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Unexpected Gifts

Page 16

by Mallery, S. R.


  There, amongst her beloved toys in Rose's Corner, was the porcelain cookie jar I had given Rose for Christmas last year. It was a silly looking tiger cat, with both ears poking out of its painted orange and white tabby fur, with a turquoise collar slightly out of alignment from being opened and closed so often. I sucked in my breath and approaching the jar, blubbered, “Please let it be in there, please let it be in there, please let it be in there.”

  Its head opened with a scrape and staring down into the body that overflowed with dollar bills, several fivers, and plenty of coins, I started to laugh. Good old Daria. I quickly reached in, grabbed the tiger jar, and disappeared into the bedroom to tally up the stash just as our front door lock clicked.

  I was counting, over twenty dollars so far, when I heard Daria gasp so loudly I nearly jumped out of my skin.

  “You be stealing me money!” she hissed.

  “Whaddiya mean? This is my money!” I barked back.

  “Ach no, I'll hold you used all your money on liquor, clothes, and the trollops you be sleeping with!”

  She had me there, but I grew stubborn. “That's my hard earned money, don't you forget it. Anyways, I don't see you going up to the 100th floor earning your keep!” I could feel my blood pulsing so hard my head might've exploded at any minute. “You're my wife, goddammit, and you'll do what I say! I'm sick of you thinking I'm nothing!” My dry mouth was making me crazy.

  “What about leaving us at the theater so Rose be scared to death. No, tis a pity you wouldn't think of us, indeed it is!” Her red face had matched mine and before I could think, I lunged at her, knocking her down and sending her sliding across the room. She stayed still for a couple of seconds, stunned, but I couldn't stop there. I ran over and placed my hands on her shoulders, shaking her so hard her teeth chattered and her face became a blur.

  “You, you—YOU! Always looking at me like I was an ant on the floor beneath your feet. You're not such a big ticket yourself. And you still talk like a mick!”

  I stopped, horrified. I had become my father.

  I sat back on my heels, frozen by my wife's quiet sobs, ignoring the pounding door and Rose's feet pattering across the living room floor to answer it. While I turned away, wracking my brain for something comforting to say, I could sense a movement in the room. There was Joe, cradling Daria in his arms, his black eyes and white barred teeth fiercer than any tiger. He stayed attached to her for what seemed like a very long time, and if my guilt hadn't been so strong I would have demanded an explanation. I was her husband, after all. And why was he here anyway?

  Instead, I crawled back to bed, shutting my eyes tight, blocking out the sound of our front door closing, and making believe my wife and child weren't deserting me.

  Two weeks later I received a letter from Daria explaining how she needed more time away from me to think things through. She also wrote that she was happier than she had been for a long, long time and not to worry about her or Rose, she had a good way of making money. No word of where they were staying, but that really wasn't necessary. The Brooklyn postmark said it all.

  Chapter 11: Accusations

  Simple, organic hysteria. So organic in fact, Sonia thought Shannon might be heading straight towards the birthing process right then and there on the other end of the phone. Her labored breaths, part gulp, part gasp, came in waves like being too loosely hooked up to a ventilator.

  “Shannon! My God! What's wrong?”

  A few seconds passed before she could eke out a croak. “Pete!”

  “What about Pete?”

  The breathing was sounding a little more normal. “They've arrested him!”

  “What? Why, for God's sake?”

  “Three cops appeared yesterday, handcuffed him, and took him to the local station and they won't even let me see him. Oh, Sonia, Julius is accusing him of stealing that money!”

  “What? That's crazy!”

  “I know.” sniff…sniff “I know. We don't have a lawyer, either.” Her sniffs were morphing into sobs again.

  Sonia flashed on Sadie, so helpless when the HUAC people picked her up, then fast-forwarded to Harlem, with the police cracking down on the rioters. “Shannon, listen. Mike and I'll make some calls. You make some calls. Between the three of us, we'll get someone, all right?”

  “Okay, thanks, Sonia.” At least her crying had stopped, replaced by hiccups.

  Hanging up, the first call Sonia made was to Mike. His voice sounded gruff from sleep and cigarettes. “Yeah?”

  “Mike! Did you hear about Pete?”

  There was a long pause. “Yeah.”

  “Well, you're gonna help him, right?”

  Another long pause. “I'm going down there this morning, why?”

  “Why? Because it's your partner and Shannon is frantic!”

  “Don't blow a gasket, Babe. Steve and I are handling it. Look, gotta get ready to go. Bye, catch ya later.”

  The 24th Street police station was right out of a TV crime drama. Paint-peeled walls, desks littered with paperwork, nonstop ringing phones, stale donuts in open boxes, and The Interrogation Room, where Mike was led by two detectives.

  “What can we do for you, Mr. Green?” One of the detectives asked.

  “Call me Mike.”

  “Okay, Mike. Why are you here?” The portly detective was obviously a Crispy Crème fan. The other one stayed in the background. Good Cop Bad Cop? Mike wondered.

  “Pete Washburn is my partner in our rock group, Grand Elbow.”

  “Yeah, he mentioned your name. So, what do you have to add to all this?”

  Mike stared at the cop for a couple of seconds. “I think he may have done it.”

  “Really.” Both cops leaned in.

  “Yeah, he's been acting strange recently. A little paranoid.”

  “He claimed he's been worried about his wife and upcoming baby,” said the fat guy.

  “Nah! Pete may be worried, but this is something different.” He searched their eyes carefully, then prattled on, giving as much information as he could on Pete, his home life, his tendencies towards paranoia. After fifteen minutes, he left and immediately rendezvoused with Steve.

  “Steve, I already have a replacement for Pete.” Mike said at their appointed spot.

  “That's good. Tell him it's probably not just temporary. It'll probably be permanent.” said Steve, looking directly into Mike's eyes.

  Back at Sonia's Mike was all concern. Except for tossing Petra off his lap, he couldn't have been nicer. “It's terrible, Babe. But I'm here for Pete and Shannon.”

  “How did it go?”

  “Well, they interrogated me and I stuck up for him the best I could. Who knows? They wouldn't really tell me anything. They were kind of nasty to me in fact.”

  “Oh, God. That's terrible. We gotta get Pete a decent lawyer.”

  “Sure, sure we will. But…”

  “But?”

  “Well, I talked with Steve who was worried about our upcoming concert. We can't back out at this late date.”

  “So?” Just hearing Steve's name, Sonia bristled.

  “So we will have to replace Pete, because…”

  “Replace him?”

  “Just temporarily, Babe! God! I'd never replace Pete. Why he's the backbone of the group. Just for this gig.”

  When Mike started tossing out his Let's-Make-Love cues, a part of her stood back, detached. As he kissed her neck and unbuttoned her blouse, she thought about Joe, falsely accused of stealing money from the Empire State Building, how Great-Grandpa Tony hadn't even lifted a finger, and how glad she was that at least Mike was better than that.

  Sonia was shocked at the state of Shannon's living room. It had always been like a sterilized hospital triage, something they both had in common. Now, there were clothes and newspapers strewn everywhere, dirty dishes crusting over in the sink, the couch covered in crumbs and on top of the TV, a half-eaten petrified Hawaiian style pizza slice.

  “Sonia, I wanted to tell you, I've retained
a good lawyer, but thank you so much anyway,” she said, stroking her huge belly.

  Sonia double tapped with each index finger on the credenza next to her. “Of course. You know, Shannon, I was thinking. Remember how you told me that Pete was recently always going on the computer? Well, maybe you should look on it to see if anything pops up at you.”

  “Oh, Sonia! They took his computer. That was one of the first things they came back for.…”

  When Steve announced their upcoming gig was going to be as the opening act for Smash Mouth, most people gasped, but Mike seemed to take it all in stride. While the others discussed what songs would go well together for the big concert, how they were going to miss Pete terribly, Mike's biggest concern was where to buy the perfect outfit for the occasion.

  Pulling Sonia aside, he whispered, “You gotta come with me, Babe. Maybe the East Village? That's where the trendiest stores are these days.”

  Picturing her mother's description of the East Village back in 1969 and how trendy would be the last way you would describe it, she chuckled ruefully. Even so, halfway up the subway steps with Mike, she steeled herself, reliving Lily's words about the young, listless couple huddled together under a blanket, and a kid strung out on something.

  What a difference! Suburban teenagers, armed with Daddy's Wall Street money, immediately accosted them, and with so many catchy-titled stores and appealing window-dressings, Mike had trouble deciding which one to enter first.

  “Babe, we can do these stores later. I'm starved. Can we eat first?” Before she knew it, he had guided her into a local restaurant called The Ink Blot.

  Inside, they sat in the back against an old brick wall covered with framed EVO posters and 60's memorabilia. Soon, a gray-mustached, pot-bellied man who instantly introduced himself as Bruce, the owner, ambled over.

  “You folks new to this area?”

  Mike concentrated on the menu as Sonia answered. “Yes, but my mother actually lived near here during the late 60's.”

  “Oh, yeah? What street?”

  She gave him the address and he immediately laughed. “Oh, you mean Shangri la!”

  “You know about that?”

  He looked amused. “Sure. Everyone did. It had quite a reputation. They tore it down in recent years. A shame, really.”

  They chatted for a few more minutes, while Mike, bored and starving, started producing louder and louder I-thought-we-were-here-to-eat grunts. Sonia, folding and unfolding her napkin, took the heavy hints, but Bruce apparently chose to ignore them.

  Finally, Mike couldn't take it any longer. “Hey, Bruce? We've got a deadline, man!” and pointed to the menu. The owner nodded and stepped back, but as he looked down at Sonia again to take her order, she spotted pity in his eyes.

  As soon as they hit the shops, Mike was a changed man. Swaggering down the aisles with hangers full of clothes, he kept disappearing into a dressing room for several minutes before coming out to parade in front of the mirror. After about ten different outfits and different reflections, she suddenly pictured Harry in his usual flannel shirt, clean, but slightly worn, and laughed.

  “What's so funny?” Mike snapped.

  “You! You remind me of a peacock,” she said, thinking of her great-great grandfather Tony, spending all his money on himself instead of Daria or Rose.

  He was not amused.

  Five stores later, one sales girl even approached Sonia. “You're so lucky!”

  “Excuse me?”

  “What a catch he is! You are one lucky bitch!” she added, shaking her head.

  Back in his apartment, while Mike dug into his ten bags of clothing, humming, Sonia couldn't help but flash on Tony again. Such a catch for Daria at the time, and then years later, Peter was quite the catch for Rose.

  “I just saw A Texas Chainsaw Massacre on TV last night,” Mark declared, holding court while they waited for Pamela and Ana. “You wanna know why it's so great?”

  “Not really,” Harry replied winking at Sonia.

  “Okay, hotshot, it's become a cult classic because of the message it gives.”

  “What message is that?”

  “The kids represent good and the evil family represents corporations.”

  Sonia laughed. “Now, that's a new one.”

  “Well, Ms. Know-It-All, what's your favorite movie?”

  She didn't hesitate. “To Kill A Mockingbird.”

  Harry leaned forward. “Hey, I love that movie.” They began recalling scenes for several minutes before Mark broke in.

  “You know, that's a total chick film, Harry! Is there something you're not telling us?”

  Sonia started sputtering. “Just because you're an idiot when it comes to interpreting social significance in films, doesn't make Harry gay. What, are we in grade school?” Mark opened his mouth to speak.

  She kept going. “And besides, Harper Lee just happened to win a little something called a Pulitzer for that unimportant, gay, chick book the film was based on! You're a moron, Mark. Just leave the movie commentaries to Harry and me.”

  There was a hush. Then, “What the hell has gotten into you lately, Sonia?” Mark paused another second. “You know, you didn't use to be this vocal. The last few months you've changed.”

  By the time the two women entered, she could still feel her body tingling with righteous indignation. Notebooks were taken out, psychology chapters discussed, and a good two minutes passed before she even glanced over at Harry. As Mark and Pamela bantered over behavioral science and Otis Skinner in preparation for the next lecture, she finally turned her head towards him, but he was just sitting back in his chair, not even looking at his notebook, a grin the size of Alaska plastered across his face.

  Friday night, Steve had outdone himself. Tables were set up in the front lobby of the Madsen Concert Hall, outfitted with standing posters and Grand Elbow's new CD's—at nineteen dollars and ninety-five cents a pop—stacked up, fanned out, and artistically placed. In addition, there were eight by ten glossies of the band, along with some extra ones of Mike, posed in a sexy stance. It all looked fantastic until Sonia stepped in closer. Nowhere was there any evidence of Pete. Not on the glossies, nor on the album covers.

  Sick to her stomach, she located Mike, happily signing autographs and CD's, his moist face the color of glistening pink roses.

  “What about Pete?” She yelled over the surrounding feminine cluster.

  “What about him?”

  She cupped her right hand over the side of her mouth. “He's not in any of the photos.”

  “Yeah, well, Pete's not available, now is he?”

  She marched down into the orchestra pit area to join Will's wife and the various twinkies, there for their one-night stands. Furious at Mike's attitude, she refused to get involved with the other women, choosing instead to slowly take in the regal architecture of what probably had always been reserved for classical concerts. Suddenly she thought of Lily, Sam, and Leroy and their experience at Carnegie Hall during the Beatle era. Were there the same screams, the same overflow of alcoholic drinks? Did the edgy, packed crowd and the lack of security bother them as well?

  She stayed still in the midst of a growing frenzy, closing her eyes and picturing herself as a young, disenchanted Lily, but when the audience started roaring “Grand Elbow! Grand Elbow!” she popped them open just in time to see the curtain quiver.

  The lights were dimming like a slow, steady sunset, and as the curtain opened, it was immediately apparent Steve had spared no expense on the special effects. Soft fog lights had created an eerie, unworldly ambiance as the band crashed into their opening song.

  They were sensational, and as the set continued, the audience responded in kind, ending in such a fevered pitch, Sonia really didn't notice what was happening until it was too late. Off to one side, several coked-up young men had begun unleashing their enthusiasm. Pushing, shoving, grabbing drinks and swilling them down wherever they could, they were making their determined way over to Sonia's VIP area, undisturbed
by the very few security guards stationed elsewhere.

  A couple of women near Sonia were being flung to the floor, then stepped on, as the men grew more and more ruthless. Will's wife's panicked face was not enough warning. Within seconds, Sonia felt rough hands on her shoulder, trying to push her down. She hung on to the back of her cushioned seat for dear life, but it wasn't working. The men were too strong.

  Somewhere in her brain, she registered the band had stopped and suddenly, there was Mike, down in the trenches, swinging wildly at her assailant. He was magnificent—Tarzan protecting his Jane. When the guards finally did make it over, handcuffing the two men and leading them away, he gave her a quick hug and a “You okay?” before hopping back up on stage to continue the set, the crowd roaring their approval.

  She was in love all over again. Through all his faults, his behaviors of late, she couldn't discount the one thing that flooded her heart with happiness. He did love her after all.

  After the show, she insisted on seeing him backstage. Forcing her way into the green room, she was met with pats on her back and “Hey, Sonia, you okay girl?” from the band members until finally, she ended up at Mike's dressing room. She flung her arms around his sweaty neck and gave him little kisses that mimicked those she gave Petra whenever she was feeling lonely.

  “Mike, you were so wonderful tonight. Thank you, sweetheart. I…”

  “Of course, Babe. Of course. Listen, I wanna be with you tonight, but Steve is actually pulling a meeting. Can you believe it?” He looked at his watch.

  “Tonight? But I thought tonight was very important for me—for us. I thought…”

  “I know, Babe. What can I say? Showbiz! I'll call you mañana. Please take the limo home with Will's wife now, ok?” he said, giving her one quick, hard kiss.

  After she let herself into her apartment, fed Petra, and got into her PJ's, she luxuriated in the idea that Mike did love her, after all, and with Petra snuggled up against her, fell into the deepest sleep she had had in months.

 

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