Memory of the Color Yellow 1-5

by Suzanne Jenkins

Sitting in the back of the limo, Irwin watched the gridlocked traffic on Woodward; generic white delivery vans, black government issued sedans, yellow taxis and lately since he’d lifted the ban on foraging for car parts, vintage American made autos. He was contemplating European makes, next.

  “I like this new look,” he said. “It feels like more freedom.” He looked up in the rearview mirror. “What do you think?”

  “It’ll give people something else to think about for a while,” Buz replied.

  The chauffeur’s opinion was important to Irwin. In the past year, he’d felt his control slipping, his advisors preoccupied enough that the concern mutiny was eminent a realistic possibility. While he was satisfied to allow the status quo, his cabinet was pushing for more stringent measures of controlling the masses. It had come to a head the Friday before.

  On Friday afternoon, his administrative assistant, Briana, a lovely young girl from Asia Town knocked on his door before she cracked it. “Sir, Chief of Staff Wilde is here to see you.”

  “Did he have an appointment?” Irwin asked, frowning. He didn’t like interruptions, ever.

  She came in the office and shut the door before coming to his desk. ‘No, Sir, he did not. You know I don’t like to complain.”

  “What is it?” Irwin said watching her, blood pressure pounding in his ears.

  “He tried to bribe me,” she said, flushing. “He offered me money if I gave you an envelope. I refused.”

  “That’s fine, Briana. Let him in.”

  Nodding, she turned, opening the door and standing aside, the man hovering at the doorway.

  “He’ll see you now,” she said, frowning.

  “Thank you for seeing me without an appointment,” Ryan Wilde said, rushing in, red faced. “We didn’t feel like this could wait until Monday.”

  “What’s so important that you’d break a cardinal rule? And bribe my secretary. Don’t do that again, Ryan.”

  “No Sir, I will not. However, things in New York are rapidly coming to a head. My assistant read this on a forum news feed this morning.”

  He produced a screen shot of a dialogue between the Manhattan borough chief and the mayor of Jersey City, who welcomed him to a prohibited meeting they’d arranged in secret.

  “How does this change anything?” Irwin asked. “This is nothing new. For all you know, the mayor is attempting to get the borough chief to do his job for once and keep his constituents on the east side of the Hudson River. Has anyone questioned him?” He threw the paper in his trash bin.

  “We’ve allowed the situation to fester. We believe it’s time to move forward,” he said, handing over another paper that outlined a proposal.

  Skimming over the outline, Irwin could see what they wanted to do and it was more of the same from the past; bloodshed when rules weren’t obeyed. “You want a team to go in and bring order. Didn’t we try that already?”

  Ryan leaned forward and pointed to a line. “We think you can proclaim an edict that the area will be bombed out of the ocean if changes aren’t put into place quickly. You’ve already appointed leaders and they’ve dissented. We believe you have the power to act now and demand cooperation.”

  The cabinet was trying to appeal to Razor’s ego and it wasn’t working. Contemplating the energy it would entail to try to take back New York, he shook his head.

  “We have peace at the moment. The way it stands, we don’t have to provide shit for New York. They’re getting their own needs met. Cut off their food supply and starve them into submission if you want, but no more fighting. Who’s in charge over there again?” His eyes glazed over as he tried to remember the name of the appointee. “Reynolds. Maybe it’s time to get rid of Reynolds if he can’t keep the borough heads in line.” Bill Reynolds was the mayor of New York.

  “You mean kill Reynolds?” Ryan asked, cold sweat breaking out on his forehead.

  Council members were never killed; whole towns of people maybe, but never leaders. This would be a first.

  Handing the outline back, Irwin had put his head back on his chair. “Call a Coalition meeting for Monday afternoon. Not too early, I want them to be inconvenienced for their commute home. If my cabinet is making plans that don’t include me, it’s time we took a second look at who’s in charge here.”

  “We never meant the outline to be a plan. It was simply a suggestion…”

  “You spent time talking about this behind my back!” Irwin screamed. “Call a meeting.”

  “Yes, Sir,” he said, backing out of the room.

  Watching the steady stream of cars on Woodward, Irwin smiled. “I have always said I didn’t care for Detroit. For some reason, today I rather like it.”

  “You can never go back, they say,” Buz replied. “It’s sad, actually.”

  “No. I can’t go back to New York, this is true. What time is it?”

  “Almost time. Quadrant members should begin arriving soon.”

  “I’d like to sit here and watch them come in. I can’t wait to watch the surveillance videos later! Oh God, all of them in a room together without a clue as to why they’re there.”

  “It will be amusing,” Buz said, chuckling.

  “Ryan Wilde can do damage control.”

  “What will you say today?”

  “I thought about it all weekend. I’m going to do the exact opposite as my cabinet has suggested; there will be moratorium on executions of townspeople. If things get out of hand, as they are in New York, the heads will be executed. Buz swung around to look at Irwin.

  “You’re going to kill members?”

  “I’ll threaten them first. If we keep killing the citizens, what good will that do? But threaten to kill a member, now that might carry some clout.”

  Buz worried that members might turn on Razor and kill him and his driver, too if he got in the way. But there wasn’t much he could do about it; he was just a driver from Europe Town. A set goal had been to surpass his performance evaluation each year until he was invited to be a Council Member. Now he wasn’t so sure it was a wise move.

  Getting nervous with the conversation he reached for his phone, dialing security. “We’re waiting in front,” he said in a low voice.

  “Be right down,” a voice answered.

  “Now see, that’s exactly what I’m drivin’ at. The Chairman of the Coalition calls for a security team, they should have jumped. Instead, we hang around waiting. I’m a little surprised, to tell you the truth. We might consider traveling with our own force from now on, we can’t even count on the Secret Security.”

  “Anyone in particular in mind?” Buz asked, dreading the answer.

  “Someone hungry,” he replied.

  Wondering who that could be, Buz thought out loud. “You need military men,” he said.

  That got Irwin’s attention. “Military? We usually avoid military at all costs.”

  “Not new military. I mean old. Those who served before the revolution. Even before the rebellion, in the old wars overseas. Not trying to teach you history, boss. Old military will be loyal. And they’re hungry.”

  “Right. Let me think.” Scanning times and history through his brain, he knew old military; upstanding men approaching middle age and older now. “Do our databases list military service?”

  “Do you mean for townspeople? I’ll have to ask. I’m just a driver, you know.”

  Irwin chuckled. “Oh, right. I might have to work on changing that.”

  The sensation that his throat was closing up warned Buz before the information went to his brain that he’d better shut up. Being indispensable to the Coalition Chairman was not appealing. A tap on the window scared him, but he didn’t react although his impulse was to punch the man in the throat. Irwin rolled down his window.

  “Too bad I have to ask for an escort into the building,” he said.

  “Sir, I’m sorry. We were waiting up in the garage for your car.”

  “I want to get sunlight,” he said, pushing the door open. “Buz, meet me ins
ide in half an hour. You’ll be sitting in on our meeting.”

  “Yes Sir,” he replied, terrified.

  Waiting until Irwin was on the sidewalk, surrounded by the heretofore lax security force, he slowly accelerated, pulling away from his future.

  Chapter 18

  Europe Town

  Rose Manos woke up Tuesday morning, the events of the previous day blurry and painful. She’d cried through the night, so her eyes were almost swollen closed. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she shook George.

  “Get up,” she said, her voice hoarse. “You have to go in.”

  “I don’t want to,” George moaned, “What’s the point? They can drag me out of bed.”

  With the knowledge that she might never see her son again, Rose’s didn’t think she had the strength to deal with George acting out through his grief.

  “George, get up for me, then. I don’t think I’ll survive if you give up. We need to be strong together.”

  “Great, now I can feel guilty about you, too.”

  “Whatever it takes to keep you moving,” she said. “I’ll get coffee going.”

  Grabbing her robe, for the first time in years she resented her sister and Peter living there. She wanted to fix coffee and breakfast in her own kitchen alone, so she could cry without interference. She didn’t want people trying to make her feel better, or offering advice. Trying to find the positive in it, a small voice said, “He’s alive. Focus on that.”

  Pausing, she ran the event of the pervious day through her mind. The Council Police had said he’d have a better life with his new family than what she and George could provide in Europe Town. Did that mean he was living in the city? She ran back to the bedroom to find George sitting on the edge of the bed.

  “You have to go to work,” she said, urgent. “If he’s living a better life than he could have in Europe Town, it must mean he’s in the city. You might see him there.”

  Rubbing his face, he turned to look at Rose, at her stance which signaled she was ready to pounce, her worried expression, eyebrows up, mouth slightly open, fists clenched at her sides. Compassion for her overriding his own pain, he forced himself to stand and embrace her. He smoothed her hair, moving it aside so he could kiss her neck. The effort melted her heart, and she put her arms around George’s neck, breaking down again.

  “If you think I might run into our son in a city of six million people, I’ll go to work,” he said. “I can’t believe they’d let me keep driving a bus if that chance exists.”

  “You can’t risk not going, just in case. He might be watching for you.”

  “Okay, I’m going. Will you fix my coffee?”

  “Yes.” She wiped her eyes with the corner of her robe and left for the kitchen again. It would be a repeated scene throughout the day, Rose or Eleni in tears, Stephanie sobbing outright and Peter stony, silent as they waited for news of their baby.

  Finally, at one that afternoon, another visit, another curbside chat with a Council Officer who was afraid he’d be outnumbered if he came to the door, issued his heartbreaking proclamation from the curbside. Baby Steven would also not be returning home. A determination had been made by the authorities that his reoccurring health concerns were due to neglect.

  Memory of the Color Yellow

  –

  Five

  Chapter 19

  Tiresias

  After the macaroni lunch, Penelope excused herself, leaving the dirty plate on the table with a balled up paper napkin thrown in the middle of it.

  “Have a nice nap,” Angelica called after her, shaking her head in exasperation.

  She didn’t really care that she had to regularly clean up after her. Living with Penelope had its share of downsides, but mostly it was a good arrangement. A lively, interested personality like Penelope kept depression, which was common among the inhabitants of the protected zone, down to a manageable level.

  Always looking for adventure even though confined, Penelope had a zest for living and an appreciation for beauty and handsome men. Listening, she heard footsteps above enter the bathroom, the sound of water running, brushing teeth, on to her bedroom, the door closed and locked. Penelope always locked her bedroom door. It hurt Angelica’s feelings until Penelope explained that it was an extra layer of protection from possible intruders.

  “I put a chair against my door knob, too.”

  Penelope placed the chair before she undressed, wedging it firmly under the knob. Yawning, the events of the morning had finally caught up with her. Unusual for her to worry about anyone else, concerns for Steve and for her father’s well-being were an added stressor. If Jim couldn’t visit, it was the end of her ties to the outside. The thought of losing her connections terrified her; even though she’d been alone most of her life, raised in the nursery by sighted workers, she’d grown to rely on her father for a sense of normalcy.

  Chucking her uniform on the floor, she pulled on an oversized t-shirt, a garment both sexes wore to sleep in. Remembering too late to check if the shades were down in her room, she ran to the window; the one facing the neighboring apartment building was down, but the shade protecting her from prying eyes in the park across the street was up. She reached for the tie and pulled on it, bringing the shade down. The maneuver darkened the room and she stopped quickly, letting it rise up again. Was it her imagination or could she see the difference? Pulling the shade down and back up again, a difference was difficult to determine, but she was convinced there was one.

  Exhausted, she yawned, but kept the shade down this time and crawled into her bed. The vision of a lightened window, almost a mirage, stayed with her for minutes as she snuggled in her bed with eyes closed, images of her grandmother in a black and white world wearing a bright yellow dress the last thing she thought of as she closed her eyes a final time.

  Putting her hand to her wristwatch to check the time, Angelica gasped, jumping up from the table. Unlike Penelope who was often late for work or missed it all together, Angelica had a game plan she stuck to and it meant showing up and being on time for the job.

  Leaving the apartment, she turned to lock the door when a hand slapped over her mouth.

  “Don’t scream,” a familiar voice said in a raspy whisper. “It’s Jim.” He removed his hand, taking her key. “We have to go back inside for a moment. I’ll explain everything.”

  “Jim you stink!”

  “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said.

  “No, I mean you really stink! What is that?”

  “Trust me, it couldn’t be helped.”

  Opening the door, he guided her inside and shut and locked the door behind him. “Is Penelope home?”

  “She’s sleeping, Jim. What’s happened? You’re scaring me.”

  “I want to make sure all your windows are locked first. You can’t leave right now, Angelica. Can you get Penelope up? I’ll tell you together.”

  Resigned she wasn’t getting to work on time today, she placed her bag down, went up stairs and knocked on Penelope’s door.

  Rolling over, Penelope felt for her watch. “I knew it was too good to be true. I’ve been lying down for a whole ten minutes. What is it?”

  “I don’t want to yell through the door,” Angelica said.

  Moaning, Penelope got out of bed and went to the door, moved the chair and unchained the lock. “What is it?” she repeated.

  “Jim’s here,” Angelica whispered.

  “My dad’s here?” Penelope pushed her to move by but Angelica held her back.

  “Something’s happened but he wants to tell us together. I think it’s bad.”

  Chapter 20

  Detroit

  Leaders from all over the Coalition started showing up at City Hall an hour before the spur of the moment meeting Irwin Razor had called. Surrounded by the errant security on the side-lines, he was well-hidden from the dignitaries.

  “I like to watch them arrive. You can tell which ones are ticked off about having their day screwed up,” Irwin said,
chuckling. “They’re taking all the perks for granted. It’s become an inconvenience to do their job. Kind of like you boys.”

  Uncomfortable being admonished by the chairman, the older officer of the group reminded Irwin it was his original idea that a detail wasn’t necessary. “Boss, you didn’t think protection was needed, remember? No one would dare approach the Chairmen of the Coalition in public.” After years of being accompanied every place he went but the bathroom, Irwin had put an end to it.

  “Times have changed,” Irwin said. “In the past week I’ve received two threatening emails.”

  The officer thought, whoopee do.

  “We’ll never allow you to travel alone again,” the officer said, trying to pacify Irwin. “It’ll be like the old days.”

  Taking a step behind the fellow, Irwin shushed him, giggling. “Look, it’s Bill Reynolds. Leader of New York City. He’s waiting for the driver to get out and open his door! What a putz.”

  They watched as the limousine door was opened by the driver and Bill Reynolds unfolded his six-six frame out, turning his head like he expected to be surrounded by the applause of admirers.

  “He’s looking for someone to wave to him.”

  “Boss, you should step out,” the officer said. “He’ll think you’ve come to personally greet him.”

  “No, that’s okay,” Irwin said. “This is more fun. No one here knows who he is, or cares.”

  They watched Bill Reynolds walk up the flight of granite steps to the main entrance, his assistant juggling his briefcase and computer bag.

  “Look, who’s this?” the officer said as another limo pulled into the front space.

  An attractive, middle-aged woman opened her own door and gracefully climbed out onto the curb, lugging her own cases while her assistant argued with her to share the burden and then giving up, turned to settle with the driver. Irwin watched carefully; gratuities were expressly forbidden. It might be the last time that driver worked in Detroit.