“Yes, yes. I can see it now,” she nodded. “Then what happened?”
“They escaped to an island where the young man became a farmer and a writer.”
“They escaped?” Julia looked up at him. “That’s great!”
“Yes... but...” Perry shook his head sadly.
“But what?” She frowned apprehensively.
“The young man began to write great stories. Soon he became very famous. Eventually, the young woman’s father heard of his fame and came to learn where they were hiding. The bitter old man sent soldiers to find them and killed the young man.”
“Oh, no!” Julia was truly upset. “That’s terrible!” She acted as if it were news about someone who lived down the street.
“But...” Perry’s face lit up and his spirits lifted along with the tale. “Guan Yin, the goddess of mercy, looked upon their plight with generous eyes and even though the young woman took her own life out of grief over the death of her lover, Guan Yin had mercy on their tormented souls and allowed them to live on as a pair of white turtle doves so they could be together forever.”
Julia pulled his saucer over in front of her to examine the pair of doves at the top of the scene.
“That’s a beautiful story,” she said. “I’m so glad it had a happy ending. Happy and sad at the same time.”
“Yes, it is,” he agreed and picked up his tea.
“But it’s only a fairy tale.” She looked out across the back yard. “Real life is not like that. There are no happy endings. Only sad ones. Some sadder than others.”
“Don’t you believe in fairy tales?” He asked in a voice that made her turn to look at him curiously. “Don’t you believe that wishes sometimes come true?”
“No,” she said firmly. “Fairy tales are fairy tales. I believe in God. And I believe in God’s will...” Her voice trailed off and then she picked up the little gold box he had used as an excuse to stop by claiming that he had forgotten to pack it for them in his donation box. “I do believe this is prettier than all the others.”
She ran her finger over the box lid where a filigreed hummingbird was drinking nectar from a hibiscus bloom.
“I will buy that one for you on two conditions,” he told her.
“What?” She looked up at him with some of the suspicion returning that she had felt when he’d first arrived. She suddenly realized that she had to have the box.
“That you will give it to me to keep for you.” He smiled. “And that you will never ask for it back.”
“I don’t understand.” She frowned. Why would he buy it for her and then take it back? It didn’t make sense.
“You don’t have to understand,” he told her gravely.
“Yes, but...” she said and then looked up at the ceiling fan turning lazily over their heads. A single tear escaped her eye and she felt utterly devastated and sad.
“Here.” Perry took a crisp ten dollar bill from his shirt pocket and laid it on the table.
“Now.” He leaned back in the chair and picked up his tea. “Write down the one thing that you want most to be rid of. Go ahead. I won’t look.”
She opened the box and took out the little scroll and pencil. She hesitated only a second before quickly scribbling something on the paper. She folded it quickly and put it back in the box, closing the lid. When the lid clicked into place, she looked up at him expectantly.
“This is silly!” She blushed and he wondered if she were angry.
“Perhaps,” he said and stood up, taking the box from the table to hold it carefully in both hands. “Thank you for the tea. I’ll see you and Louis on Saturday.”
“Yes.” She smiled up at him. The sadness was gone as quickly as it had come. “Some day we’ll get together and have a tea-drinking marathon. Just how far does that poem about tea go?”
“All the way to Penglai.”
He took her hand and kissed it lightly before leaving her sitting on the porch. She did not bother to get up, but watched him cross the grass to where his car was parked in the drive. He seemed like such a nice man, but strange. She wished she had more time left. It would have been nice to make friends with his wife, Angelica. They were like a fresh breeze. So different from anyone she had ever known. Life was so unfair, she sighed and picked up her cup and smiled at the little scene depicting the two lovers.
“I’m perfectly serious!” Mildred Morris said incredulously, outraged by her son’s laughter.
“So I see.” He managed to stop laughing long enough to push back his chair and stand up. His composure somewhat restored, he brushed back his hair and plucked one of the Antonio y Cleopatra Grenadiers from the glass humidor on his desk. He walked over to the windows to peer across the street at the site in question. The empty lot where the Jenson place had stood only two days ago looked like a war zone. A large, irregularly shaped patch of bare ground showed where the house had stood. In his mind, he remembered the first kiss he had sneaked from the little girl who used to live there so long ago. He examined the cigar and held it under his nose to inhale its aroma.
“You think your mother is incapable of generosity?” She demanded to know.
“No, not incapable of it,” he said as he flicked his cigar lighter under the tip of the cigar. “I just thought you were... allergic to it.” He almost laughed again and had to stifle himself. “You have to admit that it is totally out of character for you.” He chastised himself for his treatment of his mother, but could not stop himself. “You paid close to a hundred and sixty thousand dollars for that property. It was appraised last year for ninety-six. You’ve sold the house for fifteen thousand. The total construction cost of the project is going to cost you upwards of one hundred and sixty-five thousand...” He calculated quickly in his head. “Let’s see. That means you will be spending in excess of three hundred and ten thousand dollars for an asphalt parking lot with bumpers, stripes and curbs. And now you say you’re going to donate almost a quarter of the property...roughly forty parking slots... to the city of Magnolia Springs for a memorial pocket park?”
“So you have been listening to me!” She seemed genuinely pleased.
She adjusted her weight on the sofa and tugged her jacket more closely about her.
“I really wish you wouldn’t smoke those things around me,” she told him. “I don’t like them.”
Samuel Morris, Jr. shot his mother a nasty look and puffed on the cigar before commenting “Don’t you agree, Mother, that it’s a little unusual. Have you lost your mind?”
“If I have, it’s your fault, Sammy,” she sniffed and wrinkled up her nose at the smell of the Grenadier.
Sam turned his attention to the parking lot in front of the Payne and Litzman Insurance Agency where a gray Mercedes Benz had just pulled in. The agency shared the long, low building with a small ice cream parlor, combination video store called Chilly Willy’s and the town’s cable TV business. He already knew whose Mercedes it was. It was the only one in town and a car like that attracted attention in a small town. Especially the attention of bankers such as Sam Morris. The price of the car had staggered him when he’d looked up the model on the Internet. He watched as the tall figure of Perry Aliger climbed out of the low-slung vehicle. It had become a sort of hobby for Sam to guess where the patrons of the building were going when they got out of their cars. Since he owned the building, he felt he had a vested interest in it and made a point of looking out the window at it from time to time during the day. Sam owned quite a bit of the commercial property in town. He was probably the wealthiest man in town... or at least he had been until the Aligers had arrived. He was itching to meet the man and find out more about his bank account. He quickly decided that Perry would be going into the cable office and was quite surprised when he entered the Insurance Agency instead where his fiancee, Maureen Fitzgerald worked.
“So.” He turned back to his mother, still disturbed by his mistake. “What do you get out of it? Cut all the pretentious indignation and just tell me what the bott
om line is. I have work to do.”
“Samuel F. Morris, Junior!” Her eyes widened with anger. “I won’t have you talk to me like that! Your father deserves a memorial. He did a lot for this town. And you owe everything to him. He sent you to A & M, bought you a new car every year and set you up with this... this... job even though it broke his poor heart!”
“Father never had a heart,” he corrected her glumly. “You’re right, Mother. I owe him everything. I even owe my cheerful outlook on life to him. I just wish...” He paused and frowned as Perry Aliger emerged from Payne and Litzman’s with Maureen Fitzgerald on his arm. They walked down the sidewalk and entered Chilly Willy’s, disappearing from sight under the oversized fiberglass Penguin on top of the red and white awning in front of the store.
“Damn!” He cursed softly. His mother instinctively knew something nasty was afoot. She had a nose for gossip and scandal. She got up as quickly as she could to join him at the window. “That guy really gets around.”
“Who? What guy?” She saw no one on the street.
“That fellow, Aliger.” He turned to frown at her.
“Yes, he certainly does,” she agreed almost dreamily and Sam looked at her closely. “That’s his car, isn’t it? Where did he go?”
“Chilly Willy’s,” Sam said distractedly, puffing on the cigar. “With Maureen.” Then regretted having mentioned that Maureen was with him. His mother disapproved highly of Maureen.
“Really?” She gazed out at the empty sidewalk. “If I were you, Sammy, I’d be more interested in courting his bank account than Maureen Fitzgerald.”
“You’re so crude sometimes,” he said disgustedly. It irritated him that she knew him so well. “It looks like his bank account may be courting my fiancee.”
“Ridiculous!” Mrs. Morris laughed derisively. “Not that I wouldn’t put it past her, but he isn’t the type.”
“What do you know about his type?” Sam looked down at his mother in surprise.
“It just so happens that Mr. Aliger visited me yesterday morning at my office,” she told him smugly. “He’s as wholesome as country buttermilk and he’s married on top of that. And I hear that Mrs. Aliger is a very classy lady. I don’t think you have anything to worry about. I hardly see what Maureen could have to offer him other than an insurance policy. Take Mama’s word for it. Oh, he may be the most handsome Devil I’ve seen in a long time, but I know a little something about men, Sweetheart, and he would never...”
“Mother! Please,” Sam cut her off. He had never heard her talk that way before. “Maureen happens to be a very beautiful woman and I happen to know a little about men myself having been one for thirty-five years. There is no way you can stand there and tell me that this one is any different from any other.”
“But you haven’t met him, have you?” She smiled up at him, obviously pleased to have upset him. “I tell you there is something... odd about him. You’ll see. Your little package is perfectly safe with him. He’s into potpourri, fortune cookies and magnolia blossoms.” She put one hand over her heart and toyed with her pearls. Sam looked at her in amazement. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought his mother was having fantasies about a man half her age! “There’s not the slightest hint of the business man about him. I figure that his wife has the business head. Once Maureen sees that, she’ll not be interested in him.”
“Really?” Sam’s frown deepened. “You’ve never liked Maureen.”
“She’s a gold digger, Sammy. I’ve told you that a hundred times,” Mrs. Morris snorted. “I’m just glad you’ve had sense enough not to marry her. Perry Aliger is the kind that makes women want to take care of him. Trust me. Maureen will not be attracted to him She wants someone to take care of her.”
“I feel the urge for a double dip chocolate chip strawberry ice cream cone,” Sam said suddenly and crushed the cigar in the crystal ashtray on his desk. He left his mother watching after him with a sour look on her face.
She returned her attention to the street below, smiling smugly to herself at the thought that Sam might finally have a falling out with that Fitzgerald... woman. Sam deserved someone... something better.
After a moment, one penciled eyebrow shot up as she noticed a short, dark-haired lady in jogging shorts running up the street past Chilly Willy’s parking lot. The woman slowed down and then turned back to take a closer look at the Mercedes. She stood with her hands on her hips looking at the store fronts. Mrs. Morris recognized the figure to be Mrs. Aliger. She’d seen her out in front of the Gift Shop planting flowers. “Ze plot thickens,” she said aloud in her best mock-French accent as Mrs. Aliger walked up to the door of Chilly Willy’s and went inside. She smiled as she watched Sam Junior cross the street and disappear into the same door. She wished she could have been a fly on the wall of the ice cream parlor at that moment.
Angelica was highly concerned about Peregrin’s behavior of late. He insisted on wasting time. He pursued petty indulgences and said the most disconcerting things. She was concerned that he might have been losing touch with his true identity and purpose. The conversations in which he had been so often involved with her were most disturbing. Their last conversation about dreams had been a failure even though she had thought that reversing the tables and using his own tactics against him might have shown him the futility of his actions. She had succeeded only in making him angry and then he had acted very strange before leaving her even to the point of speaking of death and destruction. He was not impervious to danger and he was, more or less, her responsibility. He was definitely becoming a burden to her. Further analysis indicated that he was becoming too involved in the physicality of their surroundings. It was totally unacceptable. Maureen Fitzgerald was not on their agenda. His interest in the people of Magnolia Springs was becoming more and more subjective and she thought his motivations were becoming clear. She would not be a party to it. They were behind schedule already. Now he was literally courting disaster and putting the whole project at risk. She would have to find a way to refocus his attention to the task at hand. Judging from her experiences with him to date, that might be a formidable chore.
The interior of the shop was cool and dim after the bright sunshine in the parking lot. Rows and rows of metal racks containing digital video recordings and computer games blocked her view. A tall man in a light blue suit almost ran over her as she stood blinking in the insufficient florescent lighting. She stepped aside to allow him to pass and then took up a position between the rows of shelving to make herself as inconspicuous as possible while she searched for Peregrin. What on Earth was he doing in here? She could feel his presence, but could not see him. She perused the titles of the DVD boxes and edged down the row occasionally standing on tip toe to look into the next aisle. Near the back of the store was a half-wall which separated the ice cream shop from the rest of the store. There was one row of pink metal bistro tables against the wall in front of the glassed counters. A bored clerk wiped the glass with a cloth, paying no attention to her. She maneuvered herself into a position where she could see Peregrin and Maureen sitting at one of the tables without being seen. She focused her attention on them in order to hear what they were saying.
“...I know! I just wonder what your Chinese poet would have thought about ice cream. Surely he would have been inspired to write something epic.”
“Oh, no doubt,” Peregrin agreed with her. “Though there is no comparison between the two. Ice cream has admirable qualities. In fact, it’s almost the exact opposite of tea. Cold. Thick. Creamy. In direct contrast to hot. Thin. Sharp. Lu Tong might have been the first to say ‘let be be the finale of seem. The only emperor is the emperor of ice cream.’” Another quote from his yellow book.
Angelica moved to another aisle so she could see them as well as hear them.
A thick sheaf of papers lay between their cups of ice cream and chocolate syrup. Perry held Maureen’s hand in his hand and her attention in his eyes confirming Angelica’s suspicions. She took a deep breat
h and concentrated on their voices again.
“You say the funniest things, Perry,” Maureen laughed and frowned at the same time.
“Funny?” He returned her frowning smile. “I suppose it is, if you mean odd by funny. People say odd things all the time. It seems that oddness fits when nothing else does.”
“You see?” She nodded. “There you go again. I’ve been listening to people talk for years because I’m what they call a good listener and I’ve never heard anyone string words together like you do.”
“Does it bother you?” He asked, studying her face carefully. “My wife says I spend too much time quoting others. She says I should speak my own thoughts, but when I do, she doesn’t want to hear them. Isn’t that odd in itself?”
“No, I think that’s awful,” Maureen said in earnest. “If I were married to someone like you, I would probably follow them around all the time just hoping for him to talk to me... I mean, I would be interested in whatever you had to say.”
“Really?” He asked, seemingly surprised. “She says I indulge in romantic ramblings.”
“Yes, I know,” Maureen said abstractedly as she fiddled absent-mindedly with her spoon and then turned a deep red as he frowned in confusion.
The Pandora Effect Page 20
