by Kyra Davis
I haven’t told Lander that I invited Cathy. When she comes, and she must come, it will be a surprise to everyone. The chaos I think she’ll cause will be my gift to Lander and to myself.
I also made copies of the keys I found in Travis’s closet door, which are now snug in the small pocket of my purse while the magnet, stolen keys, and a new blank USB drive, identical to the one we’ve taken from Travis’s place, are in a zippered plastic bag. I’ve retaped the keys together and wiped my prints off them. I’m also carrying a pair of latex gloves. I doubt that Travis will ever do any kind of fingerprint sweep, but if he does he won’t find my fingerprints to be anywhere that I can’t explain. Eventually I’ll need the original flash drive, but unfortunately I didn’t think of that until after Lander left, and I’ve been so busy I haven’t had the chance to swing by his place and collect it.
If I’m incredibly lucky I’ll have the chance to put the keys, the dummy USB drive, and the stepladder back. How I’m going to do that is a mystery. Still, the opportunity has to come. It literally has to.
When I get to the right floor and knock on the door it’s seven-year-old Braden who answers. He has his mother’s strawberry blond hair and delicate bone structure and his father’s mouth and eyes. Perhaps he has his father’s temperament too, because rather than saying hello he just throws the door open and then stomps off, allowing me to follow. As I trail behind I sneak a peek at the master bedroom. No one’s in there at the moment, but it’s still not safe to go in. Not yet.
Patience, patience. I silently chant the word in my head as I walk into the living room, where I find Jessica arguing with a woman with brown skin, cat-eye glasses, and dark hair that falls just below her shoulders. She flashes me a quick help-me! look but then out of what I assume is obligation, turns her attention back to Jessica.
“Mrs. Gable,” she says plaintively. “My shift is not over. I’m not supposed to leave.”
“You mean he told you not to leave!” Jessica says in something that is almost approaching a shriek. “He told you not to leave me alone with them, is that right? Is that right, Lorella?”
Lorella, right. I’ve heard the name; she’s their weekend nanny.
“They’re my children! Mine!” Jessica puts her hands over her flat stomach as if to remind us all that she has a womb. “I carried them! They’re part of me too! Me! Not just Travis, me!”
Mercedes is huddled in the corner clutching a doll, her lips pressed together as tears stream down her cheeks. Her brother stands sullenly by her side. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen a three-year-old cry silently before. I reach into my purse and pull out some loose change before crouching down and holding up a quarter for Mercedes to see. Once I have her attention I perform a simple coin trick that a high school boyfriend taught me years ago. Mercedes watches the coin “disappear,” only to reappear in a different hand than she thought I had dropped it in. Hesitantly she walks over to me as her tears begin to slow. Braden is close behind, his frown softening, if only a little.
“Mrs. Gable,” Lorella is saying, “I’m just trying to do my job. Mr. Gable was very clear—”
“I haven’t had anything to drink today,” Jessica says desperately. “Not even a mimosa, I swear it. And no Valium this morning, surely you can see that? I just want some time with them. It’s not like I’ve been regulated to supervised visitation! I’m entitled to that! I’m their mother! Not you, me! Do you hear me? You are nothing but a servant! Another one of Travis’s sluts! You’re nothing! I’m their mother!”
I can’t speak for Lorella, but that little speech was enough to convince me that Jessica hasn’t had her Valium. I hold up my quarter again, and again I make it disappear, only to retrieve it from Braden’s ear. Both children erupt into giggles.
The sound of happiness is so jarring that Jessica seems to notice me for the first time. “She’s here! Our personal assistant? You’ve heard both Travis and me speak of her, yes?” Jessica demands, pointing her finger in my direction.
“Yes, I’ve heard Mr. Gable speak of his PA, but—”
“Well, there you go then! I’m not alone. She’s here, one of Travis’s people! You see? You can leave now without disobeying your . . . your master,” she says, pronouncing the last word with sarcastic acidity. “Everything’s fine, you can go.”
Lorella looks at me questioningly. I pull myself back up to standing. “I . . . um, I hadn’t planned on staying very long, but if you need me—”
“There!” Jessica says triumphantly. “You can leave now!”
Lorella shakes her head. “Mr. Gable was very clear—”
“This is my home, Lorella. If you don’t leave now I will call the police and have you arrested for trespassing!”
Lorella still looks uncertain but I can also tell how badly she wants to hightail it out of here. “You’re really going to be here?” she asks. “You’ll stay?”
“It’s my job to be available when the Gables need me,” I say, choosing my words carefully.
Lorella nods, both fear and gratitude radiating out of her in equal measure. She turns to the children. “Would you like to spend a little time with your mom and . . .” Lorella throws me an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, your name?”
“Ad—Bell,” I say, quickly correcting myself. “My name’s Bell.”
It was a quick, muttered slip, and if anyone noticed, they show no sign of it. Still, the fact that I made it at all is alarming. I’ve never done that before. I’ve always been able to compartmentalize my different roles perfectly.
“It’s fine,” I hear Braden tell his nanny. It occurs to me that he sounds more world-weary than any seven-year-old should be.
“She can make things disappear!” Mercedes adds, the wonder in her voice an odd contrast to her tearstained face.
“All right then,” Lorella says, clearly relieved as she goes to collect her tote bag left by the side of the sofa. “I’ll be going then, Mrs. Gable, if you’re sure—”
“Get. Out!” Jessica cries, now visibly shaking.
Lorella nods again and quickly leaves the room.
“I’m just going to . . . I just need to ask her something,” I say, and rush after her before Jessica or the kids can stop me.
“Look,” I say, standing behind Lorella as she retrieves her coat from the hall closet. “I said I’d stay, but if she kicks me out I’ll have to go. And when Travis finds out you left despite his specific instructions—”
“His specific instructions were to never even leave her alone in the same room with those kids,” Lorella grumbled, impatiently pushing her hair out of her face. “If he thinks that little of her, why doesn’t he just divorce her? Since she’s an addict she probably would only get supervised visitation if that’s what he wants! So what’s he afraid of? Does he think she’ll get half and he’ll be knocked down a couple spots on Forbes’s wealthiest Americans list?”
“Well, to be fair that would bump him out of the top one hundred,” I say dryly.
Lorella laughs ruefully.
“Like I said,” I continue, now hopeful that she will hear me, “I will stay as long as I can. But if you leave despite Travis’s instructions, he may fire you regardless of whether I’m here or not.”
“You know what? If he fires me so be it.” She leans on the door and stares down at her shoes. “I stay for the kids, I want to help them. Plus Mr. Gable pays me so much I can afford to work part-time, and that means I can take care of my own babies. But, you know, you can’t work for the devil without expecting to catch a little hell.”
“I like that,” I laugh. “Where is the devil today, anyway?”
“He went off with his father and some other guy they work with. Think they’re getting a late lunch or something.”
“Some other guy?” I shift my weight back on my heels. “I don’t suppose the other guy was Mexican? Or maybe Russian?”
“Nope, not that I could tell.” Lorella pauses as Braden enters the hall, pulling a willing Mercedes into his
room before slamming the door behind them.
“God help those poor children,” Lorella sighs as she opens the front door. “Good luck,” she calls out as she hastens to the elevator.
I stand in the foyer for a full two minutes, waiting to see if Lorella will come back with a change of heart. But when she doesn’t, I reluctantly walk back into the lion’s den, throwing one more wistful glance toward the master bedroom as I do. Jessica is sitting in the armchair clutching a glass of clear liquid as she stares out the window.
“They went into Braden’s room,” she says dully as I sit down beside her. “Braden said he and his sister wanted to play by themselves. I was going to ask you to leave, just as I asked Lorella, but now . . . what’s the point?”
I glance at the side table and realize that there’s a pill bottle where there wasn’t one before.
Jessica follows my gaze. “Please don’t tell Travis. I told him that I had thrown them all out. I told him I did and he . . . he laughed at me and called me a liar. It will make him so happy to know that I failed. Please . . .” Her voice fades off as if she can’t think of how to proceed with her entreaty.
“Tell him what?” I ask innocently. “That you took a moment to enjoy a glass of water? Because that’s all I’ve seen.”
Jessica’s lips curl up into a wry smile as she reaches over and takes the pills in her hand. “I wanted to prove him wrong. I thought maybe if I had absolutely nothing today . . . maybe then I could prove that I could be a good mother. The kids would want to be with me and no one would have a good argument for why they shouldn’t be. But these days, without help . . .” She shakes the pill bottle to indicate what kind of help she’s referring to. “What did Mick Jagger call it? Mother’s little helper?” She lets out a humorless laugh.
“Mrs. Gable—”
“I really don’t blame them,” she continues, as if I hadn’t spoken. “How can Mercedes and Braden like me if they don’t even know me? They haven’t been allowed to know me. And I . . . I don’t know how to fight him. Travis is too strong for me. And far too clever. My only recourse is to find ways to escape.” She brings her glass to her lips, her eyes vacant and her shoulders slumped. “Why are you here, Bell?”
“Um, you asked me to come?” I remind her awkwardly, “You wanted updates on how things were shaping up for Tuesday’s dinner. So . . . well, anyway, I sat down with Robyn and she has the seating arrangement—”
“I reworked that last night,” she interrupts. “Will you be an angel and go over it and see if I’ve left anyone out? And of course you’ll need to bring the new arrangements to Robyn. I prefer if you didn’t just email it to her. I want to know that it was put into her hand and that she understands everything.”
“Yes,” I say with a forced smile, “of course.”
“And I think I want different flower arrangements. Cherry blossoms are too delicate. Travis likes things bold. Maybe some hibiscus flowers? Or heliconia? You’ll need to see if they have those flowers available. If not you’ll find me a different florist who can rise to the occasion.”
“Of course,” I say again, my smile growing more saccharine by the second.
From Braden’s bedroom there’s a burst of laughter and a happy squeal. Jessica looks as if the sound has stabbed her in the heart. “I used to be good with children, back when I was young,” she says quietly.
“You won’t be thirty for another month,” I point out. “You’re still young.”
“Only if you measure age by years,” she retorts. “And that’s really a silly way to do it, don’t you think? Heartache will age you faster than time ever could.”
I smile despite myself, marveling at how the most corrupt and drug-addled brain can still occasionally stumble upon bits of wisdom.
“I used to be good with children,” Jessica says again. “You know how some people hear about a fatal car accident and they just shrug it off, but then if you tell them that there was a dog in the car they break down crying? That was me with children. I could always betray and manipulate the adults in my life. That’s what adults do. But kids?” She shakes her head. “I wish I could apologize to every child I’ve inadvertently hurt. I wish I could hold them in my arms and tell them how sorry I am. How wrong I was. I wish I could just take the pain I gave them and throw it away.”
“Do you think you’ve hurt children?” I ask, unsure if I’m following her very well.
“Yes, indirectly . . . you know how it is. You support a politician who ends up gutting an important school program. You invest in property development only to later learn that the playground that was built over was the only one around for miles. Or sometimes . . . sometimes you hurt a child’s parent. Travis used to tell me that I should treat life like a chess game. Each person is a piece to be moved to your advantage. But in chess the pawns don’t breed. In chess, when you knock a piece off the board you’re not destroying an entire family.” She pauses for a moment and then says, “I wish I could apologize to the child.”
The child. Not the children. Is she talking about someone specific?
Is she talking about me?
It takes me a moment to realize that I’m holding my breath, and when I do, I try to exhale as silently as I can so I don’t bring her out of her thoughts. “If you want to apologize,” I finally whisper, “why don’t you?”
“Because children grow up,” she says with a harsh laugh. “I want to apologize to the child, but I’ll be damned if I’ll grovel at the feet of an adult who is as corrupt, manipulative, and deceitful as the rest of us. The adult doesn’t deserve my apology. And the child is gone.”
I’m not sure how many pills Jessica has taken, but I have to assume they’ve screwed with her logic. But that’s almost beside the point. I want to know specifically who and what she’s talking about. I need to know. Was my mother this “pawn” who she helped knock from the board?
And most importantly of all, does Jessica know who I am?
“Mrs. Gable,” I begin, drawing out the name as if an extra syllable or two will help me get a grasp on what’s going on. “Are you—”
There’s a knock at the door and Jessica is immediately on her feet. “I swear to God, if that’s Lorella . . .” She stomps down the hall, leaving me frozen on the sofa.
I hear the door swing open and a surprised “Oh!” from Jessica.
And then I hear his voice. “Jessica, how are you? I hope you don’t mind me popping by?”
Well, now, that’s interesting. I get to my feet and walk into the hall.
“Travis isn’t here,” Jessica says, somewhat confused.
“No? I was sure I would catch him. No matter, how are you?” he asks, emphasizing the last word in a way that is meant to remind her of the state she was in last time he saw her. Jessica bows her head and Lander looks over her to make eye contact with me.
“I didn’t expect to see you here on a weekend, Bell.”
“We’re getting some things ready for the dinner,” I explain. “I’m really looking forward to it.”
“I’ll tell Travis you were here,” Jessica interjects, clearly trying to get rid of him.
“Well, since I’m here,” Lander says, pushing past her, “I might as well say hi to my beautiful niece and nephew. And you, Bell. You look gorgeous.” He takes both my hands in his and at that moment I realize that he’s secretly pressing a USB drive into my palm. Discreetly I slip it into my pocket without Jessica noticing. “Oh, speaking of the kids, Jessica,” he says, turning back to his sister-in-law. “When I got here I noticed a guy making balloon animals for children. Think Braden and Mercedes would be into that?”
“A man making balloon animals . . . here? In the building?” Jessica asks, confused.
“No, no, just around the corner. About a block and a half away.”
“Mercedes loves balloons,” she says quietly.
“And Braden loves animals,” Lander reminds her. “His favorite is an elephant, right?”
Jessica looks at him bl
ankly. “Um, it might be . . . I mean, yes, I believe . . . or at least possibly . . . well, you know children. They change their minds about these things so frequently.”
“They do.” Lander pats her on the shoulder. “Where are the kids now?”
“In Braden’s room.”
“Right, well, why don’t you call them and we’ll go get them a whole balloon zoo. I’ll lead you to where this guy has set up shop for the afternoon.”
Jessica stares at Lander for a moment and then a little light turns on in her eyes as she begins to realize that she might finally have something fun to offer her kids, something that might make them want to be with her, if only for a few minutes. She goes to Braden’s room and knocks politely at his door.
After a moment the door’s flung open and Braden, looking irritated, glares up at his mother. “We’re playing!” he snaps, but then from the corner of his eye he sees who is down the hall. “Uncle Lander?”
As soon as the words leave his lips Mercedes pushes past him and looks left and then right, which is where Lander is. “Uncle Lander!” she cries, and runs toward him, arms outstretched. Braden is trying to play it a little cooler, but the bouncing on the balls of his feet gives away his excitement.
Lander laughs and swoops Mercedes up into his arms. “Happy to see me?”
“So happy!” She laughs. “We were just playing Wizard of Oz! I’m Dorothy and Braden’s a flying monkey. Want to play? You could be Scarecrow! We need a Scarecrow!”
“Tempting,” Lander admits, “but your mom was just telling me about an idea she had, and if you ask me, it sounds pretty good.”
Both Braden and Mercedes cast skeptical looks over at their mother.
“Yes,” Jessica says, wringing her hands as she plasters on a smile. “I was just telling Lander that there’s . . . um . . . well, I suppose the term is a balloon artist just over a block away. You know, one of those men who can make balloons into animal shapes?”
“Fun!” Mercedes squeals, wriggling out of Lander’s arms.
“Yes,” Jessica says again, turning to Braden. “I thought perhaps you’d like an elephant?”
