Sleeping Beauty

by Phillip Margolin

  At the restaurant, two old men dressed in worn brown suits and open-necked white shirts were sipping espresso at a table on the piazza and debating the fortunes of a local football team. Another man, covered in dust-a laborer, a mason perhaps-was eating a sandwich and reading a newspaper. Jerry sat apart from them at a small table that was shaded by an umbrella. He angled his chair so he was completely in its shadow. Ashley saw him check his watch. After a minute he took off his suit jacket and loosened his tie. Ashley left the church.

  The trek from the lot had made Jerry thirsty but there was no waiter in sight. He craned his neck toward the door of the restaurant. When he turned back, a woman with short, jet-black hair was sitting down at his table. She was dressed in a powder-blue shirt and tan slacks. Sunglasses hid her eyes. Jerry’s face split into a grin.

  “I didn’t recognize you for a moment,” he said. “You look great. The dark hair suits you.”

  Ashley touched her hair self-consciously. “Blond stands out like neon here.”

  As she spoke, Ashley checked for signs of danger.

  “I’m pretty sure I wasn’t followed,” Jerry said to allay her fears. “When we hung up I phoned for tickets and I left for the airport two hours later. No one would even know that I was meeting you. I drove straight here as soon as I landed in Florence.”

  A waiter appeared in the doorway of the café.

  “How well do you know this place?” Jerry asked.

  “Why?” Ashley asked, quickly looking over her shoulder.

  Jerry laughed. “Will you relax? I asked because I’m famished. I’ve been traveling for twenty hours and all I’ve eaten is the crap food on the plane. What’s good here? This is Italy. They must serve pasta.”

  The tension drained out of Ashley’s shoulders and she laughed, too.

  “Sorry. It’s just…”

  “You don’t have to explain. You just have to get me something to eat and drink.”

  Ashley smiled. “This place is decent if you’ll settle for something simple.”

  “I’ll settle for anything that’s food.”

  Ashley waved over the waiter and chatted with him in Italian.

  “You sound like a native,” Jerry said as soon as the waiter left.

  Ashley shrugged. “If you know Spanish, Italian isn’t that tough to pick up.”

  Jerry sat back and studied her. He could not get over how much Ashley had changed. It wasn’t just the new hair color. It was the new maturity he saw in her body and face. It suddenly dawned on him that the last time he’d seen Ashley she was a teenage girl. The Ashley sitting opposite him was a woman.

  “I’ve really worried about you,” Jerry said. “How are you holding up?”

  “I’m okay. I love Italy. I love the quiet.” She shrugged again. “I feel safe.”

  Jerry sighed. He sat back. “You have to come home.”

  Ashley looked frightened. “I can’t.”

  “You have to. Something’s happened. Something that changes everything.”

  “What?”

  “Henry Van Meter is dead. He passed away a week ago.”

  “I’m sorry,” Ashley said. She looked sad. “I liked him. He was very kind. But what does his death have to do with me?”

  “He’s the one who hired me to come here and explain everything.”

  “Explain what?”

  Jerry paused, trying to find the right words.

  “Casey is still in a coma.”

  Ashley nodded. She wished that Jerry would stop dancing around the reason for his visit.

  “While Henry was alive, he and Miles argued about what to do with Casey. Henry wanted to keep her alive and hope for a miracle. Miles wants to take her off life support. Henry was afraid that Miles would be appointed Casey’s guardian when he died, and he’s trying to do just that. Miles has filed papers with the court asking to be appointed Casey’s guardian. The hearing is set for next week.”

  Ashley looked confused. “What does this have to do with me?”

  “Everything.” Jerry paused. He looked very uncomfortable. “When you hear what I have to say you’ll understand why I felt you needed to be with someone when you learned why I’m here.”

  “Jerry, please. What is going on?”

  Philips reached across the table and took Ashley’s hands in his. He looked her in the eye.

  “You have to come back to Portland and ask the court to make you Casey’s guardian.”

  “Why would I want to do that? Why would the court even consider me?”

  He tightened his grip on her hands. “Casey is your mother.”

  Ashley’s mouth gaped open but she couldn’t speak. She pulled her hands away and stared at Jerry as if he was insane.

  “I know that this is hard for you to take…”

  “My mother?” Ashley laughed harshly. “My mother is dead, Jerry. Joshua Maxfield killed her.”

  “No, your mother is not dead. Casey Van Meter is your biological mother. I’ve seen the proof.”

  Ashley shook her head stubbornly. “Terri Spencer is my mother. I hardly knew Casey Van Meter.”

  Jerry let out a puff of air. “I knew this wouldn’t be easy. Let me explain everything, okay? Then you can make up your mind. Remember I told you that my father died shortly before your father was killed?”

  Ashley nodded.

  “What I didn’t tell you is that he was murdered.”

  “Oh, Jerry.”

  “A burglar broke into his house in Boulder Creek and… He beat him to death. Now do you understand why I’ve tried so hard to help you? Both our fathers died horrible deaths within weeks of each other. I knew exactly what you were going through.”

  Ashley didn’t know what to say.

  “The burglar set a fire to cover up his crime. The fire destroyed all of the files that my father took to Boulder Creek with him. I thought that your father’s files burned up. That’s why I didn’t know what was in them when I started representing you.

  “A few weeks ago, Henry Van Meter asked me to come to his house. He showed me documents relating to your birth and adoption that he kept in his safe. They prove that Norman Spencer adopted you when you were born.”

  “Are you saying that Norman wasn’t my real father?”

  “No, he’s your biological father.” Jerry paused. “Look, it’s complicated. It took Henry a while to explain everything to me.”

  “How do you know that he didn’t lie to you?”

  “I know that he was telling the truth because I found your father’s files. Dad must have brought them back to Portland when he met with your mother. They were in a filing cabinet but they’d been misfiled.”

  “I still don’t believe this. It can’t be true.”

  She sounded lost. Jerry reached out and touched her hand again.

  “It is true, Ashley. You’ll believe me when I explain everything I know. Let me tell you what happened from the beginning.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  1

  Norman Spencer’s father had worked in a lumber mill until a back injury put him on disability. His mother was a checkout clerk in a supermarket. Norman wanted to quit high school to help out, but his parents knew that education was the only way out of hard times for their only child. School was never easy, but Norm struggled to a B-plus average. Sports were easier, and earned him a wrestling scholarship to the state university, where he continued to struggle with the books and found that there were a lot of boys who were better than he was on the mats. Still, by his sophomore year, he was getting A’s and B’s and was an unspectacular, but sound, member of the varsity.

  During the season Norm kept his hair short, because the coach insisted his team wear crewcuts. As soon as the wrestling season ended in his sophomore year, Norm decided to let his hair grow long. Norm’s hair was down to his shoulders by the time school ended and he started back to work at Vernon Hock’s Texaco in Portland. Even with financial aid and a scholarship for wrestling, his family could not afford to send
Norm to school, so he was always working. He’d pumped gas at Uncle Vernon’s gas station for the past two summers.

  Vernon Hock, who had fought in Korea and was a one hundred percent, true-blue American, gave Norm some shit about his fag hair. But his uncle was also a pretty laid-back guy, so he didn’t give him much shit. While he worked, Norm tied his hair in a ponytail and kept it tucked up under his hat so as not to upset his uncle’s customers. That helped keep the grease out of it, anyway.

  “I got a tow for you,” Vernon said one Thursday night. Norm was under the hood of a Buick, working on the carburetor. He pulled his head out and wiped his hands on a rag. “Some broad’s stuck out near the turnoff to Slocum Creek Road. She’s calling from a house.” Vernon gave him the address. “You can pick her up there and she’ll take you to the car.”

  Norm was glad to get out of the garage. The weather was balmy but the garage was stuffy and smelled of gasoline fumes. He took the tow truck and headed out of town with the radio blasting and the window rolled down.

  Slocum Creek Road crossed Blair Road a few miles past the new mall in what was still mostly farmland. Streetlights illuminated the area around the mall, but after a mile Blair Road turned pitch-black. Norm had to put on his brights and squint hard to find the address on the mailbox. The house was at the end of a dirt driveway. Norm parked the truck and knocked. A man dressed in chinos and a work shirt opened the screen door. When he saw Norm’s grease-stained coveralls, he called out, “It’s the tow guy.” Then he asked Norm to step inside.

  “Thank you, sir,” he said, “but I’ll wait out here. Don’t want to track dirt in.”

  The man nodded before turning his head to look at a tall, blond girl around Norman ’s age. The girl was wearing a green Izod shirt and white cotton pants. Her straight blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she was very tan.

  “I’m from Hock’s Texaco. I hear you’ve got a problem.”

  “My car is about a half mile down the road. It won’t start.”

  The girl sounded put out, as if she found it inconceivable that something she owned would betray her.

  Norm held open the passenger door of the tow truck. He threw a half-eaten bag of potato chips in the back and brushed at the seat.

  “Hop in and we’ll have a look.”

  The girl didn’t hesitate. Norm liked that.

  They drove to the car in silence, and Norm drew some conclusions about the girl. He figured that she was athletic, smart, self-assured, and way out of his league. Her car was a red Thunderbird convertible, a classic, and it was sitting on a grass strip on the side of the road. Norm added “rich” to his guesses about his passenger. He parked in front of the car and went around to the passenger side to let the girl out. She was already slamming the door shut when he reached the front of the truck.

  “Nice car,” Norm said. Then he noticed the Stanford sticker.

  “You a Cardinal?” he asked.

  The girl looked confused for a moment. Then she got it.

  “Yes.”

  “What year?”

  “I’m going into my junior year.”

  “Me, too. I’m at the U of O.”

  The girl gave him an indulgent smile and the temperature cooled by ten degrees. Norm figured he’d better go about his business and leave the sweet talk to someone from the girl’s country club set.

  “Can you crack the hood for me.”

  The girl leaned into the car and sprang the hood release.

  “Thanks.”

  Norm got to work and surfaced a minute later.

  “I’ve got bad news for you, Miss…”

  “Van Meter. What’s the problem?”

  “Your fan belt. It won’t take long to fix, but we’ll have to do it at the garage. That means a tow.”

  “Damn.”

  “Why don’t I hook her up and take her in. There’s a good chance we’ve got a belt for the car in the shop. If we do, I’ll have her running within a half hour.”

  The girl waited in the cab while Norm hooked up the Thunderbird to the tow truck. After they’d been driving in silence for a while, a thought occurred to him.

  “You said your name’s Van Meter, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you have a brother named Miles?”

  She nodded.

  “He wrestles for Stanford,” Norm said, smiling. “We’ve tangled a few times.”

  The girl was suddenly interested. “How did you do?”

  Norm laughed. “I lost both times, but I made it interesting.”

  “You don’t seem to mind that you lost.”

  “It’s only wrestling. You win some, you lose some.”

  “That’s certainly not Miles’s philosophy.”

  Norm shrugged. “It’s just a sport. Something to help you blow off steam. Not real important in the grand scheme… Say, I don’t know your first name.”

  “Casey.”

  “I’m Norm.”

  They drove in silence for a while, with Norman stealing glances at his passenger. Being this close made him antsy. Her skin was so tan and smooth. He wondered what it would be like to touch it. And there were her breasts, which pushed against the golf shirt.

  “So,” he asked, when he worked up the nerve, “what were you doing in the middle of nowhere, tonight?”

  “I was headed home.”

  “You live out here?”

  “At Glen Oaks.”

  “Isn’t that where the Oregon Academy is?” asked Norm, who’d wrestled there once in a tournament sponsored by the school.

  She nodded. Norm couldn’t think of anything more to say, so they rode in silence for a little more until he decided to go for broke.

  “Coming back from a date?” Norm asked, trying his hardest to sound casual.

  Casey studied him closely for a moment. “Why would you want to know that, Norman?”

  He turned his head and grinned. “I’m fishing to see if you’ve got a boyfriend.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “Then I might get up the courage to ask you out.”

  Casey smiled. “You’ve got balls. I’ll say that for you.”

  Norm was surprised when Casey swore but he liked the fact that she wasn’t prissy.

  “What if I told your boss that you’re propositioning his customers?”

  “My uncle owns the gas station. He thinks I should date more. So, what do you say? I’ve got Thursdays off. I promise I’ll scrub off the grease and look presentable.”

  2

  The couple made plans to meet at eight in front of the Fox, a grand old Art Deco movie house on Broadway, but they never saw the movie. Casey cruised by in the Thunderbird at a quarter to eight. She pulled to the curb and flipped Norman the keys.

  “You drive,” she said.

  “I thought we were seeing the show.”

  “I’m not in the mood.”

  Norman gladly slipped behind the wheel. He was dying to see how this baby ran and he hadn’t been that interested in the movie, anyway. It had just been a vehicle for getting close to Casey.

  “Where to, madam?” Norm asked in a phony British accent.

  Casey closed her eyes and rested her head against the back of the seat.

  “Take the Banfield to Eighty-second.”

  Norm was tempted to ask where they were going but decided to just play along. The Banfield was the eastbound interstate, and he might get a chance to open up the car if traffic was light.

  When they took the exit, Casey gave him some more directions.

  “There,” she said a few minutes later.

  Norm looked in the direction she was pointing and saw the gaudy neon sign of the Caravan Motel. A knot formed in his stomach, but he drove into the lot.

  “Park over there,” Casey said, indicating a spot fifty feet from the office. As soon as they were parked, she held out a twenty-dollar bill. Norm hesitated. A mischievous grin formed on Casey’s lips.

  “Don’t tell me this is your fir
st time, Norman.”

  “No,” he answered, trying not to sound defensive.

  “Too proud to take money from a woman?”

  Norm grabbed the twenty.

  “Good boy,” Casey said with a grin. “Register as Mr. and Mrs. John Smith, a classic. I don’t think the clerk will ask why you don’t have a ring if you pay cash.”

  Norm took the money and started to get out of the car. He hesitated.

  “I don’t have any rubbers.”

  “Not to worry.”

  Norm colored when Casey pulled several foil-wrapped condoms out of her purse. She laughed.

  “Didn’t expect to get laid on the first date, did you? Now get us a room fast, Norman. I’m wet already.”

  Before Norm could turn on the lights, Casey was stroking his crotch and unbuttoning his shirt. Moments later, they were naked and rolling on top of the bedspread. Casey pushed him down and sucked until he thought he’d explode. Her mouth disappeared just when he was going to come. When he opened his eyes, Casey had turned her body so her crotch was over him and she was commanding him to use his tongue to make her come. In his limited experience, Norm had never gone down on a woman but he was so eager to be touched again that he did as she said. Whenever his efforts slackened, she stroked him for encouragement, but stopped before he was satisfied.

  Bringing her off proved easy. He tried to get inside Casey, but she made him bring her to orgasm a second time before she’d touch him again. When she finally let him inside her he was so excited that he came instantly and collapsed beside her.

  “Jesus,” he gasped. Casey didn’t say anything. After a few seconds she stood up, grabbed her purse and walked to the bathroom. A yellow glow framed her for a moment when she turned on the light. Her back was to him. Norman took in her perfect form, the long, tanned legs, the symmetry of her back, the line of her spine, and her long, golden hair. Then she shut the door and left him in the dark. Norm was covered with sweat. He felt like he’d run a marathon. This was the best sex he’d ever had by miles.