by Jean Stone
“That’s hard to say.” She offered no other information.
“Do you think he’ll be back after lunch?”
“He’s out of town.”
Jess didn’t believe her.
“Is he really out of town, Margaret?”
There was silence.
“Should I call back later?” Silence. Jess swore she could hear her heart thumping. “Or shouldn’t I bother?”
Margaret cleared her throat. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“Margaret. He’s there, isn’t he?”
“No, Jessica. But, well, I may as well be honest with you. He told me that if you called, he didn’t wish to speak with you. That was a few months ago. He hasn’t told me otherwise since then.”
Jess felt her throat swell. “Oh, Margaret.”
“I’m sorry, Jessica. I assumed you two had an argument.”
“Something like that. Never mind, Margaret, it’s all right. Good-bye.” She hung up the receiver. So he wouldn’t even talk to her. Damn. How could she patch things up if he wouldn’t even take her phone call? But as certain as the growing baby inside her, Jess felt an increasing knowledge that her father was all she had now. Soon she’d be out of Larchwood. Soon she’d be back on her own … with the comfort of Larchwood Hall only a memory. She must talk to her father. And if he wouldn’t talk to her on the phone, she’d go to New York. She’d confront him face-to-face and get this over with, once and for all. If he wouldn’t see her, at least she’d be no further behind than she was now.
Would she?
Her next call was to the train station.
Thankfully Miss Taylor had gone out for the day. That would make the trip easier. She put on a sleeveless tent dress, glad it was raining, for the green rubber poncho would help to cover her five-and-a-half-month bulge. She dug through her wallet. Odd, she didn’t have as much cash as she’d thought. She must have spent too much on the fabric. But how much could it have been? Jess quickly closed her wallet. There was no time to think about that now. Besides, she could always get more cash out of Margaret. Or Father, if he would see her.
Pop brought the car around front to take her to the train station. “I have to go into the city, Pop,” she had lied to him. “My father needs me to sign some papers.”
“Are you sure you should go alone, Miss Jess?” he had said, scowling.
“Oh, Pop!” She laughed. “I live there! New York doesn’t frighten me. Besides, I’ll be back tonight. Pick me up at the seven-thirty train unless you hear from me otherwise.”
“Well, okay, Miss Jess.” He hesitated. “But I still feel funny doing this without Miss Taylor’s permission.”
“It’s all right, Pop, honest. I’ll take full responsibility if Miss Taylor is upset. But she won’t be. Believe me. My father really needs me to sign those today, because they have to do with”—Jess paused and dropped her eyes, trying to look sad—“my mother’s estate.”
As she expected, Pop melted.
They made it to the station just in time for her to buy a ticket and board the train. She found a seat by the window and waved to Pop. Wouldn’t it be something if that was the last time she saw Pop? If, when she talked with her father, he forgave her and told her he wanted her to be home where he could look after her? Where she could have the baby, give it up for adoption, and they could be a family once again? Or maybe he’d want her to keep the baby? Did she want to do that? Oh, yes, that would be wonderful, and if Father wanted her to, she would. She did, after all, love this baby. Just as she had loved—still loved—Richard.
Jess watched the landscape as it clacked by. Through the filmy window she saw the remnants of life: discarded tires, rusted-out cars, and hunks of appliances littered the embankments. Used-up, cast-off things. Would Jess be like that? Or would there be a new beginning for her now?
She dozed until she heard the bark of the conductor. Grand Central. New York City next stop. Grand Central.” The familiar words seemed to be only for her, and she smiled at her sense of fulfillment. Jess was home.
With determination in her stride she pushed through the crowds up the dark stairs, into the terminal, and passed by the long rows of wooden benches. At least she didn’t have to worry about getting a cab: Her father’s office was in the PanAm Building, which towered above the station. She rode up the huge escalator that led to the office building, then marched to the bank of elevators. She pushed the Up button and closed her poncho around her middle.
On the ride up the elevator panic shot through her. What if Father told her to go away? What if he told her he didn’t want to see her—now or ever? What if she made him so angry, he would never let her go home again? She tried to think about Richard, but now that, too, only made her hurt.
The doors opened, and the white-carpeted reception area was in front of her. Jess stood, staring straight ahead. The doors started to close. No! Father was more important. She pushed her hand between the doors and forced them back, then stepped into the office.
She smiled at the receptionist. “I’ll just go down to my father’s office,” she said quickly, and before anyone could stop her, Jess went down the hall. By the time she got there, she knew the receptionist had phoned to tell Margaret that Jess was there.
“Jessica, I didn’t expect to see you,” Margaret said curtly. “I thought you phoned from London.”
“No, Margaret. Has my father returned?”
The woman rolled a pencil between her palms. “No, he hasn’t. Actually he’s out of town. I wish I’d known you planned to come by. I could have saved you the trip.”
“Margaret, please. I must see him.” She had come this far; there was no turning back. She had to talk with him. She had to get this over with.
“And I told you …” The phone on Margaret’s desk buzzed. She sighed heavily, then picked up the receiver. “Mr. Bates’s office,” she answered. “Oh, yes, sir. Mr. Bates gave me that report to type, and I’m working on it now.…”
Jess saw her chance. She rushed past the woman’s desk and pushed the door to her father’s office open, fully expecting to see him sitting behind his mammoth desk, his concentration buried in a pile of papers. The room was empty. She checked his sitting area. His private bath. Even behind the elaborate wet bar. He was nowhere around. Jess turned to leave, and it was then that she caught the scent of his pipe tobacco. It wasn’t a stale scent, like at home when he’d been away on business for a while. It was fresh. He had been here. Today. Maybe as recently as a few minutes ago, maybe even since she’d gotten off the elevator.
She slumped into the leather desk chair. She ran a finger across the glass-topped wood. She was alone. Forever. She pulled open the top drawer, looking for something, looking for nothing, aimlessly hoping for a clue, an insight into his thoughts. She rifled through meaningless papers, then saw the checkbook.
“LH,” read a small square of paper taped to the vinyl cover.
She took out the book. It fell open to the register.
LH. One thousand dollars.
LH. One thousand dollars.
The entries were neat, precise. LH, Jess realized, stood for Larchwood Hall. Then her eyes fell on one entry that was different. It didn’t say “LH.”
It read Bryant.
Bryant. Richard’s last name.
Her heart raced. Jess scanned her eyes across the page. She froze. Beside the name “Bryant” the entry was clear: Two hundred thousand dollars.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Jess jumped at the sound of her father’s voice. The checkbook fell to the floor. He crossed the room and stood before her, hands clenched at his sides. Jess started to tremble.
“Didn’t I tell you I didn’t want to see you until this was over?” His voice was low and rough, with an animal-like tone Jess didn’t recognize. “What right do you have to come here?” He jabbed a finger at the air. It was pointed at her stomach. “To be anywhere in public. After all I’ve been through …” His words broke off. He clenched his
fists more tightly.
Jess’s eyes locked with his steel gaze. After all he’d been through? Fear penetrated her. But beyond the fear, there was something else. Some other discomfort, some other unsettling sense that things were wrong. Very wrong. She remembered the checkbook. She looked down to the floor. The checkbook was there. She looked back to her father. He was staring at it too. He was unflinching, unmoving.
“Why?” she finally asked, her voice cracked with tears. “Why did you pay Richard’s family this money?”
He smiled an I-told-you-so smile. “You needn’t worry about that boy ever again. As I suspected, he was only after you for your money.”
“That’s not true. Richard loves me.”
He laughed. “He’s gone, Jessica. He and his lowlife family took the money and ran. They’ll not bother us again. Now I suggest you get yourself on a train and go back to where you belong until this is over. Before someone sees you. Before anyone notices.” His angry eyes returned to her stomach.
Jess rose from the chair, wondering why she couldn’t feel her legs beneath her. She walked past Father, out of the office, toward the elevator. She stared at the split door of the elevator, waiting for the car to arrive. The doors finally opened, and she stepped inside. She turned, and just as the doors began to close, she looked out into the office and saw the icy-cold stare still on her father’s face.
The next train to Connecticut wouldn’t be leaving for an hour. Jess stood beside the Merrill Lynch concession inside the terminal and studied the massive train schedule high up on the wall. She couldn’t read it through her tears; she wasn’t really interested in what it said, anyway. There was an emptiness inside her such as she’d never felt before. Then the baby began to kick.
“TRENTON, PHILADELPHIA, WA-A-A-ASHINGTON D.C.,” a booming voice echoed throughout the large hall. “Now boarding, Gate Eight. All aboard!”
A flurry of people swept past her, pressing against her, pushing at her from all directions.
“Metroliner service for NEWARK, EAST ORANGE, PASSA-A-A-AIC,” the voice droned on. “Now boarding, Gate Ten.”
More people crushed her. She clutched her hands to her temples. Searing pain gripped her head. She wanted to run. To get out. To run somewhere, anywhere. Get out of this damp, noisy terminal. Get away from this baby moving inside her. Get away from her father, get away from herself. She turned and saw stairs. She ran up them and out onto Forty-second Street. Horns honked. Cars ground gears. Windshield wipers screeched. The clatter of people’s feet became magnified. Her sobs were drowned by the beating rain.
“Help me!” she wanted to cry out. But no one even looked at her. No one noticed her pain. She staggered up the incline of the street and tripped on a subway grate. Steam poured up from below. “Someone help me!” she wanted to scream. “Someone help me,” she whimpered.
She noticed a policeman across the street. If only she could get to him. If only she could talk to him. He would help her. He would help her. She walked up to Broadway to cross at the light. She kept her eyes fixed on the cop. He will help me, she thought. He will help me. Just as the light said WALK, she saw an elderly couple approach the policeman. They stopped to talk. Jess hesitated. She turned back. What a fool she was! The man couldn’t help her. No one could. No one could. She half walked, half ran back to the terminal. Her ankle buckled. She stumbled into the gutter, and a puddle of black wetness splashed up on her. She looked down at the dark, runny stains on her legs. No one could help her here. She zigzagged to the doorway and fell against the brass-and-glass entrance. Larchwood was the only place she could go. Larchwood was all that was left for her.
Ginny
The hardest part had been getting P.J. to give her a bobby pin. Glamour girl kept saying “Let me do your hair for you, Ginny. You really shouldn’t be teasing it so much anymore.” As if all anyone in the world had to think about was hair. Just give me the goddamn bobby pin and leave me alone, Ginny had wanted to say, but didn’t want to raise P.J.’s suspicions. So instead she’d smiled and said, “I could never look as good as you,” and the beauty queen had sucked it up. God, what a great actress she was going to be!
Ginny quickly jiggled the pin in the lock now. It clicked open without resistance. She stepped inside and quietly closed the door behind her. She looked around Jess’s room. Christ, it was so neat, it looked as if nobody lived there. Ginny spotted a picture on the bureau. An older woman, must be the kid’s mother. The frame was probably sterling silver, but better not chance it. Jess would most likely miss that right away.
She went to the bureau and opened the jewelry box. A little dancing ballerina popped up and began twirling to some stupid song. Christ! She slammed the lid. Leave it to the princess to have a fucking music box for her jewelry. Ginny slowly opened the lid partway and stuck a finger inside to squelch the ballerina’s performance. She fished inside, moving bangle bracelets and long chains out of the way. Her finger hooked on to something. She slid it out. It was a ring. The emerald one, with diamonds on either side, the one Jess always wore. Score! It must be real, Ginny thought. The kid’s so rich, she’d never have anything fake. Would she miss it? Chances are if she wasn’t wearing it now, it would be a while before she knew it was gone. Great. This would be enough for now. This and the hundred she’d slipped from Jess’s wallet while Jess was sewing in the Hineses’ apartment yesterday. It was a start. And Ginny still had four months. Better not take anything else right now. Better do it slowly. There was plenty of time. Then, by the time she was out of here, she’d have enough to get her mother the hell away, and they’d be off to Hollywood.
She tucked the ring into her palm and went toward the door.
“P.J., run down and get me some more cleanser from Mrs. Hines, would you?” It was Susan’s voice. Shit. She must be cleaning the bathroom, and P.J. must be in the hall.
“I’ve got some right here.” Christ. It was old bleach head. She must have huffed up the stairs for who knows what purpose.
Ginny stood inside Jess’s room, praying the voices would disappear. Not that she’d get caught. She’d overheard Jess tell Pop she’d be back on the seven-thirty train, and now it was only four o’clock.
“I bought you girls some nice new towels today,” old bleach head kept rattling.
“Oh, thanks, those are swell.” P.J.’s voice.
“And here’s the cleanser. I thought you might be running low.”
“Thanks, Miss Taylor.” Susan.
Christ, why didn’t everybody get out of there?
Ginny heard the shuffle of the old lady’s feet as they went back down the stairs.
“It stopped raining. I’m going for a walk,” P.J. said. “Catch ya later.”
“I’ll join you when I’m done in here,” Susan replied.
Ginny waited to hear P.J.’s footsteps on the stairs. There was silence. She listened closely at the door. She heard the toilet flush. She opened the door and peeked out. No one was in the hall. Ginny closed the door and walked into the hall. She had taken no more than four steps when someone rounded the top of the stairs and headed toward her. Jess.
“Jess!” Ginny exclaimed a little louder than she wished she had. She felt the ring slip in her hand. She quickly stuffed it into her pocket before it fell on the floor. Think fast, asshole, Ginny said to herself. Then she looked at Jess and realized it didn’t matter. The kid was obviously preoccupied.
“Oh, hi, Ginny,” she said as she brushed past her toward her door. She stuck the key into the lock and wiggled it. “Damn!” she said. Ginny didn’t know Jess knew any four-letter words. “This stupid door …” The door swung open. Jess hadn’t even realized it wasn’t locked.
“You okay?” Ginny asked. Being friendly would throw suspicion off her.
“Yes.” Jess turned back to Ginny.
Christ, her eyes were all red and swollen. She’d been crying again. So what else was new?
“No,” Jess whimpered. “No, I’m not okay. Could you come in and talk to me?�
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Me? The princess has a problem and wants to talk to me? Better do it. If you’re on her good side, she’ll never suspect.
“Sure. What’s up?” Ginny went into the room and nervously glanced around. Had she moved anything? Was everything still in place?
“Oh, Ginny, I don’t know what to do.” Jess sat on the bed.
Good, Ginny thought. She’s not suspecting a thing. “What about?”
“My father.” She sounded too weary to cry. “He paid off Richard’s family.”
“Hey, no shit.”
“That’s why Richard hasn’t tried to get in touch with me. They’re gone. They took my father’s money and vanished.”
“So?” What Ginny really wanted to ask was why that was such a big deal. “So he turned out to be a creep. Typical male.”
“But now Father is all I’ve got. All I had. And he doesn’t want to talk to me. Now there’s nobody.” She wiped a hand across her brow.
“Take it from me, you’re better off.” Ginny stood by the door, not wanting to spend too much time in there.
“No, Ginny, it’s not right to be alone.”
“Christ, what do you care? You got plenty of money, don’t you? Your old man supports you, so what difference does it make?”
Jess stood up and went to the bureau. Ginny’s heart began to pound. She watched her unclasp her watch. God, no. Don’t do it. Jess opened the jewelry box. The little ballerina twirled. The music tinkled. Jess frowned as she looked inside. She took off her watch and laid it across the top shelf. She pushed around a few of the pieces. “You don’t understand, Ginny. You have a family.” Ginny tried not to scream as she watched the girl slowly rifling through the jewelry, a puzzled look on her face. “My mother was the only one who ever cared about me. And she’s dead.”
Ginny stared as Jess halfheartedly kept moving the pieces around. Christ, bad enough she was still grounded. If she got caught with the ring, Ginny knew she’d be thrown out for sure.
“Oh. What did I do with my ring?” Jess whimpered.
Ginny’s guts felt as if they were going to explode. Shit. Got to change the subject. “Tell me about your father.”