The Clone's Mother

by Cheri Gillard

  Sheila said, “Ellsworth. That’s familiar. Oh yeah, the Ellsworth mansion on the hill that looks like an oversized cathouse. Can you believe the size of that place? Think what could be done with that kind of dough.”

  Mrs. Ellsworth’s peach lipstick bunched into a tight little pucker. Mr. Ellsworth said that at least three hospitals in two states had wings paid for by some of that dough, and an MRI, a pediatric ICU, and outpatient cancer ward, and several other miscellaneous humanitarian establishments.

  “And the house has most certainly never been a brothel,” Mrs. Ellsworth added.

  Jackie said, “Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure. I imagine Sheila knows a brothel when she sees one.”

  Sheila spat and hissed like a provoked cat, then Mr. Ellsworth explained the building was a historic site protected by the Historical Society, preserved immaculately from the turn of the century. It had once been owned by a Civil War hero who served under Lincoln himself and went on to become a prestigious senator.

  “Thanks for the social studies lesson,” Sheila said sardonically. “What are you, some kind of history buff?” she added, as if that were an insult.

  “That house, young lady, is our home,” Mr. Ellsworth said.

  That ended the attempt of the old rich couple at our table to help ease us through the evening less scathed.

  We ate our tomato frappé in silence. When we were nearly through the salad which followed, Mack tried to talk us into neutral territory.

  “Hey, Scott,” Mack said, “Do you play any golf?”

  “Nope.”

  “How about tennis?”

  “No.”

  “Hand ball?” Mack said.

  “Nope.”

  “Hmm. What do you like?”

  “This and that.”

  Thought I’d try and help out.

  “What do you do for a living, Scott?”

  “Develop software.”

  Mack took another crack at it. “The hospital has hired Scott and his company to install the new computerized charting system. Isn’t that right, Scott?”

  “Yep.”

  Quite a conversationalist.

  Sheila apparently got tired of the failed attempts to converse, so even she gave it a shot.

  “Did you hear there was another baby kidnapped?”

  That caught most everyone’s attention. Mack, Jackie, Carl, and I were glued to her.

  Sheila appeared to like being responsible for a topic that interested people.

  “Yeah, it was on the news. A baby snatched out of a lady’s car at a gas station.”

  “Really?” Jackie sounded intrigued.

  Carl harrumphed in my direction.

  Mack looked at me like he was worried I’d say something stupid, like Carl, where’d you put the baby?

  Instead, I said, “Have they found the baby yet?”

  “Not yet,” Sheila said with authority.

  “He wasn’t kidnapped,” Mrs. Ellsworth said placidly as she nibbled on her endive. “She’d left the child at home in his crib and had completely forgotten him. Her sleep deprivation had left her incapacitated. It was in yesterday’s paper. Social Services is investigating the mother.” An air of condemnation had crept into her voice toward Sheila.

  Everyone dismissed Sheila in disappointment, now that she’d been proven to be an unreliable source for gossip and current events.

  Mack was tenacious about the small talk and attempted once again to lighten the air. He tried to chuckle.

  “Those false kidnappings have gotten everyone uptight. Kate even talked her cousin into hiding out at her in-laws’ condo just to make sure their new baby didn’t get nabbed.”

  Holy cats, Mack! I couldn’t believe he’d said that! I tried to catch his eye, to throw brainwaves at him that yelled for him to shut up. Of course, even if the thoughts got through his thick skull, it was too late. The cat—or in this case, the baby—was out of the bag.

  Carl’s brow furrowed, but he couldn’t know my cousin’s baby was the Trent baby he wanted so badly. Unless of course, he was Howard’s murderer and had the files on Howard’s clients.

  But we knew that couldn’t be, didn’t we? It was that scary, hairy guy looking for drug money.

  “Your cousin has a new baby?” Jackie asked. “That’s nice. How old is he?”

  I wanted to kick Mack. But I was glad that Jackie just assumed it was a boy. I was going to leave it that way. I spoke up before Mack could say any more.

  “About three months young—” Wow, I almost said three months younger than Jackie’s, but I caught myself just in time. This wasn’t so easy. Carl didn’t know about Jackie’s kid and Mack had made me promise to keep their secret.

  “About three months young,” I repeated to make it sound like that’s what I’d meant to say all along.

  “She’s a girl,” Mack added.

  That time I did kick him, or I thought I did. But I must’ve just gotten Jackie or the chair leg. He still didn’t shut up.

  “Her name is Charlotte, like Princess Kate’s new baby. Middle name is Nicole, as in—”

  I pinched Mack’s thigh hard under the table, and his head snapped around. His confusion and indignation were clear, like he had no idea why I’d do that. I gave him an intense, open-eyed stare, hoping he’d get my meaning. No one needed to know Charlotte’s middle name was for her birth mother.

  Finally, he figured it out. “—as in Nicole Kidman,” he added quickly, rubbing his thigh.

  “Charlotte Nicole Johnston,” Jackie said.

  That wasn’t her name. It was McBride. But no one needed to know her real name.

  “Charlotte Nicole?” Scott suddenly said. “Joe McBride’s new kid, right?”

  Geez! Now you decide to talk?

  “You know Joe?” I asked with trepidation. I didn’t know what to do. My heart pounded in my throat. What if he told Charlotte was adopted?

  “Sure,” he said with the first hint of a smile I’d seen on him all night. “I dated one of his office girls. She said he just got a new kid.”

  Jeepers! Before he said any more, I needed to change the subject. I gave the Ellsworths a quick try. I hoped they’d be willing to enter into our conversation again.

  “So, Mrs. Ellsworth,” I said with a blatant dismissal of Scott, “do you have any children?”

  The Ellsworths were willing to talk, since I’d hit on a subject Mrs. Ellsworth was very proud of. They told us about their seven children, all the wonderful names they had come up with for each of them, and the names those children had passed on to their twenty-two grandchildren. Scott seemed to forget he’d been talking and looked away to watch the crowd.

  The Ellsworth’s boring lists of first names, middle names, and nicknames got us all the way to the next course without any further divulgations from anyone. When the empty salad plates were whisked away, a new plate appeared with some kind of fish—salmon, I think—in tiny crêpes, smothered in a yellow dressing that tasted like garlic. Mrs. Ellsworth said it was an aioli sauce.

  The emcee came back to the microphone and interrupted us long enough to award special recognition to a few extraordinary contributors while we savored the appetizer. The Ellsworths were among the very prestigious guests the hospital depended on for survival. They got to squeeze their way up to the platform and get an acrylic plaque for all their millions. Oh, yeah—and a paper certificate with a handshake. That had to have made the night for them. They could take it home and pin it up on their cork bulletin board.

  Once they negotiated their way back to the table, a small glass cup of mint sorbet was distributed to each of us. A tiny spoon rested along each walnut-sized glob of sherbet with a sprig of mint on the side. The presentation was exquisite.

  An article in an old copy of Cuisine magazine at work had educated me all about the stuff. I guess Sheila hadn’t seen it.

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” she said as she examined the ball of ice in front of her. “Five hundred bucks a pop and all we get is a tiny chu
nk of fish and an ice cream mothball for dessert?”

  “No, Babe,” Carl said with surprising tenderness. “This is to cleanse the palate between courses.”

  Sheila nodded her acknowledgement and popped the iced fruit into her mouth.

  Jackie made a show of rolling her eyes at the ludicrousness of such ignorance.

  Next appeared the beef tenderloin dripping in a delectable horseradish gravy with roasted New Potatoes and a sour cream sauce-to-die-for and some creatively-diced colorful vegetables. If you put all three into your mouth at one time, using just the right proportions, you might actually think you were in heaven. It was fabulous. I took the opportunity to close my eyes and ignore the strain around the table so I could savor the flavors.

  Sadly, Sheila’s sharp voice griping next to me broke through my euphoric experience.

  “I’m supposed to get the vegetarian plate,” she demanded of the server who had just placed her main course before her.

  The server looked baffled. “I’m sorry, Miss. I didn’t have any record that you would receive the vegetarian plate.”

  “I don’t care if you have a record. I’m telling you. I get the vegetarian plate.”

  “I’ll go check on it,” the server said.

  He began to leave, but Sheila yelled out after him.

  “You’re not going to leave this chunk of flesh in front of me like this, are you?”

  He hesitated for a moment, not certain what to do. Then he just turned and disappeared into the crowd before Sheila could threaten him.

  “I’ll take it if you don’t want it,” Scott said.

  Sheila tried to hand him the dish, but Carl put a restraining hand on hers. “Maybe you should wait and see if there is something else first.”

  “I’m not going to eat this, Carl. I don’t eat cow. I’m a vegetarian.”

  “You eat meat, Babe,” he said.

  “When have you seen me eat meat?” she said.

  “You always eat meat.”

  “When have you seen me eat meat?” she asked again. “Name one time you’ve seen me eat meat.”

  He hesitated.

  “See. You can’t even think of it.”

  “Last week for lunch you had that burger,” I chimed in.

  “Shut up,” she snapped. “How would you know?”

  “Because we ordered for you so you could go smoke while it cooked.”

  If looks could kill.

  She rubbed the side of her nose with her middle finger. I’d bet my tenderloin and a couple of potatoes that her nose didn’t itch. “I can be a new vegetarian if I want to,” she growled at me.

  “Not tonight, Babe,” Carl said.

  She forgot about me. “I’ve been planning this for a long time. So what if I just started a few days ago?”

  “You had beef just last night at Fanucchi’s.”

  Sheila scowled at him.

  “The entrée you ordered. The torretta di carne cruda. It was beef.”

  “It was?” she asked with deflated aplomb.

  “Raw, if I remember my Italian correctly,” Jackie chimed in with a malevolent smile.

  Sheila swallowed a gag.

  Jackie watched on, thoroughly amused, while the Ellsworths observed in confusion, probably unsure why anyone would be a vegetarian. Scott held his vigil in hopeful anticipation, counting on Sheila to remain strong and pass her plate in his direction.

  “Don’t worry. You can start later. Don’t pass this up tonight. I’ll help you tomorrow,” Carl promised.

  “It’s really delicious,” I said around my mouthful, forgetting my manners. “Mix it with the potatoes. You’ll love it.”

  The way she swirled her limp fork through the sauces, I think she was considering the raw meat she’d consumed the night before. I should have encouraged her just to give the plate up to Scott. Maybe he wouldn’t have been able to finish it all and he’d share some of it with me.

  Chapter 28

  When the music started with an upbeat dance tune, Mack took the opportunity to rescue me from our awkward ensemble. He retrieved my hand from where it rested in my lap, and he said, “You’re coming with me.” I liked how he took charge and swept me away to the dance floor.

  The band played Lindy Hop and we swung around the slick wooden floor. I had no idea that Mack was so agile and smooth. It didn’t matter that I wasn’t an expert. He led me through the motions so well, it looked like we’d already attended six months of those evening dance lessons advertised on TV.

  When the music changed to something that sounded like a tango, Mack knew just what to do. I mimicked his movements as best as I could, straightening my back and staying parallel to his long form as we pivoted and spun like we’d come straight from Argentina. I had taken a couple years of jazz and tap dance in third and fourth grade, so I applied the little I could remember to my moves. Plus, I’d seen countless episodes of Dancing with the Stars.

  Mack and I spun over every square inch of the dance floor at least ten times before we exhausted ourselves enough to return to our seats. I saw Carl and Sheila up dancing for one or two of the songs. Mr. and Mrs. Ellsworth hadn’t made it to the floor yet, maybe because their spindly old legs weren’t ready to bebop. Or perhaps it was out of courtesy to Jackie, who obviously couldn’t scramble up onto the elevated stage with her wheelchair.

  When we returned to the table, Jackie offered Mack a fat pout.

  “What took you so long?”

  “Jackie,” he explained, “we were dancing. We weren’t trying to hurry back.”

  “I guess not. I can’t expect you to think of me here alone.”

  I suppose the considerate Ellsworths keeping her company and postponing their chance to cut a rug didn’t count. Nor Scott, who seemed to be making brave attempts to string more than two words together to make conversation in spite of Jackie’s glacial response to his attention—now that Carl wasn’t watching.

  Mack looked at me with an apologetic shrug. He kissed my hand before he released it then asked Jackie if she’d like to take a whirl with him for the next song. I knew he was worn out, but he cared too much for his sister to let that stop him from indulging her.

  Her faced registered surprise at the proposal, but she quickly hid her reaction. Couldn’t let on to me that they didn’t do this all the time, that she didn’t know everything about him and he could surprise her.

  He maneuvered her chair between the tables and parked it along the edge of the parquet platform. After he set the brakes, he lifted her from her seat as if she weighed nothing more than a child.

  They mounted the dance floor and Mack began slowly twirling and swaying to the music, cradling Jackie in his arms. At first I was uncomfortable watching, so I looked around at the other diners. Many were watching Mack’s chivalry with warm expressions, and more than a few eyes sparkled with sentimental tears. The chatter had dimmed as more and more heads turned to see what had caught everyone’s eye. I couldn’t help but be moved myself, seeing the unconditional love Mack had for her. It was almost too intimate to intrude on with a long stare.

  He lowered her legs and held her by the waist, letting her be upright like everyone else. Her feet dangled just above the floor, hidden beneath her flowing white skirts, while her left arm held on over his shoulder and her right hand rested in his. Their extraordinary fitness allowed them to glide over the glossy platform as if they were skaters on ice.

  I had never seen Jackie with such as serene expression. She looked up at Mack as he wove her among the other couples, showing such care and sincerity that it made me forget how nasty and selfish she could be. The dark curls of her gorgeous hair were brushed up in loose ringlets, beautifully hanging in contrast to her white beaded gown. The narrow shoulder straps accentuated her amazing brown and perfect physique, exquisitely sculpted from constant use. The two made a breathtaking couple. Lucky thing I knew she was just his sister, or I would have been jealous. And I could still hate her for being so beautiful either way.

&
nbsp; When the song finished, the room broke out in enthusiastic applause—much greater than the half-hearted clapping which had previously followed each band number. The crowd was responding to Mack and Jackie. Mrs. Ellsworth, who used her white-gloved hand to swipe at a runaway tear, even stood up and raised her hands to brow level, applauding with a huge grin uncharacteristic of someone of her station.

  Mack lowered Jackie into her chair then glanced over at me. He had an awkward look on his face and was colored a deep blush. In contrast, Jackie glowed with jubilance. She couldn’t have looked more triumphant if she had walked off that stage on her own two feet.

  Embarrassed about the attention, Mack tucked his head and put all of his concentration on the wheels of Jackie’s chair that he was maneuvering among the tables. Jackie held her head high, nodding to those who still offered eye contact as if she were the Queen of England greeting her public from her golden carriage. I was waiting for her to raise her hand and give one of those backhanded Queen-waves.

  He wheeled her up to her spot at the table then sat down with his arm over the back of my chair. He seemed to want to ignore the attention he’d drawn. Leaning into my ear, he whispered, “I missed you, Bright Eyes.” His lips lingered at my shoulder, brushing my skin with a seductive kiss which sent shivers through my body.

  I could feel the heat radiating off his face that was hovering millimeters from my skin. Whether his increased temperature was from the exertion of carrying Jackie literally single-handedly for an entire dance or the discomfort of a ballroom brimming with people gawking at him, I wasn’t certain, but I knew he was hot. And I mean hot-sexy. Watching him care so deeply for someone, and be so gentle, turned me on like a steamy Romance novel. As he leaned over me, I wanted to grab him and plant a passionate kiss right smack on his mouth.

  Apparently, his mind was traveling along the same lines because he said in a low flirtatious murmur, “I wish we were at your place—alone.” His hot breath tickled my ear and made my belly do a flip like a flapjack.