Jezebel (23 page)
Authors: K. Larsen
Celeste
Paris 1994
“Cece?” Matteo’s deep voice came through the receiver. Celeste smiled.
“Matteo, hi,” she greeted. She propped her hip against the kitchen counter and twirled the cord through her fingers.
“Have you spoken with Dr. B?”
“Not since I left yesterday. Why?” she questioned.
“Can you stop over at my office this morning on your way to work?”
“Matteo, you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?” Celeste’s fingers stilled, the cord dropping from them. Gabriel strode into the kitchen and fixed himself a mug of coffee. He stopped and gave Celeste an ‘everything-ok?’look. She shrugged in response.
“He left me the strangest message last night on my work answering machine.”
She breathed a sigh of relief. “So?” Looking to Gabriel she nodded that things seemed fine. He leaned in, kissed her temple and scooped up his briefcase as he breezed out of the kitchen and headed to work.
“Cece, just come here. Listen. Please,” Matteo pleaded. Celeste would never say no to Matteo when he sounded so bewildered and nervous.
“Of course, give me forty minutes. I need to throw clothes on,” she answered.
Matteo exhaled a relief-filled sigh. “Thank you.”
Celeste tossed clothes out of her way, shirts and pants flying out the closet door behind her. She grabbed the pair of jeans she was looking for and tugged them on one leg and a time, doing a little hopping dance to get them up over her hips. She and Gabriel really needed to do laundry this week. Their closet was a sad affair at the moment. Grabbing a white button-up shirt she stepped out of the closet and addressed each button as she walked down the hall and descended the stairs. Slipping her feet into clogs she snatched her purse from the console table by the front door and left for Matteo’s.
Carly Simon and James Taylor songs kept her company as she made the twenty minute drive. They also helped her mind not to wander. Matteo was never riled up. Matteo was solid, calm and rational. The waver in his voice had her stomach twisted up with worry. She was anxious. She doubled parked behind his car and bolted from the car into his office where she found Matteo pacing.
“Cece, thank God,” he said. Three powerful strides brought him just short of her. His arms engulfed her in a hug. A tight, scared hug.
“You’re kind of freaking me out Matteo, what’s going on?” she asked looking up at him as he dropped his arms.
“Come on.” She followed him to his office and motioned for her to sit. She did. He pushed play on the answering machine and Dr. B’s voice filled the cozy room.
“Teo, Teo, Teo, I’ve stumbled across something.” Papers shuffled in the background. “It’s rather urgent that you get to Celeste. Please.” Dr. B’s voice shook as he spoke and Celeste winced. He sounded rushed and scared. “There are things . . . many things I should have told her . . . told you. I suspected for years . . . but the impossibility . . . such an impossibility . . .”
The message cut off, the room silent again. Celeste sat confused and staring at the machine. What was Dr. B going on about? His message made no sense.
She looked to Matteo. “I don’t understand.” And she didn’t.
“Neither do I. I was hoping he called you, too. That maybe you knew what was going on. In nine years Cece, I’ve never heard that man’s voice quake once. Something is wrong.”
“Let’s go then.”
“I have a parrot arriving any moment for its annual exam.” Matteo frowned. He was clearly conflicted. Despite the mood, Celeste smiled.
“Damn parrots.” She grinned. “Alright, I’ll go and I’ll call you with news if you haven’t arrived by the time I figure all this out.” She stood as Matteo rounded his desk before embracing her.
“Okay,” he answered. “Okay.”
“Relax Matteo, I’m sure everything is fine.” Matteo ran his fingers through his hair then tugged an earlobe. It was his go-to habit when he was stressed out. He kissed her cheek and sent her off without another word.
Celeste threw her bag and herself inside her car and started the engine. The thirty minute drive was thirty minutes too long. Her mind wandered and her heart raced. Matteo was right, she’d never heard that particular panic in Dr. B’s voice before and it worried her. It worried her deeply. Her stomach swarmed with anxiety.
When she arrived at the estate she slammed the brakes so hard the car skidded to a halt. Celeste killed the engine and jogged to the front door. She mentally berated herself for the frenzy she was creating. Surely she’d be laughed at by Dr. B as soon as she waltzed through the door. On a deep breath she pushed through the kitchen entrance. The house was quiet. The tea kettle whistled on the burner. Her panic grew. She switched the burner off and began frantically calling out Dr. B’s name.
Annabelle
“And I ever want, Is just a little love.”
~ Toes, Glass Animal
Annabelle groaned. “You can’t stop there.”
“Sorry kiddo, the clock says otherwise,” Jezebel stated before stretching her legs. A quick glance at the clock confirmed Jezebel was right.
Damn.
“You wouldn’t want to miss your moment with Mark would you?” Jezebel added.
“Har har,” she returned dryly as she stood and stretched. Annabelle collected her things before stepping into the hall. She paused and looked over her shoulder at Jezebel.
“Thank you,” she said.
Jezebel stiffened slightly, something flashing in her eyes. Disbelief maybe? Or was it mirth? “For what?”
“For . . .” Annabelle wracked her brain for the right word, “everything.” She didn’t wait for Jezebel’s response as she headed to the parking lot and a waiting Mark.
Mark scanned her head to toe as she approached him. She breathed in and inhaled his scent as a thrill shot straight into her stomach. She wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him tight. Pulling back slightly to look at her he reached out and caressed her lips with his fingertips. She stared at his mouth, thinking how amazing it would feel to have his lips move with hers again.
“Kiss me,” she whispered hoarsely.
“Yes, ma’am,” Mark said with barely concealed amusement.
Annabelle closed her eyes, imagining what she might do if Mark were to suddenly kiss her neck or
other
places. Her knees felt weak at the thought. Butterflies took flight in her belly. He intertwined their fingers and it seemed like such a natural fit; and imagining what his fingers would feel like caressing her skin almost caused her pants to incinerate in a cloud of ash. His lips were warm and moist as they pressed to hers. The kiss felt as natural as their hands felt twined together. She leaned into him and let herself get lost in an utterly perfect moment of bliss.
~
***
~
The sound of a whistling tea kettle drove Annabelle toward the kitchen. Obviously her mother was already up and about this morning. She lifted the kettle from the stove and turned off the burner. Her mind was spinning at how similar this particular situation was to Dr. B’s in Jezebel’s story. Helping herself to a cup, she added a sprinkling of sugar and a touch of honey. She leaned up against the counter and slowly sipped at her tea and wondered, if she put the kettle back on the stove, how many minutes of whistling it would take before her mother heard it. Before she went through with the ludicrous idea, a blur of movement outside the kitchen window arrested her attention.
Her mother moved across the yard, a lost look plaguing her face. The back door squeaked. Her mother had been after her father for months to fix it. Clearly he hadn’t. Annabelle turned to find her mother entering the kitchen. Things were unbearably tense between her parents lately. It was obvious they hadn’t spoken since their fight last week. In fact, she didn’t think they had spoken a single word to each other since it happened. The habit of burying things instead of resolving them was going to have severe consequences on their family soon. She could feel it in the air, wrought with tension.
“Want me to fix you a cup?” Annabelle asked. She watched her mother stride to the bar and perch on one of the stools.
“Alright.” For a long time her mother stared around the room, seemingly without seeing anything.
Annabelle shifted from one foot to the other. Her mother’s stiff posture and her refusal to make eye contact with her did not signify anything good. She smiled anyway as she fixed her mother a cup. Setting it down her mother gave her a weak smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Annabelle shuddered involuntarily as her thoughts drifted to dark musings—her family living under the same roof but existing in two different worlds.
~
***
~
Summer was in full force. At least the heat was anyway. Annabelle swiped at the back of her knees before she plopped into the chair opposite Jezebel.
“My mom’s freaking me out,” Annabelle blurted.
Jezebel raised an eyebrow.
“Care to elaborate? Hi, how are ya?”
Annabelle huffed as she sank down into her seat and explained the strange behavior her mother exhibited over the last week. The distance. The lost look on her face. The casual indifference that rolled off her. “They’ve been married for like twenty friggin’ years . . . Why now is everything falling apart? I don’t understand!” she finished, anger rolling off her in great waves. She twisted her back to the side and let out a small grunt of pain-pleasure as it loudly popped.
“The difference between men and women in marriage is this: a woman marries a man thinking he’ll change, but he doesn’t. He won’t. A
man
marries a woman thinking she won’t ever change, but she
does.
Sometimes, those things can’t be reconciled after so many years. You’re family has also suffered a great loss Annabelle. That changes people and it takes time to have enough courage to accept that.”
“I don’t think either of them have accepted that. They’ve barely been parents, let alone partners, for years.” She seethed.
“What exactly do you want from your mother?” Jezebel asked as she floated across the room and turned the fan in the window up a notch. Annabelle welcomed the steady breeze.
“A mom is supposed to know everything about her kids. Dentist appointments, crushes, best friends, favorite foods, secret fears and hopes and dreams. Right? My mom knows none of that. But you Jez, you
do.
You’re more motherly to me than she’s even tried to be in the last eight years.”
Jezebel’s eyes popped open wide and studied Annabelle as she returned to her chair. “That is quite the compliment, sweet beet.”
Annabelle shrugged before she slumped into her seat. “It’s true though. Somehow in like four months you’ve done more to . . .”
She wasn’t sure what exactly. “Heal me? Guide me? I don’t know, but it’s leaps and bounds more than my own parents have accomplished in the last eight years.”
“I like you kid, it’s too bad our time is running out. It’ll be difficult for me when you’re gone,” Jezebel said. She turned her face away, admiring the flowers on the windowsill.
“Me too,” Annabelle answered, fidgeting; she didn’t know what else to do with herself in the moment. She hadn’t even considered Jezebel’s point before. This would all end and she’d have what,
who?
Struggling to grasp the thought, she shoved them down to the pit of her belly and changed the subject. “Tell me about Dr. B.”
Jezebel regarded her for a moment before she nodded her head. Wisps of her hair bobbed in the breeze as she did so. “Paris, nineteen ninety-four,” Jezebel started.
Celeste
Paris 1994
Celeste entered Dr. B’s study and let out a sonic boom of a scream. Her arms fell like dead weight to her sides and her knees buckled. Dr. B was slumped at an awkward position in his chair behind his desk. His hands rested on the arms of the chair, but his head hung listlessly to the right. The phone receiver hovered just above the floor. The obnoxious tell-tale
beep-beep-beep
gave away its off-the-hook status. His skin, pale gray. Eyes open. An unopened envelope stuck beneath the wheel of his desk chair. When she was finally able to, she stood up, walked on shell-shocked feet toward the phone and depressed the release button before picking up the receiver. The dial tone reminded her of her goal. She dialed the police.
The house was eerily quiet. The weekday staff always had Saturdays off at Dr. B’s insistence. He made it clear he could fend for himself one day of the week. That never stopped Tilda, the head chef, from making sure there were ample re-heatable meals stocked in the fridge in her absence.
Within the hour the house was swarming with paramedics, police officers, and crime scene technicians. The eerie quiet replaced with loud static radio bleeps, tape being ripped and gum snapping. As she watched everyone take statements and collect evidence, she closed her eyes and tears poured down her face. How could this be?
~
***
~
His light scent wafted around her, igniting her senses. Unlike the heavy masculine cologne her husband wore, Matteo smelled of filterless cigarettes and summer breezes. A gentle hand on her shoulder roused her from her thoughts. It was comforting in the moment, familiar and safe. She inhaled hard and met Matteo’s eyes. Grief pummeled her.
“He was fine on Friday,” she choked out through her tears. Matteo swept her into a tight embrace, his own tears soaking her blouse at the shoulder. “What’s going to happen? The estate? All the employees?” Celeste asked, her voice muted in Matteo’s chest.
“I don’t know fiore mio. We should call Bourassa.” Celeste nodded into his chest. Of course they would have to let Dr. B’s attorney know. She pulled away from Matteo and looked into his red-rimmed eyes. What a pair they must look like right now.
“We should do that sooner than later,” Matteo stated. His voice quivered, breaking at the last word just slightly.
“Do you think he was in pain? Panicked? Oh, God, Teo—his phone call to you, do you think he knew he was dying?” she cried out, unsure if she truly wanted to know the answer.
Matteo smoothed her hair, tucking it behind her ear. She leaned into his palm as fresh tears presented themselves. He nodded and shrugged. Of course he knew no more than she did. His thumb swept back and forth over the apple of her cheek. Celeste swiped the falling tears away and looked around. She needed a purpose. Right now. She ticked off a mental check list call the house staff, Dr. B’s lawyer Taylor Bourassa, and Gabriel, and start putting together an obituary and funeral arrangements. With a heavy heart she took a deep breath determined to do something. First up, find the doctor’s address book. Weak and lightheaded, she stumbled. Matteo steadied her.
“Sit. I’ll grab his contact book and we can do this together,” he offered. Celeste planted her rear in the chair nearest the phone, thankful for Matteo.
~
***
~
Celeste watched as Gabriel’s stomach rose and fell, the occasional snore sounding through the silence. She couldn’t sleep. His skin had such a beautiful glow to it. It almost shimmered in the moonlight. She looked away, to the window, and wondered what Monday would bring.
Gabriel had left work immediately and driven all the way out to the estate to be with Celeste, knowing how much her employer’s death would affect her. He and Matteo had taken over the difficult tasks of phoning people to deliver the bad news. She had tried but failed miserably to do so herself, her sobs and hiccups and sniffles preventing her from forming coherent words.
She looked to Gabriel again, envious that he could sleep so soundly right now. She wanted nothing more than respite from her aching heart and sorrow-filled thoughts. The world had lost an amazing man today and the loss cut her deeply. Dr. B’s message on Matteo’s answering machine replayed on an endless loop in her thoughts. His death didn’t sit right with her. Something seemed wrong with the whole thing. She couldn’t find anything alarming of course. He
was
old. But his message held such an air of importance to it. She needed to figure it out. She needed closure.
