Return Receipt Requested

By Mitzi Mensch

Diagnosed with malignant melanoma after years of being a sun bunny in Hawai`i, Madeline accepts that this is the time for dying. Her only regret is that she has missed out on lasting love, and she is determined to be held in the embrace of a mans arms as she draws her final breath. The problem, as usual, is she cant figure out which man. With a history of being a female philanderer Madeline always picks guys with fatal flaws, absolving herself of the necessity to choose. With Beau the obstacle is his drinking, with Howard his marriage, with Max his age.

With time growing short Madeline springs into action. Once again, however, she evades the decision making process by leaving it up to the men. She writes a letter, changing only the name, telling each he is the most important person in the world to her and the one she would most like to be with as she goes toward that white light. She throws in a few incentives to sweeten the deal and sends the letter return receipt requested.

As Madeline awaits the answers the story of each relationship is told, depicting three different stages in her life. Though highly unconventional her life decisions may be they bring fulfillment and satisfaction to her and those around her. The sentiment which she sums up with sanguine simplicity at the surprising denouement is The difference between living and dying is love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Feb 12, 2016
• ISBN: 9781504965743

Mitzi Mensch

Mitzi Mensch was born and raised in New England and attended college in Vermont. An island girl at heart, she moved to Hawaii, where she has lived long enough to be kama`aina.

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© 2016 Mitzi Mensch. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 02/03/2016

ISBN: 978-1-5049-6573-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5049-6574-3 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015919912

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Chapter One Painting

Chapter Two Beau

Chapter Three The Pill Boxes

Chapter Four Howard

Chapter Five Sacred Falls

Chapter Six Max

Chapter Seven Broadway and Back

CHAPTER ONE

PAINTING

I walked out of the doctor's office numb. The little pock-faced man with the Coke-bottle glasses had just given me the results of my tests. I closed the door behind me. H. I. Maxon, M.D. I had cancer.

Driving back to The Bank a sense of freedom enveloped me. Release.

Workety work. I wouldn't have to do it anymore. I could go out on disability. It would be a while before real sickness took over. I would have time. Time to do all those things I'd always wanted to do. Blessed time to call mine. But I would have to hurry if I wanted to get all of those things done. My mind spun. Read books, clean closets, walk on the beach, put all my photos in albums so my daughter, Audrey, would have them in order. Sleep in till the sun woke me. Not have to get up at five a.m. to go jogging. Cancel my membership at 24 Hour Fitness. No need to exercise any more. I could let myself go.

And now, finally, I could give up on looking for that perfect relationship. I'd been telling myself all my life that's what I wanted, so why had none of them been perfect? And why, at fifty-two, was I still looking? It took so much energy, all those men. I was through with men. I could live the rest of my life, what was left of it, in blissful solitude.

I drove down Beretania, past Central Union Church, many Sunday mornings obligatorily spent there, making sure Audrey went through her confirmation class. Past Thomas Square, no more craft fairs. All that hand-made Hawaiian stuff looked the same after a while anyway. Past the Art Academy. I would miss the exhibits, the art films. Past Mahalo Insurance, the agency that said 'Thank You' up front, one of my former employers. I wouldn't miss that. There had been too many of them. Just a means of survival, a way to keep a roof over my head, food on the table, support a child as a single parent. I wouldn't have to sell any more insurance policies to people who would benefit only if horrible things happened. At least I was well insured -- life, disability, cancer coverage, long term care. I'd always sold myself the same coverages I was selling just so I could look those clients in the eye and say, I've got this protection on myself. Now with my securities license I was concentrating on variable annuities as well as fixed. I was licensed for it all -- property/casualty, life/health/disability. I had a string of designations after my name -- CPCU, CLU, CEBS, ChFP. My obituary would read well.

I turned my shiny new black sports car onto Bishop Street. Opened the sun roof. What the heck. Might as well throw all caution to the wind. It was too late now. Finally I get a fun car and now I would never get to pay it off. But at least I wouldn't have to trudge around Honolulu any more lugging a briefcase, pulling a dolly with my presentation materials. I wouldn't have to prove myself each and every month. I could turn in my beeper, my cell phone, my laptop. I wouldn't have to be so damned accessible any more. I could disconnect. Retreat into my own world. It was old, all so old. I was sick of it.

And unlike my parents, I wouldn't die of a heart attack or a stroke. I had my own disease. My very own.

Melanoma. I guess it was all those years of being bronze and beautiful in a bikini. Finally did me in. Fair skin just can't take it. I'd had those splotches on my arms and legs for a long time, so really hadn't paid much attention to them when they turned red, started to itch, even ooze a little. Lotion after each shower seemed to soothe them. The darkened one on my ankle was coming off. I guess I'd have to take a day or two of Paid Time Off, but I didn't have to tell anybody why. In fact I wasn't going to tell anybody anything, not quite yet. This whole terminal illness business was something I would keep to myself, at least for now. I would digest it, ponder it, plan it my way.

I pulled into my parking garage at The Bank. For now. But not for long.

At my desk I pulled out my benefits file. Changed my Salary Reduction Form for my retirement account from fifteen percent to zero percent. I'd been trying to play catch-up. No more. Now I would spend that extra money. Share some of it with Audrey and her boyfriend, Adam, so they could buy some things they might need for their new place in California. I stuck the form in an inter-office envelope to HR.

I pulled up my e-mail. Checked out the jokes, forwarded by my Korean co-worker, Jerome. I picked the best, a press conference with Bill Clinton downloaded from the web, and forwarded it to the men in my life. First to Beau since he had just re-entered my life following our chance encounter. Then to Max, the man of the moment, who was gone for now but not for long. He would have it when he got back from his trip. Howard, the one I had trusted to return my love, had e-mail by now of course, in 1998, but when we had been together it was in its infancy and we hadn't used it. Besides, on the occasional nights we weren't together, he'd always called, we'd spent hours on the phone until finally we'd fallen asleep, whispering good night gently as we softly hung up, the next best thing to falling asleep together. No jokes for him.

I pulled up my calendar, got on the phone, made a few more appointments, filled my time for Monday. At least it was Friday. This week was over. No plans for the weekend other than to paint the rental apartment downstairs. My tenant had just died of lung cancer. His wife had moved to the mainland to be with her daughter when she had her baby, to live near them so she could be part of her grandchild's life. I'd never get to see my grandchildren, to hold them, to play with them, to read them the books I'd saved since Audrey's infancy, to relive parenthood as a grandparent. I wouldn't have the opportunity to reassure my daughter when mothering seemed overwhelming, to answer her questions, to give her the nurturing she needed when it seemed all she did was give the nurturing, to take over for a weekend so she and Adam could have some time for themselves, to renew their love, to come back refreshed. I wouldn't see the circle completed. That was what I would miss. But enough of self-pity I chided myself. I'd had a longer life than some. And I'd had the time to raise my own child to adulthood, to see her grow into a fine young woman. At least I'd had that. I was grateful. Motherhood had been the most rewarding experience of my life. And now that the day-to-day responsibilities of child rearing were over and my time was my own I was into my second youth, trying to start over.

It had been an interesting week. With Max in Portland and unwilling to be pressured into going to Jerome's wedding anyway, I had invited Beau. Ran into him on the street . . .

I'd know that walk anyplace, I'd heard behind me as I stepped out of my building to pick up lunch. Still got that bounce.

I thought you were dead! I'd replied, turning around, instantly recognizing the voice I'd first heard sixteen years before. He was wearing a freshly-pressed reverse print aloha shirt, the business suit of downtown Honolulu.

Sorry, if that's what you wanted. Tales of my death have been greatly exaggerated. But I guess there's lot of people who would like me to be.

Well, it's just been so long since I've seen you . . . I mean, I stammered.

Are you okay? he asked, looking at me with concern. You look like you've lost weight.

I'm fine, just stopped eating like a pig.

Well you've still got that twinkle in your eye, I see. What kind of mischief are you up to? he asked as we crossed the street.

I've become an actress! I announced.

Oh, you've finally followed your calling as a porno star?

Community theater. I ignored his innuendo.

What theater, what plays, what roles? he asked.

And as I told him he actually seemed to be listening, interested for once, instead of simply suggesting we run up to his office for a quickie. At some point I handed him my card.

Are you married, living with someone? he wanted to know.

No.

That you're giving me your card, does that mean that you would like me to call you?

Well, yes . . . I guess it does.

Because I'd like that, he said. I'd like to call you. I'd like to see you, hear more about your acting and anything else you'd like to tell me.

Well, what's your current status? I asked. It was hard to keep track of his because it was always changing.

Divorced.

I didn't have to ask how many times. I knew this was his fifth.

Do you think there's a pattern emerging here? he laughed, lighting a cigarette as we parted.

Another transplanted mainland haole. But after all these years we were both fixtures in the Islands, established, called Hawai`i home, real kama`aina. At six months older than me at least he was the right age. And he hadn't aged badly. He'd gone bald, but the fringe that was left wasn't even gray, not like my hair that I colored Natural Light Brown by Clairol. What he'd lost on top he'd gained in girth, grown more 'prosperous' looking -- translate heavy. But not bad.

I walked into the AMFAC Building to get lunch, thinking about the first time I'd met Beau, so many years ago, at the Aikahi Safeway.

I'd been a marketing representative for Commercial Insurance back then. My boss had asked me to drop off a proposal for a potential client, a private school, in Kailua. I had to be there before school closed at three. Since I'd be almost home already he'd said to take the rest of the day off.

With Audrey at her after-school program until five-thirty I decided to get some grocery shopping done. I was dressed in my good gray suit, high heels. I didn't look like the rest of the mid-day suburban shoppers in shorts and rubber slippers.

It was in the produce department I first became aware of someone watching me. Over the papaya. He smiled. I smiled back, then looked away. Same thing in dairy. Once more in meat. At the checkout counter there were two customers in line between him and me. As he left he looked back, gave a little wave. He was cute, even with the receding hairline.

Well, that was interesting, I thought, then dismissed it as I went to pick up Audrey, get the groceries put away, fix dinner.

The next week, driving over the Pali Highway in the morning on the way to work I noticed him in the lane next to mine. We both looked from the safety of our cars. He drove a black Mustang convertible, top down. Our speed kept even all the way to town.

At the light at Pali and Vineyard we stopped. He motioned. The company car came equipped with power windows. I pushed the button, lowering the passenger's side.

"Who are you?" he called.

I saw you at the grocery store, I called back.

I know. Where do you live? he asked.

Aikahi. I proudly named my neighborhood.

Alone?

With my daughter.

Where do I find you?

What do you mean?

How do I call you?

The light was starting to change. No time to play coy.

Commercial Insurance.

What's your name?

Madeline Sanders. Yours?

Beau . . . He sped away before I caught his last name.

Remembering my first encounter with Beau, I smiled. It was impossible not to smile, remembering Beau. He was a funster, always a funster.

I walked back down the corridor of the AMFAC toward my office with my lunch from Thai Take Out in one hand, paper cup with Diet Coke in the other. I ate the same thing every day. Brown rice with something stir fried on top. I washed it down with calorie-free soda. I'd lost almost thirty pounds in the last six months. At ninety-three pounds I'd never been this slim in my adult life. Max said he didn't know what to hang onto any more. It did have me feeling a bit weak, but I was glad to be rid of the stuff that had been piling on the hips ever since my relationship with Howard. He was a fast food fanatic. So why didn't he gain weight? That's all he ever ate. That and plate lunches with plenty of rice and gravy. I thought back to the day last spring I'd run into him walking down this very same corridor.

I had been with Haunani from work, lunch from TTO in hand. We'd been talking about Max, how hard it was being with a man seventeen years younger, pretending there was no relationship, that he didn't matter, that we were just passing time together until we each found the right one.

It was only intended to run the length of the play, I told Nani. Max was just a fling. I can't say as I really blame him for not wanting to go to the company dinner with me on Saturday. He doesn't want to go public. But it hurts.

Just then was when I saw Howard, weighted down with a briefcase in each hand, walking our way. He was wearing a suit, must have been on his way to court. You could always spot an attorney on court day since that was the only time a man in Honolulu ever wore a suit unless it was a malihini fresh off the boat.

I'd tensed, stopped talking.

Hi Madeline, Howard greeted, smiling warmly as we passed.

Hi Howard, I responded, my voice quavering.

"Who was that?" asked Nani moving gracefully in her long mu`umu`u.

That's the man I really love, I answered, tears welling in my eyes.

I could feel the vibrations all the way down the hallway. If you get back with him I'll buy you a ladder, he's so tall. She meant tall for an Asian man. Why don't you ask him to the dinner? She didn't mention the birthmark. Or the beard.

He had called that night, the first time I'd talked to him in a year-and-a-half, and so, to get even with Max for not wanting to acknowledge our relationship, I'd invited Howard to the dinner.

And now I was doing the same thing with Beau. There had been a voice mail and two e-mail messages from him at work when I got back from my trip to Kona.

Dead? You thought I was what? read the subject line of his e-mail. I can think of many ways to prove to you my ability to breathe and breed. I'm HIV negative and Viagra sensitive, tho not a candidate yet. So whadaya say? Wanna rumble?

I'd replied with an invitation to Jerome's wedding. That is, if the occasion isn't too scary. Don't worry -- you don't need to be a participant in the ceremony. Just a guest at the reception.

I knew I wasn't supposed to be using company e-mail for personal use, but everybody did it. I didn't have a computer at home, certainly not my own e-mail account. I always waited till I got to work to read the fun stuff even though the company was sending out nasty messages using words like 'unauthorized use' and 'grounds for dismissal.'

Thank goodness, he wrote. "I've been the leading man at so many of these events I know the lines by heart. I've got so many exes I can't keep track any more. Just call 'em all 'plaintiff.' And they all started out as 'honey.'

What's the attire for this function? Latex or vinyl? What do I bring -- snorkel, mask, fins? Do I rent a room or do we swim with the dolphins?

I had laughed out loud reading my screen. It would be fun to go to the wedding with him!

Here I was dying, and all I could think about was the men in my life. But I was through with them. Or so I said.

I had flown to Kona the day after I ran into Beau. The Big Island was part of my territory. I was selling supplemental insurance to employer-sponsored groups. With so many boxes of packets to drag along, I'd left the laptop behind. I had three appointments on Tuesday, four on Wednesday. I always said this job would either keep me young or kill me. I guess it wouldn't be the job, after all.

It was ironic. I had stayed at the same hotel I'd stayed at on my honeymoon thirty-one years earlier with my first ex-husband. But that was ancient history.

I'd had a dream that night in Kona. I was old, an old, old woman, and I was still trying to decide. There were men all around me. This one was wrong, he was too ordinary. That one was wrong, he was too flamboyant. A parade of ghost men passed by me, flying at me from the walls, then disappeared through the ceiling. I was worn out. I just wanted to sleep. Restful sleep. I didn't want to have to make a decision, to choose, could never choose. Fun -- stability -- character. What was the criteria anyway? It was too late. They bounced toward me, then away. Why couldn't they leave me alone? All I yearned for was comfort, arms around me, one set of arms, love. It had never happened. And now it was too late.

The next morning I passed by the hotel where Howard and I had stayed once, early on in our relationship. I had sat on a bench in the lobby with our bags while he checked us in.

They asked me what my wife's name was, he said coming with the key, laughing. I said Lynda.

What?!

"Well, they didn't ask me your name."

I thought Howard was the one. I had really thought so. I was not an easy client to deal with, but he was there for me, always, calm and comforting during my time of turbulence.

He had seemed so negative when I first approached him to write the purchase agreement.

I'd been bursting with excitement as I sat across from him in his office and told him about my plan to get out of insurance, to own my own business, to buy a medical office complex. Just think -- I won't have to be subject to the volatility of the insurance industry anymore!

He didn't share my enthusiasm. He brought up boring trivia. Madeline, do you realize there is a new medical building being planned in Kaka`ako? That doctors are all forming their own IPAs and banding together?

"Yes, but this building is already almost full! These are established physicians with established practices. I'm planning to expand services, to provide medical records storage facilities. Words gushed out of me in a torrent. I can procure medical secretarial services and receptionist services for them at a fraction of the cost it is for them to hire their own people. My C.P.A. assures me this is a good venture."

Has he taken a good look at the figures?

She. She can't really look at the figures because the seller, Kale, you know, Keoni's brother-in-law, has the expenses for all his other businesses run through The Medical Center. He can't separate them out. He has simply given us what the current rents are and we're working out pro forma figures based on those. I'm at almost one hundred percent occupancy! I'll rent those vacant offices immediately at current rates. Then every time one of the leases expires I plan to bring in new tenants at increased rental rates. Though there is a tight profit margin right now it can't get anything but better! I blathered on, trying to get him to see it, to get it, to understand. And I won't ever have to worry about another insurance company pulling out of the state and leaving me unemployed. This is the second time that's happened to me. Never again! From now on I will be in control, in charge of my own destiny. I pounded my fist on his desk for emphasis.

He looked askance but at least there was no more minutiae.

Do you write purchase agreements? I asked, forcing myself to bring my level of intensity down a notch.

We do, he stated without affect.

Will you write one for me?

Only if you are determined, he replied solemnly. Only if you listen to my warnings first, he warned, then proceeded to barrage me with them. "Only if you promise to work out figures based on the worst case scenario, not the best. If you work them out at ninety percent occupancy, then eighty, then seventy, then fifty. Work them out, not on what you anticipate increasing them to but on what you might have to reduce them to in order to keep any tenants at all. Then, if you're still determined, I will, against my better judgment,