The weather had warmed up again in the Bay Area. As she broke into a run crossing Menlo Avenue, Vivien recalled her grandmother’s wise words: If you don’t like the weather in Menlo Park, just wait three days!
Vivien was eager now to escape that hot midday sun. The Italian restaurant placed at the corner of the street provided welcoming shade, and she rushed under its green umbrellas.
A few quick steps and she arrived in front of “Vernisaj” painting studio. She read the note on the door: Lunch Break.
Damn it! Nothing works today! She fumed her disappointment and strove to distinguish something inside, picking through the dark red drapes that elegantly covered the huge windows.
All of a sudden, the heavy glass door cracked open. A tall, thin young man stepped outside and called her name.
“Vivien, come inside! I was waiting for you, ma chérie,” he said, smiling sadly. “I knew you would come.”
“Igor?”
The young man opened his arms, and Vivien received his enthusiastic embrace reticently.
“Mon Dieu, what a beauty you’ve become! Tu es très jolie, mademoiselle!”
“You look very good yourself, Igor,” Vivien tried an unsuccessful compliment.
Though a good-looking man, with an appealing French allure that surely made him interesting to lots of women, at that moment, Igor seemed downcast – to say the least! A vague smell of perspiration floated around him. He was unshaven, and he burst into tears as soon as she entered the studio. The ample sleeves of his sweater, knitted in all colors of the rainbow, covered his face, but did little to muffle his sobs.
Vivien’s heart melted with pity. She put her hands on his shoulders.
“My God, Igor! What’s the matter with you? I haven’t seen you in fifteen years. I didn’t imagine that I would find you again in such a depressed state of mind.”
“I’m heartbroken. I lost my angel. I loved her, Vivien. I loved her so much! She was so beautiful, so sexy, provocative, and full of joy and happiness. She was everything I ever wanted in a woman.”
Vivien needed only a couple of seconds to understand that Igor was the phenomenal, unrivalled, mysterious boyfriend of poor Arlene.
“You never came to the store. Why? Arlene has never even mentioned your name. Why all the secrecy?”
“I knew that you hated me when we were kids. I didn’t want Arlene to suffer because of my teenage years sins.”
“Well, you used to be a genuine jackass if you want to know my sincere opinion. And I was afraid of you back then,” Vivien said, laughing softly at the sudden memory of him. “You practically enjoyed terrorizing me. I thought you were mean and evil.”
“I know,” Igor admitted, smiling amid traces of tears. “I had heard that you loved squirrels, and I started shooting arrows at them to scare you even more. I was a moron. Mon Dieu! It had gotten into my head that I looked more macho if I displayed misdeeds in abundance. Quelle idée stupide!”
Without any preamble, Vivien changed the topic of their conversation.
“Tell me, Igor, what do you know about Arlene? I’m sure it must be painful for you to talk about her now. It is for me too. Believe me! Arlene and I were friends. We spent a lot of time together in the store, and I had grown fond of her. Beneath that ton of make-up and those extravagant clothes, she had a warm and loving heart. I need to find out more about her, Igor. And I know you can help me. Was she meeting other men? Did the police talk to you?”
“No, not yet. I guess they don’t know about me. We kept our relationship secret. I had my reasons, she had hers… All I know is that, at the night club where she danced…”
“Arlene danced in a night club?” Vivien asked stupefied.
“She didn’t tell you that?”
“Hell no! I don’t think that’s something I would’ve forgotten.”
“OK, I guess she was afraid you might give her the boot. She was an exotic dancer at the Gentlemen’s Club in Redwood City for only two hours per night. An extremely well paid part-time job that I personally detested. It was also supposed to be temporary. There is more to this story… Anyway, I have something for you. It’s a tape. You have to watch it. Aaaah… What can I tell you, Vivien? She stumbled upon it in my movies collection. Then she came up with this crazy idea to dance at the club wrapped up only in a yellow silk scarf. The next day she confessed that an effeminate photographer with a cocky English accent wanted to take pictures of her. That’s all I know. Last time I saw her, she came to my apartment, and we had a fight because of that. Oh, God!” Igor fell apart again, his sobs even more heartbreaking now.
Vivien gathered him in her arms in a desperate effort to comfort him. It was quite unnerving to see a man crying like that.
“Igor, Igor, it’s not your fault,” the young woman said empathically. “She fell into the killing hands of some psychopath.”
“You don’t understand, Vivien! It is my fault,” he insisted. “I should’ve destroyed that tape before she could find it. But it has Nadine on it, you’ll see. She’s dead too. I can feel it deep in my soul. Nadine wouldn’t have abandoned me for anything in the world. Nadine truly loved me. And I loved her too. So much… And God knows, not only as a brother…”
“Igor, shush now! Please say nothing more! You may regret later that you’ve confessed to me.”
“I’m sorry, Vivien,” he said, trying to compose himself. “How did you find me? You found the painting, didn’t you?”
Vivien nodded.
“You’re such a talented artist, Igor. The painting is splendid! It mesmerizes the viewer.”
“Merci, chérie!” He thanked her with a perfect French accent, and his eyes shone for a second, moved by her sincere compliment. Then he quickly dismissed the matter, as quite unimportant. “Your grandmother was such a smart woman. She gave me the best advice. And I listened to her, I knew she was right… I had a premonition… But for the life of me, I just couldn’t finish the job. I could not destroy that damned tape. Now it’s too late. And now, I want you to see it too. No one should know about it, just you and me. You can actually keep it. Do whatever you want to do with it. You’re smart. You’ll make the best choice.”
“Thank you, Igor. I am so curious now. What in God’s name is on this tape?”
He let out a deep sight. “One night, before Nadine’s planned wedding, I followed them to the beach…”
The chime of the front door brusquely cut his narration. Igor got up and wiped his face with his sleeve once again. Vivien produced a Kleenex from her purse.
“It works much better than your sleeve,” she said smiling.
The man before her answered with a nod, chuckling embarrassed.
“Let’s meet tomorrow around noon at Whole Foods in Redwood City. It’s a quiet place across from Old Navy and Borders.”
“I know where it is,” Vivien assured him.
“Does 12:30 work for you?”
“It’s perfect. Then… à demain! Take good care of yourself, Igor,” she advised him with a concerned look.
“You too, ma chérie. Don’t trust anyone, Vivien,” he told her and embraced her quickly.
A young woman with a sickly thin appearance announced in a hoarse, smokers voice:
“Hey, Ig, I brought you hot donuts and coffee.”
A black T-shirt and a pair of over-used jeans covered her skinny body with the same grace and elegance as if they were hanging on a stick.
Vivien turned back and whispered in his ear:
“Don’t eat that garbage, Igor! Go to the restaurant next door and buy a soup.”
Igor gave her a short kiss on the cheek.
“You don’t imagine the joy you brought to my heart just coming here,” he told her, pushing a fine strand of hair from her face.
“Ig, have you told the young lady about my creams?” the skinny girl asked.
“Oh, I forgot! Clair sells Avon creams. I’ll let you two discuss the matter.”
Evidently ignoring the sign in the windo
w, an older man entered the studio.
“I’m sorry sir, but we’re closed – lunch break,” Igor explained.
Clair intervened immediately.
“I invited the gentleman.”
“OK,” Igor replied and went behind the curtains.
“Good afternoon, doctor!” Clair greeted beaming.
The man smiled too. He leaned nonchalantly on an adjacent desk and ran his hand through his white and thick hair. Clair started to converse with him, giving the idea that they knew each other very well. From their bizarre dialogue, Vivien couldn’t quite understand if the man were Clair’s gynecologist, dentist, or her pussy’s veterinarian. As he exchanged colorful jokes with the other woman, he fixed his small, light-blue eyes on Vivien, boldly examining every curve of her body. The situation made Vivien feel extremely uncomfortable. She tried to escape as soon as possible.
“Maybe we should leave the creams for some other time, Clair.”
“No, no, no,” Clair said quickly. “Just a minute, I want to give you some samples. Maybe you like something, and you’ll be ready to buy it next time you come by.”
The girl opened a drawer and took a handful of cream samples.
“Doc, could you pull that handle you’re leaning on and give me a plastic bag, please?” Clair demanded politely.
The man did what he had been asked to do. Moreover, he opened the plastic bag and proceeded himself to put the samples inside it. With a content grin, he handed it to Vivien. She took it, thanked, and left right away.
That is a particularly strange and creepy character, she thought, feeling repulsion and the acute need to wash her hands after his damp and cold fingers had touched hers.
As she crossed the street back where she had left her car, Vivien realized that she didn’t have a rock-solid plan for her next escapade. Playing by ear was not her style, but this time, she would have to deal with the situation in an impromptu fashion. Normally, Timothy shouldn’t be home at this hour in the middle of the day, she reasoned with herself. With anyone else, she was sure she wouldn’t have any problem. She recalled an article recently published on the Internet. The reporter had specified that – surprisingly - most of the burglaries happen around noon. He had gone on to explain that many people leave the house for only an hour or so, and often they forget to lock a door or a window, making it easier for the intruder.
Vivien prayed to God that she would be so lucky too. In fact, she didn’t intend to steal anything. She only wanted to look around. She had done that so many times as a child. She had secretly seen the interior of the houses of all her family’s Woodside neighbors. She was probably the only person who knew that Mrs. Strobe, the wife of the multimillionaire Mercedes dealer from across the street, saved her used floss pieces for future uses. As for Mr. Strobe, he always played fearless. In countless occasions offered more often than not by the traditional neighborhood picnic, Vivien had heard him as he boasted that he wouldn’t be afraid to cross the thick woods of Woodside at night, totally unarmed. However, she knew that he slept with a pistol close by, in the nightstand drawer, and a baseball bat under his bed.
She reached Timothy’s house sooner than she had expected. She slowed down the car and passed it. There was no one around. She felt shivers of anticipation, and warm perspiration covered her palms.
She parked a few houses further, between two properties, right in front of a huge, neglected bush of hedge left to hang in the street. As she came to a stop, she heard the branches scratching her Lexus.
“Damn it!” she cursed nervously.
She took off her coat and threw it on the passenger seat, on top of her purse. After that, Vivien got out of the car and wiped her damp hands on her fancy skirt. The street was deserted. Or so it seemed.
Using her hand to shade her eyes from the simmering sun, the young woman strolled casually toward Timothy Leigh’s house. Yet, her heart was beating just as though she were running a marathon.
The modern architecture of Tee’s house mesmerized Vivien. From her height of 5’5”, it rose as an impressive ensemble of concrete and glass cubes arranged in a perfect harmony that spoke openly about his recognized talent. White and blue flower arrangements and fine gravel alleys alternated artistically all around it, giving Vivien the strange sensation that she was stepping into a futuristic world.
She advanced with apparent confidence toward the main entrance. Almost suffocated with emotion, she rang the doorbell. No answer. She pressed the button again. Silence. Fighting the early symptoms of a panic attack, she slinked to the back of the house, wondering if she could actually pull this off. Her panting gradually diminished by yoga-breathing techniques, she passed the gigantic glass doors picking inside surreptitiously. She remarked the elegant furniture and the white marble floors. She tried the metal handles. Unsuccessful. The entrance was locked. Damn! She foamed inwardly with frustration. Just when she thought that she had run out of options, Lady Luck smiled upon her. She localized two regular doors. One of them opened to the garage. That one was locked. Biting her lower lip, Vivien touched the handle of the other one. She turned it slowly, her heart in her throat. The door opened. Bingo! She heaved a sigh of relief.
“Hello!” the young woman called cautiously before entering. “Is anybody home?” No answer came.
Vivien studied the laundry room with a critical eye. Everything was in perfect order. Nicely folded, a few clean clothes lay on the ironing table. She smiled amused at the sight of a pair of Calvin Klein briefs. Not loosing precious time, she advanced through a narrow hallway into the kitchen.
The master bedroom… where is the master bedroom?
She walked on her toes through the labyrinth of corridors decorated with abstract paintings and large glass objects d’art. Finally, she found the marble stairway toward the upper floor. She followed the fine, masculine scent and discovered the master bedroom. The huge California King Size bed was undone, its ocean-blue sheets and pillowcases lightly wrinkled on one side. A dresser’s drawer, full of white T-shits, had been left opened. So, your housekeeper doesn’t come daily, Vivien concluded.
She glanced inside the bathroom. You took your morning shower… Nice… The shower had been recently used. Drops of water hanged on its transparent doors, and a damp, oversized dark-blue towel had been thrown negligently on the floor. At the sight of it, Vivien shook her head disapprovingly. She came back into the bedroom and started to pull drawers and cabinets, rummaging his shirts, underwear, and other personal stuff. Still, she didn’t know what she was actually looking for. Something, anything… A clear thought germinated suddenly in that suffocating amalgam of emotions and stress. I need a hair for a DNA test!
Once again, Vivien hurried into the bathroom. She looked for his hairbrush. She couldn’t find it anywhere, so she fell on her knees and scrutinized the marble floor for a piece of hair. She found a blond one and stuffed it quickly inside her bra. The next instant a noise startled her. The young woman froze. Someone had just slammed the main entrance door.
* * *
Timothy Leigh left his keys on the small glass table in the foyer and took off his coat. He undid the knot of his tie and started to open the buttons of his shirt. It was getting warm. It was his favorite kind of weather. He looked at his watch and decided that he had enough time to make a short cycling tour before his meeting with the mysterious piano teacher.
The architect ascended the marble stairs toward his bedroom slowly, trying to forget the bothering reason he was home earlier today. He had received another email from the person who had been stalking him online lately. He had changed his email address four times in the last few weeks, but to no avail. Whatever he had tried, he had not been able to escape the obscenities and threats of that obsessed woman – she did present herself as a woman… A genuine nutcase, he reflected. She was probably one of his ex-girlfriends. She knew way too many things about him. She enjoyed placing them skillfully in each one of her emails, evidently with the intention to drive him crazy and get
back at him for the fact that he had not asked her to marry him. She was most certainly an expert in the art of having sex with a man. She described with luxurious details positions and moves, and she expressed her desire to try them all with him. With a little imagination, Timothy realized that some of them were indeed extremely arousing. Too bad, she had adopted such a vulgar vocabulary, full of trivialities and obscenities. Without it, she could’ve been a lot of fun, Timothy thought jokingly. Now he regretted the fact that today, his nerves had given up on him, and he had replied to her last message.
His empty stomach sent a dissonant tune, and Timothy Leigh stopped at the upper end of the stairs, confused about what he really wanted to do next. He descended a few steps thinking that he could enjoy a frugal lunch in his kitchen. Then he changed his mind and hurried back toward his bedroom. Let’s put on the cycling gear first.
In front of the bedroom’s wide open door, he halted. A strange woman inside his private chamber was struggling to unlock the glass doors to the balcony.
“What the hell!” he uttered perplex.
The woman turned to him. Her eyes were large with fear. Timothy recovered at once.
“It didn’t take you too long to materialize,” he said scornfully. “I was just beginning to deplore the fact that I’ve answered your email today. But if I look at you closely now… It would’ve been such a pity to miss a rare occasion like this one!”
From that angle, she seemed cute, even pretty. He approached her with confident strides until the view took his breath away and stopped him in his tracks. Actually, she was drop-dead gorgeous, madly sexy, and surprisingly young. Not in the least what he had had in mind – a woman past her prime, pent-up, and sexually obsessed.
“Boy, if I knew you looked like that, I would’ve answered your first email and asked you to show your face.”
“Don’t touch me!” she warned him. “I have a gun.”
Impossible! He was firmly convinced of that. In the bathroom mirror, he caught a glimpse of her, nervously writing her empty hands behind her back.
Broken Serenade Page 7
