“What would you say would be, then?”
“Betts, I’m trying to honor your promise to my momma, so let’s not go there.”
“Yo momma! Good grief.” We smiled at each other then, recognizing the sheer physical exhaustion in each other. “But you still haven’t told me the story of last night.”
“Where to begin?” J.D. looked up at the ceiling and then back at me. “Okay, so it’s midnight and Valerie is nowhere to be found. She’s not answering her cell and I have no idea where she is.”
“Not good.”
“No, definitely not good. And I think I told you that over the last week her behavior has been very erratic. Nutty talk, delusional really, and mood swings. All that kind of stuff. Then I found the pills and knew she was buying on the street. Not good.”
“No. That’s seriously dangerous.”
“Right.”
Just then Sandi appeared with a tray, put it on the table, and started to serve.
“You know what, Sandi? I can do that. Thanks.”
“Sure.”
Sandi knew the code for “leave us now and close the door,” which was exactly what she did, knowing she would hear it all anyway at a later time.
“Thanks, Sandi,” J.D. said.
“You’re welcome,” she said, and closed the door behind her.
“So, it’s getting very late, naturally I’m getting concerned, and then the phone rings.”
“The dreaded middle-of-the-night phone call…”
“Exactly. But it’s not the police calling, it’s the bartender from a private club downtown. He tells me that my wife is there and in no shape to drive. Somehow he talked her into giving him her car keys, don’t ask me. Anyway, she’s sitting up there at this bar with two guys from New York, drinking vodka, and she’s completely stoned on something. I say, hang on to her and I’ll be there as fast as I can.”
“Not like you live next door,” I said.
“Right, but I figure I’d ask O’Farrell for mercy if I get a ticket for speeding.”
“Ed would understand.”
“Well, that didn’t happen, but I was racing hell-bent for leather the whole way there. Sure enough, I get there, she’s bombed, we haul her butt out of this joint after tipping the bartender on the very generous side and take her home. This morning she doesn’t remember a thing, like, where is her car? So, without a word to me, she takes my SUV and goes off again, presumably back downtown.”
“J.D.? What are you going to do?”
“I have talked to her about rehab, but I’d say at the moment she’s not interested in that.”
“Obviously. She’s in über-indulgence mode.”
“Good name for it.”
“So, who were the two guys from New York?”
“Some guy who owns a string of boutique hotels who told me not to feel bad, that this kind of thing happens.”
Vinny!
“And the other one?”
“Some punk who works for him. Or used to work for him. It wasn’t clear. Seemed very nervous. He was giving the hotel guy an envelope of pictures or money or something, said it was personal. The hotel guy is probably tracking down a bad debt. Who knows?”
How small was the world?
“Did they seem to know Valerie?”
“No, they were a few seats away. Well, actually, that’s hard to say. The punk seemed familiar with her. But they helped me get Valerie out to the car and we talked for a few minutes. Why do you have that look on your face?”
“This might sound crazy to you, but I have a hunch that I know those two men. They didn’t give you a card or anything, did they?”
“No, nothing.”
“Figures. That just figures.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The Best-Laid Plans
I was in J.D.’s office, settled on a couch, wishing I had the chutzpah to say something very naughty to him and seduce him right there, but we were waiting for Ed O’Farrell to arrive so we could go over the Bulls Island vandalism with him. It wouldn’t do for the chief of police of Charleston to find us twisted up like a couple of undulating pretzels. Just a thought.
“What’s the latest with Valerie?” I said, since Ed had not yet arrived, and I felt compelled to ask about her, as I had just experienced a vision of my hips under her husband’s. Guilt.
“I don’t know. Terrible, I guess. When she’s home, she’s usually sleeping, and frankly, we aren’t talking much. When we do speak, it’s ugly. She is one very angry woman. I mean, I can’t blame her. But she’s dangerously ill, at least in my opinion, and she doesn’t want any help, so it’s very frustrating for me.”
“Great. But she thinks she has reasonable cause for her rage. She doesn’t know how well behaved we are.”
“True. I’m sure she imagines us having this huge love affair.”
“Meanwhile, we’re like Saint Francis and Saint Claire, Abelard and Héloïse…”
“Exactly. Meanwhile, every time I see her, she’s as tight as a tick or stoned to the bone or some combination of the above. I can’t seem to have a rational conversation with her. Yep. Welcome to my world. Nice, right?”
“No. It’s awful. I feel sorry for her.”
“I’m sure she wouldn’t welcome your pity.”
“I’m aware. Maybe I should say that I feel empathy for her.”
“And why in the world would you sympathize with her? What about me? I’m supposed to be helping her and she won’t let me. I get to worry about her driving drunk, maybe killing somebody. I keep taking the car keys from her, but that only causes more arguing. I mean, at some point I’m just going to have to sit her down and tell her it’s rehab or it’s really over between us because I can’t live like this forever.”
His words stung so badly it was as though he had slapped me with all his strength. I thought he had already told her he wanted a divorce. Now he was waffling. Wasn’t he? My face got so hot I was sure he could see it. All I wanted to do was to run from the room. How could I have failed so miserably to get the correct read on his feelings? It was all I could do to appear calm and centered.
I cleared my throat and said in the most cavalier voice I could manage, “Well, I guess it’s true that you can’t always get what you want in this life.”
“There’s a song in there somewhere…”
He was completely unaware of how deeply he had upset me. How crazy was I to be so unnerved? Wasn’t he merely doing the thing he had promised to do? And why was his attention to his wife’s illness and this new ultimatum he was planning give her making me so insecure? Because, my love for my son and a few friends aside, I didn’t trust the blazing emotions that seemed to accompany affairs of the heart, that’s why. I had once trusted them, and they had pulverized my life; and for all the years since then, I had sworn that I’d never trust my feelings again. All those mighty and mettle-testing proclamations…yet as soon as I saw J.D. again, I had let myself believe that our love was still alive. Apparently, he had not arrived at the same conclusion.
As those thoughts rushed through my head, J.D.’s intercom buzzed and his secretary announced Ed O’Farrell.
For some crazy reason, I found myself indulging in some ridiculous juvenile behavior. For example, Ed was wearing a suit and I had to say he looked very impressive and even intimidating, perhaps because I knew there was a gun somewhere in his pants and I wondered where it was. What was the matter with me? I needed serious hormone adjustment and a Dutch uncle’s advice.
“Hey, Ed! Good to see you!” I stood up and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Then I blushed.
“Hey, girl!” He gave me a kiss, too, and then shook J.D.’s hand.
“Come sit down,” J.D. said. “You want coffee?”
“Nah, too hot. You got a Diet Coke?” He patted his rock-hard abs and said in his Irish brogue, “Gotta be watching me girlish figger, you know.”
Returning to my senses, I smiled, thinking how lucky Sela was to have a loyal gorgeous husband, and all
at once I wished I had one, too, perhaps because it seemed like such an impossibility. Well, I wasn’t dead yet, and if J.D. really did eventually dump Valerie, perhaps, well then…well, what? You see, it only took one or two minutes and my mind was trying again to envision myself at J.D.’s side.
It was best to stay focused on the moment, I told myself, and just put those fantasies in a sealed box in my attic.
In minutes, J.D.’s secretary placed a Diet Coke over ice in a glass tumbler in front of Ed and I said to her, “Know what? Do you have mineral water? Suddenly a cold drink seems like an excellent choice.”
“Me, too,” J.D. said to his secretary, and then took his seat behind his desk. “So, Ed? What’s the news?”
“Unfortunately not much. But I called in a few favors and this is what we got. Work-shoe imprints that match a particular model widely sold by Wal-Mart, fingerprints that match nobody on God’s green earth, and tire-tread prints that match a 1971 Volkswagen van. They called every auto body shop and every detailer in the Charleston area and the whole way up to Columbia, and there are no reports of anyone bringing in a bloody van to clean. The hospital says the victim’s only visitors are family members and he hasn’t regained consciousness to be questioned. Now, there was a surveillance video from the ER delivery area, but it’s too fuzzy to make out a face or a plate number. So, unless this dude wakes up from his very long nap, we got nothing.”
“How’s he doing?” J.D. asked.
“Not well,” Ed said.
“Probably having one nightmare after another,” I said. “I would be.”
“I’ll say,” Ed agreed. “Anyway, looks like he’s gonna be in the ICU for a very long time. Apparently, he had some sort of a stroke or a brain bleed.”
“You have to wonder,” J.D. said. “You have to wonder if this guy ever thought his politics could bring him to this. I mean, alligator attacks?”
“Usually they grab little dogs,” Ed said. “That gator must have been highly threatened to attack an adult human.”
“The poor guy was most likely in between the gator and the water,” J.D. said. “Usually they grab their prey, drag them into the water, and drown them. Then they eat them—”
“Okay! That’s enough! Ew! Gross! I may never eat again!”
“Well, Ed, thank you for this highly informative session,” J.D. said with a laugh.
“If I hear anything remotely useful, I’ll call one of you.” Ed stood and drained his drink. “Gotta go back to fight the good fight and save us from whatever evil lurks!”
“Give Sela a kiss for me,” I said.
“You know it.” He shook J.D.’s hand. “Thanks for the cold one. Sorry I couldn’t tell you more.”
Ed left and J.D. went back to his chair.
“It’s one of the mysteries of life, isn’t it?” I said. “How people get so wrapped up and passionate about something, and in a heartbeat, their whole life changes in the most unbelievable ways.”
“Hmmph.”
“What? What do you mean, hmmph!”
“Where passion can lead? Like ours? Like the car accident that killed your mother? One night, one storm, one truck?”
“Good example. Yeah, that’s really true. The whole world changed in that instant. But may I point out that it wasn’t our passion that caused my mother’s death?”
J.D. was quiet. Excuse me, but five minutes ago he was telling me how he was going to lay it on the line with Valerie, and now he was mooning at me all hangdog, with guilt over his mother’s disastrous behavior all over his face? What was the point? To elicit some understanding from me? I didn’t think so. I continued talking, trying to fill up the awkward silence.
“It happens all the time, I guess. Like this poor misdirected soul who met up with Gatorzilla. I mean, he might die because he thought he was doing the world a favor. It’s so wrong.”
“Yeah, well, you’re right.”
“Glad I’m right about something. Um, which part am I right about?”
“That it happens all the time. Speaking of events that change your life and the dangers of passion, and I don’t know why I am feeling comfortable enough to tell you something I haven’t even told Valerie, but there it is. Big Jim told me a story that would make your hair stand right up on end.”
“Tell me.”
“Take it to your grave?” J.D. arched his eyebrow at me and I knew he was being very serious.
“Of course.”
“It seems I have a brother. Actually, a half brother.”
“What?”
“Yeah. I do. I have a half brother.”
“Good grief! What does that mean?”
“What does it mean? Let’s see.” J.D. looked up at the ceiling and then back to me. “For one thing, it means my mother gets her jollies every time his mother cleans our toilets.”
“Wait. Your housekeeper is the mother?”
“Yep. How do you like that? Seems she used to be an exotic dancer in one of Dad’s clubs. Dad had a roving eye back in those days—you know, a love-’em-and-leave-’em kind of deal? But this time he really fell in love. Anyway, when they discovered there was a biscuit in the oven, he wanted to marry her. But Mother, as you might imagine, flat refused to give him a divorce. So, Rosie—that’s her name—moved into one of our caretaker’s cottages and has been there for fifteen years. You know, it’s funny, I had always thought that Mickey looked like my grandfather.”
“J.D.! You mean that kid you brought to the first event out at Bulls?”
“Yes, that’s the one.”
“What a story! You just found this out?”
“Yep. And I’m sworn to secrecy not to tell Mickey, who doesn’t know. It seems that no one has the balls, pardon the expression, to tell the truth anymore.”
The room took a swirl and I took a slide to the floor. Who in my shoes would not have fainted?
The next thing I knew, my head was in J.D.’s lap and he was politely slapping my cheeks—the ones on my face, thank you.
“What happened?”
“You fainted.”
“I never faint!” My skirt was way up my legs and one shoe was missing. I must have looked a sight! “Oh, gosh! Help me up!”
After some fumbling around, I made it to my feet and found my shoe, straightened my skirt and my hair, and sat down again.
“Whew!”
“Well, at least the color is coming back to your face. You okay?”
“Yeah. I don’t know what happened!”
“We were talking about Mickey being—”
I held up my hand. “Right. I remember now. It’s okay. I’m fine. Maybe I’ll drink some water.”
“Are you sure you’re feeling all right?”
“Of course! It must be the heat. You know, I’m not so used to all this heat and humidity. Then Ed giving the gory details of gator kills…too much for me.” Playing the magnolia would excuse me.
“Did you eat breakfast?”
“J.D.! Stop! I’m fine! I swear!”
He walked around his desk and took his seat, staring at me as if keeping an eye on me would restore perfect equilibrium. Then he called his secretary to bring in some water, which she did.
“Okay. Are you able to talk a little business?”
“Of course!”
It wasn’t true. I was hardly able to keep my mind on anything he said because the discovery that he had a half brother did not seem to have made him as happy as I would have imagined. In fact, the deception made him angry. His half brother was only a few years younger than Adrian. I racked my brain trying to envision a good outcome. A family reunion? A holiday dinner? I could not see it. And the fact that J.D. had entrusted me with the information and not Valerie was an indication that he was dealing with a marriage in its death throes, not one that was being revived. The problem was that he was not ready to admit this. Or maybe I was dreaming again.
He rattled on and on about the public-relations event, saying that our companies should share a full page in the
Post & Courier inviting the public to come see for themselves. We would do a PowerPoint presentation on six big screens. There would be brochures to take home and a website to track the progress and give the public ongoing information. We would compare Bulls Island to the great successes that had come before us, like Spring Island and other communities that had worked out so beautifully and pleased the environmentally sensitive leaders. We needed a slogan; J.D. was thinking of a few and wanted me to ask New York for their thoughts, and did we have an advertising agency that we worked with that might have an idea about this?
We reconfirmed the date with Bruton, two weeks from Saturday, and decided we would ask Sela to cater. We would also ask Ed if he had some off-duty officers who could be there just in case there was trouble.
It seemed like a reasonably good start. We had a plan, and once the plan began to become reality, I knew I would feel better about the future of Bulls Island.
“I’ll call Sela,” I said, “and put together a menu and a budget. Should we serve alcohol? Beer and wine? Cash bar?”
“Normally, I would say no, that this was a business event. But maybe some beer would soften them up. What do you think?”
“I think it’s probably not a good idea, now that I’m thinking about it. There are the issues of liability to consider and that many more portable potties to rent…”
“Yeah, you’re probably right. Okay, see what you can cook up with Sela and we can plan a nice dinner for afterward for your guys from the big city. Peninsula Grill? How’s that?”
“That’s perfect. A postmortem while it’s all still fresh. Where should I put them up?”
“Charleston Place. There are loads of B and Bs around, but I’ll bet they’re the types who will want room service and all that, am I right?”
“Definitely, and the Wall Street Journal on their pillow.”
“Got it. You want me to make the reservations?”
“No, thanks. I’ll do that…”
The next hour or so was spent on the mundane details of the event and we divided up the workload between us. We had sandwiches brought in and worked through lunch, and finally around two, I felt the next step was to just go get busy laying the groundwork.
Bulls Island Page 27
