by Lisa Rusczyk
PARKER
Parker watched Cleo drop her fork into a Chinese food carton. She said, “I am feeling so sleepy from the wine and food. Would you mind if I just…?” She pointed behind her at the living room. “A little nap on the couch and I’ll be okay.”
Parker’s head was swimmy from the drink, as well. He could use a break. “Sure, go ahead.”
“You should put this food away, or Jack will get into it.”
She was off-balance getting up from the table, but she made it to the couch. Parker sighed and put the leftovers in the fridge. He went into his bedroom and picked up a book. He figured it would take at least a half hour for Cleo to fall into a deep sleep, then he could take the Dean’s advice and go through the few belongings Cleo had.
He skimmed over the pages of the thriller in his hands, glancing over at his alarm clock every few minutes. The book’s contents didn’t seem thrilling at all, after the day he had, and the prospect of going through Cleo’s clothes without getting caught was making him edgy.
When the cat hopped on his bed without a sound, Parker jumped and dropped the book on the floor. He groaned and gave the cat an evil eye, then pushed it off of the bed. It jumped back up anyway and dashed to the other side of the mattress, out of Parker’s reach.
Parker heard the thing start purring as he grabbed his book off the floor.
“Cat,” he muttered, settling back into his position as though he were a feudal lord allowing a peasant to loiter on his grounds.
He waited an hour. Then another fifteen minutes. He went to the end of the hallway as silently as he could and peeked around the edge of the doorway to the living room. Cleo was lying on her side with her back to him. He listened, but didn’t hear anything. He decided she had to be asleep, and walked into his second bedroom. Her clothes were in a pile on the floor at the foot of the bed. He crouched down and stopped, listening once more. Nothing.
He pulled apart the sweaters and wrinkled his nose at the smell coming from the clothes. It was like gym sweat and rotten milk. He didn’t see anything in the shirts, so he pulled out a pair of blue shorts she must have been wearing under her skirt. He felt in the pockets, and in one found a small brass house key. He fiddled with it, wondering what door it opened. He put it back in the pocket.
He picked up her skirt and something heavy fell out from the folds and plopped on the floor. It was a zip lock bag full of amber fluid. Puzzled, he picked it up and turned it over in his hands. Balancing it carefully so as not to spill any of it, he pried open the bag and was hit by the strong scent of whiskey. So, he thought, that’s what happened to the rest of my drink.
The phone in the kitchen started ringing. Parker almost dropped the bag in surprise.
He cursed, and quickly sealed the bag, stashing it back under Cleo’s skirt. He rumpled up the clothes and dashed to the doorway. He heard Cleo say from the living room, “What is that ringing? Don’t they know it is the middle of the night?”
Parker called out to her, “Go back to sleep, I’ll get it.”
He was covered in a light sweat when he reached the receiver. In a quiet voice, he said, “Hello?”
“Parker, got your magazine today.” It was his father.
“Hi, Dad.”
“Why are you whispering?”
Parker speed-walked back to his bedroom and shut the door. Talking normally, he said, “Oh, was just taking a nap, sorry about that.”
“A nap at six at night? You might as well just go to bed, or else you’ll be up until three in the morning.”
“I’m okay now, was just dozing.”
“Well, okay, then. Just wanted to say I really liked that article, but you weren’t very nice to that poor woman.”
“I know, Dad, that’s why I wrote the article.”
“You should have tried to get her some help. People like that are just asking for help.”
“I know. I was being thoughtless.”
“What would your mother say if she were alive and knew you were going into strange alleys and getting mugged? Does your job really require you to take those kinds of risks?”
Parker rubbed his closed eyes. “I’ll be more careful in the future.”
“You said that last time something like this happened. Seriously. You have to be more careful.”
“I will.”
There was a pause, then his dad said, “But it was very well-written. I have to admit, I’d be curious to read what this woman’s story is if you find her.”
Parker kept his eyes closed. “Yeah.”
Then there was a howling in the room and Parker’s opened his eyes, spotting the cat at the closed door. It yowled again and pawed at the door, looking back at Parker. It must have followed him inside.
His dad said, “What is that sound? You have an animal in there?”
“Yeah, just this stray cat.” He opened the door and the cat dashed out as though escaping a pit of hell.
“A stray? You get its shots? Those things carry disease, you know.”
“Yeah, I’m getting its shots this week.”
“I never knew you to have a pet. What made you get this cat?”
“Well, it’s freezing here in the city and I felt sorry for it.”
“That’s a nice thing to do. Just make sure you get those shots.”
“I will.”
“Okay, then. How is everything else going?”
“Good, Dad. Really good.”
“Good. You take care of yourself, now. Okay?”
“Okay, you too.”
“Talk to you later.”
“Bye.”
It was the usual five-second conversation with his dad that he always had every couple of weeks. Since Parker’s mother had died, his father had become more critical and distant than he used to be. Parker sighed deeply, realizing he had been barely breathing throughout the conversation. He felt lucky that he hadn’t gotten caught going through Cleo’s clothes, and wondered again about the house key. Did Cleo actually have a home?
He pondered over the story Cleo was telling him. That her mother was mentally ill made Parker’s eyebrows rise.
He decided not to think too much about it all until he had heard everything she had to say. He tried to read again and once nine o’clock came, he had a pounding headache from the wine. He got a glass of water from the kitchen, sipped, and then peeked in at Cleo. She was still sleeping in the same position.
He went to her and tapped her shoulder. “Cleo, go lie down in your bed.”
She mumbled, “Fine here, reporter.”
“Your back will hurt in the morning.”
She rolled over and slowly stood up, head down and hair falling so that Parker couldn’t see her face. She shuffled to the second bedroom and dragged the covers over her as she dropped into bed.
Parker went back to his own bedroom and spotted the cat crouched in the corner on some torn paper near the window. It wasn’t nearly enough to catch the cat’s waste. “Cat!” he hissed, and grabbed it up before it could poop all over his wood floor. The little thing twisted in his grasp, oddly purring. Parker carried it into the living room where Cleo had left a pile of shredded magazine in the corner, but it was soggy and filled with small droplets of feces. He put the cat down and said, “Just wait, hold on a second.”
He got a wad of toilet paper from the bathroom and quickly ripped it up, replacing the disgusting magazine pages and throwing them in the kitchen trash. On returning to the living room, he saw the cat sniffing at the toilet paper like it was full of wonders. “Go ahead,” Parker said to it. “Do your thing there.”
He was surprised that the cat tentatively walked over the toilet paper, testing its footing with each little paw step, still sniffing all the while. It looked up at Parker and hummed a simple, quiet sound, as if to say, “Privacy, please?”
Parker went back to the kitchen and washed his hands a few times, feeling dirty from handling the soiled magazine pages. His head hurt more now, and he gulped down the glass of water he had
left sitting on the counter. He got some aspirin from a cabinet and took a couple with another full glass of water, then looked in the corner of the living room at the toilet paper. The cat had done its business, and Parker scooped it up, muttering curses as the smell hit him. He flushed it, washed his hands again, though they had not gotten dirty, and put more toilet paper in the corner.
“Mah.”
The cat was standing next to him, watching with great interest.
“What do you want now, Jack?” He drew out the cat’s given name sarcastically.
The cat held up its tail and walked to the kitchen.
“Oh, food. Right.” Parker retrieved the rest of the tuna from the fridge and put it on the floor for the cat, who ate at once as though it was his first meal the whole time he had been in the apartment. It surprised Parker that he felt a little bit of satisfaction in seeing the skinny gray chow down so heartily, that he had provided the stray with another day of life, a good life, even. It was similar to the feeling he’d had earlier; he felt like a master being kind to a lowly servant.
He fell asleep within minutes of putting his head on the pillow, and did not dream.The next morning he showered, shaved and met Cleo in the kitchen. She pointed at the mostly full coffee pot. “I made a brew. I hope you like cinnamon. I like to sprinkle a little over the grounds.”
The coffee tasted interesting, Parker thought, and he looked for signs of a hangover in the early bird sitting across from him at the table. She seemed to be fine. Parker’s headache, however, had continued. He told her, “I have to go into work. Feel free to stay here, if you want.”
She rubbed the rim of her coffee mug. “So you want to hear the rest, after all I have told you? Not getting bored?”
“Not at all.” He stood up and got some money out of a drawer, wondering if she had already known where he kept his cash, if she had gone through everything he owned at this point. “Take this and get a litter box. There’s a grocery down the street on the corner.” He paused, and then grabbed a few more bills. “And get some food for yourself and the cat.”
She took the money and put it in the pocket of her jeans…or rather, Parker’s jeans that she had put back on. “Jack has really taken to you. He was asleep on your bed when I woke up and peeked in at you.” She waved a hand. “Don’t worry, I was just looking for Jack. I’m not a weirdo who watches people sleep.” She sipped her coffee. “You know, sleep is a very vulnerable state to be in. Nikki told me that once. He said he thought that might be why I never sleep past dawn, that subconsciously I keep myself safe by being awake before anyone else is.”
Parker chugged down the last of his coffee. “Then why does that cat sleep all the time?”
Cleo smiled. “He feels safe here, of course. Why are you in such a hurry? You barely tasted that coffee.”
“I’ll be late.” He wouldn’t be, but he didn’t feel like arguing about his personal habits with her. He liked to keep a fast pace; it kept his mind sharp.
“Okay, off you go then. When will you be back?”
“Don’t know. Sometime in the afternoon. I’ll tell my boss I have some investigating to do for my next piece and I’ll be home earlier than usual.” The Dean would probably push him out the door as soon as he got there when he heard Parker didn’t have the homeless woman’s full story yet, but Parker had to get some writing done for the next issue. It would be a little fluff piece, but that is all he had time for, and he needed a breather.
Surprisingly, the Dean didn’t disturb Parker’s morning routine until close to noon, when he knocked on Parker’s door and came inside his office with a worried look on his face. “That Belle’s here, Parker. Says she won’t leave till you talk to her.”
Parker sighed and leaned back in his chair.
The Dean continued. “Kathy told her you weren’t here, but this lady says she’ll stay till tomorrow, till forever until you talk to her.”
Parker stood up and put his computer to sleep. “I guess I better see her, then.”
The Dean lowered his voice. “You still got Cleo at your house?”
“Yeah, I don’t have the full story yet.”
“What are you doing here, then?” He looked at the ceiling and held out his hands like the sprinkler system had turned on. “You have to get the rest. This story’s gonna grab people. It’ll be a hit for you.”
“It’s not like I can get out of the office without this Belle woman seeing me.”
The Dean hummed a sour note. “She might not know what you look like.”
“I think if she’s this persistent, she’s probably found that out from the Internet or something.”
“That Internet, no privacy for anyone anymore. But good for us, right?”
Parker put his hands on his hips. “I’ll spend just a few minutes with her. See what she has to say.”
His boss shrugged his thin shoulders. “I’ll show her in.” He left the door open on his way out and unfortunately Fred took the opportunity to fill out the doorway with a smirk on his face.
“Townes, you got a stalker, looks like.” His lips curled up on one side like half his mouth was just dying to add something more derogatory.
“Hey, Fred. Nothing like that. She thinks she knows the homeless woman I wrote about.”
Fred leaned on the doorframe. “The one that’s got network attention? I don’t know how you do it.”
Parker knew he was being egged on, but he couldn’t help but ask, “What do you mean?”
“You took an experience that was just a little out of the ordinary and made it an overnight success piece. Kudos to you.”
Parker acted like he hadn’t noticed the sarcasm. He knew it would irritate Fred. “Thanks. Well, you know. I try.” He gave Fred an aw-shucks smile. Fred’s smug face unsettled for a moment, angry that he had missed his mark, that Parker wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction.
Fred glanced to his right and waved at Parker. “Looks like your vying visitor is here.” He left without another look.
The Dean escorted a beautiful young woman into Parker’s office. She had a lean build and dark brown, wavy hair that seemed to have that curls-tamed look that many women try to do to naturally curly hair. Parker thought it was a shame that women did this; he thought Missy’s natural ringlets were adorable and sexy at the same time. But it was Belle’s eyes that really caught his attention. They were Cleo’s, no doubt about it. The same brilliant blue jay color and curly eyelashes frame that he had been looking at for three days. He held out his hand to her, trying to hide his recognition. He didn’t want to give anything away until he had heard the rest of Cleo’s story. After all, he hadn’t heard why Cleo had abandoned the child and now lived on the streets. As he lightly shook hands with Belle, he remembered the house key he had found in Cleo’s shorts and questioned it once again.
He put the thought aside as he said, “So you’re Belle, the one who won’t leave.”
Behind her, the Dean passed a hand over his mouth to hide a grin. He said, “I’ll leave you two alone.” This time, he closed the door behind him.
Belle sat in the chair across from Parker’s desk, crossing her legs, then uncrossing them. She seemed to not know what to do or say now that she had the chance. Parker felt a little pity for the young woman and opened the conversation just to put her at ease.
“Didn’t mean to unsettle you with that comment about not going away. It is pretty unusual to have a situation like this.”
“Yes, I imagine it is.” Her voice was girlish, high-pitched, a little scratchy. It didn’t match the fancy cream-colored pantsuit she was wearing. “Sorry to come off so pushy, but I’m sure you have met my mother.”
“How did you pick up the story so fast?”
“I’m a regular reader of your magazine. I love magazine articles. My father says I got that from my mother, that she was always reading magazines. Umm…” She seemed to lose her train of thought.
Parker broke the uncomfortable silence. “If it was
your mother I met, why do you think talking to me would help anything?”
She leaned forward, crossing her legs again. “I don’t know this city. I’m from Philadelphia, caught the first plane I could get once I read about her. I figure you could maybe show me where you live. She must be somewhere in that area. I could go looking for her.”
“Well, if you read the article, you can see she is almost impossible to track down.”
“Well, yes.” She looked away from him and rubbed her manicured hands together. “But maybe if word got around that her daughter was looking for her, then she might, I don’t know, make an appearance.”
Parker couldn’t imagine this china-delicate woman trolling the streets and asking all the wrong questions and ending up mugged like he had. He shook his head. “Listen, I don’t know if this Cleo is your Cleo. Why don’t you give me your number and I’ll call you if I learn anything more.”
Her eyebrows crushed together in frustration and she gave him a pleading look. “But you must know more than what you wrote. You can’t write every little thing in a magazine article. Isn’t there some detail, some little thing you could tell me so that I could find her?”
He felt guilt tug at him, knowing he could say, “Well, she’s at my apartment house-training a stray cat right now. Want to come over and say hello?” Instead, he told her, “I’ll give it some thought, see if I can remember anything else.” He paused, curiosity making him ask one little question. “What does your father think of all this?”
Belle covered her lips with a fingertip. “I haven’t told him anything about it.”
“Why not?”
She lowered her hand and said, “It hurt him so much when she left. You know, he’s never married again. He says he’s still married to her. Never even dated. She was – is the only one for him.”
Parker could see that it wasn’t just a daughter’s desire to reunite with a lost mother driving Belle. She wanted answers for her father, as well.
One more question, Parker thought, then he should drop it in case she got suspicious. “What’s his name?”
Unfortunately, her eyes narrowed, catching on that something wasn’t being said. “Why? Did she say something about him?”
“Not at all,” he lied. “I’m just curious. As you must have been able to tell from my article, I’m very interested in her and where she came from, why she lives on the street.”
She relaxed back into the chair, but seemed deflated, her second-long hope balloon popped. “Dad’s name is Cecil Huntington. She just left, you see. I don’t know why, and neither does he. All we got was a letter in the mail and it didn’t make much sense.”
“What did it say?”
“She had a mission, it said, and she had to go through with it. Then she said she would know if her mission changed. Dad never explained it to me, what he thought it meant. I was just a kid. I only remember her being happy.”
Silence, then Parker told her, “I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”
She stood up, digging through her purse. “Here’s my business card. I’ll write down the name of the hotel I’m staying at and my room number and you can call me if you think of anything else. I’ll be here for a week, looking around.” She scribbled on the back of the card and handed it to him. “Thanks for actually seeing me. You have no idea how much it means to me to know she is alive.”
“No problem.” He stood and walked her to the door. She smiled up at him and left.
The Dean was in Parker’s office within minutes of her leaving, as though he had been spying on the closed door the whole time. “So? What she say?”
Parker closed his door and leaned on his desk. “I think it really is Cleo’s kid. She looks a lot like her, and she’s from the city Cleo says she’s from. And the father has the same first name as the man Cleo said she was married to. Cleo never told me her last name, but now I have one. At least now I can do an Internet search, but I doubt much will come up.”
“Interesting, interesting. But now you go home and get the rest. Don’t come back till you do.”
“I don’t have a computer in my house. I need the Internet to try to figure a few things out.”
“Give me the name. I’ll snoop, call me later when you get a private moment. But you, go.” He opened the door and pointed to the hallway.
Parker smiled. “Okay, okay, Boss.” He told the Dean Cecil’s last name.
When he entered his apartment thirty minutes later, he was hit by the sweet smell of cornbread cooking in his oven. The cat rushed to greet him as though Parker had been gone for weeks.
“Mah. Maaaahhh!” The gray rubbed his cheeks on Parker’s shoes. Parker thought it was gross that an animal would want to do such an unsanitary thing and get shoe muck all over its face.
“Smells delicious, Cleo,” he called out, tripping his way over the cat to the kitchen. Cleo was sitting at the table reading one of Parker’s magazines. She held up a finger, finished a sentence, and looked up at him with a bright smile. He couldn’t help but think about Belle and was glad people couldn’t read each other’s minds.
“One good thing I learned to cook. I’m also baking a quiche. I hope you like sausage.”
“Love it. When will it be ready?”
Cleo glanced at the microwave timer. “You made it right on time. It will be ready in a couple of minutes. Boss let you off early, I see.”
“Yep.” Parker sat across from her and examined the magazine. “That was from my first year at work for them.”
“You were a good reporter from the start, I can see. I have been checking out all of your early articles. Your writing voice is different than your in-person voice. But I imagine all those kin with the written word are like that, you think?”
“Maybe. The people I know at the magazine don’t talk like they write.”
“It has to do with having time to think about what you are going to say, I believe. Wouldn’t we all like to have several minutes to work out even the slightest utterances?”
“Cleo, just curious.” He didn’t want to arouse suspicions again, but Belle was in the front of his mind. “Did you have any other children?”
She smiled and closed the magazine. “You are jumping ahead in my story. You have to wait and hear it all out.”
“I’m just really curious.”
She brushed her long hair off her shoulders. “It wouldn’t hurt to tell you that Angelica was my only child.”
Parker guessed that Cleo must have made up the name for some reason. She hadn’t made up Cecil’s or her own. Or, Parker thought, it was possible that Belle was Barbie’s child or some other relative claiming to be Cleo’s daughter. He couldn’t figure out why Belle would do that, though.
The timer beeped, demanding that they eat. Cleo took the quiche and cornbread out of the oven and told him they needed to cool. “Meanwhile,” she said, “Shall we continue?”
Parker folded his hands on the table. “By all means.”
Cleo paused, looking at the kitchen pantry door. “It seems fitting that we continue with a drink, if you don’t mind. We really should keep the mood.”
The idea of another wine-filled day made Parker’s head pound a few times, but he knew it would make her more open in her storytelling. “I’ll open another bottle.”
After they had plates of egg pie and cornbread and two pungent glasses of wine before them, Cleo began speaking once more of her past.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
