The Meadowlark Sings

by Helen Ruth Schwartz

  Feeling foolish, she vacillated before responding.

  "Well?" signed Jody. "You know I won't repeat anything we've discussed to anyone except Margo, who has more of a need to know than either of us. I'll treat it as priority one."

  Feeling herself blush, Cara wondered how good the color reception was on Jody's monitor. " 'Are there slippers in the closet?' " she signed, encountering some difficulty remembering the symbol for slippers.

  "Hang on, Cara. I think we're getting some interference. Something is disturbing your transmission. Let me check the lines again."

  She returned a few seconds later. "No problem. We're not being bugged. Repeat your last signing."

  After several frustrating repetitions, Jody signed back, her face screwed up in exasperation. "I can swear you said 'Are there slippers in the closet?' Are you sure that's what you meant to sign?"

  Now giggling, barely able to move, Cara excused herself and breathed deeply until she was sure she had regained control. "Yes," she managed to nod.

  The two women laughed uproariously, tears rolling from Jody's eyes as she commented, "I'm glad you're the one who will be asking that question and not me." There was a brief pause before she was able to stop chuckling and change the conversation. "Before we terminate this transmission, I have a message for you from Vanessa. She asked me to tell you that she and Anisette are now at war. Your bossy cat didn't like her new woman friend, so on Wednesday she jumped on Vanessa's back and began howling every time they started making love. She finally put Anisette outside the door, but she kept right on howling. Vanessa said it was the worst night of her life."

  "Every night that she can't make love is the worst night of Vanessa's life," laughed Cara.

  "You know something," signed Jody, sitting at her kitchen table, running her fingers through her yet uncombed hair, "It's good to hear your laugh again. That's the part of you I had missed the most."

  "I bet that's not what Vanessa says about her old lovers," she teased affectionately, "but thank you for that. I needed to hear some kind words."

  "Oh?" queried Jody, always sensitive to Cara's moods. "I've read all your press. Has something been omitted?" Shouting to Margo that she was on a long-distance call, she again signed to the monitor, "Cara, is there anything you want to tell me?"

  Cara hesitated, wishing she could alleviate some of the tension by sharing Jessica with Jody. Her legal mind and nurturing temperament could be invaluable, but the story was too complex to relate over the telephone, particularly with their rusty signing skills. "Just one thing. Please call my mothers and tell them I'm well, happy, and very safe. Anything else I have to tell you will wait until my return."

  "When do you get back?" she asked, her face frowning with concern.

  "Friday night, but I probably won't speak to you until the beginning of the week. I'll need a few days to put myself together."

  "Good, let's talk. Lunch or dinner as soon as you're able."

  Switching off the transmission, Jody removed the breakfast tray from the machine and brought it into the bedroom, setting it on the table next to Margo. "Something is wrong with Cara," she announced as she kissed her on the forehead.

  "Any idea what it can be?"

  "No, she was very cautious. Too cautious. She looked a little too tired and her words were a little too constrained. At first I thought it was related to our signing, but I think it was more than that."

  "What about Barbra? Any progress there?" asked Margo, as she swallowed a spoonful of poached eggs. "Mmmmmm. Cooked to perfection."

  "Barbra is another story. I think we would like this woman very much," she said as she again began laughing.

  Twenty-Seven

  On Saturday afternoon, Cara insisted that Tim escort her to an antique shop, her curiosity piqued by the Hargreaves phonograph.

  "What do you want to go there for?" moaned a reluctant Tim.

  "Because it's raining. Because there's nothing else to do. Because we don't have antique shops in Cali. And because I'll go crazy if we sit around here all day," she said, standing in the dining room, gesturing theatrically with her hands.

  "Ms. Romero is right," said Mrs. Anderson as she walked in and began clearing the luncheon plates. "There are several little antique stores on University Street. You know where that is, eh? And they have the most wonderful things on display. You'll see, Mr. Felmar. You'll have a grand time. It's sort of like exploring the past."

  Mrs. Anderson was right. They had a wonderful afternoon discovering things they had never heard of before. There was a telephone that once had to be cranked before speaking into a mouthpiece affixed to a square box that hung crookedly on the wall, a hand-operated grinder for coffee beans, and an efficient little electrical machine that was used for opening something called cans. Cara had heard about cans, but saw her first one when the shopkeeper demonstrated how the machine opened the rigid round aluminum container that released sweet smells of chocolate syrup.

  "You were absolutely correct," Tim told the housekeeper when she brought in the evening dinner of chicken potpie and salad. "Those shops were something else. They were more like museums than Cali's museums."

  "See? I knew you would have a good time," stated the round-faced woman proudly as she put their plates down before them. "Mrs. Anderson wouldn't tell you wrong, eh?"

  Tim ate with his customary, hearty appetite, chiding Cara who picked at her meal, her hunger abated by the sight of the empty seat across the table. She pushed the food around on her plate, hoping that the good-natured housekeeper would not be offended by the amount left uneaten.

  "Why, Ms. Romero, you've hardly touched a thing. I suppose you're lonely without Miss Jessica here, eh? But she'll be back tomorrow." Acting as if she had said nothing of importance, Mrs. Anderson nonchalantly carried the plates into the kitchen.

  "I can't believe she said that," said Tim, mystified. Cara simply shrugged.

  After he left to go to the entertainment room and Mrs. Anderson retired for the evening, Cara washed the dishes and then retreated to her bedroom where she turned on the White House station and dialed for all the events of the day. Hours later, barely able to stay awake, she became instantly alert when her attention was caught by Jessica standing next to her father. She was wearing the pale pink dress that they had selected in the Stony Brook boutique, and now, with her soft ringlets framing her face and her copper skin glowing tanner, she looked even more alluring in it than Cara had remembered. Briefly, the camera moved to other scenes, and then, seconds later, videos of the actual dinner reception appeared on the monitor. Cara's face contorted in shock as she saw Jessica chatting happily with the young man who had brought her home a few days ago. Her fiancé, Roland.

  Twenty-Eight

  "I'm going to lose her before I even have her," Cara said to Tim late the next morning. "I've never felt this kind of jealousy before. Competing with a woman is one thing, but I don't know the first thing about competing with a man. The worst part is that I don't even know the rules of the game. Does she or does she not have the Scarpetti gene?" Pressing the button on her watch, she reviewed her vital signs. "I'm so angry, I'm surprised I'm still alive," she snickered, as she swam to the other side of the pool.

  Trailing after her, Tim grabbed her by the wrist. "Relax, Cara. Whatever you saw, I don't think it meant anything. I'm as sure that Jessica loves you as I am that Glen loves me."

  "What makes you so sure of Jessica?" she asked, breathing deeply, trying to exhaust her anger as she swam back to the other side.

  "You've got to stop swimming back and forth if you want me to talk to you," he yelled across the pool. "I'm not a very good swimmer and I'm about to have a heart attack."

  "Okay," she said, jumping out of the pool and throwing herself onto a chaise lounge.

  "Thank you." He bowed as he scrambled out and took a seat beside her. "Now you're going to have to give me a few minutes to catch my breath before we continue this conversation."

  "I'm scared, Tim. I've
always been so sure of my intuition, but this time, maybe it's wrong. Maybe she is just curious about lesbians. Maybe I'm staking all my hopes on a genetic impossibility."

  "Cara, don't do this incredible woman a disservice by insulting her character. With or without the Scarpetti gene, she's not playing a game. She loves you, but she's scared too." He paused to see if she was listening. "In the next few weeks, one of two things will happen to Jessica, and they're both a losing situation. If she emigrates to Cali, she'll lose her family and the prestigious life she's known for the past twenty-nine years. If she's not allowed to emigrate to Cali, she'll lose you. She's under tremendous strain, so if she spends a night with friends and manages to forget her problems for just a few minutes, don't be angry at her. I'm sure she'd still rather be here with you."

  Sitting up, Cara put her elbows on her knees, covering her face with her hands. She sat for a few minutes, absorbing the silence so saturated with thought. "You're right," she declared, pushing her wet hair back from her forehead. "You're absolutely right."

  Several hours later, they were just finishing dinner when Jessica came running into the house. Hugging Mrs. Anderson first, she then ran around the table and simultaneously grabbed Tim and Cara. "Oh, I've missed you so much," she whispered in her ear.

  At midnight, they walked down to the beach, stopping just long enough for Jessica to dismiss the security men and request that the two women be transferred to their guard for the rest of the night, and then they continued on to the Lair.

  "You've told me all about your conversation with Jody and your visit to the antique shop, but you haven't asked me about my trip."

  "I knew you would tell me when you were ready," she answered as she spread out the blanket, weighing down the edges with their towels.

  Sitting down, curling her feet under her, Jessica leaned over and kissed Cara sweetly on the cheek.

  "Uh-uh, that's not part of the deal. This is a nude swim only. No kisses. No hugs. No sex."

  "But Cara," she said, lower lip pouting childlike, "it's dark. No one can see us. Making love to you on the beach is my favorite fantasy. I can just envision you with your blonde hair melting into the sand and the water lapping at your feet and your fingers digging into the ground.…Aren't I tempting you just a little bit?" Trying not to smile, she turned her head to the water, peeking at Cara sideways, only the uncontrolled lift of her left eyebrow revealing the light-hearted play of jesting.

  "You are a tease, Jessica Mooran," she exclaimed, shaking her finger in mock anger. "But," she smiled, "when we get to Cali, I'll get even. Now, tell me about your trip."

  "My father looked wonderful. His trip to Asia was successful and he had lots of good stories to tell. The dinner reception was okay, but it would have been more fun if you had been there. I could have made eyes at you across the table."

  "Wasn't there anyone else there you could have made eyes at?" asked Cara, annoyed at herself for surrendering to baseless doubts.

  "As a matter of fact, there was," she volunteered. "The White House protocol officer didn't know that I had broken my engagement—I wanted to tell Dad first— so Roland was assigned as my escort. Seeing him only made me miss you more," she said lovingly as she stretched out on her stomach, hands at her sides.

  Cara leaned over and barely brushed her lips against Jessica's back.

  "I thought you said no kisses," she yelped, surprised at how quickly her body always responded to Cara.

  "That's right, but that little freckle just needed to be kissed," she said, her heart filling in spots she never knew had emptied. Leaping to her feet, she bent over and pulled Jessica up by the hand. "Come on. It's time we went for a swim."

  Laughing, they raced down the beach into the cold water, each woman grateful that the evening had not been spoiled by the mention of Barbra and the visit she had made earlier that day to the Scarpetti Center.

  Twenty-Nine

  As she got off the elevator, Cara spotted Sherry waiting for her by the auditorium door. She started to walk faster, but stopped when she realized that the flat expression on Sherry's face did not convey the answer they had fervently hoped for.

  "I'm sorry," she said as Cara came closer. "The records show that Jessica Mooran tested negative. Mom checked all the laboratory results. They're identical."

  "Oh, my God." A sickening feeling spread through her body. "How do I tell Jessica?"

  "Do you want to go for some coffee?" asked Sherry, her eyes reflecting her share of the pain.

  "No. I'm okay. Please tell Tim Felmar. He's probably in the entertainment room next to the press office." Comfortingly, she clasped Sherry to her chest, speaking in a barely audible voice. "This is not going to end here. I'm not going to allow that bastard Olmstead and laws borne of hatred and ignorance to win. Jessica and I are going to grow old together. Somehow, I'm going to get to the bottom of this."

  "In my unopinionated way," commented Sherry, heavy with the knowledge that she was watching her mother grow old alone, "I think you should go for it."

  The rest of the day was a waste. Trying to block her mind of Jessica proved fruitless. Her biggest concern now was how to tell her, how to keep her focused on the future, free of the insidious distrust forged by despair.

  Returning to the estate early in order to be there before Jessica arrived from her first day back to work, Cara sat with Tim on the terrace, trying to clear her mind of the pain. I need to free my brain in order to think, she told herself, running her fingers through her hair.

  "It you keep doing that, all those beautiful tresses are going to fall out. Now, let's try to solve this problem together. What's the next step?"

  "How do you know there's going to be a next step?"

  "Because I know you, Cara, and I know you're not going to let it end here," he said, folding his arms across his chest and leaning back, balancing his chair precariously on the hind two legs. "You're just like your predecessor. Miri Mills never let anything stop her. And I'm bet-ting you won't either."

  "Right on all counts," she said as she began to use her hands for gesturing.

  They sat and spoke for almost an hour before Cara, knowing that Jessica would be returning any minute, left him on the terrace, asking that he extend apologies to Mrs. Anderson if they didn't appear for dinner.

  "You want me to tell that sweet woman that you're going to miss a Monday night special? Besides, who's going to do the dishes?"

  "Better get your towel ready, my man," she said, in better humor than when they had first returned from the conference. Supported by the encouragement of Tim, she mounted the stairs with a lessened sense of foreboding.

  She washed her face, changed to more comfortable clothes, and was ready a few minutes later when Jessica pushed open the bedroom door, her face shining with the excitement of expectation. "What's happening? What did Barbra find out?" she asked, crossing the room to sit on the bed next to Cara. She looked at her face and back down at the floor. "It's not good, is it?"

  "No," she answered. "The records were correctly categorized. The lab tests were negative. But—"

  Leaping from the bed, Jessica raced down the hall to her own room. Slamming the door to the bathroom in front of Cara, she had barely locked it before her face beaded into a cold sticky sweat. Dropping to her knees, she hung her head over the toilet, vomiting repeatedly until all that was left were the spittle of bile that drooled bitterly from her mouth. She pressed her face against the cold bowl and sobbed in a voice not unlike the women who had lost their children on the docks of the Fantasia.

  In the irony of the bedroom that had been Ellyn Hargreaves's, Cara slumped to the floor, listening to the cries that tore at her innards. When she finally heard the spigot turning and water hitting the basin, she knew that the worst was over.

  Pulling Jessica to her as soon as the door opened, she held her tightly, kissing her forehead with fervent tenderness. "I'm not giving up, Jessica. You are going to be in Cali with me. I promise you that. Now," she said as she
kissed each of her eyes, "let's move on to the next step."

  "What's that?" asked Jessica, reaching for the tissues that sat on the night side table.

  "I'll tell you outside where we can watch the sunset as we talk."

  Sitting on the wrought iron settee, her feet perched on the railing of the balcony, Cara spoke earnestly to Jessica who sat beside her. "You know I love you." She didn't wait for an answer. "There are some questions I need to ask that may be disturbing. I will love you no matter what the answer." She took her hand and tenderly kissed each finger.

  Confused, Jessica nodded with hesitance.

  "Is it possible that you tested Scarpetti-gene positive and your father bribed someone to alter your records?"

  "I had already thought about that," she responded without being defensive. "And the answer is definitely no."

  "Why are you so adamant?" she asked, her hopes dwindling.

  "My parents would have to have done that before I was three years old, and twenty-six years ago they could not have afforded to bribe anyone. My father was a school administrator, my mother was a receptionist in a doctor's office. They didn't have the money."

  "How is that possible? What about Mrs. Anderson? How could they have afforded a housekeeper?"

  "They couldn't. Mrs. Anderson had been their neighbor. My parents took her in several years before I was born, right after her husband left. She worked as their housekeeper in exchange for room and board. Later, when Dad changed jobs and began earning more money, they paid her a small salary. It's been that way ever since." Jessica's eyes again began to fill.

  Ignoring the blossoming tears, Cara pummeled away at Jessica's family. Was there anyone they knew at the Scarpetti Center who would have altered the records as a favor? Were there any relatives who might have been involved? Did Mrs. Anderson know anybody? Where did Mrs. Anderson's husband work?

  "No! No! No!" screamed Jessica, finishing the conversation. "This is going to get us nowhere. The records were not altered. The truth of the matter is that Jessica Mooran tested negative."