Recently I was bemoaning to a girlfriend that I had not, during my youth, received that grand romantic gesture of affection that men present on Valentine's day. The bouquet of long-stem red roses. I was not complaining for as a married woman my husband once presented me with entire rose bushes for our patio garden. And for Mother's Day my son gives me little potted tea roses. But, somehow the dozens of fully mature, long-stemmed, red, roses in a bouquet as a Valentine had eluded me. Or so I thought.
As we sipped our coffee and laughed at the silly dramas of our many love affairs, it dawned on me. I had received the exact bouquet I was regretting to have never won. It was years previous when I was the fine jewelry designer at Nordstrom. In those days I walked to "Store 1" from my studio in Belltown. Seattle streets where free of congestion and the funky old Store 1 was a hodge-podge of several other building all cobbled together.
This was in the early 1990s so there were lots of interesting character about in the Belltown neighborhood. Perhaps not as many inhabitants as there are now, but there was an artist's community feel to the area then. On my morning walks I noticed there was a peculiar little man crossing my path into downtown each day. Needless to say the odd little fellow followed me into work one day and became a regular visitor. What made the man so odd was that he had tattooed his face. Not just a single tattoo for emphasis, no, his entire face was covered with maze patterns.
The poor man's name never stuck in my mind as much as that of Melville's character, Quee-quay. Now, as a very young girl I saw the movie version of Moby Dick with Gregory Peck as Ahab. The vision of the heavily tattooed Polynesian whaler, Quee-quay, shocked and terrified me as it first did Ishmael. And so that is what I continued to call him, not to his face of course, but to my Nordies co-workers. I begged them to cover for me and say I was not in when Quee-quay came to call.
But, the corporate buyer and the department manager got quite a kick out of calling back to my office, "Nanz, your boyfriend is here!" Then they would watch and snicker like school boys as I squirmed in polite conversation with the man. At the time I had not gained any of the necessary defensive social or verbal skills, which could have quickly deflected the unwanted attention a pretty face and slender figure might attract. To compound my lack of verbal skill was the customer service policy that as a Nordstrom employee I was obliged to treat all customers politely.
It was always disturbing for me to see the the maze of tattoos that was Quee-quay, particularly because of the desperately hopeful smile he would shine on me. But on that Valentine's day so many years ago, it was especially disturbing for he showed up with a huge bouquet of long-stem, red, roses. He asked if I had any plans for that evening and I did not, but I still refused his invitation. I offered to give the flowers back, but he insisted that I keep them.
Yes, I have received the grand romantic gesture every girl dreams of. I have received that iconic testimonial of affection, of love, that men bestow on women. And yet, I had so very much not wanted to be the object of affection for Quee-quay that I had dismissed the event from my memory - almost completely.
Happy Valentine's Day Quee-quay wherever you are.