Swept Away (12 page)

“No. No, don't do that,” she said, grabbing the box in both hands as though it might be snatched away from her. “That would make a dirty dish.”

“You're right. We have to be practical. By the way, where's the dog?”

She kind of ducked her head and said, in nearly a whisper, “There hasn't been a dog in years. Keeps the burglars away.”

“Certainly,” Jennifer said. As if there was anything to steal. She looked around uncomfortably. She wondered what Buzz did after putting out the food.

Mrs. Van Der Haff began to slowly pick at the food, one delicate bite at a time, chewing carefully. Jennifer watched this for five minutes or so, the woman not looking up from her lunch even once, when she said, “Well, I believe I'll get going, unless there's something more I can get you.”

Fork in hand, she waved Jennifer away without looking up.

Once outside, she felt her heart threaten to collapse in sadness. This is what happens when you're old and left entirely alone with no one to look in on you, no one to help out. And clearly the woman lived in abject poverty.

This could happen to a person like me, she thought. If I don't plan carefully and make some sort of arrangements for myself in old age. Because I have no one.

She went back to the diner instead of going home. “Mission accomplished,” she told Buzz. “Anytime you need me to deliver, it's fine.”

“Makes you feel kind of spoiled and lucky, don't it?” he asked.

She nodded and thought, even me. Even me.

“Has she no one at all?”

“There's a son somewhere, but I don't think he comes around. I drop by and check on her from time to time.”

“Someone should take out the trash,” Jennifer said. “I guess I could've done that while I was—”

“Trash? She has trash to go out?”

“Well, there were several big bags, tied off. I just assumed...”

“That's not trash,” he said, looking back at his mess of calculations. “That's stuff she can't stand to part with.”

“Stuff? Like what kind of stuff?”

“I've never had the guts to ask.”

* * *

Jennifer's brief visit with Mrs. Van Der Haff stirred deep thoughts about the future, and not entirely pleasant ones. But then she thought about Rose, unmarried and independent and not in any way pathetic. In fact, she was empowering as a role model.

There was a wine shop in town. New, according to Buzz. Jennifer decided to take a bottle of wine to Rose's house to return the favor, but more to have her company for a little while. She had messages to pass on from Louise, questions to ask about Alex, and just being with Rose gave her a lift, a feeling of optimism.

As the door to Rose's house opened, Jennifer presented the bottle as a maître d' might. “I know you have the glasses.”

“Perfect,” Rose said. “Absolutely perfect.” She held the door open.

Jennifer stepped inside and instantly felt she was intruding; Rose had her dining table very richly appointed with china, crystal and tall tapers, not yet lit. “Oh, I'm so sorry. I should have asked. You're having company.”

“No, I'm not,” Rose said, taking the bottle from her.

“But your table...”

“I'll set another place. I won't be having dinner for another hour. We can have a leisurely glass and then I'll split my Cornish game hen with you. I never eat more than half. You'll love it, especially after weeks of that diner food.”

As Rose went into the kitchen with the wine, Jennifer looked around. Rose's small house, the floor plan identical to Louise's, was coordinated in perfect country French, right down to the lace runner that lay down the length of her light oak table. Her wallpaper was a pattern of dark green and terra-cotta flowers, and the plates on her table were rimmed in the same dark green. There was an oak buffet that matched the table upon which sat a silk flower arrangement that matched the wallpaper.

Louise's house was comfortable and serviceable, but this was absolutely stunning in its perfection. Like Rose.

She came back first with the opened bottle and two glasses. “Have a seat in the living room and pour for us, will you?” She went again to the kitchen and came out with a place mat, dishes, flatware and a linen napkin. She made a place for Jennifer at the opposite end of the table.

Jennifer looked down at her sweatshirt and jeans and felt she should have dressed so much better than this to come to Rose's house. But then, she didn't actually have anything better. “Are you sure you aren't expecting company?”

“I hardly ever have company. I go out, but I don't have men in—it gives them ideas. I have a few friends over for cards now and then. Retired dancers and floor managers, you know. But otherwise it's Louise and Alex and the occasional out-of-towner—the out-of-towners less often every year.”

“But your table—”

“I'm very good to myself, Doris. It's a very important custom.” She plucked a glass gracefully off the table and glided down into a sitting position. “Every night that I eat at home I set a proper table and make a civilized meal. Single women—especially old ones—tend to skip meals or eat out of opened cans. Louise is especially guilty of this.”

“Oh, that reminds me. My reason for coming over. I had an e-mail from Louise today and she specifically asked me to tell you that she spent the day in Piccadilly and saw female impersonators whom you would have loved.”

Rose made a face. “Phoo! That witch! She did that on purpose. Trying to make me envious. She always tries to get me to go with her and I can't.”

“Can't?”

She leaned forward. “That would involve an airplane. I don't
believe
in airplanes.”

Jennifer laughed in spite of herself. “Fortunately, they believe in you.”

“Don't be pert.”

“Is it the claustrophobia?”

“No. It's being hurtled through space in a tube going hundreds of miles per hour.”

“It's very convenient,” Jennifer pointed out.

“Ptui.”

“I'm amazed. You seem so fearless. So...
brazen.
”

She smiled broadly, showing her beautiful teeth. Clearly she was flattered by the remark. “Thank you, dear. You know, I've been thinking about you lately.” Rose leaned forward and studied Jennifer closely, the slightest frown wrinkling her brow.

“Have you?”

“Yes, actually. I think we need to find someone who can shape up that haircut of yours. Take the ‘go navy' look out and put the chic in.”

“Oh, Rose,” she laughed. She rubbed a hand over her hair, which had grown in quite a bit in the several weeks since she'd shaved it. “You're too much.”

“Honestly, Doris, do you have any
real
objection to looking like a woman?”

“I'm not very prissy, Rose.”

“Of course not, but we can work with this,” she said, reaching across the short distance that separated them and grasping Jennifer's chin. She turned her head left, then right. “This shorter-than-short look has potential. Not many women have the cheekbones for it.” She held Jennifer's chin still and stared deeply into her eyes. “Although you try to hide it in the most horrible clothes, you're very beautiful. With just the smallest effort, you could present a stunning look.” She leaned back again. “I saw you on his handlebars, laughing your ass off.”

She colored a little in spite of herself. These people all seemed to have a gift for catching her unawares and leaving her slightly embarrassed. This flush had nothing to do with being caught with a man, as Jennifer was more than experienced in that arena. It was being caught at anything that drew attention to herself. She should be keeping a lower profile, just to be safe. “Guilty,” she finally said.

“You
must
be feeling guilty, blushing like a schoolgirl. Don't be embarrassed. A woman could hardly do better than Alex.”

“Now, Rose, I don't intend to
do
Alex.”

Rose roared with laughter, loving that. “Well, I won't tell him. It might break his heart.”

“By the way,” Jennifer asked. “Does he work?”

“Oh, my, yes, he works. He's a police detective.”

Jennifer tried to keep her expression steady. Bland. “Really?” she responded flatly.

But clearly she hadn't succeeded. Rose lifted one eyebrow and peered at her. And, uncharacteristically, remained very quiet for a long moment. At last she said, “I think that air of mystery may work for you, Doris. You're excellent at it.”

seven

Jennifer lay on the living room floor, resting her head on Alice's side. Alice was not only a very good pillow, she was also a good listener. “Police detective?” she asked Alice. “Could this get any worse?”

Jennifer wasn't quite sure who she should be more worried about—Nick or the police. They were both frightening prospects. If the police recognized her, wouldn't they arrest her for that missing money and jewelry Nick claimed she had stolen? A search of her belongings would produce it—and then it would become her word against Nick's. At the very least, wouldn't they contact Nick and tell him his missing person—and money and jewelry—had been located?

She played it out another way in her mind. What if she went to the police and told them everything? What she heard, what she saw, why she ran. Wouldn't they be compelled to search for Barbara Noble's body? How long could Nick keep them at bay by pretending she was out of the country?

But...if they looked for Barbara and found she was
indeed
missing? That her
body
was missing? Wouldn't they then do whatever they could to keep Jennifer safe? Safe...so she could
testify
against Nick? Oh, God, that was even more daunting.

She rolled over, buried her face in Alice's soft fur and moaned. Alice yawned loudly and rolled onto her back to have her belly scratched.

“No matter how I play this thing out in my mind, it just keeps getting worse.”

She sat up and absently stroked Alice's stomach for a while, deep in thought. Alice slowly got to a sitting position, leaned forward and gave Jennifer a tender lick on the cheek, making her laugh. “Did I leave a little Cornish game hen on my cheek?”

She hugged the dog. “I might be a little nervous about how this is going to come out, but I'm not complaining,” she said to Alice. “I pretty much have it made. And you are truly the best roommate I've ever had.” She hugged the dog and resolved to try to just go with the flow. One day at a time. “Come on, girlfriend. Off to bed with us. Four-thirty comes pretty early.”

* * *

When Jennifer opened the door to the diner right at 5:00 a.m., she was greeted by the sounds of sniveling, arguing, lecturing and grousing in Spanish. Behind the counter in the grill area Hedda's mother, Sylvia, sat on a stool. She was swearing and complaining very angrily, but it was muffled as her face was obscured by an ice pack held to her nose. She wore her short black cocktail-waitress uniform and black mesh stockings, but one leg was torn, exposing a bloodied knee. She was all high heels and cleavage, but her hair looked as though she'd taken a roll down a hill.

“What's going on?”

“Oh, God, does
she
have to be in on it?” Sylvia griped.

“For God's sake, Sylvia, you want me to ask her to wait outside while you make excuses for some useless son of a bitch you brought home from the bar? For about the hundredth time?” Buzz demanded.

She wailed, “It's none of her goddamn business!”

Jennifer crept closer. “He
hit
you? In the face?”

Sylvia pulled away the ice pack and Jennifer gasped. Her nose might be broken and both eyes were going to be black. And there was the unmistakable odor of alcohol. Plenty of it. “It wasn't his fault,” she said with a hiccup.

“You hit
yourself
in the face?” Jennifer asked.

“Very funny.”

Jennifer went to get her apron. “I wasn't trying to be funny. Where are the kids?”

“I haven't even been home yet,” she said. “They don't know about this.”

“Thank God,” she said. “You can't put them in danger like this. Jesus.”

“Mind your own business!”

“She's right. I should call a cop,” Buzz said.

“You do that and you know how bad it can get for my kids. Believe me, I never let that loser anywhere near them.”

“Well, that's something,” Jennifer said, imagining another nocturnal visit from Hedda while Sylvia “entertained.”

“I hit him first,” she said.

“Es probable verdad. Estúpido.”

“What?” Jennifer asked.

“Is probably truth,” Adolfo said. “Stupid people. No respect.”

“Are you going to let him talk about me like that?” Sylvia asked Buzz.

“I
agree
with him! Stupid people. No respect!”

From the alley behind the diner a man yelled, “Sylvia! Sylvia!”

“Ho Dios. Aqui hay problemas.”
He looked at Jennifer. “Big trouble.”

Sylvia yelled, “Go away, Roger! Someone's going to call the cops!”

But he was undeterred, pounding at the door. “Let me in! Wait till you see what she did to
me!
”

And that's when it started. A melee. Roger somehow got into the diner through the back door, which probably hadn't been locked in the first place. He was shouting about the scratches on his face and neck, which were admittedly gruesome, while Sylvia was shouting about her nose, which might be broken. Buzz was shouting at both of them, saying that they were no better than scrappy trash the way they fought, and her raising two kids in that kind of chaos, she should be ashamed. All the while Adolfo was yelling about
Estupido, bastardos
and
no respeto.

Roger advanced on Sylvia, shouting, calling her vile names. Sylvia advanced on Roger doing the same. And Buzz tried to put himself between them. Adolfo was yelling about the
policía
while Jennifer backed up against the pantry door. Roger shoved Sylvia into Buzz, but Sylvia, though small, seemed possessed of a wiry strength and wound up to sock Roger right in the chops when she seemed to twist her ankle in those three-inch heels. Her swing went awry and found Jennifer's jaw. Jennifer felt her head explode and then the lights went out.

She wasn't unconscious long, but when she came to, everything about that wild morning had changed. She was cradled in Adolfo's arms while Buzz held a cold cloth to her jaw, cheek and eye. She struggled to sit up and heard a siren in the distance.

“Easy,
mija,
” Adolfo said. “You went out like the light.”

“Jesus, did anyone get the license plate number?” she asked. She looked around. “Where are they?”

“Are you kidding?” Buzz asked. “Gone, like the cowards they are. Don't worry, Doris. I'll take care of you. I called the paramedics, and if you have to go to the hospital—”

She grabbed his hand and looked into his eyes. “Buzz. I
can't
go to the hospital.”

“It's all right, Doris,” he said, patting her hand. “Don't worry about money right now. I'm more than ready to—”

“No. I can't. Please, I'm fine.”

Adolfo began to gently massage her shoulders.
“Ella tiene miedo.”

“Oh?” Buzz asked. “Doris, you don't have to be afraid of anything.”

“I'm not afraid,” she said, getting to her feet. Once standing, she was very woozy and not too steady, but she got her balance quickly. Although her jaw pounded and she was light-headed and her eyes were glassy, she forced a smile. “Besides, I'm fine. You check on Sylvia. At least check on the kids. I'll be fine.”

“I'm not so sure. Why don't you let them just look at you—”

The sirens came closer. “Because I can't, Buzz. I can't. If they think something is wrong and want to take me in and I refuse... Look, just tell them the person you called about is gone and refused to be seen by any paramedics. Or send them to Sylvia's house—that would serve her right.” While talking, she was making her way toward the bathroom. Then she stopped, retraced her steps and grabbed the cold pack. She shook it at them both. “I'm gone. Remember.” And she ran for the bathroom.

“Why is every woman I'm within ten feet of a nutcase?” Buzz asked rhetorically.

“A lo mesor tu eres loco.”

“Is that so? I'm crazy? You don't think I'm so crazy when I pay you a little extra.”

“Sí. Muy chicuito.”

“Oh, bite me, as Hedda would say.”

Jennifer listened at the door while Buzz tried to explain that the waitress who was accidentally punched in the side of the head decided she was fine and just wanted to go home. It took a while, as the paramedics were reluctant to be called out at such an unholy hour only to have it be a false alarm. Maybe in some of the busier neighborhoods of Las Vegas the paramedics would be up all night, ready for the next call, but as one paramedic pointed out, “This is Boulder City, man. I was just getting to the good part of the dream!”

All the while Jennifer wondered if she was making the right decision. She felt a little empty-headed, like maybe her brains had been good and rattled. Finally, the place was quiet enough that she thought it safe to leave the bathroom. All she could hear were the soft murmurings of Buzz and Adolfo.

Not Buzz and Adolfo. There stood Alex.

He fairly scowled as he looked at her.

“Hey,” she said.

He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and turned her face this way and that to examine the injury. Frowning, he said, “Hey.”

“You're up early,” she observed, at the same time noticing that he wore an extremely wrinkled pair of chinos, a ratty sweatshirt and no socks—hastily dressed. Of course he was unshaven. They had
called
him. And he must have raced to the diner; she hadn't been in the bathroom all that long. She tried not to stare at his bristly chin, his mussy hair. She tried not to think about the fact that this must be what he looked like when just waking up. Ruggedly handsome.

“Buzz said you had a little trouble here.”

“Grande,”
said Adolfo.

“Well, Doris didn't have the trouble. I mean, she accidentally got socked in the jaw when Sylvia and some horse's ass got into it right in my grill, duking it out. She got sideswiped. And she don't want any medical attention, but you can see she can't work. So I thought, you being right next door...”

He let go of her chin. “You couldn't wake Rose. You'd never hear the end.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Come on, Doris. I'll take you home.”

“Thanks, Alex, but really, I'm fine.”

“You're not fine,” all three men said.

“Well, I will be. Just let me have a couple of aspirin and give me a minute.”

Alex grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the door. “Come on. Let's not be stupid. Or stupider.”

She pulled her hand out of his. “Hey. I was an innocent bystander here. Don't act like I just got into a rumble.” And then she swayed again.

“
Suavemente.
Gently. Is not the señorita's doing,
Alejandro.
”

“I know. You're right. I'm a little cranky in the morning.”

“Well, settle down. I'm the one who got punched.” She walked past him, grabbed her hoodie off the hook by the door and said, “Are you walking me home, or what?”

He was cranky, she was huffy, but about a block down the street, the sun just barely coming up over the mountains, she took a deep breath and slowed her pace a little. The fresh morning air did wonders for her head.

“What, exactly, happened?” Alex asked her.

“Just what Buzz said. Sylvia was having a fistfight with some guy named Roger and I think she slipped. I saw her fist miss Roger's head by a mile and that's the last thing I saw.”

“Talk about being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

I seem to have a penchant for it, she thought. “No kidding.”

“That's why Buzz looks out for Hedda. Sylvia's a little unstable.”

“That's an understatement.”

“You must think this is the craziest place you've ever been.”

“Hah. I might if I were a normal person, but if you knew how I grew up... Well, forget it. It was like a flash from the past.”

“I'm sorry to hear that.”

“I'm sorry I lived that. But hey—I'm fine now, right? Except my reaction time sucks.”

“Yeah. You need to practice ducking.”

“Gotcha.”

About halfway home, he reached for her hand. She stopped dead in her tracks and looked up at him, shocked. “I'm a sucker for a beat-up woman,” he said, and, pulling her along, held her hand the rest of the way home.

Jennifer couldn't remember the last time anyone had held her hand. High school? Oh, she'd had plenty of men, some lusty men, but walking her home and holding her hand? Long ago and far away. There had been that one time, that one boy in high school to whom she'd given her heart, and when he broke it she swore off love. From that point on she'd been in charge of the relationships she had. She might have been physically and mentally in tune to the men in her life, but she was emotionally unavailable, and she knew it. It had been quite deliberate.

As she held his hand, she remembered what it was like to feel innocence and love. To have the feeling come to you and be completely vulnerable to it. At least she hoped she was just remembering it and not actually feeling it.

Once home, Alex went inside with her. He directed her to the couch, where he propped a couple of pillows at one end, instructing her to keep her head elevated. He fixed up a new ice pack and brought her two aspirin. Alice immediately came to her, laying her head on Jennifer's belly to offer both comfort and support.

Alex sat on the coffee table, elbows on knees, and looked into her eyes. “You must be really afraid of something to refuse to let the paramedics even check you over.”

She stared back at him. He was so earnest. So kind. “I'll be fine. Buzz shouldn't have called them.”

“He should have called the police.”

He had a very small scar that cut through one eyebrow. He had a cleft in his chin, just a little one, tucked there under the bristles. He probably knew how handsome he was. He probably broke hearts all over the place. She was very grateful to be immune. “He did.”