Mourning Glory

by Warren Adler

  "Have you completely lost your mind, Jackie?" Grace shouted, standing up.

  "Mom. How could you ... listening to my private conversation?"

  In the harsh light of the kitchen, Jackie's face turned a flat ashen, as if all the blood had drained out of it.

  "Don't you understand what you're doing?"

  "I didn't mean for you to hear it.... "She turned her face away and her shoulders indicated that she had begun to sob.

  "You're a sixteen-year-old child, for God's sake, Jackie. Has this man been pressuring you, harassing you? We could call the cops or something."

  Jackie shook her head in the negative and averted her eyes.

  "Look at me," Grace commanded.

  She felt her heart breaking. She was devastated, as if Jackie had just been discovered to have a terminal illness. As always she blamed herself for Jackie's transgressions. Hadn't she taught her right from wrong? Apparently the lessons hadn't stuck. It was just one more parental failure chalked up on the scoreboard.

  In a burst of frustration and anger, Grace stepped across the room and, grabbing Jackie's shoulders, spun her around. Tears were streaming down Jackie's face.

  "Did he harass you into this?" she shouted. "Answer me."

  Jackie bit her lip and again shook her head in the negative.

  "No, he didn't," she croaked.

  "Then why..." Grace demanded.

  "Money," Jackie said, swallowing hard, finding control. "I approached him. I needed extra money. It was my suggestion. The only thing we haggled over was price."

  "Doesn't he understand the risk he'd be taking?" Grace snapped.

  "It's my fault, Mom. Not his." She raised her voice. "He isn't a bad man. He's married with two very nice children. He's fifty-one years old. And I could use the money, Mom. It wasn't meant to harm anybody."

  "No harm. No harm," Grace cried. "Never mind the psychic harm to yourself. Where is your pride? Where is your self-respect? This is prostitution, Jackie. And your dear Mr. Barlow—we'll nail that son-of-a-bitch to the cross. He agreed to this. How could he be so awful? Risking statutory rape, sexual harassment, contributing to the corruption of a minor. Hell, we'll get this bastard." She felt herself hyperventilating and needed a few moments to get herself under control.

  "Please, don't do anything like that. It wasn't meant to be a big deal, Mom. It was my fault."

  "He's the one with the money."

  "I sort of threw it in his face."

  "And he caught it."

  "Darryl said..." Jackie began, then realized that she had made a terrible mistake.

  "So it was his idea," Grace fumed.

  "Sort of..." Jackie started to cry again. "Please, Mom. Leave it alone. Please."

  "You've got yourself a pimp."

  "It isn't like that," Jackie muttered. "A one-time thing."

  "It's the beginning," Grace said. "He's making you a hooker."

  "It was just Mr. Barlow, Mom," Jackie whined. "One guy."

  "I can't understand what's happening to you. It's ... it's pure prostitution, that's what it is. You're selling yourself, throwing away your self-respect. Don't you understand the difference between right and wrong? I'm not going to let this pass, Jackie. Darryl ... that filthy bastard."

  "How else was I supposed to get the money, Mom?"

  Jackie wiped her eyes with a tissue. Saturated, she balled it and threw it into the sink and took another from a box on the Formica table. Then she cleared her throat.

  "This was a business transaction, Mom. I couldn't meet my car payment. Darryl had no choice. And I need my car."

  The car, the car, Grace screamed within herself. The image of Darryl jumped back into her mind. The shaven-headed Darryl with his black leather jacket, swaggering in his high-heeled black cowboy boots, his proud, pooching bundle of genitalia in his tight jeans, the real dagger with the swastika and the tattooed dagger on his arm, encircled by the snake and the words, death before dishonor.

  She studied her daughter, a child caught in a whirlpool of contradictions, unable to understand the consequences of her actions, victimized by the demons of adolescence and the ineptitude of her parents, especially herself. In Jackie's mind, Darryl was the avenging angel come to rescue her from the black pit of despair. Again she blamed herself for not working harder to keep Jackie from his evil intent. A wave of painful guilt washed over her.

  "I'm not going to let him get away with this," Grace said. "I should have stepped in earlier, been more aggressive."

  "You'll be making more trouble than you need, Mom. You don't know him."

  "I'm not afraid of him. Not afraid of his stupid knife and his macho posing."

  "All Darryl wants is his money. He doesn't want to hurt me. I owe it to him. A deal's a deal." Jackie looked at her mother, biting her lip, her now dry eyes flashing with anger. "Hell, you can't give it to me."

  "Jesus, what have I raised here?"

  "Well, I can't depend on you. You're a goddamned loser, Mom. That's what you are. Nothing is lower than a loser."

  "And what are you—" Grace began, feeling a sob begin deep inside of her. She had the urge to explode with horrible, hurtful words, words of rebuke, words of anger and frustration. She managed to tamp down her rage, bottle it inside of her, searching her mind for some direction that would not make the matter worse than it was, if that was possible.

  "Darling, please. Let's not focus the anger on ourselves. We're in this together, you and me. All I'm trying to do is keep you from hurting yourself. What you're doing with Mr. Barlow is, to be kind, just plain wrong. Can't you see that? Above all, you've got to respect yourself. You're a beautiful young woman now. Don't make yourself ... a..." She groped for the right word. "A commodity. You're a person ... the future will be what you make it." She sucked in a deep breath. "I love you, darling, with all my heart. A mother wants the best for her daughter. I know, I know. So far I have been a loser. I admit it. But there is hope. Believe me. Trust me. I'm trying to turn things around. I need time...."

  She felt tears coming and turned away, clearing her throat, then wiping them away with a tissue. Suddenly she felt a hand on her back.

  "I'm sorry, Mom. I didn't mean—"

  Grace turned and embraced her daughter, feeling her body wracked with sobs.

  "It's about time we had a good cry," she managed to say, hoping that the gesture would bridge the growing gap between them.

  Jackie quieted, then disengaged.

  "If I don't get Darryl the money, he's going to take the car back. I just didn't know what to do. I had no choice."

  "Now, let's put our heads together on this," Grace said, feeling she had regained some of her parental authority. "I stick with my premise. I'll bet that car was stolen, or, at the least, its ownership is suspect. There are worse things as well.... "Her voice trailed off as she hesitated.

  "Like what?" Jackie asked, frowning. Grace sensed some of her belligerence returning.

  "Let's face it. Now don't get upset, but it must be said. Inducing a minor to prostitution, statutory rape. Maybe stolen cars. Jackie, you can't ignore the obvious. The man is vulnerable."

  Jackie shook her head and bit her lip.

  "You can't, Mom."

  "Why not? He can't just terrorize you like this."

  "He's not terrorizing me, Mom," Jackie muttered.

  "You can't still be defending him?"

  "I don't want him to hurt anybody."

  "Hurt anybody? He's already hurt you, Jackie."

  "Not really," Jackie whispered, averting her eyes. Grace shook her head in despair, feeling the rage begin again.

  "Jackie, Jackie, my poor baby. Can't you see it? This whole thing stinks to high heaven. This terrible person has you in his clutches. He's not just terrorizing you. He's deliberately and ruthlessly taking advantage of you, trashing your life. Wake up, baby. We've got to stop him."

  Grace looked at her daughter, a sad, frightened little girl. Watching her, she felt as if she were confronting her ow
n failure and her anger dissipated.

  "You mustn't do this, Jackie," she pleaded, her voice calming. "This would only be the beginning of a downward slide. He's using you for his own evil purposes. How can I make you understand?"

  "Look, Mom, none of this is helping. It's still a matter of the money."

  "It's more than just money..." Grace began.

  Jackie suddenly erupted.

  "More than just money. More than just money. Are you crazy? It's all about money. Mom, money is the most important thing in the world. We have nothing. Nothing! What kind of a life is this? Look at this shit house. Look in my closet. Rags. Cheap crap. Other kids have cars, clothes. I feel like a beggar. I don't want to feel like a beggar, Mom. I like nice things. And ... and..." She seemed on the verge of hysteria. "If I have to depend on you ... we'll never get out of here and I won't ever have anything."

  "Well, don't pin your hopes on Darryl and his stupid bike. Follow him, he'll lead you straight to the gutter."

  "At least I have a car," Jackie shouted. Her adolescent arrogance had returned. "That's more than I ever got from you."

  "You think that's your car, Jackie? Don't delude yourself." Grace walked to the phone and picked it up.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Calling the police."

  "I wouldn't do that, Mom," Jackie cried, panicked, as she moved toward Grace and grappled for the phone. "Please. He can get real nasty, Mom. Please. I'm begging you. He's dangerous. He'll hurt you, maybe worse."

  Jackie seemed on the verge of hysteria and Grace let go of the phone. She searched her daughter's face, seeing abject fear in her expression.

  "Has he threatened you, Jackie?"

  "He can make trouble Mom ... big trouble ... for both of us." Jackie hesitated. It seemed a reluctant admission.

  "For both of us?"

  Jackie's thin facade of arrogance was crumbling again. Her eyes filled with tears, which began to roll down her cheeks.

  "I just don't want any trouble, Mom. He could hurt you."

  "You're worried about me?" Grace said, the full weight of her guilt descending on her like a rock on her chest. Her parenting had been an abysmal failure. She would never forget it. It was all her fault, hers alone. She couldn't even cast blame on Jason.

  "Yes, Mom. I'm worried about you."

  "I hadn't realized..." Grace began, sucking in a deep breath. "Look, I'll find a way out of this mess, Jackie. And I won't make trouble. And Jackie..." She wanted to tell her about Sam and the possibilities her relationship with him boded for a better future. Not yet, she decided. "And I promise you things will be getting better."

  "You always promise, Mom, but nothing happens." Jackie wiped away the tears with the back of her hand.

  "It is happening, Jackie. It is ... you'll see."

  Jackie's perceived need for money and her obviously self-destructive relationship with Darryl had driven her to take desperate action. Her discontent was far deeper than Grace had realized. Perhaps a faulty gene had come down from her and Jason's blood that had blurred the line between the good and the bad.

  Jackie was right about one thing: Their lack of money was a terrible disaster. It was humiliating. It ate away at their self-esteem and dignity. It made them feel crippled, unfit, desperate. It corroded self-respect. Even Grace's visits to the unemployment office, where she stood in line with the other unfortunates, was a demoralizing act.

  Thinking this, Grace faced the full scope of her frustration. She felt shackled, imprisoned, unable to make a choice on her own. Her only avenue of hope was Sam. Why didn't he act, declare his everlasting fealty, get down on bended knee and beg her to marry him?

  She recalled Mrs. Burns's words, echoing and reechoing. Ring around the finger. Perhaps she should speak up, demand his consideration, force him to declare himself. Would he back off, grow fearful, have second thoughts? Of one thing she was dead certain: Sam was not a man for ultimatums.

  "All right, Mom," Jackie said between sniffles, obviously emotionally spent. "Don't worry about Mr. Barlow. I won't do this ever again. I didn't want you to know. I didn't want to hurt you."

  "You would be hurting yourself."

  "It's over, Mom. I'm sorry. I promise. Never again."

  "What about dear little Darryl?"

  "I don't know, Mom." Jackie shrugged. "I just don't want him to hurt you."

  "He won't," Grace said, taking a brave stand.

  "He wants his money, Mom. That's the deal."

  "Then we'll give it to him," Grace said, her mind groping for some plan to raise immediate cash. This was, indeed, a crisis, and it had certainly rearranged her priorities.

  "But how, Mom? You said you haven't got any."

  "Can I extract a promise from you, Jackie?"

  "Of course you can, Mom."

  "Please don't question me about anything. Not now. I'll tell you what you have to know in due time. All I can say is that something good is happening between me and the man you questioned me about yesterday, something good for both of us. Financially rewarding, too."

  "Really, Mom?"

  "Really."

  "Can you tell me anything about him, Mom? I'll bet he's rich."

  "You promised," Grace said, lifting her hand like a traffic cop.

  "Okay. But you won't keep it from me too long?"

  "Trust me."

  She reached for her pocketbook and took out her checkbook. Her balance was just under two hundred dollars.

  "How far behind are you?"

  "Two hundred and fifty dollars."

  She thought about postdating it, then rejected the idea. Somehow she'd cover it. She wrote it out, then handed it to Jackie.

  "This should give you some breathing room."

  "Thanks, Mom."

  "On second thought, mail it to him. I don't want you to see him again. That's the deal."

  Jackie studied the check.

  "I promise, Mom."

  It crossed Grace's mind that what she had been engineering was not much different from what Jackie had been setting up. Like mother, like daughter, she admonished herself. She was no less a hustler doing what she had been doing. Who was she to judge Jackie's act of desperation?

  Grace wondered if Jackie saw any of this in moral terms, the right and wrong of it, the black and white of it. Or was it simply Grace's discovery of that action that had made the idea unpalatable? At this juncture she didn't take the fork in the road that led to denial. The sad fact of Jackie's assent to the idea of prostituting herself was, to her mind, an act of depravity, not merely stupidity.

  What had Grace done to have allowed such moral neutrality to be planted in her daughter's mind? This was, she decided, the essence of her parental failure, and it was up to her, if it wasn't too late, to take whatever corrective action was possible.

  "You call this Mr. Barlow tomorrow and quit your job instantly. I don't want you to ever go back there again. And if he makes a stink, tell him how vulnerable he is."

  "He won't ... but it was a good job, Mom."

  "No more jobs, Jackie. You have one job, getting good marks, getting into college. That's your job. Do we understand each other?"

  "But what will we do for money?"

  "Leave that to me, okay?"

  Jackie nodded.

  "Yeah, sure, Mom."

  "Trust me, darling."

  "Sure, Mom."

  "You don't believe me, do you?"

  "I want to, Mom. I really do."

  Grace held out her arms and Jackie, with some reluctance, moved into them.

  "Never go that far again, Jackie. Never. Never. Never."

  "I won't, Mom."

  "And no more Darryl. I swear to you, you see him again and I'm going to the police. Do you understand me?"

  "Yes, Mom."

  They held their embrace for a long time. Then Grace disengaged and went into her bedroom. She fell on her bed and studied the ceiling, groping in her mind for some answer that would rescue them and still keep open her options
with Sam.

  It was obvious that her timetable wasn't Sam's. What she needed was money, immediately. Sam could wait. Despite her so-called wiles, she had not created in him any sense of urgency.

  Weighing her options, she speculated that perhaps it was time to make a clean breast of it, tell Sam the truth. Truth was his watchword, wasn't it? Why not confront him with its starkness, the truth untarnished? Take the risk. Throw herself on his mercy. The image suggested by that idea, her kneeling before him like a supplicant, begging for understanding, while she confessed her sins, was too distasteful to contemplate.

  He would certainly be stunned by the blatant cynicism of her action. Be brave, she urged herself. Let the chips fall where they may. Tell it as it is. None of those clichés were helpful. They hadn't been helpful to Anne either, Anne the wonderful, Anne the traitor, who got away with cheating for twenty-five years.

  She stopped pacing and threw herself on the bed again, hoping that exhaustion would send her into oblivion. It did.

  When she awoke she was surprised by what could only be described as a major miracle. It was as if a computer had been silently operating in her subconscious as she slept. It had weighed all available options and spit out the one that best suited her condition. Convert Anne's clothes into immediate cash!

  Of course, it had been there all the time, and she had once rejected the possibility on other grounds. But that had been a different time, eons ago, when her priorities were different. Ironically, it was Jackie's entrepreneurship that had pointed the way. Once she had worried about exposure, but the earlier experience had not met with repercussions, and there was no reason to believe that they would occur now.

  As for the ethics of the action, which once had concerned her, Grace rejected such a notion. In the game she was playing, ethics were a foolish abstraction. Selling Anne's clothes was nothing more than another lie in a more tangible incarnation. What did one more lie matter? She was still able to maintain the purity of her promise to herself ... well, almost ... not to take money or kind directly from Sam.

  This condition, too, she knew, was less ethical than tactical. Above all, he must never believe that her motivation was in any way related to his money.

  Jackie's act of desperation had changed everything. The mother instinct was operating now, with all the fierceness and protective zeal of a lioness with her cub. And she had been touched by Jackie's concern for her, which seemed quite real. The fact was that Grace was afraid. There was no telling what an evil man like Darryl might do.