A Not so Trivial Truth by Beverly Goldberg

She was walking back from the post office, glad it was getting dark. She always felt safer when she thought she was invisible. Pulling her gray coat tighter she sighed. The damn assignment had taken so long to complete but now it was off to the publisher, carefully proofread, and she could turn to the next project awaiting attention, a book of maps about Italy's famous regions meant to guide visitors. It was much more to her liking, opening up places to dream about visiting.

She grimaced, knowing she would never really go there. An airplane, extension seat belts or two seats--ha. She continued on home, crossing Broadway to get to 75th Street, a quiet block, then on to Amsterdam. She could probably make her way home with her eyes closed, the route so familiar after ten years.

Suddenly she looked around startled. Amsterdam was blocked by fire engines and police cars, and cops, lots of cops. She stood there, not sure what to do, listening for a hint of what was happening. Then she saw, a few feet to her left, a woman talking to someone and moved closer.

"A would be arsonist, holed up in a building lobby, threatening to release some sort of gas?" the woman said.

"That's what I heard a cop say," he replied, adding, "It'll be awhile. How about we go back to Broadway? Find a coffee shop?"

"The woman, slim and fairly good looking, smiled and nodded, and they left--together.

Of course, she muttered, then turned around looking for someplace to shelter as she felt the first raindrops. She saw a "dive" bar, walked toward it and when she looked in, she realized it was not well lit, so taking a deep breath, in she went. People were gathered around the bar, but she saw a small table in a corner and quickly sat down.

Her hair was dripping from the rain that had intensified as she stood outside, making her decision. She grabbed the opportunity to pull it forward, half covering her face.  She studied the place and soon realized they were playing pub trivia. Someone came by, asking what she wanted, and she muttered, "something sweet, really sweet. um rum and regular coke."

The waitress soon came back, put it on the table, and said, "Seven bucks."

While digging into her bag to find a ten, she heard the person behind the bar ask, "What is  a Pronghorn?" She muttered, "An antelope." 

No one answered and the questioner laughed and said, "Antelope." People groaned, and the voice said, "Now for a harder one, smart asses, "How many strings on a pedal harp?" 

She muttered, "forty-seven." People were making crazy guesses, and suddenly the waitress standing behind her shouted, "This lady said forty-seven."

Faces turned toward her and the waitress added, "And she said Antelope to the last question."

"Wow, we need you--speak up when you answer so  we can hear you. The prize today is ten bucks, and the next question is a doozie."

Everyone laughed, then he asked, "Which branch of mathematics gets its name from the Arabic word for 'reuniting'?" 

She found herself shouting, in chorus with another voice, "Algebra."

"Right," Now, what is the only country with a native lemur population?" 

She yelled, "Madagascar."

"Right again, lady, you're good. So now, What is the smallest prime number?" 

She and the man who'd said Algebra both yelled, "Two."

The game went on, and she ended up with the ten dollars. She sat there staring at it, when someone ran in, shouting, "They got the guy. You can hear the cars and trucks leaving."

She began to get up when the bartender came by and said, "You're good. We do this twice a week--Mondays and Thursdays. I hope you' ll come again, drinks on the house. You spice things up."

Stunned, she got up, collected her things and went home, realizing as she slowly walked home through the rain that there hadn't been a look of disgust or surprise when she rose from the chair. 

She tried to put the little adventure, as she called it, out of her head, but the following Thursday, once again going to the post office to mail in her assignment, she walked home by a slightly different route, passing by the bar, then suddenly found herself turning back and going in. 

The bartender saw her and came over asking where she wanted to sit? She couldn't make herself say "I can't fit on a stool," so she said nothing.

He said, come and sit on my chair by the side. She saw it was a high chair that he used, but he said nothing and pulled a stool behind the bar for himself. She managed to use the rung in front of the chair to get herself up and the game began. 

She had fun and soon realized that an occasional non answer was a good idea, as people began to enjoy the chance to shine on occasion.

She found herself going to play every week. Then one day, when the game ended, the bartender, who turned out to be the owner, asked her to stay for a few minutes. He added, "By the way, I'm James Maloney, and this lady," he said pointing to the waitress, "is my significant other Jean, and you are?"

"Sheila Kenwick,"

And what do you do, professor or librarian?"

Feeling shy, she explained that she worked free-lance, from home, editing books for a number of publishers.

So publishing, learning a lot all the time. But does it pay well?" James asked.

"Well, it pays the bills--rent for my studio in a brownstone. And the usual. I've been at it for ten years."

"Look, we've got a deal for you. We opened a new place on the east side and it's not doing well. We'd like to try Trivia nights there. If you'd be willing to run them, we'll pay you for it, of course.  I'm not promising a long-term part time job, but Jean will come with you the first few weeks to make you more comfortable."

She looked at them, wondering if they were blind, then snarled, "Look at me, look at my size."

Jean said, "Yeah, you're big, but you have a great face, and dressed up a bit, it won't matter."

"Ha, you think so? My mother would tell you no one likes fat, it disgusts them."

"Please Sheila, before you say no, come shopping with me, my treat, and just come here done up. The people haven't been unkind, have they?"

"No but I've been in the shadows. All they see is a gray blob."

Jean said, "I think you're wrong, come on or are you chicken?"

Somehow she ended up agreeing to give it a try. Jean would see the problem the minute they tried to find a dress for her and that would be that.

Well, Jean took her to a small shop on a side street in the thirties. Jean knocked and the door was opened. When they enteredwalked in a woman came over to Jean and gave her a hug. Jean smiled at her and turned to introduce her--"Clare, this is Sheila and we need a dress for her for working the Trivia at our new place."

Clare asked her to remove her coat and when she did, said without flinching, "Sheila, turn around please."

So she did, waiting for the "Impossible" or "you're kidding."

Instead, Clare said, "There's no one else up here. Opening time isn't for an hour, but Jean said it was important. So just get that ridiculous thing you're wearing off and I'll pick out a few things that will work well with your coloring." 

She was so startled she just removed her dress. By the time she had done so, Clare appeared with four dresses.

Alarmed, she muttered, "Red, Purple, you can't..."

"Nope, they'd work, but let's try this teal first."

When she looked in the mirror, she almost fainted. It wasn't because she looked slim, she didn't, but she didn't look grotesque either. Studying the dress she saw that it violated all her mother's ideas of what the right dress for her was. It had long flowing sleeves, a simple, not too deep v-neck, and no belt or buttons. It also was longer, somewhere between her knees and ankles than what her mother insisted was right for her.

Suddenly she found a chair being pushed under her and plopped down. Jean was at her side, holding her hand, mumbling soft words.

 "You looked like you might faint--what happened?" Jean and Clare were asking.

"I don't look like a freak, why didn't my mother..."

"That's strange," Clare asked, "was she heavy also?"

"No," she said, "quite the opposite, thin as a model."

"Well" Clare said, changing the subject, "Let's try another."

She shook her head when Clare brought over the red, then purple, but agreed to try the one that was a sort of terracotta, an orange red.

The style was like the teal, again the sleeves were full but these were banded at the wrists and the neckline had a sort of edging that was pretty--and the fabric was different, but just like the teal it didn't cling.

She was so confused, she stood there while Jean had them packed up and paid for, that she simply followed her out of the store and into the cab. She didn't hear where Jean told the driver to take them. But she found herself in some sort of beauty parlor or spa, and soon someone was doing something to her hair and someone else was telling Jean that with that complexion, just shading was all she needed.

Soon she was spun around a saw in the mirror, a nice face, wide but with a sculptured look, and dark, shiny, short curly hair.  

Jean grabbed her in a hug and said, "Why have you been hiding?"

"My mother, she was always saying I was a freak and had to hide. She didn't want people to see me because it would embarrass her."

Jean simply said, "Well she was wrong. Now we are going to the East Side to get a look at the place. Wait, pick out whichever dress you feel better in and change in one of those little draped spaces to your left."

"Just to look, right?"

Jean nodded and she relaxed. The place looked much like the one on the west side, and the manager greeted her happily.

Jean came for her early on Monday and to her surprise James was with her. When they arrived, they hustled her inside quickly. 

A manager she'd met on her first visit was standing there looking upset, and pulled James aside. Suddenly she heard the shrill voice of her mother and felt herself being pulled away, her mother shouting, "I told you not to let anyone see you and this is what you do to me. What if my friends saw the ad--Sheila Kenwick, Star of Trivia"--they might come."

James looked at her mother and said, "What if they saw her?"

"She's a freak, a fat freak," her mother said.

The man who greeted them suddenly spoke up, "She's far from a freak, in fact her face is gorgeous, that's what they'll see--and a bit heavy, so what?"

Her mother stood stock still and Jean turned on her and said, "She is beautiful, that face. Oh my god--you think they'll wonder not how you had such a beautiful daughter, you with that ugly nose and receding chin. And so you made sure she wasn't competition--for her father??"

Her mother turned to her shrieking, "Come with me Sheila, now, these these people..."

Suddenly seeing clearly, she remembered her mother's voice as she was growing up, "Eat everything on your plate, have another cookie dear, let's stop for a treat, maybe ice cream, I made cheesecake for fun, oh you need to always wear dresses that button in the front, I found a great dress for you with a nice belt, and perfect length, middle of the knees, a plaid is so much fun...."

She looked at her mother, and quietly said, "Go away, leave now before I...I...."

They stared at one another for a long time, then her mother turned, head held high, and left without  another word.

She took a deep breath, looked around and said, "Could I get a large coffee, black, no sugar...before I have to start."