Friday, September 10, 2010
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Vivian Mooney has seen it all. Whether in this life, or, as she so ardently believed, in a previous life, Vivian knew that everything and everyone will eventually come back around again to appear in something or as something that already has occurred. Take this building for which she is the front desk attendant. In another life, she knew, she had been a conceige in a small, yet exclusive, hotel on the French Rivera. Now, she merely sighed at the smudged dry erase board that no one noticed, the chipped wrought-iron that stood between her and the rest of the world, the black and white tile that no matter how much she sweeps, the dirt never moves and the dark mahogany wood counter that now holds only her hands and a phone that never rings. Today is the first day of the month. Some of the tenants have quietly slip away during the night. They carefully open the door to the stairs to the first floor and across the lobby just outside the pool of light that kept Vivian company on sleepless nights. The last day of the month was always one of those nights. Vivian never collected rents. She stays in her office and likes to bet with herself who will sneak out on their rent. If she guesses right, she notes it in her journal and buys herself another trip to the fortune teller. She is amused by the fraud, Sister Topaz. The fortune teller doesn't understand the ebbs and flows of time. Vivian knows. She looks up from her book to see her boss roughly push open the front door of the building and slam his palm on the counter. Vivian isn't amused at her boss.