What is Love?

by Saks, Tessa

  “That’s a state of mind. You are as young as you feel.”

  “That’s what young people say—that’s what I used to say, as well. Inside this body, the machinery is worn out. It aches. It’s slow and unable to do so many things.” Sam started to cry. “I had dreams, you know. Big dreams. I had so many things I wanted to do … and now, now I …”

  Brianna’s eyes filled with tears. “Mother, I’m sorry. I had no idea you felt this way.”

  Sam waved her hand with a shrug. “What’s the difference? I can’t do anything anyway.”

  “But you can. If you at least try. I’ve always admired your strength. You have always been the bravest and toughest woman I’ve ever known.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes.” Brianna held her hands again. “Mother, you endured a lifetime of living a lie, of pretending everything was fine, of moving ahead in spite of everyone. I used to think you were … well, pathetic. I thought you acted like that because you were insecure, a doormat. I thought you stuck by Dad because you were weak. I never realized how hard it was for you. I never realized how much the gossip and society would have ruined everything … how we all would have suffered had you not lived your lie. I see all that now.”

  Sam looked up into her eyes and felt a kind of love. She realized Ellen’s daughter really did love her mother. Sam’s thoughts turned to her own mother. She missed her. Would she ever see her again? “You’re a wonderful daughter. Any mother would be lucky to have you.”

  Brianna laughed. She put her arm around Sam. “I love you, Mother.” Sam turned and looked at Brianna. “I love you, too,” she said quietly.

  They sat for a few minutes watching as others walked past. Brianna turned and faced Sam. “There is something you need to know. I think it’s better if it comes from me … now, please don’t panic when I tell you.”

  “What?”

  “I … well, got a call from a friend who’s a waiter—anyway, Samantha’s pregnant.”

  “What? She can’t be. She’s … she’s …” Sam bit her tongue. Old! God, she’s an old woman, was what she wanted to scream.

  “I know. She’s only twenty-seven. Dad and a baby! What a joke. Serves him right.”

  A dark shadow passed over Sam, and another chill rushed through her body. Pregnant! Her body temperature increased as blood pulsed angrily through every vein, her ears burning, her head ready to explode. “Pregnant!” Sam stood, unable to contain herself. “That does it, doesn’t it? That means it’s over for me.”

  “Yes, but that’s good, really.”

  Sam paced in front of Brianna. “Johnny wouldn’t want a baby. He told me. No babies. Absolutely no babies! Is she having it?” She turned away. “Of course she’s not having it.”

  “I don’t know. Sounds like they are fighting about it.”

  Sam sat down. “Good. It would ruin things for her if she has it. I know him. He’s scared to death of being an eighty-year-old dad.”

  “Mother, I’m telling this to you, to help you let go, not to give you false hope.”

  “But don’t you see?” Sam looked at Brianna and smiled. “There is a chance …”

  “Mother! You’ll never get out here if you keep thinking this way.”

  Sam clasped her hands together. “Brianna, tell me what you know. Whatever you hear. Okay?” She grabbed Brianna’s hands and held them. “Keep me posted, okay? Promise?”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “Can you see if you can get him to come see me?”

  “I’ll try—but will you be on your best behavior?”

  “Of course.” Sam raised her hand as if swearing allegiance in a courtroom. She sat staring out at the clear blue sky. She could see for miles. She could see something she hadn’t seen since she arrived. Hope was on the horizon.

  CHAPTER 31

  Ellen found the bar Samantha’s mother had chosen —a dive called Bud’s Tavern located in Jersey, near Linden, half an hour outside the city and adjacent to a decaying industrial area. After the fifty-minute bus ride to get there, and the unnerving six-block walk through desolate streets, she would be taking a cab back, no matter what the cost.

  Approaching the bar, she heard “Hey, baby!” and “Want some of this?” called out from the motley crew of bikers hanging around outside. Criminals. She should have asked Rory to bring her here. Her heart thundered as she passed them, trying not to make eye contact. She pulled on the heavy, solid wood doors to the bar, wondering why the men that cattle call at women never seem to open doors for them.

  The bar inside looked like an old medieval dungeon, dark and grim, the air dank, like rotting wood. Waiting for her eyes to adjust to the low light, she scanned the room for anyone who looked like the woman in Samantha’s baby pictures. Aging rebels and out-of-luck gamblers sat scattered around the room, no women in sight.

  Ellen slipped into a tattered vinyl booth near the front and kept watch for anyone looking like Mrs. Miller. After two cups of coffee and a dish of nuts, finally a woman arrived. She was small and withered, carrying a large motorcycle helmet under her arm. She was trying to tame her out-of-control hive of wiry, auburn curls with her free hand as she surveyed the room.

  “Sammy!” she yelled, her voice rising above screeching rock music in the background.

  “Hi,” Ellen replied, with an awkward wave.

  “Let me look at you.”

  Her “mother” reached over and pulled Ellen out of the booth. “So pretty. My baby is all grown.” She cupped Ellen’s cheeks with her nail-bitten fingers, patting them gently. “Still a firecracker, aren’t you?” She laughed and reached over, hugging Ellen.

  Ellen wrapped her arms lightly around the worn jacket, inhaling a combination of stale cigarette and cigar-infused leather. Mrs. Miller set her helmet down and unzipped her jacket. A metallic tank top burst out of the heavily zippered and fringed enclosure. Unable to avert her stare, Ellen studied the tattooed arms.

  “Noticed my new one, didn’t you?” Mrs. Miller sat down, admiring the dragon. “Yup, got it last month.” She leaned back in the booth and looked for a waitress. “I need a drink. The ride here was damn dusty.”

  Ellen sat and struggled to think about how to begin the conversation. The waitress appeared and Mrs. Miller ordered a beer and a scotch, straight up. “So, how’s that rich beau of yours?” she asked, reaching for her cigarettes from one of the many pockets in her jacket.

  “Jonathan. He’s good. In fact—”

  “He better be good to my baby,” she said, pulling a cigarette out, setting it between her thin lips. “I’ll fix him if he hurts one hair on your head.” Mrs. Miller smiled, exposing the gaps in her teeth, the cigarette dangling precariously, barely attached, save for the spit on her lip.

  “He’s the best. Don’t worry.”

  Mrs. Miller pulled the cigarette out of her mouth as the drinks arrived. Mother drained the glass of scotch in one quick movement and slammed the glass down as she reached for the beer bottle. “Ahhh!” she moaned and then smiled. “Better already. Did you bring my stuff?”

  “Sorry. I couldn’t get any,” Ellen lied.

  “Fuck!” she slammed the table with her hand. “Shit. Shit. Shit. I’ll have to go see Bob.”

  “In prison?”

  “Yes, in prison.” Mother’s voice bristled in angry frustration. “Where the hell else?”

  “Can he help you?”

  “Yeah.” She slumped back against the padded vinyl and opened her cigarettes. Her voice returned to its original, hoarse calm. “He’s connected in there. I’m supposed to stay away in case they’re watching him.”

  “Who is?”

  “Guards.” Mrs. Miller raised her overplucked eyebrows, nodding. “And the police.”

  “Why?”

  “God, you’re so fuck’n innocent.” Mrs. Miller rolled her eyes and laughed. “Cause they haven’t found the money. They’ll listen in. Tape conversations. Makes it real hard to get stuff.”

  “Oh.” Ellen felt the sti
ng of her stupidity in this foreign world.

  “That’s why I didn’t want to mention the plan …” Mrs. Miller gave her an exaggerated wink. “On the phone,” she nodded with a sly smile.

  “The plan?” Ellen tried to think what the “plan” could be. She looked at Mrs. Miller’s bloodshot eyes, searching for her meaning—the hit! The hit Samantha keeps talking about.

  “Oh yes, the plan.” Ellen nodded in agreement.

  “Well—hey, wanna another drink?” she turned and called the waitress over.

  At least Mrs. Miller had some manners. The waitress approached the table and Ellen asked for a wine list. The waitress raised her eyebrows and grinned, then looked at Mrs. Miller, who let out a loud cackle. “Ooh! Aren’t we fancy now?”

  The waitress slouched, unable to hide her disdain. “Listen, we got white and we got red … in a big box in the back.”

  Ellen smiled. “Then I’ll have a gin and tonic, with a twist, please.” The waitress nodded, then sauntered away. “Tell me about this hit again,” Ellen asked, sipping her coffee.

  Mrs. Miller leaned low, exposing a stripe of black roots, her frizzy hair wiping the tabletop as her head turned side to side. “Remember when we was joking about his bitch wife?”

  “No, I—” Ellen shook her head.

  “At the wedding … after … in the motel room …” Mrs. Miller’s hands were rotating, prompting her to remember. “Come on, with Bob and Amy—Rory was there, too. Remember?”

  Ellen tried to pretend recognition and nodded. “Oh, yes. Yes, of course.”

  “Well, we was drunk, but not so drunk that Bob didn’t get to thinking … thinking ’bout what a good idea it was.”

  “What was?” Ellen needed to hear her say the words.

  Mrs. Miller had her head practically on the table as she leaned closer, covering her mouth. “Wiping out the old lady,” she whispered, barely audible.

  It was true! These bottom-feeders actually planned to kill me. Unbelievable! Absolutely unbelievable. Ellen cleared her throat. “What type of wipe-out had you planned, exactly?” Ellen asked, summoning her calmest voice. She braced herself for the answer.

  “Not me.” Mrs. Miller raised her hands in protest. “I would never … I wouldn' hurt a fly. Nooo. It was Bob. Bob got hisself all worked up on it. After that, he started reading and planning. I never seen him so busy before—like he was possessed or something.”

  Ellen nodded, unsure of how to respond.

  Mrs. Miller took another gulp of beer, then continued. “So later, when he cooked up this plan, we was over at Bill and Amy’s and he laid it out … I told him I didn't want no part of it. You being my daughter, I didn’t want you impl … well, no part of it.”

  “Implicated?”

  “Yup. If you was implicated, we’d all go to jail. I couldn’t stand for my baby to be in jail.” Mrs. Miller reached out and rubbed Ellen’s hand. “You’re too good for that … you’re the only decent thing I done.” Mrs. Miller reached for another cigarette. “So anyhow, I told Bob forget about it. Said it was a dumb idea and besides, you was getting married anyways. Bob forgot all about everything until he heard the old lady tried to kill herself. Well, after he heard they was back together—remember you phoned and said the wedding was off for a while?”

  Had she? She couldn’t remember discussing it, but Samantha must have. The waitress appeared with another round for Mrs. Miller, and Ellen’s drink. Ellen pushed the drink aside.

  “Anyway, so Bob figured that if she was wanting to die anyways, he could help her along … kinda speed things up … then you’d be sure to get everything. In fact, he mighta even helped Mr. H be richer with a big ol’ insurance policy.”

  Ellen sat back in disbelief. This low-IQ excuse for a man would kill her, just so his stepdaughter could profit—unbelievable! Ellen stared as Mrs. Miller gloated over the brilliance of the plan.

  “That’s a terrible plan. For one thing, suicide doesn’t pay any insurance.”

  Mrs. Miller’s face dropped.

  “Everyone knows that. For another, this Ellen is onto you guys, and it could completely ruin my chances of getting anything. She went to the police and hired a private detective—”

  “Damn!” Mrs. Miller slapped the table. “She done that before, too. That bitch! She was snooping all around, looking for any dirt on you she could find.”

  Ellen blushed. Yes, she had.

  “Well, she didn’t find any, did she now?” Mrs. Miller smiled back.

  Ellen smiled. “No, she didn’t. But you see … you need to call this whole thing off.”

  “I already did.”

  “Good.” Ellen sat back in her chair. “Well, that’s a relief.”

  “Just one hitch.”

  Ellen looked up and stared at Mrs. Miller’s crooked smile. “I can’t stop it now … too late.”

  “What?” Ellen sat up, leaning forward. “Why? But, you have to.”

  “Can’t.” Mrs. Miller shrugged. “Bob paid a guy, who paid a guy, who paid another guy. Hell, it’s way too far gone to stop now, and with Bob in prison and all—it’s unstoppable.”

  Ellen went blank. “Unstoppable!” she said aloud. “Oh, no … it can’t be.” Her brain scanned all the potentials. If Samantha dies, would she also die? What would it mean? Would they switch back? Could they? Samantha would marry Jonathan if they switched and Ellen would be out of luck. Or if Jonathan found out about this hit, he’d dump Samantha so fast. Samantha could end up in jail. Oh no, I could end up with nothing and in jail. In jail!

  “I would lose everything … everything!” Ellen yelled, causing Mrs. Miller to wince. “You have to stop it. You have to find a way.” She leaned over the table. “My own life depends on it. Don’t you see what this could do, how it will ruin everything? Do you want to destroy me?”

  Mrs. Miller raised her hands in surrender. “Okay. Okay. I’ll go and talk to Bob. It won’t be easy, you know, they tape the whole visit, every word. They’re already suspicious.”

  “It’s extremely important that you try. Please Mrs. … .Mom, say you’ll try? Promise?”

  “Yes. Yes, I promise.”

  “And try to find out how they planned to do it … if you can.”

  “Poison, remember?” Mrs. Miller whispered, her index finger covering her mouth.

  “Oh my God!” Ellen cried. “Why poison?” Ellen asked, trying to mask her shock.

  “It’s easy. Unnoticeable … No one ever suspects cuz it takes so long—months even.”

  Ellen felt a sickening knot growing in her stomach. “Could it look like food poisoning?”

  “Course it could, depends how you want it. A little bit—wouldn’t even notice you was sick—just feel rough is all. Probably think you got the flu. Then two, three weeks later—pow! You’re dead as doornail. Or you make it stronger, more like bad food poisoning … just depends.”

  Ellen sat too stunned too speak. When she first heard Jonathan mention a hit, all she could think of was a tacky Hollywood plot with cartoonish hit men. Hearing about the poison, realizing that not only is it real—that it was meant for her, that she would be dead right now if it hadn’t been for Sam’s suspicions, her inside knowledge of the whole, crazy, stupid plot. Ellen shuddered at just how dangerous it all really was and how now, she appeared to be the only person in a position to do anything about it. She thought of Samantha’s treachery, how pathetic her own life is now, dealing with criminals and druggies, murderers and crazed trailer trash.

  She stared at Mrs. Miller, who relit yet another cigarette. How far have I fallen? I was queen of New York society, a respected mother and wife, a philanthropist and now, here I sit, pleading with the lowest of low lives imaginable, and for what? For the life of a woman who wants me dead. These people wanted me dead! And this Bob, he’s crazy …

  “Sammy … Sammy, What did Rory say?”

  Ellen snapped back to attention. “Rory? He never said … we aren’t talking.”

  “Good.” Mrs. Mill
er took a swig of beer. “It’s time you got that no-good kid out of your life. He’s trouble, I could see it when you first got sweet on him.” Mrs. Miller bit her lip. “He’d do anything to see you break from your rich man. Don’t trust him none. Never have, never will. He’s trouble if ever there was some.”

  “I don’t see it … he’s—”

  “You better.” Mrs. Miller shook her index finger at Ellen. “See here, I didn’t raise you to fall for no sappy love puppy, did I? Hell no! He’s a nobody, a loser—always will be.”

  “But you did, didn’t you? You fell for a loser.”

  “That’s none of your beeswax.”

  “This Bob, aren’t you stuck on him? He’s not rich, and he’s a criminal and he’s in jail.”

  “Listen here, Missy, that’s my concern.” She pushed her frizzled bangs out her eyes. “All I can say is you can’t help who you love and I love him.”

  “But he’s a loser.”

  “Not to me. He’s ambitious. That’s how people get ahead. I can’t meet no fancy rich guy like you. You seen the guys I hook up with—sorry ass cases, stealing my money and lying around all day, drunk and high, waiting for me to hand over any money I make. No thanks.”

  Mrs. Miller stared out toward the bar, lost in thought. “Bob’s different, you know … he’s brave and I respect that. He takes chances. So he got caught? He’s trying to make a better life for us, just like you are. We can only use what we got. He uses what he’s got and you …” She reached across and patted Ellen’s cheek. “You, my pretty baby doll—you use what you got, just like I taught you. That’s the way it all works.” Mrs. Miller sat back, basking in her pride. “Soon, you’ll be so dang rich, I won’t even need Bob, anyway. Hell, I might just keep him around on account of his charms, though.” Mrs. Miller winked and flashed a devious smile.

  “You’re right. I guess I’m flustered from all this crazy talk of … death and murder. You will talk to Bob, and stop all this so I can get the money, right?”

  “You bet. Say, you gonna come visit your old granny sometime? She misses you. It’s been a long time since you was by … and we could go visit Benny at the pen. Make a day of it.”