“I better make some coffee,” Jeff said. “You can have dessert and then think about leaving.”
Marie didn’t want to go back home, though. She didn’t want to go to work on Monday or pretend she liked her apartment anymore. The contrast of this kind man with his homey place and her lonely, dead neighborhood and office full of unfriendly, uninterested people made Marie recognize that she needed to make some changes in her life. Everything about the way she lived spoke of Jack; it was arranged to make it convenient for him to get to her. With Jack dead and gone, there was no reason on earth she should stay there. But where would she go? Babylon? She could never afford it. The thought of moving from her apartment was exhausting. Maybe she would wait a little longer. She heard that, after a spouse dies, widows should wait one year before doing anything drastic like moving. Maybe it applied to sisters-in-law, too. Could she wait that long? Would she be able to tolerate being miserable for another year?
They finished eating and then came the inevitable; Jeff looked at his watch. “Maybe you better think about getting on the road,” he said.
She felt a little put off that he wasn’t asking her to stay another night, encouraging her to leave for the city in the morning. He went up the stairs with her, standing in the doorway as she gathered up her belongings and stuffed things into her suitcase.
“Well, thanks for coming up!” he said. “We’ll have to do it again. Next month is the big Food Fest; if you liked this weekend, you’ll love Food Fest weekend.” The phone in his hallway started ringing. Looking at it sideways, he gave up and went to answer it. Whispering, he hung up, his anxiety palpable. He picked up her suitcase and followed her down the stairs and out the front door, carrying it to her car. He stowed her case in the trunk and then turned to hug her good-bye.
“Drive safely,” he said as he held the car door open for her as she got in.
She smiled up at him, tired but okay to drive. She could hear more telephone ringing coming from the house; he began fidgeting and glancing back at the house as she fumbled buckling her seat belt.
“Thanks again,” she said. “Talk to you later?”
He nodded yes, and as she backed out of the driveway, yawning, it occurred to her that he hadn’t kissed her. Jeff was running back to his house. She didn’t wait until she was out of Rhinebeck to pull over to the side of the road and stick her finger down her throat.
Chapter 5
There is only so much cleaning that a small apartment needs, so by Saturday afternoon, Sandra was getting restless and decided to take Bernice Smith up on her offer. She showered and dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, and then picked up the phone to call her. Her maid answered the phone, but within seconds, Bernice was there, animated, hopeful.
“My dear! I am so glad you called! What can I do for you?” Sandra was always a little confused by the jubilance that her calls elicited, but let it go. What does Bernice expect of me?
“Hi, Bernice, I was hoping to take you up on your offer for a visit. Is it okay if I come by now?”
Bernice hesitated just a second. “Why, of course! I’ll send Ben. Stay right where you are!”
The weather was hot and muggy, so Sandra took the offer of the limousine. It was better than having to find a cab on a Saturday afternoon. “Thank you, I’ll accept the ride this time!” She said good-bye and went to gather up her purse and put her shoes on. She had a pleasant emptiness in her head; going to Bernice’s meant a wonderful meal, total comfort, and relaxation, truly the best of the good life. Sandra knew it was at Pam’s expense. Bernice rang the bell for Mildred as soon as she hung up from talking with Sandra. Mildred came right away.
“Yes, madam,” she said. It was the fifth time that morning that the bell had summoned her; she was having a time of it with pain in her back bad enough to keep her up all night. And now Bernice was acting like she did in the old days, keeping the staff running for no apparent reason. Mildred decided she may have to say something if this was another call just so Bernice would know she wasn’t alone.
“Sandra Benson, Jack’s young woman, is coming. Will you let Ben know? He has her address. And I’ll want luncheon served as soon as she gets here. Please tell Cook.”
Mildred turned to leave, rolling her eyes. When she got back to the kitchen, she relayed the messages to Ben and Alice.
Alice was pouring coffee for them. “How am I supposed to fix a luncheon with no food? Someone needs to tell her so she can wake up from her fairytale.” She went to a desk where her menus and recipe books were arranged neatly. “I’ll have to do something with bread; that I can make from scratch. Today we need to tell her, the three of us.”
“What are we supposed to say?” Ben said. Then he laughed. “Good luck with that! She won’t care if there’s no money! ‘Just do it!’ will be her answer.” Her three devoted house staff were all thinking the same thing, but no one was saying it out loud: Our days here are numbered.
Alice decided on a simple lunch of puff pastry stuffed with chicken salad. She could make enough of that for two women with the leftovers from last night’s dinner. They would last another day.
Ben had left to get Sandra when the phone rang. Mildred picked it up. She put the caller on hold, whispering to Alice as she left the kitchen to get Bernice to take the call: “The prodigal son.”
Alice shook her head with raised eyebrows. “Oh boy!”
Mildred came back a few minutes later. “Three for luncheon.”
Bernice was excited! She knew Bill might be released from prison early, but a whole month! It was just testimony to his innocence that he was out already and to his love for her as his mother that he just arrived home and wanted to come to see her. It didn’t occur to her that he might have bad news. She went up to her bedroom to prepare for her guests. The idea that she would have both her beloved son and the unborn baby of her late son in the house at the same time thrilled her. She had forgotten the screaming scene when she’d told Bill about the baby. Bernice had a tendency to idealize even the most distorted encounter.
She freshened her makeup and dabbed perfume behind her ears. Her sons were proud of their mother’s exquisite grooming and appearance. She didn’t want to let Bill down. Her failing eyesight hid the food stains on the front of her shirt from her view, and she couldn’t remember the last time she showered. It would not be missed by her child.
She heard the car pull around; Sandra must have arrived. She left the seclusion of her bedroom and slowly walked down the stairs, aware that she had grown frail this summer. She no longer went to the gym; the membership was too expensive to continue. She didn’t walk much. At her age, decline happened rapidly if you didn’t watch it. Sandra was standing in the entryway, waiting for Bernice to descend. They waved to each other.
“Hi! Thank you for having me!” Sandra said, doing her best to hide her shock at Bernice’s appearance. She met her at the bottom stair, and they embraced. “How are you?” she asked, trying to keep the concern from her voice.
Bernice had lost weight, and the most worrisome was the condition of her clothes and hair. Always pristine, she was almost slovenly today.
“I’m doing well! But what about you?” she asked, looking down at Sandra’s still-flat belly. She’s entering her second trimester; shouldn’t she be showing at least a little bit?
“Oh, we’re just fine, with the emphasis on we.” She laughed.
Bernice took Sandra’s arm, and they walked together toward the den. Sandra would have to speak to Pam about Bernice’s appearance.
“By the way, Bill is coming over for lunch, too. You’ll get to meet him under better circumstances.” Bernice looked at Sandra to gauge her reaction to this news. It wasn’t good.
“Well, I better leave, then.” She shook off Bernice’s arm and headed for the door.
“Wait! Please, Sandra. I didn’t set this up; he just called, truly. Not five minutes ago. Won’t you see him? Give him a chance to apologize to you.”
Sandra thought, Yeah, like
that’s going to happen. But she did slow down. Why didn’t I just stay home today?
“Bill has no reason to apologize to me, but that doesn’t mean I approve of what he did. He left Jack to die on the train and then tried to kill Pam’s mother. He should tell you and Pam he’s sorry, not me.” Sandra could feel her voice getting shrill, but it was too late. They would have it out now, something she had wanted to avoid at all costs.
“But Jack didn’t die on the train. Pam told me. He died at the hospital.” Bernice was acting confused, as if she was hearing something she hadn’t heard before. Then, “Why does everyone say he dropped dead on the train? I loathe that visual!” Bernice sat down on the closest chair and, with her face covered, started to weep.
It was at this inopportune time that Bill decided to bust through the front door like a linebacker. “Mother!” he yelled for her. “I’m home!” The cheerfulness stopped as soon as he saw Bernice slumped over in a chair up against the entryway wall. “Mother! What in God’s name! What the hell is wrong with her?” he yelled, seeing Sandra for the first time. “What’d you say to her?”
“Calm down, Bill,” Bernice said, trying to pull it together. “We were just having a moment, Sandra and I.” She sat up straight and started to dig through her pockets for a tissue.
It was then that Bill noticed his mother had changed in the past sixty days. The toll his incarceration had taken on her surpassed what the death of both her husband and son did. “Mother, for God’s sake, what happened to you?” he said without restraint.
Sandra turned away, embarrassed for both of them. She wished she could disappear, but something told her that her presence might be useful to the family now, that she owed something to Jack to stay here and finish what she’d started.
“Why haven’t you been getting your hair done?” He was making reference to the yellowed gray of her shaggy hair, recently cut in a youthful pixie style as soon as Jack’s funeral was over, after having been worn in a gleaming silver French twist for thirty years. Then he leaned forward and gently, with his hand under her chin, lifted her head slightly to look into her eyes. “Why haven’t you changed your clothes? Mom, what is going on here?” Bill was suddenly frightened. He wasn’t ready for Bernice to die and leave him alone. He didn’t want to be grown up, the head of a family. He went to her side and helped her stand up.
“I’m very well able to stand on my own, if you don’t mind. Insulting me in my own home and then insinuating that I am unable to function.” Her old pride had returned.
Bill stifled a sigh of relief. He looked at Sandra and tried to smile. She could almost read his mind. She was being given an opening here to bond as part of the family or to remain an outsider.
“Bernice, I don’t think that’s what Bill means at all, do you, Bill?” She came to Bernice’s other side and took her hand. “Let’s go back into the den, okay? I’m sorry I raised my voice, Bernice.”
Bernice looked confused for a moment. “What were we fighting about, anyway?” She laughed then. “Oh, right! You, Bill, we were fighting about you.”
It was his turn to look confused. “What did I do? I haven’t even been around for two months.”
They took their seats in the den around the game table.
Bernice rang for Mildred. “Let’s eat, okay? I’m about ready to faint.”
Mildred brought the lunch tray in and decided there on the spot that she was going to speak to Bill about the money situation. Newly home from jail or not, now was the time. No one was prepared to work forever without pay.
“Sir, may I speak to you privately?” Mildred said to Bill under her breath.
Thinking she wanted to talk about the condition of his mother, he stood up, making the excuse to go to the bathroom to wash his hands, and whispered, “Yes,” back to Mildred. They met in the hallway leading to the kitchen.
“Sir,” Mildred began, “we in the kitchen think you should know that finances here have reached a critical point. We haven’t been paid in over a month, and there is no money for food or to pay the bills we normally take care of, for the gardener, or for gas for the car.” She stopped, looking him right in the eye.
“I thought my sister-in-law was taking care of the money while I was gone,” he said. Then he remembered just that morning, Anne saying Sandra was giving Bernice money. He could feel his face turning red, his blood pressure going up rapidly. “This is news to me.” He was looking off into space. What the hell am I going to do now? I don’t have a penny. That goddamned Pam!
Mildred was waiting patiently, but wasn’t going to budge until he gave her some answers.
“Let me look into it, okay? Can you and the others hold on for a few more days?” He knew that he needed some finesse right now, a commodity not normally used in a prison cell. Did he even remember how to charm? “Thank you so much for not jumping ship, Mildred! I appreciate it so very much! I’ll get back to you, okay?” He took her hand and patted it.
She immediately went into the bathroom and washed it off.
Bill stood in the hallway for a few minutes, collecting himself. He was at a total loss for what the next move should be. He knew that anger wasn’t going to get him anywhere; it was too late for that. He had to be honest with his mother and he supposed Sandra, as well. Something had to be done right that afternoon, asking Sandra or Pam for money. They didn’t need to keep the staff on, but he wasn’t going to do anything rash. He was beginning to think he’d made a mistake getting out of jail early.
Walking back to the den, he could hear pleasant conversation between his mother and Sandra. It was totally against everything he knew to bring up any unpleasantness during a meal. He would have to take a stand and be strong for once. And he had to control his temper. It had landed him in hot water with his brother, and look where that led. Both women looked up when he walked into the room. He decided to just say it.
“Mother, the staff hasn’t been paid in over a month.” He sat down with a thud.
Bernice’s hand was poised with a serving spoon, ready to scoop up a puffed pastry shell full of chicken and place one on each plate. Her hand hovered over the food. “That’s nonsense. I paid them myself; I’m sure of it. What a thing to bring up during lunch, in front of our guest!” She reached with the spoon, ignoring Bill.
“Mother, listen to me. Put the spoon down and listen. We are broke. We don’t have the money to pay your staff, or to pay for food, or to buy gas for the limousine.” He waited, and Bernice continued to dish up lunch. Bill reached over to his mother and gently took the spoon out of her hand. “You are going to face this right now,” he said firmly.
The dialogue was giving Sandra a glimpse into why people lost their temper with Bernice. She could be obstinate.
“We have a choice. We can ask Pam,” and then he turned to look at Sandra, “or we can ask you,” he said, directing his comment to her. “You benefited by my brother’s death.” He raised his hand when she began to protest. “Not intentionally, but you did. Let’s face the facts here. My brother was pissed off at me because I failed to live up to his work ethic.”
Sandra had to admit that was probably true. Bill wasn’t dynamic. He was weak. But that may not have been entirely his fault.
“We were desperate for his help. He gave Mother a generous stipend after my father died. You knew that. He promised me that he would field clients my way. And now you haven’t honored his intentions.” Bill sat down at the table, across from Sandra. He fought back tears. “When I learned that he willed his business to you, I knew we were in trouble. By not giving it to his wife, keeping it in the family, it would make it that much harder for us to benefit in any way.”
Bernice knew why Jack had been so angry, but she wasn’t going to bring it up in front of Sandra. She prayed silently that Bill wouldn’t either. It would be the final devastation. Now this lovely young lady knows we’re broke. Can I keep a little of my pride?
“I’m not sure what I have to do with this,” Sandra said. “Your m
other invited me here for lunch. I didn’t come here to argue with you.” She thought, It’ll be over my dead body that he gets one percent of the business Jack left to me. He’d left it to her to protect Pam; Sandra could see that now. The date of the restraining order and the day Jack changed his will, giving his business interest to her, were close.
She was so pleased with herself! She couldn’t wait to tell Pam! This sudden epiphany made so much sense. Jack knew that the money issues here were escalating and Bill was going to be trouble. Jack had said all along that he felt like he might be dying soon. She wasn’t the only person who noticed; even his own lawyer told Pam he felt that. He knew that Pam was too kind to deny Bill; if she had the controlling interest in the business, he would hound her to death. Sandra was tougher. Bill would not be able to harass her like he could Pam. Sandra felt vindicated. Jack hadn’t left the business to her because it would benefit her after all. It had been to protect Pam.
Lunch was ruined. Bernice was numb. What does Bill expect of me? She didn’t know what to do. She looked beseechingly at Sandra. “Is there any way you can help us?”
Sandra stood up and went to the French doors that led to a beautiful walled courtyard. It was August, and the flowers were still abundant, no sign of dog days out here. It was evident that the gardener was coming frequently, that one of the unpaid bills would be from the greenhouse. “Well, let me ask you first. Is there any way you can help yourself?” She looked from Bill to Bernice and waited.
Neither said a word.
“Okay, let me word it differently. If I were to give you money right now, how would it change anything? You would still be broke tomorrow, correct? There wouldn’t be any income coming into this house or yours either, correct, Bill?” After all, the guy just got sprung from jail. What income was he going to have? She waited. “The way I see things, you are living above your means here. You both want to have expensive lifestyles, yet there is no money to support it. Can I ask what is going on with your office?” She could tell that she had hit a nerve; Bill was bright red in the face. But to his credit, he was keeping it together.
Don't You Forget About Me: Pam of Babylon Book #2 Page 4