by Webb, Peggy
“Gladly.”
Abruptly, she left the swing and perched on the porch railing. “I came to see you because you’re the only person I know who can throw the kind of party I have in mind.”
“And what kind is that?”
“The kind that will heal a lot of wounds, answer a few questions, and make the Cordays a family again.”
“You’ve got it, Eleanor. Anything you want.”
“Thank you, Luke.”
She knew it was time to go. Before she made a fool of herself—something she seemed to be very good at lately.
Chapter 41
OXFORD, MISSISSIPPI
The invitation lay open on the dressing table. Margaret Anne read it a second time to see if she dared believe her eyes.
Why now? After so long? Was it a peace offering?
Oh, surely it was. She had to go looking her very best.
She raced to her closet to see what she had that would suit the occasion. At her touch the soft dresses with full skirts swayed on their hangers like a garden of pastel flowers. She’d take the yellow voile and the pink, and most definitely the lilac. It had a matching straw hat with a long lilac chiffon scarf that would hang down her back and blow in the breeze. So old-fashioned. So ladylike. So perfect.
Flushed with excitement, she rummaged to the back of her closet, searching for the hat. The red dress was hidden behind her winter coats. She came upon it unexpectedly, like stumbling over treasure. Even though it was covered with plastic, she could still smell the smoke caught in its satin folds. From pipe tobacco. A special blend that had to be shipped from some exotic island. She didn’t remember which one.
All she remembered was the way she’d felt when she’d worn that dress, the way he’d made her feel. The pain and beauty of the memories almost brought her to her knees. Rocked by her emotions, she held on to the dress until she could let go without falling. Then, smoothing the skirt where her fingers had crushed the satin, she rushed to the attic to be with him.
A thick layer of dust coated the old trunk and the cracked mirror that hung above it. Heedless of her clothes, Margaret Anne lifted the lid and pulled out the packet bound with pink ribbon.
On top was a dog-eared photograph of the two of them when they were children, holding hands, their snaggletoothed grins wide in their dirty faces. The sacks slung over their shoulders were almost as big as they were, and behind them, row upon row of cotton gleamed like yards of white ribbon.
Margaret Anne was wearing a pair of shorts and a halter top made from feed sacks, but it was so hot that even that brief garment was soaked with sweat and sticking to her skin. Though the heat had made his face as slick and shiny as the polished mahogany table at the Big House, he offered her the first drink of ice water from the tin bucket.
“Whatcha gonna do when you grow up, Maggie?”
“I’m gonna marry me a rich man and be a fine lady so I can live in a Big House, and ain’t nobody gonna call me Maggie no more. How ‘bout you?”
“I ain’t stayin’ no place hot and pickin’ cotton the rest of my life like our daddies. Nosiree, I’m gettin’ me a job somewhere cool.”
“Doin’ what?”
“I don’ know. Some’in.”
They filled the dipper once more and poured the ice water over their heads. Then, slick as otters, they raced through the cotton fields and beyond the shabby tenant houses where the smell of mustard greens with fatback was a permanent part of the air. On the banks of a narrow creek a stand of oak and sweet-gum trees grew so thick, the ground underneath was cool even when the temperature was pushing a hundred.
They flopped down and leaned against each other, giggling. From the distance came the sound of a lonesome trumpet played with all the passion and pathos of a man beaten by life, but too old and too tired to do anything about it.
“Someday I’m gonna get me a trumpet, and it’s gonna be as silver and shiny as the evening star. Lissen, Maggie. Ain’t that the sweetest sound on God’s green earth?”
Propped against his skinny shoulder, she’d thought it was, and years later, lying in his bed, she’d believed that that sweet sound would always be a part of her life.
Each photograph in the packet brought a new memory, a fresh pain. By the time she came to the last one, tears were rolling down her face, streaking her mascara and dripping off her chin. In the last photograph they were naked on the bed, his head on her full breasts and his hands covering the enormous mound of her stomach. He’d set the timer on the camera so they could pose that way.
“When the baby’s born, we’ll set the timer and take a family portrait,” he said.
But there had never been a family portrait, would never be a family portrait. All their dreams had turned to dust the night she’d worn the red dress.
That day, their last day together, he’d cut his first record. Riding high with power and success, he’d spent every penny he had on the red satin dress.
“Tonight we’re gonna celebrate, baby.”
“It’s beautiful.” She held the red dress to her. “I’ve never had anything so beautiful in all my life.”
“Stick with me and there’s gonna be diamonds as big as golf balls.”
“And we’ll go home and parade through those cotton fields like Mr. and Mrs. Astorbutt. We’ll show them all, won’t we?”
“That’s right, baby. They won’t never call you names no more.”
She had a front-row table at the club where he and his band played, the Purple People Eater, a little hole-in-the-wall dive on a back street in L.A. He dedicated all his songs that night to her and the baby. Between every number he blew her kisses.
“Diamonds as big as golf balls, baby,” he mouthed.
She laughed, was still laughing when they went up the narrow back stairs to the small loft for the celebration party that Slick Williams, the drummer, was throwing. Booze flowed like manna from heaven. He’d had his share, but he’d turned down the drugs.
“None of that shit, man. I’m gonna be a daddy.”
Somebody had slipped angel dust in his beer. It sent him on a bad trip from which he’d never returned. And never would.
Blue Janeau. Billed by the critics as the greatest natural jazz performer since W. C. Handy.
“Blue ... Blue ...”
The pictures slid from her hands as she bent over, sobbing and calling his name. Dust she’d disturbed swirled around her and settled into the folds of her skin. After a while she had no more tears to shed. She scrubbed her face with the back of her hand, then carefully rearranged her treasures and tied them with the pink ribbon.
Never again would she hear him play the sweet, sad blues while the sweat from their lovemaking dried on their skin.
As she placed the packet back inside the trunk, Margaret Anne caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She was as cracked and musty as it was.
She pulled an old cloth from the trunk and draped it over the mirror, then closed the lid and hurried downstairs. In the bathroom she showered, and although no one was coming to call, she completely redid her face, then put on her prettiest voile dress that showed off her legs.
There was always the possibility that some nice young delivery man would come to the door looking for directions. She would invite him in for something cool while she looked in the phone book to be sure of the right address, and he would see how shapely her legs were, and she would take his hand ...
Silly dreams of a silly old woman. Somehow Max would find out, and he’d cut her off without a cent. Worse yet, he might decide to tell that Margaret Anne Bellafontaine was no more descended from Southern aristocracy than a cat could fly to the moon, that in fact she’d been disowned from a dirt-poor, sharecropping Delta family named Gilmore because she’d run off with a mulatto. And then where would she be? The laughingstock of the town. A disgrace.
Margaret Anne pulled back the neck of her dress and patted her skin with a scented handkerchief. The heat was as oppressive as her life.
Was there no way out?
Suddenly her gaze fell on the invitation, still lying open on her dressing table. Another chance.
She’d wear nothing but shades of purple and pink on her trip. They made her look at least ten years younger.
Chapter 42
SAN FRANCISCO
Chu Ling had no trouble getting a private audience with Malone Corday. The twenty-five-thousand-dollar check he’d written to the Corday Foundation did the trick.
The boy had a weakness for vodka and tonic, he’d been told. Ply him with enough of them, and he’d agree to practically anything. His other weakness was the woman, Ruth, his wife. An exquisite creature. Chu Ling could see how a man could lose his head over such a woman.
“Your generosity is greatly appreciated.” Malone Corday’s voice was slurred. He was already feeling the effects of too much drink.
Chu Ling didn’t have to motion for the waiter to refill Corday’s glass. He owned the club. The waiter had already been told what to do; he waited in the shadows like a yellow cat, his eyes missing nothing. He gave good measure for the exorbitant salary Chu Ling paid him. It was a good deal for both of them.
Chu Ling loved a good deal. Underneath the snowy white tablecloth he rubbed his palms together in anticipation of the one he was about to make.
“Your foundation does excellent work,” he said. “I think excellence should always have its reward. Don’t you?”
“Damned right.”
“You have many large contributors, I suppose?”
“Not nearly enough. And no one as generous as you.”
“I can be an exceedingly generous man.”
“Your check speaks louder than words.”
“There’s more where that came from.”
Chu Ling smiled. The boy was practically salivating at the idea of more money. Swiftly, he changed the topic, catching him off guard. Best always to have your opponent off guard.
“Your wife is a very beautiful woman.”
“Yes, she is.”
“A woman worthy of beautiful things. You give her beautiful things, don’t you?”
“Only this sensational body.” Corday’s laughter was bitter. “Sometimes you have to settle for what you can get.”
“On the contrary. The wise never have to settle.”
“Maybe in your world. Where I come from, you have to settle.”
“Why?”
“Hell ... how should I know? I’m just a mere errand boy.”
“You’re far more than that. You’re a resourceful, brilliant man with an extraordinary wife. You deserve wealth, success, and power.”
“Yeah, well, from your mouth to God’s ears.”
“You’re the one who does all the traveling in the Corday family?”
“That’s me, Malone Corday, gypsy errand boy, always on the go.”
“Travel gives you many opportunities.”
“Yeah, to bore everybody to tears with my lectures and to answer umpteen million questions about my brother and the talking gorilla.”
Silently, the waiter appeared to refill Corday’s drink. Already he was reeling. If Chu Ling didn’t close the deal soon, Corday wouldn’t be sober enough to stand up, let alone talk business.
“Opportunities beyond your imagining,” Chu Ling added as he pulled a velvet case from his inside pocket and laid it on the table. He waited until he had Corday’s full attention before he unsnapped the lid. The rubies glittered against the dark velvet.
“For your beautiful wife,” he said.
“I can’t possibly afford something like that.”
“It’s a gift.”
“A gift?”
“The first of many.”
Corday picked up the necklace and studied it under the lamplight.
“Are these things real?”
“The best money can buy.”
Corday studied the necklace a while longer before laying it back in the velvet box.
“But it has a price, right?”
Chu Ling was delighted. The plan would not work if Corday didn’t have brains, and he’d just proved he had.
“Everything has its price.” He held the box so the rubies would catch the light. “A woman like your wife ... most men would find her worth any price.”
Corday studied the rubies in silence. When the waiter came to refill his glass, Corday waved him away.
“Name it.”
“I want baby gorillas.”
“No!” But the initial horror on Corday’s face faded as he gazed at the ruby necklace. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“I know exactly what I’m asking. And I’m willing to pay top dollar.”
“I shouldn’t even be listening to this.”
Chu Ling understood that the art of the deal was subtlety.
“I hear talk of a theme park in the Virungas on the slopes where the Corday Foundation does its work,” he said.
“The talk is merely a whisper. You must have big ears.”
“My ears are sharp. So is my perception. Such a park will bring in many rich tourists, will it not?”
“Why don’t you tell me? You seem to have all the answers.”
Chu Ling smiled. The fact that Corday was still at the table was more than a good sign; it was capitulation. Chu Ling had already won. Still, he played out his hand. Knowledge was power. Best that Corday know the full extent of Chu Ling’s power.
“They’ll come in tour buses to the mountains, bringing disease to the mountain gorilla. Everything will change. The gorillas will gradually die.”
Chu Ling watched his opponent over the careful steeple he’d made of his fingers. Corday already knew everything he was being told. Chu Ling could tell by the grim set of his face.
“Very few gorillas will survive,” Chu Ling continued. “The few that do will move deeper into the jungles, away from the tourists. There will be no need for the Corday Foundation because nobody in power will be interested in preservation of the mountain gorilla. The only thing of interest to anybody will be tourist dollars.”
“You’ve done your research well.”
Chu Ling merely smiled. He never conceded the obvious.
“You paint a grim picture,” Corday added.
“You have the power to change it.”
“If I do what you want.”
“My money will allow the Corday Foundation to continue its work and continue to bring the gorilla’s plight to the attention of the world. Without me it’s only a matter of time before you fold, the gorillas are forgotten, and the theme park is built.”
Corday lifted the necklace, held it under the lamplight. Fire from the multifaceted stones spilled across the tablecloth.
“You’re asking me to destroy the very thing I’ve worked for all my life.”
“Think of it as sacrificing a few for the good of many. I’m not a greedy man.”
“How do you propose to do this?”
“You’re smart. You can figure out how to get them out of the country, a few at a time so no one is suspicious.”
“It would take a long time to set up.”
“I’m a patient man.”
“It would be very expensive.”
“Ahhh. Money.” Chu Ling smiled.
“Yes. Money.”
“I think we can come to some terms that will be very much to your liking.”
o0o
When Ruth woke up, there was a ruby necklace on her pillow. The light she’d left on for Malone was caught in the stones that gleamed fiercely up at her like the fire of a dragon. At first she thought she was dreaming. Reaching out, she touched the necklace, and when she discovered it was real, she knew she wasn’t in the midst of a dream but in the thick of a nightmare.
“Malone?”
She sat up and covered herself completely with the sheet, as if a thin bit of percale could protect her from what she might see. Malone sat in a maroon brocaded wing chair near the foot of the bed. His tie was askew and his hair stood up in spikes, as if he’d just c
ome through a high wind.
“What time is it?” she asked, as if the dials of the bedside clock weren’t clearly pointing to three.
“Time to do something for my beautiful wife, that’s what time it is.”
He came around the bed, ripped aside the sheet, and held the necklace against her throat. Her skin felt hot and cold at the same time, as if a jagged chunk of ice had been held there too long.
“The necklace makes you look like a queen.”
“Where in the world did it come from, Malone?”
The drugstore on the corner, she hoped he’d say. Or a cheap costume-jewelry shop in Chinatown.
“A gift, from an admirer of the Cordays.”
“It’s not real, is it?”
“Damned right it’s real.” He fumbled with the catch. “Shit! It won’t fasten.” He leaned closer, and the smell of liquor almost overpowered her.
“Let’s not fool with it tonight, darling. Why don’t you come to bed?”
“I want to see you wear it.” He lost his balance and fell into her. Propping himself on his elbows, he grinned at her. “Did you save the last dance for me, sweetheart?”
“I’ve saved all my dances for you, Malone.”
Her smile felt as stiff as plaster of paris. Gently she untangled herself, then walked to the mirror and fastened the rubies around her neck. She didn’t know a thing about jewelry, but it didn’t take a gemologist to know that this piece would easily see a family of four through a year of crop failures.
Propped against the pillows on her side of the bed, Malone grinned at her.
“You know what you look like? A genuine Polynesian princess. Rubies are made for you, sweetheart.”
“They do look good against my skin. Lucky for you, I’m not the diamonds-and-rubies type.” She reached back to unfasten the necklace. “They should bring a pretty penny for the Corday Foundation.”
“Leave them on, Ruth.” She caught his eye in the mirror, and what she saw turned her blood to ice. She saw the deadly look of a cornered tiger. “Those jewels are not for the Corday Foundation. They are for you.”
“But, Malone, I don’t need jewels.”
“I earned them, and you are going to wear them.”
Where? Gorillas didn’t care what she wore. As if he’d read her mind, he answered her question.
