Grave Promise

by David R Lewis

  “Sure.”

  “And in the past couple of days, that logic has been challenged.”

  “What? You mean you believe that crap?”

  “And you’re defensive about it.”

  “Jesus Christ, Ruby. You’re a trained and seasoned psychologist! You, of all people, should know better!”

  Ruby smiled. “Aggressively defensive,” she said.

  Crockett grimaced. “This is just some of your standard bullshit to get me talking. You don’t really buy into that mumbo-jumbo.”

  “Oh, no,” she said. “You are not gonna use me to enable your sad little support system. This conversation is about you. Finish your wine and I’ll pour you some more.”

  Crockett drained his glass and she refilled it.

  “You believe all that psychic shit?” he asked.

  “That’s not the issue. The issue is that your logical perception of the world has been challenged and you don’t know what to do with that, other than abuse waitresses and get pissed at me. By the way, I love it when your nostrils flare. If you didn’t have that cheesy mustache, I might not be able to control myself.”

  Crockett grabbed another slice. “So where are you going with all this?” he said.

  “I don’t care one little bit if you believe what Marta said or not, Crockett. I would just like for you to realize that it might be true. That it’s possible that it could be true. Don’t rush to judgment. Don’t believe it if you don’t want to, just don’t be so quick to disbelieve it.”

  “Aw, Ruby–”

  “Alright. Explain the milk.”

  “What?”

  “Explain to me how Marta knew about the milk. And don’t give me any bullshit about a wild guess. Just explain to me, logically, how she put together milk, Rachael, you, and your refrigerator.”

  “Maybe Ivy told her.”

  “Ivy didn’t know anything about it.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I asked her.”

  “Be that as it may,” Crockett grumbled, “there’s got to be an explanation!”

  “I agree,” Ruby said.

  “There has to be…what?”

  “You’re right. There has to be an explanation. There just doesn’t have to be a logical explanation.”

  “Oh, God.”

  “That’s as good as any,” she said.

  “What is?”

  “God. The Force. The Spirit. Whatever.”

  “C’mon, LaCost. Don’t start on that kinda shit.”

  “Don’t you believe in God, Crockett?”

  “Well, yeah, sorta. I mean, I think there’s something out there and all that stuff. Just maybe not like the way religion says. Maybe not like you believe. You’re Catholic aren’t you?”

  “I’m Italian. What, I’m gonna be a Buddhist?”

  “Catholics believe in God, don’t they?”

  Ruby grinned. “Sure,” she said. “It’s a rule.”

  “Okay. Maybe the God I believe in is just different that what you believe.”

  “You and Crocodile Dundee, huh?”

  “What the hell good does it do to talk about it, Ruby?”

  “Just this,” she said. “Every time we deny possibility we are potentially placing limits on God. Whether we deny the possibility of the virgin birth or that Marta knew about the milk, it makes no difference. And when we put limits on God, we put limits on ourselves. Do yourself the service of not rejecting possibility. That doesn’t mean you accept anything, Crockett. Acceptance is not the point!”

  “Whatthefuck is the Goddam point?”

  “Right now,” Ruby said, “I choose to not reject the possibility that Marta may have access to some information from a source that is outside my normal experience. That’s all.”

  He looked at her. “That’s it?”

  “Yeah. Pretty simple, huh? Almost logical in a lopsided sort of way.”

  “Almost,” Crockett sighed.

  “I also choose not to reject the possibility that you may refill my glass in the near future, that you love me, and that you may possibly even pat my bottom, should I present you with the opportunity.”

  Crockett poured some wine and kissed her on the earlobe.

  “What was that third thing again?” he said.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Now you see her…

  Monday morning Crockett had a recording session at Audio Post that lasted until nearly eleven. When he returned home, he found a note from Ruby taped to his fridge.

  Trees, Tarzan. Today’s the day. I know you’ll keep your promise because you love me and I know where and when you sleep. Consider that a threat. I’ll be home late afternoon. Sweat for me, Baby.

  Love and kisses,

  Cheetah

  Ruby and Crockett got pretty lucky with the old building. She found it near the Art Museum just two or three blocks from her apartment. Run down and dilapidated, only two of the six units had tenants when the place was put on the market. Originally there had been two identical structures side by side, but the one on the corner of 42nd and Locust had been torn down a couple of years before they came on the scene. In the Hyde Park South area of the city and overlooking Gilliam Road and Gilliam Park, the location seemed more removed from urban crush than other places only a block away. Narrow streets, old trees, fledgling artists, and laidback ambience made it very attractive.

  Like most buildings of its type in the neighborhood, the front yard could be completely covered by an oversized beach towel. Even though Ruby was about as outdoorsy as a chandelier, she did express a desire to view Mother Nature from afar. To that end, they also purchased the vacant lot next door. When the building was renovated into Ruby’s office and a townhouse for each of them, they also had the vacant lot stripped, graded, rolled and seeded. The grass had come in well before winter arrived, but Ruby decided grass wasn’t enough. She wanted flowers and trees. Crockett squelched the flower idea, not from some manly aversion to pansies, but because of a physical problem with bees. He agreed to the trees. He also agreed to a gravel walking path upon which she would never set foot, a redwood bench which would never feel the touch of her backside, ornamental grasses her fingers would never caress, and a rock garden she would never contemplate except from the comfort of a second story window. The installation of a gazebo was still in committee. Ruby had been bringing the trees up since January. Now, in early spring, the time for planting had finally come.

  While Ruby yearned to see trees in the yard, crisp clipped grass, earthy washed gravel and so forth, Crockett never deluded himself in believing that she would actually participate in the maintenance of their chlorophyll-filled friends. Ruby wouldn’t touch a shovel if it meant getting to bury her worst enemy. If it couldn’t be done in five-inch heels, the lady would simply not do it. So the construction, gardening, and maintenance of the estate fell to him.

  He drove way out to Family Tree Nursery and purchased five relatively small River Birch trees, a hundred feet of metal edging, a nice stainless steel long-handled shovel, a roll of weed cloth, two dozen landscape timbers, and thirty-five bags of cedar mulch. By three o’clock he had two of the trees in the ground and was working on settling one in the third hole, when he noticed a woman walking up the sidewalk. What really caught Crockett’s eye, other than the facts that she was young and an attractive brunette, was her general appearance.

  She was wearing an old-fashioned woman’s business suit in navy-blue tweed. Her hair was swept up on each side and loose in the back, obviously un-sprayed, and topped by a small hat with a single dark feather and a veil that came down on her forehead. Her shoes were three-inch heels, but clunky with a small open toe area, and she wore neutral hose with a dark seam up the back. Her white blouse was buttoned to the neck and showed a bit of cuff past the sleeves of the jacket, and she carried a small black purse. She had dark red lipstick, carefully penciled brows, and her cheekbones were highlighted by pinkish rouge. She was very pretty, had a confident stride, nice legs and, even th
ough she passed within fifteen feet of where Crockett was working, never even glanced in his direction. Struggling with the tree, he watched her pass out of sight as she turned off the walk toward the front of his building.

  Ruby and Crockett’s main entrance was an arched recessed stone and cement doorway with the words “The Alma” chiseled into the overhead curve. It impressed Ruby to such a degree, Crockett believed she actually contemplated changing her name when she first saw it. The main portal was an oak and glass arched door that opened into a small entryway containing two other doors. One of them led to Ruby’s waiting area, the other to the stairs that climbed up to their apartments. Since Ruby was not in her office, both would be locked. The woman could get no farther than the entryway. Crockett dropped the tree in the hole, rubbed his muddy hands on some grass, walked to the front of the building and opened the outside door. She wasn’t there.

  She also wasn’t anywhere to be seen on the sidewalk. Both Ruby’s office and the stairway were locked. Where the hell did she go? She might have come back out while he was fussing with the tree, but he surely would have seen her. The only trace of her that remained was a flowery scent Crockett couldn’t quite place that nagged with familiarity at the back of his brain. The woman? Gone.

  Just like that.

  Around five-thirty Crockett had all the trees in the ground and was laying out the edging as twilight fell, when Ruby pulled her Jag into the rear parking area. She lifted a couple of small parcels out of the car, walked to the edge of the asphalt, and peered at him. He waved and limped in her general direction.

  Ruby was wearing a pale green pantsuit with a dark green blouse and heels, and a chocolate leather car coat. Her hair was perfect, her make-up was perfect, she was perfect. As usual, the first sight of her brought a little flutter to the pit of Crockett’s stomach. She placed the two plastic bags she carried on the ground and began to applaud, then grinned and pointed to the trees.

  “If I buy you a leopard loin cloth,” she said, “will you swing from them for me?”

  “By the time these are big enough to swing from, I’ll be in a nursing home wondering where I left my tricycle. God, you look great.”

  She struck a pose and blew him a kiss. “Drop what you’re doing, join me for the Chinese that I so considerately brought home, and I’ll let you leer at me some more. Take a shower first. You could pass as The Swamp Thing. Sweet and sour pork for me, sweet and sour chicken for you, garlic shrimp, fried rice, won ton and egg drop soup. Hurry. All that dirt and sweat is just too butch.”

  She shook her bottom at him as she carried the bags to the door.

  Thirty minutes later, showered and freshly togged in brand new sweats, Crockett walked into his closet and through Ruby’s open closet door into her living room. Her dining table was awash in paper containers, several candles, a bottle of Merlot, good china and shining silver. She walked out of the kitchen in a maroon silk robe that tied around her middle and swept to the floor. Crockett had to look slightly up at her. Under that robe lurked, among other things, very high heels. Her makeup was nearly as fresh as her mouth.

  Ruby curled her lip. “I slave for hours over a hot Chinaman,” she said, “put out my best dishes and silver, light enough wax to burn down the Black Forest, drag out a twenty-nine dollar bottle of wine, put perfume in places where angels fear to tread, and you show up in sleazy sweats! Christ, Crockett! Why do I bother?”

  “I’ll have you know, these sweats are new! Unworn before this evening!”

  “Well, that’s different. Want something to eat?”

  Crockett grinned and leered.

  “No, no, no. This is not going to fall into tacky innuendo just to feed your sagging libido, Ape-man. Sleaze is my bailiwick. Sit.”

  They talked about the construction and planting in the side lot for a while. Ruby was on her fourth glass of wine and Crockett was finishing the last won ton when he recalled the incident with the woman on the sidewalk.

  “You had a visitor today.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. Some gal. I watched her walk up to the front of the building and dropped what I was doing to go see what she wanted. When I got to the door, she was gone.”

  “Whatdaya mean, gone?”

  “Disappeared. From the time she got out of my sight until I came around the front could not have been more than ten seconds. She was gone. Both doors were locked, no cars pulled away, the sidewalk was empty. Poof.”

  “Are you taking your medication?”

  “Right now,” Crockett said, sipping his wine.

  “You get a good look at her?”

  “Yeah. I watched her walk up from the corner. She passed within three or four steps of me while I was putting in a tree. She didn’t look my way or even seem to notice I was there.”

  “Pretty?”

  “Very,” he said. “And young. Sweet and clean cut. Not your type.”

  “Evidently not yours either,” Ruby said. “You out there slaving away, covered in manly dirt and testosterone, and the sweet young thing doesn’t even notice you. You probably get that a lot though, doncha Crockett?”

  “Every day of my life,” he said, hanging his head.

  “Ha! Time and again I have offered to acquaint you with not so young lovelies upon whom you could possibly foist your carnal inadequacies. Time and again you have refused my generosity.”

  “You know some straight women?”

  “Some even not so narrow as to appreciate your feeble charms. Several have even seen you in passing, and were able to repress their urges to scream and run away.”

  Ruby paused and thought for a moment.

  “As a matter of fact, one of them, a lovely lady with the unlikely name of Carson Bailey, even asked me about you.”

  “Oh?” Crockett enquired. He couldn’t help it.

  “She was curious about our arrangement. After I explained it, she became curious about you.”

  “She a patient?”

  “She’s a friend. Just a friend. Interested?”

  “Lemme think about it.”

  Ruby got up from her chair and sat on Crockett’s lap. She took his face in her hands and kissed him gently on the mouth.

  “It’s bullshit, you know,” she said.

  “What is?”

  “Your fear. Any woman who’s worth a shit won’t give a damn about your leg. I sure as hell don’t.”

  Crockett felt the lump rising in his throat.

  “Just one of the reasons I love you,” he said.

  Ruby rested her chin on top of his head and rubbed his upper back.

  “If you’d care to recite the rest of that lengthy list,” she murmured, “I’m all ears.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  A rose by any other name…

  Crockett awoke early the next morning, grinching with aches and pains damn near every place except his right earlobe. The time spent on the wrong end of the new shovel had exacted its toll. By the time he’d taken a long hot shower, dressed, and lurched into the living room it was no better at all. He flopped on the couch and stared out the window. Light rain was falling but the overcast wasn’t heavy and even seemed to be breaking up in the west. Perhaps he would yet get to limber up his green thumb as the day wore on. Oh, joy.

  He was staring in the general direction of the kitchen, contemplating the strength required to press the button on his coffee grinder, when a heavy paper sack slid quietly through Nudge’s cat door. As Crockett walked over to retrieve it, he couldn’t help smiling. Ruby was always doing something like that. She’d been out early and taken the time to help him start the day. Most likely, she’d made a special trip. She knew he woke up slowly and with considerable aches and pains, so, rather than inflict herself on him, or the reverse, she sometimes delivered goodies. Today’s goodies were two outstanding almond croissants and a cup of okay coffee from Napoleon Bakery over on Westport Road.

  Ruby and Crockett had at least one meal together each day and tried to spend two or three evenin
gs a week in each other’s company. They served as one another’s touchstones. Once in a while they actually went out, they spent the occasional weekend together on some sort of road trip, and Ruby had even been making noise about the two of them going on vacation. Knowing Crockett’s natural reclusive tendencies, she labored to keep him at least partially socialized. In return, Crockett gave her someone to pick on. He thought it was a pretty good deal.

  By mid-morning the rain stopped and the temperature climbed to near fifty. Crockett rummaged around in the basement until he found his small sledge hammer, then went out and began setting the steel edging in a random shape around his newly planted copse of River Birches. By mid-afternoon he had the edging done, weed cloth spread and anchored, and was rubbing his back as he regarded the pile of thirty-five bags of cedar mulch. He hadn’t seen Ruby at all. Tuesdays were usually her busiest day of the week.

  He was about halfway through the mulching process, pretty much covered in cedar dust and debris, when he saw her. The same woman he’d seen the day before, walking up the slight slope of the sidewalk from the corner, heading toward their building.

  She looked precisely as she had the first time he’d seen her. Same clothes, hairstyle and makeup. Crockett shook out the rest of the bag he was holding and headed in her direction intending to intercept her, but he didn’t make it. The grass was wet and he slipped, falling to his knees. One of the hazards of having only one foot. The woman was less than thirty feet away and slightly downhill when he spoke to her.

  “Excuse me, Miss.”

  She continued walking, ignoring him.

  “Pardon me, may I help you?”

  Nothing. No response.

  “Hey, Lady!” he shouted.

  They were even with each other, she on the sidewalk, Crockett kneeling in the grass, about twenty feet distant.