The Coach House

by Florence Osmund

  In an effort to keep her mind off Richard, Marie tried to focus on other things. She became more interested in what was happening with civil rights, making it a point to read related articles all the way through instead of just the first few paragraphs. She occasionally tuned into Listen Chicago, a radio station that focused on Negro social issues. She had had no idea just how inferior the Negroes felt, thanks to white people who fought to keep them out of their neighborhoods and schools, who portrayed them in film as lazy and stupid, and who called them derogatory names to their faces.

  She learned that there were white newspapers and Negro newspapers. The white newspapers reported only the negative when it came to Negroes. If you wanted to read about anything positive they did, you had to buy a Negro newspaper.

  Truman seemed to be the first president interested in doing something about the atrocities committed against Negroes. He tried to make lynching a federal crime, although it never made it to the Senate for a vote. However, he was successful by executive order ending segregation in the armed forces.

  Marie learned that Atlanta may have been one of the southern cities most affected by civil unrest, but the city also seemed to be on the cutting edge of doing something about it. It was Atlanta that was the first city to employ Negroes on their police forces and recruit them to register to vote. And Georgia was one of the first states to abolish poll taxes, a tax aimed at Negroes that barred people who couldn’t afford the tax from voting.

  Marie focused on building her sideline design work and before long was turning away enough of it to consider doing it full-time. The phone company had provided her with a good income for a year and a level of safety she knew she wouldn’t have had being out in the public on her own. After much self-deliberation and late-night discussions with Karen, she decided to resign and concentrate on growing her interior design business full-time.

  She contacted store owners in the smaller neighboring towns, avoiding the larger towns like Kansas City and Topeka, to promote her business. She targeted areas where there were opportunities close together so she wouldn’t have to travel that far in between clients, something she had learned from Richard.

  Karen was almost as excited about Marie’s full-time pursuit with her business as Marie was herself and wanted to be part of it. She offered to help Marie conduct background checks of sorts on potential new clients. Marie accepted her offer—the last thing she wanted were clients with ties to Richard, the Chicago Outfit or Chicago cops.

  After a few months of working off of Karen’s background checks, Marie became nervous. “Should I be worried about where you’re getting this information?”

  “Do you trust me, Marie?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you have nothing to worry about.”

  For better or worse, Marie believed her.

  * * *

  No matter how well her business was going or how comfortable she got, Marie remained constantly on the lookout for Richard. She felt his presence even though she never really saw him. Her fears were confirmed when she left her shop one day after work and walked toward her car. It was June 28, her birthday.

  She picked up a small card that had been placed under one of her windshield wipers. It was one of Richard’s business cards. She looked up half expecting to see him standing there. She looked around the parking lot, but saw no one. On the back he had written “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

  “I figure he plans to slowly torture me by popping up every once in a while, before going in for the kill,” she said to Karen one day after a couple of glasses of Merlot.

  “Ah, you’re overacting. First of all, you aren’t even sure it’s him half the time, and the other half may just be coincidental.”

  She told Karen about the business card. “You mean coincidental like that?”

  “Well, that’s pretty creepy, I must admit. But looks to me like he just wants to taunt you. He’s had plenty of opportunities to really hurt you and he hasn’t. Doesn’t that put your mind at ease?”

  “And then there’s the short fat guy with the cigar. Do you think that’s coincidental? I saw him again recently, you know, at the A&P, right there in the produce section, pretending to be interested in melons. He looked right at me with those beady little eyes of his and that slicked-back hair.”

  “You’re being a little dramatic, don’t you think? Maybe he wasn’t really the guy who asked about you at the phone company, and that poor schmuck just wanted a ripe melon. Did you ever think of that?”

  “Right. And I’m the next Queen of England.”

  CHAPTER 21

  The File

  Eventually, Marie had sufficient interior design business to move it out of her apartment and open her own studio. When she mentioned this to Rita Young, the owner of Rita’s B&B, Rita made an offer she couldn’t refuse. Within six months, a section of Rita’s garage was converted to a design studio that was furnished with many of the antiques Rita had in her antique shop. Rita didn’t charge Marie any rent in exchange for Marie minding the store.

  Marie immediately hired a receptionist and, shortly later, a junior designer. Marie concentrated on new business and the larger design jobs, and the junior designer handled the display window work, which had now grown to several towns.

  “Things are going so well, I’m almost afraid to stop and think about Richard,” she told Karen one evening. Despite the hour, the air was warm, and there was enough of a breeze that the scent of Julia’s flowers wafted up through the windows. “I haven’t had a Richard scare in quite a while.”

  “Know how you feel,” Karen responded. “First time I went without thinking about Ed for a few days in a row, I got scared, like something really bad was now going to happen because I let my guard down.”

  Marie thought about how much alike she and Karen were. “Have you ever thought about finding love again?”

  “No. I’m done.”

  “Oh, come on, Karen. Don’t you miss the companionship?”

  “I suppose so, but look what it got me in the end.”

  “Ed was only one man. All men aren’t like him.”

  “I don’t need a man.”

  Marie thought about her statement. “Well, Karen…no one really needs a man.”

  “Yeah? Then why do we all keep looking for them?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “See?”

  Marie smiled blissfully. “What we need in our lives are heroes, and if they’re men, that’s icing on the cake.”

  “Explain yourself.”

  “A hero. Someone who we look up to, are inspired by. Someone who supports us and defends us if needed. Someone who puts your needs before his.”

  “Yeah? And just where do we find these gems?”

  “Oh, I think they’re around.” Marie’s thoughts drifted off.

  “What’s with you? You look like you’re a million miles away.”

  Marie didn’t look directly at her friend. “It’s nothing.”

  “Marie…”

  “I haven’t told you all my secrets.” The second glass of wine had taken effect.

  Karen squinted into her friend’s eyes. “Okay…what is it?”

  Marie paused while she thought about what she was about to reveal. “It’s about my father.”

  “What about him?”

  “I don’t know who he is.”

  “You told me he wasn’t in your life, but I didn’t realize you don’t know who he is. Your mother never told you about him?”

  “Only that she loved him, but he couldn’t be part of our lives.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That was it. She never said this, but I think he must have really broken her heart…but good.”

  “Ever try to find him?”

  Marie sighed. “Yeah. But all I ran into were dead ends. The only lead I haven’t followed through on is the person who paid for my college education. I asked the school about it once, and all they told me was that information was confidential. I didn�
�t want to create any problems at the time, and I desperately wanted to go to college, so I didn’t pursue it.”

  Karen’s eyes lit up. “Then that’s where we need to go!”

  “Where?”

  “To your college.”

  “It’s in New York, Karen.”

  “Oh. Well, maybe we can do it over the phone then.”

  “Do what over the phone?”

  “See who paid for your college.”

  “They would tell us he wants to remain anonymous, same as the bank told me.”

  “Wait a minute! Where did you go to college?”

  “Parsons School of Design.”

  “I know someone there!”

  “Who?”

  “Well, now I’m not sure if it’s Parsons. But I can find out easily enough.”

  “Who?”

  “I buy all my children’s clothes from this one supplier in New York. Her name is Sadie. I’ve never met her, but have talked to her many times on the phone, and so we kind of know each other. Anyway, she has a daughter who I know works at a college in New York, and I’m pretty sure it’s a design school. If it’s Parsons, bet she would show you your file if I asked.”

  “Why would she do that? It could get her into trouble.”

  “I don’t know, but it’s worth asking.”

  “Sounds risky to me.”

  “All she can say is ‘no.’I’ll call Sadie tomorrow. Okay?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You want to know who your father is, don’t you?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “This may get you at least a little closer.”

  “Well, let’s say she agrees to show me my file. I can’t just jet off to New York. I’m still trying to recuperate financially from San Francisco.”

  “Hmm.”

  Marie stared right through Karen, thinking about what she might find in that file.

  “Hey! Something just occurred to me. I can write the trip off as a business expense. My buyers are always trying to get me to come to New York to see their lines. Now’s my chance! You’d be doing me a favor.” Karen’s eyes went wide. “Look, it’s because of you I’m starting to get my spirit back. Please let me do this for you.”

  Marie smiled. “You think you’re so smart, don’t you?”

  “Not as smart as you, but I do have my moments.”

  “I don’t know, Karen.”

  Karen got up, hugged her friend, and said, “Let’s think about it, okay? Call you tomorrow.”

  The next day, Marie agreed to let Karen make the call. Karen called her afterward.

  “Sadie called her daughter, Theresa, and this is what they came up with,” Karen explained. “Theresa is just a clerk in the back room of the main office, but she does have access to student files, and there’s no policy about a file leaving the registrar’s office, so…”

  “Karen, stop there. I know where you’re going with this, and it is the most lame-brained idea I’ve ever heard.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. It just is.”

  “Look, it gets you what you want…maybe…and no one is doing anything wrong. What’s wrong with that?”

  “What if she’s caught? What’s she going to say?”

  “She won’t get caught. She’s a file clerk and has reason to be in the files. She’s just going to put your file in her bag one night after work and bring it back the next day. No one will be the wiser.”

  “So how are you going to see it?”

  “Sadie’s invited me to stay with them while I’m in New York.”

  * * *

  Two weeks later, Marie drove Karen to the airport. “I still don’t have a good feeling about this, you know.”

  “Relax. Nothing will go wrong.”

  “When do I pick you up, Sherlock?”

  “My flight gets in at noon on Thursday.”

  “Be careful, okay?”

  “I will. Promise”

  * * *

  To get her mind off of what Karen was doing in New York, Marie went to the movies to see Rope, a much-talked-about Hitchcock movie. The storyline was about two men who try to prove they can commit the perfect murder. Brandon Shaw played Dall; Phillip Morgan played Granger. Their victim is their long-time friend and former classmate, David. The plot takes a surprising turn when the two murderers host a dinner party and drop clues that dare their guests to become suspicious. But it wasn’t the main plot that had Marie’s attention. Instead, it was the subplot, or at least what Marie supposed might be a subplot.

  She kept catching subtle hints of what appeared to be homosexual undertones in the two characters. It was Dall’s mannerisms and dialogue that first raised her suspicions. After a while, she wondered if she had just imagined the bizarre connotation. She wasn’t used to seeing that in films.

  When she went to bed that night, Marie’s mind wandered back to the film, and then she realized why she was so intrigued by it. She recalled a line in the film spoken by either Dall or Granger, she couldn’t remember which one, that went something like, “We can’t continue living like this.” That line was very similar to the one in Karen’s husband’s suicide note.

  * * *

  Marie picked Karen up at the airport as planned. “So tell me…what did you find out?”

  “Found out you were an ‘A’ student. I’m impressed!”

  “What else, smarty pants?”

  “Let’s wait until we get to my house. I took notes, and they’re in my suitcase.”

  The tension in Marie’s stomach grew as she drove to Karen’s house. “Can you at least tell me if you found anything that will help me?”

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  “Am I going to be pleased?”

  “Don’t know. It’s not the whole puzzle, just a few pieces, I’m afraid.”

  They pulled into Karen’s driveway, and Marie turned off the motor without putting the car in park. “Oops.”

  “Calm down, hon. Too bad it’s too early to have a glass of wine,” she told Marie as she got out of the car.

  “No. I want a clear head when we do this.”

  The two women sat down at Karen’s dining room table. Karen opened the file folder where she had her notes.

  “Okay.” She looked at Marie with wide eyes. “Here we go. Well, I told you about your grades. That’s what was first in your file. The next thing was a copy of your medical exam.”

  “That was required in order to attend.”

  “Then there were three letters of recommendation. And, boy, did they make you sound good.”

  “Very funny. Go on.”

  “Your college application was next.”

  Marie wondered if she would ever get to the good stuff—stuff she didn’t already know.

  “The next thing is interesting, but before I get to it, let me tell you what else was in the file. Let’s see…a copy of your high school transcripts.” She looked up at Marie. “More A’s.” She shook her head. “And a copy of the school’s acceptance letter.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Except for the letter.”

  “Okay, Karen. Let’s get to it.”

  “Calm down. Be patient. It was typed on National Bank of Chicago stationery.”

  “Okay, that’s the bank that oversaw the scholarship fund that had been established for me. What did it say?”

  “I wrote down exactly what it said.” Karen read from her notes. “Dated August 30, 1942.”

  Dear Mrs. Osborne:

  Pursuant to our telephone conversation, you will find enclosed a check for $350 to cover tuition, room and board, and textbooks for Miss Marie Costa for her first semester at Parsons School of Design. If you would be kind enough to send an invoice for each subsequent semester, I would be most appreciative.

  In addition, enclosed is a separate check for $50 for any incidental expenses Miss Costa may have during her first semester. I ask that you forward this check to her as soon as she arrives at your school.

&n
bsp; Should you have questions, please contact me at once.

  Yours truly,

  Gregory Feinstein

  Vice President

  “Well, now I have a contact name at the bank which I didn’t have before. But I’m not sure what good that will do me. I was told the benefactor wished to remain anonymous.”

  “I know. At first I felt so discouraged because there didn’t seem to be anything worthwhile in there. But I kept going back to the letter. I kept looking at it, like maybe something would jump off the page…”

  “That’s okay.” Marie let out an audible sigh. “I just feel bad you made the trip for nothing.”

  “Wait. I’m not finished. I read and reread that letter. Then as I was sitting there at Sadie’s table with the letter lying there and the sun coming through the window right on the letter, something caught my eye. I held it up to the window and saw an imprint on it.” She looked at Marie. “Like something had been written on a piece of paper that was on top of the letter.”

  Marie stared hard at Karen. “Go on.”

  “So I got a pencil and rubbed the side of it over the impression so I could read it.”

  “And?”

  “Let me check my notes. I want to get this right. It said, ‘Per Jon, high conf.’”

  “Huh?”

  “Per Jon, spelled J-o-n, and then h-i-g-h and c-o-n-f.”

  Marie repeated it. “High confidence? That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Wait. There’s more. I’ll spell it. I-I-l-e-g-i-t.”

  Marie closed her eyes.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Illegitimate.”

  “Oh.”

  Of course Marie had figured out long ago she was illegitimate. After all, Costa was her mother’s maiden name, and there was no father’s name on her birth certificate. But it was something else to hear someone say it. It took a minute for everything to sink in.