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CROSSROADS

By Elliott Mabeuse

The first time I saw Ellen Rothko was when I walked into Boyle's Antiques on Clark Street, looking for old records. She was showing a woman some antique earrings, their heads bent over the display case, and when she heard me come in, she looked up and caught my eye, shocked me with her beauty, and then lowered her face again, leaving me standing there gaping like an idiot.

She was simply one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen, with a model's adolescent angularity coupled with a woman's easy grace. She had a rich torrent of Tuscan-red hair and her clear brown eyes were framed by green glasses, probably intended to make her look older, but instead just emphasizing her youth. Only the intelligence in her eyes kept her beauty from being too easy and gratuitous. That intelligence took the form of an open and almost confrontational curiosity, as if she wanted to know right away what I could do for her.

When I came to know her better, I realized it wasn't a look she gave to everyone.

I was someone special from the start.

I was on my usual rounds of the antique and second-hand stores, looking for old records, and I'd expected to deal with Morty Boyle, a man I knew fairly well and didn't much like-a greedy, avaricious dealer-so I was a bit surprised to find her there. I thought Morty must have hired some new help.

I walked in and made myself unobtrusive while she dealt with the woman, and when she was done, I looked up to find her regarding me with that look.

"Hi, is Morty here? I'm a friend of his. "

She shook her head. She was wearing a dove-gray sweater, and her glasses were on a neck chain, a charming touch, as if she were trying hard to look older than she was.

"Mr. Boyle? No, he's not here anymore. "

"So he finally sold out, huh? He'd been talking about that for years.

She nodded. "Me and my husband Eric. What can I do for you?"

I stuck out my hand. "I'm James Sawyer. I deal in old records-78's, 45's, some LP's, but generally the old stuff. The older, the better. "

"Ellen Rothko. " She took her glasses off and let them hang from the chain. I wondered if they were prescription or whether she just wore them for show. She took my hand and shook it.

I can't say there was any sort of shock that went through our hands, but there was something totally captivating about her eyes, and she regarded me as if she were trying to place my face.

I felt the same way. She was half my age, but there was this distinct feeling of having met her before, as if we already knew each other. I wondered whether she might have been a student in one of the classes I taught, back when I was teaching at the city college. That had been about seven or eight years ago, and she looked to be about the right age.

That feeling of recognition lasted only a moment, but it left me strangely shaken.