she slowly understood her Grace, the one who’d lived on in her mind, the one locked in her hope chest, had been glorified in their years of silence. All the poison had been washed away and what was preserved was a sanitized version of Grace, a clone without the imperfections, limitations and cowardice.
“You Had Time”
Ani DiFranco
Sitting in the downtown Phoenix law office, Grace Dunlop and Jack Stowe were in a standoff. You could almost hear the western music. He pressed Grace, who had one hand on top of the Bible he was holding.
“Come on,” he barked. “You know the routine. Do you comply with the provisions outlined in your great-grandfather’s will?”
Her glazed over eyes moved to the window. From the sixth floor she could see across the desert valley, the opaque summer air, stagnant and blistering.
“Hello? Anyone home?” said an impatient Stowe.
“Grace,” Cilla said. Slowly, Grace looked to her mother.
“Any time.”
“I…” Grace stammered. She looked around the room and then at the door, as if suddenly confused about where she was.
“Grace!” Cilla boomed.
“I feel faint.” Grace rested her forehead on her hand and took a moment.
With a pointed directive, Stowe dispatched one of his assistants—a college boy in a starched suit—from the room. He
quickly returned with a bran muffin and an ice water, setting both near Grace.
“I don’t want anything,” she said softly, still holding her head.
Stowe slid it closer. He looked at his watch and then at Cilla.
“I’ve got a lunch meeting at noon.”
Cilla touched Grace’s arm. “Honey, eat something. Drink this water.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“It’ll make you feel better,” Stowe growled. “Eat! So we can get on with this.” He picked it up and waved it in Grace’s face and looked at his watch again.
“I don’t want the fucking muffin!” Grace roared, swatting it.
The muffin flew across the table, slammed against the wall and crumbled into pieces on the floor.
Cilla’s eyes were huge, so were Stowe’s and everyone else’s at the table.
A tongue-tied Stowe adjusted his wide tie. “Well…I…
thought you needed the muffin, that it would make you feel better. Apparently not.”
“You know NOTHING about what I need or what would make me feel better.”
“Grace!” Cilla gasped. “What’s wrong with you?” She looked at Stowe, sorry on her face. “You know female hormones. It must still be postpartum.”
“Postpartum?” Grace said. “Abby is three!”
“I was just trying to help,” he said, resigned, gesturing at the destroyed muffin then sitting back in his chair.
“Help?” Grace laughed madly and stood. “Are you kidding me?” She suddenly felt reckless, exhilarated, free. She planted her hands on the table and got in Stowe’s face. “You’ve never helped anyone in this Goddamn room! You’ve made our lives a living hell, you and your fucking lynch mob.”
“GRACE ANNE! STOP THIS RIGHT NOW!”
Cilla was trying to regain control with her screamed command, but Grace continued the beating: “Ever since you sold your soul to that monster years ago…my dear old great-granddaddy, JW, who EVERYONE in this room has been a slave to…you’ve spent every godforsaken day enforcing this—”
0
Grace grabbed the yellow, ragged will in its leather jacket and held it up “—antiquated bullshit!”
For an old man, Stowe was on his feet quickly. He ripped the will out of her hands.
“GRACE, sit down!” Cilla ordered. “And shut up.”
Grace glared at her mother, only fueled by the interference, and then leveled her stare on Stowe. “So you want to know if I comply?” She jabbed a finger at his register, which was open on the table, revealing years of compliant signatures. “Get your pen out.” Grace nodded to the pen in his pocket. Stowe sat back down, sullen. “Go ahead. Do as I say,” she continued. “You work for me, right? For all of us?”
Stowe, unsure what else to do, reached for his diamond-encrusted pen and took off the cap. In the room, everyone was on the edge of their seats in awe.
“Are you ready?” He placed the pen to the page, right next to Grace’s name and the date. “Okay, write this…FUCK YOU and FUCK THE MONEY!”
With that, Grace stalked to the door. She couldn’t believe what she’d done; she was so proud of herself. At that moment, what seemed appropriate was applause—she deemed her monologue award-winning—but everyone just stayed in their places and stared at one another in disbelief. Except for Cilla, who jumped up and was right on her heels.
In the foyer, Grace rushed past the secretary.
“Grace, STOP!” Cilla demanded.
“I’m outta here. I don’t want to be a part of this anymore.”
Out the door, Grace pushed the elevator button several times.
“Come on!” she urged it, pulling a car key from her pocket.
“Forget it,” she finally said, heading to the stairwell.
Cilla moved swiftly and positioned herself right in between Grace and the exit, her black business suit like armor.
“You aren’t going anywhere young lady.”
“Young lady? What, are you going to give me a spanking now? Send me to my room?”
“What has gotten into you?” Cilla said, her eyes wide, glaring. “How could you talk to Stowe that way? And run out like this?”
Grace simply turned back and continued pushing the elevator button.
“Grace!” she pleaded, gripping her arm.
“I’m done. I’m going to get Abby and we’re going to Portland.”
The elevator door opened and Grace stepped inside.
Cilla held open the door with her body. “You’re not going anywhere!” she yelled, and then lowered her voice. “You’re gonna deal with this and that is the end of it. Now get in here and do what you’re supposed to do.”
“Go to hell, Mother.”
Cilla almost fell over at her words. Enraged, she struggled to speak. “What about your future? Abby’s future?”
Grace stepped out of the elevator and crossed her arms. “You really want to do this? Right here? Right now?” She glanced at the front door to Stowe & Associates Law.
Cilla was sweating, holding her ground. “Do what?”
She pointed at Stowe’s door. “This is a pathetic joke. All of us have been enslaved by the will for too long. Aren’t you tired?
Tired of living your life for someone else?”
“How can you say that? After what the trust has afforded you? The opportunities? What you’ve been given?”
“You mean what’s been taken?”
“What about Abby? What about Jamie? This affects them, too.”Grace laughed. “Newsflash! Jamie and I are getting a divorce.
We’re not just taking a break. You can get off your knees and stop your prayin’ because we are over. Nail-in-the-coffin over!”
“That is not how our family works. You need to stay in this and work it out.”
“Jamie is a bastard. It’s time you see the light,” Grace said.
“He’s been blackmailing me for months.”
“What?” Cilla gasped. “Blackmailing you?”
“He’s been blackmailing me about the divorce. The terms.”
“How’s he blackmailing you? With what?”
Grace knew this question would come, knew she’d have to explain, but in the moment, she had no idea what to say.
“What have you done?” her mother demanded.
Emotion came before words. Suddenly, Grace softened and
covered her face. “He’s a monster, Mum,” she sobbed. “You’ve got to believe me.”
“Tell me what happened.” She put her arms around Grace, who was becoming increasingly unglued.
“We’ve got to go,” Grace decided, pushi
ng the elevator button several more times. The doors opened. “I’m going to get Abby.”
Cilla blocked her escape again.
Grace broke free and aimed for the stairs.
“GRACE!” Cilla yelled, hurrying down each step in her shadow.
Cilla caught her at the bottom even though Grace had twenty years on her. She restrained her with both hands.
“Let me go! Our bags are packed.”
“Stop and calm down!”
Grace wept against her shoulder, leaving a wet stain of tears, until Cilla coaxed Grace to sit down on the steps. “Talk to me.
We’re all alone now,” she said, composed.
Fixated on the fire hose bolted to the wall, Grace tried to rein in her emotions. She thought about Dean; she asked him for help, for strength.
“I had an affair,” Grace finally said. Cilla, stone-faced, waited for more. “I fell in love with someone else and Jamie found out.
He’s trying to use it against me.”
Cilla put her hand to her mouth. “With who?”
Grace bawled, “He wants money and he wants Abby.”
“Tell me… who… you… had… an affair with,” Cilla commanded.
“Someone at Jamie’s office. No one you know.”
“How could you do that to him? He’s been so good to you.”
“Good to me?” Grace was aghast. “What warped reality do you live in?”
“He loves you and takes good care of you and Abby.”
“Where have you been?” Grace shouted, unable to believe the depth of Cilla’s denial. “Jamie is a sick, lying, cocaine-abusing, whore-fucking bastard. He’s been sleeping around for years.”
“A little indiscretion here and there is different than a full-blown affair.”
A stunned Grace was no longer crying. “Mother.”
In that moment, Grace didn’t even know the woman standing before her. Her mom. Her blood. The one person she thought truly had her back. Had she not held Grace’s best interests all along? Had it just always been about the money? Making sure everyone stayed in their places?
“Do you have any idea what this means? For you? For your future?” Cilla boomed. “You’ve shamed the family. No wonder you’re trying to run out of here.”
Grace wept. She was being pushed to her limit again.
“How did you get caught?” It was more of an order than a question.
Grace had finally had enough. She came out swinging. “Her husband caught us fucking in the pool.”
Cilla huffed—first at the word fuck, but then, as seconds passed, Grace could actually see the gears clicking, the transformation on Cilla’s face as she decoded Grace’s words.
Grace sat motionless, calm, suspended momentarily in the eye of the storm.
Without a word, Cilla stood and walked to the stairwell window, which faced the parking lot. She folded her arms and began to cry.
Grace tentatively approached.
Before she could touch her, Cilla spun around. “HER
HUSBAND?” Cilla’s voice shook.
“Her name was Suzanne,” Grace said, composed, done hiding. “You can’t be that surprised.”
“How could you do this?” Cilla moaned. “HOW COULD
YOU DO THIS?” She collapsed melodramatically onto the stairs.
Grace knelt below her. “I’m sorry.”
“All these years, I’ve given you everything,” Cilla roared.
“And all I asked is that you’re a good daughter.”
“I am a good daughter. I’ve tried to fit into this mold, but—”
“No you’re not. You wouldn’t do this to me if you were.”
“Do this to YOU?” she sneered. “I’ve given you my goddamn soul! Compromised everything I am to please you!” This epiphanous moment radiated in every vessel of Grace’s body.
She felt it and Cilla, who wouldn’t give in easy, felt it too. “It’s not about you or my lunatic grandfather anymore,” Grace said, pausing, exorcising the demons trapped in her soul, offering a hint of a smile amidst her diatribe. “It’s finally about me.”
“How dare you talk to me this way? I didn’t raise you like this.” Cilla had become hysterical. “Please God, please, where did I go wrong?” In bottomless agony, she pounded her thighs and stomped her heels like a child having a tantrum. “I tried so hard to protect you.”
“Protect me? Control me. Your protection destroyed my life! I’m just skin”—she fought to catch her breath—“skin of the person I once was, who I’m supposed to be. You’ve sucked everything out. You and that fucking will.”
“How could you do this to Abby?”
“This IS for her Mother.” Grace sat with this for a beat.
“The cycle stops here.”
Grace sat beside her mother and watched her weep. Cilla pounded her thighs once more, but beyond that, there was no more moaning, no more berating, just profound sadness.
Decisively, Grace laid it all on the line. “I love you, Mum, but I love Harper too.”
Cilla looked up and into Grace’s eyes. She took a slow, deep breath. “Harper,” she said, not even blinking at this revelation.
“I’m done lying. I’ve lost too much.”
“What about what I’ve lost?” Cilla said, quiet and meek.
“What do you mean what you’ve lost?” Grace raged. “How can you keep turning this around on me? It’s my life!”
“I drove Dean away. The night of the ball.”
“What?” Grace was suddenly jarred, puzzled.
Taking a tissue from her pocket, Cilla blew her nose with the force of a lion. “I confided in him about what was going on. The rumors about you and Harper. He defended you and I yelled,”
she admitted, looking devastated. “I was so mad. I told him to leave.”
Cilla stared into space, seeing it all again. “I killed him.”
She paused. “He was still in his tuxedo when he took off for Mexico.”
For the first time that day, Grace looked desperately into her
mother’s bloodshot eyes. “What?” she said, white-faced, shocked by the confession. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
Cilla shook her head and spoke softly. “I never told anyone.”
The silence in the stairwell was long and deafening. Finally, Cilla reached out and took Grace’s hand. She brought it to her face, inhaling it before kissing it tenderly. “My baby,” she whispered, kissing it again, over and over, the affection becoming frantic.
“My sweet baby girl.”
They cried together, Grace still on her knees.
“I love you,” Cilla said.
“The Glory Of Love”
Bette Midler
Grace never would come out to her family, Harper decided.
She didn’t have it in her. Her inheritance—hers and Abby’s secure future—was too important. The money would win. The money would get the girl.
And Harper would be fine without her. She’d done it for twelve years already, what was another fifty. Or sixty if she was lucky.
She tossed the photo she’d kept closest to her heart into the box. Crouching down in the grass, Harper finished gathering the rest of the strewn items.
Headlights lit her front yard and then her face as a taxi turned onto the street. Harper sat up and watched it stop in front of her house. Her knees popped as she stood with the box.
The interior light came on first. Harper could see someone who looked like Grace—she wasn’t sure—paying the driver and a little blond head beside her.
It couldn’t be.
Could it?
And then Grace opened the door.
Helping Abby out, Grace walked her to the curb and told her to wait on the sidewalk. “Mummy will be right back.”
In disbelief, Harper watched Grace wave off the cab and head in her direction. Harper set the box down and closed the flaps.
Grace walked up slowly and before saying a word, threw her arms around Harper. She let out a sig
h of relief and then began crying—quiet, guttural tears.
Holding Grace, Harper watched Abby who was stroking the hair of her doll. When Grace sniffed through her tears, Abby looked over. She smiled at Harper and Harper smiled back.
“I did it,” Grace finally uttered. “I told Mummy everything.”
“Oh my God,” Harper said. “Everything?”
“Everything.” Grace pulled away, looked at Abby and winked.
“I told her I wouldn’t lose you twice.”
“Really? What did she—”
“You wanna know the best part?”
“That’s not the best part?” Harper smiled.
“I finally got to tell Jack Stowe to fuck off.”
“WHAT?” Harper’s mouth was wide open.
“There’s so much to tell. It was a long, awful ordeal, but it’s over,” she said, taking another deep breath. The next words didn’t come easy. “My mum said she’d always known.”
Despite the dark circles, Grace had, along with her independence, recaptured that sparkle in her eyes. Harper picked Grace up off the ground.
“Congratulations!”
In Harper’s embrace, Grace whispered, “Abby doesn’t know yet, but she will in time.”
“I can’t believe you did it.” Harper paused. “I have to admit.
I didn’t think you had it in you.”
“Me neither,” Grace said, a slight laugh, Juicy Fruit on her breath. “But I did.”
Harper could feel the relief in her grip, hear it in her words.
“What about Jamie? The mediation?” She set Grace down.
“Fuck Jamie and his threats,” Grace vowed, very much herself again. “He’s gonna have to come up here and get Abby over my dead body.”
Holding Grace in her driveway, Harper was certain he would try. And that it would be an ugly battle. One that Harper would help fight with everything she had.
“He doesn’t have power over me anymore,” she said. “No one does. It’s my life. And I’m ready to start it with you.”
Grace looked at Abby. “Sweetie,” she said, walking to her daughter, pulling Harper along her. “This is my friend I told you about.”
Jukebox Page 27