The Shopper

 

THE SHOPPER

i.e. magazine Texas 1996

 

The half-shined car fills the TV Screen. A polisher sits on the hood. “This polisher is not sold in stores. To order, look for the flag of your country,” the announcer says. The camera zooms in on the shiny surface.

Susan’s hand inches toward the telephone. +41 22 51 75 50. She doesn’t need to see the white cross on the square red flag. She knows the number by heart, although Switzerland isn’t her country. Maine, US of A is.

Just as she touches the first number five, she remembers — she doesn’t have a car. Still Geoff, her husband said just that morning, they might lease one.

He’d sat on the balcony drinking Earl Grey tea from a bowl. He’d stared at the mountains with that vacant look, he got whenever he saw a Jura or an Alp. He’d begun drinking tea from bowls after they’d visited Colette and Jean-Claude’s farm. Susan had been shocked, but Colette had explained it was a French breakfast habit.

Susan uses her mug that says, “If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans.” She tried switching to a bowl, but every time the bowl grazed her lips, she imagined her mother tut-tutting.

While Geoff talked about the car, Susan sat wordlessly, her back to the mountains. He said, “If we had a car you might get out more.” She heard the unspoken, “You can’t stay in the apartment for the next 23 months that we’re in Geneva.” He set his bowl next to the roses he had brought home two days ago and kissed her good-bye. “Try and get out today.”

*****

If Geoff leases a car, the polisher will be handy. She dials 022 51 and then stops. They'd never waxed their last cars, a 2015 Toyota, a 2012 Ford nor a 2006 Nissan. When those cars were been mud-splashed or dust-covered, they’d driven through a car wash, the kind where heavy cloth strips descend and go whap, whap, whap all around the auto. She would wait on the side with their dog, Bark, watching the car go through.

She misses Bark, although her mother reports weekly over Facebook on how happy he is running around the farm. Susan isn’t sure what bothers her most — that Bark doesn’t miss them or that he’s at the farm and she isn’t.

The car and polisher have disappeared from the screen. Putting down the phone, she imagines giving Geoff the polisher the minute he comes home with a new car. If he doesn’t lease a car, they could take the polisher back to Maine. She wonders how to convince her husband what a good buy it is.

She pictures him with his lips pursed the way he does each time he discovers that she has once again given into television shopping.

Two weeks after they’d bought the television at Manora, she pointed out they need a table for it. “Let’s go to IKEA this weekend."

“Can’t you go during the week. I’d rather go hiking,” he said.

She listed her excuses:

• No one would speak English.
• She’d get lost.
• He wouldn’t like her choice.

He threw up his hands. Still, the day had been successful They’d eaten salmon with fresh dill at the IKEA restaurant. He’d said for a shopping day, it wasn’t all that bad even if they had bought and extra duvet and pillow cover set.

*****

When Geoff had left for work on Monday after the IKEA trip, Susan crawled back into bed. As she channel surfed, she hated how quiet the apartment building was. At home, her mother, sister or neighbors were always popping in. In Geneva she knew no one, although neighbors murmured “bonjour” or “bonsoir” as she scuttled past them.

Suddenly she sat up in bed. She found not one but two more English-only channels each with a shopping program.

The next day and every day thereafter, as soon as her husband left, she’d get a cup of tea and watch the shopping channel till lunch. She’d take a sandwich back to bed and watch shopping until it was time to make dinner.

One day the English-only channels were blocked. She switched to TF1. Normally, French television made her more homesick, especially if she watched Law and Order, Murder She Wrote or CSI Miami. They’d gone to Florida for their honeymoon. It was strange to see Angela Lansbury babble in French.

A French woman who looked about 30 jabbered away. She was striking in the way of French woman. Her charisma was more than the way she tied her scarf or her casually-arranged hair.

Susan watched spellbound as the woman loaded gel into a blue plastic phallus then put it in the refrigerator. Susan wondered if it were a Popsicle. A clock moved a half hour, but in reality it was more liked 10 seconds. The woman took out what must have been a duplicate and rubbed it on her face going into ecstasy.

The host held up a series of cards each with a number. Forty was first. The woman shook her head. She said no to 41, 43, 45, 47 and 49. At 51 she nodded. If gel could take 20-odd years of that woman, Susan knew she must have on to protect her from Geneva pollution so unlike fresh Maine air.

Two weeks later she had her gel and phallic container. She followed directions exactly looking up each word on the French-English on-line translation site. She felt silly rubbing a blue plastic penis on her face.

The next morning, Geoff put on the light to see if, by chance, he missed finding clean underwear. He hadn’t. Susan has missed her apartment building’s allotted laundry time.

He forgot about his underwear as he looked at Susan. “My God, you’ve got measles.”

Jumping out of bed, she ran to the mirror. She had to squat down because it rested on the rug. Geoff said since they would only be there a couple of years, why risk that the landlord would keep their deposit because of holes in the wall.

As she hunkered down to look in the mirror, a red, swollen face looked back. “I used a new face cream.”

Geoff hadn’t found it amusing when a drill to hang the mirror and a paint stripper arrived before the end of the month.

“Maybe we’ll want to strip some furniture,” she said.

He shook his head the same way he did when the Boston Patriots lost.

He was angry when she paid 650 Swiss Francs for an oven that looked like a lettuce dryer and cooked with air, that he didn’t speak to her for almost a week. When he found the CDs and video from the Prince’s Trust Concerts, he just said, “Why?” turning it into a four-syllable word.

“You love Eric Clapton.  He’s in at least three songs and backs up Rod Stewart.”

“We don’t have a DVD-player.”

“We can take it home.”

“The U.S:'s system is a non-compatible with Europe. I'm worried about you. At home you always did so much but here …”

When Susan bought a tool to add rhinestones to her clothing, she’d kept it a secret. When the VISA bill arrived, she showed him how she planned to redesign her t-shirts and jeans. He sighed as he looked all the things that came with set: rhinestones, fake pearls, a hand-held tool and 20 reusable patters.

“Susan, you don’t even like rhinestones.” He handed her the rose pattern, she given him. As she slipped it into the envelope, she dropped the rhinestones. She crawled around the floor picking them up one by one. “Maybe I can get a small business going.”

“How? You don’t go out. You won’t try to speak French?

“There’s the International Club.”

“You went once and haven’t been back.”

Susan sat Indian style on the floor, her hand full of rhinestones. She couldn’t tell him how uncomfortable the wives made her feel. They were used to living in other countries. They spoke French. Susan’s ear couldn’t distinguish the sounds much less wrap her tongue around them.

*****

Friday, Geoff came home early. “Get packed. We’re catching the 16:50 to Paris.”

Susan put on her navy t-shirt dress and tied a scarf the same way the woman on TV and who wasn’t allergic to gel in plastic penises did. She packed her lilac nightie. Geoff packed his saddlebag that wrapped around his briefcase.

We’ll have the weekend to explore. My meeting isn’t until Monday.” He hugged her.

In the train's dining car they only could buy sandwiches. She didn’t understand how a country with such a wonderful reputation for good food can make such unimaginative sandwiches.She ate her dried out cheese on the dried-out baguette and dreamed of chicken tarragon on pita.

In Paris they stayed at Edouard VII near the Opera. The room had a king-sized bed. Geoff tickled her, a prelude to love making. She didn’t come and hasn’t since they moved. Nevertheless, she felt happy.

They visited the Louvre. Looking up through the glass Pyramid the saw the old building in the background and fountains in the foreground. Geoff draped his arm around her shoulder.

They rode the escalator to look down at the pyramid. “I don’t like this view,” he said.

“Sorta like a pimple on Megan Fox’s face.” That made him laugh.

They stopped at a brasserie. They faced the windows so they could watch people walk by. She ordered hot chocolate. He had a Stella & Artois beer. Later they had onion soup.

Outside a man pretended to be a statue. He wore a white toga, white makeup and white hair power. Taking ten euros from her wallet she went out to drop it in the hat that the man has set in front of him. His bare white feet look cold. She wished she had white socks for him.

When he went to his meeting on Monday, he suggested she visits the Pablo Casals Museum. Instead, she went to nearby Bretano’s and bought a book about the artist and the museum. She showed it to him when he got home and said “See what I bought.” She doesn’t tell him where she bought it.

*****

Ten years later the couple will be back in Maine. They’ll have three kids. Susan will be busy.

“Those years in Europe were the best of our lives,” Geoff will tell people. Susan will say nothing. She’ll look out the window at the fenced-in area, where the horses eat grass.

In the barn where they keep their truck and station wagon and company Ford there is a loft. An unused polisher is hidden in the loft. All three vehicles are dirty.