The Black Stiletto (28 page)

“Well, Mrs. Bates passed away three years ago. Caught the cancer, she did. Died in nineteen fifty-six.”

The news took my breath away, even though I half expected it. Before I could no longer stop myself from crying, I had the
presence of mind to ask about her husband and sons. She didn’t know anything about Douglas or where he might be. However, she told me Frank Cooper lived in town and was, surprisingly, still a member of the church. At first, the lady hadn’t connected Frank with the name Betty Bates. She said he worked at a hardware store on 8th Street. I thanked her and went outside to Luis and the cab.

In the car, I broke down and cried my eyes out. My mama was dead. And I’d run away from her, probably when she needed me the most.

I found Frank at the hardware store on 8th Street, not far from Dixie Drug, a pharmacy and deli where my brothers bought comic books when they were little. You shoulda seen his face when he realized who I was. At first he didn’t. I recognized him as soon as I walked in. He wasn’t as tall as me—he never was, ha ha—but he’d filled out and was all grown up. Still had a baby face, but there was also something wrong with his right eye. When I was up close I could see the problem—it was made of glass. He’d somehow lost his eye since I’d last seen him.

Anyway, I spotted him behind the counter. He was helping a customer with some tools or something. I waited patiently for my turn, and then he looked at me and asked, “May I help you, miss?”

“You sure can. I wonder if you might have time to play a little “Americans vs. Japanese” when you get off work.”

“I beg your—” And then his jaw dropped. I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Judy?”

“It’s me, Frankie.”

“Oh my God, Judy!” He was too shocked to move.

“You gonna give me a hug?” I held out my arms, he practically leaped from behind the counter, and we embraced. It felt great.

“Where—oh my God, Judy—where have you
been
? Where did you go? We were so worried about you!”

“I know. And I’m sorry. Listen, when can you get a break? I’d love to sit and talk.”

His head went up and down, taking in my entire body. “Judy. Holy cow. You’re a woman now. You’re
gorgeous
! Oh my God, my sister is a beautiful young woman!”

“And I’m smart, too,” I said. “When can you take a break?”

“Right now. Just a sec, lemme find someone to watch the counter.” He ran to the back of the shop, stuck his head through a door, said something, and came hustling back. After a moment, another man—older, probably senior in position—followed him out.

“Ray, this is my sister Judy,” Frank said.

“Pleased to meet you, ma’am,” the older man said. He, too, seemed to be taken by my appearance. I guess I did turn some heads, but I never thought about it much.

“Come on,” Frank said, gesturing me toward the front door. “There’s a coffee shop a couple doors down. You feel like walkin’?”

“Sure.”

I stopped at the taxi to tell Luis what I was doing. He was happy to wait. I think acting as my driver made him feel important somehow. He thought I was some high-class businesswoman from New York.

Frank and I sat and ordered coffee at this cute little place full of blue-collar folks on their breaks, smoking their cigarettes and having coffee. A waitress with a thick Texas accent took our order. I’d forgotten how much of a drawl people had, and I imagine mine came back full force once I landed in the state.

“I can’t get over how good you look,” Frank said.

“You look good, too, Frankie, but, my Lord, what happened to your eye?”

He winced and replied, “Oh, that’s a long story. But first, Jesus,
Judy, tell me what happened to you. You can’t imagine, well, Mom was real upset when you ran off. We thought you were dead. We had the sheriff and the police and everyone lookin’ for you. We were goin’ crazy.”

Hearing this made me want to cry again. “I’m sorry, Frankie. I really am. It’s just—I had to get away. Because of—you know. Him. Douglas.”

At the mention of the man’s name, Frank stiffened. He looked away and then nodded. “Did he hurt you? Do something to you?”

“Yeah. He did. It was bad, too.”

“What happened?”

So I told him enough that he’d get the picture without going into the gory details. “I was so young, Frankie. I was afraid to tell anyone. He threatened me. Said he’d make it sound like it was all my fault.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“I know that now. When I was thirteen I didn’t.”

“I’m sorry that happened to you, Judy.” He looked away. “Douglas is the reason I have a glass eye.”

“What?”

“It wasn’t long after you left. Maybe three or four months. Mom was in bad shape, drinking all the time, really unhappy. Douglas went on binges and beat her when he could, and if she was already passed out then he’d beat me. One day we were in the kitchen. He had an ice pick, chippin’ away at a block of ice for the fan ‘cause it was startin’ to get hot outside. Anyway, he just got through yellin’ at Mom for somethin’ and I hollered right back at him. I told him to get out of our house. He meant to slap me, but the ice pick accidentally flew out of his hand. Judy, that thing hit the ceiling and then fell, just as I was lookin’ up at it. Landed right in my eye. It was a freak accident, but I still blame him. Went to the hospital, and now I’ve got this crappy glass eye. I hate it. I look like a freak.”

“No, you don’t, Frankie. I hardly notice it.” It was a white lie, but I had to say it.

“Thanks for sayin’ that, Judy, but I know you’re fibbin’. The only good thing about it was it got me out of military service.”

“Oh, that reminds me, what about John? Where is he?”

“He’s still in the army. I guess he likes it, ‘cause he never left once he joined. He’s makin’ a career out of it. He’s an officer, stationed at Fort Sam Houston in San Antonio.”

“Well, I’ll be. Are you in touch with him?”

“A little. Not much. He came back for Mom’s—oh my God, Judy! Do you know?”

“About Mom? Yeah, Frankie. I know.”

“How did you find out?”

“A lady at our church told me today.” I felt tears welling up in my eyes; I couldn’t help it. “I’m sorry, Frankie. I shoulda been here. I feel so bad.”

He reached out and touched my hand on the table. “I think she woulda liked to see you again.”

That did it. I started bawling all over again. Frank was a dear and got me some tissues. He was crying a little bit, too. This entire trip had turned into nothing but a series of waterworks. But I settled down after a while and he told me a little about her final days. In 1954 they had moved to an apartment on the far northwest side of Odessa, out closer to the oil fields. She’d gotten a job as a secretary at one of the parts companies and wanted to be near work. When Frank graduated high school, he moved out and immediately started making his own living. He had no desire to go to college, and besides, neither he nor Mom could afford it. Her illness came on suddenly and advanced quickly. Apparently during the last three months of her life, Douglas just upped and left. Abandoned her when she needed him the most.

Finally, after Frank told me where Mom was buried, I asked
the question. The reason I’d come to Odessa. “So, where is Douglas now?”

Frank made a face. “I don’t know and I don’t care. I hate him.”

“Is he still in Odessa?”

“Hell, I don’t know. Far as I know. After Mom died, he sold the house and left. We never heard anything more about him. He just disappeared from our lives. Good riddance. What a son of a bitch. Pardon my language, Sis.”

“That’s okay. I’ve cursed him myself. I really want to find him, Frank.”

“What for?”

“I just do. He and I have some unfinished business.”

“Judy, don’t be stupid.”

“I know what I’m doin’, Frankie. Can you find out where he is?”

“Well, actually the last I heard he was still workin’ as a roughneck out in the oil fields. Near Goldsmith. You know where that is?”

“Vaguely. It’s a little-bitty place outside of town?”

“About fifteen or twenty miles away; you go out Kermit Highway, and then turn north on a ranch road to Goldsmith. Smack dab in oil field country. It ain’t much to speak of.”

“You think he’s still there?”

“Hell if I know. Like I said, I could care less. I hope he falls in an oil well and drowns in it. What a mean, spiteful, horrible person.”

“I couldn’t agree with you more.”

We talked a little longer, but then it started feeling strange. I don’t know why, but I suddenly got real uncomfortable. Like I didn’t belong. I was a stranger in my own hometown. I decided to end our visit, so I looked at my watch and told Frank I had an appointment.

“Will I see you again?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Why don’t you give me your address and phone number?” He did, but I didn’t return the favor. I suppose he must have sensed I was a very private person now. We said goodbye back at the hardware shop. I told him I’d call before I went home, but I knew I probably wouldn’t. I hadn’t told him anything about my life in New York, and he never asked. In fact, I don’t think I ever said I lived there. Frank doesn’t know where to find me.

It’s probably best that way.

It was getting dark, so I had Luis drive me to the cemetery where Frank said Mom was buried. It was the Ector County one, just south of the tracks on Dixie, so it wasn’t very far from the hardware store. It was probably the oldest cemetery in Odessa, but I’m not sure about that. The place was closing in less than a half hour, so I had to hurry.

I left Luis in the car and found my way through the gravestones until I located the place where my mother now rested. The stone read:
ELIZABETH WALDEN COOPER, BELOVED MOTHER
. I was glad to see my father’s last name on it. Had that been Frank or John’s decision? Perhaps my mother requested it before she passed on. I have no way of knowing, but it felt right. Dad’s body was never recovered from the Pacific Ocean, so he had no burial site. It’s a shame.

Standing there, looking at the headstone, I cried for the third time that day. I was overcome with guilt for running away from home and not sending word back to my mother that I was all right. I’d caused her unnecessary worry. At the time, I supposed I despised her for putting up with Douglas and being blind to what he was doing to her, to me, and to my brothers. I hated her alcoholism. To me, she was a weak and pathetic person—drowning her sorrows—
our
sorrows—with a bottle and then spending
days in bed. Now, though, I see it was the only defense mechanism she had. Those were tough times, especially after my dad was killed. Mom sacrificed a lot, demeaning herself to be a cleaning lady for women who were better off than she. She was dealing with so much—and then I had to run away. Yes, it was something I had to do to get away from the monster that lived in our house. But I guess I could have done it a little differently.

“I’m sorry, Mama,” I said out loud. Tears ran down my cheeks as I spoke. “I hope you didn’t worry too much. I shoulda told you I was safe. I guess I was afraid you’d have the authorities come and bring me back here if you knew where I was. And I’m sorry you died of cancer, Mama. You know it was Douglas who was the cause of it all—my leaving, your cancer—yes, I’m sure Douglas brought that disease on you. He is malignancy itself, a devil who has no right to walk this earth while you lay buried in it. I’m gonna make him pay, Mama. I promise you that.”

I felt a presence watching me; I turned and saw the cemetery keeper standing by the gate. Closing time. I had to go.

Looking back at the grave, I had nothing more to say, except, “Goodbye, Mama. I love you. I really do.”

Then I wiped the tears off my face and walked back to the taxi.

“Where to, Miss Eloise?” the driver asked.

“Luis, how would you like to make a few extra bucks and keep working tonight?”

He smiled broadly and nodded eagerly. “
Sí, sí!”

“Good. Take me back to my motel, and then we’ve got some things to do.”

The Black Stiletto was going to visit Goldsmith, Texas.

32
Martin
T
HE
P
RESENT

It’s been a lousy couple of days. I went in to work yesterday and today, and tried to act like I cared. Brad avoided me at all costs. Nancy had heard the real reason why I didn’t stay at the office on Monday, so she was suitably sympathetic. It’s weird when a company gives you two or three weeks’ notice—in my case, a whole month—because you don’t really feel much like working for a firm that’s just fired you. You’d think they’d know that. Nevertheless, I thought I’d give it my best shot until I found another job. Maybe I could leave before the month was over. I hadn’t done much to look for a new job, though.

I’d spent Monday and Tuesday evenings drinking too much and trying to read the rest of Mom’s diary. I still have a ways to go. I’m still angry at her for keeping all this stuff a secret. Then there were those other things I found in the strong box—the roll of film, for example. I should get off my butt and find an 8-mm projector so I can see what’s on it. Those things aren’t so easy to come by these days. I want to view the film in private, so I’ll either have to find a place where I can rent a machine or buy one on e-Bay.