forgotten it. He drank the glass of brandy slowly, in sips. The one snifter lasted the entire evening. After eight games Miriam and he split, four wins each. He drained the last drop from the snifter.

“Well Miriam, I want to thank you for a wonderful evening. I’m almost tempted to use the ‘L’ word to describe it.”

“Oh no! Don’t ever do that! Besides, it would most likely be the brandy talking anyway.”

Grover laughed, stood up and was surprised at how dizzy he felt and unsteady his legs were after just one drink. 

“Whoa,” he wobbled.

“Oh dear, do you need help to your room?”

“No, I’m fine Miriam. I guess it’s been a while since I had a drink.”

“Yes, I’m aware of the treatment program you were in. You sure you’re, okay?”

“I’m fine Miriam. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Yes, I’ll make breakfast. Do you like French toast?”

“Love it.”

“Oh yes, we’re going to get along just fine!”

Grover made it to his room, got undressed and fell into the big antique four-poster with the warm heavy quilt. As he turned to turn off the lamp, he stared into the eyes of Stella and couldn’t look away. At that moment, something Miriam said came back to him, ‘I’m aware of the treatment program you were in.’ He wondered to himself, ‘if she was aware, why give me that drink?’ Stella’s eyes bore into his and he felt himself losing consciousness. Before he did, he turned off the light and was gone.

It might’ve been ten minutes or maybe two hours. However long or short it was, Grover woke up knowing someone was in the bed behind him, pressing against his backside. He froze. An arm wrapped around his chest and pulled him closer and then came the voice, deep and husky, like the actress Lauren Bacall.

“Come on Grover, let’s play.” 

Grover slowly turned and was face-to-face with Stella. Fiery red locks, steel blue eyes, there was a lot more to her than a head. She was complete. Without a word she brought her lips to his, wedged into his mouth with her tongue and pressed with the most passionate and delicious kiss he’d ever tasted.

“I’ll weave you a dream you’ll never forget Grover,” Stella said.

“This is a dream?” he asked.

Stella raised a foot that wasn’t there before and used its toes to peel down his boxers. She was as if triple jointed or possibly had no joints at all.

Stella was insatiable. As if she had no lungs to empty, sweat to drop or muscle to grow weary. Grover surprised himself by keeping up. He’d never experienced such a sensual thing and didn’t question a drop of it. He took everything Stella could dish out. During a lull in the action, Stella breathed into Grover’s ear.

“How do you feel Grover?”

“Wonderful.”

“I think you better get some sleep now. You have to go to work in a few hours.”

“I don’t want to sleep. I don’t want to stop.”

“How much more of me do you want Grover?”

Grover grabbed Stella’s throat, pulled her mouth to his and planted a deep, full throated kiss that seemed to last for minutes. He pulled back and she smiled.

“That was very nice Grover.”

And that’s when Grover said it - the ‘L’ word.

Stella’s eyes softened and for a moment, seemed sympathetic.

“Uh-oh”

The door creaked open. It was Wendy with the others behind her, all of them were whole and in the flesh.

Stella’s plastic nails scratched at Grover cheeks. They bled.

“Sorry to lose you Grover.”

Before he could scream, plastic hard teeth sank deep into his throat. As his eyes watered and began to close, he caught a glimpse of the others file into the room. Within fifteen minutes, Grover had been consumed without a trace. Miriam would have to find a new boarder to replace the one she lost. She’d lost so many.