“Over some things time passes by vainly, with no influence whatsoever,” the older woman mumbled to herself, suddenly experiencing a strange premonition. “At least it’s of good omen,” she said superstitiously, feeling her right eye involuntarily trembling. Right eye augurs well, left eye is ill omen, she continued her paranormal thought.
“Did you say something, Laura?” Vivien inquired, incapable to understand the woman’s indistinct utterance.
“No, dear,” Laura denied, making the sign of the cross with her right pinkie over her right eye that was twitching unstoppably. “Let’s get some work done! I personally doubt that we can finish everything today,” she mentioned, flicking specks of pie crust from her black sweater embellished with orange pumpkins crocheted by her own hands.
Carol Hopkins, Vivien’s grandmother, had collected all kinds of knick-knacks. Over the years, she had hidden them in carton boxes organized meticulously in two roomy closets situated on both sides of the entrance hallway.
Early that evening, the women reached their goal. Most part of the content of the boxes was destined to go to the local charity organizations. Laura promised to call and have them taken out right the next day.
Vivien elected to keep the envelopes with old family pictures, a few objects d’art, a miniature collection of glass figurines, and a few arras made by Carol herself. In a plastic basket full of brand new golf leather gloves, Vivien stumbled upon that forgotten gift received from Tee on his wedding day, fifteen years ago. Tee had bought it for Nadine, but as she had not shown up, he had chosen to give it to her. Most certainly to soothe my tears! Vivien remembered.
The very elegant box wearing Tiffany’s signature was small and delicate and, after all appearances, no one had ever bothered to open it. One thing for sure – Vivien didn’t know what was inside it. She had placed it into her grandmother’s purse right after her last conversation with Tee and had forgotten all about it. Like always, the memory of that day made her so sad and desperate for answers, it usually brought her on the verge of a panic attack. It had been the most horrible day of her life. In only a few hours, she had lost her dearest friends, Tee and Mademoiselle Lili. She had never discussed it with anyone, but she often wondered what reason Mademoiselle Lili could have had in order to decide to put an end to her own life in such a horrible way. Now, bits of the past assaulted her memory. Vivien perfectly remembered Mr. Logan, only minutes before he had suffered that stroke that had rendered him blind for the rest of his life. Between uncontrollable sobs, he repeated as a defected robot:
“She was afraid of death, she was so afraid of death…”
If she were so afraid of dying, why did she choose to commit suicide?
“There are some paintings your grandmother never unpacked,” Laura pulled her out of the mysteries of the past. “I think you should take them home, check them out, and see if you’d want to keep any. These are works of young artists, who expose their paintings in studios here in Menlo Park. Their certificates of authenticity are stapled on their backs. Some of the painters could be celebrities by now, and their works could be worth tens of thousands of dollars.”
“Thank you, Laura,” Vivien said, lifting one of the big carton boxes. “Put some on top of this box, please. I’ll take them to my car right now.”
Two more trips to her Lexus, and everything she wanted to keep had been loaded in the trunk.
“I will have something to amuse myself with tonight,” Vivien said, thinking about all the old pictures she had found, the paintings, and the mysterious gift from Tee.
“Then have fun, my dear!” Laura wished her and gave her another warm hug.
After that, the old woman retired slowly to her light pink Cadillac, unseemly moving her abundant hips that resembled two oversized, round pillows applied unnaturally on her gigantic derrière.
The moment she felt safe from any curious ears or eyes, the woman grabbed her cell phone. She dialed a number, and the ever so known voice answered at the first ring.
“I put the object in a visible place. As you’ve predicted, she noticed it immediately and took it with her.”
“Good job, Laura!”
Laura cursed inaudibly. Good job, she repeated nervously inside her huge head. I’m not your dog, you anorexic bitch! You can talk to your dog like that, not to me! Nevertheless, the person’s next words calmed her down on the spot.
“You’ll find a fat envelope in your mail box, for all your efforts. Keep watching her every move. And for God’s sake, Laura, don’t cook for her!” The derisive chuckle scratched Laura’s nerves once more. “It would be such a shame to destroy a waist like hers. I am usually not inclined to fall for brunettes, but this girl is like a fine porcelain doll. Ah, mon Dieu! Elle est magnifique! We all have our weaknesses, don’t we Laura?”
“Of course, of course,” Laura consented obligingly, even though the conversation had already ceased. The person on the other end had hung up, not caring about her ass-kissing reply.
Laura visualized in her mind the thick envelope in her mailbox. Unlike all her neighbors, she kept her mailbox locked. This was the main reason she did that. The vivid contemplation of that pile of money made her salivate much easier than a plate full of donuts and hamburgers. And Laura loved donuts and hamburgers! But not as much as she loved money…
CHAPTER 5
The evening had fallen humid and cold. After the earlier rain, a wave of arctic air had found its way unexpectedly over the area. The sky was clear, and through the sunroof, Vivien was able to distinguish small stars, their feeble brightness diminished by the city’s lights.
She stopped at Safeway store, a few blocks away from her house, and bought a few bags of Reese peanut butter cups. Just because she had lived through the most terrible Halloween in her entire life, did not mean that she should have to shut the door in the cute faces of her neighbors’ children. And she shouldn’t offer them broccoli and celery either, just because that was all she had in her refrigerator at that moment. She passed for an oddity for most of them anyway. Daily, she played classical music on her piano. “The music for burials and people gone off track,” as Jack, her gardener’s five-year-old son had told her one day.
“Padre mio, Miss Vivien!” poor Rosario had exclaimed terrified, reddening up to the top of his sunburned ears. “He don’t hear that from me, I swear,” he had added, denying it strongly with fast and simultaneous movements of his hands and head. “Vaia con Dios, Jack! Go and play, chico! He surely got it from those kids he plays with around here,” Rosario had suggested, embarrassed, already contemplating his dismissal.
“Don’t worry about it, Rosario,” Vivien had tried to calm him down.”That’s not a reason for me to get upset or mad with you. Any mischief Jack would do, he’s still my favorite little friend,” she had stated, ruffling the kid’s black and thick hair, very eager to get over that uncomfortable situation for all three of them.
De gustibus non est disputandum, Vivien reflected in Latin, as she threw the bag full of bonbons on the front passenger seat.
She was getting ready to back up and leave the parking place, when a white van entered and parked right beside her car. In the dim light of the van’s interior, Vivien was surprised to recognize a familiar face. The past was suddenly rushing upon her in full force today. She had met Tee and Clark earlier, and now Mr. Logan had come into her path. She postponed her departure and started to rummage through her CD collection. She picked one and introduced it into the CD player, all the while casting glances through her side window at the white van and its passengers. She waited until they climbed out, just to be sure, that the older man who walked assisted by a young, sizeable blonde woman was indeed Mr. Logan. He had shed a few pounds and his baldness was deeper, leaving only a slim line of white hair at the base of his head. But most assuredly, it was her darling old friend from her childhood years.
She opened her car’s door and addressed him timidly.
“Mr. Logan, do you remember me? I am Vivien
Hopkins. We were neighbors in Woodside, fifteen years ago.”
“Vivien,” the old man exclaimed enthusiastically. “You lovely child, do you still like my dwarfs? You used to love them. You gave them names. What was it? Peet and Pat?”
Vivien was speechless. She could not believe that Mr. Logan would recall all of that so easily, after so many years. His calloused hands began to touch her shoulders and her face.
”You’ve grown a lot,” he discovered. “You’re a young lady now.”
“Mr. Logan,” the blonde woman accompanying him precipitated. “You can’t touch anybody. We don’t do that around here, OK?”
She was talking to him as you talk to a child. Vivien could not help but remark her strong foreign accent. Considering the fact that blondie pronounced V instead of W, she quickly concluded that the woman was either Russian or German.
“Not a problem here,” Vivien assured her. “Mr. Logan and I are old friends.”
His personal assistant exploded in a false laughter that revealed her lipstick-stained front teeth.
“It’s amazing how he remembers people, places, and events that happened years and years ago. But for the life of him, he can’t recall what he had for lunch, or what his present address is, if you happen to ask him.”
“I move too often, Vivien,” the old man confessed. “That’s why I don’t remember the damn addresses. I get very confused…”
“Where are you living now?” Vivien inquired.
“On Flowers Street, in Menlo Park. Fifth house on the left, right after the gas station that’s across from Safeway,” the woman explained.
Vivien beamed.
“I live on Flowers Street also. We’re neighbors then.”
“Great news! When you have time, come over to see my statues collection,” Mr. Logan invited her. Then he came closer and whispered in her ear. “Every now and then, she calls on me. I can smell her perfume the instant she enters the house. And I can hear her walking and breathing. She doesn’t talk to me, but I guess she misses me from time to time and drops by to see me. You remember my Lili, don’t you, Vivien?”
Vivien felt icy shivers traveling through her body. The blood drained from her face. A number of questions came to her mind, but she chose silence.
The assistant laughed again, in the same awkward manner, defusing Mr. Logan’s statement at once.
“Don’t pay attention to him,” she advised. “His mind is…” She made circular motions with her hand in the region of her temple, to make up for the lack of that peculiar word in her vocabulary. “He believes he is visited by his girlfriend from fifteen or twenty years ago. The woman has committed suicide, she’s long-dead.”
Slightly embarrassed, Vivien promised Mr. Logan that she would ring at his door quite soon. Then she got back into her car and left.
The five-minute drive from the grocery store to her house became a quarter of an hour. Groups of Halloween dressed up children gamboled and crossed the street everywhere with no insurance whatsoever.
Finally, she arrived in front of her garage without any incident.
Damn it! Really! I forgot to leave a light on again, Vivien chided inwardly.
At the sight of her own house wrapped up in darkness, a disturbing feeling of fear raked at her heart. She grabbed a box from the trunk, prepared her key, and walked with hesitant steps toward the main entrance. She opened the door and turned on the light. From the doorway, she shot a quick look over the entire living room. Nothing changed, she decided, all muscles tensed. Her initial dread starting to ebb, she advanced into the kitchen. Everything okay here too.
Paranoia, she muttered, realizing the ridicule of the situation. I will never get over this, she bitterly admitted defeat vis-à-vis her own fears.
“You have to put yourself in situations that force you to face your greatest fears, otherwise normal, safe situations that you tend to avoid because of past panic attacks,” the psychologist had advised her at her single cognitive-behavioral psychotherapy session she had been able to bring herself to come.
After months of playing with the idea in her head, Vivien had decided to follow the doctor’s advice. She had moved to the Bay Area all by herself. Without her parents, without a boyfriend, a lover, or a friend. She needed to win this battle once and for all. Nevertheless, she felt terrible. Every minute spent alone seemed like an assault to her sanity. Sometimes, the fear of death paralyzed her, and she felt just as if she were awaiting an imminent heart attack. The only thing that she loved to do in total solitude it was to play the piano. The musical notes flowed one by one, like sweet, gentle touches on her agitated heart.
The children chorus startled her.
“Trick or treat!”
They looked funny – a small battalion of skeletons, witches, and black cats. The young woman greeted them amused.
“Welcome, guys! Glad you stopped by. Just a moment, please, to open the bags of bonbons. I just got home,” she excused herself for being caught unprepared for their visit.
“I would be glad to help you carry the boxes from your trunk,” the tall and plump teenage boy volunteered politely. He appeared to be the leader of the group.
Vivien accepted graciously.
“Thank you very much, if you really want to…”
The kids came to a halt in front of the open door. None of them crossed the threshold. Vivien invited them inside once more.
“I won’t bite,” she said playfully.
“Dirty shoes,” a little girl explained right away, her cute, perky nose red from the cold. “We better stay out here,” she decided, staring at her muddy boots.
Vivien did not insist, but rather went quickly into the kitchen. She rummaged inside one of the cabinets and found the small hand-painted orange glass baskets that imitated jack-o’-lanterns. She had bought them a week before in a fancy boutique in San Francisco. She quickly arranged them on a big tray and filled them up with bonbons. Then she hurried toward the open door through which the freezing air was wildly rushing inside.
She called out to the children. She couldn’t see them anywhere now.
“Bonbons are served!”
No one answered. The little ones had gathered in a cluster over a ringing cell phone put on speaker.
Vivien wanted to call them again, but the words suddenly froze on her bluish lips. Her gaze remained stuck with obstinacy on the partially naked painting hugged awkwardly by the fattish adolescent.
“I’m so sorry,” he stuttered. “I think I damaged the wrapping. I can feel it with my hand. I hope it wasn’t a gift for someone, or something…”
“No! Of course not. Not a problem,” Vivien burst out.
She abandoned the tray on the small table by the entrance and immediately took the painting from the boy’s arms. She put it face down on the wooden floor in the hallway, wondering terrified if anyone from the children’s group had sneaked a peek at it by chance. She breathed relieved when she discovered them all behind her car, very engaged in a phone conversation. The instant they laid eyes on the fancy treats Vivien offered, they ended the call and gathered around her like Pavlov’s dogs responding to a ringing bell that signaled the occurrence of food.
“There’s only one small box left in the car. I can bring that one inside too,” the teenager said benevolently, after he had received his bonbons basket.
“No, no, thank you! You’ve done a lot! Now I can manage all by myself,” Vivien assured him, very anxious to see all of them leave.
She grabbed the purse from the front seat of her car and took a $10 bill out of it. She stuffed it gently into the breast pocket of the boy’s thick jacket.
“For all your effort. Thank you,” she said.
Her gesture had an immediate effect on him. The adolescent put on a huge smile.
“Anytime you need help with something, I live in the house with lions at the gate, across the street from you, on the left. I’m Brad,” he introduced himself and held out a hand.
Vivien returned t
he handshake reticently.
“I’m Vivien. It’s nice to meet you.”
Brad gathered his noisy troupe, and together they took their farewell leave.
The young woman retired into her house with the heavy feeling that she was stepping inside a torture chamber. She locked the door, armed the alarm, and closed the drapes to all windows. Then, she set down on her knees besides the painting with the damaged wrapping.
She slowly tore down the brown paper until the strident colors of the painting genially filled the space inside that black frame and presented with self-assurance a lesbian kiss. The women featured were both blonde-haired. Their young bodies, covered summarily by yellow silk scarves only, exposed well-defined muscles, tensed from the erotic passion ignited by the kiss. The hand of one of the women concealed with tenderness the place where the other one missed a breast. The woman without a breast had her face profile almost entirely hidden by her short, curly hair. The same wild gust of wind, that ruffled her hair and pushed it over her face concealing it, had blown the other woman's long curls back, uncovering her angelic visage. The kiss appeared vividly reproduced, in colors and nuances that created a permanent mobility. The features of the exposed face seemed to change under the influence of the sexual impulse.
Vivien realized instantly that the woman made more visible in the painting resembled someone known. It took her milliseconds to attach a name to that fascinating image: Nadine, contoured in brilliant brush strokes that revealed even more than talent on the painter’s side. The artist seemed to have been in love with her while he had reproduced her face and her delicate forms with such passion and candor. Nadine’s sensual lover in the painting could not have been anyone else but Mademoiselle Lili, judging from the rebel hairdo, the small part of the face perceived by the viewer’s eye, and the heavy piece of jewelry that embellished her fine ankle.
Complicated questions that had been begging for answers in her childhood mind, forgotten questions buried deeply in time until that very moment… they all capitulated finally. All of a sudden, those irritating questions, that had deprived her of sleep so many nights, were helpless, defeated by the reality that insisted to be accepted. Bits of the past whirled into Vivien’s mind: Nadine - Mademoiselle Lili’s favorite student, Nadine’s sexy picture in a fancy frame on Mademoiselle Lili’s vanity table, Nadine at Lili’s house just before her scheduled wedding with Tee…
Broken Serenade Page 5
