Mourning Glory

by Warren Adler

  "Now? It's ... it's late."

  "He's a big boy. I'm sure he's up."

  She watched as Jackie picked up the phone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  They met in an all-night coffee shop in downtown West Palm Beach, a throwback from another era, complete with booths made of naugahyde and Formica-topped tables. They were approached by a sour-looking middle-aged waitress. Grace and Jackie were the first to arrive. They slid into the booth, sitting side by side, watching the entrance.

  They heard the loud sputter of his motorcycle, which came into view through the glass doors. He parked it directly in front of the place and swaggered in, swinging his helmet by its chin strap. He wore the same biker's uniform she had seen him in before: black leather jacket, spangling with metal-stamped swastikas, black leather boots, tight jeans that showed off the bulge of his crotch.

  "Hey, mama and daughter, two peas in a pod," he said, smiling crookedly in a way that clearly suggested ridicule.

  Grace had an opportunity to observe him more carefully than before. His head was freshly shaven, shiny, his brown eyes feral and wary behind his high cheekbones. Only his short cleft chin belied his stance of arrogance. He slid into the booth opposite them and laid his helmet on the seat beside him.

  "Hi, Darryl," Jackie said awkwardly.

  "Lookin' great, Jackie." He turned to Grace. "You, too, Mama." He slapped the tabletop. "Offer for a twofer still stands."

  The sour-looking waitress, with a noticeably disapproving glance at Darryl, took their order for three black coffees. "Mean lookin' bitch," Darryl whispered. He turned to Grace and Jackie.

  "So what's the pitch? Jackie says it's about the car."

  "We're here to pay it off," Grace said, forcing herself to be pleasant. "The full amount owing." She opened her pocketbook and drew out her checkbook and a ballpoint. "What is the exact amount owed?"

  "Twelve big ones."

  Grace snickered inwardly at his reference to hundreds as big ones. Sam, she knew, would have laughed out loud.

  "Who do I make the check out to?" Grace asked.

  She noted that Darryl and Jackie exchanged glances.

  "This time, I'd rather it was cash," Darryl muttered. Grace caught a change in his attitude. He seemed to have grown more serious.

  "Believe me," Grace said, "the check is good."

  "I ain't saying it's not. But cash is better."

  "Come on, Darryl. Don't be ridiculous. Who do I make it out to?"

  Again, Darryl and Jackie exchanged glances.

  Grace held her pen poised to write; then she looked up. "I assume you brought the documentation, the title and registration."

  "I'm not stupid, Mama," Darryl grunted. "You can stop that check first thing in the morning."

  "I guess you didn't bring it then," Grace said, pausing, watching his face. "How do I know you have it?"

  Darryl shook his head, forced a laugh and looked at Jackie.

  "I don't think Mama trusts me, baby."

  "It's not a matter of trust," Grace said. "It's a matter of business."

  She wondered if she should catalog her misgivings about the transaction and, in general, the relationship with her daughter, who, at that moment, looked frozen with fear. Instead she held her peace, determined to tough it out and end it once and for all.

  "Looks to me like your mama here has developed a very shitty attitude about me."

  "Look, Darryl," Grace said, pausing as the waitress brought their coffees, "my daughter is a minor for whom I'm responsible. She made a deal with you and all I'm doing here is fulfilling her obligations. This is a simple transaction. I have the money, but what good is the car if it isn't properly registered and titled? There are license plates on it, and I'm certain they can be checked out for their legality. I haven't done so. I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt. I'm sure your bike is properly documented and you know the danger of being caught in an illegal transaction. The fact is that we both know, under the circumstances, that Jackie has been driving it illegally...."

  Darryl held up his hand like a cop directing traffic.

  "Are you accusin' me of somethin', Mama?"

  As if to back up his statement, he suddenly reached behind him and pulled out his knife. Jackie tensed beside her. He started to clean his nails with the point of the blade.

  "Put that damned thing away, Darryl," Grace said.

  "Just cleanin' my nails, Mama. No law against that."

  Grace could see the mechanics of his usual pose of menace and, surprisingly, she felt no fear for herself or any sense of intimidation.

  "Darryl, please," Jackie said. "Put it away."

  "Little pussy scared?"

  "Come on, Darryl," Grace said calmly. "There's no need to get dramatic. Just put it away."

  He sneered, shook his head and slipped the knife back in its pouch.

  "I have the money," Grace said. "Just provide us with the legal documentation." She spoke slowly and softly, barely above a whisper.

  "You got a fuckin' lousy attitude, Mama." His hand shot out with an accusing finger pointed directly at her right breast. Grace looked down at Darryl's finger. It seemed a cue for him to press it forward.

  "Get your filthy paw off me, you pig," Grace said. She felt her anger break through. "I should go right to the police and expose you. They'd throw the book at you. Statutory rape, probably car theft, inducing a minor into prostitution. Hell, they'd have enough to put you away for a very long time."

  "M-o-m," Jackie whined.

  She watched Darryl's face grow dark and ominous. Then his lips broke into a crooked smile. But he had withdrawn his finger from her breast.

  "You won't do that, will you, Mama?" Darryl said.

  "Wouldn't I?"

  Darryl looked at Jackie, his eyes narrowing.

  "It's not only for cleanin' my nails, Mama."

  "Don't, Darryl.... "Jackie began.

  "I don't think the kike would be too happy with that, Mama..."

  He paused, continuing to smile, watching her face. He could not fail to notice her stunned expression. Her heart had seemed to break its rhythm, thumping heavily in her chest. She couldn't believe what she had heard.

  "You promised, Darryl," Jackie whined.

  Grace closed her eyes tightly, hoping that when she opened them all this would go away.

  "And I don't think he'd appreciate what you did with those clothes..."

  Grace, feeling a strange flutter in her heartbeat, turned to her daughter, who cowered in the corner of the booth.

  "You knew this?"

  Jackie bit her lip and turned her face to the wall. Then she turned back to face Darryl, whose eyes seemed to burn into her face.

  "I saw you, Mama. You and that old Jew boy walkin' the beach hand in hand, kissin' and cooin'. Bet you're fuckin' the old guy's balls off, takin' in that cut salami of his." He cackled and shook his head. "I been followin' you, Mama. Tellin' your little girl here that you were puttin' them clothes into charity. Bullshit. You gotta nice scam goin' with that fuckin' kike."

  "How dare you ... how dare you.... "Grace began, trying to get herself under control. She turned to her daughter. "And you..."

  "I didn't mean any harm, Mom. I just..."

  "Ain't her fault. Likes money, this little pussy of yours. Figured you got somethin' good workin'. Got yourself a Jew fat cat."

  "I won't sit here and listen to this," Grace said, feeling hysteria growing inside her. But she couldn't find the energy to stand.

  "What did I tell ya, Jackie?" Darryl said. "She's scared shitless." He turned to Grace. "You keep pushin' that stuff about the cops. I go to Sammy Goodwin..."

  The name on his tongue was appalling. She felt her flesh turn to ice.

  "See, Jackie? She ain't so cocky no more. Got this good thing goin'. Rich old Jew boy. All them clothes you carted out of there this week—bet there's more where that came from, right, Mama?"

  Grace tried to work through her anger. She felt utterly desolate an
d alone. She turned toward Jackie.

  "How could you?" she whispered, unable to find her voice.

  "I just wanted to know what was going on, Mom," Jackie said. "I had a right to know. I'm your daughter."

  "Are you?" Grace asked, taking a deep breath, then turning to Darryl, but unable to find words.

  "Hey, Mama," Darryl said, "don't get me wrong. I don't wanna rain on your parade. No way. Pork your Jew boy day and night. No big deal. It's just that ... well, me and Jackie figured you got yourself a scam goin', here. You know ... the deal with the clothes, and I'll bet the Yid's been given you a few extra bucks for the use of your ass. And me and Jackie figure you want to share your good fortune with your daughter and her friend."

  "Mom, I never..."

  Jackie had suddenly erupted, attempting to stand, but inhibited by the stationary table.

  "Now take it easy, little pussy," Darryl said. "You been bitchin' and moanin' about your mama puttin' out no bread in your direction. Here's your chance. Hell, she's not goin' to blow this deal. Right, Mama? We understand each other, right? She ain't gonna make no trouble for me and you and we ain't goin' to make no trouble for her, right, Mama? From now on she's gonna share..."

  "I won't sit here and listen to that," Grace said, sliding out of the booth. It was like a bad dream. She felt unclean, humiliated, betrayed. She could think of no logical response beyond her own disgust and disappointment. Her mind was a jumble of contradictions. She needed Sam now. Sam would know how to react. Sam would know how to deal with this monster.

  "You just don't know..." Grace began, her voice wispy and unsure.

  "I don't know what, Mama?" Darryl sneered.

  "You just don't know ... just don't know ... what desperation can do..."

  Grace's legs felt rubbery as she moved out of the coffee shop. In the street she felt disoriented. Then she heard Jackie's voice behind her.

  "I didn't mean it, Mom. I didn't know he would go this far."

  Grace turned toward her daughter. Although Jackie looked genuinely contrite, Grace felt little compassion.

  "You knew all along."

  Jackie looked down at the sidewalk, locking and unlocking her fingers.

  "You lied," Grace said. "Your promises meant nothing. How could you?"

  "I'm so sorry, Mom. Really I am. I was mad."

  "Mad?"

  "That you weren't telling me everything..."

  "Money, too. You thought I was holding back."

  "I was working two jobs, Mom. I was tired. It was his idea to follow you, not mine. Not really. I'm sick of this, Mom, sick of everything. I just told him to get lost. Let him keep his stupid car. Mom, please, no more trouble over this. I was mixed up. I was wrong."

  "Your Darryl is an evil man," Grace said, only half believing her daughter's contrition, unforgiving about Darryl, dear Darryl. His hateful remarks about Jews echoed in her mind. She felt as if they were directed at her as well. God, Sam, she cried inside herself, help me.

  Then, suddenly, Darryl was standing beside them, helmet swinging from his hand.

  "You ain't off the hook, Mama," Darryl sneered with a movie tough-guy flourish to enhance his menacing pose. He turned toward Jackie. "You neither, little pussy. Don't think you can just throw back the car without payin' nothin'."

  "Enough," Grace shouted, finding her voice again, beyond fear, feeling the white-hot purity of her rage. "Don't you pull that intimidating crap on us ... not ever again. Just get the hell out of our lives." She moved fearlessly toward him and pounded her finger into his chest. "And see to it that you get that car out of our face by morning. You hear that, stud? By morning."

  "Or what?" Darryl croaked.

  "You're not out of the woods, pal," Grace said, her voice lowered, determined to be equally menacing, as angry as she had ever been in her life. It was as if all the frustrations she had ever suffered, her many losing battles and disappointments, her bad marriage, the struggles with Jackie, her humiliations, her fearsome economic circumstances, all her dead and dying dreams, erupted inside her with volcanic force. "You sick Nazi bastard. I'll see you in hell if you ever come near us again."

  "Don't fuck with me, lady," Darryl said, momentarily stunned by her outburst, then quickly recovering his arrogance. "You don't know what trouble is." He turned to Jackie. "Tell her. She fucks with me, you're both dead meat."

  Grace, sensing a rising inner hysteria, turned away and, grabbing Jackie by the arm, headed toward her car. Darryl came up behind them and spun Grace around to face him.

  "You diddle me, bitch," he shouted, "I'll fix you and your kike buddy." He shot an angry glance at Jackie. "You tell her not to make trouble for me, you hear me, Jackie? And make sure I get the dough.... You got my meanin'?"

  Grace felt a pounding in her head, fighting her rage. She turned away from his ugly, twisted features and evil stare and, dragging Jackie, ran to the car.

  "I'm warning you, both of you," Darryl shouted behind them. "Don't fuck with me."

  They got into the car, and Grace quickly locked the doors, turned the ignition and gunned the motor. The car shot forward.

  "I feel so terrible about this, Mom," Jackie whined beside her.

  "Less said the better," Grace said, her anger still simmering. They drove for a while in silence.

  "If he doesn't get that money, Mom," Jackie whined, "he means it. He'll make trouble for you and your boyfriend."

  "He'd better not," Grace said. Would he? She wondered how Sam would react if Darryl confronted him. She shuddered to think about it and tried to chase the idea from her thoughts.

  As she drove, she saw him suddenly in her side mirror, coming up fast in his motorcycle, the shiny metal of the bike reflecting the street lamps. With his black helmet clapped on his head and the visor closed, he looked like Darth Vader descending on them to attack. The road was almost deserted at that hour and he drove the bike past them, then cut in front, then circled around them and repeated the maneuver.

  It was nerve-wracking and dangerous. Grace's heart pounded with fear.

  "He's trying to make us crash, Mom," Jackie whimpered.

  She held the wheel steady, determined to keep herself together. Then, finally, he lifted one hand, gave them the finger and headed off down the road.

  "He's crazy," Grace mumbled.

  "Don't mess with him, Mom. Please. He'll do something awful. You don't know what he's like."

  "And I don't want to know."

  "Please, Mom. I'm not kidding. I'm so, so sorry."

  "Are you really, Jackie? He messes with us, I'm not going to roll over. I mean it."

  She parked the car next to the yellow Honda.

  "It better be gone by morning," she said, banging her car door shut, as if the added sound was needed to buttress her courage. "Leave the keys on the seat. I hope he got the message."

  Jackie fished in her pocketbook, found the keys, opened the car door and put them on the driver's seat.

  "He'll be after the money, Mom," Jackie said. "He won't give up."

  Grace turned and faced Jackie.

  "You make it sound like you're his partner," Grace said.

  "Well, I'm not," Jackie pouted.

  "Remains to be seen."

  "You sound like you don't trust me, Mom."

  "Do I? How perceptive of you."

  She opened the door of the apartment and headed directly into her bedroom, undressing quickly, throwing herself naked on the bed. By then anger had turned to fear as she imagined what could happen if he carried out his threats.

  Confronting Sam would be a disaster for Grace. Everything between them would end. He would quickly learn the truth about her and the grim circumstances of her life. All her lies, all her sad, cynical manipulation of his grief would be revealed. She would be unmasked as a phony, a cheat, a gold-digging whore. It would be over. Kaput. The death of hope.

  As for Jackie, Grace was bewildered by her actions. How blandly she had acted her part, pressing her for information that she a
lready knew. It was depressing to contemplate. Her own daughter.

  The pressure of all this horror overwhelmed her. She confirmed to herself, yet again, that she was not built for subterfuge. It was out of character for her. She detested the idea that she had created this fictional persona to enhance her position with Sam. But then, hadn't Anne, sweet, faithful, accomplished, wonderful Anne, blandly lived a lie for more than two decades? Two wrongs didn't make a right, she told herself.

  She was growing tired of this debate within her mind. Soon her fear began to dissipate. She knew in her heart and soul that she loved Sam Goodwin, loved him as she had never loved anyone in her life, loved him unconditionally and was fully prepared to give him a lifetime of devotion. Did he feel the same way? Show me, Sam, she cried in her heart. Show me the power of your love. The idea calmed her and she crept under the covers.

  How far afield she had come from her original intent! Life was dynamic and unpredictable. She had been caught in a web of her own creation. She speculated about what might have happened if she had told him the truth from the beginning. Oh, Sam, she cried, if only you could look into my heart.

  What had happened to Mrs. Burns's various caveats? And Millicent Farmer's dictum? Ring around the finger? A fool's notion. None of that seemed relevant anymore. Emotion had won over reason. Was that victory or defeat?

  It was time, she decided. Time for a full confession, time for truth, for total honesty. There was no way to predict his reaction. Certainly he would be shocked and confused and consider her deliberate lies a betrayal of trust. How would she react if their roles were reversed? Would there ever be room for trust again?

  Then she remembered the evidence of Anne's infidelity, the letters she still carried around in her pocketbook, ammunition at the ready. Ready for what? Perhaps, as a last resort, she would show him how simple it was to misplace trust, to be fooled, to be manipulated into believing deliberate lies.

  Anne had done it, and he continued to worship her memory, continued to keep her spirit enshrined in his heart, Anne the betrayer. How would he react to that knowledge?

  The idea of such exposure filled her with dread and yet, here she was, contemplating telling him the truth about herself. And didn't the truth about herself, she rationalized, the absolute truth about her past, have to include what she knew about Anne's infidelity?