Daughter of Light (12 page)

I think Martin Brady was making his entrance the same boisterous way he usually did because he didn’t know I was there. The moment his eyes fell on me, his smile softened, now with more curiosity than his artificial salutation.

“Well, now, who have we here?” he asked.

Mrs. Winston was the first to reply. I had the feeling no one would have dared step on her doing the introductions anyway. “Our newest tenant,” she began. “Lorelei Patio. She began work today at Dolan’s Plumbing Supply. Ken Dolan’s personal secretary,” she added, sounding proud.

“Oh. Welcome, Lorelei. I’m Martin Brady,” he said, and offered his hand. I started to rise. “No, don’t get up. If anyone should rise, it should be me.”

“You’re standing, Mr. Brady,” Mrs. Winston said dryly. “Unless you mean to lift off the floor.”

Martin Brady roared with laughter, but it sounded like an old-fashioned laugh track. “So I am, so I am. Naomi,” he said, nodding at her. From the way he looked from me to her, I could sense that he was wondering how she took to having me next door to her, sharing the bathroom.

“Hello, Martin. I’ve already welcomed Lorelei. She’s a breath of fresh air, don’t you think?”

“Sure is,” he said, sitting next to Jim and across from her.

“Don’t hog the television, then,” Naomi told him. “The younger guests don’t want to fall asleep watching the business network.”

“Heaven forbid,” Martin said, winking at me. “How you doing, Jim?” he asked, unfolding his napkin to place it on his lap. “Catch any of those girls smoking or anything lately?”

“We don’t have those problems at the Adams School, Mr. Brady. I told you so,” he added, looking to me as if he were afraid I would think he worked in some slum school full of troubled teenage girls whose faces, stomachs, and ears were dotted with piercings and whose necks and arms boasted tattoos.

Martin Brady laughed robustly, this time with a little more authenticity. He was a good twenty pounds overweight at five feet eight or nine, with a dark brown receding hairline. The crow’s-feet at the corners of his eyes seemed etched into his skin with a package-cutting tool, deep, thin, and dark. There was a real scar just under the left side of his jaw.

“Looks like a really special dinner tonight, Mrs. Winston,” he told her.

“In honor of our new tenant,” she replied, and Mrs. McGruder began to serve.

“I don’t recall a special dinner when I moved in,” he said, pretending to be upset.

“With what you’re used to eating on the road, I doubt you would have noticed the difference,” Mrs. Winston replied, and Martin Brady laughed again.

“As you can see, I’ll need an ally here, Lorelei. I hope I can count on you.”

“If there’s one thing Lorelei doesn’t need right now, it’s another burden,” Mrs. Winston said.

“Burden? Do I look like anyone’s burden?” he asked with that synthetic smile.

Mrs. McGruder began to serve the main dish. Food had often been a problem for me when I began to attend school. Until then, I, like my sisters, had been brought up on Mrs. Fennel’s special recipes. Even afterward, our dinners at home were different from the food we ate in restaurants because of the herbs she employed in everything. Ironically, perhaps, sweets and what my classmates called junk food never appealed to me, and when I ate them, I was always disappointed. All of us thought there was something magical in what Mrs. Fennel served the family. Even though I felt confident that there was not, I was nervous about being away from her food. On the other hand, I knew that once my sisters left our home to be on their own, they no longer needed anything “magical” to eat. I hoped I had reached that point, too, despite my leaving prematurely.

I convinced myself as I ate that it was only a matter of getting used to it, reeducating my taste buds, so to speak. For the moment, hoping that no one would notice, I reacted to everything only after the others did. I tried to sound enthusiastic.

“I’m sure you have no friends yet,” Naomi said as the dinner progressed. “I have more time to myself these days than I care to have. I’d be happy to show you around, help you shop for your needs. I know
where the best shops are, and I’m very up on the latest styles.”

“Well,” Martin Brady said with a teasing smile, “it’s not often I hear Mrs. Addison being so charitable with her time. Better jump on the offer.”

“You’re not in the least bit funny,” Naomi told him.

He covered his face with his hands and moaned. “Oh, the whips and lashes I must bear at the hands of women.”

“Idiot,” she muttered.

“Thank you, Naomi,” I said. “I appreciate your offer.” I looked at Mrs. Winston, who didn’t seem happy about it.

“So,” Martin said, lowering his hands, “where are you from, Lorelei?”

“Recently, California, Mr. Brady.”

“Oh, you can call me Martin. Please. Where in California?”

“Los Angeles.”

“I worked that market for a year about five years ago. Cutthroat,” he added. “Fierce competition. I sell dental supplies. I’m proud to say I’m my company’s number one salesman in this market. I have a new sample power toothbrush. If you need one, it’s yours.”

“Thank you. I’m fine,” I said.

“Well, one of the first things I notice about a woman is her teeth, and yours look perfect.”

“Thank you.”

“I strongly doubt that’s the first thing you notice about a woman, Martin,” Naomi said.

Mrs. Winston liked that. Martin Brady feigned hurt feelings. “My goodness. You’ll give the young lady the
wrong idea about me. My father, it happens, was a Presbyterian minister, and, as Mrs. Winston knows, other Presbyterians of note were Presidents Andrew Jackson, James Knox Polk, James Buchanan, Grover Cleveland, Benjamin Harrison, Woodrow Wilson, and Dwight Eisenhower. My father made me recite that at every Sunday dinner when I was a little boy,” he said, looking to Mrs. Winston for some credit.

“So was Aaron Burr,” Mrs. McGruder muttered as she replenished the jug of water. “Who killed Alexander Hamilton in a duel.”

“Now, it was a fair fight, Mrs. McGruder.”

“Nevertheless, the better man was killed,” she insisted.

“See what I mean, Lorelei, how they pick on me? So, what brought you to Quincy?”

“Why don’t we give the girl some time to settle in before we interrogate her?” Mrs. Winston said sharply.

“Exactly,” Naomi Addison followed.

“I was just making conversation,” Martin Brady said, now losing his sense of humor. He looked at me and then at Mrs. Winston, who could burn through a steel vault with her eyes when she wanted to, I thought. The conversation moved quickly to the food, the weather, and some historical events on the calendar. Before dessert, Naomi leaned over to whisper in my ear.

“I’d be glad to take a walk with you after dinner. I know what it’s like being a young, unattached woman in a place like Quincy, especially one with no family or close friends yet. I’m sure there are some things you need and haven’t had a chance to get. I could drive you,
of course, but it’s not that far to the small strip mall, where you’ll find a nice drugstore.”

“Thank you,” I said. “But it will have to be a short walk. I want to get to bed early tonight. With my traveling, starting a new job, and a new place to live and all, I’m a little tired.”

“Oh, of course. Would you rather I drove you?”

“No. A little walking will help me sleep better.”

She sat back and smiled at Mrs. Winston. “This was a wonderful dinner, Mrs. McGruder,” she told her the moment she returned from the kitchen. Everyone agreed. “I will certainly miss your fine cooking when I leave.”

“And have we gotten any closer to knowing when that would be?” Mrs. Winston asked.

“Oh, I’m not in any big rush,” Naomi said. “I want everything just right before I leave your wonderful, hospitable rooming house.”

I thought I heard Mrs. Winston grunt. Mrs. McGruder looked at her and then started to clear the table. All the while, I watched Jim Lamb out of the corner of my eye. He didn’t say much, but he looked at me as much as he could without being too obvious about it.

When we all rose, Jim also offered to take a walk with me.

“Oh, I’m going with her, Mr. Lamb,” Naomi told him. “I’m sure you have papers to grade.”

He looked at me with disappointment. Mr. Brady left for the den to watch television.

“You’ll both need a little jacket or wrap tonight,” Mrs. Winston told us. “We have a cold front starting.”

I realized all I had was my light jacket. I would have
to do some serious shopping soon. When I stepped out of my room wearing it, Naomi, who was wearing a fur-lined black leather jacket, suggested I wear something warmer.

“It’s all I have right now,” I said.

“Oh. Just a moment. I have something for you,” she told me. “Come in, come in.”

Her room was similar to mine, a little narrower but with similar furnishings. She had a large trunk on the floor to the right. The closet was so full her clothes were crushed together. She plucked out a very nice white leather jacket with a black mink collar.

“That’s so nice,” I said.

She held it out, and I took off my light cotton jacket and slipped it on.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Why don’t you hold on to it until you get a proper jacket?” she said.

“Oh, I’ll go shopping this weekend and—”

“You don’t have to wait for the weekend. The stores I’ll take you to are open until eight at night. I’ll pick you up at the end of your workday tomorrow, and we’ll go directly to the mall.”

“That’s very kind of you, Naomi.”

“Not at all. Let’s take our walk.”

Mrs. Winston was in the living-room doorway when we descended. I had the feeling she had been waiting to see what I would be wearing, and she nodded to herself when she saw that I was wearing one of Naomi Addison’s jackets.

“Is there anything we can get for you, Mrs. Winston?” Naomi asked.

“My youth,” she replied.

Naomi laughed, and we walked out before anyone else could appear and make a comment or offer to join us. She was obviously in a rush to get me away from the others.

“That woman,” she said when the door was closed behind us and we were starting down the walkway, “must have been breast-fed on sour milk.”

“Why did you come stay here during your divorce?” I asked.

“Well, they do run the cleanest temporary housing, and I won’t deny that Mrs. McGruder is an excellent cook. I certainly wasn’t going to stay in some depressing hotel and have the staff gossiping about me daily. It is so unfair the way a divorced woman is discriminated against, don’t you think? For a man, it’s almost a mark of accomplishment to have married and divorced. People always look at a divorced woman as though it was somehow all her fault. She failed the marriage by being too cold or self-centered or stubborn. I didn’t cheat on my husband; he cheated on me, but again, in this male-oriented society, he gets a pat on the back and licentious smiles in some men’s club or the men’s lavatory at work, and I get the pitiful looks of other women.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t go off on all this the first time we have a chance to be together alone. Besides, you’re too young yet to appreciate the unfairness, I imagine.”

“No, no, I understand. And I don’t see you at all as someone to pity. You seem very strong.”

“Well, thank you, darling. That’s so sweet to hear, especially from someone who has just met me and has
no built-in prejudices against me. Actually, I am strong, and I hope I’m still attractive enough to win the heart of someone new.”

“You’re very attractive, Naomi.”

“You sound sincere.”

“I am. I don’t need to tell people what they want to hear in order to win their friendship. That’s not a real friendship anyway,” I said.

“How wise.”

“My father taught me that many years ago.”

“Not too many. You’re too young,” she said, smiling. Then she lost her smile and paused so we’d stop walking. “Let me tell you the problem for someone like me, because I can see you’re a very, very bright young woman who will quickly understand. I’m not one of those divorced women who swear off all men or something stupid. I’m not even down on marriage just because I was in a bad one.

“But,” she continued, “eligible men around my age are not so common, because the ones who haven’t been married are, as I said, somewhat prejudiced against divorcées. Used goods and that sort of thing, as well as the stigma of having failed a man. Few have the sympathy to appreciate that I might be the one who was failed. No, my best hope for a new relationship is with someone who, like me, was disappointed in a relationship. We have something in common, understand?”

I nodded. I knew where she was going, but I didn’t show it. I knew that wouldn’t discourage her from pushing on.

“Now, someone like your boss is absolutely perfect for
someone like me, and I’d be perfect for him. And it’s not because of his wealth. I’m very comfortable financially. Frankly, I thought Mrs. Winston would see the obvious advantages for her nephew to involve himself with a stable and attractive woman eager to succeed in a relationship, but she has done little, if anything, to encourage it. Sometimes I think she might even discourage it. She can be very cagey when she wants to be, so be careful with her. Anyway, as time goes by and you become closer and a more trusted personal secretary for Mr. Dolan, perhaps you could, from time to time, drop a hint about me, maybe mention how serious a woman I am and how sympathetic I am to his own dreadful relationship. Frankly, I wish I had started my divorce years ago so I could help Ken with his son, perhaps. His daughter is fine, but I know that all his boy needs is someone to show that she sincerely cares about him. Those floozies I hear he sees from time to time wouldn’t care one iota about his children. I regret so much that I didn’t have any.”

I nodded and started walking again.

“You understand what I’m saying, don’t you?”

“Oh, yes, but I don’t think I could have much influence on him when it comes to his personal relationships, Naomi.”

“You never know. You’re there. Opportunities often just pop up.”

“Maybe. Oh, is that the strip mall over to the right?”