Penelope

by Marilyn Kaye

  “Yes.”

  He examined the board. “It’s all set up and ready. Want to play?”

  “All right… but I’ll play from here. You’ll have to move the pieces for me.”

  “I think I can handle that. What’s your opening move?”

  “Um, pawn to king’s four.”

  I watched as he moved the white pawn in front of my king forward two squares. Then he moved his black pawn opposite forward one square.

  “Pawn to bishop’s one,” I said.

  He obeyed, and thought for a minute before moving the pawn in front of one of his bishops forward two spaces. He was good, I thought. I was better. But in the end, when I took his king, he didn’t mind.

  “Okay, I owe you a Cloverdilly special draft,” he declared. “Want to go out and get one?”

  The question startled me. Was he joking? “Now?”

  “Why not?”

  “Um … no, thanks. Not now. Another time, okay?”

  “When?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure,” I said carefully.

  He looked at his watch and stood up. “I better get going.”

  I spoke quickly, before I could reconsider the question I was about to ask. “Will you come back? I mean, do you want to come back?”

  He looked directly into the mirror, and again it felt like he was looking directly into my eyes.

  “Yes. I do.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Lemon was not happy.

  “What the hell were you doing in there? You’ve been gone two hours!”

  “I was worried,” Edward chimed in. “We thought she ate you!”

  Lemon shook his head. “You thought that, Vander-man, not me. What happened, Max?”

  “We just got to talking, and …”

  Edward somehow managed to appear horrified and lascivious at the same time. “And…?”

  Max shot him a dangerous look. “We talked.”

  Edward rolled his eyes. “Time flies when you’re having a good time, huh?”

  “And we played a game of chess,” Max added.

  “I don’t care if you played hide the salami,” Lemon growled. “All I want to know is, did you get the picture?”

  “The picture?” Max echoed.

  “The photo, Max! With the camera! Did you take a picture of Penelope?”

  “Actually … no.”

  Lemon slammed his fist against the steering wheel and howled in pain. When he’d recovered, he fixed his one good eye on Max in aggravation. “Why not?”

  “I know why not,” Edward said suddenly. “He’s double-crossing us!”

  “How is he doing that?” Lemon asked.

  Edward was getting visibly excited. “He wants more money! Right, Campion? You’ve already lost the five thousand bucks we gave you and now you think you can get more out of us!”

  Max glared at him balefully. “I don’t want any more of your money.”

  Edward widened his eyes in horror. “Wait, I get it now. You’re going to propose to her! You’re going to ask that pig-girl to marry you so you can get her dowry!” He shook his head in disbelief. “That’s disgusting, what some people will do for money.”

  Lemon’s brow furrowed. “Is that true, Max? Do you want to marry Penelope?”

  “Don’t ask stupid questions,” Max muttered, but Lemon couldn’t help noticing how he looked away as he spoke.

  “This is ridiculous,” Edward fumed. “I don’t care what his motives are.” He turned to Max. “If you’re not going to get the photo, give us back the money and we’ll find someone else to do it. I’ve got a reputation to salvage.”

  Lemon watched Max’s face. The younger guy opened his mouth, then closed it. His eyes seemed focused on a spot way beyond anyone in the van. Obviously, something was going on in his head, and then Lemon recognized the expression. He’d been there before, when he was facing a particularly unpleasant assignment. Campion was battling some inner demons.

  Lemon felt a sudden urge to ease his way.

  “Look, Max, if you can’t do it—”

  Max blinked, then turned to Lemon. “No, I’ll get it,” he said with a grim determination. “Tomorrow.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Max slid his remaining bishop diagonally across the board. “Check.”

  “Are you sure you want to do that?” I asked.

  “I think so,” he said. “Why?”

  “My bishop takes your queen. Checkmate.”

  Max groaned. “That’s three beers I owe you. If I can ever get you out of this place and over to the Cloverdilly so I can buy them for you.”

  I laughed. “You don’t have to pay me off in beers, you know.”

  “How, then?”

  “How about playing something on the piano for me?”

  He was silent.

  “Come on,” I urged him. “You said you played.”

  “Used to,” he corrected her.

  “Oh, I’ll bet it’s like riding a bike,” I said. “Even if it’s been ages since you got on one, you pick it right back up.”

  “Have you ever been on a bike?” he asked.

  “No,” I admitted. “But I read that somewhere.”

  He gave me a crooked smile. “You can’t believe everything you read.”

  There was another moment of silence.

  “Why did you stop playing?” I asked him.

  “Long story,” he replied.

  Something told me to change the subject. Actually, he’d been acting a little strange that day. Nice, as usual, and funny, but different. It was almost like he was nervous.

  Or maybe that was just me, because I was feeling nervous, too. This was Max’s third visit. How much longer could this relationship go on like this? And given the circumstances—did I even have the right to call it a relationship? All I knew for sure was that I’d never had these feelings before.

  Suddenly, Max stood up. He turned, walked over to the piano, and sat down on the bench, his back to me. I watched as he flexed his hands and flinched when a knuckle cracked. He lifted the lid, and his hands hovered over the keys.

  I waited in anticipation. A little jazz, maybe? Or something classical, maybe even romantic. Tchaikovsky, Rachmaninoff…

  His fingers crashed down onto the keys, and he began pounding out “Chopsticks.”

  I laughed in delight. “Brilliant,” I cried out.

  I couldn’t see his face, but he gave a real performance, with elaborate hand flourishes and head-tossing.

  “Bravo!” I yelled when he finished. “Encore, encore!”

  “I don’t think I can top that,” he said. “No, wait. I’ve got it.” Dramatically, he raised his hands again.

  What came out this time was another familiar melody, an introduction I recognized immediately. I was filled with a memory—sitting on the bench next to my father. He’d play the chords while I picked out the tune.

  But Max was alone at the piano, so there could be no tune. He finished the introduction, and then started playing it again.

  It was wrong like that, it was incomplete. Something was missing.

  The chords became like musical magnets, tugging at me, drawing me against my will. Or maybe it was my will that propelled me, that pulled me off the loveseat and pushed me through the door. And then I was coming up behind him, closer, closer, and I could reach the keys.

  Was he aware of me there, practically alongside him? He started the introduction again, and at the right moment I began to pick out the tune. I didn’t sing along, but the words were running through my head as I hit each note.

  Heart and soul, I fell in love with you …

  I was looking at the keys, but he was looking at me, I could feel it. With my heart pounding, I prepared myself for one of the old familiar expressions, and, slowly, I turned toward him.

  I couldn’t read his face at all. I didn’t see shock, or horror, or fear… it was something else, an expression I couldn’t identify. We both stopped playing, and the silence in the room w
as so complete it was almost surreal.

  But not for long. My mother burst into the room with Wanda right behind her. “You!” she shrieked at Max. “Get out of this house!”

  “Mother!” I exclaimed. I’d never seen her look quite this frenzied.

  “You don’t know what’s going on, Penelope!” She pointed a trembling finger at Max. “It’s a setup! That—that scoundrel—he’s working with Lemon!”

  The name didn’t kick in immediately. “Who?”

  “That sleazy journalist, that disgusting little weasel who wouldn’t leave us alone!” Her shaking finger shifted to indicate the front of the house. “I saw him! He’s out there right now, waiting in a van. I’m right, aren’t I, Mr. Campion? This is a setup!”

  I looked at Max. He’d gone completely pale. “Is this true, Max?” I asked him. “Is it a setup?”

  “Get out of my house!” Mother screamed.

  Wanda broke in. “Wait a minute, everyone. Who cares if it’s a setup or not? Look what’s happening here! He’s seen her, and he’s not running away! So what if he’s a jerk? He meets the criteria, he’s a blue blood, he can lift the spell! He doesn’t have to be sincere, he doesn’t even have to be nice. He just has to marry her!”

  At least she’d managed to silence my mother. I looked at Max.

  I liked him. I really liked him. And he hadn’t run away from me. If there was an actual chance that I could be with a guy I really liked, I had to take a risk and let my feelings show.

  “She’s right, Max.”

  His eyes hadn’t left my face, and his expression hadn’t changed.

  “Will you do it, Max?” I asked. “You could marry me and break the spell. Maybe I’m not the girl of your dreams right now, but once the spell is lifted, I’ll be normal. Will you marry me?”

  Suddenly, even before he spoke, I could identify the strange and mysterious expression on his face, and I was surprised I hadn’t recognized it earlier. It was an emotion I knew well—sadness.

  “What if I marry you, Penelope, but the curse remains?”

  So that was why he looked so panicky. He was afraid he’d be stuck with the pig-girl forever.

  “Then I’ll kill myself,” I said. “Really, I promise, that’s what I’ll do. You’ll be free.”

  There was more than sadness in his eyes now. It was despair.

  “I can’t, Penelope. I’m sorry … but I can’t.” Abruptly, he stood up and walked out of the room.

  “Jake!” my mother shrieked. “Jake?” She ran out of the room and Wanda followed. Her voice floated back to the music room. “Jake, where are you? You have to get a gag order and go after him!”

  My father came in.

  “Are you all right, my dear?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Really?”

  “I’m fine, Dad.”

  Strangely enough, this was the truth. I was fine. Fine in a way that was very new for me. Because something inside me had changed. “Excuse me, Dad. I think I’ll go lie down for a while.”

  He nodded understandingly. “I’ll tell your mother not to disturb you.”

  On the way to my bedroom, I stopped at a storage closet. Inside, I found a small suitcase, and I took it to my room. I placed the suitcase on my bed, opened it, and went to my bureau, where I gathered some underwear, jeans, a couple of sweaters. From my bathroom I collected a toothbrush and toothpaste.

  Even though I never went outside, I owned a winter coat, a very beautiful expensive one, that I bought in preparation for my release from the witch’s spell. It had been sitting in my closet for seven years, and it was probably out of style, but it would do.

  There was a long scarf that matched the coat, too. Carefully, I wrapped it around my face, just high enough to cover my nose.

  Next came the hardest part. I wasn’t a criminal by nature, but drastic action called for drastic measures. I went to my parents’ bedroom.

  My mother’s handbag was in its usual place on the night table. I fumbled around until I found her wallet. Then I took out a credit card. Putting it into my pocket, I went down the stairs and into the kitchen.

  I was afraid my mother would be out front, taking out the journalist’s other eye. So I slipped out the back.

  Chapter Seventeen

  It wasn’t difficult for Lemon and Edward to find Max. He was back in his old place, at a table in the back room of the Cloverdilly, with his usual gambling mates—the heavyset guy, the blue-haired lady, and the old man. When he saw Lemon and Edward walk in, he put his cards facedown on the table and got up.

  “Look, I know what you’re thinking,” he said to them. “But I’m going to pay back the five grand as soon as I can win it.”

  “Yeah, sure you are,” Edward muttered. “I won’t hold my breath.”

  “Take it easy, Vanderman,” Lemon muttered.

  “He didn’t even have the guts to come back to the van!” Edward protested.

  “I wasn’t in the mood,” Max said.

  Lemon shook his head wearily. “What’s your problem? Didn’t the camera work?”

  “I don’t know. I never tried to use it.” Reaching inside his jacket, he took out the camera and handed it over. Then he took off the coat and tie and gave it to Lemon. “And you’ll get the money, too.”

  Personally, Lemon thought the guy really looked like hell, worse than ever. His eyes weren’t just tired, they were empty. Hollow.

  The old man from the gambling table called out to Max. “Kid, you in?”

  Max pushed a lock of hair out of his eyes. He looked at the card table for what seemed to be a long time. Finally, he shook his head. “No.”

  Brushing past Edward, he went into the main room of the bar. As Lemon watched, he took an empty paper cup from behind the bar, went over to the piano, and placed the cup on top of it. Then he sat down on the stool.

  The bartender saw him and came out from behind the bar. “Hold it right there,” he ordered. “Don’t touch those keys. Sorry, man, but you know you’re not our piano player anymore. Remember? I fired you for a reason.”

  Max spoke in a flat voice. “Maybe I’ve reformed.”

  “I don’t think so, pal,” the bartender said. “You know you can’t keep away from the table. That’s why I had to let you go. You were a pretty decent piano man, but you were never at the piano when you were supposed to be.”

  Slowly, Max nodded. “Right. But the thing is, I need a job.” He nodded in Lemon’s direction. “I owe this guy some money.”

  The bartender seemed to be considering that. He went to a closet and pulled out a broom. He extended it in Max’s direction.

  Lemon bit his lower lip. The whole scene was way too pathetic. “Look, pal, forget it,” he said suddenly. “Don’t worry about the money.”

  “What?” Edward yelped.

  Lemon ignored him and continued speaking to Max. “It was the paper’s money, not mine. Believe me, they can afford to lose it.”

  But Max had already risen from the piano stool and taken the broom from the bartender. “Thanks. You got an apron I can wear?”

  Lemon turned away. “Come on, Vanderman.”

  “Great,” Vanderman pouted as they left the Clover-dilly. “He’s going to sweep floors. You know how long it will take him to make five thousand dollars?”

  “What are you worried about? It’s not your money,” Lemon said. “Lay off him. Just … just forget it.”

  “Forget it? Are you kidding? Everyone still thinks I had a nervous breakdown! My father’s not speaking to me. My mother wants to put me in a sanitarium. People in my office are still snickering when I walk by. I’m not giving up. We’re going to get a photo.”

  Lemon shook his head. “I won’t be able to get any more money out of the paper.”

  “You won’t need to,” Vanderman said. “I’ll put up the bribe.”

  “And how are you going to find someone to take it?”

  Vanderman shook his head wearily. “You’re a journalist, right? Haven’t
you ever heard of the power of the press? What does a half-page ad cost, anyway?”

  Chapter Eighteen

  I’d read about the outside world in books, and I’d seen it on TV. But nothing, nothing, could have prepared me for the reality of it.

  People! So many people, coming and going, getting on and off buses, coming out of buildings. People jostling one another and me, too. People in thick coats, bundled up against the cold, with scarves wrapped around their faces—just like me! They could have all had pig faces, from what I could see of them.

  And the noise! Cars honking, sirens wailing. A cacophony of voices. It was frightening. It was bewildering. It was magnificent.

  I had no idea where I was, but the streets were lined with tall buildings, so I decided this had to be the Midtown Max had talked about. On the other side of the street, the sidewalk looked a little less crowded, so I decided to cross over. There was a squeal of brakes as a car swerved around me, and someone grabbed my arm.

  “Lady, are you crazy? The light’s red!”

  I clutched my scarf to keep it from falling. Red lights, green lights, yes, I’d heard about those. You crossed on green and waited on red—or was it the other way around?

  By the time I made it to the other side, I realized that with all this excitement, I’d ignored another sensation that was beginning to make itself felt. I was hungry.

  I went into a shop and picked up candy bars, potato chips, a couple of sodas. Figuring I’d covered all the major food groups, I paid with my mother’s credit card and went back out onto the street. The question now was, where could I eat my goodies? I couldn’t get them into my mouth without taking my scarf off, and that was out of the question. I needed to find a place to stay.

  It wasn’t hard. Turning a corner, I saw the word HOTEL on a couple of buildings. I chose the bigger one and approached it. Standing by the entrance, a man in a uniform bowed to me and opened the door. That was nice and friendly, I thought. And the inside looked nice, too—lots of sofas and chairs placed in little conversational groupings. People were sitting in some of them and talking to one another. It seemed like a friendly sort of place.