Mourning Glory (23 page)

Had Jason unwittingly placed a genetic depth bomb in their
daughter? It frightened her to see the similarities in their makeup, the same
flaws and miscalculations. Perhaps, she thought hopefully, sudden wealth, the
ability to acquire without consequences, would abort or repress the genetic
curse.

With Jason she had experienced weakness, sloth, stupidity,
naïveté and ignorance. In contrast, Sam was strong, clever, intelligent,
successful and, above all, rich. In her mind he represented her last chance to
save herself and her daughter from the wasting disease of material deprivation.
She feared such thoughts, knowing they encouraged desperation, and desperation
was not an emotion compatible with her plan. Wild, unrealistic, wishful
speculations of success always invited a letdown.

Was she merely an interim diversion for Sam? Was Sam using
her to help chase away his grief, ease the pain of loss? Or was it simply
sexual deprivation urging him on, the starving gonads needing sustenance? She
had certainly succeeded beyond her wildest dreams to achieve the first stage in
her original plan, the initial engagement. Now she was heading into more
complicated and dangerous territory. She would need all her courage now, all
her resources. There was no turning back. She was committed to the enterprise,
body and soul, beyond all hesitation, beyond any second thoughts or ethical or
moral considerations.

By the time she got to her apartment it was getting dark.
She suddenly remembered that she had made no plans for disposing of the
clothing in the backseat of her car. Tomorrow, she decided, she would bring it
to the Salvation Army drop-off place, wherever that might be.

Not wanting Jackie to see the clothes, she parked a
distance away from her unit, noting that another car, a small yellow Honda, was
parked in her usual place. Since there was no reserved parking, seeing another
car in her usual space was not an uncommon occurrence.

Jackie jumped up and embraced her when she opened the door
of her apartment. Enthusiastically, she returned the embrace. It seemed like a
long-awaited reconciliation.

"What's that for?" Grace asked.

"Did you see it, Mom?" Jackie cried excitedly.

"See what?"

"The car, silly. The little yellow Honda."

Grace's heart thumped suddenly.

"Yes. I saw it."

She extracted herself from her daughter's embrace.

"It's mine. I made a fantastic deal. I used the five
hundred dollars for a down payment."

"You bought it for five hundred dollars?"

"Two thousand. It's fantastic. I bought it from
Darryl, who was selling it for a friend. He went over it with a fine-tooth
comb. Even though it's ten years old, it's clean as a whistle, Mom. Only a
hundred thousand miles on it."

"You can't do that. In the first place you're a minor.
In the second you have to buy car insurance. Then there's sales tax and who
knows what else."

"I know all that. Darryl says he'll take care of
it."

"Take care of it? What does that mean? Have you any
documentation, registration, bill of sale, minor little legalities like
that?"

"I told you, Mom, Darryl is taking care of it."

Jackie was starting to pout. The euphoria of a few moments
ago had dissipated.

"You don't have paperwork?"

"Just a handshake. We did it on a handshake. I gave
him five hundred dollars and will pay him a hundred and twenty five a month
until it's paid off in a year."

"I don't believe this. One accident and your license
is over and God knows what else. Are you crazy? Do you believe that Nazi
bastard?"

Grace's temper was rising. She was livid with rage, trying
valiantly to keep a lid on her temper.

"Your attitude stinks, Mom. I know you hate Darryl,
but he's made this great deal for me. The fact is, Mom, I can't live without a
car. And you can't buy me one. I can't worry about buses all the time. I'm
trapped without a car. Hell, I'm nearly seventeen years old. Please, Mom, let's
not argue about it. It's a done deal."

"No, it's not. Just give it back and tell that stupid
skinhead to give you back the five hundred. And, by the way, you're not
seventeen yet."

"In three months I will be."

"And you'll be just as stupid," she blurted,
regretting it instantly.

"You don't have to be insulting." Jackie pouted.

"Well, then, tell me how to get your attention. You
have just done a ridiculous transaction. You're right, Darryl isn't as dumb as
he looks. The car's probably stolen. Maybe he even stabbed the owner with that
ugly weapon he carries. Look, I'm still legally in charge. You have got to give
it back."

"I can't do that. We shook hands on it."

"Shook hands? With that moron. You don't buy a car
like a pig in a poke."

"Okay, then. I'll talk to Darryl about it. I'm sure
it's not stolen. Darryl says he's selling it for a buddy and I believe him. But
if you want, I'll talk to him and give you more details, okay?"

In the initial excitement of her rage, Grace had neglected
to consider the arithmetic. She tried to calm herself, hoping reason and logic
might prevail.

"Let's consider the details you already gave me. You
said you were charged two thousand. You gave him five hundred. That means that
you still owe fifteen hundred on the car."

"A hundred and twenty five a month for twelve months.
I give it to Darryl. He gives it to his buddy."

"No interest?"

Jackie looked at her blankly.

"Never mind. Where is the hundred and twenty-five
supposed to come from?"

"I've already taken care of that, Mom. I got a job at
McDonald's, mornings, before I go to school. And I'll ask Mr. Barlow for a
raise at the movie theater."

She tried to do a quick calculation, but it eluded her.

"Aside from the murkiness of the transaction itself, I
don't see how you can do it."

"You have absolutely no faith in me, Mom."

"Your judgment leaves much to be desired, Jackie, and
don't ask me for help. I just quit my new job."

"So who's stupid now? You can't even hold a job."

"It was my choice, Jackie. I told you, I quit."

"And you criticize my judgment," Jackie sneered.
"How could you quit when we need the money?"

Jackie paced the room now, pouting, deep in thought.
Suddenly she turned and faced her mother. She looked exactly like Jason, with
the same defensive anger, the same sense of false calculation, the same
hopeless grasp of the way things worked in the real world. At the same time,
Grace knew she couldn't evade criticism of herself. Her best efforts had come
to naught as well. So far, she thought, allowing herself the tiniest sliver of
optimism.

But, even if she were successful with Sam, a vague hope,
would her rescue attempt come in time to save Jackie? Grace had a sudden vision
of her daughter years from now, uneducated, waiting tables in some lowly dive,
boozing, promiscuous, permanently trapped at the bottom of the economic ladder.

Such a vision hardly jibed with the false snapshot of her
daughter that she had given Sam, the brilliant honor student, top of her class,
on her way to Princeton, determined to become a doctor. A mother could be proud
of that. She looked at Jackie and shook her head in despair.

"All I'm saying, Jackie," Grace said, forcing
herself calm, reaching for logic, hoping it might penetrate her daughter's
ignorance of the real world, "is that it's a deal that is both legally and
financially stupid."

"I wish you would stop with all the name
calling."

"You don't see it, do you?"

Jackie muttered an obvious curse under her breath, looking
at her mother archly, with snarling contempt. "Mind if I ask a question,
Mom?"

"That depends," Grace countered, fearful about
what was coming.

"Where did you get those clothes?"

"So the best defense is an offense," Grace
snapped, hoping to evade the question with her own defensive ploy.

"Something very weird is going on here," Jackie
said, searching her mother's face. "You suddenly show up with all that
expensive stuff and say you promised to donate it to charity. Sorry, Mom, it
doesn't add up. Darryl says you probably had a shady source and intended to
keep the money for yourself. And who is this mysterious Mr. Goodwin who called
last week?"

"Hardly mysterious. Probably calling about some unpaid
bill," Grace said, dismissing the reference to Sam's call. Above all, she
was determined not to tell her daughter what she was doing. At this early stage
of her relationship with Sam, the revelation of Jackie, the real Jackie, could
spoil everything. And Jackie wasn't one to repress her curiosity.

"I'm not so sure about that, Mom," Jackie
sneered. "You're into something that you don't want me to know about. Bet
I have that right."

"Another Darryl deduction?"

"He's smart, Mom. He can figure out the truth of
things."

"God help the truth."

"Its pretty obvious, Mom. Something stinks here.
Doesn't it? Don't think you can hide it forever. You're up to something and
you're keeping it a secret. We'll find out. No matter what, Darryl and I will
find out."

The ominous threat frightened Grace. But she was determined
not to show her daughter any anxiety.

"Darryl is on my case?"

"I told you, Darryl has a sixth sense about
things."

"We'll see how brilliant you'll rate him when you get
pulled over for speeding and are asked by some cop to see your registration. Or
if you get into an accident and the guy whose car you bashed wants to see your
insurance papers. We'll see how smart Darryl is at that point. And don't think
I'm going to stand still on the other issue either. You're underage and he's
vulnerable."

"I told you before, Mom, Darryl doesn't like
threats," Jackie snapped. "I'd be very careful if I were you." A
picture of Darryl's ugly knife surfaced in Grace's mind, but she tried to will
it away.

"I'm not afraid of him, Jackie," she said,
knowing it was bravado. She was scared, for Jackie as well as herself.

"You should be."

"There are rules, Jackie. Legalities. With all his
macho posturing, he still can't escape them."

"You've played by the rules, Mom. Where did it get
you?"

She had a point, Grace thought. From her daughter's
perspective at that moment she probably did look like a loser. Yet, remembering
her day with Sam and thinking about the prospects for tomorrow, she didn't feel
like a loser.

"It's only over when it's over."

"Now isn't that profound, Mom," Jackie said, her
sarcasm blatant. "I know you think I'm a stupid, immature idiot. But I'm
gonna show you I can do it on my own, without your help. You'll see. It's about
time I stopped depending on you for everything. And I'm sure Darryl will take
care of things about the car. He's a lot smarter than you are."

"Smarter?" Grace paused, trying to assemble her
thoughts and control her anger simultaneously. It crossed her mind that maybe
the thing to do would be to call the police. "I think the man's a
dangerous bigot who's heading for trouble and taking you with him. I hate to
think of where that car might have come from. He's got you in some kind of a
mental hammerlock and I've got to figure out a way to stop it, even if it means
calling in the cops."

"If he was here, I don't think he'd appreciate that
threat, Mom. You'd be in deep shit."

"You're already there, Jackie."

She looked at her mother, shook her head and offered a
pitying stare. But to Grace she looked like a frightened waif, whistling in the
cemetery. With a gesture of disgust, Jackie turned and headed for the door.

"I'm outta here."

"Where are you going?"

"I told you ... outta here."

"To where?"

"I've got my own transportation now, Mommie dearest. I
can move around when I need to. And I need to now."

She walked out and slammed the door. In a few moments Grace
heard the cough of the yellow Honda's motor. It didn't sound very clean at all.

In the morning she awoke very early, put on her bathing
suit and, over it, slacks and a T-shirt. She packed a change of clothes, put on
her makeup, then slipped out of the apartment before Jackie was awake. She had
brooded over the confrontation with her daughter the night before. It was very
worrisome. She made an effort to tuck it into the back of her mind as she
looked forward to her next meeting with Sam. Nothing must spoil that. Nothing.

Parked in front of the apartment was the little yellow
Honda, quite cute really, but obviously old, and she was certain on further
inspection that it was painted over. She looked inside, saw the wear of the
years and tried to glimpse the odometer, which she couldn't see, although she
was certain it had been moved back.

Last night, before she fell asleep, she had tried to
imagine how it was possible that Jackie could claim ownership of the car based
on the manner in which she had taken physical possession of it. Darryl was
obviously exercising a sinister influence over her. He was scary and dangerous,
but Grace knew there was no point in trying to talk Jackie out of her
relationship with him. She was brainwashed. Protesting would only drive her
closer to him, perhaps even out of the apartment. The prospect was frightening,
and she suddenly felt weak with worry.

Maybe it was best to let this thing with the car play
itself out. Although there was a risk in the process, it might illustrate to
Jackie the truth about Darryl.

The hard reality, considering the wonderful snapshot she
had created of Jackie for Sam Goodwin's benefit, depressed her. Not to mention
the résumé she had created for herself, a tissue of lies, one false fact piled
on another. How could she, if she were found out, possibly explain away such blatant,
self-serving, outrageous lies? Worse, how could she explain the manner in which
she had expressed them, so cool and smooth, with such absolute surety and
confidence.

There was no point in dwelling on it, she decided. It was
too late. The lies were stitched irrevocably into her false history. How could
she justify them? She could charge that a mysterious force had inserted these
ideas into her mind, that she had been merely the medium, an evil conduit.
Hardly a logical excuse, she concluded, pushing such absurdities out of her
thoughts. Her more immediate worry was getting the facts straight when they
were needed again.

Stopping at McDonald's, she had an Egg McMuffin and a cup
of coffee. It was a long way from her terrace meal with Sam Goodwin. She smiled
at the memory, recalling the cold tang of the Dom Perignon on her tongue, the
view of the white beach melding into the azure sea, Sam's eyes searching her
face.

Lingering over the coffee, she also recalled yesterday's
modeling experience. Was she replicating Anne for him, recreating in his
imagination some sexual episode with her? The idea encouraged her. After all,
she was exploring ways to replace Anne. So was he, for that matter. And she
hadn't felt demeaned or cheapened or even insulted by participating in this
fantasy of a reincarnated Anne. And it had excited him. She smiled at the
memory. It was exciting and sexually stirring for her as well.

When she left McDonald's she headed for the supermarket and
bought a package of large plastic garden bags. In the parking lot, she emptied
her car of Anne's clothes and stuffed them into the bags. The process brought
back the memory of Jackie's suspicions about the source of the clothes and her
wild accusations about Grace's motives.

It angered her to believe that her own daughter could
practically characterize her mother as a scheming, greedy thief. Yet Grace knew
that she was partly to blame, keeping the real situation a secret. From a phone
booth she called the Salvation Army, where someone instructed her to bring the
offering to a collection station in downtown West Palm Beach. At this point,
considering how she had bungled the pickup at her own apartment, she was too
embarrassed to call the Jewish Welfare League.

A middle-aged lady at the collection station looked into
the plastic bags and nodded her head in gratitude.

"Bless you," she said. "We really appreciate
these. This is exactly the kind of clothing we need."

Grace smiled in acknowledgment and, in response to the
woman's request, gave her name and telephone number and was given a receipt.

"There's a place where you can fill in the value of
the contribution and get an income tax deduction."

"Thank you," Grace said, having no intention of
claiming the deduction, as if that too would be a violation of her promise, a
betrayal of the private pact with Sam Goodwin and, of course, her own
integrity. Besides, her income tax obligation at this moment was nil. She
tossed the receipt into a trash can, got into her car and headed over the
bridge to Palm Beach, then north on Ocean Drive to Sam's house.

She was surprised when Sam himself opened the door before
she could ring the bell. Marilyn shot out of the door, but instead of growling
and bearing her teeth she came forward and licked Grace's hand.

"Now there's a welcome for you," Sam said,
chuckling. "I guess she likes you after all."

"And I like her," Grace said, tickling Marilyn
behind the ears.

"Where's..."

"Carmen? I gave her the day off. She was working too
hard."

"With only one person to take care of?"

"All right, then," Sam said. "She was having
an attitude problem."

"About me?"

"I didn't inquire," Sam said, leading her through
the house to the beachside door.

The wind was up along the beach, making the surf pound and
foam in angry bursts. To hear each other, they walked closer together than they
had yesterday. Marilyn bounded beside them.

"I had one of those eerie experiences last
night," Sam said. "Anne's voice awakened me. I thought I heard her
call my name. I woke up, then answered her. Of course, when I put my arm out to
her side of the bed there was nothing but empty space. It's happened before,
but this time it took awhile for me to orient myself. I tell you, Grace, it was
very real to me."

"Maybe there is something to this ghost
business," Grace said.

"Do you believe in ghosts?"

Grace hadn't expected the question. But she considered it
carefully.

"I don't think I do," she said tentatively.

"That means your mind isn't closed to the idea,"
Sam said.

"Maybe not," she said, wondering where he was
going with this.

"Okay, suppose it is true. Anne's ghostly spirit,
watching. Watching us right now, walking the beach side by side."

"And yesterday. Watching me trying on her
clothes."

"You think that would bother her?" Sam asked.

"Do you?"

He shook his head.

"No. Actually, I think she would be delighted to see a
lovely person like you wearing her clothes. You know that Anne was a very
magnanimous person. You saw that yourself. Open and honest." He paused.
"Like you."

"Me?" Grace said, her voice rising, as if in
protest.

He nodded; then, in a surprise gesture, he took her hand,
and she made no effort to pull away. They continued to walk in silence. Marilyn
played tag with the breaking waves.

"I'm not what I seem," he said suddenly. She
wondered if the ocean's din had garbled his speech.

"I don't understand."

She shot him a mock skeptical look.

"I'm not what I seem," he said. It was what she'd
thought he'd said, and it confused her.

"You mean to me?" Grace asked.

"To you ... and, when she was alive, to Anne."

Grace was puzzled by his assertion, especially since she
was the one who had falsified her history, while his seemed an open book. It
was impossible for her to believe that he was something other than he appeared
to be.

From the evidence based on her own observation, he could
not deny his wealth or the respect shown him by others, and especially the
sincerity of his devotion to his late wife. As for the details of his inner
life, she admitted that she was not clairvoyant, but he certainly appeared to
be a decent, honest man. Certainly, like everyone he had problems specific to
his situation. He was a businessman, which, by definition meant that he had to
be shrewd, cunning, disciplined, perhaps somewhat ruthless, but not blatantly
deceptive.

Was it inconceivable that he was not what he seemed?
Because of her own culpability she pushed it out of her mind. It was a subject
she chose not to pursue.

"Feel like a run," he shouted, pulling her along
as they jogged on the water's edge for a short distance. It relieved her to know
that he, too, was inclined to drop the subject.

Marilyn shot forward, then chased a sandpiper. A high wave
broke and she scurried back. Sam slowed down to a walk. Grace felt her heart
pounding in her rib cage.

"I'm not in great shape," Grace said breathlessly.

"That's debatable," Sam said, winking at her. He
seemed mildly flirtatious, and she reacted with a smile and shrug.

"You are," Grace said, her breathing subsiding.

"Not bad for an old man, right?"

"There you go, fishing for compliments again,"
Grace said, chuckling.

"Just as long as you don't give me that
you're-as-young-as-you-feel baloney."

"Well, aren't you?"

"Today I feel a lot younger than yesterday."

"That's an encouraging sign."

"Keep young company, stay young."

"You think I'm young? That's a laugh. Sometimes I
think of myself as being over the hill."

"Which makes me over the mountain. Hell, I was over
twenty-one when you were born. I could drive, drink and vote." She had
given him her real age, perhaps concerned that he might take a peek at her
driver's license.

"I'm catching up fast, Sam."

"When you're my age, I'll be eighty-nine. If I make
it."

"You seem to be hung up on the subject, Sam."

"Maybe so. I guess I'm just resentful."

"About what?"

"Getting to this point, confronting my disappointments,
knowing it might not get any better than it was."

For her this was a troubling attitude.

"Does this mean you're foreclosing on any future
possibilities?"

She wondered if her remark was really as transparent as it
sounded.

"'Grow old along with me, the best is yet to
be,'" he snickered. "I remember that from school. I'm inclined to
believe it's bullshit."

"I wouldn't bet on that. There might be lots of
surprises still to come."

She was conscious of her own flirtatious reaction. He
smiled and continued on their walk. When they reached the halfway point, they
turned and headed back toward the house. Sam was silent for a long time, as if
reflecting on something deep within his mind.

As they walked, he continued to hold her hand, squeezing it
at times to acknowledge her. She assumed it meant that he was enjoying her
company. She returned the squeeze, feeling much the same way.

At his customary swimming location, he stopped.

"Too rough for you?" he asked.

It was, but she refused to admit it, slipping off her
slacks and T-shirt. He took her hand and they ran into the water. He released
her only when they had to dive into a breaker. The agitated water was both
scary and exciting. Suddenly a wave knocked her over and she was upended, went
down, then fought her way to the surface. Suddenly, she felt his hard body
against hers.

"It can get hairy," he shouted above the din of
the waves.

"Not when I have my private lifeguard."

She let him hold her for a few moments, then they coasted
in on a wave, Marilyn beside them. She noted that Marilyn kept a watchful eye
over her.

"That was fun," she said, proud that she was able
to keep up with him and had conquered her fear.

"Anne hated the water," Sam said.

"Everybody's different," she said. She wished she
could be more profound.

Sam helped her up and, hand in hand, they walked toward the
house.

As she had done yesterday, she went into Anne's bathroom,
showered and changed, while Sam showered and dressed in his bathroom. It was
odd, but in one short day it already seemed like a routine.

"Hungry?" Sam asked.

"Not really. I stopped at McDonald's. I got up early.
I dropped yesterday's batch at the Salvation Army."

It seemed important to tell him that she was on the job,
doing what she had set out to do.

"Great," Sam said. "Now I've got a job to
do."

"And I'll start the day's work," she said.

Sam went downstairs and she entered Anne's closet. She had
determined that it was essential to continue her work with Anne's clothes. She
pressed the activating button and watched the racks pass by her in what seemed
like an endless parade. It was hard to decide what clothes to dispose of next.

After awhile, she heard Sam call her name from the bedroom,
and she came out of the closet. Beside him on a table was an opened bottle of
Dom Perignon in an ice bucket and two fluted glasses.

"Now that's a real surprise, Sam," Grace said as
he poured her a glassful, then filled his own. Against the sunlight in the room
she saw the bubbles rise from the top of the glass. He handed her a glass and
took his own, raising it.

"What should we drink to?" he asked.

She thought of saying "To Anne," but wondered
whether she might be overdoing it. Hadn't they drunk to her yesterday?

"How about ... let's not brood about the past or worry
about the future," Sam said, "which leaves the present."

"Yes, I like that. To the present, then. This
moment."

They clinked glasses and sipped. She couldn't believe how
delicious it tasted. The bubbles tickled her nose. When she looked up at him,
his eyes seemed to be scanning the room. He shook his head.