Blind Trust (Blind Justice Book 2)

by Adam Zorzi

  “That's practically prostitution. Sex for a bracelet charm?”

  “Probably, but that's the way it worked. Thankfully, anti-war marches attracted more free-spirited girls who weren't concerned with reputations or charms. They were liberated and bra-less.”

  “I'm not making fun of your teenage years, but things really have changed dramatically.”

  “They have, but there was an innocence about those times that I remember fondly. Doesn't make up for what went on in secret.”

  “That's right. In secret. You didn't do any of those horrible things. The worst you did was go to a segregated school, and you didn't have a choice about that. You're the best man I know. Remember more of the Mary Lynn Baileys, Camelot, and The Swim than anything else.”

  She'd known Gregg wasn't the most experienced lover immediately, but he was loving and passionate and a great kisser. The love they made now was their own. She pulled him to her.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-ONE

  LouLou woke the next morning to find a package wrapped in white, non-acidic tissue paper tied with a red satin ribbon on Gregg's pillow. Her first reaction was that Gregg had gone, but she heard him open the refrigerator. He walked to the bed, kissed her, and handed her a glass of orange juice. “Good morning,” he said.

  “What's this?” she asked.

  “A present. Open it.”

  “I love presents. Especially when they're beautifully wrapped. Scarlet satin ribbon. I don't want to know how you acquired that.”

  Gregg sat next to LouLou on the bed while she untied the ribbon and let it unfurl along the bed to the floor. She carefully peeled back the tissue paper only to find another layer. What was underneath caused her to scream with delight.

  “Gregg! Piano works. You wrote them.”

  He looked shyly at her. “I had a lot of time while you were away. I got the music out of my head and onto the page. They need some edits. We'll consider this the first draft.”

  LouLou pulled out the pages. A piano suite. Sonata. Four Ballades. Six Dances. Elegy. An amazing amount of music. As LouLou turned the pages, she saw not only musical genius but passion, longing, and fearlessness. Each work was dedicated to her.

  “Don't cry,” Gregg warned.

  She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him while tears fell down both of their cheeks. She laid her head on his shoulder. “Gregg, you're a musical genius. Truly. I hope I'm up to playing them. You've got some wide chord spans and tricky rhythms. Thank you. Thank you for these.” She carefully placed the manuscripts on the nightstand.

  He pulled her to him and kissed her. “I'm so relieved. I thought you'd flip through them and say, ‘Nice try, but start over.’”

  “I don't believe you.”

  “I admit they came pouring out of me onto the page. I like them. I didn't know if you would.”

  LouLou got out of bed and threw on a robe. “I have to try them.” She sat at the piano for the next hour sampling each of the works. When she finished, she turned to Gregg. “They're all wonderful, complex, beautiful, but the “Elegy.” Ah, it breaks my heart.”

  “Mine too.” He sat next to her on the bench.

  She checked the calendar on her phone. “November. I don't see doing it earlier than that. Definitely not the summer or immediately after Labor Day. Early November, before Thanksgiving.”

  “What?”

  “A recital, of course. The public has to hear these. I think the Terrace Theatre at the Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts in DC would be best. We'll have to make selections. The recital can't be more than an hour or hour and fifteen minutes. Plus, one encore. Maybe I could do a series of recitals. At Georgetown, maybe. I'm thinking out loud. Pay no attention to me.”

  “I want you to pay attention to me. Special attention.” He nuzzled her throat.

  “Composers are notorious womanizers. Women can't resist them. All that passion, sexy…”

  Gregg covered her mouth with his. She stopped talking.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-TWO

  March

  He was waiting for her at their agreed-upon meeting point. Dan stood at the entrance to the West Island Garden at Lewis Ginter Botanical Park on Richmond's north side. It ranked number two on LouLou's list of favorite places in Richmond—a close second to Vinyl. She went to the conservatory on a regular basis to sketch flowers, vegetables, and visitors. She'd merely told Dan it was acceptable and she knew how to get there.

  She pulled on her cashmere-lined leather gloves, not because she was chilled but because it would prevent any awkward handshakes or touches. She'd been reluctant to see Dan, but she thought he deserved a meeting. She knew the less available she was, the more intriguing she'd seem to him. Best to see him early.

  He looked better outside the hospital. His hair was styled in the Beckham look she'd suggested. His clothes didn't hang on him. He'd probably gained some weight, as all patients did upon discharge, and his clothes were probably new. He still had that sad look in his dark eyes, but he brightened when she greeted him.

  “Good to see you,” LouLou said.

  “You're beautiful, Lou. You look well.” He spoke slowly.

  “I am,” she said and started walking on the path that would lead through the garden. “And it's LouLou. Lou is my Sick name. I finished treatment at a private hospital and that certainly sped things up. Amazing what having one psych for four patients versus one for one hundred patients can do for recovery.”

  He nodded. He seemed nervous. He wasn't the determined-to-get-better guy she'd met at Richmond Memorial Hospital years ago. All that time in Petersburg had to have taken a toll on his body, mind, and life. He probably realized, as she had, that his life would be smaller than it once was. Fewer possibilities. Fewer friends. A small trustworthy circle of support. He was far from the physical fitness enthusiast she'd met as well. She slowed her pace to match his. She planned to let him take the lead in conversation. He wanted to meet. She'd merely agreed.

  “I still have the sketch you drew. The winged foot tattoo. Maybe have it inked. If not. Matted and framed. Reminder. Things get better.”

  He'd kept the foot-in-flight sketch she'd made? That was nice. “Visuals help. I look at things I've drawn or written and am reminded of where I was and where I am now. Some tats are just peaceful, like my honeysuckle vine and my feather. They're soothing.”

  Dan smiled. “Never considered tattoos soothing. Never considered tattoos at all. Until I met you.”

  She had nothing to say. She walked silently. He'd talk when he was ready.

  “Thank you for meeting me. Still don't quite believe it's true. One look at you erases any doubt. You look very much like your mother. Bella was the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen when I met her at seventeen and when I saw her.” He hesitated. “When I saw a picture of her just before she died. She took my breath away.”

  LouLou couldn't say anything. Interesting, he was able to speak normally when talking of Bella. Apparently, she got her looks from Bella, but she'd never been described as breathtaking. She probably had just enough of Dan's genes to keep her from being beautiful. She'd been spared a life of constantly falling short of Bella's beauty.

  “You scared my brother. Rob. The day he and my attorney visited to introduce me to a neurologist they'd hired, he glanced up at the day room window where I usually sat on his way to the car. He saw you standing at the window. You waved. He thought he was seeing Bella.”

  LouLou nodded. “He looked terrified.” She remembered stark terror. That would be a normal reaction to seeing a dead woman.

  “He thought he was looking at a ghost. I don't know why I never saw the resemblance.”

  “Dan, you were catatonic for a long time. I don't think you registered anything.”

  “I got the new doctor about the same time you befriended me. Mostly, I looked at the razor blade tattoos on your wrists and thought how delicate your hands were and what a talented artist you were. Making beauty from cheap paper
and crayons. You captured the scenes outside that window and made them more vivid than they were. You saw things. You made me see things I didn't know were there.

  “When you reminded me you had schizophrenia, I didn't really know what that was. I thought maybe you had multiple personalities. Or voices in your head. Or something that was even more awful that what I had. My mind couldn't process much. I thought of you as a kind, skinny girl who went out of her way to be nice to me. No one else had.”

  “I knew you from before,” LouLou said. “It was natural for me to say hi. I was surprised when Big told me you'd been there for a long time and hadn't spoken or moved.”

  “Big was nice. He never said much, but he has this. Comforting. Presence.”

  “He also saved your life,” she reminded him.

  “He did?” A frown crossed his face and passed. “I don't remember.”

  LouLou felt a kinship. Patients don't remember what happens during a psych stay. Dan apparently didn't recall Big rushing him to the ER with chest pains. She hated losing chunks of her life. Three months, usually.

  Dan slowed and stopped at a bench. “Do you mind sitting? I used to run thirty miles a week. Now I can only walk about a mile.”

  She sat. “It takes time, but you know that.”

  LouLou could tell he was struggling to ask her something. He hadn't invited her to meet for no reason. He wanted something from her. It could be anything. She wasn't going to guess. She waited for him to speak.

  “Do you mind if I tell you about Bella and me?” His voice was shaky.

  “I really don't need the details, but you can tell your story. You might feel better once you say it out loud. If I want you to stop, I'll tell you.”

  He told her about meeting, loving, and expecting to spend the rest of his life with Bella. They had a connection that transcended everything. She was beautiful, brilliant, and talented. He wrote poetry, and she composed. Together, they'd written songs. She was a member of Phi Beta Kappa and summa at University of Virginia and had a fellowship to study at the Sorbonne after graduation.

  “She wasn't certain what she wanted to do, mostly because she had so many opportunities. She definitely encouraged my dream. I wanted to own a talent agency for musicians and athletes. Getting them the best opportunities, guiding their careers, steering them away from mistakes. Bella encouraged me to apply for a summer internship with one of the biggest agencies in the business, and she polished and polished my application until no one else had a chance. I got the internship.

  “That summer changed my life. I worked in the Los Angeles, Nashville, and Detroit offices and saw how the business was run from the inside. Just as I suspected, the best interests of the artists were secondary to the personal ambitions of individual agents and staying cozy with labels.

  “It didn't have to be that way. My agency would be different. I couldn't wait to get started, but I needed an education in business principles. I'd applied for MBA programs my senior year. I had no experience. My grades were very good but not great. Bella asked me to take a gap year, go to Paris with her, and then re-apply to schools. She suggested getting a part-time job or a volunteer internship in Paris that would give me international experience. She believed that, plus summer experience at the agency and references from some of the biggest names in entertainment would make me a strong candidate for the best business schools. She had such confidence in me. She knew I could get into Harvard, Wharton, or the London School of Economics if I re-applied.

  “I refused to wait. Instead of doing what she suggested, I stubbornly went to the only school where I'd been accepted. University of Miami. It's not a bad school, but it's not an Ivy. I was miserable. South Beach wasn't like it is today. It was filled with drug dealers, housing for the elderly poor, and sagging, empty buildings. I didn't speak Spanish and felt I was at a disadvantage. The classes didn't hold my interest. I hated it.”

  Okay, so things went south after college. He needed to move the story along or she'd ask him to stop.

  “She wrote me. Her letters were filled with longing. She asked me, almost begged me, to at least visit her in Paris. Now, I know why. She was pregnant and she wanted me with her. She didn't want to put it in a letter. She wanted to tell me in person, and she didn't want to risk flying herself. She probably knew very little about pregnancy and pre-natal care.

  “I thought she was just trying to make me feel better. Her letters became more inviting, and I became more determined not to go. I thought I could carry a heavier load of course work and graduate early. I told her I'd come in the summer after school.

  “She finally sent me a letter that essentially ended us. I now realize I could have gotten on a plane and talked to her. I would have been thrilled to know we were going to have a child. We'd be the happiest two people on the planet.

  “I didn't go. I thought she'd met someone else. I lost my confidence and my trust in her. I tried to kill myself, but I woke up in the ER. That episode of depression lasted more than two years. I dropped out of school, lived in my childhood bedroom with my parents for three years, and wasn't able to work for about two years. I never saw her again.”

  LouLou's interest was fading. Cue Dan’s tears.

  “You moved on. You got married,” she prompted.

  “I didn't start dating until I was thirty and married at forty. My wife was younger. Bubbly, athletic, and a good antidote to my dark moods. She was murdered when we were going through a rough period. I think that's why the cops didn't consider any suspects other than me. I foolishly believed in the system. My brother Rob tried to get me to run, but I didn't want to leave my daughter forever. She was ten. I lost her anyway. Her mother's parents in Charleston have custody of her. I live with my mother.”

  Okay, she was done. She didn't need to hear about his daughter, in-laws, or custody.

  “Sad, Dan. I'm sorry.” She stood.

  He followed. He seemed like he wanted her to take charge. Tell him what to do. About everything.

  “Let's go to the Tea House,” LouLou suggested. “I'd like some white tea. I tried it in Asia during the spring and loved it. You can get coffee if you don't like tea.”

  He followed her rapid pace to the Tea House and he arrived a little breathless. LouLou and Dan sat at a secluded table by the window overlooking the Asian Valley garden.

  “I brought a picture of Bella and me. Would you like to see it?” He asked before the tea was served.

  No, she didn't, but she knew her refusal would hurt him. He'd had plenty of hurt just like she had. “Okay.”

  He opened his wallet. It was an old snapshot of a young couple at an airport. They looked blissfully happy. The blonde, blue-eyed girl was a knock-out. She quickly handed it back.

  “You looked happy.” She couldn't think of anything else to say.

  “My mother mentioned Bella looked radiant in that picture. Now, I know why. She was pregnant. That was taken at the airport on her way to the Sorbonne.”

  The tea arrived. Dan put the photo away. As they drank, Dan asked about her life.

  “I was born and raised in Paris. I had a dream childhood. Ballet and piano lessons, parties, lots of friends. I explored everything Paris had to offer plus vacations to nearby Spain, southern France, and Italy. We had semi-annual trips to London. When I was fifteen, we moved to Washington, DC, where I went to high school.

  “I had my first schizophrenic episode when I was sixteen. That drove my life from then on. My parents did everything to keep Sick in check without hovering.”

  The rest she told in outline. She worked freelance and travelled at her discretion. This year to Asia and Scandinavia. She liked her life, her friends, and was close to her parents. No permanent boyfriends because of her illness.

  He asked if she'd turn up on a Google search.

  “Why would you Google me? I'm right here. What do you want to know?”

  This kind of question made her nervous. She lived as privately as she could. Her mail went to a Post Office
box or her attorney Brooks. Packages went to Roy. A handful of people knew her address. Fewer had her cell phone number. She changed it every three months anyway. Paranoia was part of schizophrenia, but she also had a job that attracted fans. Odd as it seemed to outsiders, she didn't care whether she had fans. Yes, she liked having a full house at shows, but that's where it stopped. She wasn't on social media. She didn't want fans to become too interested in her personal life.

  Dan looked ashamed. “I don't have anything specific. I thought I might learn something about you I hadn't thought to ask.”

  “You won't find my address or telephone number if that's what you're looking for. About three people in the world know those.”

  She sensed he was getting agitated. “Why are you so private?”

  “Why do you live with your mother?” she fired back.

  “Touché. Because of my illness. It's easier.”

  “Exactly. My illness includes paranoia.”

  He looked into his coffee cup as he spoke. “I'd like to see you again,” he said so softly she had to lean in to hear him.

  “Dan, we need boundaries. I'm not Bella, even though I resemble her. I'm not brilliant. I didn't finish college. I have a life that I can live given my illness. I can't add anything to it.”

  He looked stricken but didn't say anything.

  “I don't make friends with other patients and see them after hospitalization. It's the way I function. I have a Sick world and a healthy world. You're part of my Sick world.”

  He sipped his coffee loaded with cream and sugar.

  “I named my illness too. Mørk. Short for the Norwegian word Mørketid, or Dark Night. It helps to name it, I think.”

  She smiled. “I think so too.”

  Dan searched her face as if he were looking for any sign of possibilities for the two of them. She didn't think he found any. He pulled two CDs out of his inside jacket pocket and put them on the table between them.

  “Bella recorded these as soon as she got to Paris. She played them at a recital in New York before she left. They were her favorite pieces. Whether you want anything to do with me or not, I think you should have them. They're the last three Beethoven sonatas, Opus…”