Miami 1986 Part II

The story so far:  The Old Saleswoman has moved to Miami.   She's taken a job with an emerging yellow page company where she's made friends with Piper-- a beautiful, rich, smart young woman about her age.  Since South Florida is now bi-lingual, their new jobs aren't going well and they're starting to  "dog it".

With that solid excuse under our belts to tell ourselves or our sales manager if it came to that, we did what a lot of sales reps would do in similar situations, we started to dog it. The process started slowly, and probably subconsciously like it does for most salespeople in a discouraging spot. We left the office in Hialeah a little later every morning and started to meet at Piper's pool a little earlier every afternoon. In a short while, we established several pleasant routines to fill up the time in between.

One afternoon before settling down by the pool, we wandered through the kitchen in the main house looking for a snack. I noticed an empty bottle shaped like a fish standing on its tail sitting on the counter. It was made out of beautiful cobalt blue glass. The fish had eyes, scales, and fins. There was a cork in its mouth. It looked like a sculpture to me. I would have liked to have some jewelry made out of that glass, and I told Piper so. When I told her that, she smiled so broadly she almost laughed and gave it to me. She said it used to hold olive oil.

I carried the bottle around with me the rest of the afternoon because I didn’t want to forget it. When I left, I placed it carefully in the dry cleaning basket in the back seat of my car, and when I got to the condo I set it on the center of my kitchen table.

Sometimes we’d go window shopping. Piper’s favorite place to shop and look at people was the Bal Harbour Shops on Collins Avenue. All the high-end designers like Gucci, Versace, and Chanel had stores there. It was a popular destination for the new rich Miami crowd. She occasionally bought something in one of these stores. I never saw her look at a price tag before she brought an item to the counter. Once I asked her how she could do that, how she would be sure she had enough money. I never got a good answer to that one.

We both noticed a new type of spike-heeled, pointed-toe shoe had become very popular among that same crowd. These shoes had an arc of peacock feathers shooting out the back of the heels like fire, or like the wings on the heels of a goddess. Piper hated these shoes. She had a lot of negative things to say about the clothes she saw on these new money people. Fashion was one area in which I encouraged Piper’s own running commentaries, and I listened hard because by now I had begun to try to imitate Piper’s dress in my own down-market manner.

Piper wore beautiful fabrics. I learned from her a white blouse is not just a white blouse. A white blouse can be chic, can be stunning, can be understated, can make a statement. “Feel this fabric.” she’d say. “Look at this embellishment. See the weave. Look at this seam.” She’d tell me to always choose better over more, and to tailor my clothes. She gave me French fashion magazines to look at by the pool.

We also talked about makeup and she told me I had good bones, that in my case less was more, and that I had a great smile. She even told me I didn’t have to be so friendly to strangers and sales clerks and tried to tell me to hold myself back. She taught me the difference between 14k, 18k, and 24k gold; how shiny doesn’t always mean better, and that certain styles of leather bags are classic and always will be. She told me if I must show a status symbol there are ways to do so subtly, so only a few people, the right people, will recognize it, but those are the ones who count.

I didn’t know anyone who counted. I didn’t even know what she meant. But I knew she looked beautiful and the saleswomen treated her with deference, and that must mean something very significant so I listened.

Once in awhile, I’d get anxious about the way we were hiding out. I felt guilty about it and even guiltier for not worrying about the consequences. It wasn’t like me to let go, open my fists, and relax. A couple of times I tried to talk to Piper about it. But she seemed sure the company would extend our salary for another six months, or even a year because all the reps were having the same problems with the language. The thought that we could be replaced by bi-lingual sales reps must have occurred to her because it occurred to me. But that’s not the kind of topic you discuss while lying by a quiet, serene, well-tended pool with a stack of sweet-smelling towels within arm’s reach, holding a delicate crystal glass filled with what was to become my favorite wine, chardonnay.

So we kept on playing. I especially liked the mornings we spent comparing the amenities of expensive hotels. We rated lobbies, work-out facilities and we tested, or rather Piper tested the knowledge of the concierges. Then we rated their brunches. My favorite brunch was the caviar brunch at the Mayfair House Hotel in the Mayfair Shopping Plaza in Coconut Grove. We started going there at least twice a week. Piper soon began asking me to rate the various caviars served there after she noticed it was the first thing I attacked at the serving tables. She said she appreciated my reviews. I knew that for me, a person living paycheck to paycheck, to claim to like caviar so much, to talk about it like a connoisseur, made me look foolish. But I couldn’t help it. I really liked it. It came in rich, distinct colors. It popped in my mouth and it was expensive. And no one in the restaurant seemed to care how much I ate. What if someone stole a bowl of it?

Occasionally, especially on rainy afternoons when sitting by the pool was not an option, we’d drop-in on an old friend of her family. Piper said she liked bringing me around to meet old friends because she sensed they found me amusing.  I've always liked being able to amuse others at will, but at that point in my life, I don't think I understood the difference between amusing others at will and others finding me amusing.
One day after the caviar brunch in Coconut Grove, Piper decided she wanted me to meet an old friend of her mother’s, who she’d known since she was a little girl. The friend lived in a smallish bungalow in an overgrown section of the Grove where the houses were jammed together and the vegetation ran wild. The geckos lived there with more confidence and air of belonging than the people.

Constantino, a handsome Greek man in his sixties, opened the door after the tenth or twelfth knock. He looked like he’d been sleeping. I found out later he lived with Thomas, a cook, who was out that afternoon working the lunch shift. Constantino was a designer or an artist of some sort. There were pictures and sculptures everywhere.

After we declined his offer of ice-tea, Constantino showed me around his home at Piper’s prompting. That house was in full embrace of the Miami damp. The furniture had no sharp edges because everything was covered in faded cotton. A canvas hammock hung in one corner of the living room. Next to it on a small table, I saw a picture of a good looking young man with a dark tan, who had to be Thomas. All the wicker shades were lowered, and the ceiling fans lolled along. There were books and magazines with names I never heard of everywhere, even in the one bedroom. Out on the patio, there was a clay stove I later learned is called a chimenea.

After a little small talk that consisted mostly of Piper and Constantino catching up about her mother, it was time to leave. Piper excused herself to use the bathroom.

Constantino immediately turned and spoke to me in an urgent style very different from the languid manner he’d used while the three of us were talking.

He asked me: Were we spending a lot of time together?

How much did I know about her past?


Had I heard about Rick, her first husband, or her second if you count the first one that her father got annulled?

Did she tell me she was trying to break her trust?


Did I know her current husband asked her to move out?

At first, the questions struck me as simply polite.  But as the questioning went on I could feel myself sitting taller and taller in my seat. By the time Piper returned and Constantino went silent, I was almost standing up.
As soon as we got in the car Piper wanted to know what I thought of Constantino, but I couldn't talk right then. I needed time to sit quietly and think and find my balance.  I needed time to make sense of the questions I'd just been asked and time to blend the images they'd invoked with my own image of Piper. So I told her I had a headache and that it might be time for us to sit by her pool.

Continued in Chapter III