Alberman stationed his Ford on the first perpendicular street, right at the corner. He got out of the car and watched Laura struggling to extract her enormous body from the Cadillac. You need a Russian tank, lady! As she advanced with visible difficulty, he watched the steam rise from her mouth, and it made him think of an old locomotive.
The police officer returned to his vehicle and followed her with the headlights off. He gave her a few minutes lead, and then he came after her by foot.
With the grace and charm of a hippopotamus, the woman edged along Vivien neighbor’s fence and reached the back door of her house.
Without a clear plan of action, the policeman crouched behind the thick bush of camellia. If I call for backup, all my colleagues are going to make jokes on me for a year! No, make that forever, Alberman thought with bitterness. He could actually form the mental picture of them digging one another in the ribs and snickering: He couldn’t handle a woman all by himself. He needed help! No, he wasn’t going to call the dispatch for backup and be the laughing stock of the entire police department. Hell, no! He was going to face her with courage and authority.
As he gathered his wits and envisioned his next move, he distinguished the beam of a flashlight dancing inside Miss Hopkins’ house. Laura Stone had trespassed. Now he would have the motive for arresting and questioning her.
Police officer Alberman jumped out of his hiding place and leaned on the wall with his gun drawn and ready to shoot. He advanced cautiously to the back door. He found it cracked open. He pushed it lightly with his foot and entered. In total silence, he moved slowly toward the bedroom where an anemic light flickered. As he crossed the threshold, tense to his core, his muscles taut like a panther attacking its prey, he was hit suddenly by an atrocious pain on the back of his head. For a couple of seconds, stars in tens of colors and nuances floated before his eyes. He lost his balance and fell by the bed.
A firm, masculine voice had on him the effect of a powerful energizer.
“On your knees, woman!” a man yelled. “Don’t force me to empty my gun into your fat nape! I’m fighting the temptation anyway.”
Laura obeyed, swearing like crazy. The man switched on the light in the room and pushed her down so she would face the floor. He kicked toward the door the big carton box that the woman had half-pulled from under the bed.
“Is everything all right, officer?” he asked.
“Yes, yes, thank… thank you,” Alberman stuttered, white as a sheet. He quickly picked up his gun and hurried to handcuff Laura Stone. “And you are… ”
“Clark Leigh. Miss Hopkins’s future brother-in-law. Vivien sent me to pick up some things she failed to take earlier with all the emotions she had been through.”
“No, man, God sent you,” Alberman smiled timidly. “Thanks a lot. You probably saved my life.”
“There’s no need to exaggerate, young man,” Laura intervened. “For Pete’s sake, I wouldn’t have killed you!”
She changed tactics and softened her tone of voice.
“Come on, you guys! Can’t you forgive an old woman like me? I’m poor, and I have nothing against this young girl. I’ve even grown fond of her. Her miserable grandmother is responsible for all that’s been happening to her. I wouldn’t have gotten myself involved if it weren’t for the money. I worked hard for her for fifteen years, and she left me nothing when she died. Not a fucking cent.”
Clark sent her a reproachful look.
“Carol managed to nose out a few dirty secrets regarding your character. She knew you were not an honest person, Laura. And don’t worry, dear,” he said, grinning. “Spending a bit of time in the can will teach you to appreciate the value of freedom and to be more careful when you choose whom you’re working for,” he dropped a hint about her reason for breaking in Vivien’s house.
His innuendo remained unanswered.
Clark accompanied them to the police car. After seeing Laura packed on the back seat, resigned and quiet, he retreated inside Vivien’s house.
In the hallway, things lay in disorder all over the floor. Laura had taken out everything from both closets on one side and the other of Vivien’s bedroom door. Clark gingerly stepped over them back into the young woman’s chamber.
Where do girls hide their most important things? They toss them under the bed, he silently answered his own question. Apparently, Laura had reached the same conclusion after rummaging through Vivien’s musical CD collection and her hallway closets.
The man sat down comfortably on the flowery rug by the bed and pulled the carton box between his stretched legs. An entire amalgam of copies of documents, checks, contracts, and pictures populated the interior of that box on which the word granny had been written with big, capital letters. Eager to unveil secrets, Clark skimmed through what he quickly inferred it to be a collection of papers and souvenirs from Vivien’s grandmother. At first sight, he didn’t find any known name and didn’t recognize anybody in the pile of photos. There were beautiful young girls photographed in usual hypostasis, walking on the street, eating in a restaurant, or bathing in the sun on a beach.
Then he happened upon a list full of men names. His brother’s name was there. Fourth place and encircled in red ink. Timothy seemed to “enjoy” special treatment. It was the only encircled name on the entire list. There were names of politicians, actors, singers, sportsmen, and even TV anchors. Most of the politicians’ names had a woman’s name beside them. Clark recognized women candidates for senators, house representatives for both political parties, and even presidential candidates from the fair, gentle sex. Some of them had already taken the place of the men.
Under that, attached with a clip, there was another, more succinct list. Clark froze. He had received the perfect copy of this one in London, and the sight of it had made him jump into the first airplane with destination USA. The name of his brother followed that of his friend and business partner, Robert Kane. “Ah, you miserable bitches, you fucking assassins!” Clark burst out. “I’ll destroy your vipers’ den! I swear to God I will!” he promised aloud.
He deduced with immense sorrow that Vivien’s grandmother had been his contact here in California. The brave woman had died a few weeks ago. That had been the reason she had not contacted him the minute he had arrived in San Francisco. She had been the last person he had ever imagined being their spy in USA. It was ironic and quite a surprise – a woman supporting and risking her life for the most misogynic organization ever. Clark was humbled by her heroic act. A true lady, a real woman! God rest your soul in peace, dear Carol!
Multitudes of copies of checks written by some of the men on the larger list were packed negligently in a blue plastic file. The amounts donated to the non-profit organization, The Amazons, for helping women in need, were each above $50,000. It looked as if a minimum amount had been fixed.
In a miniature pink file, there were copies of checks written by women – celebrities from the political field, actresses, and even women very well known in the cultural life. The amounts from these checks were vulgarly exorbitant. Some of them topped a million. Whoever was the head of this organization, most certainly juggled millions and millions of dollars.
Clark had no doubt that lives had been radically changed with this money. However, he could not help but speculate about how much of these funds had been truly channeled toward helping lonely, poor, and abused women.
Removing piles of pictures and contracts copies between very young women and The Amazons, Clark reached the bottom of the box. Right on the bottom, he was attentive enough to remark a flipped file. It had the same color as the box, and when he turned it over, he found Vivien’s name written on it.
God, Vivien! I really hope that you’re not one of them! He remembered the young woman’s dark hair and heaved a sigh of relief as he opened the mysterious brown file. Inside it, he found a decent letter written in a punctilious, old-fashioned calligraphy, antiquated by the modern, negligent trend in the present writing style. Negatively influence
d, in part, by the usage of electronic messages, Clark concluded.
My dear Vivien,
If you find yourself caught in the lecture of this letter, it means that you’re in the possession of the box, and by this time, you’ve rummaged through it well enough to reach its bottom. Perhaps, you’ve already formed an idea about its contents. Why did I risk my life and get myself involved in this mess? Because of LOVE, my dear! I know that you will understand my choice. Better than anyone else. From all the people I know, you’re the only one to have the greatest potential to love the way I did and still do.
My late husband – whom, unfortunately, you’ve never met – has been an honorable member of This World of Men. To put it shortly, this organization believes that men should lead the world, and women should only assist and support them.
I loved my husband, and I respected him. He was the only man in this world who loved me and treated me the way I’ve always wanted. Down to the apparently most insignificant gesture. That is why I accepted to spy for them. The beginning was difficult. Subsequently though, I discovered that I had hidden talents! And the discoveries I’ve made encouraged me to believe that I was actually doing a service to humanity. I was unveiling the secrets of this rival organization on its way to create indoctrinated monsters in every area of life.
Maybe my mentality is old fashioned, or maybe I’m still under the influence of the ideas embraced by my dear husband whom I’m so eager to meet again in the other world. But I strongly believe that a woman should keep and improve her feminineness. She should cherish this divine gift, which is, in fact, the base of the human evolution, the motor of the procreation. Feminineness is what attracts men in the first place. And I think that every normal woman wants to captivate men’s attention, at least the attention of one man. Love, though, it’s more complicated. I am not going to venture that far. What can I say? I don’t even have much time on hand. My new doctor prescribes the best medication, but, unfortunately, it doesn’t seem to work for me. I can feel the final moment approaching as a beast lurking around me...
Don’t misinterpret my intricate words, my dear Vivien! I am not afraid, and I have no regrets. In fact, I lived a long and fulfilling life. Let’s face it, I’m not going to die stupidly at thirty-nine like my late doctor! He was allergic to peanuts, poor fellow, and forgot to tell his new chef. Imagine that! I shouldn’t say anything bad about him though. He was gracious beyond one’s imagination. He kind of introduced me to my new doctor… in a strange way… I met my present physician at his funeral. Speaking about faith…
For everyone in our family, closest to you, there is no secret anymore that you have been adopted. However, nobody knows the names of your natural parents. Nobody but me. I stumbled upon the name of your mother. How? I will not go into details. Let’s call it chance. Or rather, divine intervention! I put your real birth certificate in this file.
Most certainly, you’re asking yourself why do I write these things to you now. I would’ve liked to have a pleasant answer. I would’ve loved to bring into your life a new friend – or even more than that – as I prepare myself to leave you. The fact that she has abandoned you could’ve been easily forgiven. She was only sixteen when she delivered you. But it’s very hard to forgive her actions following your birth. It is just as though the best she ever possessed she gave it to the world through you. She put it all in you. To the last drop of kindness.
In conclusion, my dearest, I have one piece of good news for you, drastically deteriorated by a lot of bad news. Your dear Mademoiselle Lili is alive. Sadly though, she is The Queen, and implicitly the one responsible for all the horrid crimes of her organization, The Amazons.
As if it weren’t enough, Lili – or Olga Lauren, as it is her real name – killed her psychologist before leaving London, and a few years later, she killed Nadine.
Do not make the mistake of underestimating her, my dear Vivien! The fact that she gave birth to you will not impress her. Not as much as to give up her deeply rooted habits anyway. She cold-bloodedly eliminates anybody who stays in her path.
I hate to expose you to all these dangers. But you’re the only chance ‘This World Of Men’ has got. All you have to do is give this box with all its contents to their man. You may, or you may not remember him. I, personally, don’t recall his face. He’s Timothy Leigh’s brother. I hope they’re not changing the agent again. To verify that he is indeed the right person, you should initiate the conversation bellow.
What followed it was a banal dialogue, which, in fact, constituted the password. Clark recognized it down to the last preposition. After that, Carol Hopkins had concluded her letter with a short, very warm farewell to her dearest granddaughter.
“I’ll be damned!” Clark exclaimed. Who would have imagined that Carol, that affected little old lady, was our link here! He smiled melancholically, recalling Carol’s elaborated hats and her fancy, never-missing parasols. At Timothy’s wedding, a man accidentally caught his toupee on the ruche of her French parasol, exposing his secret boldness. She was almost deadly with those light umbrellas. In fact, between her memorable faux pas and Vivien’s unequaled performance, Timothy’s wedding had acquired the qualities of a particularly successful and exceptionally entertaining tragicomedy, in Clark’s opinion.
Clark took Vivien’s birth certificate and her grandmother’s letter and thrust them into the inside pocket of his jacket. He needed to have a serious discussion with his brother and Vivien very soon. The sooner the better.
CHAPTER 27
“Please, love, take just a tiny bit! Just taste it,” Timothy insisted. “It’s the most amazing dessert in town. You have my word for it! I have a soft spot for sweets, and I believe I tried everything on the market here in the Bay Area.”
“Do you think I would appear uncivilized if I asked them about the ingredients?” Vivien suggested timidly, eyeing with interest the thin slice of chocolate cake moistened with syrup and artistically sprinkled with white vanilla sauce. “What I would like to know actually is what kind of fat they used. I don’t want to eat hydrogenated oils, and I advise you to apply the same rule when choosing your food.”
Timothy smiled amused, but he didn’t answer her question. He seemed delighted to observe her every gesture, the mimicry of her face. He was so in love with her that he felt his heart soaring with happiness in his chest.
He thrust the teaspoon in the cake and lifted a huge chunk to his mouth. He chewed it in ecstasy, moaning lightly under Vivien’s enchanted looks.
“Darling, I’m glad that the Italian gastronomy rewarded you tonight with an intense climax,” she teased.
A tall, scrawny old man from the neighboring table looked at her through his thick glasses.
“Seriously?” he whispered surprised.
“Oops!” Vivien smiled embarrassed and covered her mouth with the tips of her fingers.
“No, really! Is it possible?” he insisted with charming naivety.
“Henry!” his wife admonished him.
“I’m just curious, dear, that’s all!”
Vivien leaned a bit in his direction and “confessed” in a conspiratorial tone.
“It happened to me a couple of times while eating broccoli.”
“Get out of here!” the man dismissed her explanation incredulously.
His wife, Timothy, and Vivien started to laugh.
“That teaches you, dear. Maybe you’ll stop eavesdropping,” his wife scolded, as he submissively returned to his steak. “It’s his hearing aids, you know. They make them better than the real things these days,” she added as an excuse.
“Not a problem,” Vivien assured her promptly.
Still laughing, Timothy took another piece from his dessert.
“Let’s imagine that this cake has been poisoned,” he suggested nonchalantly.
“OK, OK, you convinced me,” Vivien cut him short and attacked her small portion of cake with enthusiasm.
All of a sudden, Timothy became very serious. Her gestur
e almost brought him to tears.
“Do you really want to die with me?” he asked.
“If I can’t live with you, that’s the best alternative.”
Timothy touched the pocket of his coat. He was tempted to give her the ring he had bought for her, but he managed to abstain. He would wait until he would have her in his bedroom again, in his bed this time. Just the way he had planned it.
“I can already feel the pounds crowding on my hips and thighs after this rich dinner.”
“I can’t see anything changed,” Timothy observed, caressing her body with a famished look.
“Love is blind, my darling!”
“Not in my case! You can’t even begin to imagine the things I see in you, the things I want to do with you…”
“Which reminds me…” She leaned a bit over the table and asked him in hushed tones:
“When we first met, at your house,” she started and blushed just enough to look gorgeous. “You said you wanted to do to me things that would make a … a sexually experienced woman blush. I just want to know which one was it… from all the crazy things we’ve done together.”
“We haven’t done that, baby. That was a crime of impulse in the middle of a unique and unforgettable coup de foudre. It was something bold that I had in mind for a wicked, depraved woman with a voracious sexual appetite,” he pointed out smiling meaningfully.
“I can be wicked and depraved,” Vivien offered immediately.
The skinny old man from the other table fixed her with mesmerized eyes. His jaw had hit the floors, and his mouth had frozen opened waiting for the piece of steak that vibrated lightly in the fork just one inch further from his denture.
Vivien swallowed hard. She had done it again.
“OK, Henry. That’s enough. Hand me your hearing aids, dear. I believe you’ve had your share of excitement tonight. And then, it’s not fair. I can’t hear a thing, while you’re having all the fun,” she said frustrated.
The old man gave his grumpy wife the hearing aids looking at her crossly.
Broken Serenade Page 19
