“I hope so. But how do you cure a manipulator who’s willing to drag everyone she knows down to the bottom of the pit?”
“Her first and maybe greatest problem is her inability to love and to identify empathetically with another person,” Dita said. “She may be slightly autistic.”
“I thought of that,” Sam said, “but after getting to know her ex-husband, I ruled it out. Still, it’s possible. Do you think a social agency can handle this kind of illness?”
“I doubt it. She should go to a private clinic, and the therapist should be a woman. If it’s a man, she’ll try to seduce him.”
He couldn’t argue with that.
Finding the crab-cake sandwich as delectable as ever, he savored it along with a plain lettuce salad. “Thanks for letting me pick your brain. I hadn’t thought a clinic was the place for her, but it’s worth a try. She’s not related to me, but she means a lot to one of my dearest friends.”
“I wish her the best, Sam, but I know that won’t come easily.”
How well he knew that. Ginny had not only alienated what would have been her support group; she had made them a part of her problem. If only Kendra would shed that awful burden. As much as he hated Ginny’s relationship with Kendra, he understood how difficult it must be to walk away from your own mother when she was obviously in trouble. He was expecting Kendra to do it, but could he if he were in her shoes? It was something to which he had to give serious thought.
Ginny had taken her situation in hand and was applying her special brand of subterfuge. She asked to see the warden, and, after several tries, was granted an audience. “Good afternoon, ma’am,” she began. “Since I’m sitting here doing nothing, maybe you could use me to teach these women how to do hair, manicures, facials, and massages. I’m pretty good at things they do in a spa.”
The warden looked hard at her with a stern and forbidding expression. “Some of the inmates deserve a break, and they’d probably enjoy learning how to fix themselves up. But you’ve got a record of ignoring rules and acting like the law is for everybody but you. You’ve had plenty of breaks, but you always end up back here. So don’t try anything clever. I’ll see who’s interested.”
Three days later, having worked ten to twelve hours each day, Ginny had become the darling of the “privileged” inmates. One inmate, a big woman of questionable sexual preference, loaned Ginny the two dollars needed to make a phone call.
She phoned her brother. “Ed, I think I’ve done enough penance. I’ve been doing charity work here. If you come and vouch for me in person, I may be able to get out on bail.”
“How much is the bail?”
“Practically nothing. The warden said it’s been reduced to twenty-five hundred.”
“I see. And that’s practically nothing. I’d like to know what kind of charity work you’ve been doing. If I bail you out, I know I’ve seen the last of my twenty-five hundred. But if you get into trouble again, any kind of trouble, no matter how small, I will testify against you, and I certainly won’t bail you out again. Stay out of automobiles, unless you’re in the backseat.”
She didn’t care how much he lectured. He could say whatever he liked. She’d promise him anything in order to get her freedom. When she received word that she could go, she tried not to show jubilation. After all, if Ed had behaved like any other brother, he wouldn’t have allowed her to spend a single night in this snake pit.
The judge’s previous order tied her hands, but, as Houdini proved more than once, one only had to apply a little ingenuity to slip through a few chains. If only she had a bit of lipstick! Going out into the street with her face bare was something she hadn’t done since she reached puberty.
Ed met her at the gate and, for reasons she didn’t understand, she felt bereft that her own brother didn’t hug her. Where had that thought come from?
Hell, I don’t need his hug, she told herself. I just needed to get out of that miserable place.
“You’re out now,” were his first words. She stared at him.
“But let’s get this straight,” he went on. “If you get behind the wheel of a car, if you say a word to Kendra, or if you go near her home or her job, you’ll go back in jail, and I’m through with you for good. That’s my agreement with the authorities when I paid your bail, and I mean to enforce it. If you get into trouble, I’ll appear against you as a friend of the court. One of these days, you’re going to get behind a wheel and kill somebody, because you can’t drive. Furthermore, you don’t have a license. So if you can’t behave like a reasonable adult, you shouldn’t live among reasonable people.”
He headed to his car. “Get in, and let’s go.”
After weeks without an airing, her apartment had a strange, musky odor and smelled of the decayed stems of sunflowers she had bought for the table so as to convince old man Dunner that she was a woman of taste and refinement. She opened her bedroom window, looked out, and her shoulders sagged. Same old alley.
A check of her refrigerator with its rotting vegetables and meats served as a reminder that she was broke. It had been a one in fifty chance that she’d have an accident while driving Dunner’s rented car, and she’d almost gotten away with it, telling the police that it was Dunner and not she who’d been driving when the car crashed into a wall. But when Dunner recovered sufficiently to be interviewed, he’d sworn that he’d never sat behind the wheel of a car in his life, supporting his daughter’s testimony. The police had arrested her on the street as she walked to work. She could have made one call, but what good would it have done to call Phil, the owner of the beauty salon? She’d called Ed, and he’d hung up on her.
Broke! She didn’t have the price of a dozen eggs. Pushing her pride aside, she called Phil. “I need work, Phil. Can you get me some appointments?”
“Get you some . . . Where the hell have you been? You left your customers high and dry. I fill your book with appointments, and you don’t show. Give me a break!”
She had to level with him or he wouldn’t budge. “Phil, I’ve been in the clinker, and I just got out. I got into an accident while driving a car, and I didn’t have a valid driver’s license.”
“They don’t keep you in jail for that, babe.”
“You can check it, Phil. It was . . . uh . . . my second offense. I couldn’t make my one phone call, because they took away my pocketbook.”
“Uh . . . That’s a real bummer. Look! I’ll give you two days, but if you mess up, you’ve had it.”
“Thanks, Phil. I can be there tomorrow morning.” And unless she could find some change somewhere in the apartment, she’d have to walk.
After throwing out all the food in her refrigerator and washing the appliance thoroughly, she sat down and laughed aloud. Except for a half a can of stale coffee, her thousand dollar, stainless-steel, custom-built refrigerator was empty. She sat at her kitchen table for about an hour considering her options and concluded that she didn’t like any of them. But she had to eat. So she dressed in a woolen jacket and pants, sweater, and boots, turned a raincoat inside out, and put it on. Then, she took a woolen blanket used for picnicking and threw it over her head and across her shoulders. She conceded that her hands would freeze, but that was a price she had to pay.
As shrewd as ever, Ginny walked over to the corner of Kalorama and Connecticut—where the pedestrian traffic was heavy—sat down on the cold pavement, lowered her head, and held out her hand. Three hours later, she had one hundred and twenty-three dollars and fifteen cents. With her masquerade still in place, she stopped at a small grocery store, bought what she would need for a simple meal, and went home. After shedding the layers of clothing, she cooked, ate, took the first private shower she’d had in three weeks, and went to bed. If she could give at least three massages a day, she could pay her rent, and she’d be fine. She could always pick up a few dollars with her hand out.
She was not a fan of Washington’s public transportation, but it served her well the next morning, and she got to the beauty
salon on time. “I want you to know,” Phil said when she walked in, “that I’m sick and tired of your shenanigans. The first time you mess up, you’re outta here. You got that?”
“Don’t worry, Phil. I learned my lesson.”
“Your first customer doesn’t come in till ten, so shampoo for Clara. She’s already running behind.”
What could she say? He knew she didn’t do shit-work. But she’d be back on her feet as soon as she could figure out how to get some money out of Kendra without going back to jail. Then Phil could take his job and shove it.
Ginny couldn’t know that with the changes in Kendra’s life, she had become a stronger and mentally tougher person. With the experience of having worked, studied, and negotiated with the chefs and managers of cooking schools in Rome, Florence, and Verona behind her, Kendra took a train to Venice for a day trip.
“I may never get back to Italy,” she told herself, “and I can’t afford to miss Venice.” She walked into St. Mark’s Square, found a table, and sat down. Even in the damp and chilly weather, she could appreciate the attractiveness of the square to the millions who visited it annually. She had never seen so many pigeons, and after dodging the ones that seemed to want to land on her head, she hoped she never saw another one. She ordered coffee and ice cream and settled back to enjoy the sights.
“Who is sitting here?” a good-looking Italian asked her.
Having learned the ways of the locals, she looked at him with a show of disinterest. “Why?”
He ignored her challenge and sat down. “I’m Mario. You want to go for a ride on a vaporetto? Is very nice.”
She’d read about the vaporetti and the use that lovers and tourists often made of them. With a studied glare, she said, “Yeah. But not with you.” As if it was no big deal, he spread his hands, flexed his shoulder, and left. Lesson learned: any female tourist with money would do.
Two older American women stopped at her table. “Are you from the States?” one of them asked her. She told them she was. “We figured that, since you don’t look a bit African,” the other said. “If you’re by yourself, we know a great restaurant not far from here. Come on and join us.”
“I want to,” Kendra said, “but I’m on a student’s budget.”
“Oh, that’s all right. I’m Delia and she’s Shelia. We’re twins, and we’d love it if you’d join us.”
“I can’t let you pay for my lunch.”
“Sure you can. We’ve been together for fifty years and nine months,” Delia said with a twinkle in her eye, “and we don’t have anything new to say to each other.”
“Is this your first visit to Italy?” Kendra asked, rising to join them for lunch.
“We travel to Italy every year, and we always include Venice in our itinerary.”
They ordered the meal in Italian, and she learned that they also spoke French and Spanish and had traveled all over the world. Curious as to their source of income, she asked whether they were retired.
“We both taught for a few years,” Shelia said, “but it seemed a shame to take jobs from someone who needed the work, so we established a foundation for children with learning disabilities.”
“Are you from anywhere near Washington, D.C.? I host a local radio program, and I’d like to have you as a guest sometime.” When Delia’s eyebrows shot up in apparent disbelief, Kendra explained. “I’m finishing my degree in communications, and I work nights at WAMA in Washington.”
“We’d love to come on your program and talk about our foundation and the children we help.” They exchanged information about themselves. “We’ll be back in the states mid-March, so give us a call,” Delia, the most forward of the two, said. “We’ll be looking forward to hearing from you.”
That evening, as the train carrying Kendra rolled into Florence, she looked at the card the sisters had given her and gasped. Delia and Shelia belonged to one of the South’s wealthiest and better-known families. “I’m going to quit putting all southern white folks into the same barrel of pickles,” she promised herself.
With Italy behind her as the big Alitalia jet roared through the skies, Kendra wrote the first draft of her story. “What could you be writing at such a rapid pace?” the man sitting beside her asked.
“A report that’s due to my professor Monday morning, three days from now.”
“And you’ll be ready with it?”
“Absolutely,” she said, her voice reflecting both assurance and pride.
“I wish I could say the same. I’ve been doing research for my dissertation, but I spent too much time enjoying the local culture.”
“You can get a lot from the Internet. You’ve been there, so you can put everything into perspective. I wish you luck. I’d better get on with this.”
“Yeah,” he said, reflectively. “You’re the type who lets nothing get between you and your goals. Thanks for the lesson.” He put his drink aside, opened his laptop, and got busy.
At the baggage claim in Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport, Kendra reached for one of her bags, and a hand snatched it off the carousel. “Hey! That’s my bag.” She whirled around. “Give me my—Sam!”
He picked her up and swung her around. “Sweetheart. Lord. It’s so good to see you. I missed you.”
“I missed you, too.” She looked at him. Could this be the same man? He seemed taller and even better looking. She told him as much.
“You’re the one. You’re stunning,” he told her.
“All right, buddy, you can take care of that when you get her home,” an irate male voice said.
“Yeah,” Sam said, “and I intend to do just that. How many pieces of luggage do you have?”
“Two, and here comes the other one.”
He parked in front of the building in which she lived, put her luggage and several bags of groceries he’d purchased in the lobby. “I’ll bring these up, you go on inside,” he told her.
She walked into her apartment, dropped her pocketbook and a small bag on a chair, and opened some windows to banish the stale air. Sam soon followed with her bags and the groceries.
“I know you’re exhausted, so sit someplace while I put these things away. Then we’ll have a welcome home drink and I’ll cook us some supper.”
She sat on the sofa and fastened her gaze on him. “Can’t that wait? I’d rather you came over here and kissed me.”
He gazed down at her. “I’ve wanted this for so long, that I’m afraid if I get started, I might not be able to stop.” He leaned down, held her face in his hands, and fastened his lips on hers. But when she tried to deepen the kiss, he broke it off, went to the kitchen, and returned with two glasses of champagne.
“I know you don’t drink much, but a month in Italy should have improved your tolerance for alcohol.” He handed her a glass and raised his own. “I think this has been the longest month of my adult life. Did you come back because this is home or did you come back to me?”
“In my heart, I came back to you. Thank God you were where home is.”
He sipped his drink, placed their glasses on the coffee table, and parted his lips above hers. But he didn’t let her start the fire that she needed. He bent, removed her shoes, and turned her head to foot on the sofa. “Rest while I get things in order.”
She called her father. “I just got in, Papa. Sam met me at the airport. We’ve just walked into my apartment. Everything’s fine, thanks. I have a million things to tell you. The project? That’s right on target. I’ll drop by the shop tomorrow. Bye.” She knew he’d understand that she wouldn’t hold a long conversation while Sam was with her.
After their supper of filet mignon, baked potato, steamed asparagus, and a salad, Sam cleaned the dining room and kitchen.
That will take him about fifteen minutes, Kendra said to herself. Just time enough to get a fast shower. When he rejoined her, he might have commented on her change of clothing had she not presented him with a leather toiletries kit that bore his engraved initials.
“T
his is fantastic. And you even had it engraved with my initials. I was not expecting a gift, Kendra. This is what I would buy for myself. Thank you. I’ll have this for as long as I live.” He opened his arms and she dashed into them, eager to lose herself in him. And lose herself she did, as he took them on a hot, mind-bending adventure in the rewards of lovemaking. When he left her just before daybreak, she locked her arms around his pillow and slept at last.
The next morning, she sat up in bed and telephoned her uncle. “I just got back from Italy last night, Uncle Ed. How are you and Aunt Dot?”
“We’re fine, except she’s mad at me for getting Ginny out of jail.”
“She was in jail again?”
“Yeah. The police discovered that she lied. She was driving that car when it crashed. She stayed there about three weeks. I got her out a week ago.”
“Something’s got to give, Uncle Ed. I wish I knew what that something is.”
Chapter Fifteen
Kendra walked into Richards, Inc., Purveyor of Quality Meats, tossed her red woolen cap toward the ceiling, and hugged her father. “I did it, Papa. I’m back. I got what I went for, and I’m twenty years older.”
He wrapped her in a loving father’s arms. “I expected the first part. Tell me how you got to be twenty years older. Was that before or after Sam met you at the airport?”
“Hmm. I know you’re shrewd, Papa, and even wily when need be, but that wasn’t even subtle. I negotiated opportunities that I could never have afforded and got them just for showing up. I got in and out of several problem situations and never got a scratch. I feel as if I can handle just about anything. I crisscrossed Italy on the ticket the university gave me, and didn’t have to add a cent . . . I mean, a lira. I learned how to get around on my own.”
Breaking the Ties That Bind Page 27