The Stranger in Chock-Full-o'Nuts

The Stranger in Chock-Full-o’Nuts is the story of the beginning of a love affair between a young woman and a much older man. It is the man who possesses the aura of the supernatural.

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When, as a struggling young actress, I first lived in the city, I had worked for a while as an office temp. After several months, I got a job on the morning shift in Chock-Full-o’Nuts on 57th Street and Eighth Avenue. I started earlier in the day and so could schedule auditions around that commitment. It was a good job – the tips were all right and I had plenty of opportunity to observe characters. Young models with Gucci bags who ordered black coffee that they never finished, poising themselves and glancing nervously at their large round wristwatches with neon bands, then rushing off to the interview that would be their big break. Old ladies with all the time in the world who would order two of the Chock-Full signature whole wheat doughnuts covered with powdered sugar and proceed to eat them with pleasure, being long past caring how they looked in a mini-skirt or Capri pants.

In those days Chock-Full-o’Nuts seemed to be on every other street corner; now their numbers are paltry in comparison to the ubiquitous Starbucks that haunt the former locations of Chock-Full-o’Nuts. But perhaps I am the one that is being haunted – by my memories. It was at Chock-Full-o’Nuts that Sebastian appeared at my workstation.

It so happened that the manager asked to switch to the late shift instead of my regular morning one. I, of course, agreed. Evening hours were so much more convenient for auditioning and seeing agents – it could all be done before work, and I could trade shifts if I had the occasional evening tryout. I would deal with rehearsal schedules once I had a part.

Along the downward slope of the after-work rush one evening, an intriguing man came in. He had piercing eyes, that might have seemed cruel, but weren’t. He sat at my station, ordered black coffee and – in what seemed an afterthought – a single plain doughnut. I smiled at him as I handed over what would have been a very ordinary breakfast, had it been morning. As customers were becoming fewer and fewer, I managed to linger long enough to offer him a refill of his coffee. He accepted. Then he asked if I were a student.

“No.”

“Are you an artist, then?”

“No, I am an actress.”

“That is being an artist as well.”

He smiled. I replaced the coffee pot on the hot plate and when I turned back toward him, he had disappeared.

The man appeared at my workstation each evening for a while. He always ordered black coffee and a plain doughnut which he nibbled but never seemed to eat. He would look me over. He was sly about it, but I was in the habit of observing. I would smile and offer even more coffee. He would always accept. Then he would disappear, leaving the extra coffee untouched. I never heard the opening or closing of the door.

Then, one night he didn’t come. Nor did he come on any subsequent nights. I missed him for a while, but after a while, I forgot about him.

I was busy with work, acting classes, rehearsals and was beginning to have some success. I had been cast for the part of Mrs. Popov in The Boor in a production of three Chekov one-act plays. I was fortunate because rehearsals began at seven-thirty in the director’s apartment on West 57th Street. He had a huge living room, completely empty of furniture. In this he devised sets for whatever play he was working on. The money, or at least part of it, that he saved from not having to rent rehearsal space, he paid his actors. This was unusual and we were all delighted to be acknowledged as the skilled professionals we strived to be. The Boor was be performed on West 57th Street – in Judson Hall.

On the evening of our dress rehearsal, Iris, the manager, closed the door of Chock-Full-o’Nuts at six-forty-five, just as a rainstorm began, the kind of autumn rainstorm that follows a particularly hot day. It started with a sudden a wind that lifted from the sidewalk, sucking leaves that had been blown from Central Park upward. The next minute there was a flash and a boom and rain poured down. There was no way I could step outside and not end up looking like the proverbial drowned rat. It had been sunny when I left; I had had no thought of bringing an umbrella. But I had to get to rehearsal on time and it was only a few blocks away.

There was no hope for it – all I could do was duck into doorways. I left the Chock-Full-o’Nuts and ran down the street. It was raining even harder and I still had a couple of blocks to go. I ducked into the doorway of an apartment building next to the Russian Tea Room.

“Let’s do an exercise,” I said to myself. “Let me imagine who would live here. Wealthy. European. French? Possibly. Eastern European? Almost definitely. Someone who loves music and who likes theatre.”

I began to read the names on the doors. I was right – Benoit Poulain, Suzanne Tomblaine, Sergei Roskovski. One Italian name – Sebastiano Luponaccio.

I heard a rustling and looked down. On the side of the entryway was an actual rat, wet and shivering. He looked up at me and I backed up against the wall hoping to give him some space to go away. By now water was dripping off my hair and into my eyes.

“Madam, can I help you?”

I blinked and found myself facing the man who had been coming to my workstation. He was dry, having come from inside the building. He had a raincoat draped over his arm.

“I am Sebastian,” he said.

I gazed at him for what seemed like an hour. I was amazed.

“Yes,” he said, “we have already met – after a fashion. You gave me extra coffee at Chock-Full-o’Nuts – what is the meaning of that name anyway?”

I was embarrassed, but pleased. “I actually do know,” I answered. “It was originally a store that sold nuts, then became a lunch counter during the depression.”

“Oh,”

“I have to go,” I said. “I don’t want to be late for rehearsal.”

“Of course,” was all he said.

I looked at the doorway toward the street but was afraid to move. I didn’t want the rat to come out from wherever it was and scamper across my feet. Also, the rain was still going full-strength. On the other hand, I would have to pass very close to Sebastian on my way out. For some reason, the thought of being so near to him thrilled me.

“Would you walk out with me?” I requested. He looked at me questioningly.

“There was a rat here,” I went on to explain.

Sebastian smiled, almost to himself. And seemingly with satisfaction. “A rat will only bite if it feels trapped or if it is hungry,” he said.

He opened the door to the street and the rain relented. “Is your rehearsal nearby?”

“Judson Hall.”

“I will accompany you. I have an umbrella, although the rain seems to have ceased.”

“Oh, thank you.”

When we reached the rehearsal hall, Sebastian asked if I would allow him to offer me dinner, perhaps tomorrow night, but very late.

“Why not?” I thought to myself

“Why not, indeed,” he responded aloud.

“But not tomorrow. My show opens tomorrow and runs for the weekend. One day next week?”

He agreed. We set a date.

“I will pick you up at ten o’clock. By the way, what is your name?”

“Madeleine.”

“Until then, Madeleine.”

The day Sebastian had chosen was the following Tuesday. Fortunately, Chock-Full-o’Nuts was basically a breakfast and lunch establishment, although we stayed open until seven o’clock for the after-work/working late crowd who wanted a snack on the way to Port Authority or Penn Station.

Six-thirty arrived at last. I began to clean up my workstation. At six-forty-five, Iris, the manager, locked the door so that no more customers could enter. I finished wiping down my counter area, removed my apron and took the net off my hair. I remember closing my eyes and tossing my head to let my hair flow down my back again. When I opened my eyes, I saw Sebastian standing at my station.

“I hope you didn’t forget – tonight we have a date,” he said softly with a slightly wolfish smile. “I’ll pick you up at your apartment at ten o’clock. (I didn’t remember having given him my address.) We’ll have a martini first and a steak dinner afterward.”

“How did you get in? I thought the door was locked.” I was surprised to see him, and I hadn’t heard the door open.

He smiled again. I turned to hang my apron on its hook. When I spun around again, he was gone. This doesn’t seem normal, I thought. I was beginning to wonder.

I left Chock-Full and headed to my small furnished apartment on West Eleventh Street. It was getting dark earlier now. It was the night of the autumnal equinox; starting tomorrow, night would outlast the day. Even though it was already dark and I was tired, I decided I would walk to home, rather than contend with the subway. The air was crisp and cool that night; the slight autumnal wind began to sweep dry leaves upward. I felt safe walking in the nighttime, even though everyone warned me about how dangerous New York was. I always felt safe. There had recently been stories about nightly attacks in Thompson Square Park. For the past two evenings, a huge dog, probably a stray sheltering in one of the tenements nearby, had jumped on a hippie who was hanging out there. The dog attacked from behind and had bitten both of them viciously, leaving their backs lacerated from the neck down. Police dogs could find no trace of this stray. I wasn’t concerned. I lived on West 11th Street, on the other side of the Village from the park. Besides, I knew better than to go wandering in parks after dark. Deep down, I believed I led a charmed life and no harm would befall me. And even if it did, I could figure my way out of harm’s way.

As soon as I got back to my apartment, I took a shower and washed my hair to get rid of the smell of coffee. I put on my black lace panties and bra. Not that they would be seen tonight. Oh, no. Never on a first date. “We’ll see where he takes me, what he’s willing to invest,” I said to myself.

Fortunately building a costume was not a problem. I was creating a character. I started with the shoes, low-heeled black pumps with a bow on the vamp. For me, the shoes are the key to the character. You have to be comfortable on your feet but have to project some kind of style as well. Then you can develop a way of moving that fits your persona. The costume and the character evolve from there. I would no longer be the laboring waitress, beautiful but poor. Nor the struggling actress, talented but undiscovered. Tonight, I would be a charming, sophisticated woman of the world.

The next step was asking myself the question, “What do I want?” What did I want from Sebastian? He was formal and reserved like a gentleman from the early part of the century, maybe even late nineteenth century. I wanted his serenity. I wanted to take some of his serenity and quiet into myself and make it a part of me. For the first time, as I was costuming myself, I began to feel that the frenetic pace of the life I was living was not so admirable. I wanted the luxury of endless time. For the first time, I yearned to linger in a moment rather that consider it a lovely memory before it was even completed.

I dressed slowly, savoring each garment as I put it on -- a black mini-skirt and fishnet stockings. I selected a grey silk blouse with a high lace collar. Next, I applied my make-up and sprayed on some cologne. I remember it was called “Vivons”. It’s a long-ago scent that has since disappeared from the shops. This is unfortunate, for I loved how it smelled on me. I still have a handkerchief that I had splashed some on and carried with me for a while. It too now lies in my drawer and on a dry day, gives off its aroma.

I was ready when the downstairs buzzer rang at precisely ten o’clock. I rang back and sprayed cologne around the room. Just as I finished, the doorbell rang. I opened it and there stood Sebastian. He smiled, and we looked each other up and down for a few seconds.

“Are you going to ask me in?” he said. “I cannot enter unless you invite me.”

“Yes. Please come in.”

He entered, looked around and smiled. I hoped with approval. He picked up my coat, which was lying across a chair and held it for me. It was my only coat – a heavy black three-quarter length car coat with brass buttons, inelegant but very warm. I slipped into it and took Sebastian’s arm.

He was wearing a black cashmere coat with a white silk scarf and was carrying an interesting walking stick. It was walnut, with a carving on the handle. It seemed to be the face of a dog. No, it was a wolf, its forelegs wrapped around the shaft of the walking stick, while its long tail cascaded downward.

“Go ahead. Ask me anything,” Sebastian said later that evening.

All evening he had been watching as my eyes moved from his face to the carved face on the pommel of his cane. We were at O. Henry’s. We were eating steak and drinking an astounding quantity of red wine. Sebastian frequently dipped his bread in the juices that oozed from his steak and brought it to his lips where he lapped the red liquid from his tongue. He reminded me of a wolf himself. His gestures were both animal and exotic.

“You keep looking at my cane. Does it excite your curiosity? Ask me,” he repeated.

“Yes. The wolf face looks almost human. A little bit like you,” I teased.

A slight smile was all he responded.

“Did you inherit the cane from a relative? Your father maybe?”

“No. It was a gift for my twenty-first birthday. It was new.”

New? Sebastian appeared to be about twenty-eight, but the cane looked antique.

“Where is it from?” I was curious now.

“Naples.”

“Italy?”

“Yes.”

He offered no more information. My next thought was that someday I would love to go to Naples myself. The process of luring me deeper and deeper had begun.

By Antoinette Carone

From: United States

Website: https://italianscrapbook.wordpress.com