by Jeff Altabef
They stood far away from the bar, well out of hearing range of others, but Cooper spoke softly anyway. “So how is Project Qing going?”
Wickersham inched closer, and his right sleeve brushed against Cooper’s arm. He scowled, and Wickersham retreated to his previous position. “It’s going remarkably well. We’re close to implementation. I’ll be ready for the presentation in a few days.”
Cooper smiled blandly. He didn’t want anyone to think this conversation interested him too much. “And EBF-202? How’s that going?” He leaned closer.
“It’s very exciting. We’re on the brink of a major breakthrough.”
“Excellent. I want a presentation on that also. Nothing long and boring, Samuel. Limit the eggheads.”
Cooper straightened and beamed a full smile as Ethel swaggered toward him. She had inherited The Bulldog’s gait—short, purposeful, and aggressive. “Mother, you look wonderful. Congratulations on the award again. Very well deserved.”
She joined the two men and shot him a piercing look with her bright hazel eyes. She knew him better than anyone else.
He detected a note of disappointment in her gaze.
“Thank you, son. I’ve been looking for you. Is everything well?”
“Everything is superb, Mother. You remember Samuel Wickersham?” Cooper nudged him on the shoulder, pushing the doctor away from him. “Unfortunately, he was just leaving.”
Ethel gave Wickersham a sideways, cursory glance.
Not sure what to do, Wickersham awkwardly bowed his head as if Ethel were recently coronated queen, and stumbled his way toward the bar. He knocked into a table and caused two champagne flutes to fall and shatter on the floor next to him.
“You should upgrade the people you spend time with.” Ethel pinched her face together as if she had just eaten a bad piece of fruit.
“Samuel’s a useful person. He serves a purpose. Where’s father?”
Ethel frowned. “He’s in the main ballroom. He found some Hollywood types. You know him—he can’t help but talk about the next project. I’m sure he’ll find you before the night is over.”
“He loves his work.” Cooper’s father kept a small movie production company, which he had owned before he met Ethel.
Ethel huffed and wrapped her arm around Cooper’s. “Did you listen to my speech?”
“Of course, Mother. Quite a wonderful speech. Very well received.”
“You didn’t hear a word of it. You should pay more attention to the downtrodden. We have a responsibility.” Ethel smiled for the benefit of any onlookers, but her eyes told a different story.
Cooper cringed. She was angry with him, which was unusual. Disappointment was common—anger not so.
“Haven’t you heard? The President appointed a new Ghetto Czar. He’s supposed to fix everything.”
Ethel locked her eyes tight on him, like a bulldog on a bone. “Charles Sheppard is a formidable man. You should keep an eye on him. Use him well, but be careful. He has important allies.”
“I know all about him.” Cooper chuckled. “We’ll be fast friends in no time.”
“Don’t underestimate him! I hear some of the ghettos are becoming increasingly violent. They’ve started coordinating amongst themselves. This is a dangerous time.”
Cooper detected a slight note of fear in his mother’s voice, which surprised him. “Don’t worry, Mother, I have something in the works that will solve all our problems. Leave it to me.”
Ethel nodded toward the security station as Uncle Jay strolled into the room with a young-looking blonde attached to his arm. He wore a bright Simmens Racing Team pin stuck to the lapel of his tuxedo, next to his red and white checked bowtie. Uncle Jay used to race cars when younger and was reasonably good but never won any major races. He always spent too much time chasing blondes. Now he headed the company’s racing division, which cost Ethel twenty million a year, but at least he left her alone to run the company.
“I guess Aunt Jane couldn’t make it to the benefit,” he said.
“What an embarrassment! Thank goodness Father isn’t alive to see him make such a fool of himself.” She shook her head and huffed. “That’s his new driver. I hear she gets lost going around an oval track.”
Ethel squeezed Cooper’s arm tighter. “I’ve noticed that your lovely wife isn’t here tonight, either. I hope everything is fine.”
“She’s just under the weather with the pregnancy. They say the first is the hardest. She sends her regrets. She would’ve loved to have shared in your success,” Cooper lied.
Lori had no interest in coming to the award ceremony. A good deal younger than him, she came from a prominent Texas oil family, and could not have been more different from Maggie, which was a good thing. The more a woman looked and seemed to be like Maggie, the more Cooper ended up hating her, and those instances never ended well. They had been married for seven years, and Lori was two months pregnant. His publicist and Ethel had come up with the idea. They thought a new baby would soften his image.
Ethel disentangled her arm from his. “I had better talk to Jay before he makes a bigger fool of himself than he has already. Be careful, son. There are sharks out there circling. Don’t let your passions overwhelm you.”
She glided toward Uncle Jay, making her way through the crowd as effortlessly as any great white might swim through a coral reef.
Suddenly, the people in the room morphed into sharks. He shook his head to clear his vision, but the image remained. Everyone stared at him except Ethel.
Cooper broke out in a cold sweat, closed his eyes, and rubbed his face. When he opened them again, all the sharks had returned to their human form.
***
The benefit ran late, but he had to see Maggie before morning.
He ignored the physically fit young male attendant who sat next to the bed as she slept. He approached her with short steps, gently placing his hands on the fine Egyptian cotton sheets, which felt soft and cool to the touch.
Sedated, her chest moved up and down rhythmically, peacefully. Over time, she would overcome her fears and insecurities and voluntarily stay as his guest. He would spoil her with luxuries she could only dream about.
He gently whisked back a few strands of hair from her cheek and away from the new red bruise on her face, and his finger brushed against her swollen lower lip. The bruises would subside in a few days and be forgotten. Perhaps they would laugh at the incident, like old married couples do when recalling an argument that lost its steam many years ago.
He peeled back the sheet to her waist. She wore a soft white cotton robe. Her lily-white skin sparkled beneath the plush fabric. She had the same coloring as she had thirty years earlier. In fact, she looked exactly as he might have guessed she would when he was just a boy.
He resisted the urge to untie her robe. He knew from experience that if he delayed his enjoyment, it would be all the more pleasurable. He maintained his discipline.
Tom paced the small kitchen, clutching his tablet in one hand and waving his other about as if he were perpetually shooing away a pesky housefly. Intense concentration darkened his demeanor. Two looping strides brought him from one side of the room to the other. His mind worked supercomputer fast, sorting everything he knew about his mom into categories and subcategories, applying probabilities to each possibility. With each round of calculations, his heart sank deeper as he realized he didn’t know much about her life.
Who are her friends? What does she like to do outside of work? Who would want to harm her? Who, who, who?
He glanced at Jack, who sat on the kitchen floor with his back to one wall as he bounced a tennis ball against the floor and off the refrigerator, catching the ball in one hand.
Kathunk, kathunk, kathunk.
The morning sunlight filtered into the kitchen and the smell of stale coffee permeated the air.
“Do you think we should call the police?” Tom asked.
“No, Mom’s only been missing for a few hours, and they won’
t care about us because we don’t live in one of the good neighborhoods. They’ll fill out a form, and it will be a waste of time.” Jack shrugged. “We’re going to have to figure this out on our own. How’s the list coming?”
Kathunk, kathunk.
Tom glanced at the computer screen as he spoke. “I’ve typed a few categories: work, friends, book club, Fourteenth Colony. Each category has a list of possibilities and an action plan we can implement to check them out. If Rachel doesn’t know anything, then I think we should start with the people Mom works with. Maybe a client of the law firm, or one of her coworkers with a grudge might have taken her.”
Kathunk, kathunk.
He rifled a hand through his curly brown hair, doing his best to ignore the constant thumping, but the noise started to grate against his frazzled nerves.
Jack shook his head. “I don’t know, Tom. This doesn’t feel like a law firm type of thing. Something else is going on. It’s got to be tied to mom’s Solitary Day. I’ve never understood what she did on Solitary Day. And for a day off, why did Mom always look so terrible by that night? I’ve always thought that was weird.”
An awkward silence filled the kitchen as Tom thought about Solitary Day. It definitely wasn’t a holiday.
Kathunk.
Why didn’t I ask her more questions about it?
Kathunk, kathunk, kathunk.
“You should call Mary. She’s going to be pissed if she finds out about Mom from Rachel without hearing from you first.”
Tom sighed. “I know, Jack, but she’s gotten really close to Mom over the past few months. Her own mother died when she was young. I don’t know what to tell her. We need a plan or some clues first.” He hunched lower as he leaned against the kitchen counter.
Kathunk.
He couldn’t talk to Mary like this. He needed something positive to tell her, some insight that proved he wasn’t useless—some breakthrough or plan or really anything besides, “Guess what? My mom’s been taken.” If he just crunched the numbers hard enough, a pattern would have to develop. Then he could face Mary.
Kathunk.
He continued to sort the choices by probabilities and into lists, but he lacked enough data for any useful conclusions and cursed to himself. He was just wasting time, hoping that inspiration would strike.
Kathunk, kathunk.
He snatched the tennis ball and chucked it down the hallway.
“Hey!”
Three sharp raps on the front door froze Jack’s protests in his throat.
Startled, Tom almost dropped the tablet.
“Expecting anyone, Tom?”
He shook his head.
Jack grabbed his sunglasses from the kitchen table. By the time they reached the front door, they saw a small round fist banging on the door again with three crisp knocks.
“Open up. It’s Aunt Jackie! I’m too old to be standing here all day!”
Jack groaned and slowly opened the door.
Aunt Jackie wore a gloomy frown on her wrinkled face as she briskly marched into the apartment and brushed past him, her shiny white sneakers squeaking against the tile floor. She used to be just over five feet tall, but she had given back a few inches over the years.
“Hello, Thomas.” She smiled thinly at Tom and nodded stiffly at Jack.
Jack stepped over and shut the door, looking even more miserable than he had a moment earlier.
Aunt Jackie carried an oversized canvas purse slung over her shoulder, which she always brought with her. “Take my coat, Jack.” She placed her bag on the floor near the door and handed her brown quilted coat to him.
Jack begrudgingly took it, held it far away from his body as if it were contaminated with lice, and tossed it on a chair with the flick of his wrist.
She trudged toward Maggie’s room. “You’ve heard no word from your mother?”
Before the brothers could respond, she threw open the door. The room felt even emptier than it had last night.
“I called her yesterday and she didn’t answer.”
“We came home late last night and she wasn’t here,” Tom said. “We’ve called her friends and no one knows where she is.”
Aunt Jackie stood quietly for a few seconds as she scanned the room. Finding nothing useful, she sat stiffly on the edge of the bed, her feet barely touching the floor. She glared at Jack. “How come you didn’t call me?” The question was more of an accusation than a query.
Aunt Jackie was really Maggie’s aunt and Jack and Tom’s great aunt. Together, they were the only living relations Maggie had left in the world.
All three clustered around her bed, worried about her safety.
“We didn’t want to disturb you. We know how important rest is to someone your age.” The end of Jack’s lips twitched in a tentative smile.
“Right. I’m not pushing up any daisies yet, sonny boy.” Her gaze focused on the closet. “Have you found the hiding spot yet?”
The boys shared a look. “We found it last night, but it was empty,” Tom said.
“Of course you did.” She grinned at him, but worry lines carved deep canyons into her already wrinkled face. She ran her hand through her short gray hair. She wore three golden hoop earrings in her left ear and one in her right. A half visible horse-shaped tattoo snuck above where the collar of her shirt brushed against her neck. She kept herself in good physical condition for a woman in her seventies, and still had clear, penetrating blue eyes. “I was worried that something like this might happen.”
“Something like what? What’s going on, Aunt Jackie?” Jack asked impatiently. “We need to know. We’ve got to find her!”
She wearily rose off the bed. Moving a little slower than she did when she first entered the apartment, she took short, uncertain steps, as if unsure where to go next. Dark circles smudged under her eyes.
“I need some coffee. Bring me my bag, Jack.” She squeezed Tom’s shoulder as she shuffled past him to the kitchen.
Jack muttered under his breath as he went to fetch her bag.
***
She could see the worry on the boys’ faces. They were smart kids, especially Tom. They knew their mom was in trouble.
A small trace of steam twirled above the half empty pot of coffee on the kitchen counter. “Thomas, be a dear and pour me a cup, will you? You know how I like it, black as the devil.”
She settled into a chair with the back door behind her and watched him pour the coffee. Only seventeen and he’s already a man. Everyone grows up so fast these days. “When are you going to cut your hair, Thomas? It’s down to your shoulders.”
He handed her a mug of coffee, black with no sugar, and smiled. “You didn’t come here to offer me grooming tips.”
Jack trudged back into the room with her bag in his hand.
“Just drop the bag over here.” He complied, and she took a long sip from her mug. The coffee was awful, too weak for her taste. Her face contorted sourly when she drank it, but she kept silent.
They sat at the table and stared at her, hoping she had all the answers. Jack leaned forward on his elbows.
The boy is always so impatient.
“Why are you wearing those sunglasses? Is it some new thing? Take them off. They look stupid.”
“The light has been bothering my eyes lately. Now tell us what you know about Mom!”
She took another long sip from the cup. What am I going to tell them?
She felt foolish. After all her years and experience, how could she not know what to do? But she was conflicted on so many levels. She spotted a ball on the kitchen table. “Are you still teaching racquetball, Jack?” She tried to buy a little time while she decided on the right path.
“It’s not racquetball, Aunt Jackie! It’s tennis, and don’t change the subject!”
He is always so easily baited.
“They play with a racquet. How am I supposed to know the difference?” Her comment met with icy stares from her nephews. She sighed. “What do you boys know?” She danced h
er eyes between the two young men.
“We know that Mom went missing last night,” Tom said. “We found some blood on the floor and the doors were unlocked, so we think she must have been kidnapped from the apartment. No one seems to know what happened. She had a hiding spot in her closet that we never knew about, and whatever she had hidden was stolen last night with her.”
“All this happened on Solitary Day,” Jack added, “so we know it has to do with that. You know something, or you wouldn’t have dragged your wrinkled self out here at this time of the morning.”
They don’t know much. I still have a choice to make.
She spoke softly, almost as if her nephews were not in the room. “I love your mother very much. She and you two boys are the only family I’ve got. I knew she was special when she was a baby. I bought her first sketchpad and drawing pencils. She was always drawing something, and had enough talent to pursue it, but your grandparents weren’t in a position to give her that chance. I wish I could’ve, but there were many lean years. The circus didn’t pay well, even when I was the star.”
For a brief period, she had been a star, famous for wearing seductive outfits while performing eye-popping gymnastics on horseback. She proudly displayed her portfolio of pictures during every holiday. At age five, Jack snuck away with the scrapbook and decorated the pictures with his mom’s drawing pencils. Their relationship hadn’t been the same since.
“Maggie always lit up the room with her smile. She still does. She’s been a daughter to me. You know that I never had any children. I’ve taken a different road than the conventional route, but Maggie’s always been in my life, and I’m better for it.”
She paused and exchanged looks with both of her great nephews. “I’ve made certain promises to her, boys. If you already knew, then maybe I could help, but she made me promise not to involve you. She’s worried about your safety, and I can’t blame her. I can’t break those promises now. They have me wrapped up tight.” She removed her hands from her cup and placed them flat on the table.
