Jane V

It came without warning, for me at least. Peter came over to my room one day with 'news'.

Jane was going to adopt him, and sign over everything to him.

I threw up.

I hated them both SO much at that moment, I was so angry and disappointed, it was near criminal.

And I said, 'That's it, I've HAD it. Do what you want. But without me. I'm moving to Vienna. Alone.'

Check-mate, Jane. Take a bow to the master of the game, I give up.

Whereupon followed a mess of subterfuges, and everything horrible you could think of, Peter wanted me. And I was still stupidly in-love, which is not a good place to be. He pretended to support me in leaving, but he too was a master of games. And said we'd both move to Vienna, and tricked me in the worst ways possible... telling me he'd found an appartment, and I sneakretly went out to see where? It didn't exist and I ended up barfing in the park of Schönbrunn palace. I had a hope to gain a toe-holt there, and he undermined it like he undermined everything.

He showed me the house, and my heart sank, so much would have to go into it. And I said, 'No. No way.'

Jane was cheerful. I was disgusted.

Well... the papers were hardly signed, and Peter came over one day, and he was ill. It was hot... in summer, so I had the drapes closed to keep my little box cool. And as the light was poor, I didn't notice right away, but over the next thirty-six hours, he got worse and worse... and then I saw his eyes turned yellow. The whites I mean. And I had to get him to hospital, like fast. He nearly died, had sepsis. It was then they found he had diabetes. And it wouldn't have been a week in the life of RenB if his aunt hadn't shown up, or his friend Andreas giving him a huge bucket of ice cream the next day, whereupon I went into the first of my rage rants on the staff of the hospital, and.... they thought I was nuts.... I'd just gotten back from 'Murka, after all.

Jane had taken a fall on a drunken junket with a 'friend', and had broken her hip, meanwhile, and they had given her full narcosis, which is not so advisable with an 85 year old patient. That had been in winter. She slipped on some ice on a sidewalk across the street.

Peter being hospitalised set off a chain of events in her head that became irreversable. I was juggling hospital visits, his relatives, and she would come running into the lobby in the morning, yelling 'Peter's dead! Peter's dead!' Crying, it was to be pitied. And I would take her aside, and say, 'Shhh, it's all right, he's not dead, you just dreamed it, he'll be fine.' (Which I wasn't even sure of, but she needed to hear that...)

'No, he will be just fine, you'll see. It was a dream.' And I held her till she calmed down. It went on repeatedly, and Jessica and the secretary in the office were more than amazed. 'My boy, my boy, I can't lose him!'

'You won't, I promise you that, you WILL not.' My heart was breaking in more ways than one.

This was in 1993. And I realised.... for her, he was the son she never had. The shock of it was too much for her, and she couldn't do much for herself after that. But Peter took good care of her. He had her transferred to the most expensive nursing home available, and went to visit her every day. But she sank and became apathic. And hardly lasted a quarter of a year, and her heart gave out. He gave her the funeral exactly as she had wanted it. Simple. There were only four people there. But I was, and grieved.

So she's resting now. And I decided that what she so generously gave should not be in vain, and wished to make that home a place of light and laughter, and something very special. And I succeeded.... for a while.

Jane drove us apart, brought us together, and was bigger than life. I've never figured something out, however. Since then, if Peter talks about his 'mother', he always means Jane, never his biological mother. I'll never know what the hell went on between them. I could just as well ask the sky. Since that is the case, I assume it wasn't being venal for gain. I'll never know... but in life, you never know absolutes, do you?

Jane was a very special woman. Odd, fierce, hilariously funny. I hope I have portrayed her correctly. Because if there is ONE thing about her, she really could love. And near the end, she turned to me. Because she knew. That was very nice of her. And yes, I held her, and saw her going confused and losing it. And I held her. And whispered, 'Everything will be just fine, you'll see. Please don't worry.' And I didn't give a shit who saw or knew....

So... I finally wrote it all out. That's how it was. That was Jane. And no, it wasn't her name. We had nicknames for everyone at work, and a colleague was a Rolling Stones fan and used to call her 'Lady Jane'. It sort of stuck. Her name was Elisabeth. I heard that her long-departed friends called her Elsa.

This has been a sort of chronicle. About how you perceive people. Who can seem a bit crazy, but aren't what you perceive at all.

I knew it was gonna be long. And I wanted to do it in the time-line. How you perceive someone you think is 'crazy', to coming to recognise there is a method to the 'madness'.... and that at core.... you find a very hurt human being capable of a vast love.

Jane IV

What followed during the next ten years was rivalry. Pure and simple. At first, Jane was hell-bent on destrying me. She hadn't had a problem with Rudi, who came before me with Peter and was a jerk, if cute. But he had a taxi, and would drive them off somewhere and knew how to play her. And she would get tanked, and Peter and he would tryst meanwhile.

Well, I've never even had a driver's license, let alone a taxi. So... not good. One evening she dressed up as Babushka, with a head-scarf, and was gonna blow us up and tell his mother what was up. Luckily, Peter was at home and sent her away. Oh, the drama. His mother was dying, for cripes sake, and even I never got to meet her.

But then... a truce was made, although never spoken. And no.... over the next ten years, she hated my guts.

However. Once she learned that I wasn't cutting into 'her' time with her 'Pezi', as she called him, she relaxed.

It went from a position of heated rivalry to begrudging respect.

I could not for the life of me figure out why in the world he'd want to spend time with her... other than being pampered, and projecting my altruistic attitudes and opinions to him, thinking he was just feeling sorry for an old woman who was very lonely, and being charming enough to entertain her. So I thought he was being kind, and kinda shrugged inwardly. 'To each his own', I sorta thought.

And yes, his mother had just died, so I thought, 'He's seeing something there that I do not.' And left it alone. Of course the stories kept coming, and she went after my 'substitute parents' from Connecticut, 'da W's....' Oh, they were lovely. Visited at least once a year, if not more often, and we were very close after a while. I loved them, they were so much fun. Bill was a hoot. The first year, I learned that he was born the same day, same year as da Ven. But his ancestors were from Austria, and he could speak a dialect that some people hadn't heard since the 1930's. He could charm the pants off of anyone, and was so very kind and decent. He had relatives here in the area.

They had a chalet in Vermont and would always go through NH on the way there, and I would always encourage them to meet, and stop by for corfee, at least. They were too shy to 'just drop in', so what did they do? When they learned that da Ven was coming over for a second time, they dropped everything, booked a flight, and first met him here. Now that is what I call crazy. But just scoping out Bill and my father really hitting it off in the café his cousin owned a few doors up, and them ogling all the pretty girls at the bus stop was hilarious and I guess it was worth it all. And they would ALWAYS call him after visiting, btw. Giving him progress reports. It was so amazing, and kind.

But it wouldn't have been Jane if she hadn't had something evil to say about them. They were 'wictims'. Oh, yes, Preciousses. Poor Bill. With his heart. (One of his sons died in Viet Nam, whereupon he had his first massive heart attack, and he wasn't really well from that time on.)

However: he was related to Erika. You see, she was his cousin and owned the café a few doors away. And SHE.... was a siren, in Jane's eyes. Ow, wow, Jane called her the 'Marketenderin'. Those were women who followed the troops in the 30 Year's War and carried kegs of booze for the soldiers. Among other things.... Dirt travels fast, even in a big town. And, it seems, Erika was a young thing working in a bakery-café across town, and the proprietor got her preggers. And she cut a settlement, and opened her own café bakery on the other side of the river, near the hotel. Jane despised Erika, the Marketenderin upstart. Everyone knows everything about everyone in a town this size.

And Bill came to know all our stories about Jane, and would draw her out. Flirt shamelessly with her, and we'd laugh so hard. But she was convinced.... Erika was eeeevil. And Bill was weak. And of course he would go over there without his wife and visit his cousin. Which set Jane off.... ooooo, the seductress, that poor naive man. (riiiigghht...) And his wife, so unsuspecting, and he flirts in front of her, and she never sees it. 'That Marketenderin, I can just see it, she probably has him in the back room on a chaise longue!!!!'

She was hovering in the back at our good-bye party, as per usual, just like a spider. It was a 'going away' party for da Ven and my friends, whereupon I sprang a surprise. My substitute parents had a son who had a travel agency, and I surprised my father with the news that he wouldn't be flying alone, I was going for a visit as well. Richard had booked it for me, with perks. So I was going with him on the plane. Best surprise I ever did.

Jane was flummoxed, and muttering imprecations about Bill's granddaughter who wouldn't even have a glass of champagne, and how Bill's granddaughter was a fool, that 'Coca-cola Girl'. And that 'tramp' next door, and Bill's wife's naiveté. Of course I told Bill's wife 'M' about all the 'fun' things Jane was up to, and she had the giggles. They left before we did, and I already had the latest report going over to them via aerogramme. Bill's granddaughter never forgave her for that Coca-Cola Girl remark. She was a CEO at Palmolive, last I heard. Take that, Jane....

So Jane had some high octane moments in that decade. And I thought it was so very funny, and there were good times, and hilarity, and friends and fun. Bill and his wife are gone now. He left first, and his wife hardly a year later. She visited us one more time, alone. She was just lost without him. They were married for fifty years. Just gone, just like that. Da Ven and me sort of trundle on.

And Jane had something in store for me I never saw coming. She was goooood...

Jane III

A lot of Jane's time was spent in the lobby, or having Peter accompany her to expensive restaurants, and she was 'oaked', as they say. Having two entrées wasn't unusual for her, and one bottle of champagne was unthinkable for her. She had two appartments and an empty house in town, but preferred to live in the hotel and terrorise everyone. Once in a while she would check into a hospital of her choice as a private patient... just for the hell of it and terrorise them for a month. Getting 'rejuvenated'. Once she fell in her room and broke her wrist and called me up there, ripped the door open, and was screaming 'Look what I just did! Call a doctor!' flapping her hand back and forth, which couldn't have been good for her. It was so grisly, I nearly vomited.

But mostly, she would sit in a niche in back of the reception desk, downing beers, and inventing pedigrees for everyone working there, and some of the regular customers. I, of course, was of russian descent in her opinion. But the very best one, which she began as a short bio and embroidered on over time and blew into epic proportions involved 'da Ven'. I always wondered why he never told me what he did in the War...

It turns out, ya see, he was russian, of course. But he was 'from the wrong side of the Urals', a Cossack, in other words. And there was a massive fight between the Cossacks and the Germans on the Drau river in the state of Carynthia. 'And the river ran RED, with blood.' And she would relate it in a breathless sort of way, really living her tale.

Well, to make a long story short, my honourable father escaped the massacre, you see. Yup, he did, traveling by night over mountain ridges and hiding on mountain meadows by day, being protected by rubinesque shepardesses, 'churning their butter.' So, Ven, what was the story with that last, huh? Sounded lascivious to your son's ears. (wink).

Aaand he finally reached the Atlantic, sailed to Amerika, which took weeks, of course, married a Black Woman, and landed in 'The steel combines of Pennsylvania', where his children grew up in the slums. Which she always pronounced 'slooms'. She 'recognised' him immediately the first time he visited. 'He was at the head of them when they marched in. With a red star on his cap.' (Were you a general, or something, what gives?)

I really messed up during that visit. He arrived in a suit. I wanted to take him out the next day to an open-air museum in the hills outside of town, and told him to put on something casual. She was sitting on the bench at the tram stop across the street, so she was checking us out boarding it, and immediately reported to Peter. 'Just one day here, and he ruins his father. Such an elegant man, and today? Dressed like rabble.' She was disgusted, I tells ya.

This story had 'da Ven' in stitches, and I think it sorta tickled him silly. It really was one of her best, and there were others now long gone who knew us and her, and were absolutely delighted at the nuttiness of it.

Another involved the hotel secretary. It involved her being rowed down the Zambesi river in Afrika by huge muscular Nubians, and there were crocodiles involved, approaching the canoe, and of course there was the biggest Nubian of all keeping the rowing tact by beating drums. (I wonder what Hollywood epic that one came from???) And yeah, the crocodiles were approaching to have her for lunch, but when they saw her.... 'They turned away, disgusted. No meat on the bones, they said, not for us.' (Well, she was thin... you see...) She had a really mean twist on that story, regarding why she had never had children. It involved those huge Nubians. I'll leave the rest to your imagination, just the quote 'They ruined her, so she wasn't capable.'

It's sort of odd, was just thinking... whether you worked in a cinema chain, or public service like a hotel.... there were always people that you and the staff turned into a bonding thing. Were the stories mean-spirited? Oh yes, at base they were. But sometimes even mean-spirited oddity can delight you to the point where you just shake your head and laugh whole-heartedly. And turn it into the things legends are made of.

Things turned sort of ugly when Peter and I sort of clicked. She knew, oh boy, did she know. Because she was possessive, and ready to fight for all the attention he could give her. And I would stay after shifts, and we'd talk, and she was getting so green-eyed jealous, we had to be extra careful. I spotted her one evening coming in for her tryst, and she had seen me slip into the room behind the desk, wanted to pretend I'd already gone. But she knew and flew into a rage, 'Listener at the wall... hears his own shame!' she screamed. (In German, that rhymes, btw.) 'I'll KILL him! I'll KILL him!.'

Well, obviously she didn't, but it sure changed things regarding the workplace, that's for sure.

Jane II

I fell in love, didn't mean to... with Peter. And Jane was on it like a duck on a June bug. And got weird.

She would wine and dine Peter when he was on night shifts in a niche in the back of the lobby.

And he would 'Keep her calm', as he said. Right. She was never calm.

And she would rope him into going out. She wanted operettas, and some Brazilian show with samba and stuff. And I would think, 'Oh, you poor barstard, doing THAT.'

And one night, our paths crossed. I was in love with Peter, but not 'in-love'. And discovering opera. And I booked myself a ticket for 'The Tales of Hofmann', and was really looking forward to it, it was a premiere. So I had a super tenth-row seat on the aisle, which is very good, because if you go further, it restricts your view of the whole stage, and you have to keep rubbernecking like fans at a tennis match.

I only learned at the last moment that Jane and Peter would be at the opera as well. Which made me reluctant to go at all, but I wanted to continue my 'edumacation'. She was all aflutter in the afternoon. I got there, and no sign of them, whereupon I breathed a premature sigh of relief. The overture started, and in Europe... if a show starts, no one is let in till the next intermission, so I thought I was safe.

Ya think.

The doors in back opened, and there were Peter and Jane marching down the aisle to the front row, she in a flowered 'house dress' and an ostrich boa. I sank in my seat. It nearly looked like part of the pantomime that was going on on stage.

I love The Tales of Hoffmann. It was a good production. Except Jane sorta threw some monkey wrenches in the works. I had seen it before, so I could tell the orchestra sort of stuttered here and there.

It turned out, she bought tickets EXTRA to sit behind the conductor, and give him directions... 'More swing, more DRIVE!'

It was a night to remember.

There is more to come, but am tired. The subject Jane could fill a book.

To Peter's credit... many years later, he took me to the Vienna State Opera... and we saw The Tales of Hoffmann with world-renowned stars. It was so beautiful, I cried.

Jane

Jane. She was something else. This is gonna take a couple of posts. She was a fleck on my map, a fly in the ointment, so to speak. And inimitable.

She's been on my mind lately....

Jane was the most scurrile woman I have ever encountered. She grew up in Slovenia when it was still a part of southern Austria. Her family was very well-to-do. She studied to be a teacher, passed, and on her first day at school, teaching... she decided she hated children, and quit. She was always consequent, must say that for her. I just don't know why she never decided that BEFORE, you know?

She met a young teacher, and fell in love, but he wasn't who she thought he was. And just at the beginning of WWII.... she had to bail him out. He'd been in Trieste. And got caught doing something he shouldn't have in a place he shouldn't have. Namely, with a young man in a 'grotto' in intimate circumstances, so she told it.

And at that time.... he might have even gotten the death penalty. But she went down, and boxed him out of there... and over the years, she made him PAY, big time.

I knew another couple, same story, same decades and they are long gone now. But the woman saved him, he was incorrigible, but they had a daughter, just for appearances' sake, and somehow, it was a sort of love, but toxic for them both. So yes, love, but at a huge price.

Jane never seemed to get over that. Peter and I were in Trieste once, and tried to find 'the grottos'... but if there were any then, there aren't any now.....

Her imagination was immense.

When I came in on the scene, she lived full-time at the ho-tel. Omnipresent. I was a gnat, sort of, which bugged her.

She was a huge source of hilarity to me. She'd 'check' me out... and was immediatly 'evil'. Her husband was still alive, and had to come over and beg her for money to get something to eat, and something must have happened, because she'd throw money on the floor, and say, 'GO! Get a hot-dog on the main square, you're not getting more.' I've seen hate, but that was really crass.

He was a dapper lithe little schoolteacher... math. And would walk away crushed, and I was embarassed to have to witness that.

Jane didn't care. She liked to terrorise everyone. The restaurant was in the courtyard, and was open till 2 a.m. And her room faced it, and if they got rowdy.... well, sometimes a huge pot of scalding hot water got thrown out of an upper story from a hall window, and the party was OVER. Of course no one could trace it to her...

She would run around in winter opening windows.... one night we had such a chase through the building. Finally caught her after an hour, and she said, 'I NEED AIR!' 'THEN fucking open the window in your own ROOM!' 'I CAN'T, the bus fumes in the morning!'

Gawd, were we a pair.

Peter thought she was great, which I never understood.... at first.

And Jane... well... she didn't much like me.