Like a Fly on the Wall

by Simone Kelly

  “I’m as good as I could be under the circumstances.”

  She bobbed her head to the side, trying to look past me. “Is your girl here?”

  “No, not yet, she should be here any minute. Come in, have a seat.” I led her to the couch.

  “Mmmmmm.” She took an exaggerated whiff of the air. “What kind of incense is that? It’s delicious.” She took her sandals off without my asking her to and had a seat on the couch. Vicky can’t stand shoes in the house, so they will get along just fine. I smiled to myself.

  “It’s sandalwood.”

  “I need to get that brand. I think I smelled this in your office that day. I need that in my life! Soooo . . . where are these journals? What’s the game plan?” Kylie asked.

  “Well, I figure we try to organize them chronologically. I want to see if I can find any clues as to what was going on with my parents. I found out a lot so far, like I told you, but no concrete proof.”

  “Are they all dated?”

  “Pretty much, but some are just ramblings and some are not dated. But if we can at least organize by year that would help.”

  She grabbed a pillow from the couch and sat on the floor, leaning against it. “May I?”

  “Sure, get comfortable. Come on, you’re doing me a favor, this could take a while.” I pointed toward the kitchen. “Want some tea? We have green, mango, and mint.”

  “Mint, please,” she said in a cute little-girl voice. I shook my head at her and smiled.

  I went into the kitchen and suddenly it hit me. A wave of appreciation. I realized how grateful I was to have such cool friends. Friends who were genuine and really wanted to help.

  The teapot whistled loudly. “Honey or agave?” I shouted.

  “Agave. So, should I just start?” she said.

  “Yeah, start flipping through and skim. There are some Post-it notes on the coffee table you can use to mark any pages we might need to go back to.”

  “Soooo . . . I gotta ask you a question, not really as a psychic, but just as a man. One of the guys I’m dating—he’s new, met him online. He’s in Orlando.” She walked over to the kitchen and leaned against the wall, watching me make the tea. “Well, his crazy ex contacted me and it kinda threw me for a loop. I’m like, drammaaa. I don’t need it. But I really like him.”

  “No one really needs drama. There is always someone better out there, it’s just being open to it. God is just preparing you for the right one. You have to look at what is going on within you to attract the drama. Maybe now is the time to take it slow. Maybe that is why you attracted a man in Orlando rather than someone around the corner.”

  “Wow, good point.”

  “Let him show you how serious he is. Sounds like it’s still early, so just give it a chance and see. I don’t think the ex is harmful.” I tilted my head and took a deep breath. I saw someone who had low self-esteem but was nonconfrontational. It was a vision I had to confirm the same energy of his ex-girlfriend. “Very insecure. But harmless.”

  “Wow, just like”—she snapped her fingers—“I feel better! You’re amazing.” Kylie walked back to the living room and spoke a little louder. “Okay, I’ll give him a chance and I guess work on my own drama. I really don’t need any more. Can I put on some music?”

  “Sure, whatever you want.” I poked my head out of the kitchen and pointed to the iPod player. Kylie put her cell into the dock and some R&B started playing.

  She yelled to me, “I feel so bad, like we are invading your mom’s privacy.”

  I walked back into the living room with our teacups on a tray. “Yes, it’s very weird. Man, the things I’ve read so far . . . things you never want to picture. I mean, never.”

  “Now, see if that was my mom, I wouldn’t have been surprised at all. I guess your mom was pretending to be a nun.”

  “Yes, she was like our local Mother Teresa.” I smiled, thinking about my dad teasing her and calling her that in the journal.

  My mom was a bit extreme with all that she did to give back, trying to save the world. It stemmed from her feeling guilty because people thought she had it all. The big family secret was that she was raised in an eleventh-century castle in France. It was an extravagant home, but even though from the outside her family looked rich, they barely had the funds to maintain it. Mom rarely told us much about it until one day Hicham, acting like a spoiled brat, brought it out of her.

  He’d just gotten fired from his job at Wendy’s for showing up late. He rarely got scolded, so I remember it like it happened yesterday.

  Her green eyes glowed with anger as she said, “Fired for being late? Please tell me that is a mistake.”

  Hicham sulked. “Maaaa. I’m sorry all right? I was tired. I overslept. I had a long night!”

  “A long night? A long night of what? Hanging outside on the steps with your deadbeat friends who don’t have jobs? You have no idea what hard work is.”

  “Oh man, your castle, all that land, you had it soooo hard. Ma, you know y’all had a maid and gardeners, so stop playin’. . . .”

  Mom slapped his Wendy’s hat off of his head.

  “Ouch!” He giggled, pretending it didn’t hurt. I heard the loud smack, so I know it did.

  Her eyebrows clenched together as she continued her speech: “We all chipped in. We sacrificed. That job you had helped us and now you have to find another one. Don’t look at me for a dime!”

  I chimed in to calm her down. “Mom, I’ll talk to him.”

  “Yes, you do that.”

  Hicham’s hand went up, surrendering. “Okay, I’ll find something quick. Jeez.”

  She turned and walked away. “I’m done talking, get out of my face.”

  Hicham and I walked out of the living room and into the bedroom. He plopped down on his twin bed. I stood by the desk.

  “Hicham. What are you doing? You can’t be so careless. What happened to the alarm?”

  “It came on, but I just kept pressing the snooze button.”

  I shook my head. “You know Mom is stressing out over bills.”

  “I don’t know why. She acts like our family in France ain’t filthy. Like she can’t call Grandma for a loan.”

  “First of all, you know they have not been close since she became a Berradi. They didn’t want her marrying a Muslim. And second, all that money is no longer. They sold that house more than fifteen years ago and that money was spread out among a bunch of aunts, uncles, and cousins. Mom saw only a fraction of that.”

  Mom flung the door open. She had been listening.

  “Hicham, let me be clear. Even if there was money, it would be my money, not yours. You work on contributing to this household.” She pointed to the ground. A vein popped out of her forehead. She was furious. “You are old enough at seventeen. I had to work hard! That is why I was going to college to study architecture. To make a living.”

  My phone rang, snapping me out of that memory, and I saw Vicky’s picture show up on the screen. “Excuse me, Kylie.” I walked back into the kitchen because the music was distracting.

  “We got a new lead on the case with the young boys who were murdered! We think it’s gang related. Gonna be home just a little later. We have to question a few neighbors. There’s salmon, veggies, and sweet potatoes in the fridge.”

  “And a helloooo to you, too!” I laughed.

  “Oh, papi! I’m so sorry, I’m in the zone. You know how I get?”

  “No worries, babe, and no, I’m not hungry yet.” I did love how passionate she was about her work.

  “Is your friend there?” I paced back and forth down the hallway and to the kitchen. It was hard for me to keep still when on the phone sometimes.

  “Yes, yes, she is. She’s going through some of the journals now in the living room.” I walked back to Kylie and she waved to me as if Vicky could see her.

  “She says hi!”

  “Okay, tell her I said hello,” Vicky said flatly. “All right, well, good luck with finding out whatever you can. I’ll
try to be home soon.” She paused and I felt it coming. The Bronx–Puerto Rican came out in her stern voice as she said, “You know I don’t like no bitches in the house without me there.”

  I quickly moved away from Kylie. Even though the music was on, I didn’t want to chance it. “Whatever, Vicky. Cut it out. She’s good people,” I said softly.

  “Ummmhhhh. Okaaaaay, I’ll be the judge of that. They’re calling me. Gotta run.”

  “Okay, good luck with the investigation. See you soon.”

  I smiled to myself. Vicky was a little jealous, even though she was pretending to be teasing. She’d heard me rave about Kylie a bit too much. I went back into the living room to watch Kylie, who was engrossed in one of the composition notebooks like it was a juicy romance novel.

  She looked up. “Wow, your mom was pretty deep. Intense. She seemed to be so conflicted. She is going on and on about embracing the silence, escaping it all. It almost sounds like she was on the edge of suicide. This journal was from when you were still small.”

  “She was kind of dark at times. Not an optimist at all. But it worked in her favor. She always bragged that her darkest work sold the most. I guess people enjoy feeling depressed.”

  “It’s our society. We love feeling sad for some reason. Think about it. . . . Look at Mary J. Blige. Her biggest hits were when she was the saddest. Like her What’s the 411? album. Any happy songs, people would complain they miss the old depressed Mary. Or like country music—please, most of country music can be depressing. You ever heard Carrie Underwood’s ‘Before He Cheats’? Classic revenge song. Really depressing song, but women eat that shit up. And don’t get me started on Beyoncé’s Lemonade album. Women identify with it. They just feel powerful singing it. So I can totally see why your mom’s darkness was a selling point.”

  I didn’t really know much about any of the singers and just smiled and nodded. Kylie really knew a lot about music. Still, I knew where she was coming from. Some people just enjoy being in pity parties and not getting themselves out of them.

  “Oh, wow, your mom talks about her first love here!” Kylie said. “Lemme read this.”

  Today I had a madeleine from a supermarket. Tasted nothing like a French madeleine, but it made me think of my first crush, Christian Renier, and the early days with Olivier. Christian lived down the road and worked in a bakery. He would sneak me pastries and sweets all the time. We dated for a while in our late teens, and when I went to Marrakesh, Christian thought I would come back and marry him.

  My girlfriend Inez and I would go to a café in the medina and the waiter was strikingly handsome. It was Olivier. His big brown eyes were hypnotic. He had long lashes and dark brows. His features were beautiful. I wanted to paint him. In those early days I would follow him anywhere.

  I now wonder how different my life would have been if I had just married Christian. How would it have been if I had stayed in France and been a rich man’s wife? Would I be in this mess that I am in now?

  My family was so upset when I married Olivier. They had their hearts set on my becoming a Renier. A family of lawyers and doctors. They never made a big announcement that I was married. They didn’t want anyone in our town to know I’d married a Muslim, so I stayed in Morocco and then we moved to America. What would my life have been like if I’d listened to my family? But I can’t change the past now.

  “Wow, she followed her heart.”

  “I never knew that story.” I smiled at hearing her talk nicely about Dad for a change.

  “Wait, you gotta hear this.” She began reading from another one of the journals. “ ‘I’ve contemplated if I should do it. End it all. It’s not worth it. It will be a waste of time.’ I’m not sure if she is talking about killing herself or him.”

  “Probably him,” I said dryly.

  “Ugh. I’m so sorry. You may want to read this part.” Kylie passed me the journal.

  I read out loud:

  April 17th

  Olivier is beginning to look sick. He’s not eating as much. He looks pale and tired. He doesn’t like doctors, but says he’s planning on going. I wouldn’t hold my breath on that.

  What’s good is he wants less from me, he wants to sleep more and drink less. I’m happy finally. He’s keeping to himself and leaving me to my art.

  Kylie touched her heart and looked up at me. “Wow, she sounds pretty . . .”

  “Cold-blooded,” I said dryly. My stomach hurt, my throat tightened. I was furious. “This reads almost as if she was waiting for him to die. Like she didn’t even care. No sadness.”

  “But, Jacques, it also seems like your dad was abusive in some ways. Have you taken that into consideration?”

  “Yes . . . I never knew how bad things had gotten. He knew she was cheating. But she could have left him. She didn’t have to stay.” My stomach started to churn.

  Kylie gently took the journal from me and marked that page with a sticky note. “I didn’t want to say it. But yeah, cold-blooded. So, was your dad sick a long time?”

  “Apparently he had kidney failure. That was on the death certificate along with the drowning. My mother never mentioned that when she talked about his dying. She always said he drowned. Even in my family . . . never have they said he had kidney failure. I remember there was speculation that he was drunk, but they said it wasn’t the case. When you told me to look at the death certificate that was the first time I even knew about his kidneys.”

  I opened up another journal and started scanning. “Yes, this is bizarre. She doesn’t seem worried about him. She was almost relieved that he was sick. Like she planned it.”

  I sat on the couch with the journal but hesitated to open it. This was harder than I thought it was going to be. We were uncovering the truth about who my mother really was. It was like an avalanche coming down slowly one pebble at a time.

  Chapter 32

  Kylie

  Jacques’s apartment was very soothing and earthy, like his office. The energy felt cozy. I saw a pair of black stilettos and rhinestone flip-flops by the door next to Jacques’s leather loafers and Nikes. I glanced into the living room and saw Cosmo and a few Latina magazines on the coffee table. Green decor and loads of plants. Everywhere. By the door, hanging by windows. It had a Garden of Eden feel. His girl was most likely the designer.

  Jacques made me feel right at home and even though the task at hand was pretty morbid, he still made me feel comfortable.

  “So, how are you enjoying the new gig at Like a Fly on the Wall?”

  “Oh, Jacques! So far, I love it. I am that chick who gets excited when Law and Order has a marathon on TV!” We laughed.

  “Antonio and Vince treat me like family already. That blackout was a blessing in disguise. So was our chance meeting with the whole CVS fiasco that started it all.”

  “Funny how things work out, eh?” Jacques smiled. I caught him take a quick glance at my feet. I had on a long sundress and my toes were bare. He quickly shifted his eyes to a journal to go through.

  I was embarrassed. “Oh, sorry. . . . Don’t look, I need a pedicure.”

  “Oh no, no you have very . . . nice feet, actually.” He nervously cleared his throat.

  I got chills. I was probably blushing, too. Maybe he has a thing for unpolished toes. Was he flirting? I hope not. I can’t deal with a love triangle, especially with a cop girlfriend. A chick with a gun? No thanks.

  “What music is that?” He bobbed his head. “I really like that beat. Is that on your playlist?”

  “Yes, it’s just from my phone. That’s Dwele. He’s a soul singer from Detroit. Came out early two thousands. Pretty talented brother and he’s kinda cute. He plays piano, trumpet, bass, and guitar.”

  “Okay, Kylie. Why do you sound like a reporter when you talk about music?”

  “Oh sorry, that’s me—useless music facts. I used to write and do fact-checking for a music site, remember? The one that laid me off, those fuckers.” We laughed.

  I started to sing along. “B
ut truth be told, I think I love yoooooou.” I was humming the rest. The song gave me good memories about Breeze. He used to sing it to me, even though saying those three words was never easy for him. I guess the song was his way of expressing himself.

  Jacques and I were quietly reading until the song finished. He broke the silence.

  “I just told Vicky I loved her,” he confessed.

  “I would hope so, you are living together.” I was actually shocked he hadn’t already. He’s so grounded and seems in touch with his emotions, unlike most men. “You’re like practically married already!”

  “Exactly—we started off as lovers and roommates. But you tell a woman you love her and overnight she’s picking out the wedding dress and setting up a Pinterest site with wedding themes and colors.”

  “Whatever! Not me. I’m gonna enjoy my single years for as long as I can. Ride it until the wheels fall off.”

  He raised his brows. “Sure, so you say . . . we’ll see when we do your reading.”

  “Don’t jinx me!” I laughed. I wondered if he’d already seen something in my future. “How long have you been with her?”

  “About two years.”

  “Two years and you never said I love you? Damn! Sorry to tell you but ummm . . . that’s your woman. That’s wifey. Well, Jacques, what the hell are you waiting for?”

  “Well, I show her more than tell her. Actions are better, no?” He blushed.

  “Nooooo, we like to hear it, too, Jacques! I know your spirit guides are kicking you right now. They know!”

  “Hey, relax. I just made a small step. That song was nice. Can you send it me so I don’t forget it? Maybe I will play it for her.”

  “Oh see, now that is sweeeeeet. Text it to her one day when she’s at work. She’s gonna freakin’ melt! She will be bragging to all of her lady cop friends about her man. Girls love that thoughtful shit!”

  “Lady cop friends?” Jacques grinned. “More like her sister, mother, abuela, and all of her cousins in Puerto Rico on Skype.” He waved me off and kicked his feet up across from the couch.

  I realized that the journal we were reading from had some loose magazine articles in the back of it, folded neatly in four. They seemed pretty withered and had some things underlined in pen and some in fluorescent yellow highlighter. The ink had faded after more than twenty years.