Back at my apartment building, I was annoyed to hear piano music filling the hallway on my floor. Jazz, and someone playing it much too loudly. My mood was just foul enough to start banging on doors and flashing my badge, but when I discovered the source of the noise, I knew my badge wouldn't do much good.
'Mom?'
When I opened my door, the music hit me like a wind. I never liked jazz -- I preferred my music to have structure and balance. I also never liked piano, having been forced into two years of lessons by a mother who thought it built character.
The living room offered more unpleasant surprises. My couch faced a different direction than it had this morning. It now also had three pink throw pillows on it, which matched the new pink curtains on my windows.
I liked pink about as much as jazz piano.
I hit the Off button on the stereo.
'Mom?'
'In the bedroom, dear.'
I took a deep breath, blew it out, and walked into my bedroom. My mother was hanging a painting on my wall -- one of those framed prints available at department stores for under twenty bucks. The subject was a tabby cat, with a pink bow on its collar, wrestling with a ball of yarn.
'Hello, Jacqueline. What happened to Midori?'
'Midori?'
'Midori Kawamura. The CD that was playing.'
'It was too loud. The neighbors were complaining.'
'Philistines. She's one of the greatest jazz pianists on the planet.'
'I don't like jazz pianists.'
'Perhaps you suffer from pianist envy.'
I was too annoyed to smile at that.
'Mom, why is my sofa turned around?'
'You had it facing the wall. Now it's facing the windows. Do you like the pillows?'
'I don't like pink.'
'You never liked anything girlish. When you were six, all of your friends played with dolls, and I had to buy you toy soldiers. What do you think of your new picture?'
She motioned, with both hands, at the cat with the yarn.
'Adorable,' I deadpanned.
'Reminded me so much of your cat, I had to buy it. Frisky? Where are you?'
Mr. Friskers bounded into the room, onto the bed, and into my mother's arms.
'Frisky?' I asked.
'Look at him, isn't he a ringer for the cat in the picture?'
She held Mr. Friskers up, and he did, indeed, resemble his framed counterpart -- right down to the pink bow my mother had tied around his neck.
'A dead ringer, Mom. Can you take off the bow? You're emasculating him.'
'Nonsense. Frisky loves pink, unlike some people. Right, Frisky?'
She stroked his chin, and the damn cat purred at her. I sat on the bed, which my mom had made -- much better than I ever had. Not so much as a wrinkle anywhere.
'How'd you do all of this?'
'Alan took me out, the dear man. He'll be back soon with the plant.'
'Plant?'
'I asked him to pick up a floor plant. This place is so sterile and lifeless. You need a plant.'
Resistance was futile, so I kicked off my shoes and shrugged out of my clothing.
'Jacqueline? You're not mad, are you?'
'No, Mom. I just had a tough day.'
She set the cat down and put her hand on my head, stroking my hair.
'Would you like to talk about it?'
'Maybe later. I need a shower.'
My mom smiled, nodded. Then she limped out of the bedroom.
A minute later, the jazz came back on.
I slammed the door to the bathroom and set the shower dial to poach. Ten minutes under the needle spray went a long way toward washing the Fuller meeting off of me. I shaved, deep-conditioned my hair, and used the shower mirror to do some serious eyebrow plucking.
