“Hey, Jimmy Winters,” a mocking voice called out, “bring me a glass of champagne while you’re there, would you?”
She turned to sweep Julia Bates with an unreadable gaze from head to toes. Silence fell among the cluster of females as they all turned, avid to see her reaction. She wrapped her fingers around the stem of a champagne flute and started a leisurely walk toward the group. A dozen pair of eyes tried hard to undress her on her way there. Not easy, given the supersize of her clothes, she thought with satisfaction.
“You made it,” Julia Bates twittered, holding out her hand. She grabbed the stem of the flute and carelessly tipped it, spilling the bubbly fluid over Lizzie’s knitted vest. Her mouth rounded in a perfect O of contrived dismay. “Oh, my!” she exclaimed. “I’ve just ruined the beauty of your…” She stopped for a moment, her fingers fanned over her lips, pondering the words that would most eloquently describe Lizzie’s attire. “Costume,” she finally decided, nodding self-approvingly, a giggle bursting behind her words.
Lizzie stared at her in silence for a moment, her face unperturbed. “It ain’t matter. I don’t really give a damn about it,” she said. “You see, beauty never lasts. Dumbness is a hell of a plague though. Just like leprosy. You’re stuck with it forever. Gets worse with age too.” She raised her hand to pat Julia’s cheek with compassion. “As for me, I ain’t worried about either.”
The silence grew deeper as the herd watched her stroll toward her chair. Justin rubbed his face with his hand, covering his mouth to hide a smile.
The shade of the Blue Ash tree had stretched to the side a little, allowing the sun to splash its gold over the length of the chaise long. Lizzie removed her stained vest then started tugging at the chaise to shelter it again.
“Need any help?” a masculine voice inquired from behind.
She twisted her neck to look over her shoulder.
Robert was looking her up and down with a slightly amused gaze.
“Uh-uh.” She shook her head.
“How was your week so far?” He sat on the chair next to her.
She sent him an indolent gaze. “So damn good, I can’t wait for the next one to see if it gets any better,” she drawled.
“Really?” He looked at her surprised. “Why is that? Was your husband so entertaining?” His bewildered gaze switched from her face to Justin’s a couple of times then back at her.
“Nah.” Lizzie wrinkled her nose. “It’s just that he was away so much, t’was really good not to have his face spoil the view.”
Robert’s mouth gaped in disbelief, yet half ready to turn into a grin. “It’s that bad to be around him?” he asked. The grin came about.
“Yeah.” She nodded with visible disappointment. “Cuz’ he’s so damn boring.”
“Why’s that?” Robert pushed out an amused snort. “Doesn’t he talk much?”
Lizzie raised her palms up in the air, bobbing her shoulder in a helpless shrug at the same time. “Most of the time, the man is dumb,” she said.
Robert threw his head back and burst out laughing, making heads turn toward him. He pondered the term she had used. Had she meant ‘dumb’ as in refraining from much speech, or had she intended to say a lot more than that?
Another two men came to join in, curious to hear what the entertainment was about. A few minutes later, four of Justin’s friends were around the chaise, either sitting or standing, laughing and gesturing with animation. More than a dozen heads from across the pool turned quietly to check them out.
Justin’s gaze rested on his wife for a long moment. He couldn’t quite make out her features, for her head was half turned away, but he could clearly see that her hair was no longer hiding her face as she looked up at Robert. She was all smiles and peals of laughter, although he couldn’t hear what she said. He didn’t have a clue as to what his wife looked like, he realized. She’d never looked him straight in the eyes, always letting her strawy scarecrow hair cover her. He hadn’t even talked to her except for exchanging belligerent words and a couple of ‘good night’s’. Maybe because he’d assumed from the start that a Queens girl could be nothing else but all foam, no beer. Yet she’d had handled herself well with Julia, bringing her down a peg or two.
“The broom head is making a fool of herself over there.” Julia Bates gritted her teeth at his side, claiming his attention.
Justin looked at her for a moment without saying anything. Julia’s gaze was charged with the fury of her humiliating defeat.
“Her name is Jimmy,” he drawled, holding her incredulous stare.
He wasn’t quite sure why he’d said that, but somehow it sounded right. Elisabeth Winters aka Jimmy was a broom head all right, but he was the only one who could say it if so he cared. Nobody else had the right to criticize her, be that in his presence or behind his back. She was his wife.
Kate ceased admiring her manicure and shot a side glance at him. “Have you made arrangements for the night?” she asked.
“Yes, the cottages are ready,” he answered.
She nodded.
Justin stood up and swept his companions with a disinterested gaze. “Are you going to have something to eat? I’m hungry.” And with that he strode away toward the tables, sending another quick look Lizzie’s way.
The mood was ruined. It stayed so until everybody got their fill of the five course meal. But since a full stomach always breeds merry thoughts, the girls’ frame of mind slowly turned from gloomy to lighthearted. Only to go back to morosity at dusk when everybody went inside and the dancing began. All because Justin couldn’t dance. He had suddenly discovered he had almost dislocated an ankle. There was no way on earth he’d be prancing to the rock n’roll music and holding hands with his wife for the sake of show.
Long before the music started to fade many guests were letting out ostentatious yawns. It wasn’t even nine p.m.
“Are you all tired?” Justin sent them incredulous stares.
“Yes.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Oh, yeah, a lot.” The chorus was unanimous.
Justin shrugged. He cut the music with a motion of his hand. “All right then.” He arched his eyebrows. “Off you go. The cottages are ready for you.”
“We’ll see you in the morning. Have a good night.”
They all streamed out of the mansion’s door toward the cottages, led by a couple of butlers. Except for Kate.
“Aren’t they goin’ home?” Lizzie looked at Justin disconcerted.
“Of course not,” he answered. “I told you we’re holding a weekend party. They’re leaving tomorrow afternoon.”
Lizzie glanced toward the dark blonde woman who was now occupying herself with admiring the complete darkness through the window at the other end of the vast living room. “Why is Kate still here?” she asked, frowning a little.
Justin found an invisible lint on the cuff of his sleeve and started flicking it insistently with the tip of his forefinger. “Uhmm… she’s taking one of the guests’ quarters inside the mansion. There is no room left in the cottages,” he said.
Lizzie sent him a long look. “Okay. Good night.” Her steps rapped away softly, muffled by the thick carpet.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered to himself. “She’s so nosy.”
“She is, isn’t she?” Kate whispered in his ear.
Justin turned around and wrapped her in his arms. “Let’s go to your room,” he whispered back.
The corridor was engulfed in semi-darkness and no one was in sight. He cautiously pressed the handle down and pushed the door open just enough to slide in, pulling her behind him. A faint click signaled that the door had closed then the light turned on.
“Come here,” Justin murmured, scooping Kate up in his arms. He strode with hurried steps to the bed and placed her in the middle of it, letting himself drop at her side. His impatient fingers started to tug at the zipper of her dress. Wild shivers of desire danced like licking flames through his bloodstream. He needed her right now like he neede
d air to breathe. His mouth took hers in a ravenous kiss, exploring and dominating all at once. Her hand slid in between their bodies to tease him, slowly pulling down the zipper of his jeans and slipping inside the slit. He moaned deep and started plunging into the warm recesses of her mouth with his tongue in rhythm with the movement of her fingers.
A soft knock on the door made him flinch. Kate jerked her hand out as if burnt with a red hot iron. Justin jumped to his feet and pulled up his zipper. There was another knock.
Lizzie stood stiff in front of the door with her arms crossed over her chest in an anxious self-embrace, waiting for something to happen. And something happened. The door opened quietly and Justin emerged, the top three buttons of his shirt undone, his hair a complete mess.
He swallowed hard a couple of times, his Adam’s apple visibly bobbing up and down. “Aren’t you already asleep?” he inquired.
She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Do I look like I’m damn sleepin’?”
“Uhmmm… No. I meant… I thought you were already asleep,” he finished stuttering.
She nodded.
Silence lingered for a good half a minute while they stared at each other, her gaze dropping at the very bottom of his chin. She still couldn’t withstand his gaze, God only knew why.
He raked his hands through his hair. “Well then, let’s go to bed,” he said when the silence became unbearably awkward.
“Let’s.” She shrugged and started shuffling her feet toward their apartment.
He stifled a huge, desperate sigh and took off behind her, cursing life, the idiot who invented matrimony, his parents’ idea of giving him their fortune, but most of all his raging erection that was going to haunt him for days to come. Or maybe weeks.
CHAPTER FIVE
Madeline clenched Arthur’s hand without thinking, at times sending tense glances out the limo’s windows. She had never before set foot in Queens. She recalled that starting from the early 80s to the late 90s, there had been a huge cocaine epidemic in Southside Jamaica where criminals like Fat Cat, Pappy Mason, and the most notorious Supreme McGriff had resided. Recently, the area had gained some in reputation but still left a bad after taste. To this day, Southside Jamaica remained arguably the worst part of Queens.
But Madeline had to go there. Police had told her the story twice, yet she needed to hear it from the woman herself.
The limo stopped in front of a dubious apartment building with grey peels of paint dangling from the walls. A rusty iron fire escape with bent rails extended from the second to the fourth floor. Some residents had abandoned chipped flower pots outside their windows, with dried stems poking out of them. A few garbage bags spilled their contents next to the building’s entrance.
Two dark-skinned men walked past, slowing down a little to stare at the chauffeur who opened the limo’s back door. Their pants were flared at the bottom, mopping up the footpath with their hem.
Madeline crushed Arthur’s fingers between hers as he steered her through two rows of metal mailboxes and inside the building’s obscure hall. A narrow staircase with dented steps and graffiti-painted walls took them to the first floor. They tiptoed their way along a narrow corridor only lit by the faint beam of a flickering fluorescent tube stuck to the ceiling somewhere halfway through. Apartment eight was the second on the left.
Madeline knocked.
“I’m comin’,” a woman announced promptly.
There were a few clattering noises that wafted through the thin walls then the door opened.
“Yeah?”
Lizzie’s Momma stared at the unannounced visitors with questioning eyes, shifting her gaze from one to another. She suddenly clasped her hand over her mouth.
“You’re her,” she mumbled through her fanned-out fingers.
Painful bewilderment caused torturing emotion to jolt through Madeline’s heart. “What do you mean?” she asked with a trembling voice, forgetting the good manners that required of her to greet her host and to make the introductions.
Momma stared at her for another moment with narrowed eyes then tipped her head sideways over her shoulder in an authoritative gesture. “Come inside,” she commanded.
Arthur was the first to walk in, gently pulling Madeline behind him. Their incredulous gazes swept the minuscule room as they cautiously stepped on the creaky wooden floor, trying to squeeze around a rectangular table surrounded by three old chairs that did not match. Right behind them was a gas stove, a melamine cabinet with decaying doors, a small fridge that must have been twenty years old and a couple of pots and pans hanging from the ceiling. A plastic bag was tied up to a hook on the wall, filled with shreds of old clothes. Most probably the kitchen towels.
Two cockroaches roamed on the floor then started to make their way up toward the window sill. Momma grabbed a fly squat and squashed them with a swiftness that revealed years of experience. She then quickly disposed of them in a small rubbish bin that had once been a laundry detergent container of a dubious brand.
“That’s enough to gag a maggot, isn’t it?” she spoke quietly with a strong Southern accent. “We aren’t dirty people, but we just can’t get rid of these roaches. The whole damn building’s got escape tunnels for them. We try to fumigate them, they always come back, damn creatures. They’re as stubborn as mules. Sit down.” She suddenly turned to face her guests.
Madeline didn’t move until Arthur pulled a chair and made her sit. He then sat at her side, taking once more her hand in his.
Momma grabbed a chair from across the table and sat down too. “I’m Susan. Jimmy calls me Momma. I’m from down South. Georgia,” she said by way of introduction.
“I am Madeline Wilburn,” Madeline said, “and this is my husband, Arthur. We are Elisabeth’s parents.”
An awkward silence drifted across the room for a moment.
“She looks just like you,” Susan said, calmly studying Madeline’s features.
This was an overstatement to say the least, Arthur couldn’t help thinking again. True enough, Elisabeth had her mother’s eyes and facial features, but she looked like a poor copy drawn by an amateur painter.
“She does.” Madeline’s face lit up with a fondness that mirrored the warmth of her soul.
Susan’s face did the opposite. It turned granite hard. “She’s my child too,” she almost whispered. “I ain’t sayin’ any lies.”
Madeline bit her upper lip. “We are here because we want to know what happened, Susan. Not to pass judgment on you.”
“That’s why you called the cops on me?” Susan tipped up her chin in a small challenge.
“You would have done the same if your child disappeared for eighteen long years,” Arthur intervened, his voice sharp.
Susan blinked a couple of times. “Fair enough,” she nodded. “I’ll tell you how it happened. T’was that night when my water broke. T’was July 6th 1993. Hell it hurt, the baby was comin’ hard and fast but Bill, my husband didn’t want to take me to the hospital. He said: “We ain’t goin’ to no hospital.” I bled so much I passed out.”
She fell quiet for a few moments, drawing her upper lip in between her teeth as she stared absent-mindedly out the window.
“I had no idea he took off like a ruptured duck an’ came back with Jimmy the next mornin’,” she recommenced after a while, her voice rasped with pain. “Cuz’ my poor baby boy had died durin’ childbirth, an’ the bastard wanted to have one real bad, only not mine anymore.” Her eyes got hazy with unshed tears. “Jimmy was so fetchin’ in that little dress. I still have it here.”
She stood up and went to pull a plastic bag out of a drawer. A silky white princess gown spilled on the table, with elegant, winding letters embroidered on the lacy cuff of a sleeve. EW.
“Oh, mon Dieu!” Madeline cried, hiding her face in the crook of Arthur’s neck.
“I know it hurts like hell.” Susan reached over the table to pat Madeline’s hand. “It hurts me too to know that my baby boy’s dead. But I love Jimmy with all my he
art.”
“What happened next?” Madeline sobbed.
“Next…” Susan stared absently out the window. “Billy was as mad as a mule chewin’ on bumblebees cuz’ Jimmy was a girl. He never let me call her by her name. Emma that was. An’ never let me take her out of the house. She never went to school, or to the doctor. I never got a birth certificate for her. He wouldn’ said why. He was mean an’ ornery day in, day out, that man.”
Madeline felt her heart shrink with painful understanding. “Did he ever beat you?” she asked.
“Every damn time he came home drunk.” Susan nodded. There was no pain in her gaze. Just a dispassionate, unreadable look. “He never forgave me for havin’ a girl. That’s what he said.”
“But it was him who had brought Elisabeth in,” Arthur said with indignation.
“I know.” Susan nodded again, without looking at him. “But I didn’t know it back then.” Her gaze wandered once more out the window as she sat there quiet for a while, her thoughts drifting in a world of her own. “At least there was somethin’ good comin’ out of this whole damn thing,” she said. “In the last few years of his life I didn’t see him in a month of Sundays. He only came home when he ran out of money. Then he beat the shit outta me and Johnny to make us pull some bucks out of the hide.”
“But why would your husband be so upset with you for having a girl when he had Johnny?” Madeline asked.
“Johnny is not our boy,” Susan replied. “He’s my sister’s son. She was killed by a bus when she crossed Queens Boulevard. Her husband, Dakota Benally, passed away a couple of months before she gave birth to Johnny. Johnny was only seven years old when his mom died. That was two years before Jimmy was born. My husband Billy never got along with Johnny. Ain’t no reason in the world for his hatred though. Johnny was such a good kid, but Billy still whupped the stew outta him for no reason. He whupped him to sleep, then whupped him for sleepin’.” Her voice trembled a little. “Then one day we were told that Billy got stabbed in a bar in Ozone Park. He bled like a stuck pig and died before the ambulance got there. Jimmy was fourteen when it happened.” She fell quiet again.
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