Blessed are the Meek

by Kristi Belcamino

  Across the backyard, Annalisa takes in Grant’s proprietary clasp of my arm with a frown as she climbs out of the pool. She maneuvers through the crowd, her tiny red crocheted bikini actually making my suit feel a bit matronly. We both are more than ample in the chest area, but if hers are real, I’ll hold up the white flag.

  When she is a few feet in front of me, I feel her glare before I see it. Slowly, she scrutinizes my body, from my bare toes to the tendrils of hair sticking to my temple in the heat. Her eyes narrow to slits. I meet her gaze, and, for a split second, I can almost see the daggers in her eyes, but the look disappears so fast I wonder if I imagined it as her teeth spread into a wide smile.

  “Adam, you didn’t tell me we had another guest,” she says, grabbing both my arms as she kisses my cheeks, releasing me from Grant’s hold. She knows exactly what she is doing. She pulls back, weaving her own arm through Grant’s. Her head only comes up to his armpits. She presses her wet body close to him, slanting a glance at me. “Adam, did you scare Gabriella’s boyfriend away? Sean seemed upset. Is something wrong?”

  Grant looks at me. “Boyfriend?”

  I ignore the question in his voice. “He had some urgent business back in the city. Important things. Cop stuff.”

  “Oh, I know,” Annalisa says with a small smile. “I remember those days. Good God, that was so boring, having him leave in the middle of the night because work called.”

  She hits her mark. The image of Donovan in her bed sears my brain. I take a big gulp of my wine, so she won’t see my reaction. But when I look up, I know I didn’t fool anyone.

  Grant laughs. “Annalisa, he’s another one of your conquests? Your track record never fails to amaze me.”

  Her look sours. “He wasn’t one of my conquests. He was my first true love.”

  That’s it. “Excuse me. Where’s your restroom?” I need to escape before I slap her.

  “I’M SORRY IF I upset you.” Annalisa is waiting for me outside the bathroom. “It’s hard for me to see Sean with another woman. It’s not that I don’t like you. It’s just that I’ve always assumed that one day we would get back together. I’ve always imagined us growing old together.”

  I say nothing. She looks forlorn. But I know she’s a good actress.

  “If it makes you feel any better,” she says, turning to me with sad eyes, “he told me today that it would never happen.”

  I take a minute to process this. She reaches into a small bag and takes out a compact mirror and a tube of blood red lipstick.

  “I’m not the first woman he’s been with since you. He was married, after all.”

  “Oh, her,” Annalisa laughs. “Teresa never was any competition for me. He would have left her for me in a heartbeat if I’d said the word. But I wasn’t ready for him yet. I’m more mature now and ready to settle down.” She pouts her lip in the compact mirror and takes a manicured finger to a small lipstick smudge. “Believe me, Teresa wouldn’t have stood a chance.”

  She stops and looks right at me. “You, on the other hand, seem to have a bit more of a hold on him. And there’s not even a wedding ring on your finger.”

  She sounds puzzled. I can tell that she is trying to figure out what it is about me that Donovan would prefer over her. This true-­confessions thing is pissing me off. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because I want us to be friends.”

  “I don’t know if that’s possible,” I say with ice in my voice.

  Her eyes widen as I walk out. She may be a viper—­may even be a killer—­but I’m Italian.

  THE LATE LUNCH consists of a buffet of fresh seafood and fruit. ­People fill up their plates and find spots on lawn chairs or plop down on the grass to eat. I’ve tried to keep an eye on Grant and Annalisa without making it too obvious. For a while, they roughhouse in the pool like teenagers. Grant keeps picking Annalisa up, holding her over his head, and tossing her in the water. She squeals with delight.

  I don’t know why, but I feel something that doesn’t make any sense—­jealousy. I feel like Grant threw me aside as soon as Annalisa walked up. It’s absurd. I have a boyfriend. This is not a date. And besides, he could be a killer.

  Maybe it’s because Grant has one of those magnetic personalities. He’s able to make you feel like you are the only person in the world that matters to him at that moment. It is so intense and flattering that it feels like something is missing when he directs his attention to something or someone else.

  I strike up conversations with other ­people at the party, trying to find out more about Grant and Annalisa without making it obvious. Nobody seems to know anything about Annalisa beyond the fact that she is the artist being honored, but everyone talks about how Grant is a great guy. Donovan said Annalisa was fearful the murderer would show up at this party. But what if the murderer is the one hosting the party?

  I feel bad about the way Donovan left, so I sneak into the house and dial him on my cell. He should be home in Oakland by now. His phone rings and rings, but his voice mail never picks up. This seems odd, so I redial his number. This time it goes straight to voice mail. I hang up without leaving a message.

  When I come back out, Grant has Annalisa backed up against a wall in the pool, leaning in close to talk to her. She doesn’t seem to mind one bit. Maybe they are in on it together. They’re awfully cozy for a woman who just lost her live-­in boyfriend. How convenient to have him out of the way.

  Grant pulls Annalisa out of the pool and leads her to the patio. They seem deep in conversation, with Annalisa gesturing fiercely, casting a glance back at the pool.

  I look where she is gesturing. At first, it looks like everyone is frolicking, swimming, or sitting on the edge of the pool as they drink, but then I notice a woman in a black bikini casting dark looks at Annalisa and Adam Grant. She’s sitting in a beach chair, scowling and sipping on her drink. For a second, it looks like she’s mumbling to herself. I had talked to her earlier, and she had dismissed Annalisa with a wave, saying, she’d never heard of her or her art, and she was only there because she was a longtime friend of Grant’s. She went on to tell me how she was a famous interior designer who had “done” Grant’s penthouse apartment in the city.

  Now I give her a second look. Who said the killer had to be a man? A scorned woman could have seduced the pants off Laurent, shot him, and sent his vehicle plunging over the ledge. I’m about to go pull up the chair beside her when I notice another guy, a man with dirty blond hair and a rugged attractiveness.

  It looks like he is paying too much attention to Annalisa, but it is hard to tell exactly where he is looking because his gaze is hidden beneath dark glasses. He stands out from the crowd because he’s the only one dressed, and I don’t remember seeing him here earlier. He’s sitting with his feet in the water, wearing a tight T-­shirt and rolled-­up cargo pants. He has an intense look on his face, his lips clamped together.

  After a few seconds, he says something to a woman in the pool directly in his sight line between him and Annalisa. The woman swims over and stands between his knees. He leans down and gives her a long kiss. He must have been staring at his date, not Annalisa.

  I search the other faces, but nobody seems to stand out. What made Annalisa so agitated? I start to head over to the lawn chair, but the woman in the black bikini is gone. I search the heads in the pool but can’t find her anywhere.

  Grabbing a towel, I head toward the house, pretending to use the bathroom while I snoop for the black-­bikini woman. The house isn’t big, so I try every door on my way to the bathroom. Off the kitchen is a hallway with about five doors. All closed. I try the first one. As soon as I see the stairs leading down, probably to a wine cellar, fear spurts through me. I shut the door. No way.

  All the other rooms are empty. Where did she go? When I come across the bathroom, I decide to take advantage of the facilities. When I come out, I fling open the
door and scream.

  The man from the pool in the dark sunglasses is standing there. He’s Robert-­Redford handsome with dirty blond hair brushed back and a strong jaw with a cleft in his chin.

  A low chuckle erupts from his throat. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you. Isn’t this the bathroom?”

  I burst into nervous giggles. “You scared the daylights out of me.”

  He looks over his shoulder. “I’m surprised the whole party didn’t rush in to see what was the matter. You’ve got some pretty good lungs on you.”

  Even though he wears dark glasses, I feel his gaze rake over me, taking in every inch of my bare flesh. It sends a shiver down my spine. I grab my towel from my arm and wrap it snugly around my torso.

  He gives me a wry smile, the side of his mouth curling up. He takes a step closer, and I involuntarily shrink back.

  “That’s too bad. I was enjoying the view.” His voice is low and seductive and sends a tremor through me. His body blocks the doorway. I swallow and look down.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Gabriella.”

  He is silent for a moment, then steps to the side.

  Rushing by, I barely catch his murmur: “Nice to meet you. I’m Mark.”

  NOT LONG AFTER, Grant asks for our attention. After everyone quiets, and a maid passes out flutes of champagne, Grant whips away a black velvet cloth to reveal a five-­foot-­long white marble sculpture on a huge pedestal. The art piece is much like the smaller ones by Annalisa at the gallery, but this one’s a fountain. It features a voluptuous woman with long flowing hair leaning back with her back arched. The figure is lying on the edge of a pool of water, with one hand dipping into the water. It takes me a minute to figure it out, but the fingertips are resting on what looks like a whale’s head emerging from the water.

  “When I first met Annalisa, she told me a beautiful story from her childhood in Mexico that warmed my heart,” Grant says. ­People grow quiet. “I asked her several months ago to bring that story to life in a sculpture for me, and I’m honored to unveil it today. And I’m honored that Annalisa is here to share that story again.”

  Annalisa moves to Grant’s side.

  “When I was a little girl, my mama told me this story,” she begins.

  “There was once a prince who set off to find the most beautiful woman in the land to marry. He found her in a palace near the sea. She only showed him her face once, then quickly covered it with her veil. He fell in love and wanted to marry her that instant, but her father, a wealthy merchant, demanded a large dowry, so the prince had to return home to fetch the gold.

  Meanwhile, a gypsy girl who worked for the beautiful young maiden had been hiding nearby. When she saw the prince, she became enchanted and obsessed with him. That afternoon, the maiden went swimming in the sea. When she came to the shore, she asked the gypsy girl to comb her hair. While the gypsy girl was brushing the maiden’s hair, she pricked her with a magical needle and turned the maiden into a whale. The whale rode out on the next wave.

  The gypsy donned the maiden’s veil and pretended to be her when the prince returned. After the wedding ceremony, the prince lifted the veil and discovered he had been tricked. He tried to get the gypsy girl to tell him what happened to his maiden, but she refused. The merchant father threw the gypsy girl in the dungeon, but she refused to speak.

  That night, the prince had a dream. He dreamed that a giant, gray whale was calling to him. He couldn’t shake the feeling, and the next morning he immediately set out to sea in the merchant’s finest ship, outfitted inside as if it were a floating castle, with silver and gold and velvet and furs.

  It took three days, but the prince finally came across a whale. A large gray one. When the ship drew near, the whale surfaced right near the deck where the prince was standing. The giant head came up out of the water, and the whale’s big eye stared at the prince.

  The deckhands shouted that the whale was possessed by the devil and tried to scare it away. But the whale stayed, staring at the prince. Even when deckhands grabbed harpoons and were about to spear the whale, it remained still, so the prince called off the attack. That’s when he knew. It was his maiden.

  From that day forward, for the rest of his life, the prince never again stepped foot on the shore. He stayed on the ship, so he could be near his true love. The whale never left the boat’s side, and the two grew old together.

  “They say the maiden whale still lives today,” Annalisa continues, “and that those who are fortunate enough to see her will be given a special gift. If ever you see a whale, and it looks you in the eye, then you must immediately return to shore and go to sleep so you can dream.”

  “Or so you can do something else in that bed! I’ve seen your other sculptures,” blurts out a red-­faced, hairy-­chested man who’s obviously had too much to drink. A blond woman falling out of her swimsuit top giggles. He’s broken the spell that Annalisa’s story has cast, and the party erupts into nervous laughter and titters.

  I’m surprised by how captivating Annalisa’s story was and disappointed this buffoon interrupted her at the end. She’s upset, too, and stomps off. Grant follows her to an area under the palm trees. He is rubbing her arms, talking, and leaning down to look into her face. Her eyes flash with anger.

  Listening to Annalisa’s story, I felt like I got a glimpse into a part of her that ­people rarely see—­the deepest part of her—­a part of her that maybe I could be friends with if she wasn’t Donovan’s ex-­girlfriend.

  Near the corner of the house, Adam Grant holds both of Annalisa’s shoulders as if he’s trying to calm her down.

  Right then, a woman screams and points to the pool. The red-­faced man is floating face down. Within seconds, a blur of color flies by and dives into the pool. It’s Mark, the man with the dark sunglasses. Within seconds, he’s pulled the larger man out of the pool and propped him on his side. He places his hands under the man’s jaw and presses. Water dribbles out of the man’s mouth.

  Mark leans down and puts his ear to the man’s mouth and nose. Then gently puts the man flat on his back and, holding the man’s nose, begins rescue breathing. He stops and puts his finger on the man’s wrist, muttering something.

  The music has stopped, and the only sounds are a few whispers. Finally, after what seems like forever, Mark jerks up and turns the man’s head to the side. The man vomits a pinkish neon froth, then begins coughing and trying to sit up.

  ­People rush over with towels and a glass of water and soon I can’t see the man at all. After a few seconds, the crowd parts, and leaning on another man’s shoulder, the red-­faced man heads to the side of the house down a path leading to the driveway.

  Mark stands alone in dripping clothes.

  I make my way over there.

  “Nice work.”

  “Was worried there for a minute,” Mark says. “He’s lucky.”

  “Is he going to be okay?”

  “He’s headed to the hospital to get checked out, but yeah, I think so.” He turns and smiles.

  The blond woman Mark was talking to in the pool rushes over and wraps him in a big hug. “Thank God you were here!” Without a backward glance at me, she drags him off to a lawn chair near hers, where he strips off his wet shirt and rolls up the cuffs on his pants even more before turning his face to the sun.

  Once everything has settled down, I realize I’d forgotten all about Adam Grant and Annalisa in the commotion. I glance over to where they had been standing.

  They’re gone.

  I quickly slip through another door, winding my way through the house, with my towel clutched over my bikini. But I don’t hear a sound. I tiptoe around the terra-­cotta floors, trying to figure out which direction Grant and Annalisa went. Small drops of water drip from my hair onto the floor. I pause, listening. Nothing but the sounds of laughter outside.

  Then, fain
t voices off the room closest to the kitchen filter out. I think that was the room where Grant said he was going to change earlier. On instinct, I grab someone’s empty glass off the kitchen counter as I pass and creep to the adjacent room. Slowly, I crack the door. It’s an empty bedroom, the one where I stashed my clothes among other ­people’s totes and purses. I slip in and lock the door behind me. I press the glass against the wall, then my ear against the glass. Perfect. I can hear every word in the other room.

  “Why would you bring him here? A police detective?”

  “I was scared.”

  “You don’t think I’m capable of protecting you?”

  “You don’t understand,” she says. “He’s helping us. He wants to prove I’m innocent. It’s under control. He will do anything I say. Anything. Trust me.”

  “Why are you acting so skittish now? You must tell me what’s going on? You were fine, and now you act like you’ve seen a ghost?”

  Annalisa had looked frightened when she glanced at the pool.

  “It’s nothing. I just don’t want to go back out there.”

  “I don’t understand. It’s your party.”

  “Please, please don’t make me go back out there?” She is pleading. She sounds terrified.

  “There, there.” Grant’s voice is soothing.

  “Besides. I miss you,” she says with a purr in her voice. “We can have much more fun in here, anyway. I can think of lots of things for us to do. Nobody will miss us.”

  I hear Grant’s low laugh. Then silence. I wait, listening, with the glass starting to hurt my ear. Then I hear a moan.

  “Oh God,” I hear Grant say, groaning.

  I am startled by the sudden turn in conversation, and my grasp on the glass loosens. It falls to the floor and shatters on the stone floor, the loud noise piercing the silence.