The Tolling of Mercedes Bell: A Novel (24 page)

He was in a thick black chenille robe tied at the waist, barefoot, his hair disheveled, his five-o’clock shadow tolling midnight and sprinkled with silver. Mercedes drank in the sight of him, the real Jack, as no one ever saw him in the outside world. He stood in front of the open refrigerator and began pulling out things to eat. She retrieved a water glass from one of the kitchen cabinets and filled it from the dispenser on the refrigerator door. She guzzled the glass in two gulps.

He watched her, raised an eyebrow, and shook his head. “I’m not surprised you’re that thirsty. You should have warned me.”

“Some things are best kept to oneself,” she said. She raised one foot and pressed it against the opposite knee, stork fashion, and leaned against the counter where food was accumulating.

“That they are, Mrs. Skunk.”

She looked at her ring again and spread her hand out on the counter. “I can’t imagine I’ll ever get used to seeing this on my finger.”

He brought over the last food items, put them on the counter, and looked at Mercedes. He lifted her left hand, kissed the fingertips, and sucked on her index finger.

“May it always remind us of this night.”

He washed his hands, got down a gold-rimmed plate, and began arranging food on it—cheeses, olives, crackers, dried figs, and prosciutto.

He poured wine and led her out to the living room to sit on the leather couch. He lit a fire in the fireplace, put on Miles Davis’s
Kind of Blue
album and sat down next to her. She snuggled into the deep cushions and pulled her bare legs up beneath her. He covered her with an afghan and popped an olive into her mouth. He wrapped a piece of prosciutto around a dried fig and a piece of cheese and put the bundle on her thigh, then took a drink of wine. The fire crackled in the dark room. The city lights glimmered in the rain, and the light from the fire flickered. The rain increased in intensity on the deck outside the glass doors. They sat silently, basking in the glow.

After a while, sated with wine and food, Jack put his arm around her and unbuttoned the striped shirt, exposing her breasts. He bent over and kissed a nipple, then her mouth. She held his head in her hands.

“I will never ever get enough of you,” he said.

“Nor I of you.”

He scooped her into his arms and carried her back to bed, where he lay her down gently and took off his robe.

L
ATER, DEEP IN THE NIGHT,
they lay awake in each other’s arms. Her ear was pressed against his heart, listening to the rhythmical sound of the great pump circulating her beloved’s blood. He collected and smoothed her voluminous mane.

“We could elope, you know.” His deep voice reverberated in her ear.

“I thought you wanted a snazzy wedding and a grand party to celebrate the loss of your virginity,” she teased.

“It’s about a quarter century too late for that, I’m afraid. I just want you, from this day forward, until death us do part—Mrs. Soutane. Doesn’t that have a lovely sound?” He caressed her behind and with an index finger stroked the hollow at the base of her spine.

“Actually, I’m rather attached to my own name,” she said quietly. “I’ve been carrying it around for an awfully long time.”

“You don’t want to take my name?”

“It’s not that I don’t
want
your name. It’s that I already have one. My identity isn’t going to change, is it?”

He said nothing.

“Why don’t you change yours to Mr. Bell?” she asked with a laugh.

“Too risky,” he replied. “Your mother might get confused and move in with us, and then I would starve to death, because she’d eat all the food off my plate.”

Mercedes laughed out loud.

“Eloping would eliminate the Eleanor factor in the wedding,” she added.

“But Philip couldn’t walk you down the aisle, and Germaine would miss out on all the pageantry. We can’t deprive her of that.”

“Perhaps you forget that I eloped once already. It didn’t work out so well.” She fingered the sapphire engagement ring and then ran her hand across the silken pelt on his chest.

“I wouldn’t say that, my love. It’s worked out very well for me,” he replied. “Everything happens for a reason.”

He rolled her over onto her back and lay lightly on top of her, supporting his upper body on his elbows. He kissed her tenderly,
nuzzling her neck and rejoicing in the unquenchable harmony of their bodies, something very new to him.

She luxuriated in the great warmth of him from the top of her head to her toes. They fell asleep listening to the rain streaming down the windowpanes.

L
ATE THE NEXT MORNING,
Mercedes went into the kitchen to make coffee. Jack brought in the Sunday paper and started filling the bathtub. He brought the roses in from the bedroom and placed them on the marble ledge beside the tub. He sprinkled turquoise bath salts and the petals of a rose into the water. He put Mercedes’s black lace bra on Athena and draped her blue sweater over the goddess’s shoulders. Mercedes brought in a tray holding coffee mugs and warmed scones. Jack took it from her and set it on the ledge. Mercedes noticed Athena and burst out laughing. Then she took one of the roses and placed it at the goddess’s feet.

They slid into the tub facing each other, their legs stretched out. Mercedes lay back and stared at the coral ceiling and the white crown molding all around it. Jack lay back and took in the sight of Mercedes’s face and shoulders and long bejeweled hand holding her coffee mug. They drank and let the beautiful hot water work its magic. He put a hot washcloth over his face and rested his head against the rim of the tub. After a few moments of silence he peeked out, like a snake coming out from beneath a rock, and took another sip of coffee. Mercedes laughed. He put the washcloth back on his head and tickled her ribs with his toe. They drank the coffee slowly and listened to the rain.

“We’re in heaven right now,” she said.

“We are,” he said, “with a goddess standing watch.”

T
he office holiday party was the following Saturday evening at the club where they had hosted the luncheon for Rand Taylor just fourteen months earlier. The Doric columns surrounding the white stone building were lit from below by red and green floodlights, visible from several blocks away. Mercedes thought of the first time she’d been driven there, sitting in the rear seat of Darrel’s car, and how Emerson, next to her, leaned forward like a Doberman on high alert, staring at the back of Stuart’s head.

Jack was coming down with a cold and coughed into his handkerchief. In spite of this, he was in an exultant mood, resplendent in his tuxedo. Her left hand, heavy with the sapphire and diamond ring to be seen in public for the first time, rested on his taut thigh as he downshifted.

After leaving his car with the valet, Jack draped his arm lightly around the back of Mercedes’s evening coat as they walked through the lobby. In the elevator, he admired his fiancée’s profile, her long neck, and the smooth chignon into which she had coaxed her hair.
They made their entrance. Mercedes stepped out of her coat in the emerald satin gown he’d bought her, dazzling and enchanted like Cinderella at the ball.

A towering noble fir decorated with globes of colored glass and hundreds of tiny lights stood in the center of the circular room. She gazed upward at the angels painted on the high domed ceiling. She remembered Jack helping her into her tattered raincoat that first fateful day and freeing her long braid an inch at a time.

Darrel and his partners, John Slayne and Peter McDonough, stood together in a receiving line. Their wives stood beside them, all brunettes, about the same height and all in lovely holiday gowns of purple, gold, and cranberry red.

McDonough was a silver-haired gentleman, rather like Philip Bell. He was lean, and taller than his partners by a few inches; a temperate, circumspect man who listened more than he spoke. This evening he wore a red-and-white-striped stocking cap on his head. He clasped Mercedes’s hand and greeted Jack warmly.

Darrel had donned an elf’s hat and had pinned a sprig of mistletoe on his lapel. When Jack and Mercedes approached, he kissed his paralegal on the cheek. “I’m glad to see you’re making an honest man of Jack,” he told her quietly. “Somebody had to do it.”

“That’s easy for
you
to say,” Jack replied.

Simone and Lindsay spied Mercedes from across the room. They hurried over to hug her, grasped her hand to inspect her ring, then gasped and embraced her again.

“Tonight must be the night,” Caroline said from over Mercedes’s shoulder.

On a nod, Darrel, his wife Marguerite, Jack, and Mercedes moved toward the softly lit dining area. Darrel and Jack selected seats with Mercedes between them. Oohs and ahs could be heard as people took their seats. Each table was covered by a white tablecloth, with
glitter and sequins and a multitude of votive candles in small red glasses. The centerpieces were tall pedestaled vases of evergreen boughs decorated with tiny lights and holly stems. Beside each plate was a box of Belgian chocolates wrapped in gold paper.

The table decorations created a magical effect in the low light. It was as if everyone were sitting in a forest with starlight twinkling overhead, surrounded by sparkling snow. Mercedes placed her left hand on the table beside Darrel and looked at him with the eyes of a child on Christmas morning. He spied her hand and did a double take.

“Don’t let Marguerite see that thing, whatever you do,” he whispered to Mercedes. “And I hope you plan to stay on at the firm after you marry.”

“Of course I do. You rescued me, remember?”

“You rescued yourself. I’m glad things worked out.”

Mercedes looked across at the table where Emerson was seated with Stuart and his wife. Emerson was staring across at them, but averted his eyes the instant Mercedes noticed. He picked up his steak knife and slit the roast beef on his plate with more vigor than necessary, carved off a hunk, and shoved it gracelessly into his mouth. Jack, behind his cupped hand, nibbled Mercedes’s ear.

Darrel glanced at them happily, and kissed his wife’s cheek.

After dishes were cleared from the main course, Jack rose to his feet. There was no need to signal for attention. His voice, even deeper than usual due to his cold, carried easily.

“Friends, this has truly been the most wonderful year of my life. When I went to Africa last year, for some reason I couldn’t get Mercedes off my mind, although I barely knew her. So when I got back, I asked her to go to lunch with me. The more I got to know her, the more I wanted to know. I discovered what an interesting, multi-faceted, capable person she is and also what a great mother she is. Many of you have met her daughter, Germaine, so you know what I
mean. I was smitten, to say the least. I am the most fortunate man tonight, because Mercedes has graciously agreed to marry me.”

Jack raised her hand in the air while everyone applauded and cheered. He encouraged her upward, and she stood. She saw Caroline, who was radiant. Stuart had his arm around his wife and squeezed her shoulder. Melanie wiped a tear from her eye. Florida, just across the table, nodded with approval. Emerson grew pale and turned away.

Darrel stood and raised his glass. “To Jack and Mercedes, all the happiness in the world. It is well deserved.” Darrel touched his glass to Mercedes’s.

After the toasts, Darrel gestured toward a large stack of envelopes on the table in front of him. “In recognition of this very profitable year, Peter, John, and I will be bringing each of you your bonus check.”

He cast a sardonic grin at Jack and said under his breath, “You don’t get one. You’ve already received far more than you deserve.”

Mercedes caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. She was startled to see Emerson bolt from his chair, which he left in a waiter’s path, and abruptly exit the room. She exchanged a questioning expression with Caroline, who shrugged in surprise. The partners, acting as though nothing were amiss, fanned out among the tables, handing each person an envelope and thanking them for their service.

“H
OW EXACTLY DOES ALL THAT
hair go up so neatly?” Jack asked as he unlocked the door of his apartment. “I’ve been wondering all night. It must come down like a waterfall.” He pulled out one hair pin, then another. Soon a cascade of hair tumbled into his hands. He pulled her toward him.

“How do you feel being officially engaged?” she asked.

“Like a king.” He kissed her neck. “It went off perfectly. I couldn’t have asked for a better night.”

“Did you see Emerson leave?”

“I did.”

“He seemed almost offended.”

“We all have our baggage, Bella. Right now I’m very interested in unwrapping the beautiful package in front of me.” He slowly unzipped her dress and slid it off her shoulders to kiss them.

“Did we do something to upset him?” she asked as he unfastened her bra and stroked the length of her spine.

“I doubt it. Some people just can’t tolerate very much happiness.”

She revolved to face him. “Can you?” She turned up his collar and unfastened his bow tie.