''I've been married to a few of those but they never went to jail.'' She licked her lips and almost smiled. It had been a joke after all. ''I don't know. Sorry. Can't help you. Maybe you want to check your information. Look in the phone book.''
She turned away. Kathleen thanked the woman's back and went the opposite way. She stopped a moment later when the woman called back to her.
''Are you looking for South or North Beverly?''
''South,'' Kathleen answered and the woman pointed toward Wilshire Boulevard.
''You've got to cross over.''
Kathleen nodded. She hurried on and, as she passed, the woman lowered her glasses again and put out her hand. Kathleen paused. The woman looked at Kathleen closer.
''You're not. . .'' she said thoughtfully then suddenly made up her mind. ''No, you're not.''
The lady ducked into a shop where the windows were stuffed with linens the likes of which Kathleen had never seen. But there wasn't time to linger over beautiful things she couldn't afford. Gerry O'Doul was waiting for her, ready to settle her into a new and exciting job, a new apartment, a new life. She crossed Wilshire Boulevard, resisting the urge to stand in the middle of it and throw her arms heavenward in thanks.
Her steps slowed halfway down the block. The restaurants were charming, smaller and not so elegant on this side of Wilshire and there were no big office buildings. Kathleen looked at the numbers and ignored the strange feeling that something had changed the minute she crossed from North Beverly to South. On she went, hesitating when she crossed Olympic. Kathleen looked longingly behind her. She could still see the grand boulevard, Wilshire, legendary as the real estate on which sat the finest shops and hotels in Los Angeles. It was far away. In this block there was a change again. Office buildings once again lined both sides of the street, but now they were yellow brick and beige stucco, not marble.
Kathleen stopped.
She looked up, back then up again.
She'd arrived.
1820 South Beverly was right in front of her, a skinny building squished between two larger ones and all of them looked a little tired.
1820 South Beverly was the place where she would make her mark. Sadly, it didn't look as impressive as she'd imagined. Then she looked at the door. Now that was impressive.
Touching the shining brass plate on the heavy glass door as if it were the portal to Oz, Kathleen gripped the handle, opened it and slipped through. The door shut with a whoosh and she was sealed inside. It took a moment for her eyes adjust to the dim lights and realize she was actually in a small lobby instead of the hushed reception area of the fantastic suite of offices she had expected.
A green 'exit' sign hung over a door at the far end of the narrow room like a personal invitation to bolt. At a ninety degree angle another sign indicated stairs were available if she wanted to take some time ascending to great heights. To her left the brass door elevator dominated the mole colored wall. On her right a brass encased information board was mounted like a fine painting, complete with display light. The floor was real marble. How lovely. How appropriate.
Kathleen checked the board. O'Doul & Associates was on the second floor, a chiropractor on the third. He had a full floor. That was a very, very good sign. She called for the elevator, punched the button for the second floor and let her marvelous chest swell with pride. Banning and life as she had known it was left behind in the marble lobby. The bevel-mirrored elevator took her one floor up to her destiny.
This was it.
The doors opened.
She deserved a break.
She walked up to the door with the tasteful legend, O'Doul & Associates.
She would work hard.
She turned the knob, ready to take her place right next to her uncle.
She was going to be a star.
Kathleen wanted to cry.
Her cubicle at Dorty & Bryer was better turned out than the offices of O'Doul & Associates. Kathleen looked behind her to make sure this door wasn't the gateway to a time warp. She felt her lips turn blue beneath her clear red Cover Girl.
The rug, brown flecked with beige, was shag and worn near the door. She turned twice, eyes down as her navy and white spectators did a little dance on the offending carpet. The floors should have been hardwood and gleaming. At the very least carpeted in a tight weave New England gray, bright and well cared for. The walls were covered with grass cloth, yellowed in places where the light came through the dated blinds. There should have been tasteful shutters.
Kathleen's knees wobbled, but she refrained from sitting down for fear the chairs in the corner were what they seemed - Naugahyde rather than real leather. There was a desk but no receptionist; a less-than-streamlined console, but no calls. There was an ashtray the size of Texas, rough and fired in chocolate brown, like the pots sold at the Banning street fair. A basket with a dusty silk plant nestled tight in the corner. It looked like fake foliage in a graveyard. Gerry O'Doul's office was a nightmare of seventies chic. She hated the seventies but, above all, Kathleen hated the silence.
''Hi!''
''Oh!'' Kathleen almost jumped out of her skin. She was on the last quarter turn of her little shuffle, stopping cold as she came full circle.
''I'm sorry. Didn't mean to scare you.''
The girl smiled. Her hair was long, dark and straight. Big, round, thick glasses magnified her eyes. A skirt straight out of Bette's Banning Boutique swirled about her ankles. Kathleen closed her eyes briefly and realized that thought made her homesick. If she left now, she could make it back in time to beg Jay for her old job. She could apologize to Cherie for her arrogance. She could. . . Her lashes fluttered. Her eyes opened. She couldn't do a darn thing until she got out of this place.
''It's okay. I'm sorry too. I'm not usually so jumpy.''
''You here to see Mr. O'Doul?''
An imaginary tail tickled between Kathleen's legs as a neon NO flashed so brightly in her brain she was sure it seared right through to her forehead. Then conscience kicked in and shame came with it. Gerry O'Doul hadn't promised her a pot of gold; she'd just assumed he was sitting on it. On the other hand, looks could be deceiving. People were always telling her that weren't they? Maybe he just didn't like to spend money on furniture. Maybe all the associates were out to lunch - at three in the afternoon. Kathleen clutched her bag. Who was she kidding? The law offices of Gerry O'Doul had stopped functioning. There was nothing deceiving about that.
''Yes, I am.''
She would just say hello.
''Is he expecting you?''
''Yes.'' She felt sick. He would see how wrong this was too.
''I'm sorry, I don't remember an appointment, Miss. . .'' The girl's eyes narrowed, elongating behind her amazing glasses. ''You're not. No. You couldn't be. I bet you're Mr. O'Doul's niece, aren't you?''
''Kathleen Cotter.'' Kathleen's hand went out. She was on automatic pilot. The girl looked at it, then back up at Kathleen.
''He said you were - well, he just said - I mean he didn't say you looked like. . .'' The girl seemed inordinately uncomfortable but she got over it. ''I'm sorry. Hey, sure, Miss Cotter. He's really been looking forward to you coming. So have I. It can get really lonesome around here sometimes.'' The girl shifted the bag she was carrying into the crook of her arm and took Kathleen's hand and shook it vigorously. The scent of eggs, bacon and salsa floated between them ''I'm Becky. I do the books. I do other stuff, too.''
''Kathleen,'' she said stupidly.
''Yeah, you said. I just didn't want to seem too familiar. Mr. O'Doul is so proud of you. I know all about you. His niece, the lawyer. He was tickled pink when he got your letter about your mother.'' Becky's mouth rounded to an O of self recrimination. ''Oh, I didn't mean he was tickled to hear your mom died. He was tickled to hear from you because he always wondered how you were doing. He used to tell me all about when you were a kid.'' She rocked her head and rolled her eyes and grinned goofily. ''I've heard it for ages, how much he adored you.''
Kathleen lowered her eyes to check for shackles around her ankles. Becky had just slapped them on and thrown away the key. Kathleen couldn't have felt more disloyal.
''How long have you worked here?'' Kathleen moved with her toward the desk. Becky set herself down along with her brown bag and Styrofoam cup.
''Want some?'' She ripped the bag and held out a breakfast burrito that could have fed half of Banning. Kathleen shook her head.
''How long have you been here?'' she asked again. ''Working with Mr. O'Doul, I mean?''
''Oh, wow. It seems like forever,'' Becky's lid fluttered shut as she took a bite of the burrito. Kathleen's stomach lurched. She wasn't feeling well at all. To be forever in brown shag heaven with the real Beverly Hills only steps away was an overwhelming thought; as overwhelming as was the scent of Becky's breakfast. Kathleen moved a step away. Then she realized that wasn't all that made her stomach churn. There was something else in the air. It was the smell of failure. Failure and breakfast burritos. She could get both in Banning.
''A long time,'' Kathleen muttered. Becky was just too happy to be specific.
''Let's see, I've been coming in three days a week for about two years. Then last year he cut me down to two days a week. I do the books, you know, just whatever he needs done.'' She leaned forward like she and Kathleen were old friends. ''To tell you the truth, I think he has me come in 'cause he's lonely.''
Kathleen's heart stopped beating. Lonely was a word she'd heard once too often from old people. Hearing it now, Kathleen knew what was really bothering her. The offices of Gerry O'Doul reminded her of a sick room.
Slowly she willed her heart to beat again even as her mother's voice niggled at the back of her mind. Kathleen could hear her clearly: shame on you being so shallow, so self centered, so mean spirited. Stay where you're needed, Kathleen. That's what young people were supposed to do.
Fine, mother. Fine.
She was all those miserable things. Selfish, shallow and self -centered. She'd do penance. But if she didn't get one really good reason to stay she'd walk out the door because she wasn't that young any more and she had already paid a peck of dues.
''What about his clients? He must need you more often than that to deal with his clients?''
''Oh, sure. We see clients now and again. But mostly he just leaves me paper stuff to do. He just leaves it for me in this box.'' She touched something to the side of her desk. Indeed it was a box, one that was covered with shelf-paper. There was nothing in it and Becky didn't seem to mind at all. ''He goes to court, too.''
Becky brightened as she tried to paint a glowing picture of O'Doul; unfortunately it was obviously faded after its years in the spotlight. Lord, what had happened? Gerry O'Doul. Defender of the Road Warrior. Gerry O'Doul, the man she studied about in law school. Gerry O'Doul beloved and dapper uncle, rake who deserted her and who she still loved through the years. She was in the wrong office. This was the wrong Gerry O'Doul.
''I feel really bad eating in front of you.''
Kathleen blinked at Becky. She'd been dreaming. Not just for a moment but for years. Now she was awake and reality was a chatty girl stuffing her face, telling Kathleen the way it really was.
''Are you sure you don't want to share? You know, Mr. O'Doul will be here any minute. He called before I ran out and said he'd be up in a few minutes.'' Becky put her feet up on an open drawer. ''Between you and me I think he's gone off to the barber. He wanted to look real special for you. I kind of got the feeling it's been awhile since you two have seen each other. I mean maybe there was some kind of, well, you know. Kind of a falling out. Suddenly Becky shook her head. ''Boy, you sure don't look like I imagined you would.''
It was time to go. Kathleen didn't want to be a twenty year old part-time receptionist's best friend. She didn't want to be a thirty-year-old out of work attorney. She didn't want to be in a place where she'd be surrounded by opportunity and not have the tools to take advantage of it. Gerry O'Doul was not powerful, rich or successful anymore and she wasn't fifteen and gangly. She knew exactly how she looked: blond, full-chested and full hipped like an old time pin-up girl. The last thing Kathleen wanted was to have this girl constantly reminding her that she wasn't what was expected. In another minute Kathleen knew her heart would break.
Without another word, only a mumble of apology - as much to the absent Gerry O'Doul as the curious receptionist Becky - Kathleen Cotter fled. Reaching for the door, side-stepping toward it, head turning so she wouldn't have to look at Becky's surprised and unsatisfied expression, Kathleen took her leave.
But the powers that be weren't ready to make it easy on her. As if on cue, the door opened. The man of the hour had arrived.
''Kathleen Cotter.'' Gerry O'Doul smiled and the heavens opened up. ''Look what a beautiful woman you have become.''
Kathleen's shoulders dropped. She almost swooned. Not because she was disappointed her escape had been foiled, but because she had no idea how much she'd missed him. Damn if she wasn't happy to see him. How wonderful, after all her lonely years with her parents, to have arms held out to her in welcome. There wasn't much to do, but walk right into them. She stayed put instead.
''Uncle Gerry?''
''Sure, do you have to ask?'' he chided, with a gentle chuckle.
Dropping his arms he took no offense that she hadn't come to him. He understood how time worked. It stretched so far that one couldn't see the happy beginning with so great distance behind them. And time could be cruel when it snapped back, jumbling the joys and disappointments into a great big confusing bubble. They would discover one another again in another length of time. He didn't have as much time as she did, but there would be enough. Of that he was sure.
''No.'' She tripped over the word and tried again. ''No.'' She shook her head. ''I'd have known you anywhere.'' She smiled truly as the shock wore off. He smiled back broadly. This was a Hallmark moment. Kathleen hadn't believed in them until now. She would have preferred they remained a thing of the imagination.
''Then let's get reacquainted, for sure I'd not have known you anywhere.''
With that he came to her and took her elbow, gentleman that he was. Graciously he steered her across the horrid brown shag and past Becky's desk as if they were gliding across a dance floor. He was leading and the dance would be a spirited tango. He tilted his head to confide in her but spoke to her shoulder. Kathleen was so much taller.
''Vile food she eats, but you'll find her just the ticket when you need work done. You two girls will get along just fine.'' He patted Kathleen's hand and sent a glorious smile Becky's way.
Kathleen looked over her shoulder to see the last bit of egg stuffed tortilla disappear into Becky's mouth even as she looked fondly upon Gerry O'Doul. Kathleen could swear there was a tear drop in the corner of the secretary's eye. Thankfully, Kathleen wasn't as given to high emotion. All she had was a lump in her throat.
Kathleen inched across the room, deftly stepping over the small tear in the carpet as she looked at the wall of pictures. Hanging there, caught in the years of his long prime, was the Gerry O'Doul she remembered. Her Uncle Gerry was dapper with his well styled silver hair and perpetual tan. He looked ageless then just as he did in these pictures. There he was with Sam Yorty, the diminutive mayor who ran Los Angeles before the San Diego Freeway ran through it. Gerry with Cardinal McIntyre. Gerry with Ronald Reagan. Gerry with. . .hair!
''Here you are my girl.''
Kathleen blinked and looked away from the pictures. The wavy silver hair was gone leaving only a meticulously slicked down fringe of white and a few long strands that lay across his otherwise bald dome. Gerry smiled, underscoring the fact that his narrow face was no longer cut and clipped, but gently cradled by his fine bone structure. His translucent skin was barely wrinkled but it was lightly spotted with age. His ears were bigger than she remembered.
''Kathleen?''
She shook her head and focused on his eyes. They still sparkled but she thought they had been a deeper
blue, not faded like well-washed denim. He held a champagne flute of exquisitely cut crystal toward her, a bottle of champagne sat sweating in an equally impressive silver bucket on his exquisitely carved desk. Here, in his inner sanctum, were the last trappings of his heyday. She looked away. She couldn't bear to be surrounded by reminders of what had been, if she were Gerry O'Doul. She couldn't bear to look at these reminders that she was too late. This wasn't the opportunity she had imagined, not the chance she had counted on.
''Thank you Uncle Gerry,'' she said quietly.
Gerry laid the edge of his flute against hers. The ting made Kathleen think of the final drink on New Years Eve. Kathleen never cared for New Years Eve. It always meant the end of another uneventful year, rather than the beginning of an exciting new one. Kathleen sipped. The glass stem was heavy between her fingers, the lip fragile beneath her own; as heavy as her heart, as frail as her emotions.
''Oh, but I can't believe how you've grown,'' Gerry said.
''Tall,'' Kathleen muttered. Both hands were now grasping the flute.
''And beautiful. How you ever became so glamorous is beyond me. Your mother never was one for fashion.''
''Mom was sick for a long time. She watched television; I looked at fashion magazines.''
Kathleen stiffened, embarrassed that she had shared even that much with him. Magazines had been her inspiration, her training ground for the real world when she was finally free to step into it. She'd learned her lesson well but the world was disappointing her now. She wanted Gerry to understand it had been hard and lonely in those rooms; she wanted him to know how much she longed for the life he had. She wanted him to see her disappointment in his reality. Gerry didn't seem to notice, his joy was so great. Kathleen couldn't bring herself to tell him exactly how she felt.
''Look at you, Kathleen. Sure, didn't I think Jean Harlow was waiting for me when I came in? A tall Jean Harlow to be sure, but then even I'm not old enough to remember her. I usually don't like a woman's hair short like that, but on you it's wonderful. So tall and shapely, and dressing like a woman should. Feminine. A brain, too. Ah, but aren't you a class act, Kathleen Cotter. You'll be the darlin' of the press. The judges won't be able to resist you.'' He raised his glass again and drank to the glory that was her.
Character Witness Page 3
