by Rita Lakin
I mutter under my breath, “Wish I had phone privileges.” Then I realize he just said something important. “News? What news?”
Morrie sits down behind his desk and puts his feet up. “I’ve had a most amusing phone conversation with a commissariat de police in Paris. An Inspector Bonnard. I explained who I was, gave him my phone number. Reported the situation about Michelle and her niece and all that’s happened. Dad had just given me the names of the people who own the winery. I turned them over to the inspector. I informed him that we feel these people sent over a professional assassin to murder Mme. duBois while she’s here in America. My French was deplorable, but I muddled through.
“He seemed very busy and was constantly being interrupted. It was hard keeping his attention. But that changed when I said I had information about the assassin and I needed his help. When I mentioned that the man we are looking for is elderly and has bad eyesight, there was a pause. I heard peals of laughter in the background as he rattled off a fast barrage of French to the others in the room. Then, after a few choice words which I won’t repeat, and didn’t understand but got the gist of, he hung up on me.”
I manage a smile. “I can understand why. An elderly hit man does seem implausible.”
Morrie picks up the phone. “Maybe Dad will have an idea.” He dials and Jack answers.
My frustration is unbearable. The two of them can chat anytime, back and forth, and I don’t dare call.
Morrie turns on the speaker phone so I can listen. I want to wave to him not to, but I don’t. There may be a reason why Jack hasn’t called me. But I’m curious to hear what’s going on.
Morrie says, “I spoke to Paris a few minutes ago.”
Jack’s voice comes up with background noises I can’t quite make out. Music?
Jack says, “Were the French police of any use?”
Morrie answers. “They were all right until I mentioned the elderly assassin.”
I hear a woman’s voice. A woman with a French accent. Guess who?
She is speaking to Jack. “Alors. I told you the police would never believe you.”
I scribble a note to Morrie. Morrie nods.
He asks Jack, “What’s that noise in the background?”
There is silence for a moment. “Michelle was restless and needed to get out. We’re at a park and a band is playing.”
Michelle pipes up. “We had a lovely picnic. I wish Jack would dance with me.”
My head reels. Morrie avoids looking at me.
Silence. Then Jack asks, “Why is the speaker phone on? Someone else is in the room?”
I quickly stride to the door tossing out my exit words. “Not anymore.” I walk out. In the hallway I take a deep breath. This is too much. She’s really trying to do it. She will find a way to destroy our relationship.
I make my way down the hall. Morrie comes out of his office and hurries after me.
“What?” I ask.
“Dad says he’ll call you later and explain.”
“Explain what? Everything is quite clear.”
Morrie is stumped. He doesn’t know how to comfort me. And I feel foolish for exposing how upset I am. I dig deep into my purse for my car keys so I don’t have to face him and see his pity.
I ask, still looking down, “Did he have an idea?”
Morrie says, “No, he’ll try to think of one.”
We both stand there. I want to leave. He wants to get back to his office and we’re both frozen. Finally, I say, off the top of my head, “Call the French police back. Tell them to look up the family background of the four owners. There’s got to be some connection there to why the killer is so old. I have a hunch something will turn up.”
I walk out of the building without looking back.
As I turn the key to open my car, I think, You better not dance with her, Jack Langford!
19
WATCH YOUR STEP
Evvie and Joe are making an effort to pull me out of the wretched mood I’m in. It’s not working. Joe tries with the dinner he prepares. He made a special pasta for me with eggplant and mushrooms. The two of them even set the table with what I recognize as Evvie’s best dishes, used only for special occasions. Evvie delights Joe with reporting our antics at the bridal shop. I’m in their apartment because I know Jack will phone me at home. He may even have done so by now but I don’t want to talk to him. Obviously Mme. Michelle is calling the shots. You don’t take a possible murder target out of a safe room in a hotel to go dancing in a nonsecure park. That’s unprofessional. And dangerous, and Jack knows it. Incredible how she is able to control him.
“Didn’t we look cute in the matching gowns?”
I suddenly realize Evvie is trying to get me to join in the conversation. “Yes, adorable,” I answer.
Evvie says softly, “Joe has good news. His new medication seems to be working. The doctor says he’s in remission.”
I perk up. “That’s good news indeed.”
Joe grins. “I may be around longer than ol’ Ev would have wanted. You know. Like the movie, The Man Who Came to Dinner. I think she expected me to take the last leap into the great unknown a lot sooner.”
Evvie gets up from her dining room chair and bends to hug him. “You know that isn’t so, you silly fool.”
To the surprise of both of us, she holds onto Joe’s chair and lowers herself down to her knees. No easy feat with her arthritis.
“Hey, doll, what are you doing?” Joe looks worried. “Are you hurting or something?”
She grins. “No, dummy, I’m about to propose to you.” She looks up at me. “Maybe I was kidding in the store, but I’m serious now.” She takes both of Joe’s hands in hers. “Joe Markowitz, would you marry me? Again.”
As Joe stares at her, startled and thrilled, I feel she is doing this partly because she really means it and partly to do something dramatic that might stop me from agonizing over Jack.
Joe bends down, kisses her hair. “You’re serious? You want this old fossil back in your life for good?” She nods, with a smile so bright as to be luminous. He helps her up, nuzzling her as he does. “You betcha.”
They both stand hugging each other. Joe grins at me. “And you can’t get out of it, because we have a witness.”
They are practically jumping up and down with joy. Evvie says, “A double wedding, Joe, with Gladdy and Jack.”
Bless my sister who loves me so much. She is sending a message to me, the way she always does, her thoughts reaching out to my heart. She’s telling me Jack will marry me. Of course he will. He loves me no matter what this nonsense is with Michelle. She wants this to comfort me, but instead it’s breaking my heart.
She adds, giggling, “But of course, not with wedding gowns. It’s a little late to be wearing white.”
We’re all laughing, but I’ve got tears in my eyes.
I’m finally allowed to leave, though they keep trying to hold me there. “Shall we play cards? Watch some TV? Phone the kids and tell them the news?” But as much as I don’t want to go back to my apartment, I need to be alone.
* * *
My thoughts are elsewhere as I leave Evvie and Joe’s apartment, and in my hurry toward the elevator I don’t see the package of vitamins in front of Bella’s door. I trip and suddenly I’m falling. And now I’m on the ground and I know I’ve hurt something. My ankle is throbbing.
I shout for Evvie. “Evvie, help. Help!” She comes running out with Joe. But so does Bella who lives to the left of Evvie. And so do Lola and Hy at the farthest end of the walkway. In moments, Joe and Hy get me up, but I can’t stand on my left foot. So careless. Did I unconsciously want to hurt myself?
So back to Evvie’s. On her couch. Everyone scurries about to help. Evvie has ice cubes in a kitchen towel on my ankle. Lola brings a pillow to elevate my leg, at the same time asking if Evvie has any frozen peas in the freezer. She used them once on a hurt knee. They’re easier to wrap around than ice. No peas so I settle for the ice. The two men chat about th
e walkway not having enough light and insisting that it should be taken up with the condo committee. Evvie reminds them she is on that committee. My sister wants to call a doctor but I talk her out of it. It’s probably only sprained. Everyone is involved with my condition and I could punch myself for not being more careful.
Bella has disappeared, but now she returns. She walks over to me and hands me her candy pink decorated cane. “Now you can join Cane Fu class for real,” she says helpfully.
Finally Tylenol lowers the pain enough that I’m able to limp back to my apartment with Joe and Evvie holding on to me.
Evvie insists, over and over, that I call Jack. “Tell him you’re hurt. He’ll rush right home and that will be that.”
“No. Absolutely not.” I repeat this every time she mentions it. “I’ll tell him in my own time.” I am weary. “Thank you both, but please go home. Please.”
Reluctantly they leave me, Evvie not happy about my being alone. And yes, there is a message from Jack telling me to call, no matter what time. How ironic. Suddenly it’s all right to call him. But I don’t want to because I know I’ll weaken and end up confessing about my fall.
Jack paces the living room in Michelle’s hotel suite. From the master bedroom he can hear Michelle talking to her niece, Colette. She is almost ready to leave the hospital, thank goodness. Let this be over and done with. He’s bungled things with her and with Gladdy. How could he have been so stupid as to take Michelle outside? He feels he is no longer able to think clearly.
He needs to talk to Gladdy. To explain what’s going on. He assumes she is not answering the phone on purpose because she’s angry at him. And rightly so. When Morrie put the phone on speaker, Jack should have guessed that Gladdy was in the room. But why was she there? Probably to get news of him through his son, because he hadn’t gotten in touch with her. He cannot believe how poorly he’s behaving. Michelle is clouding his judgment. Maybe after this Gladdy won’t even want him back.
“Gladdy, please pick up the phone. Please.”
Jack looks up. Something’s different. Suddenly he realizes what it is. Michelle is standing behind him. He turns. She’s changed her clothes, and this time she’s in a gorgeous black silk negligee. She comes closer and he can smell her heady perfume.
“Chéri, we must speak. Something most important.”
“Yes.” He clears his throat. “We need to clear the air once and for all. Michelle, I can’t—”
Michelle holds out her arms to him. Her voice is tender. “I cannot help myself. Je t’aime. I love you. I never stopped loving you.”
20
CONFESSIONS
Jack pulls back as if he’s been burned by fire. Michelle starts to move closer, the silk of her gown swishing like a soft wind in her wake.
He throws his hands up as if that will halt her motion and the words coming out of her mouth. He tries not to look at her body, every curve of which is accentuated. Her pale creamy skin is made even more exquisite by the ebony black of her gown. “Don’t. Please,” he says.
She stops, breathing hard. “I can’t go on pretending. I can no longer help myself, chéri … ”
Jack moves behind the couch, would that it could protect him. “You mustn’t say such things. It’s impossible.”
“I have to say what’s on my mind. I cannot keep my passion inside me for another second. I never meant for this to happen. You left me and I knew you would never return. But I still loved you and I thought you loved me. Even though you made it clear that you meant for us to be over.”
“Michelle, please. No more.” He thinks of Gladdy, trying to imagine what she might be doing now. What she’s imagining. Why he isn’t home yet.
She can’t stop herself. “When I knew I was coming to this book fair, I told myself I would not look you up, nor had I any intention to call. But when we met by accident, I took it to mean that fate wanted us to be together again.”
Jack thinks he must look a fool cowering behind this frilly couch. His mind is reeling.
Say something. Don’t just stand there, he tells himself. “Michelle, we were caught up in a fantasy. The confused American and you, amused by his awkwardness, coming to his rescue. An old guy easy to seduce. Mad passion on my side. Entertainment on yours. It was a game to play. Nothing more.”
She gazes lovingly across the room at him. “It might have been that at first. But not after we made love.”
Jack shakes his head. “Michelle, admit it. I was just an amusing fling to you. I even thought at times you felt sorry for me. You couldn’t possibly have fallen for this old man.”
She smiles. “But I did, and I know you loved me, too.”
Jack groans. He needs a drink to get through this soap opera discussion of their affair. He helps himself to the Scotch bottle on the bar near him and pours himself a double. He pulls his jacket off and tosses it onto the back of the chair.
“I thought so at the time, but how could I not be infatuated? Who wouldn’t be enchanted by your beauty and your youth? I was flattered, and grateful for your attention. I thought you were intentionally gifting me with what was probably going to be my last love affair.”
“You didn’t believe I loved you?”
“I imagined you thought you loved me. But it was timing. Another month or year, in a different mood, another man in your life, you wouldn’t have even looked at me. When I happened to appear, you were ready for someone like me.”
“Mais non,” she protests.
“Yes. You spoke so often of your beloved father. I felt that’s what I was to you—a father figure.” Jack thinks that his feet are hurting, that he wants to sit down like the old man he is. But he dares not move.
As if she reads his mind, she smiles. “Shall we sit down?” She seats herself gracefully on the couch, tucking her legs under her.
Gripping his drink as if it were a lifeline, Jack thankfully drops down into the armchair farthest from her.
“Being here with you again, being this close, moment by moment, made me realize this was no fantasy for me. It’s real,” she says.
“You tricked me into being alone with you.”
“Yes, because I wanted you to accept the fact that you still loved me, too.”
“Michelle. You can have any man in the world you please. You could do so much better than a beat-up old codger like me.”
“Non. Non. Non. Men want me for many reasons. My body. My success. My money. An entrée into my world in which they want to belong. I never met a man who truly loved me. Nor did I love any of them. But with you I was comfortable. I felt safe. You were the only honest man I ever met.”
Jack sets the drink down on a table. He thinks suddenly of his daughter, Lisa, and recognizes the similarity of feelings. He sighs in relief, like a puzzle has finally been solved in his head. He feels like a father to Michelle. He wants to wrap his arms around her and give her the comfort and safety she needs. Yes. But if he tried, she would misconstrue it.
She leans forward, fervently. “Do you know what happened to me after you left? I was angry and grew bitter and cynical. I changed. There would be no other man after you. I turned myself off. I became obsessed with work. No more good guys. What did I decide to love? I loved the idea of finding worthless, dishonest men and punishing them. And there were so many. The more I succeeded, the more arrogant and distant I became.”
“I’m sorry you felt you needed to do that,” he says quietly.
They are silent for a few moments. He stands and takes a deep breath. He has no other choice. He must break the thread between them forever. He did it wrong the first time. There was no closure. He’ll have to hurt her again, like a doctor cauterizing a wound, but hopefully she can go forward when it’s over.
“I do love you, Michelle, but not in the way you want. You have to get on with your life and leave the fantasy behind. I wish someday you’ll forgive me.”
She jumps up, gasping. “Don’t say that. Don’t.”
“I’m so sorry, Mich
elle, but I can’t stay here anymore. It’s wrong for you, and for me as well.” Jack gets up and reaches for his cell phone. “I need to call Morrie and find someone to replace me.”
He strides to the door, desperate now for some breathing space. “I’ll call from the hallway.”
As he reaches the door, Michelle runs to him and grabs his arm. “Kiss me, Jacques. Please.” She raises her lips to his. “Please.”
For a moment, neither one moves. Then Jack gently pries her away.
He opens the door. “I’ll be just outside, for a few minutes.”
He watches as her eyes tear up. “If there was no Gladdy, would your answer be different?”
He shakes his head and walks out, closing the door behind him.
The Snake watches the woman’s suite as usual. Leaning casually against the wall, near the elevator, gives him a quick exit if he needs it. He holds an open newspaper, his prop. Suddenly, he is hit with a sharp pain in one of his teeth. Now what? A toothache?
But never mind that. Abruptly, he is alert. The flic is coming out, punching a number on his cell phone as he does. The Snake quickly presses the elevator button, but the cop looks down the hallway and sees him. It’s too late to turn away. They lock glances with each other and The Snake sees recognition in the enemy’s eyes—a perfect match to the description of the man they are all looking for. He can almost read his mind—should he come after him? But what if he’s wrong? It leaves the woman vulnerable. But the cop thinks he is right. He reaches for his gun—but he’s left his gun inside the room.
The Snake is in luck. A trio of older women, laughing, round the corner and arrive at the elevator. He grins and immediately puts his arm around the waist of the woman nearest him. If she screams or slaps him, he will be a canard mort, a dead duck. And he will be forced to press the blade of his knife at the woman’s fleshy neck to take her hostage. Then it will get very messy. Fortunately, his luck holds. She is surprised and delighted at his attention, and her friends smile also. He whispers in her ear, softly, using his French accent charmingly, reassuringly, as the four of them cheerfully enter the elevator. He tells the woman he mistook her for his wife. The door closes on the women’s laughter. At which point he discovers she is wearing a gardenia corsage. He sneezes. Three times. Damn his allergies.
