"Mrs. Clarke?"
She didn't answer. She just sat there.
"Mrs. Clarke? Was there something else?"
"Sorry. Oh ... I ... was just thinking of something. Yes, I ... I think I'd like to get into my vault today."
"Do you have the key with you?"
She nodded. She kept it on her key chain. She reached into her bag and handed it to him.
"I'll have Miss Lopez open the box for you."
Jessie followed him pensively, and then found herself following Miss Lopez, whom she did not know. And then she was standing in front of her safe-deposit box and Miss Lopez was looking at her, holding the box. It was a large one.
"Would you like to go into a room with this?"
"I ... I ... yes. Thank you." She shouldn't have done it. She didn't need it. It was a mistake ... no ... but what if the house and Lady J weren't enough? She knew she wasn't making sense now. She was panicking. But it was better to be sure ... to be ... for Ian. But it was all so painful. And now she had to face it alone.
Miss Lopez left her in a small, sterile room with a brown Formica desk and a black vinyl chair. On the wall hung an ugly print of Venice that looked as though it had been cut from the top of a candy box. And she was alone with the box. Jessie opened it carefully and took out three large brown leather boxes and two faded red suede jewelry cases. There was another, smaller box at the bottom, in faded blue. The blue box was filled with Jake's few treasures. The studs Father had given him on his twenty-first birthday, his school ring, his Navy ring. Junk, mostly, but very Jake.
The brown leather boxes contained the real treasures. Letters her parents had written to each other over the years. Letters they had exchanged while her father was in the service during the war. Poems her mother had written to her father. Photographs. Locks of her hair and Jake's. Treasures. All the things that had mattered. Now, all the things that hurt most.
She opened the blue box first and smiled through a veil of tears as she saw Jake's trinkets lying helter-skelter on the beige chamois. It still held the faintest hint of Jake's smell. She remembered teasing him about the high-school ring. She had told him it was hideous, and he had been so damn proud of it. And now there it was. She slipped it on her finger. It was much too big for her. It would have been too big for Ian too. Jake had been almost six foot five.
She turned to the brown boxes then. She knew their touch so well. They were engraved with her parents' initials, tiny gold letters in the lower right-hand corners. Each box identical. They were a family tradition. In the first box she found a picture of the four of them taken one Easter. She had been eleven or twelve; Jake had been seven. It was really more than she could face. She closed the box quietly and turned to what she had come for.
The red suede jewelry cases. It was incredible, really. She was actually going to take her mother's jewelry with her. It was so precious to her, so sacred, so much still her mother's that Jessie had worn none of it in all these years. And now she was willing to leave it in the hands of strangers. For Ian.
She carefully unfolded the cases and looked at the long row of rings. A ruby in an old setting that had been her grandmother's. Two handsome jade rings her father had brought back from the Far East. The emerald ring her mother had wanted so much and had gotten for her fiftieth birthday. The diamond engagement ring ... and her wedding ring, her "real" one, the worn, thin gold band she had always worn, always preferred to the emerald-and-diamond one Jessie's father had bought to match the emerald ring. There were two simple gold chain bracelets. A gold watch with tiny diamonds carefully set around the face. And a large handsome sapphire brooch with diamonds set around it that had also been Jessie's grandmother's.
The second case held three strands of perfectly matched pearls, pearl earrings, and a small pair of diamond earrings that she and Jake had bought her together the year before she'd died. It was all there. Jessie's stomach turned over as she looked at it. She knew she wouldn't really be able to leave it with the bail-bondsmen, but at least she had it if she needed it. Two days before she wouldn't have considered such a thing, but now ...
She put the rest of the boxes back into the metal vault and left the room almost two hours after she had entered it. The bank was almost ready to close.
When she went back to Bryant Street the woman was eating a dripping cheeseburger over the afternoon paper. "Got the money?" She looked up and spoke to Jessica with her mouth full.
Jessica nodded. "Did you talk to the bank about the collateral?" She had had enough, and wading through the private agony that safe-deposit box represented had topped it off. She wanted the nightmare to end. Now.
"What bank?" The woman's face wore an unexpectedly blank expression, and Jessie clenched her hands to keep from screaming.
"The California Union Trust Bank. I wanted to bail my husband out tonight."
"What were the charges?" For Chrissake, what was this woman trying to do to her? She remembered that Jessica was due back with some money--how could she have forgotten the rest? Or was she playing a game? Well, if she was, fuck her.
"The charges were rape and assault." She almost shouted the words.
"Did you own any property?" Oh, shit.
"For God's sake, we went through all that this afternoon, and you were going to call my bank about my business and our mortgage. I was here with our attorney, filled out papers, and ..."
"Okay. What's your name?"
"Clarke. With an 'E.' "
"Yeah. Here it is." She pulled out the form with two greasy fingers. "Can't bail him now, though."
"Why not?" Jessie's stomach turned over again.
"Too late to call the bank."
"Shit. Now what?"
"Come back in the morning." Sure, while Ian sat in jail for another night. Wonderful. Tears of frustration choked her throat, but there was nothing she could do except go home and come back in the morning.
"You want to talk to the boss?"
Jessie's face lit up.
"Now?"
"Yeah. He's here. In the back."
"Fabulous. Tell him I'm here." Oh God, please ... please let him be human ... please ...
The man emerged from the back room picking his teeth with a dirty finger that boasted a small gold ring with a large pink diamond. He had a beer can in his other hand. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, and had a lot of curly black hair on his arms and at the neck of the shirt; his hair was almost an Afro. And he wasn't much older than Jessie. He grinned when he saw her, gave a last stab at his teeth, then removed his hand from his mouth and extended it for her to shake. She shook it, but with difficulty.
"How do you do. I'm Jessica Clarke."
"Barry York. What can I do you for?"
"I'm trying to bail my husband."
"From what? What are the charges? Hey ... wait a minute. Let's go in my office. You want a beer?" Actually, she did. But not with him. She was hot and tired and thirsty and fed up and scared, but she didn't want to drink anything with Barry York, not even water.
"No thanks."
"Coffee?"
"No, really. I'm fine, but thanks." He was trying to be decent. One had to give him credit for that. He led her into a small, dingy office with pictures of nude women on the walls, sat down in a swivel chair, put a green eyeshade on his head, switched on a stereo, and grinned at her.
"We don't see many people like you, Mrs. Clarke."
"I ... no ... thank you."
"So what's with the old man? What's the beef? Drunk driving?"
"No, rape." Barry whistled lengthily while Jessie stared at his stomach. At least he was honest about what he thought. "That's a bitch. What's the bail?"
"Fifteen thousand."
"Bad news."
"Well, that's why I'm here." Good news for you, Barry, baby; maybe you can even buy yourself a gold toothpick after this, with a diamond tip. "I spoke to the young lady out there earlier today, and she was to call my bank, and ..."
"And?" His face hardened sligh
tly.
"She forgot."
Barry shook his head. "She didn't forget We don't do bonds that high."
"You don't?"
He shook his head again. "Not usually." Jessica thought she was going to cry. "I guess she just didn't want to tell you."
"So I lost a day, and my husband is still in jail, and my bank is expecting to hear from you, and ... now what, Mr. York? What the hell do I do now?"
"How about some dinner?" He turned the stereo down and patted her hand. His breath smelled like pastrami and garlic. He stank.
Jessica simply looked at him and stood up. "You know, my attorney must be all wrong about this place, Mr. York. And I have every intention of telling him just that."
"Who's your attorney?"
"Martin Schwartz. He was here with me this morning."
"Look, Mrs.... what's your name again?"
"Clarke."
"Mrs. Clarke. Why don't you sit down and we'll talk a little business."
"Now or after dinner? Or after we listen to a few more records?"
He smiled. "You like the records? I thought that was a nice touch."
He turned the stereo up again and Jessie didn't know whether to laugh, cry, or scream. It was obvious that she'd never get Ian out of jail. Not at this rate. "You want to have dinner?"
"Yes, Mr. York. With my husband. What are the chances of your getting my husband out of jail so I can have dinner with him?"
"Tonight? No way. I've got to talk to your bank first."
"That's exactly where I left it at twelve-thirty this afternoon."
"Yeah, well, I'm sorry. And I'll take care of it myself in the morning, but I can't do anything after banking hours, not on a bond the size of the one you're talking about. What are you putting up as collateral?"
"My business and/or my house. That's up to you. I'm willing to put up either one or both. Or I was. But I have another idea." It was crazy, it was stupid, it was immoral, it was wrong, but she was so goddam fed up, she had to. She reached into her bag and pulled out the two cases with her mother's jewelry in them. "What about these?"
Barry York sat down very quietly and didn't say a word for almost ten minutes.
"Nice."
"Better than that. The emerald and the diamond rings are very fine stones. And the sapphire brooch is worth a great deal of money. So are the pearls."
"Yeah. Probably so. But the problem is I don't know nothing until I take them to a jeweler. I still can't get the old man out tonight" The old man ... asshole. "Very nice jewelry, though. Where'd you get it?"
We stole it. "It's my mother's."
"She know the old man's in the can?"
"Hardly, Mr. York. She's dead."
"Oh. I'm sorry. Listen, I'll take this to the appraiser first thing tomorrow morning. I'll call your bank. We'll get the old man out by noon. Swear, if the stuff is good. I can't do anything before that. But by noon, if everything is in order. Do you have my fee?"
Yes, darling, in pennies. "Yes."
"Okay, then we're all set."
"Mr. York, why can't you just take all the jewelry tonight and let him come home? He won't go anywhere, and well get all this financial nonsense straightened out tomorrow. If your assistant had called the bank when she said she would ..."
He was shaking his head, picking his teeth again and holding up his other hand. "I'd like to. But I can't. That's all. I can't My business is at stake. I'll take care of it first thing in the morning. I swear. Be here at ten-thirty and we'll get everything done."
"Fine." She rose to her feet, feeling as though the weight of the world were resting on her shoulders. She folded up the two suede cases and put them back in her bag.
"You're not leaving me those?"
"Nope. That was just if I could get him out tonight I thought you'd recognize their value. Otherwise, I'd much rather put up my house and the business."
"Okay. Yeah." But he didn't look pleased. "That's a hell of a big bond, you know." She nodded tiredly.
"Don't worry. It's a nice house and a good business, and he's a decent man. He won't run away on you. You won't lose a dime."
"You'd be surprised who runs away."
"I'll see you at ten-thirty, Mr. York." She held out a hand and he shook it, smiling again.
"You sure about dinner? You look tired. Maybe some food would do you good. A little wine, a little dancing ... hell, enjoy yourself a little before the old man gets home. And look at it this way, if he got busted for rape, you gotta know he wasn't just out with the boys."
"Good night, Mr. York."
She walked quietly out the door, out to her car, and drove home.
She was asleep on the couch half an hour later, and she didn't wake up until nine the next morning. When she did, she felt as though she had died the night before. And she had a terrifying case of the shakes.
It was all beginning to take its toll. The ever deepening circles under her eyes now looked irreparable, the eyes themselves seemed to be shrinking, and she noticed that she was beginning to lose weight She smoked six cigarettes, drank two cups of coffee, played with a piece of toast, and called the boutique and told them to forget about her again today. She arrived back at Yorktowne Bonding at ten-thirty. On the dot.
There were two new people at the desk--a girl with dyed black hair the color of military boots who was snapping bubble gum, and a bearded young man with a Mexican accent This time Jessie asked for Mr. York right away.
"He's expecting me." The two clerks looked up as though they had never heard the words before.
He appeared two minutes later in dirty white shorts and a navy blue T-shirt, carrying a copy of Playboy and a tennis racket.
"You play?" Oh, Jesus.
"Sometimes. Did you talk to the bank?"
He smiled, looking pleased. "Come into my office. Coffee?"
"No, thanks." She was beginning to feel as though the nightmare would never end. She would simply spend the rest of her life ricocheting among the Inspector Houghtons and the Barry Yorks, the courtrooms and jails, the banks and ... it was endless. Just when it seemed about to end, there would be another false door. There was no way out She was almost sure of it now. And Ian was only a myth anyway. Someone she had made up and never known. The keeper of the Holy Grail.
"You know, you look tired. Do you eat right?"
"I eat splendidly. But my husband is in jail, Mr. York, and I would very much like to get him out. What are the chances of that, in the immediate future?"
"Excellent" He beamed "I talked to the bank and everything's in order. You put up the house and agree to a lien on your earnings at the boutique if he defaults. And we keep the emerald ring and sapphire brooch for you."
"What?" He had made it sound as if he were ordering lunch for her, but he had caught her attention with the mention of her mother's jewelry. "I don't think you understood, Mr. York. The house and the business are all I'm putting up. I told you last night that I was only offering my mother's jewelry if I could get him out then, without your calling the bank and all. Sort of a guarantee."
"Yeah. Well, I'd feel better with that same guarantee now."
"Well, I wouldn't."
"How would your husband feel staying in jail?"
"Mr. York, isn't there a law against bailbondsmen taking too much as collateral?" Martin had told her about it.
"Are you accusing me of being dishonest?" Oh, God, she was going to blow it ... oh no ...
"No. Look, please ..."
"Look, baby, I'm not gonna do business with some broad who calls me dishonest I do you a favor and stick my ass out on a limb for your old man on a fifteen-thousand-dollar bond, and you call me a thief. I mean, look, I don't gotta take that shit from no one."
"I'm sorry." The tears were burning her eyes again. She was beginning to wonder if she'd live through this. And then he looked over at her and shrugged.
"All right. I'll tell you what. We'll just keep the ring. You can take the brooch. Does that sound any better?"
<
br /> "Fine." It sounded stinking, but she didn't care anymore. It didn't matter. It didn't even matter if Ian ran away and they took the house and the business and the car and the emerald ring. Nothing mattered.
York managed to make the forms take twice as long as necessary, and to slide a hand across her breast as he reached for another pen. She looked up into his face and he smiled and told her she'd be beautiful if she ate right, and how he'd had a tall girlfriend in high school. A girl named Mona. Jessica just nodded and went on signing her name. Finally all the paperwork was done. He bit the end off a long thin cigar and picked up the phone to notify the jail.
"I'll have Bernice take you across the street, Jessica." He had decided to call her by her first name. "And listen, if you ever need any help, just call. FU keep in touch." She prayed that he wouldn't, and shook his hand before leaving his office. She felt as though she would stumble on the way out She had reached her limit. Days ago.
By the time Barry York had delegated the gum-chewing clerk to take Jessie across the street to bail Ian, it was almost noon. To Jessie it felt like the middle of the night She was confused and exhausted and everything was beginning to blur. She was living in an unreal world filled with evil, leering people.
The woman he'd called Bernice took charge of the papers, shuffled them for a moment, and then walked across the street with Jessie and into the Hall of Justice. She slipped the sheaf of papers Jessie and Barry York had signed into a slot in a window on the second floor, and then turned to look at Jessica for a moment.
"You going to stick by your old man?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"You going to stay with your husband?"
"Yes ... of course ... why?" She was feeling confused again. And why was this woman asking her that?
"That's a hell of a beef, sister. And what's a good-looking chick like you want with a loser like him? He's going to cost you a bundle on this one." She shook her head and snapped her gum twice.
Now and Forever (1978) Page 8