The Jewel Box (18 page)

The sun seeped feebly through tiny portions of long windows, opaque from years of accumulated dust and grime, and partially draped with towels and sheets that had seen better days. Tossed throughout the house were leprous mattresses occupied by two or more grimy individuals and overstuffed bean bags serving as beds. With beads clicking and swaying behind me and
Spirit in The Sky
blaring around me, I stepped over beer cans and dirty laundry as I wandered room to room searching for Delilah. Sitting on a sofa that held slightly more appeal than the filthy floor, she was opening a bag of grass when she saw me.

“C’mon. Sit.” Delilah casually motioned me over.

I sandwiched myself between her and a kid who looked much like Sean.

“Groovy,” he said. His soothing voice reminded me of Sean, and I allowed myself to lean against the sofa and temporarily drift into memories. “Want a hit?”

“No thanks.” I gazed at the plaster peeling walls with their shrines to Jimi Hendrix as he passed the joint to Delilah who took a long drag before passing it to others.

“There you are, purty gurl.” The tattooed, bearded guy reappeared and squeezed in beside me and the kid, adding more grime to the sofa.

“It’s time to pick up Nikki from Rachel’s.” I thumped Delilah while rising from the sofa.

“Peace,” said the young man.

“Bummer.” Delilah stood beside me, flashing the peace sign to her newfound friends.

“Indeed. Thanks for my introduction to Houston’s drug scene.” I grabbed her arm to keep her from stumbling over a naked couple and miscellaneous other clutter as I navigated our way out the front door.

Meanwhile, Gabriel and I seemed to be on different wave lengths in general, with him wanting to talk when I didn’t, and vice versa. No surprise when he started spending excess time with Hank, an outgoing wilderness-type business associate near his age. Who could blame him? Wallowing in guilt, self pity, and sleep deprivation due to post-abortion nightmares, I wasn’t exactly a weekend at the Brazoria County Fair.

Poor Nikki, coping with a moody mom and absentee father. Kent promised to pick her up for visits, but usually called with excuses why he couldn’t come. My anger rose each time she lugged her packed, tiny suitcase back into her room, gloomy with disappointment. I’m not the violent type, but seeing her so sad made me want to kick his teeth up through his nose.

“Well, Blondie,” Gabriel said in solemn tone when I answered my phone. “Al called to say he just drove past the Jewel Box and saw bulldozers plowing it down.”

“I might cry.” I went flush with melancholy. Despite a few unpleasant memories, that place brought me to Beau—a compassionate father figure when I desperately needed one—and to the love of my life.

“Tears won’t help. City planners are making way for the new South Expressway come hell or high water.”

“Well, I hate progress and hearing that really makes me sick to my stomach. That noisy, little club was where we shared special memories. Like secretly carving C/G inside that shelf of Beau’s mahogany bar the night he was too busy counting money to notice our monkeyshines.”

“Blondie you’re too sentimental. It was ironic we met in such a place, but still it was just bricks and mortar. We got lots of time for making memories.”

The demise of the Jewel Box triggered a surge of sadness. “I miss Sean. He died too young to keep making memories.”

“Don’t start,” Gabriel said.

“But I feel guilty.” I broke into tears.

“Cherie, God didn’t take Sean’s life because you had an abortion, so drop your guilt and stop being so goddamned morose.” His voice rose to a shout. “Sean’s dead. It’s not your fault, and we can’t bring him back. I’m sick to death of your poetic soul wrenching and your deranged attachment to the past!”

“Deranged attachment!” I screamed back. “Screw you, Gabriel.”

Click.

His slamming the phone left me listening to static and acknowledging the distance growing between us. I cursed him for not stopping me from having the abortion—an event I constantly relived in my head, but never spoke about.

Kent exited Nikki’s life as abruptly as he re-entered it, leaving a pitiful support check he sent sporadically as our only remnant of him. Wise for her age, Nikki intuitively stopped packing suitcases and waiting around for her “No show” father. Spending more time with Ellen’s family was my antidote to Kent’s absenteeism.

Nikki was spending another weekend with Cousin Jimmy when I fell into abysmal depression. Unable to shake the guilt associated with my abortion, Sean’s death, or causing two precious girls to be without their father, I proceeded to get considerably drunk. I couldn’t walk a straight line, but the cashier at
U-Tote-Em
sold me two bottles of
Nytol
, which I knocked back with orange juice on my way home. Apparently Gabriel called and failed to rouse rational conversation from me, especially when I said something about joining Sean in Valhalla. He called paramedics who came and broke through my door.

In the ambulance they pounded my chest and asked questions. I didn’t answer. I didn’t want to be rescued. I wanted to end my pain and confusion. I called Sean’s name, and saw visions of him as I drifted in and out of consciousness. Through the darkness a shadow seemed to swirl into a funnel of wispy smoke, and I reached for Sean’s hand. “I’m sorry” I kept saying as I struggled to grab onto him, but as my breathing weakened, he slowly faded away.

They pumped my stomach at the hospital, and later fed me breakfast through a tube. Several days and several psychiatric consultations later, I was released to Ellen’s care. I looked at Nikki as she sweetly rubbed her tiny hand across my cheek. How could I have been so incredibly weak and stupid? Leaving a dependent child without a parent is a selfish crime, not a heroic self-sacrifice. Mythical Valhalla would have accepted Sean, a hero who died while trying to save others, but I would have been rejected and sent straight to Hell.

Justifiably angry, Gabriel called daily and spoke only with my sister about my condition. It took days before I could dial a phone, and I spoke in fragmented sentences for weeks, constantly groping for words. As I slowly recovered, Gabriel slowly released his anger and returned to my side. Though I knew I would never attempt such a foolish act again, Ellen kept a close watch over me. Like a hawk. She was always there for Nikki and me, but never made me feel worse than I already felt, by asking “How could you?” or “Why?”

Months passed without communications from Kat, so when she called and left her number with Ellen, I couldn’t wait to hear her sassy voice. Oh, my. Kat found the Lord. She married a minister, moved to some small southeast town near Galveston, and was hanging out with other born-again Christians, quoting scriptures and doing whatever else holy rollers do. I’m sure she didn’t mean to come across as overly pious, but after my adultery and abortion, talking to those of the holy cloth ranked right up there with Tabasco enemas. After numerous strained conversations with Kat trying to save my soul (possibly her atonement for helping tarnish it), and me ending the calls abruptly, we eventually lost touch.

In typical terse fashion, Gabriel dismissed my moments of grief over lost lives by kissing me instead of allowing me to articulate my heartache. I
appreciated the passion, but wished for a little compassion from him every now and then.

And although she hadn’t been the best babysitter for Nikki, Delilah’s warped personality somewhat kept me from wallowing in guilt. She’d quit smoking pot and started stalking me for recreation. Of course, Delilah and I had
that
bond. I don’t know where I was when Neil Armstong walked on the moon, or who was with me the day Kennedy was shot, but I’ll never forget the person who chaperoned my abortion.

Every time I took Nikki to the pool for swim lessons, Delilah appeared.

“Under water, lovey,” I instructed my daughter to duck her head and ears. Delilah’s topics were a bit risqué for youngsters.

“I’m sick of these son-of-a-bitch losers in my life,” Delilah complained.

I said nothing. No need to invite more tales about the wayward men she socially entertained.

“Course I thought I’d hit the jackpot with my Greek God fireman. Cherie you should’ve seen his ‘down under’ arsenal.”

“Hey lovey, can you show Mommy how long you can hold your breath down under?” I encouraged Nikki.

“Yep, he helped me drain three quarts of Boone’s Farm strawberry wine, and then made hot, burning love to me in his Corvette while I wore his official firefighter’s helmet.”

I figured Nikki couldn’t interpret the meaning of “healthy throbbing hose,” but other adjectives Delilah used to describe his fiery unit caused me to cringe.

“Fantastic,” I said to Nikki as she resurfaced. Delilah assumed I was commenting on her affairs, and opened her mouth to continue. “Can Mommy time you?” I asked my girl, who quickly ducked down holding her nose.

Delilah swigged her Pepsi and burped. “But I haven’t heard a damn word from that bastard.”

What a surprise,
I thought as Nikki’s head popped up to knock water from her ears. I assured her she had set a new time record for holding her breath underwater, and then tactfully changed subjects by asking Delilah about her new job. Details about Methodist Hospital’s pharmacy department were anything but boring and spiked my interest.

“They’re hiring and I know you can pass their prerequisite tests,” she announced as I towel dried Nikki’s long hair. “And you’re welcome to all the
Valium
you can sneak out every day.”

“What are valley ums, Mommy?”

“Grown up vitamins and nothing we need.” I rubbed after-sun lotion across her shoulders. I no longer ate pain meds, but desperately needed a job—especially one that didn’t involve serving cocktails and trying to avoid getting hit in the eye by twirling tassels.

An extraordinary role model, Rachel continued caring for Nikki after I was hired for Methodist’s three to eleven shift. The time was perfect for apprentices, late hours suited me to a T, and the challenging job beat the hell out of dressing scantily and slinging beer. I missed Beau something fierce, but Gabriel showered me with so much love my life seemed fairly complete.

Gabriel’s brother Ben was still traveling the world courtesy of the US Air Force. Astrid relocated Gabriel’s daughters to Arizona, and shortly thereafter, Gloria and her two youngest children moved to Texas. Gabriel said her move would save him Western Union fees. “Gloria can borrow direct instead of me wiring cash every month.” According to him, despite earning adequate income as a travel agent, she bought foolish luxuries first and paid bills if any money remained in her account.

Gloria moved near Gabriel, and I absolutely loved visiting her. Somewhat cluttered, and comfortably furnished with overstuffed sofas, soft lighting, bountiful plants, an aroma of potpourri always filling the air, Gloria’s home felt like one had walked right into a Norman Rockwell painting. Gloria met visitors with a cheery hello, a wide smile, a tight hug, and welcoming conversation that made one feel special. Weekends were often filled with noises of friends and family, but a quiet corner could always be found when the hustle bustle became overwhelming. A blithe spirit who talked about things my mother would have never considered proper, Gloria and I shared a special relationship. This hip, middle aged woman placed her copy of
Cosmopolitan
with Burt Reynolds posing in nothing more than a smile, on her coffee table. Gloria and
Hope pampered Nikki constantly, often babysitting while I spent romantic evenings with Gabriel or worked late, or covered Delilah’s shifts. Her absenteeism was becoming problematic.

Delilah fell for a bass player and spent way too much time in clubs waiting for last call or hanging out wherever musicians hang at three in the morning to have jam sessions and fry their brains. Flip had a wild look in his eyes, and was the first guy I’d met who could go from attentive to withdrawn, happy to depressed, angry to ecstatic, calm to hysterical, all in the same hour. Delilah’s temperament made it difficult to tell if she was popping pills with him, but when I became assistant purchasing agent, I noticed the pharmacy was going through Quaaludes like they were blue light specials at Kmart.