There is the account of twin girls, Amy-Anne and Anne-Amy, respectively, who's only friend and co-worker will directly be the turning point in young Noodle Box's life. The beginning of a steep decline which will leave Noodle Box far beyond where he began. But before we get to that, this:
In all of an eight year span Noodle Box would gain notoriety as a local dating super-star. He was Mr. Party on the east side of town, Doctor Love on the strip. He was respected as a sort of coach of the sport, and had, over this eight years, gained a leadership type role with the other "players" around town. Nobody knew why this scrawny, somewhat unattractive man was so great, but Noodle was famous like a local celebrity. He was on par with the zany morning disc-jockey or the favorite news weather man. Noodle Box was that guy that you always saw with a different flame, who made you say: how can that guy do it, and I can't?
And he basked in it. He ate it like it was warm banana pudding, which was his favorite pudding.
But he did something else with it too. He created Noodle Entertainment, a limited liability company which claimed to "sell the magic of love" but its primary purpose is to further infamize Noodle Box, or Mr. Box as some knew him. Noodle Entertainment sold Noodle Box, the man and the maker.
"So, Mr. Box, thank you for being here today."
"No problem, Hank."
Noodle would take a sip of water from the mug they provided him. He was on the set of a morning television show called Hey, Wake-up!
"You're status in the community, Mr. Box..." The man asking questions was a smug gentleman. An aging maverick himself, who secretly held disdain for the current it torch bearer. "How would you describe it?"
"Describe it? Hank, I'm a citizen, just like you." Noodle would grin.
"You're something a little more elite than that, wouldn't you say?"
The announcer would go on to ask Noodle about his reputation as a lady's man. Noodle Box would be cunning, smooth, as he kept the conversation casual and off topic. He would refer to local happening, or worldly events and point out their importance. His couth behavior only brought about more fascination. Who was this man?
But in the mirror of Noodle Box's brand new condo, the television interview was more to point:
"I'm a hero to them," Noodle would argue into the shampoo bottle or the comb. "It's like water. If you leave an empty space in the flow of the river of life, some other water's gotta rush in to fill it."
Noodle would spend hours in there, combing his hair, checking his eyebrows, his teeth. He would search his neck thoroughly for blemishes and if there were any, he would commit the time and care necessary to be rid of them.
He had bought a new condo just over two years ago with the earning from his minor celebrity status. It was on the 25th story of a sleek new building on the east side called The Ice. The Ice was the place to be. Everyone who was anyone was at The Ice.
Noodle had the bedroom custom designed to fit his needs. He called it his love palace, but only in his head. The bed was round, the adjacent wall, a floor to ceiling mirror which opened to reveal a walk-in closet. Everything was shades of red. There was a mini-bar along the far wall, stocked with two kinds or Brandy, red wine and some whiskey.
"Choices are a downer," he would say gleefully and wink at whatever odd broad he'd meet that night. "What do I need to think for? I know what I want." He'd grin and kiss the dame like he was a famous actor and they'd make love so hot it would melt coal were the bed made of it.
Every day before breakfast Noodle would do his daily practice; his physical stretches and resistance training like the papers had instructed. By now it had taken on a routine all its own which was his exercise and spiritual practice. It made him strong and grounded him. It was the reason for everything he had and he took it very seriously. At night before he went to bed, Noodle Box would always think of that night, with the old man in the alley, and what he’d been given.
* * *
The twins are two pretty girls everyone in town knows. They look and dress alike. Sometimes speak in unison and often finish each other's sentences. They are regulars of the party scene at night and dual-managers of the Hot Dog On A Stick stand in (the mall) in the day. Elmyra applied for a job and they hired her on the spot. She is their only employee.
Elmyra Black is a fair-skinned, black-haired girl with pouty, pale lips and slit, heavy eyes. She's the type to appear altogether apathetic, a dissatisfaction for the material world which rests primarily in her eyes.
But she was born a terrific beauty, and he mother loved her dearly.
"It's in the eyes," her mother had always told her, and growing up little Elmyra would spend hours standing inches from the mirror staring deep into her eyes looking for it. One would suppose whatever it was, she'd found it in there.
She comes from a rather suspicious background and is the kind to never get attached. Her family may or may not have been gypsies once and it's a bad subject to bring up. And anyway dear ol' Elmyra isn't one to kiss and tell.
It would be early on a Friday night when Noodle Box discovers her across the crowd. The club was called Moxy. It was on the East side. Frankly, all the moxy was.
Noodle’s heart skips a beat, a very unnatural sensation for him, and one which causes him alarm. He tracks down Jesse, a blonde body-builder who works at the club and who is a trusted source of information in matters such as these.
Jesse stands on his tip-toes, one arm on Noodle's shoulder to balance as he sees over the crowd.
"Do you see her?" Noodle shouts to be heard over the crowd.
"At the table with the twins?"
"Yes! The one with the black hair."
Jesse scratches his head.
"I think her name's Elmyra. She works with the twins, they bring her here from time to time. As far as I know, Noodle, no one's ever gotten close to her. They say she's a little... crazy."
"Crazy, huh? I don't buy it. She's just playing hard to get." Noodle would pretend to crack his fingers, as though it were all in a day's work. "Watch and learn."
"You bring her home, Noodle, and..." Jesse trails off, lost in thought or overwhelmed. "...and I don't know.
Noodle Box spends the whole night leaning against the bar drinking pineapple juice and watching their table.
He observes the twins speaking in unison to Elmyra throughout the night. The twins were to girls what Jesse was to Noodle, a sort of gossip column, a who's who of the party scene; they were constantly texting, calling or talking to someone.
Noodle sees two young bucks approach the table. The tall one does the talking. The twins bounce up and down in their seats as they talk back. Amy-Anne twists a strand of her hair between her fingers. Anne-Amy chomps on her gum. Eventually the boy points at Elmyra and says something and everyone turns to look at her. She appears not to notice and an awkward silence follows. At the next opportunity the young suitors escape. Then Elmyra turns to the twins and they all continue their conversation.
At one point in the night Noodle Box observes Elmyra holding her index finger above the flame of a candle for almost a minute.
It fascinates Noodle Box and he relishes the sweet scent that comes before this most exotic wine. He's accustomed to taking his time at the bar, there was never a rush, but this one deserves the patience of a true scholar, Noodle thought.
"Another juice, Terry." Noodle would wink.
"You're looking good tonight, Mr. Box," the bar tender smiles as he fetches Noodle's request.
The night would grow on and the warewolfs would come out. Noodle would finally have enough of the foreplay and decide to move in.
He introduces himself somewhat proudly and sits. The twins know of his infamy. Anne-Amy chomps. Amy-Anne twists. They bounced up and down.
All the while Elmyra is a statue.
Noodle begins:
"I was standing over there and I noticed you and I was just wondering..." Noodle Box's clever little brow quivers. "Can I barrow a quarter?"
Elmyra's gaze crawls across the silence that follows and finally docks at Noodle's face.
"Are you talking to me?"
"That's right."
"What'd you say..."
"I said, can I borrow a quarter?"
"Why?"
"So I can call your mother and thank her for making my dreams come true."
Noodle Box seldom uses his magic anymore, for his reputation often carries him. But he still uses his favourite pick-up lines. He knows if those don't work, something else will and this only causes him to further enjoy his craft.
Elmyra turns her body to face away from Noodle.
The twins chime in.
"Noodle Box," one starts.
"Elymra's mom is like..." The other says. Then they turn and look at one another and continue.
"...Like dead."
The silence that follows would chill even the warmest of hearts. It’s time for Noodle to pull out the big guns. He presses his concentration and makes his temples pulse. He waits for her right eye to flinch, at which time he will make his chin-dimple shake.
But her right eye does not flinch.
Curious, Noodle notes. He tries again with the temples.
Again, no response.
Noodle Box is aware that a non-response is possible and in some cases certain signals will not transmute. In these cases a new path must be forged. Not a problem for Mr. Box; his mastery in the art of seduction is foreknown.
Noodle makes the crescent under his right eye twitch. Again, she does not respond.
He makes the crescent under his left eye twitch. He makes his chin quiver sporadically, then quickly makes his right eye-brow shake.
But Elmyra Black just stares off into space.
Noodle is amazed at the tenacity of this girl and it only further drives his fascination and lust for her. In addition to that, up close, she is every bit as attractive as he hoped she would be.
Would I have to move on to the neck, he wonderes. This would be a first.
But the neck does not render even the slightest quiver from her perfect face and as Noodle Box keeps casual conversation with the twins, desperation slowly grows inside him.
It’s not working. Something is terribly wrong, Noodle Box turns over in his head all the possibilities of why it could be failing.
The conversation dies and Noodle turns to the twins. He’s never found their plain-ness to be attractive but now he tests his magic on them. They are instantly responsive and while Noodle is thankful to know it is not him, a very dark cloud of greed veils his eyes as he looks at Elmyra sitting across the table, her doey eyes resting softly in the cradle of her own imagination.
Noodle Box catches himself staring. He is drenched in sweat. The twins have noticed. Elmyra has noticed.
"Will you pardon me?" Noodle's polite excuse is met with nods and he slides out of the booth.
In the washroom Noodle splashes cold water on his face. He looks at his reflection in the mirror, then stands over one of the urinals and prepares to pee.
The bathroom door opens and young Stanley enters, a pupil of Noodles, and frankly not the brightest bulb in the box.
Stanley saddles up at the urinal next to Noodle and pees.
"Some party, huh?" Stanley says
"Yes, sir," Noodle requites.
They stand in awkward silence.
"Who's that pretty girl I saw you talking to, Noodle?"
"Her name's Elmyra."
"Shoot she's just about the prettiest girl God ever made!"
"She's something, alright."
"You gonna take her home or what?" Young Stanley is getting excited and he raises his voice. "Noodle Box is the king of cheeeeks and I wanna be him!" Stanley hoots as he zips up his pants. He washes his hands. "We all saw you standing there talking to her and we were just like, shit on a gun, if Noodle Box don't take that girl home, well then, I'm gonna quite this game cause the world is broken!"
Stanley wipes his hands on the brown paper towels, then puts one hand on Noodle's shoulder, a very uncommon thing for one man to do to another man while he's peeing.
"You are my hero, Noodle. You're gonna take home that girl what like nobody's ever done!" Stanley looks deep into Noodle's eyes. "I love you, Box."
Then he turns and marches out.
Noodle zips up his pants. The urge to pee has left him.
In the club he is met with a wall of eyes. The twins and Elmyra are gone.
Jesse approaches Noodle.
"Buddy, what happened? We were all rooting for ya."
"Oh, yeah..." Noodle's voice cracks. He clears his throat. "There's no problem. We're gonna meet up later..." Onlookers are silent. "You know, rendezvous back at the condo..." Noodle smiles weakly. He make his way to the exit.
It would be a cold night in Harlem, as they say.
The next day Noodle Box would pick up four different women. One at breakfast, one at the tennis club, one as he waited to cross the street and one at the bar that night. He would make love to each in his red palace of passion. He would watch himself in the mirror with all four to make sure it looked good. It did.
He would share a cigarette with each afterwords and with each he would pretend he was a different famous actor. With the first he would imagine he was Huge Grant, with the second, Gene Hackman (when he was in that cop movie); with the third he pictured Bruce Willis and with the forth he imagined he was Michael Keaton from Batman. And with all four ladies the same thing would happen.
Noodle Box wouldn't know how to put it in words, but with each woman he would feel an eerie sense of being watched, as though there was a ghost in the room. It would cause Noodle to lose his concentration. He would clam up and goose-bumps would run the course of his body. He would instantly lose the satisfaction he was getting from his performance and would not be able to finish. This had never happened to Noodle Box before and he was unsure how to handle it. To get out of the predicament he would eventually pretend to have been satisfied. And though he couldn't quite put his finger on it, somewhere deep inside, he knew it was related to Elmyra.
That night Noodle takes out those ragged papers he was handed in that orange envelope and looks over them once again. He has memorized them over time and seldom consultes them nowadays. But this was something new.
He studies the list of criteria for growing strong. He has always felt confident he was doing his exercises as the list requires but having now looked over it, he felt certain this is true. He looks over the diagram of the female body littered with illegible handwriting. He looks over the document which prescribes dietary choices to avoid or heed. He even opens the orange envelope in case there was magically something he overlooked after all these years. There was not.
But then Noodles sees, scratched in that awful hand-writing on the back of one of the pages, the words, if at first you don't succeed, try, try again. This was a quote, Noodle Box had heard before.
"There's something to that. Maybe you can never be 100 percent. Even Joe DiMaggio had his strike outs."
Noodle Box decides to spend the next two weeks abstinent. In that time he would gather as much information about Elmyra as he could and in order to be discreet, he goes right to the source.
He would corner the twins at night as they were coming out of the mall, still dressed in their hot-dog-red and mustard-yellow shirts.
“Hey, Amy-anne.” Noodle calls out as he leans against his car. The twins look over. “Com’er for a second.”
Noodle would tell them he was in the neighbourhood, that he was glad he happened to bump into them, and he had a few questions about their friend.
"Like, it's kinda weird, Noodle."
"That you're asking us all this stuff..."
"Look, I know, but--"
"Are you gonna like,"
"Stalk her or something?"
"No!" Noodle would rest his arms on their shoulders and talk softly. "Truth is, I think I love her."
The twins would gasp, then say in unison, "like, for real!?"
Noodle Box would make a spread sheet. The column would be for where she was. The row would be for when she was there. Noodle wasn't sure why he was doing it but he couldn't resist. He had to be around her. He knew the longer his presence intermingled with hers, the easier it would be to forge a path between their urges.
Her father held a membership at the yacht club. Noodle had wanted to learn about boats for years. Every Sunday Elmyra and her father would have breakfast together at the buffet in the dining lodge of the club. Noodle had singed up for a nautical lesson that coincidently ended just as the buffet was roaring.
Elmyra would go to the mid-night movie every week alone and sit in the back and drink vodka out of a coffee mug. Noodle watched a lot of movies of late too.
And of course she worked at the Hot Dog On A Stick stand in the mall with the twins where it was easy to find her should Noodle grow tired of going out of his way.
Once, while on her break from the stand, Noodle witnesses her take a kitten out of its cage in the pet store on the other side of the mall. She turns her back to the cashier and shoves the kitten in her purse. She stops at the counter and says something to the clerk before waving her hands in the air and leaving.
She walks directly over to where Noodle is standing, pretending to read the mall director, and hands him the cat.
"Since you like it so much, Mr. Box," she says plainly and walks off. Noodle looks down at the fuzzy, scrawny, cat.
Weeks passed. Noodle had forgone seeing any other women in order to preserve his focus but he was growing anxious to get back to the old rhythm. But he remembered what happened last time and the feeling of fear kept him on his path.
One night he dreams he is with a blond-haired flame who looks like Veronica Lake. They are driving with the top down along a stretch of highway that runs along the coast. To Noodle's surprise the girl in the dream suddenly removes her clothes but she doesn't have breasts. Instead her body is very hairy, like a man’s. When noodle looks up to question her she turns into his father. Noodle looses control of the car and they swerve off the highway into the ocean. Underwater Noodle can't see anything but he is pulled up and to shore. When he finally opens his eyes, in the dream, Elmyra is the one who has rescues him. He looks up at her longingly and she says to him. "You'll never have a good cheeseburger if you don’t learn to like fries."
Noodle Box would awake in a cold sweat and not fall back asleep.
The next morning he would stand in his kitchen and drink orange juice right from the jug. He would think about the dream and what she said. It didn’t make sense. Why was she talking about food. And what was his father doing there? For some reason a deep dread would overcome Noodle and he would sink into a state of worry for himself.
What if I never pick up another woman again? My whole life and the image I have created could be in jeopardy.
This was the longest he'd gone in his eight-year tenor as the king and not picked up a girl. Suddenly his very livelihood seemed to hing on his ability to perform the magic on Elmyra.
Noodle Box would spend one more week preparing to give it his all. He would double his physical regiment. He would double the amount of fruit he was eating. He would treat himself to a very special facial mask from P. P. Harvy's downtown. The one they kept behind the counter. Yes, for noodle, this was an emergency.
Noodle would spend hour after hour in the washroom scrubbing and brushing, lathering and plucking, tanning and soaking until he was the smoothest, orangest, horniest creature on Earth.
* * *
Noodle Box enters the Bay City mall through the North doors. He crosses the mall this way before reaching the food court in order that he might have ample time to warm up. There would be ladies to exchange impulses with along the walk and if he could work his magic on a passing beauty, he would be as sharp as a pin when talking with Elmyra.
It's busy when he reaches the Hot Dog On A Stick stand and he is forced to wait. He sits on the edge of a small fountain that makes up the centerpiece to the food court and looks down though the water at the glistening pennies. Lore has it if you make a wish and drop a penny into the fountain, your wish will come true. That lore, of course, came out of an era before strip-malls and cheap architecture and if there was any truth to it, it had been demolished by cost saving contractors and corner-cutting fat cats.
None the less, Noodle Box fishes into his pocket and drops whatever change he has into the murky water. His wish: "I wish to be granted the pleasure to explore every inch of Elmyra Black's special purpose."
The lunch crowd disperses and the twins are in back. Elmyra leans against the counter and counts change.
This is Noodle's shot.
He approaches with as swank a swagger as he can, stop short upon "seeing her" and smiles.
"Don't I know you from somewhere?" He begins.
She would look up from her counting and bat her enormous eyes.
"I stole a cat and gave it to you once." She says flatly. She scoops up all the change in her hands and turns to go.
"Wait." Noodle pleads and she stops. "I want to tell you something..." Noodle box has her attention but he's not sure what to say. He takes a deep breath and opens his mouth.
"I can't stop thinking about you. I know it sounds crazy but, I mean it. I've never felt this way exactly." Elmyra rolls her eyes. She takes a stick of gum out of her pocket, unwraps it and sticks it in her mouth.
"Take a number," she says and again heads for the back. By now the twins have noticed and peek out from the back room attentively.
"Wait," Noodle appeals. "Just hear me out."
She stops.
"I really can't stop thinking about you. I'm ready to give it all up. For you." Just then Noodle notices her cheek quiver. Was it a sign? He quickly shoots back a pulse from his temple. Her eye twitches.
"Give it all up?" She asks.
"That's right," he says.
"For me?" She says.
Noodle Box swallows deep and long. Her eye sends out a twitch and Noodle Box finds he is unable to control his response. He involuntarily sends one back.
"For you..." he says.
She stalks over to him and leans over the counter, gets close enough to kiss him. She whispers in a low, almost daunting voice.
"Then stop sending and receiving or I'll tell the whole world."
Noodle is shocked. For the first time she smiles.
She pulls away from him and waltzes to the back room and disappears. The twins are left peeking out, both wide-eyed and drop-jawed.
Noodle slinks away from the Hot Dog On A Stick shack. He passes the fountain and looks in, wishes he could get his money back.
At home he closes all his blinds and takes off all his clothes. He takes a hot shower but does not clean himself. Instead he lets the hot water pour down over him as he sulks and thinks about what she said.
After his shower he sits on the edge of his round, red bed in the nude. An unsettling discomfort would come over him, a lack of satisfaction that not even three-quarters of a bottle of brandy would quench.
"What would the world think if they knew my secret?" Noodle box would reason aloud as he paced back and forth in the nude.
"They would know the race had been rigged from the beginning! My celebrity would be stripped from me!"
Noodle Box imagined the riot that would come against him. He imagined the unrest he would face. His whole existence would be compromised, ruined.
At three hours past
Against the ominous patter of rain, Noodle Box takes the worn pieces of paper which have served him so well and returns them to their orange envelope. He slides them into the breast pocket of his finest suit and picks up his car keys.
"Sayonara," he says aloud.
He would drive for 30 minutes across town. He would listen to Paula Abdul's Forever Your Girl, which was his favorite album and arguably Paula's best work. This album always put Noodle in the mood for love but now it was causing in him to experience a profound sense of melancholy.
He would arrive at 112 Bellmount Avenue West, Elmyra's house, and get out of his car. He would leave the car door open and walk slowly though the rain and arrive on the small front porch.
Elmyra lives here with her father, Anoush Black, a funny, stout little man with circle-shaped glasses and an incurable sense of humor. He would be sleeping now, Noodle thinks.
Noodle Box enters the house at VIA the unlocked front door five minutes to four in the morning. He is soaking wet and stands in the quiet dark for five minutes and listens to the rain beat against the plastic skylight above the front door.
At exactly four in the morning Noodle takes a knife from the butcher's block in their dark kitchen. Incidentally he also stops at their refrigerator and removes and eats half of a pastrami sandwich.
Noodle Box carries the butcher knife as he silently makes his way up the winding stairs. At the top is a closed door. Beyond it, Noodle somehow knows, sleeps Elmyra.
Before Noodle does what he came to do, he stands in her dark room and looks in detail at her strange collection of artefacts.
She has three posters of young attractive men posing with BMX bikes above her bed. Nearly all the books on her bookshelf are trilogies. This intrigues Noodle.
He notices her laundry basket is overflowing.
He notices a messy desk with papers. On the paper are drawings and notes in a very poor handwriting.
She has a CD player on a table near her bed. Noodle quietly sifts through the CDs to see if he recognizes anything from her collection. The only CD he knows is the soundtrack to The Body Guard.
Noodle takes this CD out and puts it in the CD player. He turns the volume to low and presses play. The song is I Will Always Love You by Whitney Houston. It's one of the finest pop songs ever written, Noodle thinks. It describes exactly how he feels, as only a pop song can.
Noodle crosses to the bed. Elmyra sleeps on her stomach with one hand under her and the other above her head. Her lower lip hangs open, rumbles slightly under her heavy sleep.
It makes the perfect shape of a swoosh, noodle thinks. It reminds him of banana pudding.
He raises the butcher's knife above his head. He takes a deep breath and exhales.
"You were the one for me," Noodle says.
* * *
There is the account of a sleeping beauty who dreamt of a sword raised above her as she slept high in a tower above. There is the account of a princess who wished for a charming prince but ended up with a black man named Chucky who likes to lift weights and shoot guns. There is the account of the twins, who played a marginal yet essential role in he crescendo of events which lead to the downfall of famous Noodle Box. And somewhere, there is the account of a dumpling-eating Hobo, who has the secret to love folded up like old money in the breast-pocket of his shirt.
To Be Continued...
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