Mourning Glory

by Warren Adler

  Did he see what she saw in her mirror, the first tiny signs of sag, the little wrinkling around her eyes and neck, the minute sprigs of gray sprouting beneath the black?

  Could she stand up to his scrutiny? Could he detect her meager education, her limited experience, her lack of class and knowledge of the so-called finer things? Carmen had immediately seen through the false facade. Would he eventually? Of course he would.

  Suddenly he touched her bare arm and smiled at her. His skin on her flesh sent a shockwave through her. Recovering quickly, she realized it was a gesture of camaraderie. He was merely accompanying her to the door.

  "I'm expecting you," he mock scolded. "Don't let me down."

  "I'll be here. I promise."

  He moved toward her and kissed her on the cheek, a polite little gesture. She felt the skin burn where his lips had touched. It was only a courteous good-bye kiss, she assured herself, part of the ritual of his class. She hoped he hadn't seen her turn her face, then check its motion. He wasn't aiming for her lips. And here she was obligingly puckering to receive his.

  As she moved toward her car, she felt her knees wobble. What was going on here? she wondered.

  Driving toward the Palm Beach bridges, she realized suddenly that she was carting home a backseat full of clothes, providing more temptation for Jackie's budding entrepreneurial talents. Thinking of her act in those terms seemed to take the sting out of it.

  Perhaps she was being too hard on her daughter, Grace thought. Jackie's survival skills were apparently better honed than hers. Where had they come from? Where had Jackie learned to tempt fate and take wild risks? And spite her by continuing to see that monster Darryl. The unpleasant image of Jackie having unsafe sex crossed her mind. These traits must have come from Jason, she concluded, the idiot risk-taker, he of the impossible dream. The acorn did not fall far from the tree.

  Looking back, she realized that she had foolishly bought Jason's dreams, had followed him as a dutiful and faithful wife to the scene of every failure. She had long ceased to analyze her actions. At first she had blamed it on the blindness of love. To her youthful, inexperienced, love-shrouded eye, beauty had counted for wisdom. When that veil was pierced, not long after their marriage, beauty died and wisdom fled, leaving the ashes of dead dreams.

  When you are young, she had come to realize, it was fun to dream, glorious to imagine the future and believe in the treasure that lay in wait just down the road, the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. For her the rainbow had dissolved and the pot became the old saw about not having one to pee in.

  She speculated what life might have been if they had found that illusive treasure. Would it have mattered? Would Jason have been, like Sam Goodwin, the devoted, generous, loving and monogamous husband? Either way, rich or poor, her marriage was doomed to failure. Beyond Jason's beauty was a hallucinating fantasizer. When he felt optimistic about a deal he fed his optimism by acquiring things he couldn't pay for, as if the wish would soon become the reality. It never did and, always, the acquisitions either had to be returned or they had to push on, pursued by process servers and lawyers.

  Eventually it had become a way of life—the failed dream, the wild flight and the inevitable pursuit, winding up, finally, in the dustbin of West Palm Beach, well short of Nirvana.

  She gave him more than a decade of her life, and the accident of Jackie hastened the demise. It had, indeed, been an accident. She had forgotten to put in her diaphragm. Actually, it had lain neglected and unused in its case for months. The act of conception itself was more in the nature of an obligation than consensual lovemaking. Her motive had been pity. Another of his many deals had ended in failure, and she sensed that he might need this to validate his manhood, or whatever it was inside him that needed validation. As for Grace, Jackie's birth had motivated her, given her a profound reason to separate herself further from her failed husband.

  Had Jason unwittingly placed a genetic depth bomb in their daughter? It frightened her to see the similarities in their makeup, the same flaws and miscalculations. Perhaps, she thought hopefully, sudden wealth, the ability to acquire without consequences, would abort or repress the genetic curse.

  With Jason she had experienced weakness, sloth, stupidity, naïveté and ignorance. In contrast, Sam was strong, clever, intelligent, successful and, above all, rich. In her mind he represented her last chance to save herself and her daughter from the wasting disease of material deprivation. She feared such thoughts, knowing they encouraged desperation, and desperation was not an emotion compatible with her plan. Wild, unrealistic, wishful speculations of success always invited a letdown.

  Was she merely an interim diversion for Sam? Was Sam using her to help chase away his grief, ease the pain of loss? Or was it simply sexual deprivation urging him on, the starving gonads needing sustenance? She had certainly succeeded beyond her wildest dreams to achieve the first stage in her original plan, the initial engagement. Now she was heading into more complicated and dangerous territory. She would need all her courage now, all her resources. There was no turning back. She was committed to the enterprise, body and soul, beyond all hesitation, beyond any second thoughts or ethical or moral considerations.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  By the time she got to her apartment it was getting dark. She suddenly remembered that she had made no plans for disposing of the clothing in the backseat of her car. Tomorrow, she decided, she would bring it to the Salvation Army drop-off place, wherever that might be.

  Not wanting Jackie to see the clothes, she parked a distance away from her unit, noting that another car, a small yellow Honda, was parked in her usual place. Since there was no reserved parking, seeing another car in her usual space was not an uncommon occurrence.

  Jackie jumped up and embraced her when she opened the door of her apartment. Enthusiastically, she returned the embrace. It seemed like a long-awaited reconciliation.

  "What's that for?" Grace asked.

  "Did you see it, Mom?" Jackie cried excitedly.

  "See what?"

  "The car, silly. The little yellow Honda."

  Grace's heart thumped suddenly.

  "Yes. I saw it."

  She extracted herself from her daughter's embrace.

  "It's mine. I made a fantastic deal. I used the five hundred dollars for a down payment."

  "You bought it for five hundred dollars?"

  "Two thousand. It's fantastic. I bought it from Darryl, who was selling it for a friend. He went over it with a fine-tooth comb. Even though it's ten years old, it's clean as a whistle, Mom. Only a hundred thousand miles on it."

  "You can't do that. In the first place you're a minor. In the second you have to buy car insurance. Then there's sales tax and who knows what else."

  "I know all that. Darryl says he'll take care of it."

  "Take care of it? What does that mean? Have you any documentation, registration, bill of sale, minor little legalities like that?"

  "I told you, Mom, Darryl is taking care of it."

  Jackie was starting to pout. The euphoria of a few moments ago had dissipated.

  "You don't have paperwork?"

  "Just a handshake. We did it on a handshake. I gave him five hundred dollars and will pay him a hundred and twenty five a month until it's paid off in a year."

  "I don't believe this. One accident and your license is over and God knows what else. Are you crazy? Do you believe that Nazi bastard?"

  Grace's temper was rising. She was livid with rage, trying valiantly to keep a lid on her temper.

  "Your attitude stinks, Mom. I know you hate Darryl, but he's made this great deal for me. The fact is, Mom, I can't live without a car. And you can't buy me one. I can't worry about buses all the time. I'm trapped without a car. Hell, I'm nearly seventeen years old. Please, Mom, let's not argue about it. It's a done deal."

  "No, it's not. Just give it back and tell that stupid skinhead to give you back the five hundred. And, by the way, you're not seventeen yet."
>
  "In three months I will be."

  "And you'll be just as stupid," she blurted, regretting it instantly.

  "You don't have to be insulting." Jackie pouted.

  "Well, then, tell me how to get your attention. You have just done a ridiculous transaction. You're right, Darryl isn't as dumb as he looks. The car's probably stolen. Maybe he even stabbed the owner with that ugly weapon he carries. Look, I'm still legally in charge. You have got to give it back."

  "I can't do that. We shook hands on it."

  "Shook hands? With that moron. You don't buy a car like a pig in a poke."

  "Okay, then. I'll talk to Darryl about it. I'm sure it's not stolen. Darryl says he's selling it for a buddy and I believe him. But if you want, I'll talk to him and give you more details, okay?"

  In the initial excitement of her rage, Grace had neglected to consider the arithmetic. She tried to calm herself, hoping reason and logic might prevail.

  "Let's consider the details you already gave me. You said you were charged two thousand. You gave him five hundred. That means that you still owe fifteen hundred on the car."

  "A hundred and twenty five a month for twelve months. I give it to Darryl. He gives it to his buddy."

  "No interest?"

  Jackie looked at her blankly.

  "Never mind. Where is the hundred and twenty-five supposed to come from?"

  "I've already taken care of that, Mom. I got a job at McDonald's, mornings, before I go to school. And I'll ask Mr. Barlow for a raise at the movie theater."

  She tried to do a quick calculation, but it eluded her.

  "Aside from the murkiness of the transaction itself, I don't see how you can do it."

  "You have absolutely no faith in me, Mom."

  "Your judgment leaves much to be desired, Jackie, and don't ask me for help. I just quit my new job."

  "So who's stupid now? You can't even hold a job."

  "It was my choice, Jackie. I told you, I quit."

  "And you criticize my judgment," Jackie sneered. "How could you quit when we need the money?"

  Jackie paced the room now, pouting, deep in thought. Suddenly she turned and faced her mother. She looked exactly like Jason, with the same defensive anger, the same sense of false calculation, the same hopeless grasp of the way things worked in the real world. At the same time, Grace knew she couldn't evade criticism of herself. Her best efforts had come to naught as well. So far, she thought, allowing herself the tiniest sliver of optimism.

  But, even if she were successful with Sam, a vague hope, would her rescue attempt come in time to save Jackie? Grace had a sudden vision of her daughter years from now, uneducated, waiting tables in some lowly dive, boozing, promiscuous, permanently trapped at the bottom of the economic ladder.

  Such a vision hardly jibed with the false snapshot of her daughter that she had given Sam, the brilliant honor student, top of her class, on her way to Princeton, determined to become a doctor. A mother could be proud of that. She looked at Jackie and shook her head in despair.

  "All I'm saying, Jackie," Grace said, forcing herself calm, reaching for logic, hoping it might penetrate her daughter's ignorance of the real world, "is that it's a deal that is both legally and financially stupid."

  "I wish you would stop with all the name calling."

  "You don't see it, do you?"

  Jackie muttered an obvious curse under her breath, looking at her mother archly, with snarling contempt. "Mind if I ask a question, Mom?"

  "That depends," Grace countered, fearful about what was coming.

  "Where did you get those clothes?"

  "So the best defense is an offense," Grace snapped, hoping to evade the question with her own defensive ploy.

  "Something very weird is going on here," Jackie said, searching her mother's face. "You suddenly show up with all that expensive stuff and say you promised to donate it to charity. Sorry, Mom, it doesn't add up. Darryl says you probably had a shady source and intended to keep the money for yourself. And who is this mysterious Mr. Goodwin who called last week?"

  "Hardly mysterious. Probably calling about some unpaid bill," Grace said, dismissing the reference to Sam's call. Above all, she was determined not to tell her daughter what she was doing. At this early stage of her relationship with Sam, the revelation of Jackie, the real Jackie, could spoil everything. And Jackie wasn't one to repress her curiosity.

  "I'm not so sure about that, Mom," Jackie sneered. "You're into something that you don't want me to know about. Bet I have that right."

  "Another Darryl deduction?"

  "He's smart, Mom. He can figure out the truth of things."

  "God help the truth."

  "Its pretty obvious, Mom. Something stinks here. Doesn't it? Don't think you can hide it forever. You're up to something and you're keeping it a secret. We'll find out. No matter what, Darryl and I will find out."

  The ominous threat frightened Grace. But she was determined not to show her daughter any anxiety.

  "Darryl is on my case?"

  "I told you, Darryl has a sixth sense about things."

  "We'll see how brilliant you'll rate him when you get pulled over for speeding and are asked by some cop to see your registration. Or if you get into an accident and the guy whose car you bashed wants to see your insurance papers. We'll see how smart Darryl is at that point. And don't think I'm going to stand still on the other issue either. You're underage and he's vulnerable."

  "I told you before, Mom, Darryl doesn't like threats," Jackie snapped. "I'd be very careful if I were you." A picture of Darryl's ugly knife surfaced in Grace's mind, but she tried to will it away.

  "I'm not afraid of him, Jackie," she said, knowing it was bravado. She was scared, for Jackie as well as herself.

  "You should be."

  "There are rules, Jackie. Legalities. With all his macho posturing, he still can't escape them."

  "You've played by the rules, Mom. Where did it get you?"

  She had a point, Grace thought. From her daughter's perspective at that moment she probably did look like a loser. Yet, remembering her day with Sam and thinking about the prospects for tomorrow, she didn't feel like a loser.

  "It's only over when it's over."

  "Now isn't that profound, Mom," Jackie said, her sarcasm blatant. "I know you think I'm a stupid, immature idiot. But I'm gonna show you I can do it on my own, without your help. You'll see. It's about time I stopped depending on you for everything. And I'm sure Darryl will take care of things about the car. He's a lot smarter than you are."

  "Smarter?" Grace paused, trying to assemble her thoughts and control her anger simultaneously. It crossed her mind that maybe the thing to do would be to call the police. "I think the man's a dangerous bigot who's heading for trouble and taking you with him. I hate to think of where that car might have come from. He's got you in some kind of a mental hammerlock and I've got to figure out a way to stop it, even if it means calling in the cops."

  "If he was here, I don't think he'd appreciate that threat, Mom. You'd be in deep shit."

  "You're already there, Jackie."

  She looked at her mother, shook her head and offered a pitying stare. But to Grace she looked like a frightened waif, whistling in the cemetery. With a gesture of disgust, Jackie turned and headed for the door.

  "I'm outta here."

  "Where are you going?"

  "I told you ... outta here."

  "To where?"

  "I've got my own transportation now, Mommie dearest. I can move around when I need to. And I need to now."

  She walked out and slammed the door. In a few moments Grace heard the cough of the yellow Honda's motor. It didn't sound very clean at all.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  In the morning she awoke very early, put on her bathing suit and, over it, slacks and a T-shirt. She packed a change of clothes, put on her makeup, then slipped out of the apartment before Jackie was awake. She had brooded over the confrontation with her daughter the night
before. It was very worrisome. She made an effort to tuck it into the back of her mind as she looked forward to her next meeting with Sam. Nothing must spoil that. Nothing.

  Parked in front of the apartment was the little yellow Honda, quite cute really, but obviously old, and she was certain on further inspection that it was painted over. She looked inside, saw the wear of the years and tried to glimpse the odometer, which she couldn't see, although she was certain it had been moved back.

  Last night, before she fell asleep, she had tried to imagine how it was possible that Jackie could claim ownership of the car based on the manner in which she had taken physical possession of it. Darryl was obviously exercising a sinister influence over her. He was scary and dangerous, but Grace knew there was no point in trying to talk Jackie out of her relationship with him. She was brainwashed. Protesting would only drive her closer to him, perhaps even out of the apartment. The prospect was frightening, and she suddenly felt weak with worry.

  Maybe it was best to let this thing with the car play itself out. Although there was a risk in the process, it might illustrate to Jackie the truth about Darryl.

  The hard reality, considering the wonderful snapshot she had created of Jackie for Sam Goodwin's benefit, depressed her. Not to mention the résumé she had created for herself, a tissue of lies, one false fact piled on another. How could she, if she were found out, possibly explain away such blatant, self-serving, outrageous lies? Worse, how could she explain the manner in which she had expressed them, so cool and smooth, with such absolute surety and confidence.

  There was no point in dwelling on it, she decided. It was too late. The lies were stitched irrevocably into her false history. How could she justify them? She could charge that a mysterious force had inserted these ideas into her mind, that she had been merely the medium, an evil conduit. Hardly a logical excuse, she concluded, pushing such absurdities out of her thoughts. Her more immediate worry was getting the facts straight when they were needed again.

  Stopping at McDonald's, she had an Egg McMuffin and a cup of coffee. It was a long way from her terrace meal with Sam Goodwin. She smiled at the memory, recalling the cold tang of the Dom Perignon on her tongue, the view of the white beach melding into the azure sea, Sam's eyes searching her face.