"Why did you stop me? I was enjoying my celebrity status," she said as they rushed toward the waiting limousine. Suddenly, he stopped walking, threw down the luggage, and roughly grabbed her wrist to keep her from going any further.
"That's not Lenny," he said insistently, staring at the driver holding open the door.
"No, it's not," she said as she watched the involuntary rise of the slender driver's left eyebrow touching the black ringlets that were falling from under the cap. "She's in drag," Cara yelped as she ran forward and embraced the amused Jessica.
"These people," said Tim, nodding at the crowd that had gathered at the airport window, "are going to think Calians are crazy." Kissing Jessica on the cheek, he pushed her into the backseat with Cara and took the position behind the driver's wheel. "What will tomorrow's newspapers say?"
"How did you manage this?" asked Cara as she helped Jessica take off the driver's uniform jacket and removed the cap from her head, while planting small kisses on any piece of exposed flesh that passed her lips.
"This one was easy," she said as she pressed the button for solid window tinting and longingly embraced her. "I've missed you more than I ever thought possible," she whispered. Still clinging tightly to Cara's hand, she explained. "This was a cooperative effort. I told Mrs. Anderson what I wanted to do and she arranged it with Lenny. I think she was tired of seeing me mope around the house."
Arriving back at the house, Tim and Cara went directly to the dining room where Mrs. Anderson was preparing breakfast. She pulled them both to her overly endowed breasts, smacking a wet kiss on each of their cheeks. "Welcome back. We're all so glad to see you, eh?" Nodding in Jessica's direction, she added, "Some of us more than others."
It was early afternoon before Cara and Jessica were finally able to walk to the Lair, the cool September weather keeping them from changing to bathing suits. "I like it so much more when I can see the fibers of your flesh," said Cara as they sat down on the grassy area. Looking at Jessica, she noticed, with sadness, that her bright glow of summer was dimming, the copper tan fading like the hours of sunlight.
She told Jessica about the prime minister's startled reaction to the question about slippers in the closet and then, sitting with shoulders caved, stared wistfully at the rippling waters of the Long Island Sound. "I spoke with Jody," she finally said. It was a conversation she had been avoiding since her arrival.
"Shhhhhhhh," said Jessica, kissing her finger and putting it to Cara's lips. "It's all right. I already know. While you were gone, I had lunch with Doris. She's been a friend since college, one of the country's best international attorneys…works on my father's staff. She gave me the answers I didn't want to hear."
"Those answers are not final, Jessica. Jody is preparing the briefs to challenge the laws. And we are going to win. We are going to be together in 2056, even if it means going to Europe to live until the case gets to court."
"Cara, honey, that would never work. You belong in Cali. You are Cali. You would never be happy in Europe. I couldn't allow our relationship to be swallowed up in the bitterness that would ensue," she responded adamantly, her voice lending conviction to the words.
"I'm not going to give you up—"
Again, Jessica put her finger to Cara's lips. "Shhhhhh. Let's not talk about this now. We have a wonderful eight days ahead of us. Let's enjoy one another and share in Barbra's happiness." She moved her face closer to Cara's, removing her finger and placing her full mouth against hers.
I am kvelling, thought Cara. I am filled to overflowing with this woman. "I have a surprise for you," said Cara, breaking the despondent mood.
"You know how I love surprises." Jessica clapped. "What is it?"
"First, I remove your watch from your left wrist," she said as she-took off her wristwatch and put it in her back pocket.
"I like this game," said Jessica, eyebrow raised flirtatiously.
"Next," said Cara, "I kiss your eyes closed." Lightly, she brushed Jessica's eyelids with her lips. "Then, I kiss each of your tiny fingers." Picking up her left hand, she seductively suckled the tip of each finger, moving from one to the other by weaving her tongue along the sensitive flesh of the palm.
"I can't stand it," said Jessica, starting to giggle as she tried pulling her hand back. Playfully, Cara held on to Jessica's squirming wrist as the two women wrestled affectionately on the grass. Suddenly, Cara stopped, her face masked in confusion as she forcibly gripped Jessica's forearm. "You're hurting me," yelled Jessica. "What's wrong?"
Staring at Jessica's wrist, her face paling in shock, Cara's eyes focused on the white strip of skin that had been hidden by the watch. "That's not a tan line. You haven't been in the sun for weeks," she said aloud, more to herself than to Jessica. "What is this?" she said, pointing to the two-inch long rectangular patch of white skin.
"It's a scar," she responded. "I don't know how it got there. I've always had it."
Grabbing Jessica by the hand, Cara ran, half dragging her, back to the cliffside stairs. Panting, more from fright than exhaustion, Jessica pleaded with her to stop. "What are you doing? Have you gone crazy?" she yelled, her face riveted in fear.
Two security men ran up to them, guns at the ready. "Are you all right, Ms. Mooran?" asked the one named Bob.
"She's fine," answered Cara, who continued holding her hand as she began climbing the stairs.
"It's okay," nodded Jessica, gasping for breath as she struggled to keep up.
Rushing into the main house and pushing the doors open to the kitchen, Cara ran up to Mrs. Anderson, who was standing at the stove stirring a pot of chili. "What is this?" Cara yelled, holding Jessica by the left forearm so the elderly housekeeper had a clear view of her wrist. "Why is there a laser scar on Jessica's wrist? I've seen this same scar before ... on the bodies of Calians whose biological mothers mutilated them with messages before putting them aboard the Fantasia. Why was Jessica tattooed?"
Hands trembling, the old lady turned off the stove and put her wooden spoon on the counter. With great care, she took off the starched apron, hanging it on the hook of the doorframe, and shuffled into the dining room, motioning for them to follow. "Why don't we sit in here where we can talk, eh? I'll tell you everything you want to know, Ms. Romero." With saddened eyes, she looked at Jessica who was shaking her head in contusion. "It's okay, Miss Jessica," she-said, patting her on the shoulder. "It'll all be okay. I'm ashamed that I didn't tell you a long time ago."
They sat at the table and waited for the old housekeeper to speak.
"Jessica is not Jessica," sighed Mrs. Anderson, eyes focused on the little girl she had raised.
"I need to know exactly what's going on here," interrupted Jessica, releasing Cara's hand. "What's this talk about a tattoo? And what do you mean by I'm not Jessica? Who the hell am I?"
"I'll tell you everything, Miss Jessica. I just need time to get my thoughts in a row. You see, when you and your sister were born—"
"My sister!"
"Yes. Now you are going to have to be quiet and let me speak, Miss Jessica," she scowled, her eyebrows furrowed to the hairline. "You and your sister were born to the Moorans in 2026. Two beautiful twin girls, you were, names of Jocelyn and Jessica. We were all so happy." She smiled at the memories. "But just two weeks later, when you were tested for the Scarpetti gene, your mother's heart almost broke. Little Jocelyn—that was you—tested positive. Your sister, Jessica, tested negative. Margaret was brokenhearted when she found out that she had to send one of her beautiful babies to Cali, but she had no choice, eh? Then, when she heard that some of the Scarpetti children were being tattooed with messages, she asked Dr. Simon—that was who she worked for—to tattoo your wrist with the name 'Henry Mooran.' She thought that maybe one day you would return from Cali and be able to find your family. Eh?"
"Why was I never sent to Cali? What happened to my sister?" she asked as she gripped Cara's hand in full view of the housekeeper.
"Just one month after you were born, Jes
sica died of Infantile Darjee Disease. While you, my little leprechaun, stayed fat and healthy. And so, Margaret did what any loving mother would do, eh?"
"Oh, my God, she switched identifications," interjected Cara, suddenly sensitive to all the anguish that must have been suffered in the Mooran house in 2026. "The death certificate was made out in the name of Jocelyn, the Scarpetti-gene positive child. And you, dear heart," she said, looking at Jessica, "were raised as Jessica, the Scarpetti-gene negative child."
"That's right, Ms. Romero. The only problem was the tattoo. Dr. Simon took care of that. He covered the tattoo with a laser patch so that no one would ever know."
"At least not until Cara came along. What about my sister? How come I never knew about her?" Jessica asked.
Mrs. Anderson took a deep breath before continuing. "I was the only one who ever knew that there had been twins. You see, there-were no relatives. No one else who cared, eh? I was sworn to secrecy. The Moorans thought it best that no one ever be suspicious."
"My father ... he knew," Jessica said, more a statement than a question.
"You have to understand, dear child. Your father loved his babies very much. He didn't want to lose both of them." She reached across the table and patted Jessica's hand, still held in Cara's. "He did the very best he could for you. After Margaret died, it was like he was possessed. He spent all his time working, trying to raise you right. He wanted you to go to the best schools and meet the right boys, eh? It was like if he worked hard enough, and you met enough people, you would find a nice young man to marry."
"But I found Cara."
"Yes," said Mrs. Anderson. "And a wonderful woman, she is."
"This is a lot to digest," said a limp Jessica, resting her head on Cara's shoulder, nuzzling against her neck. As an afterthought, she asked, "Mrs. Anderson, why did you decide to break your vow of secrecy?"
"I didn't. I spoke to your father first. I asked him last week when you were moping around here like a lost soul if I could be telling you the truth if you would be asking me. He said that he would be doing the same thing if you asked him." She put on the eyeglasses that she had removed when she first sat down. "Now, I'd better get back to my kitchen before Mr. Felmar comes looking for his dinner. I think you two girls need some time together, eh?" She hugged Jessica tightly, tears starting to peek from the corners of her eyes.
The two women walked out on the terrace and wordlessly sat in the lawn chairs facing the arriving sunset. Several minutes passed before Jessica finally spoke. "I love you, Cara, with all my heart and soul. It's just that there's so much for me to absorb right now. Give me a day or so to get my head together before we start planning our future."
"How wonderful to know that we have a future." She took her slender hand and pressed it to her lips, caressing the trembling fingers that conveyed the depths of Jessica's emotions. Reaching in her pocket, she took out Jessica's watch and put it back on the tiny wrist, electing to delay the surprise bracelet for a few more days. "And tomorrow, we can share in the joy of telling Barbra about her future."
Thirty-Six
"How wonderful, my dear," exclaimed Barbra after Jessica related the events of the day before. "So, you will be going to Cali after all."
Leaning back against the couch, her right arm relaxed around Jessica's shoulders, Cara responded. "Just one, thing remains, Dr. Weissman. I spoke with Jody last night and she stated that we need verification that the records of the deceased Mooran baby are annotated gene positive. If that proves to be correct, then Jody will go through international channels to subpoena copies of Jessica's and Jocelyn's Scarpetti documents. Together with Mrs. Anderson's statement, the records should serve as sufficient proof to obtain Calian citizenship for Jessica."
"Of course. I will go to the Scarpetti Center this very week." Placing her teacup back in the saucer, she neatly folded her napkin in the demure manner that Cara had come to recognize as Barbra Weiss-man's.
Nodding appreciatively to her mother, Sherry extended her hand to shake Cara's anci Jessica's, displaying the beautiful smile that had first attracted Cara's attention. "I'm very happy for both of you, but you must promise me that when this story can be told, I have the exclusive rights."
"You've got it!" they responded at the same time.
As the laughter faded, Barbra cleared her throat several times, surprised at the dry condition anxiety had generated. It felt as though her salivary glands had gone on strike. Taking a mouthful of tea, she self-consciously swirled it before swallowing. Then, she spoke. "I think I've kept myself in suspense quite long enough. So, now that you have solved your problems, you must help me solve mine. Cara, how did Miriam Ekstrom answer my question? Are there slippers in the closet?"
"With a forceful…unequivocal…yes!" answered Cara, hands slashing the air, punctuating the dramatic effect of the words.
Clapping her hands with evident pleasure, Barbra leaned over and kissed her daughter on the cheek. "I guess I'm going to Cali, dear."
The three young women, who had plotted earlier while Barbra was preparing tea, sat silently and stared at her. No one moved or said a word. They waited patiently, their faces a question mark.
"Well," said Barbra, "I guess I'm going to have to tell you my little secret." Trying to keep her eyelids from fluttering, a nervous characteristic of which she was only vaguely aware, she sat with her elbow on the arm of the chair, holding her hand to her forehead as she spoke. "When Miriam and I first met, it was the custom for homosexuals in love to have a commitment ceremony at the Metropolitan Community Church. It was a wedding of sorts, a meaningful union of love." She looked at Cara who nodded knowingly. "Similar to the commitments that are now accepted as legal marriages in Cali. Well, as I was saying, Miriam was always asking me to enter into a commitment with her, and I was always refusing." Standing up, she removed her apron and straightened her skirt before sitting down again to continue. "You see, my dears, life with Miriam Ekstrom was not very easy. I loved her dearly, as she did me, but she was absent so much of the time. She was constantly out marching for one cause or another— gay rights, the homeless, the people of Bosnia. I never knew when she would come home for dinner or even for the night."
"Were you living together then?" asked Sherry, her questioning face reflecting her eagerness to hear some of the details of her mother's early relationship with Miriam Ekstrom.
"Yes dear, we were. Miriam and I began living together the day after we met." Covering her mouth, she chuckled. "I wasn't always as proper as I am today. Now, where was I? Oh yes, one day when Miriam asked me for a commitment—it was the day after she was out all night planning a march on behalf of Vietnam veterans—I threw open her closet door and I yelled—she had never heard me yell before, but I yelled that time—'Miriam,' I yelled, 'do you see all those shoes in that closet? You have shoes for marching, shoes for campaigning, shoes for every imaginable purpose, but there is not one pair of slippers. On the day that you put a pair of slippers in the closet, I will make a commitment to you.' So, from that day on, whenever Miriam Ekstrom would ask for a commitment, I would ask if there were slippers in the closet. And do you know something, she was always so busy fighting for human rights, she forgot to buy those slippers." As if looking into the past, she spoke softly, her eyes clouded over, "Strangely, I loved her all the more for it."
"That's a beautiful story," said Cara, whose own eyes were becoming heavy.
Barbra passed tissues to the three young women as she wiped her own eyes, her hands still trembling from the telling. "When you get back to Cali, be sure to explain to Miriam that I will be there just as soon as I can clear up matters here."
Later, after they feasted on homemade pastries, the two women prepared to leave. While Barbra was excitedly relating her departure plans to Jessica, Sherry took Cara aside, mumbling under her breath. "What's wrong? You're not bubbling quite the way I would expect you to tonight."
Pivoting to turn her back to Jessica, she hugged Sherry to her breast, whisp
ering softly, "I don't want your mother to worry, but there's one more stage for us to pass. Sometime this week, I will be meeting Jessica's father."
"Oh," said the cub reporter whose biggest story until this year was about the planned expansion of a local shopping mall.
Thirty-Seven
Returning from the conference center on Thursday, Tim and Cara had no doubts about who was visiting the estate. As the limousine pulled up to the security gate, two men approached the vehicle, guns drawn as they opened all the doors. Lenny, the driver, laconically reassured his passengers. "Don't worry. They're us." After everyone got out, and the car and their bodies were searched with weapons detectors, they were allowed to reenter and pass through the entrance to Ellyn Hargreaves's former estate.
"How are you feeling?" asked Tim as he saw the color drain from Cara's face.
"Like I'm about to be executed," she answered, rubbing her clammy hands together in her lap.
"Don't worry. It'll be a piece of cake. I'm going to be right next to you the entire time." She looked at him quizzically. "Well, I don't see why not. If he's going to have two or three security men present, I don't see why you can't have just one. Besides, I never met the president before."
Looking out the window, Cara gazed at the rolling blue-green flats of the old Hargreaves estate, her eyes resting on the low-flying birds who, annoyed at being disturbed as they prepared for their winter migration, cackled defiantly at the passing limousine. Somewhere in the woods, she thought, are the doe and her two fawns, foraging for the remaining foliage that would get them through winter. And I too am here foraging. For the love of Jessica. How fitting that it all takes place on the estate of America's best-remembered Calian.
Scooting in front of the security guards, Mrs. Anderson greeted them at the door. Seeing Cara's colorless face, she grabbed her hand, fidgeting with her fingers as they walked. "Now, don't be nervous, Ms. Romero. The president is a lovely man. He and Ms. Jessica are in the library. After you have put away your things, they would like for you to join them, eh?"
The Meadowlark Sings Page 17