'What do you want?'

What Do You Want?

‘I’ve put the phone messages on your desk,’ the assistant said as her boss entered.

‘Thanks,’ Brenda Moore answered as she continued into her own office. She stood by the window staring at the commanding view from the window, her mind churning with the enormity of tasks that needed attention and decisions since the past few months of trying to run a business under COVID restrictions ‘This will never do,’ she moaned.  Turning from the window, she glanced down at the list of phone and video messages, flopped into her chair, settled her feet firmly on the ground and picked up a pen to begin scrutinising the list.

‘Good, I need to speak to him. Yes…. and her.’ Her eyes wavered up and down the list and paused on an unfamiliar name. ‘Mr Al Low. Who on earth? There’s no message.’

Irritated, she rose and strode over to the open door. ‘Who is Mr Al Low?’ 

The office assistant’s head popped up over the computer screen. ‘He didn’t say what he wanted to speak to you about…he wouldn’t say.’

‘Thanks, I’ll leave him until last.’ She returned to her desk, picked up the receiver, and punched in the first numbers.

 It was after the tea break when she finished the other calls. ‘Now for Mr Al Low.’

‘Hello,’ came back down the line.

‘Mr Al Low? This is Brenda Moore returning your call.’

‘You sound the same.’ A deep rusty voice answered.

She held the receiver away from her ear and frowned. ‘Did you wish to speak to me?’ she asked curtly, returning the phone to her other ear.

‘I did, but not during office hours. Can you give me your home number and I’ll ring you tonight.’

Again, a flash of irritation passed over her face. ‘I don’t usually give out my personal phone number to clients, Mr Low.’

‘I’m not a client. I’m an old friend.’

‘I still don’t recognise the name… or your voice.’

‘Oh, but you do. Not the name, but you should remember my persona. I’m a friend of your brother, Squidgy.’

‘You’re not one of his friends who teased me?’

‘All will be revealed tonight if you will please give me your phone number.’

 Curious, Brenda paused. He did at least know her brother’s nickname. Before she changed her mind, she blurted out her home number.

‘Thanks. I’ll ring you at seven. By the way, my name is not Al Low, its Josh  Denman.’

With those words, the conversation ended and Brenda found she was talking to herself. ‘Josh…Denman…’ she shouted back down the receiver.

 Yes… yes… she remembered Josh. She swivelled around in her chair and her face reddened at the memories. Why would she not? He was her first love. The one she swore to love for the rest of her days. The one she imagined, at seventeen, she would marry.

‘Oh!’ she said aloud. ‘Josh Denman, that pimply, scrawny, greasy-haired, winkle toed toad.’ He’d sworn his eternal love and then dumped her. He left her like a wet, sodden rag doll, her heartbroken, her undying dreams shattered. A small shiver ran the length of her body as an embarrassing thought flashed through her mind. He was the one that tried to teach her to kiss. Until then, she had never thought of kissing as an art form. ‘Oh,’ she repeated, as recollections flooded through her mind.

  Driving home, she drummed her fingers on the wheel as more memories of the halcyon days of her childhood, in the 1980s, scattered around in her reflections. Incidents that lay dormant for many years in the recesses of her mind now stampeded forward for her attention, along with the question as to why Josh rang after forty or more years. What did he want?

As she waited at the traffic lights, she found she burst uncharacteristically into song.

‘What…do…you…want…if…you…don't…want…money?

    What…do…you…want…if…you…don't…want…gold?

    Say…what…you…want…and…I'll…give…it…you…darling.

   Wish you wanted my love, baby.’

‘Adam Faith.’ She chuckled aloud. What other songs reminded her of Josh? Cliff Richards… Summer Holiday…. Roy Orbison…. Only the Lonely… and… Elvis. We had a crush on those 60’s artists.

By the time she garaged the car, her mind skittered through a plethora of reminiscences and her croaky voice, through a myriad of 1960’s songs.

The phone trilled as she entered the front door. She ran to lift the receiver before it silenced.

‘Al Low.’

‘Stop saying that!’ she laughed.

‘How are you, Brenda? Do you remember me?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you remember, I used to call you my Little Miss Dynamite... my own Brenda Lee. Do you remember that you sang ‘I’m Sorry’ to me nearly every night?’

Brenda blushed and was glad he was not there to see her face. Her heart pounded in her chest when she remembered as to why she sang that particular song. It was always after she refused his advances when he tried to get her in the back seat of his father’s car.

‘I’ve grown up since then.’

‘I should hope so. I bet you’re still ‘Miss Dynamite!’

 She made no reply.

 He continued. ‘How’s life treated you?’

They talked on for over an hour about their mutual acquaintances, interspersed by laughter.

When she replaced the receiver, she was still no wiser as to why he rang. Nor was she after several more phone calls. However, she found she looked forward to returning home in the evening, to hear the sound of his pleasant, deep voice over the phone.

‘Are you lonely?’ Josh asked her one night.

 She had been after her marriage broke up years ago, but time mellowed her figure and her needs. ‘I used to long for a companion.’

‘Used to?’

 She could practically see his raised eyebrows.

 She wanted to shout she had a hell of a time and she was so lonely. The man she married ran away with his secretary, forcing her to bring up two children, alone. In dire circumstances, with no qualifications and little self-esteem, she needed to earn money to keep them alive, so she worked as a shop assistant until they both attended university. After that, she returned to university as a mature age student to finish her degree. ‘It was hard, but I managed,’ she conceded after a long pause.

‘My marriage ended differently,’ he added. ‘I was pleased to be released. We had nothing in common except the children, and when they departed, I left.’

He divulged that he had been lost since he retired from work and continued to relate how he planned to change his destiny, and search for ‘quality of life.’

Brenda listened. He is desperately lonely, she discerned. She could hear it in his voice. She wished she lived nearer, and not, what seemed a million miles away. She glanced at the kitchen clock. ‘Anyway, we had better get off this phone,’ adroitly changing the subject, frightened she might say, ‘come here for a visit,’ scared she might shatter his allusion of her as a young, petite, slim Brenda Lee. 

‘I don’t care,’ he countered. ‘Anyway, I’ll not be able to ring you for the next few days; I’ll be out of range. I have to go away but I’ll ring when I return.’

Brenda replaced the receiver and slumped back on the couch. How was she going to pass the time? A few weeks ago her weekends focused on COVID safety: washing, cleaning, relaxing and living in isolation. Her only outlet was work as an essential necessity. Now everything seemed to have changed. With one phone call - a blast from the past - her life had seemingly cartwheeled.

Despondent, she glanced around at the photographs from her family albums scattered across the floor. Bending over, she picked up one of a party given for her seventeenth birthday. It showed her in the garden, the sun and flowers behind her in full bloom. It also showed her fitted into a size eight dress. ‘Never since then…’ She smiled. ‘Look at that dress! There must be metres of material in the skirt and petticoat. Look at my teased hairstyle! It looks as if I’m ready to take off into outer space wearing a black helmet.’ Her eyes focused on the boys in the background. She giggled. Her brother, Simon and Joshua looked so proud in their leather gear, faces clean and long hair grease. ‘What dorks!’ she muttered. ‘The day was so hot they must have been sweltering.’

She threw the photograph on the pile and rose from the couch. 

Standing in front of the bedroom mirror, she assessed her looks. ‘Is that tiny girl still inside me? Where did she go? It’s a godsend, he cannot see me now. He would have a difficult time recognising his Brenda Lee. She moved her hips from side to side. The rolls of fat shifted. ‘I was so beautiful back then.’ She sniffed back the tears that burgeoned in her eyes. ‘Too late to worry now.’ She stood upright and sucked in her stomach.  Slouching her shoulders, her breasts and stomach fell into a grotesque shape. ‘This is me as I am. I don’t look too bad for my age… when dressed. I’ve weathered the storm of a shattered life, raised two children, bought my own home, greeted three grandchildren and, until these past few weeks, I was happy with my lot.’ She picked up the hairbrush and vigorously brushed her hair as if it would wipe away her meanderings. ‘If Josh could see me now, he would run a mile.   Oh, why did he have to enter my life? Why did he surface to cause me to dwell on the past?’

 Later in the evening, she determined to see Josh gone from her life as fast as he entered. He should not be allowed to steel into her thoughts, creep inside her locked memories, use the key hidden for so many years.

Next day, with new resolve, she worked hard to keep her mind on a steady plane.

‘Coming for a drink after work?’ one of her colleagues asked.

‘No, I don’t think so.’

‘Aren’t you well? We can do it under COVID restrictions, keeping our distance. You’re usually the first to leave for refreshments on a Friday night.’

‘Yes, well… okay! I’ll be along soon.’

 Brenda tried not to think that when she arrived home she would not hear his voice down the phone. In some ways, she wished he would ring. At least she could fire the question about what he wanted from her. After the few drinks she imbibed earlier, she sat at the kitchen table with her thoughts anaesthetised. ‘That’s what I need… another drink.’ She picked a nice bottle of Chardonnay from the wine rack, opened it and poured the clear liquid into one of her best glasses.

 The doorbell shrieked. ‘Damn! Who is that? I can’t pretend I’m not home.’

 She carried her glass of wine to the front door and flung it open.

‘Are you having a party? Can I join you?’

 Brenda frowned. Standing at the door was a man holding a bottle of wine and a bunch of flowers. She was about to say that he called at the wrong house when her eyes caught his. ‘Josh?’ she screeched.

‘Al Low, again. ’  

 She stepped back. The man who stood in front of her was literally bigger than life and not the scrawny man held in her memories and photographs.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘I told you I would not ring… that I would be away for the weekend, and here I am! Aren’t you going to invite me in?’ 

 Stunned, she turned, indicating for him to follow her into the lounge.

 He thrust the flowers into her hands and placed the wine on the table. ‘Brenda, before I burst,’ he gasped. ‘I have to confess that I came because I need you to complete my life. I’ve wanted you, since the moment I walked away from you all those years ago. No other woman can satisfy me,’ he added. ‘No other woman can come close to my Brenda Lee, my one and only love. Will you have me back?’ He moved towards her.

She froze, her face contorted. It never crossed her mind that time may have ravaged his slender body as well as hers… and he appeared to still want her, slim or fat. A wry smile crossed her face at the revelation and, when he opened his arms, she threw down the flowers and fell into his equally wide physique, her lips puckered, just as he taught her to do all those many years ago.