Enchanted: Dotties Story

by Linda Gerald

  For hours she walked the streets, bolstering her confidence as she thought. Finally, she reluctantly returned to the room. She expected to find Christine still on the floor. To her joy, the woman was gone. Through the night, Susan thought she heard footsteps or a key in the door. Surely, Christine would return. When she had not returned by noon the next day, the blonde headed home. Had someone stolen the dead body of Christine? It was a long drive allowing her plenty of time to plan her story. No doubt, it was shaky but possible. There was never a Charlie. He was added to make Jackson angry. Never had she dreamed that the authorities would use that to convince everyone that the young woman had run away with her lover. A proper investigation was never conducted. Police thought of Jackson’s wife as unstable.

  Jackson looked at his now wife with pity. Gently, he placed his hand on her head. “Don’t come back home, Susan. I do not want my girls to be raised by another deceiver. I wish you the best. My attorney will contact you.” The door slammed. He was gone.

  THIRTY-FIVE: TALENT

  Months turned into years. In no time, Elizabeth and Harry celebrated their third anniversary on the day they met at the Metropolitan. Things remained the same between them. Over time, they fell into a daily routine that they both loved.

  Harry began to work on small legal problems for friends, which kept him cloistered in his office most days. Elizabeth spent her time in the pool cottage. She converted it into a lovely art studio.

  Bright light filled the space. She was able to clearly visualize the colors on her easel. Walls quickly displayed her work of brightly colored canvases. Her preference was forest scenes or flowers. In each one, she hid a small red or blue bird. She told Harry that little bird represented his love for her. This bird proclamation of love delighted Harry who often struggled to locate them skillfully hidden in each painting.

  Another favorite pastime for the couple was dancing. After lessons on the Queen Mary 2, they continued with lessons at a local studio. They perfected the dances which interested them.

  Elizabeth loved those nights when they Rumbaed or Tangoed. She enjoyed dressing the part. Harry relished seeing her blue-black hair pulled severely off her face. His love perfectly fit the look of a professional dancer. Her enjoyment of stilettos fascinated him. Eventually, they tired of lessons but they enjoyed attending competitions. The couple won a few awards especially for their Rumba. Ms. Grover dreamed of owning her private dance salon until she began painting. Then golf and dancing were replaced by hours spent with a brush and canvas.

  One day, as she labored over a forest scene with two deer hidden in the brush, there was a gentle knock on the door. With palette in her left hand and a large boar bristle brush in her right, she answered the door. To her amazement, Dottie George stood grinning.

  “Now, I won’t make this a habit. Coming here but I would love to see the master at work.” Her gleaming smile caused Elizabeth to realize that she had never invited Dottie to her domain.

  “Please, Ms. Dottie, come inside. I am very sorry that I never asked you here before. That is a terrible oversight on my part. It would mean a great deal if you give me your honest opinion. Maybe the fact that you are so honest is the reason. You see, I find it difficult showing my art to anyone. It will hurt if you don’t like it. Still, I want your real opinion. Harry always states how ‘superb’ they are, but are they?”

  Elizabeth continued to block the doorway. Dottie continued to stand humbly outside. A few minutes passed.

  “When you say that you’re nervous, you must be telling the truth. You just asked me inside, but you’re blocking the door. Do you want me or do you not?” Again, she smiled broadly.

  The younger woman moved slowly from the doorway. One thing was very true concerning Ms. George: if she did not like the work, she would say.

  Elizabeth continued backing slowly out of the way. Dottie sashayed gently into the room. Her eyes grew large. Before each painting, she stood. Minutes passed while she surveyed each one. Her head turned from one angle to the next. Apparently, she thought of herself as an art critic.

  “Um, um hun. Um, um, um.” Elizabeth hung on each syllable of these grunts.

  Once, she got so excited because Dottie made a different sound. She had forgotten about the brush in her right hand. A great splash of yellow now graced her forehead. Still, she followed the small dark woman with the green curler as if a great deal depended on her opinion.

  “I will take those two. How much are they?” Dottie pointed at the last two paintings. Carefully, she opened her purse.

  Elizabeth was confused. Her work was not for sale, although space was quickly running out for any more hangings. She explained that it would be impossible for her to sell any of her work.

  “Dottie, I have no idea the worth of these besides, I wouldn’t charge. Just take any that you like. Pretty soon, I can’t hang anymore due to lack of space.”

  Dottie George adamantly refused any free paintings. She explained that Tyler had a birthday in a few days as did a niece. These were perfect gifts for those two. Elizabeth asked an exorbitant price. Maybe Dottie would just take them. Instead, Dottie bartered back with a ridiculously small amount. They were in tears, when Elizabeth finally yelled, “Sold for two hundred dollars. I will issue credit.”

  Dottie stomped her foot with aggravation. She explained, she was quite capable of spending that much money.

  “You know what? You pay me well. Now, don’t you be acting like I need credit for I don’t.”

  Surprised, by the sudden thrust of a handful of hundred dollars in her face, Elizabeth understood that Ms. George had come equipped with just the right amount of money. She hugged Dottie. Then she opened the door for her exit. To their amazement, Don Donahue stood behind a large shrub by the gate. Had he been watching them? This possibility struck Elizabeth for the first time. She always felt invincible on the estate. As she stood in the transparent window, while she painted, her vulnerability was now apparent. Not only Donahue, but anyone could park on the highway and walk undetected to the cottage. Why would Donahue be watching her? His action made no sense.

  “Why you standing in the shadows like some pervert? Come out like a man.”

  Dottie would call it honestly. Both women stood in the doorway looking at him. For a long time, he did not comment. He stuttered and cleared his voice a few times but seemed unable to respond. Suddenly, a look of fear spread across his face. Quickly, he turned and bolted away without explanation. The two women were shocked and a little scared by his reaction.

  Dottie’s old Ford sat in front of the cottage. Ms. George told her friend that she would not leave unless Elizabeth accompanied her. They needed to tell Harry what just occurred. The younger woman understood that something was wrong with this angry, strange man. Together, they locked the studio and drove back to the main house.

  Harry sat in his favorite chair, by the window, with a bourbon and his newspaper. A big smile greeted the two women as he hugged them both. Soon, his smile turned to a question. Dottie charged with her explanation of the actions of Donahue. Harry sat unmoving in his chair. Confusedly, he looked at the woman with no memory.

  “Have you ever seen that man hanging around here before?”

  Shock and fear prevented the woman’s answer. Vehemently, she denied ever seeing him around the studio. Elizabeth loved painting in the little cottage. Would Donahue’s actions result in Harry refusing to let her continue? Quietly, she stood before him with her head down. No one said a word.

  “She just made two hundred dollars.” Dottie glared at Harry.

  Poor Harry looked at one and then the other for an explanation. Softly, the artist explained the source of her new found money. Harry winked sympathetically at his love.

  “You do enjoy painting, don’t you?”

  She walked to his side and kissed him gently on the cheek. She explained the feeling of freedom it presented, as well as how fulfilling the creative process was to her.

  “Please, don’t let Do
n win. If you force me to stop painting there, in a way, he wins. He prevents me from doing what I enjoy. Still, I don’t want you to spend times fretting and worrying about me. I’ll do whatever you say.”

  Harry thought he solved the dilemma when he suggested that she paint in the main house. Several empty rooms stood unused for years. Sadly, the young woman shook her head. It wasn’t the same, she explained. He understood the need to work in her space with freedom. Instead, he suggested that they all think on it through the night. It made no sense for her to change her routine because of Don Donahue and his sick behavior. The subject was put off for later discussion.

  The next day, Elizabeth rode her bike to the cottage again. She left before Harry arose or Dottie arrived. Finally, a talent buried inside her had displayed itself. This action came from deep within. Possibly, it was a connection to her past. The person she was before the loss of her memory. The ability to paint freely and be pleased with the results thrilled her. She refused robbery of her freedom by a sick and deranged man.

  Happily, she deposited a large, fresh canvas on the old easel. It shook when she dropped it onto the delicate structure. Elizabeth lovingly stroked the antique. Dottie had explained to her that it belonged to Edwina’s Mother. Mrs. Lister had been a most accomplished artist with major showings in New York. Once again, feelings of inadequacy had plagued the woman with no memory when her friend told her the history of the old easel. Now that she understood the depth of her talent, no longer was she intimidated.

  Hours passed. Peacefully, she forgot everything except transporting the image in her head onto the canvas. Skillfully, she swiped large swaths of brightly colored paints. Instead of a structured forest scene, a beautiful modern painting of swirls with bright yellows and reds glowed from the canvas. An entirely new style of painting waited on the easel for her approval. It amazed her that something so different had created itself before her. Harry enjoyed Modern Art. He should love this.

  At that moment, a strange sound shattered the peace. Elizabeth unlocked both locks on the black door after looking outside. A new, bright red golf cart shined from the road in front. Harry walked boldly up to the house. With a large smile, he offered a new set of keys to the small woman.

  “If you have to do this, and I guess you must, at least be safer as you travel back and forth. The cottage does have a lock and a deadbolt. I suppose you are safe. Here are the keys to your chariot, my love.”

  Without hesitation, she grabbed them quickly from his hand. With great fanfare, she invited him inside to critique her latest painting.

  THIRTY-SIX: THE MURDER

  Harry drove mid-morning, the next day, from the home of Jack Albergi. Jack and Harry now played golf once each week. They remained friends since college days. His wife Francine and Elizabeth adored each other. Harry laughed over a joke Jack had told him earlier. Haphazardly, he turned to enter his front gate. To his amazement, police cars parked all around his compound. Not one or two, but over ten cars scattered along the road where he drove. Some still had lights flashing. His heart almost stopped. When he first turned, he figured someone had hit the gate. That happened every few years, but this was an assault of police vehicles. His hands slightly shook as he continued to drive.

  He screamed out in despair when he approached the small pool cottage. They now referenced it as “The art studio.” Cars surrounded the little structure. Several officers walked around the surroundings. They enclosed it inside of yellow crime tape. Pulling quickly off the road, he almost hit a tree when he forgot to apply his brakes. Running toward the house, he left his car door opened with the radio blasting, “Wolf Blitzer’s news program.” An officer tried to block his path. He pushed past. Running, he yelled that he was the owner.

  When he entered the house, he began to cry with emotion. In horror, the first thing that he saw was Dottie holding the body of a lifeless Elizabeth. They were both covered in blood. A gun laid beside Dottie’s opened purse which sat by the unfolding scene.

  Harry felt like his spirit left his body. It was as though he watched the entire episode as a distant person. What could have transpired in the two hours since he ran his errand? His legs refused to move. It appeared that he froze in his tracks. He could hear wails from his mouth but could not feel himself crying.

  Dottie looked up sadly. She seemed totally composed. Was this a nightmare? He shook his head. The sound of his wails continued. Dottie looked him right in the eyes. Then her eyes looked past him to the far corner. Harry turned to see the dead body of Don Donahue. Bright, red blood splattered Don’s shirt.

  The sounds, of an approaching ambulance, added to the wails of his crying. He remained glued to the spot. Two men entered and picked Elizabeth up from the floor. At that moment, the young woman stood quickly. Her screams drowned out his cries and that of another ambulance. Terror drained all color from her face. With her hands covering her mouth, she shrieked apparently unable to stop. To his amazement, Dottie stood slowly and walked to the younger woman. Ever so gently, she slapped Elizabeth.

  The screams stopped. In horror, the woman with no memory looked first at Dottie, then at the dead body of Don. Harry’s heart broke for the pathetic look which covered her face. His porcelain doll was broken. Then, her eyes connected with Harry. Bounding toward him, the delicate frame of the woman ran into his opened arms. It was at that moment when he realized it was red paint which covered her shirt and face. When she stood, he noticed the board on which she mixed paints lying on the floor. Bright red paint streaked on it and onto the floor. Apparently, when she fell, the board rubbed against her shirt and onto her face. It did look just like blood. Grover shielded her now within his arms.

  A policeman quickly approached Dottie. Harry heard him tell her that he needed to take her statement. They moved into the next room. Another stretcher arrived to remove Don’s bloodied body.

  Elizabeth watched in fascination. The wails from each had stopped. Only the sounds of the police broke the silence.

  The woman without memory looked into his eyes with so much desperation that he knew he would never forget the moment.

  “Harry, I remember everything. It is not pleasant. We are doomed. I am sorry. It is important that I return home at once. I must check on my two children.” He collapsed on the floor. Two EMTs approached Elizabeth, but she refused to go to the hospital.

  “I am not going anywhere with you. My problems are greater than him.” Angrily, she pointed at the dead man now loaded onto the stretcher. Harry hugged her gently. Suddenly, she looked like she may break.

  “Officer, may I take her home? She has been through more than she can bear. Please.” The officer hesitated but nodded. Harry had checked on Dottie before they left. Surrounded by officers, she flamboyantly waved her arms. In great detail, she described what happened. Harry wanted to hear the story from his love, not anyone else. Together they drove to the main house.

  When they entered, he walked with Elizabeth to the sofa. Late afternoon light streamed into the room and covered the red walls. No more gayness and joy abounded here, not today. Their world of perpetual peace lied shattered. That he knew, but he was not completely aware of what was happening.

  Gently, he spread a light cover over her. He touched her skin. The coldness, on such a warm day, seemed inappropriate. Desperately, he wanted to hear her story. Instead, he walked toward the kitchen to prepare a cup of tea. When he offered it to her, he received a smile of disdain, but she accepted it.

  With a soft voice, she began to describe what just occurred. Tears filled her dark eyes. Her hands trembled. She sipped the tea. A look of comfort crossed her face. She described that as she finished another lovely, modern painting, with bold blocks of red and yellow, there was a knock on the door. Dottie planned on stopping in for a visit to see the latest pictures. The woman with no memory had forgotten to lock the gate. She also forgot to check outside before opening it. Don Donahue burst into the room in a mad rage. He grabbed her and kissed her passionately. Her atte
mpts to free herself only increased his anger. He was yelling that he planned to rape her. Then he would kill himself. The strange thing was that he did not have a gun. She was afraid. Unsure of what actions to take, she walked into the bedroom with him. He began to call her Edwina. Sadly, the young woman told Harry what he always suspected. When they were in college, Don and Edwina were desperately in love. They planned to marry. Then Edwina met Harry. Slowly, she distanced herself from Don. Their love affair ended. Grover sadly listened. Elizabeth described some of the things that Don told her about Harry’s first wife. It was apparent that they had been intimate. None of this mattered. He needed to hear about Elizabeth’s memory of her home and family. Still, she continued to talk about Don and Edwina’s affair. He wanted to yell at her to tell what she remembered. Suddenly, her tremors increased. Again, she began to cry.

  Donahue had thrown her onto the bed. He had continued to refer to her as Edwina. One moment, he lovingly caressed her. Then he made vicious threats. Most likely, he had lost his mind. When he started to rip her clothes, they heard the door open. Don left Elizabeth. He ran into the next room. Dottie stood bravely in the doorway with a gun. The younger woman attempted to get away from Don. She almost reached the back door. Quickly, Don left Dottie and the gun. He charged toward Elizabeth. Angrily, he picked her up and threw her into the wall across the room. That was where she laid when Harry arrived. At that moment, Dottie aimed the gun. One shot discharged directly into his chest. He died instantly.

  Harry said nothing. Now surely she would explain about her earlier statements of their doom. Sadly, she stood. Lovingly, she knelt by his chair.

  “I suppose that the fall resulted in a severe blow to my head. That probably caused some damage but led to the return of my memory. My dearest love, I remember my other family. They are Jackson Barlow and my two girls, Quincey and Maddie. Our home waits in Cape San Blas, Florida. It is imperative that I return. The girls need me. Jackson must be beside himself with worry. At one time, we were euphoric.”