The Jewel Box

by C Michelle McCarty

  “Keeps you on your pretty little toes, huh?” He reached down and gave her a hug.

  “Yes, sir.” Nikki said, before skipping over to his tape player.

  Beau hugged me. His broad shoulders always made me feel so secure. “I love a man who’s not afraid of hard work or getting his hands dirty, but please wash up for lunch.”

  “How thoughtful, baby.” He washed his hands and grabbed a deck of playing cards.

  “Who’s singing this pretty song?” Nikki asked, leaning closer to the music.

  “The Little Sparrow, Edith Piaf,” Beau answered. “Singing Non, je ne regrette rien which means, No, I regret nothing.”

  “I like it,” she said. “A lot.”

  “Precocious for her five years.” Beau nodded toward Nikki. “Ms. Piaf is a famous French singer who led a tragic life that we’ll discuss when you’re older. Here, take this cassette and I’ll buy another.”

  “You don’t have to do that, Professor Higgins,” I said, despite wanting to hear more of her mesmerizing voice.

  “Take it.” He placed the tape in my hand. “I insist. Now c’mon, Nikki.” Beau motioned her to a booth with a window view.

  We ate deli food I fetched in transit, and Beau taught Nikki a new card game and a few magic tricks. “Teach her your ‘Jack of Clubs’ ruse.”

  “Now, baby, you know that’s more than sleight-of-hand and took me years to master while working Vegas.”

  “Right.” I grinned. “I know it’s only been closed a few weeks, but do you miss the Jewel Box, Beau?”

  “Well, it was an exciting adventure that made a ton of money, but also created tremendous tension with Celeste. One being club gals, the other, her elitist pals. We live on the outskirts of River Oaks, so my sweet wife of privileged youth felt anxious her socialite friends might learn about the go-go joint.” Beau was careful not to use the term “strip” in Nikki’s presence.

  “I understand that fear, but not her jealousy of you and club chicks.” Flattery was Beau’s only flirtatious act, and despite countless girls trying to bed him, he tactfully turned them down and went home to Celeste and their son Gilles.

  “Human nature. Celeste is a beautiful woman who loves to look great and get compliments from men, but by God, she didn’t want me looking at any women.”

  “You shouldn’t use God’s name in vain,” Nikki chastised.

  “I’m sorry, precious one.” Beau squatted to her level. “Do you forgive me?”

  “Of course!” She allowed him to lift her high for a farewell hug and kiss on the cheek.

  “God’s name in vain…whose input is that?” he whispered to me after she grabbed our basket to take to the car.

  “My sister or mother, I’m guessing. I don’t hang out with many chaplains.”

  “Well, please come back and see me again. The Grapevine should be open for business in a month or so.”

  “The Grapevine?” I asked, honored he named it from my song choice of long ago.

  “I thought it a good name for a little neighborhood wine bar.”

  “Oh yeah.” Silly me. Who the hell remembered my spastic dancing to that song?

  “This arched doorway you walked through will be covered in grapevines, and the brick entry will remain, but a new door is being built from French oak to replicate a wine barrel, and it’ll have a wide leather strap as its handle. Hopefully the front will be a cozy invitation.”

  “And once inside you’ll be playing Edith Piaf as background music?”

  “French, Italian, and American music. Can’t show prejudice, but nothing sets a better mood for drinking than Italian crooners. Being on the opposite side of the Medical Center from the Jewel Box, I doubt this place will be a gold mine like that go-go club, but getting it up and running is satisfying in itself.”

  “I’m glad you’re enjoying life, Beau.”

  “You too, baby. By the way, I’ve got another McMurtry book for you to read.”

  “Can’t wait.” I kissed his cheek. “And thanks for your continued efforts to cultivate my mind.”

  “No effort involved. I enjoy sharing things I like and I’m glad you get such a kick out of some of my obsessions. Hell, life is twice as exciting when you share the fun.”

  “Yeah.” I reflected back to the Jewel Box, getting mixed emotions.

  Beau seemed to interpret my thoughts. “Baby, life is a unique and wonderful journey. Relish all memories—not just the good ones.”

  Beau was more than my spiritual guide through sin city. He had touched my soul with his warmth and wisdom, and left an indelible mark on me that would never vanish. My plan was to never be too far from the sound of his bass voice and heartwarming laughter. Laughter I was sure could bring about world peace.

  11

  “My Camaro’s in the shop and I need a ride to the east side.” Delilah jumped into my car before it came to a complete stop in front of my apartment.

  There was no shoving her out. “Jeez, I just failed an interview and need some alone time.”

  “Please, Sha-reee. I gotta get somewhere pronto.”

  I backed out, left our complex, pulled onto the freeway, and headed east while she babbled between spitting out directions. “Take that exit.” She pointed ahead. “We’re gonna get stoned together.”

  “Sweet offer.” I gave her a disapproving scowl. “But I’ll pass.”

  “C’mon, smoke some pot and get in the groove. When we get to this dude’s we can get an all time high. I hear it’s really happenin’ at his pad.” She slouched in her seat.

  “Well, it’ll be happenin’ without me. My daughter needs a cognizant mom when she gets home from Rachel’s.”

  “Oh yeah, little Nikki . . .” she said as though she had already forgotten my child.

  As we passed a dilapidated yellow frame house with a porch full of junkyard debris and a trashed out lawn overgrown by weeds, Delilah bolted upright. “Back up, I think that’s the place.”

  I looked at the rusty washer-dryer combo sitting next to a shabby sofa on the porch, then at a beat up VW bus with flats all around, then at Delilah like she had water on the brain. “For crying out loud.” I made a U-turn. “It’s Tobacco Road, Texas style.”

  Delilah ignored my comment as a young hippie girl walked onto the porch, sporting a mop of hair that appeared immune to grooming. The young girl in teensy tank top and blue jean shorts, dropped a bowl of food on the porch, yelled toward two mangy dogs lying under a tree, and then waved at me and Delilah before turning to go back inside. Her shorts had the rear end cut out, leaving only the seam going up the crack of her ass—showing off dual tattoos. Left cheek read “Eat,” right cheek, “Me.” That keister will be the highlight of some mortician’s day when she passes to the great beyond.

  Delilah invited me to cruise inside with her while she picked up a dime bag. I declined her invite and raised my radio volume to sing along with recently departed Texan, Janis Joplin. Without warning a male voice crooning Me and Bobby McGee was filling my Mustang with his rank breath.

  “Tragic death,” said the bearded ox, covered head-to-toe in tarantula tattoos. As his sweaty body inched further inside my open car window, I slid out the passenger door and into the dude’s happenin’ pad. The time to catch and release Delilah had commenced.

  The sun seeped feebly through tiny portions of long windows, opaque from years of accumulated dust and grime, and partially draped with towels and sheets that had seen better days. Tossed throughout the house were leprous mattresses occupied by two or more grimy individuals and overstuffed bean bags serving as beds. With beads clicking and swaying behind me and Spirit in The Sky blaring around me, I stepped over beer cans and dirty laundry as I wandered room to room searching for Delilah. Sitting on a sofa that held slightly more appeal than the filthy floor, she was opening a bag of grass when she saw me.

  “C’mon. Sit.” Delilah casually motioned me over.

  I sandwiched myself between her and a kid who looked much like Sean.

>   “Groovy,” he said. His soothing voice reminded me of Sean, and I allowed myself to lean against the sofa and temporarily drift into memories. “Want a hit?”

  “No thanks.” I gazed at the plaster peeling walls with their shrines to Jimi Hendrix as he passed the joint to Delilah who took a long drag before passing it to others.

  “There you are, purty gurl.” The tattooed, bearded guy reappeared and squeezed in beside me and the kid, adding more grime to the sofa.

  “It’s time to pick up Nikki from Rachel’s.” I thumped Delilah while rising from the sofa.

  “Peace,” said the young man.

  “Bummer.” Delilah stood beside me, flashing the peace sign to her newfound friends.

  “Indeed. Thanks for my introduction to Houston’s drug scene.” I grabbed her arm to keep her from stumbling over a naked couple and miscellaneous other clutter as I navigated our way out the front door.

  Meanwhile, Gabriel and I seemed to be on different wave lengths in general, with him wanting to talk when I didn’t, and vice versa. No surprise when he started spending excess time with Hank, an outgoing wilderness-type business associate near his age. Who could blame him? Wallowing in guilt, self pity, and sleep deprivation due to post-abortion nightmares, I wasn’t exactly a weekend at the Brazoria County Fair.

  Poor Nikki, coping with a moody mom and absentee father. Kent promised to pick her up for visits, but usually called with excuses why he couldn’t come. My anger rose each time she lugged her packed, tiny suitcase back into her room, gloomy with disappointment. I’m not the violent type, but seeing her so sad made me want to kick his teeth up through his nose.

  “Well, Blondie,” Gabriel said in solemn tone when I answered my phone. “Al called to say he just drove past the Jewel Box and saw bulldozers plowing it down.”

  “I might cry.” I went flush with melancholy. Despite a few unpleasant memories, that place brought me to Beau—a compassionate father figure when I desperately needed one—and to the love of my life.

  “Tears won’t help. City planners are making way for the new South Expressway come hell or high water.”

  “Well, I hate progress and hearing that really makes me sick to my stomach. That noisy, little club was where we shared special memories. Like secretly carving C/G inside that shelf of Beau’s mahogany bar the night he was too busy counting money to notice our monkeyshines.”

  “Blondie you’re too sentimental. It was ironic we met in such a place, but still it was just bricks and mortar. We got lots of time for making memories.”

  The demise of the Jewel Box triggered a surge of sadness. “I miss Sean. He died too young to keep making memories.”

  “Don’t start,” Gabriel said.

  “But I feel guilty.” I broke into tears.

  “Cherie, God didn’t take Sean’s life because you had an abortion, so drop your guilt and stop being so goddamned morose.” His voice rose to a shout. “Sean’s dead. It’s not your fault, and we can’t bring him back. I’m sick to death of your poetic soul wrenching and your deranged attachment to the past!”

  “Deranged attachment!” I screamed back. “Screw you, Gabriel.”

  Click.

  His slamming the phone left me listening to static and acknowledging the distance growing between us. I cursed him for not stopping me from having the abortion—an event I constantly relived in my head, but never spoke about.

  Kent exited Nikki’s life as abruptly as he re-entered it, leaving a pitiful support check he sent sporadically as our only remnant of him. Wise for her age, Nikki intuitively stopped packing suitcases and waiting around for her “No show” father. Spending more time with Ellen’s family was my antidote to Kent’s absenteeism.

  Nikki was spending another weekend with Cousin Jimmy when I fell into abysmal depression. Unable to shake the guilt associated with my abortion, Sean’s death, or causing two precious girls to be without their father, I proceeded to get considerably drunk. I couldn’t walk a straight line, but the cashier at U-Tote-Em sold me two bottles of Nytol, which I knocked back with orange juice on my way home. Apparently Gabriel called and failed to rouse rational conversation from me, especially when I said something about joining Sean in Valhalla. He called paramedics who came and broke through my door.

  In the ambulance they pounded my chest and asked questions. I didn’t answer. I didn’t want to be rescued. I wanted to end my pain and confusion. I called Sean’s name, and saw visions of him as I drifted in and out of consciousness. Through the darkness a shadow seemed to swirl into a funnel of wispy smoke, and I reached for Sean’s hand. “I’m sorry” I kept saying as I struggled to grab onto him, but as my breathing weakened, he slowly faded away.

  They pumped my stomach at the hospital, and later fed me breakfast through a tube. Several days and several psychiatric consultations later, I was released to Ellen’s care. I looked at Nikki as she sweetly rubbed her tiny hand across my cheek. How could I have been so incredibly weak and stupid? Leaving a dependent child without a parent is a selfish crime, not a heroic self-sacrifice. Mythical Valhalla would have accepted Sean, a hero who died while trying to save others, but I would have been rejected and sent straight to Hell.

  Justifiably angry, Gabriel called daily and spoke only with my sister about my condition. It took days before I could dial a phone, and I spoke in fragmented sentences for weeks, constantly groping for words. As I slowly recovered, Gabriel slowly released his anger and returned to my side. Though I knew I would never attempt such a foolish act again, Ellen kept a close watch over me. Like a hawk. She was always there for Nikki and me, but never made me feel worse than I already felt, by asking “How could you?” or “Why?”

  Months passed without communications from Kat, so when she called and left her number with Ellen, I couldn’t wait to hear her sassy voice. Oh, my. Kat found the Lord. She married a minister, moved to some small southeast town near Galveston, and was hanging out with other born-again Christians, quoting scriptures and doing whatever else holy rollers do. I’m sure she didn’t mean to come across as overly pious, but after my adultery and abortion, talking to those of the holy cloth ranked right up there with Tabasco enemas. After numerous strained conversations with Kat trying to save my soul (possibly her atonement for helping tarnish it), and me ending the calls abruptly, we eventually lost touch.

  In typical terse fashion, Gabriel dismissed my moments of grief over lost lives by kissing me instead of allowing me to articulate my heartache. I appreciated the passion, but wished for a little compassion from him every now and then.

  And although she hadn’t been the best babysitter for Nikki, Delilah’s warped personality somewhat kept me from wallowing in guilt. She’d quit smoking pot and started stalking me for recreation. Of course, Delilah and I had that bond. I don’t know where I was when Neil Armstong walked on the moon, or who was with me the day Kennedy was shot, but I’ll never forget the person who chaperoned my abortion.

  Every time I took Nikki to the pool for swim lessons, Delilah appeared.

  “Under water, lovey,” I instructed my daughter to duck her head and ears. Delilah’s topics were a bit risqué for youngsters.

  “I’m sick of these son-of-a-bitch losers in my life,” Delilah complained.

  I said nothing. No need to invite more tales about the wayward men she socially entertained.

  “Course I thought I’d hit the jackpot with my Greek God fireman. Cherie you should’ve seen his ‘down under’ arsenal.”

  “Hey lovey, can you show Mommy how long you can hold your breath down under?” I encouraged Nikki.

  “Yep, he helped me drain three quarts of Boone’s Farm strawberry wine, and then made hot, burning love to me in his Corvette while I wore his official firefighter’s helmet.”

  I figured Nikki couldn’t interpret the meaning of “healthy throbbing hose,” but other adjectives Delilah used to describe his fiery unit caused me to cringe.

  “Fantastic,” I said to Nikki as she resurfaced. Del
ilah assumed I was commenting on her affairs, and opened her mouth to continue. “Can Mommy time you?” I asked my girl, who quickly ducked down holding her nose.

  Delilah swigged her Pepsi and burped. “But I haven’t heard a damn word from that bastard.”

  What a surprise, I thought as Nikki’s head popped up to knock water from her ears. I assured her she had set a new time record for holding her breath underwater, and then tactfully changed subjects by asking Delilah about her new job. Details about Methodist Hospital’s pharmacy department were anything but boring and spiked my interest.

  “They’re hiring and I know you can pass their prerequisite tests,” she announced as I towel dried Nikki’s long hair. “And you’re welcome to all the Valium you can sneak out every day.”

  “What are valley ums, Mommy?”

  “Grown up vitamins and nothing we need.” I rubbed after-sun lotion across her shoulders. I no longer ate pain meds, but desperately needed a job—especially one that didn’t involve serving cocktails and trying to avoid getting hit in the eye by twirling tassels.

  An extraordinary role model, Rachel continued caring for Nikki after I was hired for Methodist’s three to eleven shift. The time was perfect for apprentices, late hours suited me to a T, and the challenging job beat the hell out of dressing scantily and slinging beer. I missed Beau something fierce, but Gabriel showered me with so much love my life seemed fairly complete.

  Gabriel’s brother Ben was still traveling the world courtesy of the US Air Force. Astrid relocated Gabriel’s daughters to Arizona, and shortly thereafter, Gloria and her two youngest children moved to Texas. Gabriel said her move would save him Western Union fees. “Gloria can borrow direct instead of me wiring cash every month.” According to him, despite earning adequate income as a travel agent, she bought foolish luxuries first and paid bills if any money remained in her account.

  Gloria moved near Gabriel, and I absolutely loved visiting her. Somewhat cluttered, and comfortably furnished with overstuffed sofas, soft lighting, bountiful plants, an aroma of potpourri always filling the air, Gloria’s home felt like one had walked right into a Norman Rockwell painting. Gloria met visitors with a cheery hello, a wide smile, a tight hug, and welcoming conversation that made one feel special. Weekends were often filled with noises of friends and family, but a quiet corner could always be found when the hustle bustle became overwhelming. A blithe spirit who talked about things my mother would have never considered proper, Gloria and I shared a special relationship. This hip, middle aged woman placed her copy of Cosmopolitan with Burt Reynolds posing in nothing more than a smile, on her coffee table. Gloria and Hope pampered Nikki constantly, often babysitting while I spent romantic evenings with Gabriel or worked late, or covered Delilah’s shifts. Her absenteeism was becoming problematic.