“But you’re already taken,” she said.
“I’m leaving her,” I said. “Soon as the baby’s born, I’m leaving.”
“It’s the champagne talking,” she said.
“Do you believe me?” I asked. “I don’t feel this way about Bitsy.”
“If you keep talking, I’m going to leave. I just feel terrible about your wife. She loves you, Louie.”
I ran my finger up and down her arm, making her shiver; but deep inside, I felt like a shitbag.
“I have no business being here with you,” she said.
“The hell you don’t. We’re different from other people.”
“All love affairs are different.” She shrugged. “All love affairs are the same.”
I pulled her into my arms, and she tucked her foot around my leg until we resembled a pretzel, the way she always did. Gossips from New Orleans to Covington to Point Clear thought I was heartless, but Shelby took the brunt of their judgmental wrath. The president of the Covington Iris Society said, “She’s just like her mother. Those women just take who and what they want.” The Jefferson Parish Medical Auxiliary marked through Shelby’s name in the address book, calling her a danger to all married women.
In less than a month, I would lose her for good. She would remarry and build a new life, and mine would crash down around me. But I never gave up hope. Every morning when I was shaving, I’d look in the mirror and say, “Shelby will come back to me.” But she never did.
After a while I said, “I’ll stop talking, okay?”
“Good idea,” she said.
“Let’s just enjoy the moment.”
“And the daiquiris,” she said, sliding out her leg. She sat up, reached for the daiquiri, and tipped another spoonful of the rum-limeade mixture down my throat. “I know what’s good for men,” she said, smearing cheese onto another cracker, fitting it into my mouth.
“Yes, Miss Shelby,” I said, my voice muffled by the cracker. “You sure do.”
Later that night, we drove to the Florabama Lounge and ordered boiled crawfish, sucking the heads with a devilish flourish, while out-of-towners looked on in mute horror.
“Where you from?” Shelby asked them.
“Kentucky,” they answered.
Shelby twisted a crawdaddy, then noisily sucked its head. She smiled, her lips curving around the crawfish’s red body.
“Those things you’re eating,” said the tourist, gesturing with her fork. “They look like something that lives under my sink.”
The next morning when we drove up, Renata was waiting on the front terrace. She was wearing her pink swimsuit, and Gladys had sewn the badge right in the center. “Daddy!” Renata cried and flew down the limestone steps. She grabbed my hand and started dragging me toward the bay.
“I been waiting for you,” she said.
“Waiting for what?” I asked.
“I’ll let you take me swimming,” she said, then grabbed the front of her swimsuit and stretched the fabric. “See this badge? Gladys said it’s magic. It might not help me to swim, but it melts fear! So let’s go try it. Now!”
“Oh, that’s wonderful, baby,” I said, turning back to Shelby. “Hey, Shelby, come on—”
“No,” Renata snapped. “Mama can’t go. This is between me and you. Got it, buddy?”
“Got it,” I said.
We headed down to the beach. My daughter ran ahead, outlined against the blue sky, all backlit by the sun, her screams lost in the noise of pelicans and a distant pontoon boat. She curved in a wide circle, and ran back to me. “Okay, Daddy,” she said, putting her hands over her eyes. “I’m ready.”
“You sure?”
She nodded.
“You’re not going to bite this time?”
She shook her head. I picked her up and waded into the water up to my knees. Way out on the bay, pelicans seemed to watch us. I tried to raise her, but she grabbed fistfuls of my shirt.
“Wait, Daddy. Not yet. Stop, I see a shark!”
“Ain’t no sharks out there,” I said. “But there might be a mermaid. She’ll come up to watch you. She’ll give you a prize.”
“She’ll eat me! Let me go!”
“Wait, I think I see a mermaid,” I said.
“Where?” Renata twisted around, blinking at the water. “Where is the mermaid, Daddy?”
“She’s with the pelicans. Don’t you see her? She’s waving to you.” I lifted my hand. “Wave to the pretty mermaid, Renata.”
She shook her head. “No, I’m too afraid.” Her face puckered, then her eyes filled.
“But I’m right here, baby. Nothing will happen while I’m here.”
“You weren’t at Miss Lane’s school. And I nearly drowned.”
“I’m here now. And I want you to trust me. So let go, and I’ll toss you just a little ways. And then I’ll catch you.”
“But what if you drop me?”
“I won’t, but if I did, you could swim.”
“I can’t. I forgot how. But I don’t need to swim. Mama says I don’t have to.”
“Well, she’s wrong. One day me or your mama won’t be around, and if you accidentally fell into the water—”
“I won’t.”
“But you could. And I don’t want you to be helpless. I want you to be brave.” I kissed the top of her head. It felt warm and tasted salty. “Now, I’m going to do one little toss-up. And I will not drop you. Repeat after me, Renata—Daddy will not drop me.”
“Daddy will not drop me,” she kept saying, then she squeezed her eyes shut. Her eyelids twitched; she was thinking hard, trying to find a way to escape, and whenever that child plotted, she had a tendency to stretch out her fingers like she was reaching for something in her thoughts. I waited until her fingers relaxed, dropping my shirt. Then I said a quick Hail Mary and tossed her up into the air—just a few inches is all. She let out a scream that probably carried all the way to Mobile. She screeched so loud that the pelicans flew away.
I caught her and said, “See? I didn’t drop you. Why, you didn’t even get wet.”
“Put me down.” Her chin was trembling. “That old badge didn’t work.”
“Before your accident, you were an expert swimmer. You could outswim any shark—you were better than the mermaids.”
“No, take me back.”
“Renata DeChavannes,” I said. “If you don’t swim today, this is it. I’m done. I’m through trying.”
She hung her head, scraping her fingernail over the badge. Then she looked up. “Okay. I’m ready now.”
Before she had time to think about it, I hunkered down and gripped her waist. Then I gently set her into a wave. She whimpered, but I said, “Trust me, Renata. I will not let go.”
She screwed up her face, struggling not to cry. “Daddy will not drop me,” she said. “My daddy will not let go.”
She stretched out her arms and began to move them in the water. Beneath the surface, her legs frog-kicked. “Hold me, Daddy,” she cried.
But I’d already turned her loose. I didn’t mean to, she just slipped away. Her small arms cut through the water, churning foam. “There she goes,” I cried. “The brave and mighty Renata! I knew you could do it; I knew it the whole time.”
Chapter 42
SWIMMING WITH MY FATHER
I put my arm around his neck, then pressed my forehead against his cheek. “Your tactics might be questionable,” I said, laughing, “but they worked. I love you, Daddy.”
“Love you, too, baby.”
“I’m still not the world’s best swimmer,” I said.
“Says who?” He laughed.
For a long time we didn’t speak. A speedboat cut across the bay, sending waves crashing under the boathouse. “I wish my mother were here,” I said.
“She is, baby.” He paused. “I wish it wasn’t so hard for me to show love.”
“You’re showing it,” I whispered.
“So, do you remember the badge?” His forehead wrinkled. “How I pu
t you in the water?”
“No, Daddy. I don’t. There’s so much I’ve forgetten or repressed. But would you mind taking me swimming again?”
“Now?”
“Yes.” I grabbed his hands.
“All right, then.” He kicked off his shoes, then I led him down to the beach, stepping around a glistening jellyfish, into the cold surf. Daddy’s trousers billowed up, floating on the water. I felt, rather than saw, him hovering just inches away. Then he put his hands on my waist, and I leaned over and began to move my hands in the silky water. As it lapped gently against my face, I couldn’t tell if he was still holding me, but it didn’t matter. I lifted my arms, dove into a wave, and it all came back. I remembered my terror. I remembered the badge and how strong my daddy’s hand had felt and how, when he loosened his grip, I surged into the water, the same way I was doing now. I will always love you, my mother whispered. I will always be with you. I kicked deeper into the murky bay, grateful that the Fates had brought my father back to me. He was somewhere on the surface, watching and waiting, a tall, dark-haired man with a teardrop nose, and he loved me. My daddy loved me. Take care of him, my mother whispered.
Yes, I said, yes, I will.
* * *
April 2, 2000
The National ENQUIRER
Exclusive report!
Director Ferguson Lauderdale
Lip Syncs with Old Lover
Sometimes love really is lovelier the second time around. These tender photos seem to echo that old sentiment, because Academy Award–winning director Ferguson Lauderdale, 38, has obviously made his choice between the two women who have been vying for his affection. Just weeks ago, Lauderdale was juggling lovers, Esmé Vasquez and Renata DeChavannes, 33. But the National Enquirer has learned that Lauderdale has not only reunited with DeChavannes, he has given her a 3-carat pear-shaped engagement ring. The exclusive, candid snaps show the director in perfect lip sync with his screenwriter-love. The couple were spotted in the Atlanta airport, en route to Ireland, with an unnamed bodyguard. A source close to the couple says a summer wedding is being planned.
* * *
Acknowledgments
I owe a debt of gratitude to Ellen Levine, Carrie Feron, Tessa Woodward, Lydia Weaver, Miranda Ottewell, Mahlon West, Trey Arnett, Tyler West, Carla Arnett, Ary Jean Helton, Darnell Arnoult, and all my friends and family who put up with me when I’m in the grip of a book. The Yorkie in Mermaids in the Basement was inspired by the real Zap, who slept on my feet while I wrote, except when he retrieved countless balls of wadded-up paper.
About the Author
MICHAEL LEE WEST is the author of Mad Girls in Love, Crazy Ladies, American Pie, She Flew the Coop, and Consuming Passions. She lives with her husband on a rural farm in Tennessee with three bratty Yorkshire terriers, a Chinese Crested, assorted donkeys, chickens, sheep, and African Pygmy goats. Her faithful dog Zap (above) was the inspiration for a character in the novel.
www.michaelleewest.net
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ALSO BY MICHAEL LEE WEST
Mad Girls in Love
Crazy Ladies
Consuming Passions
American Pie
She Flew the Coop
Credits
Jacket Phptograph © Titus Lacoste / Getty Images
Jacket Design By Christine Van Bree
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
MERMAIDS IN THE BASEMENT. Copyright © 2008 by Michael Lee West. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition © DECEMBER 2007 ISBN: 9780061834264
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