The Jewel Box (22 page)

Returning to the festivities, I faked enthusiasm as Phil handed me my annual gift. A bottle of Joy parfum and the usual “I put no thought whatsoever into this,” Sak’s Fifth Avenue, thousand dollar gift certificate. I pulled on my happy mask, trying to hide thoughts of how special the holidays would have been with my carpenter. Like him, I got drunk and melancholy.

“Victoria got a secretarial job at an accounting firm near Methodist, and she’ll be joining us today,” Hope mentioned during lunch.

I felt nauseated. Breaking bread with the woman who had
my
man seemed unpalatable, but I tried to out smile her when she walked in.

“It’s absolutely thrilling to see you again,” Victoria greeted, like I was someone famous.

“You too,” was all I could manage. My mouth was going to hurt like hell from fake smiling.

Surprisingly enough, Victoria’s boisterous personality made me comfortable. Until she started talking about life with Gabriel. Everyone in the restaurant probably heard the thunderous beating of my tell-tale heart.

Hope began frequently having lunch with her hubby while Victoria and I lunched or shopped together. I missed Hope, but Gabriel’s wife number two and I soon became friends. Okay. Maybe
friends
is an exaggeration. I constantly fantasized about slipping her some magic potion to make her uglier than Eleanor Roosevelt, and she openly envied my marriage to money. Sure, to naïve small town girls like Victoria and me, Phil was considered wealthy, but I learned right away that the rich subdivide into the haves and the have mores, and Phil barely slid under the haves line. Victoria often complained of boredom, saying Gabriel’s work kept him out of town. I never complained when Phil worked late to pursue advancement. Time without him was glorious.

“Got another promotion,” Victoria announced during our weekly lunch. “Good for you.”

“My raise should be on next month’s paycheck.” She lightly brushed a linen napkin across her red lips. “You’ve been so great about buying lunch and giving me money to send Gabe’s girls. I really appreciate it and just want you to know that soon, I’ll pick up all our lunch tabs.”

“Not to worry.” I plunked Phil’s credit card on the table.

Her constant bragging about big promotions and raises, followed by borrowing money from me happened so often, I almost suggested she pursue a career as a professional fund raiser. Victoria knew my feelings of guilt about Gabriel’s daughters and didn’t seem the least bit uncomfortable each time she asked to borrow three or four hundred dollars to send them in Phoenix. That cash came from my savings and I doubted Victoria would repay me. Giving money for Lauren and Skylar seemed the least I could do for them.

It must have been my masochistic side that allowed me to continue my Chinese Water Torture lunches with Victoria. Despite her talk of raises, she
hadn’t yet paid for one meal. She slowly dripped verbal acid into the soft spot of my brain, which swiftly penetrated my heart, as she discussed life with Gabriel. Her words always left a powerful sting and my voice usually wavered as I stammered some asinine response while cringing. Still, I customarily picked up the check as though it had been the most fabulous event of my day. Maybe I just needed to hear every tiny detail about Gabriel, even those including her.

“Guess what?” Victoria asked excitedly at our weekly lunch.

“You got another promotion,” I said, biting into a mushroom and trying to avoid the beams of happiness shooting from her eyes.

“Something better,” she said, pushing her plate aside. “I’m pregnant!”

Only women who are hopelessly in love with someone else’s husband can understand the sick feeling that overcame me. I almost choked on my salad. “Congratulations,” I said with the most sincerity I could muster.

“Isn’t it the greatest?” She asked, and then looked my way. “Oh, my gosh. Your mouth is bleeding.”

I tasted blood. Must’ve bitten my lip fighting back tears. “It is the greatest.” I blotted my mouth and signaled our waiter

“Are you alright, Cherie? You look pale.”

“I’m fine, but woke up with a nasty headache this morning. Maybe I’ll try to see my doctor. But congratulations again.” I picked up our tab and rushed to the cashier.

Doctor, indeed. I had been “without therapist” for awhile. My search for a new one would soon commence. I had to get rid of all feelings for Gabriel—even if it meant hiring an exorcist.

14

I couldn’t locate my beloved Beau, yet couldn’t lose the ubiquitous Delilah. Although she quit Methodist and moved northwest near Cypress to work as a waitress in some country western honky-tonk, she found time for me.

“I had to wear falsies to pass my job interview,” Delilah said after an unannounced visit that included a drag along with her kids and new boyfriend.

“Whatever makes your heart happy.” I closed the door behind them, checking out her new look. She’d gone instant hillbilly with heavily teased hair, magenta rouge and lipstick, and donned a gaudy cowgirl outfit with gaudy cowgirl boots. “I see you’re still sporting sizable cups there, Calamity Jane.”

“You betcha.” She latched onto her latest lover, a rugged character wearing tattered jeans and a battered wide-rim western style hat. A contrast to her usual musician type. “This is Scooter.”

Delilah’s three-year-old flew past us and onto my sofa where she tested the resilience of my cushions.

I took a risk and shook Scooter’s hand, without wearing latex gloves.

About the time toddler Buzz started whining because his sister Bitzy wouldn’t let him join her bounce-a-thon, cowboy wannabe Scooter started reiterating, “Don’t let the bedbugs bite” and “Don’t take any plug nickels” like Houston was overrun with bedbugs and street corner hustlers trying to pass off plug nickels.

“Sex with this buckin’ bronco is wilder than a rodeo and makes me freaking moan ‘til the cows come home.” Delilah wrapped her arms around
him and boasted. Her distasteful depiction aroused an inappropriate kiss from Scooter.

It was a sad thing for children to see. His tongue went deep. Thankfully before the duo punctured each other’s lungs, Bitzy crashed into my coffee table and began screaming. Buzz harmonized with an earsplitting demand for Beanie Weenies. I was fresh out of that delicacy. Delilah finally disengaged from Scooter’s tongue and attempted to control her children by whacking their rear ends. Thought I’d never get rid of them.

A brilliant, multi-dimensional pharmacist joined the Methodist staff, and fortunately Patrice found me interesting enough to befriend. Almost everyone seemed magnetized by this gregarious, book smart, street savvy, ebony haired, smoky eyed lady whose infectious laugh even evoked smiles from pharmacy curmudgeon, Ed. Studying for a degree in corporate law, Patrice had varied interests, but I was intrigued by her comprehension of metaphysics. She urged me to continue my education, and inspired my enrollment in an evening paralegal class.

Other than spending more time with Patrice and less time with Hope and Gloria, my life revolved around Nikki, whose life revolved around friends and Cousin Jimmy. At age ten, Little Miss Priss was mature for her age, an honor student who excelled in Literature, and much more logical than me at her age. When I decided to enlighten her about the facts of life, she listened intently and then asked, “Exactly what attire is appropriate for such an event?” before announcing she was going horseback riding with friends.

I almost fell off my chair when I saw the name Beauregard Phillipe Duvalé in Methodist’s pharmacy care charts. Not a common name. I phoned the room. “Oh, my long-lost beloved,” I gushed. “What are you doing in the hospital?”

“Baby, is that you?” Beau asked.

“Yes. I can’t believe you’re only steps away from me. What’s wrong?”

“Been having some shortness of breath and chest pains. Nothing major. And can probably be cured with a hug from you.”

“I’ll be up in five minutes.”

“Baby,” Beau opened his arms for an embrace when he saw me at the doorway.

“Of all the hospitals, in all the towns, in all the world, you walk into mine,” I doctored a famous
Casa Blanca
line. “Thank goodness.”

We talked a mile a minute, catching up on old news. Beau had divorced his first wife Celeste and remarried a second younger woman—who had recently divorced him. He’d lost his highly profitable
Night Owls
club to second wife Lola, and opened a giant sports bar in Sugar Land, a small city southwest of Houston.

“This new club has built-in aquariums, dart throwing areas, ping pong and pool tables, small dance floor, band area, and fifteen TV sets for sporting events. It’s my first sports club, so I named it
Beau’s Place.
Maybe having my name attached will keep future wives from getting it.”

I fluffed his pillow, trying to make him comfy. Then he brought up the subject of Gabriel. “I always thought y’all were one couple destined to be together.”

My heart sank. “Let’s change subjects. Have ya had any bedbug bites lately?”

Beau looked at me like I needed medication. When he told me about selling the beautiful mahogany bar from the Jewel Box to a local restaurant owner, I felt somewhat melancholy, but when he started talking about some of the girls and incidents from the club, I got panicky. Far too many times I’d awakened in a cold sweat after nightmares of being on that little round stage, and it took days to retrieve my self-confidence.

“Remember that black haired girl I fired on the spot, when I found out she was turning tricks in the parking lot?”

“Gypsy,” I quietly answered.

“Yeah, that was her. Anyway, she snookered some sap into buying her a small garden shop right down the street from
Beau’s Place
. I saw her when I was buying plants to decorate the club and diffuse the smoke smell.”

“Oh,” I responded, worried this might turn into a lengthy tale.

“She cussed like the devil while telling me about using her sexual prowess to entice the dim-wit into forking over even more money for gardening lessons. Hell, her brain was stuck in neutral, but she knew how to use her body for conniving men.”

Please be quiet!
I wanted to say, but kept my mouth closed.

“Place looked nice for a while, but about the time I finished renovating the club, there were more brown plants out front than green ones. So much for those horticulture classes. I passed by last week and her little shop was belly-up.”

“Reminds me of a Dorothy Parker quote.” I lightly stroked his arm.

Beau nodded. “
You can lead a whore to culture, but you can’t make her think
.”

“One of America’s greatest writers.” I attempted to stick with conservative topics.

Beau considered happenings from the Jewel Box just more of life’s entertaining adventures, but the last thing I needed was hospital employees overhearing details about my past. Besides being a secret I wanted concealed forever, if Phil learned that tidbit of trivia, he would divorce me quicker than you could say sequined pasties and white go-go boots.

“Always liked Mrs. Parker, but I’m still a McMurtry fan. His latest book,
Terms of Endearment
is a doozey. I’ve set it aside for you and know you’ll love it. The primary setting is Houston, even though McMurtry failed to mention any of my clubs—especially the Jewel Box.”

“What kind of writer is he, not to mention you and your honky-tonks?”

“A smart one, baby.”

Seeing Beau’s distinctive black cowboy boots beside his bed, I remembered times Gabriel and I went to breakfast with him after hours. His boots made a powerful sound when he walked, and once the tab came, Beau pulled hundred dollar bills from them. “Great boots, Beau.”

“Paul Wheeler custom-made these ten years ago and they’re still so comfortable I could sleep in ’em. His son Dave wants me to try their flashier designs, but I’ll leave bright colors for the younger set. Gotta love that cowboy boots are the modern man’s high heels.” Beau chuckled.

I reached over and kissed his cheek. “See you later, but I’m sending my friend to lessen your boredom. I think you’ll like her.”

“Oh, baby, you’re not trying to fix me up, are you?”

“Never. I just adore both of you and think you should meet. Now, swear you won’t mention my go-go days to Patrice.”