The Last Maharajan (Romantic Thriller/Women's Fiction)

by Susan Wingate

  The bartender brought Euly’s drink and she took a quick sip. The scotch acid burnt her throat as it traveled into her stomach. She took another sip and set the drink down.

  “So, what do I owe the pleasure?” It seemed to Euly Clive had turned into a bundle of clichés. She reached into her bag to turn on the recorder. Her hand rummaged through her purse and she remembered taking it out and setting it on the desk in her hotel room. She’d left it there.

  “I’m a writer, like you, Clive.” Trying to cover any residual discomfort she felt, she stroked back her hair. “I’m writing a memoir. In fact, I brought a photo I thought you might help me with, to see if you remember anything from it.” She pulled the photo out and handed it to Clive.

  “Slow down, a minute. You’re a writer?” He said it as if the possibility was out of grasp for him but examined the photograph. He set it down on the bar between them and turned to his cocktail. She picked it off the counter and slipped it back between some pages of her journal.

  “Yes. Do you remember that party?” She tried to divert his attention back to the photo.

  “You’re a writer.” Clive seemed intrigued by her choice in careers.

  “Is the idea so far-fetched?”

  “It’s not that, no honey. I just didn’t expect it is all. Last I remember, you were riding a horse around all day long.”

  “Oh, my God. That’s right when I was, what? Fifteen or sixteen? I had a horse back, well, you know.”

  “Yes you did. You were quite the little cowboy as I recall. Remember?”

  Euly chuckled and they finally smiled at each other.

  “Jeez. Clive, where have all the years gone? It seems like I could close my eyes and I’d be back.”

  “Hold on, Dorothy. Home isn’t what you remember it to be. The hurricane done took the house away.” His reference to The Wizard of Oz made Euly wonder how bad it could’ve gotten for him.

  “How so?”

  “Things are shit now. That’s how so.”

  “It’s that bad?”

  “It’s worse.” He polished off his cocktail and held up his glass for another.

  Euly stared at him but only because she was lost in a memory trying to figure out where it must’ve gone bad for Clive. She assumed it was around the time Sandy died, her suicide attempts and then success.

  “You miss her, Clive?” Euly asked in a low voice and as she asked she looked at her own drink to give him some room with the question.

  “Oh, sure. Sure, I miss her. But, Euly, she left me long before she ever left this earth. She left me years before that.” He took a mouthful of his cocktail.

  “You mean because of dad and her?”

  “What are you talking about, kid?”

  “You know.” She looked at Clive and raised her eyebrows in an effort to prompt him. He’d been drinking but he couldn’t have possibly forgotten the thing that broke up Euly’s parents. She didn’t want to have to spell it out for him. She was embarrassed about all of it but he shook his head. “You know, the indiscretion?” She tried to egg him on with the word.

  “Which one, kid?”

  Euly stalled when he replied and then went on. “You know, Clive. The one between dad and Sandy.” She couldn’t believe she had to say.

  He looked into his glass like he was trying to find something and jiggled the ice.

  “Don’t tell me you didn’t know…”

  “Know what? That Sandy and Ray had an affair?” His voice reared in a sort of contra- accusation.

  “Well, yes. It broke up my family, for Christ’s sake, Clive. It’s exactly what I’m talking about.”

  He began shaking his head and grinning like Euly didn’t know what the hell she was talking about. He took another gulp but continued to shake his head in disbelief. Then he turned back to her and went on.

  “No, kid. That’s not the way the story goes.” He was refuting a well-known fact. “Man.” He continued to shake his head and smirk.

  “What?” Euly was losing her patience with his smug know-it-all-detective-façade. “What.” The word came out more like a groan than a request. “No, kid.” When he said it again, Euly’s eyes rolled away from him and she breathed out. She was losing her patience with his morose drama.

  “Your father was a saint, kid. He’d do nothing like that to your mother.” The way Clive talked irked Euly and she couldn’t help but feel she was having a conversation with Sam Spade. “Face it, kid, things were tough back then don’t get me wrong. We all had troubles – double digit interest, soaring inflation, people out of work, desperation was thick in the air. But, it was nothing so bad your father would’ve done something like that to your mother.” She didn’t understand what Clive was telling her, all she could hear was the noise of his comic-book-delivery. Clive slammed back his whiskey and tapped the shot glass on the counter for the barkeep to bring him one more. Euly sipped at her drink and watched the bartender pour Clive’s straight into his glass.

  “Ice?” Clive shrugged him off so the guy left the bottle in front of him on the bar.

  “She killed herself, Clive. It’s not your fault.

  She felt bad about what she did to you.”

  “It wasn’t over me, kid, I can tell you that.”

  “Sandy loved you, Clive. You two were so great together and she adored you. At least that’s what I saw when you two came over. She’d come over and talk to mother too. I’d hear Sandy saying how much she loved you. Mother and Sandy were very close, Clive. I know she loved you plus I remember mother telling me that a couple doesn’t have to be married to be in love.”

  “Look, I’ve said all I’m going to say about it. The past is the past. Who needs it anyway? The dead should stay six feet under where they belong. At your age you should be thinking about the present. Like now, the future comes way too fast.” Clive turned to face her and then grabbed her arm. “Say, I have an idea. Why don’t we blow this place and head on back to your hotel. We can order up some room service and tangle up the bed for a throw or two. What do you say, Euly. I’ll tell you everything you want to know.” It was obvious he hadn’t forgotten anything between them like she’d hoped. She nearly got sick from his suggestion.

  “That’s not going to happen, Clive.” Euly wrenched her arm but he wouldn’t let go of his grip.

  “Stop it, Clive. I’m married now.”

  “Right. Right.” It was like he didn’t believe it or that she cared.

  “Happily!”

  He blew out air from his nose and turned away. He released her arm and leaned against the bar. He swirled his drink in front of him, looking into it trying to find something else to say.

  “Look, Clive. I’m doing some research about my past for my memoir. If you don’t want to help, I’m not going to force you. Still, whether you or I like it or not, we’re part of each other’s past and I was hoping you might want to, help. That’s all.”

  Clive’s mood changed almost instantly and he lashed out at Euly.

  “Why would I want to help you?” He bit out the question and returned his attention to his glass and got quiet. “Why don’t you just go away and forget about it?” There was a sadness in his voice she couldn’t miss. He picked up the bottle again and poured the drink that he needed to put him over the edge. Euly’s body temperature kicked in and a wave of sudden heat covered her. She became physically agitated when she realized what her questions, moreover, what her presence had done to him. It seemed to kick him in the stomach. But, his mood flipped again. It was the liquor.

  “Look, I don’t want to go there with you, okay. It’s over! Done with! Now, get out of here, kid. Go back home to your safe little life. I’ve got business to attend to.”

  He gestured to the room. “Go, get out of here!” He slammed the drink back and leaned against the bar as though he’d would fall down if the counter wasn’t there.

  Euly set her half-drunk whiskey onto the counter and stood up next to him. She patted Clive’s back.

  “
Okay, Clive. Okay.”

  He was damaged goods. She almost laughed when she heard the term enter her head. Clive lived in a movie of his own making and she felt he might be rubbing off on her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  He watched the door scrape closed as she walked out of her life the way she did before. How’d she track him down? That’s what he wanted to know. That big-mouthed stupid broad at the office, most likely gave her the name, place and times she could find him. He couldn’t say anything to the slut because she was banging the boss. She’d take her complaints right to the old man and he’d be out of a job, again.

  And, where had she found that photo? It was like seeing the whole day right there before him. Sandy looked so beautiful, so young. Belle looked mean as usual, pretty and mean, Moon and Teddy – happy as always and, clueless. Maybe not. Who knows? Who knows what happened that long ago, who knew what, why or what really happened. Euly was kicking up old dry dirt, kicking it into his face and he was getting pissed sitting there at the bar.

  He knew he loved Sandy back then, more than anything in the world. Euly was a distraction afterward. But, Sandy was the love of his life and it all fell apart.

  He sat shaking his head and mumbling until the bartender came up and jostled him. He didn’t realize he was saying anything, doing anything.

  “Oh lord.” He said it loud enough for people to turn in their chairs. “Oh, lord. Get me another one, quick.” The thoughts flooded back over him. “I think you’ve had enough Clive.”

  “Give me one more drink, Benny. Dammit. Now!”

  Benny poured the drink light and set it down in front of him. “You need to leave after this one, Clive. Drink it and go.”

  He pulled out his money and threw it at him. Clive grabbed the shot and pounded it back. He smacked his lips. “Ahh. That should do ‘er.” He stood up and stumbled hard, knocking over the stool and almost falling. He wavered but picked up the stool and righted it and put a finger to his lips.

  “Shh. Noisy, noisy.” He whispered.

  Benny shook his head and pointed for him to leave. “You get busted driving and it’s my ass, Clive.”

  “I won’t get busted. Hell, I’m going to drive home as fast as I can just to avoid the police.” He clicked his teeth and winked at Benny. He gunned a slow-motion John Wayne finger at him. Clive knew he could smooth talk anyone.

  “Just go, Clive.”

  “I looked at the moon and then I looked at June and, alas, the moon was prettier than June.” – Jay Adams, radio personality (1927 to 1996)

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  She could hear the locks being unlatched from inside the house and after much jarring the door finally opened. A slim elderly woman stood before her. Aunt Moon had aged but Euly would’ve been able to recognize her across a football stadium.

  She’d remember anywhere that perfect thin long nose and her high cheek bones that flared out like a tulip to frame her big dark eyes. Her hair had gone all but white and still in a stylish coif that spoke of cash, cash on hand. She remembered the money many Lebanese families brought back from the old country.

  Euly was amazed at her aunt’s self-sufficiency, her independence, from the time she was only a young woman and at a time when the same expectations were more inclined to the opposite sex. She and Uncle Teddy divorced around the same time her parent’s had.

  It made sense now knowing what she knew about Micaiah.

  She couldn’t broach the subject immediately.

  Euly had to ease into it smoothly.

  “I made some baba especially for your visit.” Her aunt wrapped her arms around her neck and hugged her out on the porch.

  “No way! I love your baba, auntie. It’s the best.”

  “You always did love my cooking. You were such a good girl. It looks like some things never change.”

  And, charming. She was the same charming woman she’d grown up around. Euly felt a pang rush through her. It was the first time she’d ever felt a longing to be back in Phoenix.

  “Well, you haven’t seen me in ten years, auntie, maybe I’ve become a horrible, bitter woman.” She waved a dismissive hand at her and smiled.

  “Life is hard. It wouldn’t surprise me if you’ve changed a little.”

  Euly couldn’t gauge from her facial expression but she felt invisible. She felt as though Aunt Moon knew exactly why she’d come back to visit her. Euly lowered her eyes when her aunt looked at her.

  “Would you like some Arak? I still have some.” Euly looked up fast and smiled. There was a glint in her eye and a curl at the side of her mouth.

  “Good lord, you don’t.”

  Her aunt beamed and shook her head furiously. She was giddy about the suggestion and got two cordials out before Euly could even respond.

  “Well, if you insist.” Euly grinned a wide sweeping grin when she could see her aunt was acting like a kid. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had Arak?”

  “I’m guessing it’s been a while. Probably not since your dad.” She turned and tipped her head in an apology. Her aunt’s mention of him flipped Euly head-over-heels to somewhere other than where she was right then and there. It was a time-warp.

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  She remembered her dad with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. It was cool to smoke back when cigarettes weren’t killers, when they were filter-less and advertised on TV – Lucky Strikes,

  Camels and Marlboros. Throughout her mother’s albums, Euly found photo after photo of him in his Army uniform with a cig dangling sloppily from his bottom lip and her dad saying something funny to the camera man. Another one: the cigarette, her sister still in diapers, and Ray holding Enaya up proudly with a smoke sandwiched in a tight wide grin looking like a small erection. That was her dad, Ray – available for any photo op, quick-witted, dashing in his youth – the smoker.

  Belle drew him once, his face. Euly adored that portrait and confiscated it after her father’s death. People always commented to Euly about that drawing. They said how much her dad reminded them of Paul Newman when Newman was a young man but dad was darker, much darker, and Euly was sure Mr. Newman didn’t understand the word hummus the way her dad understood it, as a staple in his diet, a part of every meal from infant to adult.

  He grew up in the Depression Years and fought in World War II and the Korean War, consecutively. He loved the Army and talked about it all the time. He carried the Army’s teachings into his civilian life by shining his shoes daily. And, she knew when was shining his shoes. The potent polish permeated the house and wafted into her bedroom.

  The soft swishing as he buffed resonated through her door like a whisper or a glass against the wall.

  He made a bed you could bounce a quarter off of, and kept his toiletries in a small satchel, just in case he had to leave quickly. He had his satchel stocked and ready the day he died. That day she opened a can of Ray’s shoe polish and let its leathery fragrance saturate her senses. And, Old Spice cologne – Old Spice and Ray went hand in hand. One was nothing without the other.

  Ray told Enaya and Euly stories about the guys he spent time with during his service. Pride beamed from him when he spoke about his barrack- mates in Washington at Fort Lewis. He told the girls tales of camping in the woods and sleeping in his “fart sack” on Mount Rainier during weekend trainings. Many years after, when Euly was seventeen, he wrote and told her once about the experience. It was the first time she recalled ever hearing the story. He’d sent the letter when she and her sister were traveling the Pacific Northwest one summer. Enaya was twenty. And it was funny they were in the same stomping grounds their father had beat during boot camp and when he was around their same age.

  Ray made his money when he opened Romano’s, an Italian restaurant. A few years afterward, he opened another one across town. Until, he had a chain of Romano’s around the valley. And, although the restaurants were extremely successful, Ray retained an unpretentious style and was a comedian at heart.

 
Ray was born in 1927 to Euly’s grandfather who left Lebanon and all his cash in a dash – at least that’s the way the story went. Even though Euly had not one photo of the man, she remembered her grandfather to be grim and reclusive.

  Ray was the middle son and seemed to have an insatiable need to be in the spotlight. He made silly faces, cracked jokes, pushed cigarettes into one side of his nose like a magic trick and dragged them out the other, or stuck burned-out flashbulbs into one or both of his nostrils to make it look like he had bubbles of snot hanging out. The girls found his capers uproariously funny because he wanted to make people laugh. But, Ray’s father found little humor in his antics.

  Ray grew up to be sweet and gentle. It was odd due to his upbringing by a hardened man with a mysterious past. When he died, Ray was crushed. He died before giving Ray the approval he so desperately hungered for, a hunger only his father could sate. And, to this day, Euly wondered if her grandfather was proud of Ray for serving in the Army. Ray died of congestive heart failure. The doctors attributed it to his smoking. The recollection of her family felt hard like sharp pebbles under bare feet.

  Their family did normal middle-class family things together – went to Disneyland, Carlsbad Caverns, took road trips, sang in the car, fixed BBQs in the backyard, swam in a manufactured metal swimming pool, owned a dog and a cat, had training wheels on their bikes with flags of pink and yellow ribbon streamers from the handle bars. They grew up like Joe America. She had nothing to complain about and yet.

  For her, it seemed the world was racing by and her legs were feeling leaden. Up to now she’d had nominal successes in life – was one of the lucky ones.