by Robyn Carr
Love,
Louise
* * *
There was a knock at Jennifer’s door in the evening. It wasn’t very late, but it was already dark and she had been yawning her way through a pretty good book. The old-fashioned house in an old and remarkably safe neighborhood meant there was no peephole. Alice went directly to the door, sniffed at the crack and wagged.
It was Hedda and her little brother, Joey. Just the sight of them scared Jennifer a little. Sylvia at her worst came instantly to mind, and she assumed they needed rescuing again. She tried to stay even, not show any alarm. “Hey,” she said. “What’s up?”
“I’m sorry to bother you,” she said, tears in her voice.
“I told you—anytime. Tell me.”
“I need help.”
Jennifer swung the door wide. “Come in, come in. What is it, kiddo?”
“Advanced algebra,” she said. “I thought by now I’d get it, but I’m lost.”
Jennifer’s expression registered her panic, even if she was relieved to know Hedda wasn’t trying to escape some crisis at home. But advanced algebra? With all the drama that had surrounded her life lately, algebra should be good news. “I’m not sure you came to the right place. I don’t even remember having algebra, much less advanced. What about your boyfriend?”
“Max? Forget it,” she said. “He’s a great guy, but I don’t like his chances at veterinary college.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Up till now, I’ve been helping him.”
“Alice!” Joey announced, yanking out of Hedda’s grip and rushing toward the dog. He flopped down on the floor and began gently stroking her head, which she answered with grateful licks.
“Well, that takes care of him,” Jennifer said. “Let’s get a Coke and take a look at the book,” she invited. “I’ll see what I can do, but I warn you, it looks bleak.”
Joey rolled around on the floor with Alice while Jennifer and Hedda sat at the dining room table. They started out with Hedda explaining the parts she did understand, but the only reaction Jennifer had was “This isn’t even about numbers!” Indeed, it was about trains leaving their stations and moving toward each other at varying speeds and when would they meet. Three apples and two oranges is six dollars, one apple and two oranges is four dollars, how much is an apple? “Oh, my God,” Jennifer moaned. “I’d just pay the freaking six dollars!”
Then there were triangles and rectangles. “I get that,” Hedda said. “But these trains, barges and buildings are killing me.”
Within about thirty minutes, Jennifer was starting to catch on, but it was clearly going to take all night for her to learn the basics, and she’d probably never be of any help. She went to the list of names and numbers Louise had left her and placed a call to Alex, her best bet. But of course he wasn’t home. That would be too easy. So she left him a message asking if he could help with algebra. Then she called Rose, and though Rose didn’t have the first idea, she came straight over to see what the challenge was.
“Ptui,” she said. “This can’t be a good way to train a young woman’s mind. It looks like gibberish to me.”
“Here’s what I get so far,” Hedda began again, deciphering the problem so far, assigning letters to the unknown numbers.
Jennifer went to the living room, where she lifted a sleepy Joey onto the couch, told him to go ahead and close his eyes, and covered him with a throw. Just as she was returning to the table, there was a knock at the door. Alex.
“Any chance you know algebra?” she asked.
“Well, I used to,” he said.
“Advanced?”
“Now, there you’re getting into murky territory. But I’ll have a look.”
It turned out his memory of algebra wasn’t exactly fresh, but his resourcefulness was greatly improved since his algebra days. He went to Louise’s computer, looked up www.algebra.com. In one short hour he had not only gotten Hedda through her problems, but had a very good start on getting Rose and Jennifer on board.
It was after ten when Hedda pronounced herself up to speed. Jennifer’s head was on the table, eyes closed. She was not only tired, her brain was taxed.
“I say we celebrate,” Alex suggested. “I’ll go next door and get my tub of rocky road ice cream and then I’ll drive you home.”
“It’s okay,” Hedda said. “I can walk. It’s not that far.”
He stood and went to the door. “It’s too far for tonight. Poke Doris—wake her up and tell her to find bowls.” He was back in what seemed like seconds.
Poor Joey slept through the ice cream and he also slept straight through all the laughter.
Among them they were aged seven, sixteen, thirty, thirty-five and seventy. And, Jennifer realized, this was as close as she’d come to “family” since her mother and grandparents were alive. It felt very, very good.
nine
Jennifer bought four pair of shorts, three sleeveless Ts, a tube top that left her shoulders bare and a basket for the bike. She didn’t think Alex would mind about the basket at all. Then she bought a flat of seedlings. Flowers and vegetables. Pansies, snapdragons, daisies, tomatoes and zucchini. She’d have bought more if she could have gotten them home on the bike, but as it was she had to balance the awkward flat on the handlebars.
Minimum wage plus tips was below poverty level unless you had virtually no expenses. She had her breakfast and lunch at the diner and Alfonso usually forced something on her as she was leaving work—roasted chicken, a thick slice of meat loaf or an enchilada, taking care of her dinner. She paid no rent or utilities, bought very little food, and she was managing to buy only the most essential clothing. With Louise’s monthly stipend as well, Jennifer was actually getting ahead. Not to mention that little stash she had of cash and jewelry.
As much as she might have resented it at the time, Jennifer had learned how to manage on a shoestring early in life. There had been so many times when her mother had been on a mental bender and they’d had practically nothing, or they’d be waiting for help from Grandma and Gramps. If Jennifer couldn’t hold it together there was the threat of a visit from Children and Family Services or the equivalent, depending on the state. There was always a risk of being removed from Cherie’s custody. Jennifer might have been better off had she been taken from her mother, but not so for Cherie. Cherie couldn’t make it without her, and Jennifer had known that since she was in first grade.
Later, after Cherie was gone, attaining a certain amount of personal wealth had become important to Jennifer—as important as security. After just a little while of being a successful mistress she’d amassed a comfortable nest egg. She now imagined the mail piling up in her Fort Lauderdale condo—bank statements, portfolio updates, checks—stuff she couldn’t touch without giving away her current location. Money she’d be willing to walk away from if it meant risking life and limb.
Nick had a key to that condo, of course. She supposed if he was criminal enough to kill his wife, he was certainly not above opening her mail.
In the past few weeks, Jennifer had given a lot of thought to what security really was, and it seemed to have little to do with money or material wealth. It was more about having people in your life you could trust and depend upon. It was about connectedness, comfort, safety.
She could start from scratch if she had to. Jennifer was nothing if not resilient. And now that she had a better idea of what she needed in her life to be happy, truly happy, she felt it was all within reach. All she had to do was finish with that business in Florida so she could put it all behind her.
She thought about Hedda, whose life was completely different from her own yet so much the same, and she hoped beyond hope that the girl wouldn’t have to manage in similar ways as an adult. For all of Hedda’s hard work and optimism, she should at least get a crack at an education, a c
areer.
As she unloaded her flat of flowers—twelve dollars’ worth—Jennifer thought about what she used to spend on waxing, facials, hair, nails and spray tanning alone, not to mention makeup and clothes, and it blew her away. This life was indeed the simple life, and it was this kind of simplicity that allowed her to thoroughly enjoy a flat of flowers. She didn’t even realize how much she had missed that. She’d been longing for it without even knowing. She had become exhausted by the work involved in sheer upkeep.
This was a spring like nothing in her memory! Fort Lauderdale could hint at spring, but the ocean didn’t burst into bloom, and the palm trees did little more than grow dates and dump them, sticky and messy, all over roads and sidewalks.
Boulder City was an oasis in the desert, alive with deep shades of green and blossoms everywhere. The birds had grown loud with their lust and joy, and the sun was now greeting her soon after her rising time of four-thirty. She could remember a spring or two in Ohio when she and Cherie had been at Gram and Gramps’s—bright, glowing springs that filled you up inside and made you want to burst into a run or a song. But with Cherie’s instability always hanging close over their heads, even the joy of spring was subdued. There had been nothing like this.
Jennifer found some old gardening gloves and tools in the garage. Clearly they hadn’t been used in many a year, perhaps decades. The gloves practically disintegrated on touch. Jennifer didn’t need them, really. She wasn’t trying to protect her manicure; she kept her nails short and scrubbed clean. It felt good to dig them into the soft earth.
She planted daisies and pansies along the front of the house. In the backyard she cleared a spot in the corner that would get morning sun and afternoon shade. She rode her bike back to the nursery and loaded up the basket with mulch and potting soil and pedaled back. The weight of the load made riding hard work; she thought of her health club membership with an amused laugh. Hah! She should have discovered biking, gardening and waiting tables years ago!
She created a safe little harbor in the backyard for her tomato plants. Among them she scattered some marigold seeds to keep the bugs away.
Alice sauntered outside through the opened door and flopped down beside Jennifer. “What do you think?” she asked the dog.
“I think it looks good, for a beginner.”
She looked to her right and saw Alex peering over the wall that divided their backyards. He had his forearms on the top of the wall, his chin resting on them. He would have to be standing on a box or something—the wall was easily six feet high.
“Who are you calling a beginner?”
“Well. You. But that’s okay. You need any tips, you know where I am.”
“Yeah—hanging over the wall, spying. What if I’d been a topless gardener?”
His face cracked a roguish grin. “Be still my heart,” he said. “Adolfo asked me to come and get you. Change into something festive. You’re going out with Rose and me.”
“Festive? Me?” She stood up and brushed her hands together to get rid of the dirt. “The most festive thing I have is a pair of jeans. What’s going on?”
“You don’t know what day it is, do you? Haven’t you noticed decorations around town?”
There had been some lanterns strung up around the park; a few plastic flower arrangements here and there. She shrugged.
“What did you think it was?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Spring?”
“Spring is almost over. It’s Cinco de Mayo. The day the Mexicans ran the French and Spanish out of Puebla. Adolfo’s having one of his parties.”
“Oh,” she said. “Gee. Look, I have to get up pretty early and—”
“Don’t even start, Doris. If you don’t go, you’ll be in serious trouble. Go get ready.”
“Hey, Alex, it’s not like he invited me or anything. I didn’t have a chance to RSVP. I can’t just—”
“He wouldn’t have thought of it,” Alex said. “It’s Adolfo and his family and friends. He knows we all know there’s going to be a celebration—it’s not a formal thing. Music, food, drink, dancing. Trust me, you don’t want to miss this.”
She put her hands on her hips. “Look. We sort of talked about this before, without really talking about it, but I—”
“I know. You’re in deep cover. But this is different, Doris. It’s not public. It’s Adolfo’s friends and family—mostly Mexicans from around Boulder City and Henderson. Absolutely no chance anyone you’re avoiding would be there. A million to one chance, anyway. And I’ll protect you.” He smiled. “So, let’s go.”
“But I don’t have party clothes,” she said in frustration.
Alex sighed. “Okay. Alex to the rescue.” And he disappeared.
Jennifer looked at Alice. “How do you put up with him? He’s so annoying.”
Alice had no advice.
Jennifer picked up the empty plastic flats the plants came in, the empty bags from the mulch and potting soil, threw away her trash and went inside to wash her hands. Cinco de Mayo? Who’d have guessed.
There were a quick few taps at the door and it opened to reveal Rose. Or was that Carmen Miranda? She had a multicolored, layered skirt, peasant blouse pulled down off her shoulders, and on her head was a very elaborate fruit bowl. Over one arm she had draped clothes, and in her hand dangled at least three pairs of sandals. “Take these into the bedroom and see if anything will work. Go, go, go. And put on some lipstick or something. This is a party.”
“But...”
“Oh, don’t be difficult. We’re going. We always go to Adolfo’s on Cinco de Mayo. Believe me, you’ll be glad in the end.”
Jennifer showed her hands. “I need a shower.”
“That shouldn’t take long. It’s not as though you have to curl your hair. But please, a little mascara?”
Reluctantly, Jennifer accepted the clothing and went off to her shower. She grumbled as she ran the water and disrobed. She’d clean up, act agreeable, but then she’d have to come up with an excuse of some kind. A sudden bout of flu? Food poisoning? Heat prostration from the gardening? She wasn’t in a partying mood. It had taken a while to get used to the crowds that came into the diner for breakfast on weekends; she had barely become comfortable with the idea that so many people around town seemed to know her already. A party was out of the question.
But she shaved her legs with cream rinse. It was a little trick she’d learned from a stripper years ago—it left your legs so much softer and nicer than with shaving cream or soap. And after she dried off, she lotioned up—the desert, in any season, was hard on the skin. Then, just to appear cooperative, she looked at the clothes.
Hmm. A skirt and blouse, a strappy sundress, a pair of dressy capris and a peasant blouse. These were obviously Rose’s, but they sure weren’t the kind of clothes you’d expect a seventy-year-old woman to be wearing. She donned the sundress. Something snagged at her heart—it was lovely. Sexy and feminine. The straps crossed in the back, which was low. She couldn’t wear a bra, but with her girls right up there on her chest, it worked great without one. Peeking out from the front was an old friend she hadn’t let out in a while, her cleavage.
She leaned toward the mirror. With the sun on her cheeks and shoulders, she looked pretty good. She put on some eyeliner and mascara—no shadow or foundation, but a little darkening on the lids and lashes. She lined her lips with a pale peach liner—something quite old from under Louise’s bathroom sink, and then added some of the lip gloss from the little Kate Spade bag she kept hidden in the backpack.
Look at that, she thought. Not bad. She didn’t look anything like the blond bombshell Jennifer Chaise, but she didn’t exactly hurt the eyes. In fact, she looked years younger than Jennifer Chaise. She had grown to like the freckles and the ordinary-size lips. What had made her think she needed those bee-stung lips, anyway?
&nb
sp; She tried on the sandals. They were about a size smaller than her own, but when she tried a pair of backless mules with a small heel, they worked.
When she went into her living room she found Rose sitting on the chair and Alex standing, a hand braced on the fireplace mantel. She stood before them, all thoughts of bailing on this outing gone from her mind.
Rose smiled a crooked conspirator’s smile, as if to say, I knew it! “Look at you,” she finally said. “At last, a real girl!”
But Alex was speechless. He stared, his lips parted in an O. He closed his mouth, shook his head and held out a hand. “You’ll thank me for this someday, Doris. You won’t find a better party than the one at Adolfo’s.”
She put her hand in his and with the other, gave Alice a pat. “I won’t be late,” she said to the dog.
“She’ll be late,” Alex corrected. “I’ve already watered the dog and locked the back door, so let’s do it.”
Alex drove them out of the historic district to a neighborhood where the houses were bigger than the tiny boxes that had been originally built by the government, but like in the historic district, individual taste was an option. They passed a big to-do in the park and Jennifer learned that there were celebrations all over town, but the one at Adolfo’s house would be the most authentic and intimate. Intimate turned out to be a relative term; as they drove down Adolfo’s street they found it lined with trucks and cars, the sound of music and laughter ringing out from blocks away.
She would have known Adolfo’s house without being told. There were two huge trees in the front yard and they were decorated with something akin to Christmas lights, lanterns strung across the eaves and carport, luminaires lining the drive and sidewalk. The sun was just barely lowering in the sky, and Alex had to toot the horn at a bunch of young men kicking a soccer ball around the street in front of his car.
“Intimate?” Jennifer heard herself ask.
