Lifeblood

by Penny Rudolph

  “Curtis Jacoby in Water Quality mentioned he saw you in here with a couple of guys he’d never seen before.”

  “I don’t even know Curtis Jacoby.”

  “He thinks he knows you. I guess he’s seen us together. He parks at the garage. Whatever. He and I don’t always agree on things, so he probably could hardly wait to tell me.”

  “Is that why you suddenly came back? Without calling first? You trying to catch me in an assignation or something?”

  “Assignation?”

  “With my pants down.”

  “Good God, Rachel.”

  “You having people watch me?”

  “Of course not. I told you—”

  “You think I’m running around on you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Well, I’m not.” Her voice skidded to a halt as she thought about that, then plowed on. “If I ever do I’ll tell you. Me. I’ll tell you. Not somebody else. Count on it.”

  “Rachel, I’m not trying to check up on you.”

  “Why does it smell like that, then?”

  “I don’t know. I’m sorry if it does.”

  They both fell silent.

  Rachel rubbed her palm across her forehead, mussing her hair. “Why is this happening? I don’t want it to be like this.”

  Hank looked like he was trying to rein in words that had gotten away. “Actually, you’re right. I have no right to make these noises.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Maybe I’m just…I don’t know, scuffing up sand. So you don’t look at me too closely.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Okay. Maybe I’m the one who should ’fess up.”

  “What does that mean?” she said again.

  “I took a woman out for dinner in Sacramento.”

  “Oh?” Rachel’s face went expressionless. She smoothed her mussed hair and looked at him, weighing his words.

  “Just an engineer at the State Water Project. I guess I was feeling sorry for myself.”

  She gave a slow nod. “Maybe you should go on doing that.”

  “What?”

  “Feeling sorry for yourself.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Oh, Hank.”

  Without tilting the mug, he poured in the remaining beer. Undeterred by the rising foam, he drank down the contents, then plunked the glass on the counter and wiped away the bubbles that coated his upper lip. “You go out with some guys here, and somehow, it’s my fault.”

  “Not really.” She was wondering how they got from square one-A to square two-hundred-Z.

  “Then what?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I’m just having a bad-hair day. I seem to be having a whole string of them.”

  Hank looked at his watch. “I gotta be back at Burbank in an hour.”

  Rachel turned and put a hand on his sleeve. “Hank, I didn’t.”

  “Didn’t what?”

  “Didn’t date anyone else.”

  “Okay.”

  “But you’re telling me you did?”

  “Rachel, it was dinner. Just dinner.”

  She turned her back on him and motioned to Randall to bring her another club soda. “Okay. You’d better go. I’ll walk back.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Rachel didn’t sleep well that night. She dreamed of carrying a small package that was light as a slip of paper in the beginning. But she was on a road than seemed to grow longer with every step. The little package remained the same size, but grew heavier and heavier until she was exhausted.

  She woke drenched in perspiration, with teeth so tightly clenched her jaw ached. She got up, went to the kitchen, poured a cup of milk and heated it in the microwave. After that and a chocolate chip cookie, she took a National Geographic magazine from the floor-to-ceiling bookcase that lined one wall of the living room and went back to bed. Clancy climbed in next to her and purred so loudly she couldn’t concentrate on an article about ancient Peru.

  Finally she finally fell asleep, but woke feeling as though she’d spent the night running, whether away from something or trying to catch something, she wasn’t sure.

  Coffee helped, but not enough. Wishing she could go back to bed, she instead went down to open the garage. There were days when having an ordinary job would be nice. Then one could call in sick.

  When the morning rush had filled the garage, and slamming car doors and rapid footsteps had given way to silence, Rachel sat, still tired and rooted to the stool in the cubicle, looking out at the street but not noticing what was there. The phone toodled. She pressed talk. “Chavez Garage. Can I help you?”

  “Probably not. But you can bet your sweet biffy you’re going to find this interesting.” Goldie.

  Rachel sat up straighter. “What did you find out?”

  “I kept asking around until I got the name of Jarvis Barry. He heads up the sanitary engineers—which is to say the mop-and-flop people—at that medical center. Turns out Mr. Barry is the brother-in-law of one of my kids. Anyway, I find out his hours and go talk to him about his maybe taking on one of my crew who’s about ready to graduate to bigger and better things than we can offer.”

  “You’re so good to those kids.”

  “Damn straight about that,” Goldie agreed. “So while I’m talking to him, I say I’ve heard about a closed-off ward on some floor in the east wing and that maybe the hospital plans to open it, so I thought he might be needing some extra help.”

  Rachel grinned. “What a clever liar you are.”

  “I’ve had some good teachers. Present company included.”

  “So what did he say?”

  “He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind and says, ‘Where’d you get that idea? There’s no empty ward of any wing on any floor of this hospital. The whole place is just about full up all the time.’ And I say, ‘I don’t remember, but I thought someone mentioned a wing that they sometimes used for celebrities, or overflow, or some such thing.’

  “He says, ‘We do get celebrities sometimes, but they get suites on the top floor of the main building.’ He said suites, can you believe it? In a hospital. Must be nice. Anyway, I say, ‘Well, I guess I got the wrong information. I heard something about the fourth floor. East wing, I think it was.’

  “‘Oh that,’ he says. ‘Twelve rooms, mostly triples, and it’s full all the time. Sometimes they even bring in extra beds, have a couple in the hall. But it sure isn’t movie stars or anything close. Those people are packed tight.’ That’s what he said, ‘packed tight.’”

  Rachel rubbed her chin and stared thoughtfully at her reflection in the cubicle glass. “Why would it have a closed sign then?”

  “We’ve already been over that. If I had an answer I’d spit it out. But I couldn’t really ask this Jarvis a lot more without letting on I knew more than I was saying.”

  “I guess.”

  “Anyway, I killed two birds. He is looking for more cleaning crew. That staff of his is huge. He said he’s always looking. Maybe I’ll be able to place more of my kids there as they come along. Anyway, he gave me an application form for Clarence to fill out.”

  “That ward is full but not with celebrities. That’s what he said?”

  “Umm-hmm. I see you were listening for once. This guy should know if that area is in use.”

  “I’d sure like to get a firsthand look at that ward.”

  “Well, don’t look at me.”

  “I’m not even looking at the phone.”

  “You know what else that guy told me? The food at that hospital is good. You ever hear of good hospital food?”

  “Sounds like a contradiction in terms.”

  “He said there were a couple of black guys there—brothers, mind you!—who make the best greens in the whole United States. And a couple of Mexican women who make better red enchiladas than you can get anywhere in LA. We got to go have lunch in that cafeteria sometime.”

  “Go out for lunch to eat hospital food?” Rachel’s voice roll
ed out without expression.

  “My mama makes real good greens, but she don’t do it very often.”

  “Greens.”

  “Lord, woman. You have eaten greens haven’t you?”

  “I guess.”

  “You sound funny. You okay?”

  “I had another fight with Hank.”

  “I thought he was up north.”

  “He was. He caught a ride down for the afternoon yesterday in somebody’s company plane.”

  “So why did you fight?”

  “He accused me of messing around. Some guy he knows saw me at the Pig with the pharmacist from the hospital and that drug company rep.”

  “Well, guys are funny that way about their women. That shouldn’t be hard to patch over.”

  “It got harder when he told me he’d been seeing some woman up there.”

  “Yiiii!” Goldie drew out the exclamation, then paused. “I’ll check the bench after I get the crew started tonight. If you’re there, we could talk if you want.”

  “I didn’t sleep much last night. I don’t know if I can stay awake.”

  “If you aren’t there, we won’t talk.” Rachel could almost see her friend’s plain no-nonsense face as she rang off.

  She twisted the engagement ring on her finger.

  Chapter Eighteen

  It was a little after noon when a shiny silver Toyota 4Runner drove up the ramp to the booth. Not sure she’d seen the vehicle before, Rachel leaned out the cubicle doorway and waited until the SUV window began sliding down. “Sorry,” she called. “This isn’t public parking.”

  “I know that.” The face that appeared in the open window was Marty’s. He held out a plastic bag with a semi-circle of red letters that spelled Chow’s Chinese Kitchen. “Where’s an empty space?”

  She took the bag. “Where’d you get that car?”

  “Never mind that right now, Rache. Find me a slot.”

  “Third one on your left, down there.” She pointed. Now what?

  The sweet-and-sour aroma from the bag made her suddenly hungry. Sweeping aside the papers on her desk, she dug out a package of paper plates from a file drawer.

  “How’s my girl?” Marty set down the box he was carrying and spun her about for a hug.

  “Have you become a car thief?” She laughed into his collar, feeling better for some reason she didn’t quite understand.

  “The apartment or the bench?” Marty asked.

  “I haven’t had my full dose of smog yet today.” Rachel picked up the bag of take-out cartons.

  Carrying the box, he followed her out onto the sidewalk. “Gorgeous day,” he said as they settled on the bench in front of the garage. “Not much smog at all.”

  Hoping it wasn’t the present he’d mentioned, but knowing it probably was, Rachel nodded at the package that Marty set down on the sidewalk in front of him. “Better move that under the bench, or someone will steal it.”

  “In broad daylight?” But he did as she suggested.

  Rachel balanced a plate on her lap. “I saw a rollerblader make off with a woman’s purse while she was sitting on this same bench. The jerk was out of sight before it even registered on her what had happened.”

  Marty watched her dish out fried rice and General Tso’s chicken. “Your hair,” he said.

  “What about it?”

  “I still think it makes you look too….”

  “Chicano?” She handed him a plate.

  “Chicana,” he corrected her.

  “Well, it’s not my fault you didn’t teach me proper Spanish. I only know a couple words I’ve picked up on the streets.” She moved her eyes to his. “Why shouldn’t I look Chicana?”

  Marty concentrated on his food. “You don’t think it makes people…I don’t know…look at you differently? Treat you differently?”

  “My last name is Chavez. I have dark hair and brown eyes. Maybe they should think I’m Swedish?” She raised her face to the sky. The day was warm and bright. “I don’t get enough sun.” She held out and arm and pulled up a sleeve. “Look at this bar-room pallor.”

  The lines over Marty’s eyes deepened. “Bar room?”

  “Oh, Pop. It’s an expression. I’m not drinking. I’m not using. I’m so pure I’m boring.” She changed the subject. “The new 4Runner,” she said, not wanting to know but asking anyway. “Nice. It’s yours?”

  “First off, it’s not new. It’s three years old, low mileage, thirty-five thousand.”

  “Still, those babies aren’t cheap.”

  “I told you what I won.”

  “That wasn’t your last poker game, Pop.” She didn’t say that pawnbrokers don’t do cars and a quick sale to a used lot would bring only about half what he probably paid.

  Marty grinned, ignoring her implication. “I bought it for you.”

  “You what?”

  “That old Civic of yours has seen better days. You need a good car. I thought I’d trade you. I don’t drive all that much. You take the new one, I’ll take the old.”

  “Pop, I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “The last time you drove a car of mine you were run off the freeway by someone who was probably trying to kill me.”

  “No one is trying to kill you now.” Marty paused, examined her face. “Is there?”

  “Nope. Nothing is going on in my life except this garage.” Rachel finished the last of the rice, folded her plate and put it in the bag with the empty cartons.

  “Any luck landing a new company to replace the one you lost?”

  “Didn’t I tell you? Turned out, I was hardly out a week’s rent. Jefferson Medical Center.”

  “That’s wonderful, Rache.”

  “So one of these days, I can buy another car myself.”

  Marty put his plate in the bag. “Is that the hospital where those two kids disappeared?”

  “One was dead. It’s possible the other boy died in the emergency room—before he could be admitted to the hospital. But I guess you could say they both disappeared because I can’t find out what happened to either one, dead or alive.” She turned to look at her father. “I think it has something to do with the fact they were Mexican.”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t you think that might be part of the reason they came to be locked in that van in my garage?”

  Marty glanced at her, then away. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “I had lunch with one of the doctors at Jefferson who’s now parking with me. She worked for a while in Mexico. Chiapas. She says things were pretty awful there.”

  “Chiapas is just about the poorest place in the country. Maybe in the world. Always has been.”

  “Was all your family wealthy?”

  “You’d probably call them filthy rich. We had servants.”

  “You never go back. You never see your relatives?”

  Marty shrugged. “Tia Inez was good family. The best.”

  “Your mother’s sister? Where is she now?”

  “She died. Breast cancer. She lived just long enough to see me through college.”

  “Did Mom ever meet her? Did she know…?”

  “No. Inez was gone by then.” His eyes flicked back to Rachel’s face. “You’re all the family I need.”

  She took his hand and squeezed it, thinking how hard it must have been on a young boy to be thrust into a strange country, a strange culture. He would have been about the age of the kids she had found in the van. Maybe the family was wealthy, but her grandfather must have been an asshole.

  “Why didn’t your mother leave him? Take you and your brother and sisters and come live with Tia Inez?”

  Marty shook his head. “That sort of thing wasn’t done in my family. It simply wasn’t done.”

  Rachel gazed into the middle distance and tried to imagine being rich and having to tolerate abuse.

  Marty took the opportunity to change the subject. “So when are you getting married?”

  She tilted her head and made a fa
ce he couldn’t see. “I don’t know. We’ll set a date one of these days.”

  “You want a big wedding?”

  “Good God, no,” she sputtered. “You have any idea what a big wedding costs these days? You didn’t win that much. We’ll go to a chapel in Burbank or something. I can’t afford a big do, let alone a dress I would only wear once.”

  Marty reached under the bench and brought out the package. “That’s why I brought this along.”

  She frowned. “A wedding present? We don’t even know when—”

  “No-no.” Marty placed the package in her lap. “Open it.”

  Rachel gave him a perplexed look. Not wanting to deal with this, but seeing no way out, she undid the plain brown wrapping. The large box inside was a yellowish white. She lifted the lid and her eyebrows drew together.

  “It’s white. Satin or something. I can’t open it here on the street. Tell me you didn’t buy me a wedding dress, Pop.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Then why does it look like one?”

  “It was your mother’s.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  When her clients began collecting their cars for the evening rush hour Rachel was still trying to sort out her feelings about the wedding dress. She had no urge to take it out of the box to try on or even just to admire. She could see the fabric was beautiful. Even after all these years, it fairly glowed.

  At first she had put the box on top of the filing cabinet. When she had trouble concentrating on the figures she was posting in the ledger, she had taken the box up to the apartment and slid it under her bed.

  Why was everyone who mattered in her life determined to see her married? She glanced down at the engagement ring, wiggled it, then pulled it off. It dropped to the floor and bounced out of the cubicle. She chased it to the front wheel of a parked car and put her foot out to stop its roll.

  Did she want to end the engagement? No. Maybe she was just tired.

  But Hank is messing around. He even admitted it.

  He said he had dinner with someone. Dinner. Period. Big Deal.

  Right.

  She put the ring back on, then took it off again, put it in an envelope, and the envelope inside the top file drawer.

  After several interruptions, Rachel was still sitting over the ledger, deep in thoughts that had nothing to do with accounting, when someone knocked on the cubicle window.