The Tolling of Mercedes Bell: A Novel (16 page)

Mercedes went in to check on her daughter. She lay sound asleep in her cotton pajamas, sprawled out in the center of the bed, nestled among the down pillows and comforter. The bathroom showed signs of extravagant use. The lotions and powder were out, along with Germaine’s toothbrush and hairbrush. A damp Turkish bath sheet was draped over the towel rack, and both shower heads were wet. Mercedes laughed to herself, picturing her skinny little girl trying out all the features of the bathroom, then engulfing herself in Jack’s dark blue towel.

She closed the guest room door behind her and followed the sounds to the kitchen, where Jack was pouring drinks.

“Well?”

“Out like a light.”

“Looks like they got on well.”

She stood on the wood floor in her heels, with her back to the dark granite counter. He took a step forward, facing her. She looked up into his eyes and raised her arms in surrender. He put his arms around her, held her tenderly, and kissed her. Then he reached down, slowly lifted her skirt, grasped the backs of her thighs and buttocks in his palms, and elevated her to the counter. She wrapped her legs around him and crossed her ankles, her crimson dress splayed out all around her like the petals of a giant red blossom. He kissed her passionately, tasting her, feeling her ribs with both hands, and moving up her back, to the clasp of her bra.

She was pulling the hairpins out of her hair, releasing the French roll into a cascade, when in the back of her mind an alarm faintly sounded. She unlocked her legs and broke away from his kiss to catch her breath. She had to get off the flow of hot lava they were riding.

“Jack, you will set us both on fire.”

“Bella, I want you right here, right now.”

She moved back on the countertop, picked up her glass of water, and put her left hand on his chest, pushing him back a few inches. She looked down at his trousers, distended enormously, then up at the sheepish expression on his face. Jack was no more in possession of his faculties than she was of hers, nor did he care. She scooted back a few more inches until she rested against the wall, the edge of the counter behind her knees. He removed her shoes and grasped her feet in his palms. His hands ran up the silky hosiery to her knees, then toward her inner thighs. She drank the rest of her water and asked for a second glass, handing him the empty one.

When he turned to fill it she slipped down and out of the room, into the guest room and into the bathroom, closing doors behind her. She looked in the mirror to see a flushed woman in a red dress whom she barely recognized. Love made her look younger. Desire made her look more desirable. She could not remember the last time she’d felt such a craving for a man. She washed her hands, put her cold wet fingers on the back of her neck, and concentrated on the sensation of the cold tile beneath her feet.

Jack was reclined on the couch when she returned, her full water glass on the coffee table before him. The lights of the city sparkled like a vast galaxy. His eyes followed her as she approached.

“Hope I didn’t scare you off.” He had removed his shoes. The full length of the splendid man was prone, the sleeves of his fine white shirt rolled up to the elbows. She imagined unbuttoning the rest of his shirt, then quickly redirected her thoughts.

“I don’t think
scare
is quite the word,” she said, taking the chair next to the couch. She sipped her water. “We did make a deal before I agreed to spend the night. You could still wake up tomorrow, realize I’m just a girl you like to dance with, and that would be that. Poof. Dream over.”

“It’s not going to happen.”

“We’ll see. There’s no rush, is there?”

“There is, Bella!”

“I know, I know, you’re turning forty and you have sixteen gray hairs and your clock is ticking. It feels like the middle of the night,” she said, to change the subject.

“I think it is. I hope you have everything you need,” he said, nodding toward the guest room.

“Of course we do.”

Soon she padded into the guest room and closed the door solidly behind her. Jack turned off the lights and the music, and gazed out at the city from his darkened fortress.

WHEN MERCEDES AWOKE,
she was alone. The room was so dark she had no sense of the time and was shocked to see 10:30 on the illuminated clock. She lay in the soft bed and listened. She could hear the low rumble of Jack’s voice and Germaine’s high one out in the living room. She warmed at the thought of the two of them, working on the morning crossword puzzle.

She opened the shutters to a foggy morning. Her heart leapt with excitement when she recalled their last conversation. While she showered and puttered around in the bathroom, she imagined living this way for the rest of her life—with a loving husband who enjoyed Germaine’s company in such a kind and paternal way, someone who thought of them as giving purpose to his existence, never taking them for granted.

Germaine came in with a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice and a mile-wide grin. Jack had shown her how to work the juicer. They had warmed up cinnamon rolls and made coffee, and had been busy planning the day. She hugged her mother.

Could life really become so easy? Mercedes wondered. Jack had always made his life
look
easy, but she knew now that he had suffered greatly and worked hard to overcome many obstacles. Despite a sad childhood, he had been able to capitalize on adversity.

She pulled on jeans, a rose-colored sweater he’d given her, and the Ferragamo boots. She emerged feeling rested, hungry, and eager to see him. He stood up when she entered the room, then kissed her tenderly on the cheek.

T
HEY WENT TO BRUNCH AND
then to the aquarium in Golden Gate Park. While Germaine was watching the fish in one of the darkened rooms, Jack came up behind Mercedes and embraced her, pulling her back toward him, nibbling her ear.

“I came very close to kidnapping you from your sleep last night,” he whispered. “I kept thinking of you lying under my roof at last, and what I would like to do to you.”

They separated just in time to see Germaine turn, looking for them, pointing at iridescent blue-and-yellow-striped fish in one of the tanks. Jack bent over to approximate her height and silently mimicked the fish, opening and closing his mouth. She laughed and clapped her hand over it. He fluttered his long arms behind him as though they were fins and “swam” past Germaine, who was in giggles at his antics.

L
ATER, AS THEY PARTED,
Jack bowed and kissed Germaine’s hand as he always did when saying good-bye, and held the door of the Beetle for her. She threw her arms around him in a burst of affection. He closed his eyes, patting the back of the sweet, gawky little girl in glasses and pigtails who had won his heart. Then he made his fish face, and she swatted his arm.

T
HEY PULLED UP TO THE
pink palace in the waning daylight. Mr. Friedman’s car was gone. When Mercedes unlocked the front door, Saturday’s mail lay on the floor inside, beneath the mail slot, as usual. But something was terribly wrong with the desk. All of its drawers were either standing open or overturned on the floor, with their contents scattered everywhere. Letters were removed from envelopes, photos and desk supplies were strewn all over the floor. Germaine clutched her mother’s arm. Mercedes scanned the room. The TV was missing. A lamp was gone. The Venetian blinds were bent and the windows were still locked from the inside. She signaled to Germaine to remain silent as they crept into the kitchen, listening for any sound from the back of the house.

The kitchen drawers were all open. Mercedes went immediately to the drawer where she had kept her grandmother’s silver. The drawer was empty. Food remnants were on the counter and the table; an empty milk carton sat on top of the refrigerator. All the kitchen knives were missing. The cooking sherry and her only bottle of wine were gone, too.

They walked together into Mercedes’s room, which looked as though it had been hit by a storm. All of her underwear had been taken out of the drawer and scattered across her now-rumpled bed. Each pair of panties and every bra had been handled by a stranger.
She winced. Her small jewelry box was missing and the dresser drawers were all open, thoroughly rifled.

She remained silent, on high alert. Her bedroom windows were still locked. The closet door was open, its contents ransacked, hangers and clothes dumped on the floor, her other purse turned inside out. Only one item remained undisturbed: the basket from Senegal.

Together they walked back through the kitchen toward Germaine’s room, where a window was wide open. A screen had been forced off and the curtains fluttered in the breeze. The closet door was open, but nothing seemed to be missing. Her little single bed looked untouched, along with her toys and schoolbooks. The beautiful new globe still sat on a small desk.

In the bathroom, the toilet seat was up. Urine ran down the front of the bowl and onto the floor. One of Mercedes’s lipsticks lay uncapped beside the sink. “BICH!” was scrawled in pink letters covering the mirror. The towels were rumpled and the shower curtain had been thrown back. Dirt was tracked in throughout the house.

When they were certain no one was lurking anywhere inside, Mercedes carefully closed and locked Germaine’s window, taking precautions not to disturb any fingerprints. The back door was unlocked, so they looked outside. There were muddy footprints under Germaine’s window.

Mercedes turned on the wall heater, phoned the police, and sat down on a kitchen chair. Germaine curled up in her lap and remained there while they waited. The front doorbell rang. Mercedes felt queasy recalling the last time two policemen had stood at her door.

The officers walked all through the house and dusted for fingerprints. They sat with mother and daughter in the living room and made a list of all the items Mercedes could identify as missing. There
was little hope of retrieving the stolen property, they said, and the officers were surprised the house had not been burglarized before. There were no security bars, no alarm system, or menacing dog to protect it. They assured Mercedes they would check the pawn shops, but it was a low-priority crime.

Feeling dejected, they began putting their things back in order. Mercedes felt as though she’d been kicked in the stomach. She was repulsed by the thought of strangers in their house, eating their food, fouling their bathroom, playing with her underwear, leaving profanity on her mirror—as if
that
were really necessary to make the point.

Germaine went back to her room. The window sills were now blackened with the powder used to dust for fingerprints. It gave her the creeps to think of unknown men breaking into her private space. She went to help Mercedes put the desk back in order.

“I guess they were hoping to find money in these old letters,” Mercedes muttered.

“Mom, aren’t you going to call Jack?”

“Not right now. This is our business and something we have to take care of. Jack loves us, but we must always stand on our own feet. Nothing truly valuable can be stolen. The real things are inside here,” she said, lightly tapping Germaine’s heart. The girl grasped her mother’s meaning; but while some things could never be stolen, it also seemed true that other things could never be repaired.