The Greeks of Beaubien Street

by Jenkins, Suzanne

  Marianne secretly despised the relationship between her husband and daughter. It reduced her even further in the hierarchy of the household; she barely had a position at all before the baby came. Jacob lived for the baby. Marianne was given respect because she was the infant’s mother but little else. Jacob left their shared bedroom permanently. He moved his clothes and shoes, emptied out his nightstand, put his toothbrush in the hall bathroom. They never had sex again.

  Jacob had a volatile temper, so she didn’t question him, afraid for her safety. Besides, did she want to know the truth? Not really. Sex with her husband had been an ordeal. He’d never wanted children. When he found out she was pregnant, he was angry with her. “How could you let this happen?” he demanded. She was flabbergasted when she discovered it; she was getting old and they did it so infrequently. Soon, though, he started to look forward to her delivery. For the short months that she was showing with her pregnancy, he would pull her down on his lap and rub her big belly. He had never showed her so much attention. He’d lay next to her in their bed, pulling her close to him, spooning her so he could wrap his arms around her and feel the baby moving. She thought he was pretending that it was his belly. He’d come up behind her when she was doing dishes and hold her belly up, or caress her breasts. Not sexually. But seeming to measure their size, weighing their abundance as the origin of food for his child.

  “You’re going to nurse her, aren’t you?” he asked that first day in the hospital. She hadn’t been sure if she was going to yet, but his interest settled it. So she nursed Gretchen, and if Jacob was home, he would be there, staring at the tiny mouth latched on to her mother’s breast. One night, suddenly coy and red in the face, he asked if could taste the milk. Marianne was surprised again, and took her finger to get a drop of her abundant milk as it flowed from her breast. She put her finger out to him, but he shook his head. Stammering, he asked, “Can I suck on the other one?” Pointing to the breast that Gretchen wasn’t on.

  Marianne was confused; they hadn’t slept together for months. Why this now? But she didn’t think it would hurt anything, so she uncovered her breast and smiled at her husband. He looked over at his daughter nursing away. He closed his eyes like he used to when they made love, and latched on to her nipple. He began to slowly suck, and then when the milk came in, he sucked harder, gulping as it flowed. Marianne was getting a little nervous but didn’t know how to stop him, so she was grateful when Gretchen started crying; it was time to switch breasts.

  Jacob pulled away from his wife, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Marianne reached for a washcloth to wipe her nipple off before she put Gretchen to that breast. She couldn’t help notice that her husband had an erection when he walked away from her. It would be a scene they would repeat again and again over the next year; Gretchen would nurse on one breast and Jacob on the other. Marianne was sure he would go to masturbate after she allowed him access and wondered why she didn’t confront him about it. Then she realized that she liked sleeping alone, liked being celibate. There were too many positive things about them not having sex to risk starting it up again. So she tolerated his bizarre behavior.

  Jacob was as involved in the care of his daughter as he could be, changing diapers, bathing her; he played with her as though she were a doll. Marianne noticed an effeminate side of her husband that she had never seen before, not because of his interest in Gretchen, but in how he went about it. When Jacob dressed Gretchen, he always put ruffles on her, patent leather Mary Janes, ribbons in her hair. He loved shopping for her; they went to the mall baby stores at least once a week and came home with bags of dresses and shoes. He talked to her like a woman would, baby talk, with his voice high pitched. He was oblivious to anyone around and Marianne would cringe with embarrassment when he would talk baby talk in public.

  As Gretchen got older, Jacob became even more devoted to her. It was hard to understand because in contrast, he wasn’t possessive. He didn’t mind that she had friends or eventually boyfriends. He was super-protective about her, buying her the safest car money could buy, making sure it was in perfect order. He would say, “The care of the horse is in the hands of the rider, but safety is in the hands of God,” when his wife worried about her driving. Marianne was perplexed at his sudden ability to quote the bible, something he’d never done before. He’d worked split shifts so that he could be there for her feedings when she was an infant. When she started school, he arranged his schedule so he could be home when Gretchen was home. Then he took an early retirement when working during the summer while she was out of school became intolerable to him.

  Gretchen was devoted to her father, too. They talked for months during her senior year about what she would do after graduation. Going away to school was out of the question; neither of them would tolerate the separation. Marianne was concerned because her daughter was unable to make the simplest decision without conferring with Jacob. She wanted her daughter to have every opportunity, and going to college was right up there in importance. But she didn’t dare mention it. Neither would stand for her intrusion because Gretchen had become as dependent on her father as he was on her.

  After graduation, Gretchen got the job at the bank. It was perfect. It was close to home so she could walk to work if the roads were too snowy to drive. They would train her for the job, so there was no need to go away to school. Henry Ford College was practically in their backyard; she could take classes in the evenings if she wanted to.

  For a short time, Gretchen tried living in a girlfriend’s apartment on Military Road. She thought it would be a good segue into eventually moving out on her own. She didn’t really want to leave her parent’s house, but listening to her friends and coworkers yammer on and on about how important her independence was, she jumped at the chance when her friend offered. The apartment was great, in an old building with high ceilings and a fireplace. Her bedroom looked out on the Rouge River and beyond, into the woods. But it was much farther from work. It didn’t have air conditioning and during August she thought she would die at night, unable to fall asleep and then waking up hot and miserable in the morning once she finally did.

  The coup de grace was when her friend’s boyfriend would spend the night. It wasn’t the sex noise that was the worst, although that was bad enough. He was a slob. He cooked messy foods and left the kitchen a wreck, didn’t flush and left the toilet seat up, and the final straw, he took Gretchen’s Sunday Free Press and read it, leaving it in pieces all over the living room.

  Not one to complain, she was proactive and called her father that afternoon to ask if she could come home. The only stipulation from him was that she’d adhere to her former curfew. It wasn’t a problem. She rarely went out when she lived away from home and didn’t see how having to be home by eleven would change her life much at all. When Gretchen was back in the house, she and Jacob became even closer. Marianne had a few concerns, but she stifled them, telling herself she was jealous of her own daughter because of her relationship with Jacob.

  Then Gretchen met Mike Ahmed. He came into the bank and went to her window. Later he told her that he saw her at a local bar with friends one night and admitted to following her home. He went back the next morning so he could follow her to work. Gretchen didn’t think there was anything wrong with it, no alarm bells went off. She was flattered that he cared enough about her to find out the details of her life. The first time she saw him, he was in the line that lead to her window. He walked up when it was his turn.

  “Hi, I’m Mike. I know this is strange, but I’ve wanted to meet you and didn’t know how else to do it. I’m hoping you’ll have coffee with me sometime, like today. What do you think?” Mike was tall and muscular and Gretchen felt an instant attraction to him. She looked up to see her manager watching their interaction.

  “We are being observed. Meet me at noon.” Then she flashed a big smile said loudly, “Sorry I can’t help you!” He turned and walked out, but not before catching the manager looking his way with intensi
ty. Mr. Friedland walked over to Gretchen’s booth as soon as the young man was gone. He waited as she completed transaction after transaction, finally finishing and turning to him. She decided to take the lead.

  “Well that was a little strange! That young man wanted to open a savings account with no money,” she said. Eyebrows lowered, Mr. Friedland motioned for Gretchen to follow him away from her window.

  “If he comes in again, get my attention, okay? He looks like trouble.” Gretchen nodded okay. In the meantime, lunchtime couldn’t come around fast enough. She would meet Mike at the coffee shop, but they obviously couldn’t stay there. The thrill of sneaking around made the relationship seem more exciting than it should have from the start. It turned out that Mike Ahmed was a little odd. He said he worked for Ford as an engineer, but he was rarely at work. He came to the bank and took her to lunch every day. If she had a weekday off, he was available. Gretchen chose not to confront him about his free time. There was a reason he was keeping his life private and that was okay with her because of his charm. After that first coffee, they walked around the corner to Taco Bell. They sat for her allotted half hour and told each other their stories. Mike’s weren’t true but Gretchen didn’t know it then. His lies made his life sound normal, almost boring.

  She wasn’t nervous about introducing him to her family, although her father might scoff a little at him being Lebanese. The boys she brought home were always treated with respect by her parents, but there had been nothing for them to complain about because she’d limited her involvement to the white, Anglo-Saxon Protestant group. Jacob swore he didn’t care about Mike being Arab. He was just too old for Gretchen. They were sitting around the kitchen table on a weekend morning, drinking coffee and reading the paper.

  “Honey,” he simpered, “he’s at least ten years older than you are.” Gretchen looked surprised. She hadn’t thought to ask Mike’s age.

  “Dad, are you sure? He doesn’t seem that old!” Marianne turned her back. Oh Lord, my daughter. How can she be so naïve? In a rare move of support for her husband, Marianne Parker spoke up.

  “Gretch, Dad’s right. He’s too old for you. We just don’t want you to waste your time with him if he’s too old to have the life you want someday. Are you in love with him? We don’t even have to have this conversation if you aren’t.” Jacob turned red in the face, but said nothing. Gretchen laughed: her light, sweet laughter at odds with the mood in the room.

  “Heck no! I’m not in love with him, I promise you. He amuses me. Plus, he is so handsome. He is old fashioned, too. Nothing but respectful!” She got up to refill her coffee cup. “I’m not ready to leave home, if that’s what you two are worried about. I like it here. I love my room; I love the security of being here. I don’t think twenty-six is that old to be at home.” She took her coffee up to her room. “I have to make some calls,” she hollered as she went up the steps. Jacob glared at his wife.

  “You must have a death wish. Why’d you put words in my mouth?” Marianne knew that no matter what she said, he’d get angry with her.

  “Whether you like it or not, I’m her parent, too. I carried her for nine months. I gave birth to her. I nursed her for a year.” This she said glaring back at him. Say something about that, why don’t you, she thought to herself, remembering the supplemental bottles she prepared because her perverted husband insisted on nursing along with his baby and drinking milk meant for her. He made a show of reading the paper, worried that his wife would bring it up with Gretchen in the house. They never fought while she was around.

  “Right, you are her parent, too. Think of a way we can get her to stop seeing that grease ball, will you please? Make yourself useful. And while you’re at it, I’m ready for breakfast.” Marianne got up and started pulling things out of the refrigerator. As much as she hated to admit it, she liked taking care of her family, cooking and cleaning for them. She wasn’t about to let Jacob’s mean streak steal her joy. He could go straight to hell.

  Chapter 13

  Albert Wong left Detroit and headed for Dearborn. Mike Ahmed lived a block from the city limits. Albert knew the area well; his grandmother lived off Tireman and Grand River. He would stop in and see her on his way home. Talking to suspects didn’t faze Albert. He rarely thought of the conversation about to take place when he was going to an interview and unlike Jill, didn’t need any preparation. The windows were down in his car and the radio was on full blast. The Supremes were singing Where Did Our Love Go? His thick black hair, pulled back into a tight ponytail flew in the wind. He loved Detroit, and was never happier than when he tooled around town in his unmarked car. When he was with friends and family who moved west, some time was always spent defending why he stayed in town. He loved being close to the water, the grittiness of the city, the huge mansions that were slowly being reclaimed. He loved the Eastern Market, Greektown, the Wayne State campus. His dream of buying a vacation home on the west side of the state didn’t mean he didn’t love the city.

  The people were also a big draw. Detroit had a mix of ethnicities that made its vibrancy palpable. You could get any kind of food at any time of the day or night. A big complaint was that there were no grocery stores. Who needed them? You could get a hot, home-cooked breakfast for two dollars at almost any corner store, hot soup and bread or a hot dog with sauerkraut from a street vendor for lunch or delicious dinners at restaurants all over town. However, Albert was in a relationship with no children. The city was full of single parents raising children on the lowest incomes in the county. A discount grocery store might mean the difference between a meal and hunger.

  He pulled off Interstate 94. The area was a no-man’s land of cracked concrete parking lots surrounding vacant factories and retail stores, burned out gas stations, and abandoned cars. It never recovered from the ‘67 riots. As he drove toward Dearborn City Limits, the terrain abruptly changed. Here the houses were well maintained, even spiffy. Mike Ahmed lived in a lovely brick three-story pre-war, with a landscaped front yard and perfectly manicured gardens. It may have been the manor house for the area before the housing boom of the 1920’s, shortly after Henry Ford rolled the first Model T off the assembly line. Now, hundred-year-old homes, mostly two story timber structures, lined up along the street with barely room for the average sized car to get between them. Albert pulled up in front of the house and radioed in to the precinct that he’d arrived. Within seconds, a Dearborn Police squad car pulled up behind him as a courtesy. The uniformed patrol officer, Aaron Barry wouldn’t go inside with Albert unless asked, but would be there in case he was needed. Albert didn’t mind the company and invited the young man to join him. Albert filled Officer Barry in with the details about the Gretchen Parker murder.

  “We know all about it. Jacob Parker is retired from the Dearborn force,” Aaron explained. Albert jotted down yet another piece of surprising news. So Jacob was an ex-cop.

  “This is simple questioning today, to determine what he knows about the victim.”

  Albert grabbed his recorder and notebook out of the back seat of his cruiser and followed the officer up the steps. He was completely comfortable deferring to Patrolman Barry. He even stayed slightly behind the young man, allowing him to knock on the door and take command. Albert was mulling over the latest information that Jacob Parker had been a Dearborn cop. He wondered why Jacob hadn’t been forthcoming about that. He got out his phone and sent a text to Jill. She already had it in her head that the father was somehow a key player in all of this, something he hadn’t picked up on. But he’d learned long ago to always, always follow her lead. Albert was ready to leave a business card when Mike Ahmed finally answered the door. He looked disheveled, having gotten up from bed just moments before. Trying to hide his surprise seeing the cop at his door, he grabbed a tissue from a box on a table behind him and started blowing his nose.

  “What’s going on? What can I do for you?” he said. Then he saw Albert and anxiety washed over Mike’s face. Aaron Barry moved to the side to allow Albert
to come forward. He took his badge out and pushed it toward the door as friendly and nonthreatening as possible.

  “Mr. Ahmed? I’m Detective Wong from Detroit Homicide. This is Patrolman Barry from the Dearborn Police Department.” Mike Ahmed nodded at Patrolman Barry again. Albert thought there may have been recognition between them. “We’re here to see if you can provide any information about the murder of Gretchen Parker.” Albert gauged the reaction to that news and Mike Ahmed was definitely surprised. Although the media had broadcast that a body of young woman from Dearborn was found in the city, her name had yet to be released. Unless someone had called him like the Parkers, he couldn’t know she was dead unless he was involved in some way. “Can we come in?”

  “Do I need a lawyer?” Mike Ahmed asked. Albert thought, He didn’t just say that, did he? The patrolman looked at Albert.

  “No, no, not at all. We have a few questions to ask you about your knowledge of Miss Parker and your whereabouts since Friday.” He didn’t add, let’s see if we have reason to take you downtown. Mike Ahmed reluctantly opened the door to the two policemen. He looked around his neighborhood to see if anyone was watching. He was sure he saw blinds move; curtains pushed aside just a touch. The neighborhood was filled with busybodies and tattletales. After Jacob Parker’s temper tantrum on his porch two days ago, there was a lot of interest in what was going on at Mike Ahmed’s house. It was possible that someone would say something to the wrong person and his mother and father would find out. He closed the door after the cops entered his house, his bowels rumbling. He prayed he wouldn’t have to excuse himself to go to the bathroom. The men stood in the middle of the living room waiting. Mike seemed unsure of what to do.

  “Can we sit in there?” Albert asked, pointing to the dining room table. The house was neat but practically empty. There was a long, modern couch and a television in the living room and a huge dining table, ornately carved, with eight high backed chairs around it. There was a heavy lace tablecloth covered in plastic. It looked like Mike Ahmed used the dining table as a sort of office. There was mail in several stacks and a laptop computer on the surface at the far end. He shook his head yes to the request, pointing to the unused end of the table.