Passion's Fire

by Jeanne Foguth

  “But I don’t wanna go,” a child’s high-pitched voice stated the sentiment of her heart as something hit her thighs. Jacqueline glanced down. A little redheaded boy raised a belligerent fist at the person behind her. She took a quick look back as a balding man grasped the child’s hand and urged the kid away from her legs. “I won’t go.” The high-pitched tone made her ears cringe.

  “Quiet,” the man said.

  “I’m not going.”

  “Yes, you are. And you will behave.”

  The battle between boy and man raged. Jacqueline stood on tiptoe and tried to see if San Francisco was listed anywhere else. It wasn’t.

  “You can’t make me.”

  “Perhaps not, but you must visit your mother and this is the only way possible.”

  The queue seemed to move slower than the process of evolution. Finally, it was her turn. “Round trip to San Francisco.” She shoved her Visa card to the service rep. The child let out a screech. “And a pair of earplugs, please.” The woman laughed.

  Despite the child’s continued complaints, she dozed on the flight. Later, in her hotel room, she sank into a deep, restoring sleep. By the time Jacqueline awoke, it was two o’clock the following afternoon.

  After a shower and snack, she took a taxi to the address of her namesake’s street, then walked down the twisting lane – twice – before she accepted the fact that the house number didn’t exist. Hoping on a cable car, she headed to St. Francis Memorial Hospital. She’d expected a simple building, not something over ten stories high, or with all sorts of specialized clinics. Where might her namesake work? The Melanoma Center? HIV Care? Perhaps the Burn Center or the Alzheimer’s and Dementia Clinic. She, personally, would have chosen to work in the Clinical Research Center.

  Standing on the sidewalk, she gazed up at the high tan walls and the regimented windows. What had possessed her, to want a glimpse of the woman so badly that she’d come all this way without a plan? Until now, she’d been under the illusion that it would be an easy matter to somehow deliver a box and covertly watch as her imposter picked up the gift.

  Dumb, dumb, dumb.

  Jacqueline stared at the hospital, which seemed to grow larger by the moment. Could she walk into something that huge and ask the information desk for Jacqueline Cardew?

  No.

  Go to their personnel department? It was doubtful that anyone would tell her anything about an employee. Worse, whomever she spoke to could turn hostile and accuse her of being the pretender. Jacqueline wiped her clammy hands on her denim-clad thighs. She needed a plan that wouldn’t spook the imposter until the authorities could deal with her, but she wanted a strategy that would explain why she’d been chosen. Deep in thought, Jacqueline began to pace the sidewalk.

  People carrying flowers, balloons and bags jostled past her, as they hustled into the building. Others departed, most now empty-handed. Nurses occasionally came out to sneak a cigarette, or simply stretch their backs and look at the sky. A child started crying, then buried its face in an older woman’s paisley skirt. A baby, in a passing stroller, wailed at the top of its lungs.

  Jacqueline wished she could scream in frustration, too.

  “Jacqueline? Is that you? Eek! It is you.” She knew that voice from somewhere, but where? “What a surprise. This is wonderful.” She focused on the face barely visible behind a large pot of yellow chrysanthemums in a gaudy red paper-covered pot. The blossoms clashed with her florescent pink T-shirt.

  She’d know that bouncing enthusiasm anywhere. “Nora? What are you doing here?”

  “Oh, Jacqueline. It is you.” Nora’s screech of delight made Jacqueline’s eardrums cringe. Nora jumped up and down, her white-blond curls bouncing wildly. The chrysanthemums began losing petals. Nora juggled the pot. “Are you here to visit Clarissa, too?”

  Jacqueline knew that if it hadn’t been for the plant, Nora would have bowled her over and hugged her senseless in the name of reunion. As it was, Jacqueline was astonished that Nora hadn’t dropped the pot and grabbed her anyway.

  “Who?” Jacqueline stared at Nora.

  “Clarissa Wells. She used to be our dorm supervisor.”

  “Petite, red hair, green eyes?”

  “She’s Clarissa Boulet, now. Silly me, I still think of her as Wells.”

  “I didn’t know you kept up with her.”

  “My Sugarbunny and I got a place here in Frisco last year. Clarissa works here, except she’s just had surgery, but then, of course, you know that.”

  “Actually, I was here for something else.”

  “You aren’t sick, are you?”

  “No.”

  “I can’t believe it’s you. I haven’t seen you in years. What a great tan. The desert looks like it agrees with you.”

  People were staring at them. “It did for a long time,” Jacqueline said.

  Nora stopped bouncing, shifted the pot and grabbed Jacqueline’s wrist with her free hand. “Let’s go somewhere and talk. Or are you waiting for someone?” She looked suddenly somber.

  “Just thinking.”

  Nora glanced around. “This is a strange place to think. But I guess that must’a been what caught my attention. Everyone else was going somewhere. You were pacing. I just can’t believe this. Finding you here. You gotta visit Clarissa while you’re here. She’ll love seeing you.”

  Nora had always been annoying, yet enviable, with her sexy voice and bottled energy. “Don’t let me keep you. Tell her I’ll look in, if I get the time.”

  “Nonsense.” Nora tugged her toward the street. “I can see her any time. How long are you here for? Is the person you’re visiting really sick? Dying? Is that why you looked so sad and upset?”

  “They work here,” Jacqueline said.

  “And you’re waiting for them to get off.” Nora changed the grip on Jacqueline’s arm to a comforting pat. The pot slipped and Nora grabbed it.

  Jacqueline took a step away and tried to smile politely. “Actually, she doesn’t know I’m in town. I planned to surprise her.”

  “Great,” Nora enthused as she made a little jump of delight and clicked her heels. A flower head splatted onto the sidewalk; Nora stepped on it, slipped and grabbed Jacqueline’s arm, almost wrenching it from her shoulder.

  “Don’t let me keep you.”

  “Can’t we at least have a cup of coffee or something? I’ve really, really missed you. I should have kept in touch better. But I never knew where I’d be, or how long. Postcards were the best I could do.” Nora giggled.

  Jacqueline’s nerves cringed. The chrysanthemum lost more petals and a leaf. Jacqueline wished she could throw down petals of protest, too. She felt guilty for not being able to share Nora’s excitement, but she and Nora had been opposites in college, and probably still were. Initially, Nora had fascinated her, because she was so different, but by the middle of their freshman year, Jacqueline couldn’t wait to get away from Nora’s chaos, veneer of vitality and frivolous core.

  As if sensing Jacqueline’s lack of enthusiasm, Nora giggled and pressed her fingernails deep into flesh. Jacqueline ground her teeth.

  Nora wrestled with the chrysanthemum; another yellow flower head broke and fell to the sidewalk. “It’s so wonderful to see you. Do you have time for an early lunch?”

  Jacqueline decided chatting over a cup of coffee would satisfy her social obligations for the next few years, plus give her time to formulate a plan. “I have time for coffee.” Jacqueline turned toward the hospital.

  “Where are you going?” Nora asked.

  “Hospitals have cafeterias.”

  Nora wrinkled her nose. “Yuck. They brew toxic sludge. And anyway, who wants to catch up on years’ worth of gossip in a cafeteria stinking of antiseptic? Even if they used Colombian, you’d still have to smell that...” she grimaced, “that smell. You know what I mean, that disinfectant, sick person, medicated smell, while you drank. Eek. My apartment isn’t far from here. We can go there and have some privacy.”

  Reluc
tantly, Jacqueline allowed herself to be towed away. The farther they got from the hospital, the more Nora bubbled and danced. By the time they arrived at the front steps of an apartment building that seemed to cling tenuously to the side of a hill, Jacqueline thought she would stuff a pillow in Nora’s mouth if she heard the phrase, ‘Eek! I can’t believe you’re here’ one more time. Glancing at the yellow chrysanthemum, Jacqueline decided the poor plant was worse off than she was; en route, it had lost at least half of its blossoms.

  Nora fumbled with the pot as she keyed her access code into the pad. Two more flowers dropped as she opened the door. Nora danced with excitement as she climbed the steep stairs. “I’m on the second floor. This place isn’t in the best neighborhood, but it has a great view, I can even see part of the bay.”

  And how many rooftops?

  The flowerpot lurched as Nora shoved her key into a doorknob. When it wouldn’t easily turn, she jiggled it. A yellow petal dropped, then another and another, until a crescent of petals lay on the gray carpet. Finally, the door groaned open. Nora stepped back and swished the pot. Two leaves dropped. “Go on in. It isn’t much, but it is my pied a terre in ’Frisco.”

  Jacqueline edged inside before dirt started spilling out of the pot. The power of a huge painting on the opposite wall captured her attention.

  “Sit down. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll go make that coffee.” Nora thumped the chrysanthemum onto the island-counter, which isolated the kitchen from the living room end of the elongated room. The two remaining blooms nodded wildly. Jacqueline looked away from the pitiful plant and surveyed the area. The ultra modern colorful upholstery looked like Nora and gave the area the feeling of being an artist’s studio more than an apartment. If someone had homes and apartments on practically every continent, as Nora had often bragged of, something like this could be fun.

  Candles seemed to be everywhere and a heavy vanilla aroma permeated the room. She settled on the edge of a vibrant red overstuffed chair, which had a lush zebra fur draped over the arm. She looked around the colorful room. Across from her, an acid green sofa was festooned with purple pillows. In between, an arrangement of thick candles along with piles of newspapers and magazines topped a large piece of circular glass, which was held up by a huge white Doric column and looked more like sculpture than furniture.

  “Nice apartment,” Jacqueline said.

  “Thanks.”

  “I thought you lived either on a sailboat in the Mediterranean or in one of your European homes.”

  “We do, sort of. After a couple years smelling salt got old. Henri wanted to stop partying and I wanted to start a family. Plus, his dad was pushing him to take a bigger interest in the family business. So when Henri agreed to run things from this post, we sold the boat and bought this.”

  Nora, a mother? “I can’t imagine such a dramatic change.”

  “Caf or decaf?” Nora called.

  “Whatever is convenient.” Jacqueline shifted on the too-squishy seat and studied the column’s detail. A giant turquoise-colored floor pillow was plopped against it. Jacqueline leaned forward and touched it. The silky texture felt cool and soft. A vivid purple pillow lay next to the turquoise, plus more emerald ones were piled next to her chair. Somehow, the gem-tones all worked perfectly together and with the shaggy white carpet.

  She looked around the rest of the room; the wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling windows on the far end of the room caught her attention. She got up and went to them. True to Nora’s claim, a sliver of the Bay could be seen in the distance. Though the view was superb, the huge abstract painting, which had initially caught her attention, diminished its impact.

  Jacqueline moved away from the panorama of the city and stood in front of the six-foot by six-foot abstract drama primarily painted with black and flaming orange-red. The canvas seemed to radiate heat and power, especially when contrasted with the cityscape out the window.

  “Like it?” Nora handed her a funky lemon-shaped china mug, which emitted the rich aroma of coffee.

  “It’s certainly primordial.”

  “It’s my favorite.” Nora settled into the sofa’s arm and sipped her coffee. Her face took on a look of rapture. “Mmmmm. This is a treat, I rarely allow myself to dip into this special blend.” Nora took another sip and Jacqueline dutifully lifted her mug and pretended to sample the hot liquid. “Tell me everything,” Nora commanded. “Eek, it’s so wonderful to see you.”

  “There’s not much to tell.” Jacqueline perched on the wide arm of the red chair.

  “Do you live here in ’Frisco?” Nora’s feet tapped the thick white carpet with barely suppressed excitement. “Or are you still living in the desert?”

  “Right now I don’t live anywhere. Envirohab, the organization I was working for, folded, after my husband died in a fire.” She shrugged. “I’ve been visiting my grandmother.”

  Nora wrinkled her nose. “Bummer. No one wants to be stuck with the blue hairs.”

  “I like Alaska. I’m seriously thinking about moving there.”

  “How soon do you go back?” Nora leaned farther forward with interest.

  “As soon as possible.” Jacqueline took a tiny taste of the bitter coffee and immediately wished she could spit it out. “How long have you lived here?”

  “A couple years.”

  Funny, hadn’t she just said they’d moved last year? Jacqueline smiled. “I’m having a hard time with the concept of you settling anywhere and starting a family.”

  “Why?” Nora struck a long fireplace match and lit a fat ivory candle. As the tiny flame licked upward, Jacqueline hoped her distaste didn’t show.

  Jacqueline shrugged. “I guess I remember how things were in college. You were always so beautiful and full of energy that guys flocked around you.” She gestured with the mug. “When I think about you, I think of a free spirit.”

  Nora nodded as she lit a second candle. This one was tall and thin. “Actually, I’ve been married twice. The first didn’t last a month. Eek. I still can’t believe I was dumb enough to marry Antonio.” Nora lit three more tapers, then, as the flames licked her fingertips, she blew out the match and her feet ceased their tapping. It was almost as if Nora had extinguished some of her own animation.

  The scent of vanilla became overpowering and Jacqueline’s head began to ache.

  “The party-a-day life gets old after a while,” Nora said. “Maybe Henri is right. Maybe we should— ” She shook her head. “Nah. Don’t listen to me. I must be feeling nostalgic because you’re here.”

  “What do you do, now?”

  Nora gestured toward the canvas, which had captivated Jacqueline. “Some painting.” A manicured nail pointed to the bedraggled chrysanthemum on the thin island separating the long narrow kitchen from the main room. “Florist, sometimes. Actually, I kind of like not being tied down to any one thing, then I can travel with Henri.”

  “It sounds like a wonderful life. It suits you,” Jacqueline said. She sighed, grateful that the conversation seemed less stilted. All this time, she’d thought Nora was living the jet set life. To think that she’d been married twice, and then actually grown up and finally settled down. “I’ve enjoyed your postcards.”

  Nora’s face dimpled with pleasure. “You got them. I was never sure.” The tapping of her feet resumed.

  Jacqueline nodded. “That’s one reason I was so surprised to see you here. I thought you were in Europe or some other exotic place.”

  “I almost didn’t stop and speak to you. I told myself that really couldn’t be you.”

  “Well, it was.” Jacqueline pretended to sip her coffee. The silence between them grew. Nora’s foot tapped faster and faster. “Whatever happened to that guy you went to the island with?”

  “Travis?” Nora laughed. “I lived with him almost half a year. Then I met someone I liked better.” Nora drank a loud slurp of coffee. “Eventually, I was stupid enough to marry Freddy.” Jacqueline blinked in confusion and looked down. Nora continued. “He
turned out to be a worthless drunk, and abusive, too. Jerk was bad as my father. Fortunately, Freddy only lasted six months. Men like him and my dad just aren’t worth spit.”

  Jacqueline waited for her to go on; when she didn’t, Jacqueline gestured toward the window. “Your view is beautiful.”

  Nora’s face took on an odd pinched expression and her tone lowered. “Everyone in that crowd lived life on the edge.” Nora’s darting gaze momentarily focused on the cluttered coffee table, then it dropped to the floor. “I got into drugs and booze.”

  “I’m sorry,” Jacqueline said.

  “Don’t be. I met another guy and he sobered me up.”

  Nora seemed so high strung that Jacqueline wondered if she was still on drugs. “Henri?”

  Nora snorted. “No. Raysy. I thought he had promise, but he never amounted to anything, so I left.”

  A cold shaft of dread speared Jacqueline’s heart. Was it simply a coincidence that she’d met Nora in front of St. Francis or that the man that had rescued her had been named Ray C.?

  Suddenly it was difficult to breathe.

  Could Nora be her imposter? No. There was no reason for Nora to want to become her. Nora had everything including rich parents and a fascinating life, then a jet set husband and even more money. Yet the location of their coincidental meeting couldn’t be ignored.

  Jacqueline cleared her throat. “How are your parents?”

  “Dead.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not. After I flunked out of college, they cut me off. As far as I’m concerned, they got exactly what they deserved.”