Letting Go

by Pamela Morsi

  “Thin Mints, my favorites,” she confided.

  Yolanda made herself comfortable in Ellen’s client chair and opened the cookies as Ellen stirred her coffee.

  “I wanted to ask you some more about Mrs. Stanhope,” Ellen said.

  “The crazy lady?”

  Yolanda asked the question with her mouth full. When Ellen nodded, she finished chewing before responding further.

  “I don’t know that much,” she admitted.

  “Well, tell me what you do know,” Ellen said.

  The woman gave it a moment’s consideration.

  “She’s been crazy all my life,” Yolanda said. “When I was just a little girl we’d be in the park and we’d see her walking down the street toward town and we’d all scream and run.”

  “Is she violent?”

  “No…at least I’d never heard of it,” Yolanda admitted and then added honestly. “If she was, you know I would have heard.”

  Ellen nodded.

  “Truthfully, there’s not all that much gossip about her anymore,” Yolanda said. “Her niece lives with her full-time and keeps a pretty close watch on her.”

  Ellen had her own opinion about that, but didn’t voice it.

  “You must know something about her history,” Ellen said. “Her background. Her family?”

  “Oh, well, that,” Yolanda began. “Most everybody knows that. She’s one of the Grisham daughters, a very prominent family, part of the old three hundred.”

  Ellen had certainly heard of the Grishams. The old three hundred were the families of settlers who’d received land grants in Stephen Austin’s colony. They might not necessarily be the wealthiest or most powerful people in the state, but they were among the most admired.

  “And the old lady’s rich as Croesus,” Yolanda continued. “You know that huge complex on the west side, the South Texas Science and Technology Industries?”

  Ellen nodded.

  “She owned all that land,” Yolanda said. “And developers paid a fortune back in the sixties to get it. Three million dollars, I heard. And that’s when three million was really a lot of money.”

  To Ellen, and most people, it still was.

  “The Grishams owned that?” Ellen was surprised.

  “No, the Stanhopes,” Yolanda said. “Or actually they’re the Standerhaupts. I guess they Americanized their name. They owned all that acreage. It was a pasture for their dairy. Imagine getting that much for a section of grass and cow patties!”

  Ellen shook her head, trying to picture it.

  “You know I’ve seen Mrs. Stanhope’s house in King William,” Ellen said. “It’s charming and well kept, but it’s no fancy mansion.”

  Yolanda shrugged. “What can I tell you? The woman’s nuts. I’m sure all the money is controlled by her nieces and nephews.”

  “Probably so,” Ellen agreed.

  “The old lady used to walk around town wearing these amazing fur coats,” Yolanda said. “Winter and summer she was swathed in mink or fox or ermine.”

  “She told me something about her coats,” Ellen said, trying to remember. “I think she told me that Irma took them.”

  Yolanda nodded. “Probably put them in storage for safekeeping. She wasn’t wearing roadkill, those were expensive furs.”

  Ellen imagined, unkindly, that Irma was probably protecting them from damage because they were undoubtedly part of her inheritance.

  “What happened to her husband?” Ellen asked.

  “He’s dead,” Yolanda replied. “She’s been a widow all my life.”

  “She said he had a business relationship with Max.”

  Yolanda raised her eyebrows skeptically. “I can’t imagine it,” she said. “Mrs. Stanhope and her family—they aren’t Max’s kind of people. He’s a great guy, but he never ran with the monied crowd. If he ever had ambition to hobnob with the lions of industry, he must have given it over years ago. Since I’ve known him, he’s always been a man of the people. Kind of specializing in the difficult cases. He does high stress accounting for people who can only pay bargain basement prices.”

  “Except he really hates to give anyone the bad news,” Ellen said, indicating the worst-case files that were now strictly her province.

  “I tell him he takes it too personally,” Yolanda said. “But Max says we’re talking about people’s lives and that’s always personal.”

  The phone rang and Yolanda excused herself with the phrase, “Duty calls.”

  Ellen had just returned to her work, when she heard Max come through the front door. He hung his Stetson on the old-fashioned hat pegs in the waiting area and pulled a comb out of his back pocket to straighten his hair. She thought to waylay him as he passed her door and question his connection, tenuous though it might be, to Mrs. Stanhope.

  She didn’t get the chance as Yolanda called out to her.

  “Do you know how long carrots stay good in the refrigerator?”

  Ellen was so accustomed to responding negatively, that she almost said no before she realized that she might, in fact, have the answer.

  “Are they stem on or stem off?” Ellen asked.

  There was a hesitation while Yolanda relayed the question.

  “Stem on,” she replied.

  “Only a couple of days, I think. The stem means they’re fresh picked. Call my mother, she’s home and she’ll know exactly. She knows everything about produce.”

  Max who was just at that moment passing her door stopped in his tracks. He turned to stare at her, strangely.

  “Your mother knows everything about produce?”

  Ellen nodded. “Don’t ask me how or why, but she knows everything about it,” Ellen assured him. “I swear, edible plant life and getting married are the only two subjects in the world that she claims to have any level of expertise in.”

  It was a funny line. At least Ellen thought so. Max didn’t even manage a flicker of amusement. With a puzzled look he retreated to his office.

  When Amber showed up at The Tunnel in Sunset Station it was almost nine o’clock. The place was noisy and busy, but not too wild for a Friday night. The band played a funky jazz, which was great to listen to, but didn’t do anything to crowd the dance floors.

  Originally built in 1902, the former downtown train depot had been transformed into a youthful music venue. The saloon area with its stained-glass windows and grand staircase was an aesthetic delight to the eye. Amber hardly noticed as she scanned the room for Gwen. She finally caught sight of her friend and future roommate standing at the bar with two men.

  Amber hurried over in that direction, an apology on her lips. She could have been here twenty minutes earlier if a pair of teenage couples hadn’t come into the store just as she was about to close the doors. They weren’t intent on buying anything. The guys just wanted their girlfriends to try on sexy lingerie and model for them in the little alcove outside the fitting rooms.

  Discouraging this misuse of the merchandise was store policy. Virtually every kid in America had come up with this brilliant entertainment idea. Amber personally didn’t care, as long as they didn’t try to steal anything. Which, unfortunately, they usually did. This night, however, she had people waiting on her and she’d been trying to close. Unable to keep a watchful eye on the teens, she just wanted them out. The two boys became angry and threatening. Amber had to call security.

  By the time the kids were hauled out and the paperwork was done, she was running very late. She knew Gwen would be pissed.

  As she approached, her friend was laughing loudly and appeared to be more than a little drunk already. The men at her side were an unlikely pair to be hanging with Gwen. One was a large, mustachioed fellow obviously well over forty. The other guy in Dockers and a plaid shirt was younger, but much shorter. He had a round, ruddy face and a beer gut.

  Gwen glanced up and spotted her.

  “Here’s Amber!” she said. “Girl, we were about to give you up.”

  “Sorry, I had trouble getting away.”<
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  Gwen ignored the apology, turning instead to the round-faced fellow. “So, Matt, what do you think? Was she worth the wait?”

  The guy looked Amber up and down in a manner that was immediately both intrusive and demeaning.

  The man nodded. “She sure looks like a hottie,” he said to Gwen before reaching out a pudgy arm to wrap around Amber’s waist. “What are you drinking, baby?”

  She hated to be called baby. And she didn’t like strange men putting their hands on her. Amber stiffened her spine and put as much distance as she could manage between her body and Matt’s.

  “I’ll just have a beer,” Amber said. “I’m going to make an early night of it.”

  Matt laughed as if that were a joke.

  “Me, too, baby,” he said. “I can hardly wait to get out of this tomb. It’s dead in here.”

  As far as Amber was concerned, this was one of The Tunnel’s better nights. She could enjoy the ambience and still hear herself think. But she didn’t argue with the guy.

  “This is Pete,” Gwen said, introducing the older man beside her. “Matt and Pete are from Michigan. Their actuaries.”

  “Hi,” Amber said, trying to smile politely, though the nearness of the man beside her was irritating.

  Pete reached out to Amber as if to shake hands. She extended her own, but to her complete surprise, he bypassed it and squeezed her breast.

  “What the hell!”

  Amber jumped back startled, untangling herself from Matt’s arm and slapping at Pete’s hand.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Just checking to see if they’re real,” Pete replied. With a chuckle he addressed his friend. “Looks like you got the best piece,” he said. “I’m stuck here with the skinny titless wonder.”

  “Let’s not be negative,” Matt said. “I think the more correct phrasing would be titfully challenged.”

  Pete thought that was very funny.

  Amber was angry. “You’re drunk,” she said, turning to walk away.

  “What’s the deal with her?” she heard Matt asking.

  “Just a minute,” she heard Gwen reply before coming after her. “Amber, wait.”

  She did, but not before she’d put a good bit of distance between her and the men from Michigan.

  “Who are those dickheads?” she asked Gwen.

  “Just a couple of guys I met at the hotel,” she answered. “They’re just here for a weekend conference and looking for a good time.”

  “Well, they can find it with somebody else.”

  “Come on, Amber,” Gwen coaxed. “They’re okay. We’re just a little drunk, which we wouldn’t have been if you’d got here on time.”

  “I had to close up,” Amber pointed out. “I couldn’t just walk away.”

  “I get that. It’s not your fault,” Gwen said. “It’s not their fault either. Come on, come back. I’ll get them to straighten up.”

  Amber wasn’t keen on the idea, but she did it anyway.

  “You guys be nice to Amber,” Gwen cautioned as they returned to the men at the bar. “When she’s cold sober, she expects to be treated like a lady.”

  Pete laughed. “Let’s get some alcohol in her then,” he said.

  Matt wrapped his arm around her once more. Amber remained wary, but he was nice, smiling.

  “Are you sure you just want beer?” he asked her. “You look like a margarita girl to me.”

  “Vodka and tonic,” she told him and he signaled the waiter.

  Amber tried to catch up. She tried to be interesting and interested. Fortunately, Matt and Pete didn’t require much input. They were having a great time, just the two of them. Joking with each other about their work, their lives. Gwen and Amber were mostly attractive afterthoughts. Pete groped Gwen every few minutes, and she cooed and giggled as if she enjoyed his attention. Having known Gwen for some time and being familiar both with the type of men she appreciated and her sharp-barbed, no-nonsense approach to relationships, her actions were, to Amber, completely mystifying.

  Amber made a couple of ill-fated attempts to break up the party and go home. She was tired. She was bored. And strangely the pleasant lunch with Jet and Brent had somehow whet her appetite for more quiet places and less hip discussion.

  A little after 10:30 a rock concert let out at the Alamodome and suddenly the place was full of people angling up to the bar for drinks, raising the noise level beyond any opportunity for conversation.

  “Let’s ditch this place,” Pete suggested and a couple of minutes later they were down on the street.

  Matt hailed a taxi. Amber got in the back seat next to Gwen and Pete, who were taking the opportunity of relative privacy to commence an embarrassingly passionate embrace. Amber deliberately ignored them. Matt sat in the front seat next to the driver. She was going to suggest they go to the Bombay Bicycle Club or Stone Werks. They’d be able to carry on a conversation and she was hoping to grab a sandwich. She hadn’t eaten since noon and the drinks she’d consumed had gone straight to her head, making her feel a little queasy.

  To her surprise, Matt gave the cabby the name of his hotel. Of course, they had a club there, as well as a halfway decent grill. She still held out hope that she’d be able to get something to eat.

  Gwen and Pete were really getting it on. Matt was shooting the breeze with the driver, quizzing the poor guy in broken Spanish. The guy, who looked to Amber to be East Indian or Pakistani, was too polite to correct the mistake and was answering only with smiles and shrugs and the meager Spanglish of his own.

  Amber focused on the street outside her window. It was basic San Antonio nightlife. Reveling teenagers hollering to each other from passing cars. Groups of exuberant tourists consulting their maps. Horse-drawn carriages decorated with flowers. Mariachis and margarita vendors. She’d always loved the feel and flavor of it.

  Tonight though, tonight she just wanted to be home.

  She glanced down at her watch. Jet would be in bed already. She’d have her hair in little braids and be asleep in the middle of the bed, her thumb neatly tucked into her mouth. If she was there she’d gently pull it free and scoot her over to one side and lay down with her. Jet always woke, but just barely. Just enough to snuggle up next to Amber and lay her sleepy head against her mother’s breast.

  Amber smiled to herself. Jet was really something. She was like a living, breathing lump of pure sugar. Just having her around made the world sweeter.

  It was going to be really hard to leave her behind.

  That thought hit Amber like a splash of cold water. Gwen was undoubtedly right. She couldn’t drag the little girl along with her. She was headed nowhere fast and that was not what she wanted for Jet. Ellen had more time for her. Ellen would take better care of her. No matter how bad things got, her mother always managed to make things work. Jet deserved better than Amber could ever give her.

  The cab pulled up into the hotel’s drive-through. A liveried valet opened her door. She got out and fumbled with the shoulder strap on her purse. Gwen slid out behind her. She was flushed and laughing.

  “How’s it going, Rob,” she said to the valet who offered his hand.

  “Didn’t expect to see you returning to the job in a cab,” he responded.

  Gwen gave a throaty chuckle. “I got me a live one tonight.”

  They shared a laugh as if there were some private joke.

  Pete got out and grabbed Gwen around the waist. They headed for the revolving glass door, leaving Amber standing alone on the sidewalk. Matt was paying the fare. She didn’t know if she should wait for him or follow her friend.

  She decided upon a little of both. Making her way to the door, but then hesitating there. She kept Gwen in sight without completely blowing off Matt. He seemed to appreciate that. When he got out of the taxi he was smiling at her.

  “I’m about ready for another drink, how about you?”

  In truth, she was more hungry than thirsty, but she nodded.

  They went
into the hotel. He was better behaved now than he had been in the club. He was walking next to her, but didn’t actually touch her in any way. Up ahead they could see Gwen and Pete. They had no such compunctions. They were hanging all over each other.

  When they reached the hallway that led past the entrance to the club, Amber was surprised to see them head the other direction.

  “Where are they going?” Amber asked. “The club’s the other way.”

  “We’ve got drinks in the room,” Matt answered.

  Amber slowed her pace. She knew the score. She couldn’t go upstairs with this guy and then pretend she didn’t understand what was expected. Which would have been okay with her, if she wanted it, too. But she felt nothing for him. Nothing at all.

  Changing her strategy, she began to hurry. They caught up with the other couple just as they were about to step on the elevator.

  “Pete, I…ah…need a quick word with Gwen, okay?”

  “What?” Gwen asked.

  Amber motioned with her head to move away from the men. They were barely out of hearing distance when she spotted the rest room.

  “Got to make a pit stop!” Amber assured the guys hurriedly and then dragged Gwen into the Ladies’.

  Gwen looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. “Have you got a problem or something?” she asked.

  “Are you too drunk to see that these jerks are making a booty call?” she asked.

  “So what?”

  “So I’m not answering.”

  Gwen sighed, exasperated. “Look, Virgin Princess, these guys are just looking for a good time. They’re nice guys. Straight with it and happy to throw a few bucks in our direction.”

  “They have a name for that, Gwen,” Amber said.

  “Brilliant. I think that’s what it’s called,” her friend replied. “We’re going to need that money to get the apartment.”

  “This is not the way to get it,” Amber said.

  “Oh, oh, you’re going to get like a bonus at the underwear store?” Gwen asked facetiously. “Or are you waiting for the Prize Patrol?”