“Yes, sir,” she replied as she sat. “I am a gypsy.”
“I am a gypsy as well. But I am old. Can you tell me what lies ahead?”
“Of course.”
“Very well. Leave us.” He gave the young solicitor a dismissive wave, and the man left the room, closing the door behind him and leaving Adriana alone with her client.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Thirty minutes after she had entered the old man’s bedroom, Adriana Creed emerged with a broad smile.
“Nicu asked for you,” she told the lawyer.
They’re already on a first-name basis? the young man thought as he went into the bedroom.
Adriana popped her head into the kitchen and said brightly, “Goodbye, Mrs. Radu. I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of each other!”
He told her my name? The housekeeper frowned as she watched the impetuous young girl exit the apartment. Mrs. Radu had taken care of Nicu Lepescu for the past seven years. Other than the night nurse who was on call in case Nicu wasn’t well, she was his sole permanent provider. Most of the time Nicu was ambulatory. He shuffled and hobbled, but then again he was really old. Nicu was doing pretty well for a man who’d lived over a hundred years. He resisted her attempts to hold his arm when she accompanied him to the market. He knocked her hand away when she tried to help him rise from his chair. He wanted to be self-sufficient. That wouldn’t last much longer, but for now there was nothing she could do to dissuade him from trying to do everything himself.
When she was first hired, Mrs. Radu had been shocked by the shadow boxes hanging on Nicu’s bedroom wall. Few Romanians would have the nerve to display such medals – decorations he’d been awarded for his service during the war. Every one of them contained the small swastika of Adolf Hitler’s Nazi regime and one – the one she hated the most – commended him as an SS officer. A Jew killer.
The story was that Nicu would have been executed except the War Crimes Tribunal couldn’t directly connect him to the deaths of over three hundred thousand Jews while he served as an officer at Auschwitz. If that weren’t enough, there were thousands more – the prisoners whom SS commander Lepescu saw in cattle cars as they passed through Bucharest North train station. The court handed down twenty years without parole.
Unrepentant and unashamed, he quietly served his time, was released and then proudly hung his Nazi medals on his bedroom wall. The housekeeper was repulsed when she first saw them, but she hardly noticed them now. Nicu never spoke of the war, he treated her well and paid her a handsome salary. She forced down her initial feelings – the repulsion of working for a former SS storm trooper. He’d sent his own countrymen to their deaths and even today still proudly displayed the medals Hitler awarded him for doing it.
The young lawyer came out of the old man’s bedroom, walked into the kitchen and said to her, “The girl made quite an impression on Mr. Lepescu. It seems he wants to see her again.”
“Hmmpf,” the matronly housekeeper snuffled.
In the three years since her first visit, Adriana had become a fixture in the old man’s house. At first he asked her to come once a week. They would spend an hour or more behind the closed door of his bedroom. Mrs. Radu often tiptoed over, putting her ear to the door. Sometimes she heard muffled laughs and conversation too faint to understand. Usually she heard nothing at all.
One day she’d had enough. She wanted to know what was going on, so she fixed a cup of tea, walked to his bedroom door, knocked one time and opened it. “I made you some tea…”
The bedcovers were pulled down and the old man lay naked atop the sheets. The girl was sitting on the bed beside him, her hand on his chest. They both looked up in surprise and Adriana pulled her hand away.
“Don’t ever come in here without knocking again!” he yelled. Startled, Mrs. Radu dropped the teacup. It hit the floor with a crash, tea flying everywhere. She shut the door and got a towel from the kitchen. As she knelt to clean the spill, she heard the click of the bedroom door lock. A few times after that the housekeeper would quietly turn the knob when the girl was inside, just to see. She found what she’d expected – now they locked the door every time they were together in the bedroom.
Before long the gypsy fortune-teller was with Nicu every day. They often walked to lunch at a nearby restaurant, and she took him for strolls in the neighborhood park. That’s what I used to do, Mrs. Radu angrily thought to herself. It incensed the housekeeper that the saucy girl was taking her place with Mr. Lepescu.
She reminded herself time and again this was not her affair. Whatever Adriana was doing didn’t matter as long as she wasn’t hurting him. He was obviously happy with her visits, whatever they amounted to. But curiosity eventually got the best of her once again. One day after Adriana left, the old man came in and sat at the kitchen table.
Mrs. Radu tried to sound casual. “The gypsy girl seems to be here more and more these days. Is she giving you a lot of information about your future?”
“She does far more than that,” he replied with a raspy, mischievous laugh.
“What exactly does that mean?” she snapped before thinking.
His voice hardened. “Why are you asking, Mrs. Radu? Exactly what business is it of yours what I do with Adriana?”
She apologized for her impertinence, he went back to his bedroom without a word, and nothing was ever said again. From then on, Adriana opened the front door every day with a key he had given her. She would breeze into the flat; now and then she’d put wine and cheese on the kitchen table and instruct Mrs. Radu to put them in the icebox. The housekeeper complied, but her surly response and glaring eyes made it clear how she felt about the gypsy girl’s issuing orders.
One day Mrs. Radu heard Adriana open the bedroom door and say brightly, “Good morning, darling!” Then the door was closed as usual and they spent an hour or more together.
That was when she became convinced the girl was up to no good.
CHAPTER NINE
The Bad Man had been locked away for a long time. His services hadn’t been needed since Roberto Maas died in that wonderful fire in London. What a clever nickname he’d invented for the part of him hidden deep inside his brain, the Bad Man thought. Until the past year or so, he would appear now and then, taking over the man’s personality completely. When that happened, he did clever, naughty, bad things to people he didn’t like.
They call people like us schizophrenic, he thought to himself. That’s bullshit. I’m as sane as he is. We just live in the same person’s mind. I hate him, he hates me. But when he needs me, I make him beg. Then I make him let me out to play. He hasn’t done that in a long time. Maybe soon. Maybe I can play with the girl.
Today his other personality – the good one – sat with Adriana Creed in a coffee shop in Bucharest’s old town. While they caught up on things, the Bad Man began having sensual thoughts about Adriana. As she had matured, she’d become strikingly beautiful – even more so than in those days they spent together at the university. She’d been a mere child then, innocent about love and sex. Today, he fantasized, she would know so much more. Not only could this intoxicating woman bring him to heights of ecstasy, he could do the same for her.
Just to make things interesting, he mused, right at the summit of their passion – just as they climaxed – maybe he’d kill her.
No! Stop it now! Stop thinking like that!
Damn. That was his alter ego talking – the good person shushing him up once again, always concerned that the Bad Man would come out when he shouldn’t.
Quit worrying so much, the Bad Man whispered as he crept far back into the man’s psyche, slithering into the tiny closet where he lived. The Bad Man hated his other personality – the one that was as normal as any man on earth. That one slammed the door shut in his head, locking out the Bad Man. He continued the easy conversation with his old lover from university days.
I’ve never embarrassed you by coming out when I shouldn’t, the Bad Man snarled to himself. Maybe that’ll change if
you don’t leave me alone!
CHAPTER TEN
After all these years, they were as comfortable as if they’d parted only yesterday.
As he had walked in, he saw her across the room, her striking beauty only enhanced by the passage of time. She stood to greet him and her familiar, breezy kiss made him smile. Thoughts of the exciting, passionate nights during the two years they had lived together flooded her mind as he sat. She had been only seventeen and he was nearly twenty back then, much older and wiser.
The years helped her gloss over the bad parts – the times when he wanted to dominate and control her every move, the times when he became so angry he hit her, the times he mocked her and called her names. When he had done those things, she told herself it was her own fault. He knew best and she was just a girl. She should obey him. All men were like that – savage sometimes and gentle other times, she convinced herself. After all, he was her white knight, her rescuer and prince.
“Mon chéri, it’s been ages and you look just the same,” she breathed, squeezing his hand. He looked terrific: handsome and impeccably dressed. She’d found him irresistible back then and now – what, he must be thirty-five now! – he still had what it took to captivate her.
Mon chéri. It’s been a long time since a woman called me darling. “How long has it been – seven years? You’re absolutely stunning, you know. Some things never change!”
“You flatter me!” She flushed and stammered. She hadn’t expected him to affect her like this. “What brings you back to Bucharest? When I never heard from you, I presumed you’d moved on to greater things. Aren’t you a big-city banker now?”
“Something like that,” he dodged smoothly. “But look at you, Apostol! You look wonderful. Did you finish school?” He knew the answer already. He knew everything about her.
She laughed when he called her Apostol. It was her middle name and had become his nickname for her. He watched as she tossed her hair the way he’d loved back then. “Hardly! Once you graduated, I quit. I guess school wasn’t for me. I’m a gypsy – you are too, I know – but I think there’s more rebel in me. Maybe an education would have helped me become rich and famous like you, but telling fortunes is an easy way to make a living, and for now it suits me perfectly.”
From a private investigator he had learned she did more than tell fortunes in that shop down the street. The fact that she’d become a prostitute – although that was a word she’d never use herself, it was a fact – was immaterial. He needed her in a different way, although he couldn’t suppress a wave of lust as he imagined how she’d be today compared to the child he’d loved long ago.
Oh, so now it’s not just me. Now you want to screw her too! The Bad Man was always around, just out of sight, waiting for an opportunity to come out.
Go away! This isn’t about that!
“You’re deep in thought all of a sudden,” she commented, watching his face as he secretly battled with the Bad Man. “Have I lost you so soon?”
“Of course not. You know you’ll never lose me.”
“Ha! So tell me what you’re doing here. Why did you come back?”
He’d rehearsed this scenario so many times that the answer flowed smoothly.
“There’s something I need, darling. I have a job for you, something you’re uniquely qualified to accomplish. I want to hire you to find some information for me from your friend Nicu Lepescu.” He explained why he couldn’t do this himself and it made sense to her. Nicu would never have helped this man. But she could help him.
A half hour later his explanation was complete and she knew exactly what she had to do. She had no idea why, but he wanted her to get some specific information from a man she was already close to. He wanted to know where Nicu Lepescu kept his diary. She told him how simple this would be, since Nicu confided everything to her. Her old lover told her to take things slowly to keep the old man from getting suspicious. Taking her time was fine with Adriana. It was to her benefit to stretch things out since she’d be paid a thousand US dollars every month until the job was done. That money would come in very handy indeed.
Excellent! I’ll be seeing a lot more of you, the Bad Man squealed with delight as his alter ego said, “Here’s the first installment.” He handed her an envelope filled with hundred-dollar bills, kissed her cheek lightly and left.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
After Nicu’s funeral, Adriana sat in her living room, reflecting that she felt no sadness over the loss of a man who’d supported her for the past three years. At first her visits had been strictly professional – he had chosen her, a fortune-teller, to be his de facto priest. She told him what he wanted to hear. Yes, you’re going to heaven. Yes, you’re forgiven for your sins. No, you won’t burn in hell for eternity. He’d seemed preoccupied with death and the afterlife, and as a fortune-teller, her made-up comments gave him assurance.
After she’d been coming about a year, she arrived to find him weeping. She asked him what was wrong, and he said he had to confess his sins before he died.
“I know no priests. I have no church. Will you hear my confession?”
How crazy is this? The girl who’d never darkened the door of a church felt strange in the role of priest. “Of course, Nicu. Anything you want.”
She took his hand and he began to talk. By the time they took a break, he’d been confessing non-stop for almost an hour. It seemed as though he had every sin catalogued in his mind, just waiting for this moment. And there were plenty of sins to talk about. As soon as he began talking, his tears had stopped. There was no more sadness. He enumerated his sins matter-of-factly, without remorse or concern, as if he were simply telling his life story. The Jews whose plight he ignored, the gold and artwork the Reich stole, and his unwavering support for the Nazi Party were astounding revelations. On the outside he appeared to be a crusty old grandfather, kindly but gruff, and now she knew exactly what he really was. Just beneath the surface was a monster whose hatred of those different from him would never change. He hadn’t just sent his fellow humans to the death chamber – he thought it was well deserved. He’d enjoyed it. He was still glad to have had a part in it. This confession was simply a chronicle of his life, not a repentant plea for forgiveness.
A half-hour later Nicu was finished confessing. He hadn’t told her everything but he’d covered the biggest missteps of his life. The gold and the jewelry remained his secrets.
Exhausted, the faithless Adriana didn’t know exactly what was supposed to happen next, but she presumed he didn’t know either. She made up words that sounded reasonable to her.
“Your sins are forgiven. You are a child of Christ.”
She didn’t believe either of those statements was remotely true.
My God, she thought as she brought him juice afterwards. This man is the devil incarnate. I don’t know if there’s a hell, but if there is, Nicu Lepescu’s going to see it the second he dies.
——
She and the old man became closer and closer. Now she was both his confidante and his companion. He enjoyed her company and she tolerated it because the benefits got better and better. She had no idea where he had accumulated wealth, but he was unquestionably financially secure. He often gave her jewelry and cash, bought her anything she wanted, and he had once told her to get a nicer apartment. In return she held his hand as he lay in bed, caressed his brow when he napped fitfully, and made him comfortable. There was nothing sexual about the relationship, although Mrs. Radu would never believe it. Adriana laughed to herself as she thought of the day the housekeeper had barged in on the pretense of bringing him tea.
Nicu had been naked that day, as he was almost every day when Adriana rubbed lotion on his tired, sagging skin. It wasn’t enjoyable to her, but it was part of a day’s work and it made him feel better. When the housekeeper saw her rubbing his chest, there was no telling what she thought was going to happen next, Nicu had told her with a laugh.
From then on Nicu asked her to lock the door when they were
in the bedroom, as if he delighted in making Mrs. Radu wonder what they were up to. In truth there was nothing that even could have happened, and he asked for nothing more than her soothing body massages.
He asked about her past and she told him the truth. She’d lied about it so much she had to concentrate to keep from throwing in things that weren’t true. She owed him the truth. He had helped her more than anyone else ever had. So she told him what she herself had been told.
There was no mistaking her gypsy genes, so she knew that part was true. The story was that a dashing gypsy boy and an Italian exchange student had carried out a mad affair. They were both seventeen, and when the girl turned up pregnant, the boy did what every gypsy would do – he disappeared.
Embarrassed to have their pregnant daughter at home in Italy, her mother came to Bucharest and stayed until the baby was born. Adriana’s young mother insisted on naming her, so she became Adriana Apostol, her last name being that of her gypsy father. Days later she was handed over to an orphanage, and when she was six months old, she was adopted by Simon and Carol Creed from Bristol, England. Romanian babies were often adopted by Westerners in those days and she was just another of many. She was now Adriana Apostol Creed.
Sadly, the adoption didn’t work out. The Creeds divorced and Carol brought Adriana back to Bucharest, paying an enormous cancellation penalty to abandon the baby. After that setback, the year-old child finally got a lucky break. A Romanian family with no money but lots of love wanted a child. The orphanage had been paid twice for Adriana – once when the Creeds adopted her and again when the wife brought her back. The older she became, the more difficult it would be to adopt her out. Everyone wanted cuddly babies and the last thing the orphanage needed was a toddler. The orphanage gave Adriana to the Romanian couple.
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