The Immaculate Deception

by Sherry Silver

  Tammy said, “Yeah…it all adds up now… I found her sleeping in the walk-in closet at Little Mount Vernon. Then she fell asleep again, I had to throw water at her.”

  I said, “I did not fall asleep again. I fainted. When I saw the coffin.”

  Tammy said, “Whatever. And your face was all cut up.”

  Perry said, “I found her sleeping on the couch at Dad’s house. Couldn’t make enough noise to rouse her.”

  Dr. Goldfarb said, “I’m going to place you under the care of Dr. Singh, the neurologist on call. She’ll admit you for testing. We need to monitor your circadian rhythm, REM and—”

  I hopped down from the exam table. “No way. I’m fine and I’m leaving.”

  Perry said, “Oh-Donna, you’ll do no such thing. You need help, listen to the man. Your employer pays your medical expenses anyhow, so you might as well do it. And you might be able to get some extra money since it was related to an auto accident. Virginia is a no-fault state.”

  As I stormed down the corridor and waited for the elevator, I heard remnants of their conversation. “I knew it. She’s brain damaged. Well, we can’t have a retard as executrix of Daddy’s will. Perry, you get an injunction or whatever you call it and stop that. Now I’d say she needs a guardian to oversee her finances…”

  ~*~

  I took a cab back to work. It was nearly seven p.m. before it deposited me at Daddy’s old gold Chrysler. It was the only vehicle left in the lot. I drove through a fast food restaurant on the way and picked up two regular roast beef sandwiches for dinner. I splurged carbohydrate wise and used two packs of sauce on each. But I didn’t eat the buns. I’d gotten good at eating bunless while driving.

  I eased the car into the garage, closed the door and checked the mailbox. Empty. So I carried my dinner trash inside and threw it away in the kitchen. I checked the message machine. It wasn’t blinking. What, did I really expect a New York editor to call me and offer to buy Hundred Dollar Bill? Sure I did. It was a very fun read. What was wrong with all those agents and editors? Were they too scared to take a chance on a newbie?

  I was feeling kind of woozy. So I slumped onto the kitchen floor. The golden oak hardwood slats felt interesting under my body. So I stretched out and pressed my hands over the grooves. The music commenced. Percussion and strings. An old-time rock-’n’-roll ballad. I hummed along. Yes. I recognized it now. The same song as when I fell asleep at work. Bobby Vinton’s “Take Good Care Of My Baby”. It had been one of Momma’s favorite songs. The pretty sap green sparkles propelled me backward this time. It was a pleasant flight, like a magic hardwood floor ride.

  ~♥~

  And there he was.

  I said, “Hey, you. Step on back into my dream.”

  “Are you sure you want me to?”

  “Of course. Why would you even say that?”

  “Because you’ve been actin’ funny lately.”

  “Funny?” Hey, this is supposed to be a good dream. Why must I argue with everyone today?

  “At the Fontainebleau. You wouldn’t go down to the beach with me.”

  I huffed. “Is that what you’re off about? I’m sorry. I mean, good grief, did you even process anything that we observed in our last dream, at the hospital?”

  “Yep. Your father was a physician and he consulted with a patient before surgery.”

  “Not just your regular Janie Doe patient.”

  “Yeah, so it was America’s favorite sex kitten. She’s entitled to medical treatment.”

  “He conspired to do a Frankenstein operation with her ovaries!”

  “Well, it was consensual.” He put his hands on his cheeks and roughly rubbed them over his face and through his hair. He said, “I’m sorry. I just don’t know where I stand with you anymore. You intruded in on someone else’s dream.”

  “Hey, that wasn’t my fault. I can’t control which dreams I get sucked into. If I could, I would spend every hour sleeping. With you.” I caressed his hand and smiled as I traced lines from his wrist as far up his arms as his short white shirt sleeves allowed. His breathing deepened.

  I asked, “You are my mate, right?”

  He nodded.

  “Well, and then Bob’s your uncle and Fanny’s your aunt.”

  He grinned. “That’s an English expression.”

  “And you are my dreamy English mate. So enough of this talk.”

  He kissed me. Oh boy, did he kiss me. He whispered, “When you sigh…it makes me want you more.”

  I trembled. A little ecstasy was just what the doctor should have ordered.

  I heard an intercom. “Paging Dr. Payne. Dr. Nathan Payne to the fourth floor, stat.”

  Dream boy offered his arm. “Hook a wing.”

  I did. “To the fourth floor.”

  We found the hospital stairs. It looked like it might have been the same one, what was it, Good Samaritan? From the previous dream. Darn, I was sick of hospitals.

  We missed him. He had gone into surgery before we arrived. So we sat in the family waiting room. We kept an eye on the operating room door across the hall. When the patient was wheeled out, we followed her. It was Momma.

  I paced invisibly in her room until Daddy arrived. Momma was groggy from the anesthesia. He said, “Well, I was able to save about one third of your left ovary and that fallopian tube. I had to remove the right set.”

  Tears streamed down her face. “So much for me having a baby.”

  “Don’t give up hope. You might well still produce an occasional mature egg. But I cannot guarantee anything.”

  I wanted to hug her and tell her, “It’s all right, Momma. You’ll have a baby. Me.” But she couldn’t see or hear me. I guess my mate was right. Seeing me would just be too upsetting for either of my parents. Would probably throw the whole space-time continuum, or however you called it. Darn it, there was that annoying song again. The “Donna” song.

  ~*~

  I felt a draft and heard clunking. When I opened my eyes, there squatted Officer Dick Fiddler, he had one hand on top of my left leg, one under it and he palpated down to my ankle.

  “What are you doing?” I half-screamed.

  “Oh thank God. I was checking for broken bones. You were breathing and your pulse was good but I couldn’t wake you up.”

  “How’d you get in?” I glared.

  He motioned to the French door, leaning inside the house.

  “You took the door off the hinges?” I scrambled up. “How dare you break into my house!” I remembered Mr. Jones telling me Dick was a killer. Oh my God!

  “Calm down. I saw you slumped on the floor. I banged and banged on the glass and you didn’t move. I was worried you’d been—”

  My dream mate had told me to relax, that he didn’t think Dick meant any harm. I exhaled. “I’m sorry, Dick. Thank you for rescuing me but as you can see, I’m fine.”

  “How can you be fine? Come on, you need to lie down.”

  “Stop, okay? I’m fine. I just have this small little narcolepsy problem.”

  “Really? I’m sorry.”

  “Do you think you can put my door back on the hinges before I pay to air-condition the neighborhood?”

  He lined the pins up with the hinges and set the door back on. He closed and locked it.

  I said, “I’m sorry I yelled at you. Thank you very much for coming to my aid again.”

  “No problem. Just the neighborly thing to do.”

  “Would you like a cup of,” I tried to think of some beverage I had on hand to offer him, “of water or something?”

  “Yes, that would be kind.”

  I removed a clean silver-rimmed glass from the cabinet and dispensed crushed ice and cold water from the outside of my stainless steel refrigerator door. I made myself one as well.

  “Thank you,” Dick said.

  I motioned for him to sit with me at the kitchen table. He did.

  “So what kind of trouble are you in?” I asked him.

  Dick gulped a long pull of wat
er. “I was kidnapped.”

  “Oh my goodness. I’m sorry. Wow. Must’ve been terrifying. How’d you escape? They got the guys? Did they pay ransom?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Whaddaya mean, ya don’t know?”

  He scratched behind his ear. “It’s complicated.”

  I uneasily tasted a sip of water and then decided to pace around the kitchen. I listened to his version of what I already knew.

  “They must’ve drugged me with ecstasy or something.”

  “The date rape drug?” This was getting really uncomfortable.

  “Yeah. I don’t know. They might’ve used something else.”

  “Did the cops, your co-workers, find you?”

  “No.”

  “Well, you know they searched your house and interviewed the neighbors.”

  Dick stood up and shoved his chair in. “No, I really don’t know about that.”

  “Where were you held?”

  “Miami.”

  “Miami? You were kidnapped and taken to Miami and you escaped and came home in your underwear?”

  “You see, that’s the thing. I really don’t know how I got to Miami or how I got home.”

  The phone rang. I picked it up without looking at the caller ID It was my brother.

  “Oh-Donna. Glad you made it home. Listen, just forget about being the executrix. I’ll get the court to appoint someone else. We need somebody with all her faculties.”

  “Oh hello, Perry. So good of you to call. But it’s a bad time, I have company.” I hung up.

  Dick said, “Well, I’m so sorry to have kept you. Thank you for the water.”

  Before I could interrogate him any further, he left through the back door. I locked it tight. I didn’t want people barging into my home just like that. Especially people who seemed to dabble with poisonous plants. There must be some way I could brace the door or something so that didn’t happen again. Maybe I could just take it out of the frame and turn it around, so that the hinges were on the inside? That way no one could break in. I couldn’t believe the Fairfax County building inspector had let the contractor install doors like this.

  I thought about what my mate had told me about Officer Dick. How did he fit into my life? There was some obvious connection, I was just too dumb to realize it yet.

  ~*~

  Four more pages. If I could write four more pages every day, just off the top of my head, then I could finish my work-in-progress by the end of September. I hated writing the first draft. It was agony getting the voices out of my head and onto the paper. Unless of course, they started getting naughty and going off on their own little tangents. Then I was just the vessel through which the characters developed. That was a good day when that happened.

  I had a week off from work and I was going to dedicate it to me. Just doing Donna things. I was going off my diet. Needed chocolate. Must have chocolate. Must go down to the store and buy some sugar-free chocolate. The kind made with maltose, which was sugar alcohol. The body did not metabolize alcohol like it did regular sugar. So the effective carbohydrates would be miniscule. And I wouldn’t really be going off my diet. Yes.

  I logged onto my computer and went to a medical webpage. I had to register and create a screen name and password before it would let me in. Screen name? Mr. Jones. Password? Mate.

  I did a search on narcolepsy. Hmm…genetic disorder, could be brought upon by an injury, affected the pons. What the devil was the pons? Hallucinations. Sleep paralysis. That didn’t sound good. Could be helped with medication. Oh yeah. Some medication would be good right now.

  Funnily enough, I didn’t want to fix the narcolepsy, if that was what I indeed had. I liked my dreams and more than anything, I loved my mate Mr. Jones. I didn’t want him to go away. He was the best almost lover I’d ever had. And oh…that accent of his. Maybe I could sleep for a week. Nah, only problem was the darn tour of my parents’ pasts he seemed intent to keep me on. Maybe it was for my own good that he made me realize what kind of lives they led. After all, the chicken did not fall too far from the egg.

  I clicked open my email box. Oh wasn’t this interesting. My virus software was quarantining six, seven, eight, no, nine attachments. I praised the guy who thought of the firewall or whatever it was that kept me from crashing. And the guy who created the worm must not have much of a life. Hey, his day job probably was in the file room at Heavenly HMO. I giggled.

  When I finished deleting the insects, I checked an email from Ashley.

  SUBJECT: PLEASE READ

  Donna,

  Yes, I’ve met Detective Dick. He’s trouble. Stay away from him. If you see him, be polite and brush him off. Promise you won’t let your guard down?

  You asked me about my love life. I have met someone very special. I’m just waiting now to see if my love is truly returned. It seems too good to be real.

  Ashley

  My stomach flip-flopped. What had Dick done to put my roommate on edge? I hit reply.

  SUBJECT: RE: PLEASE READ

  Ashley,

  Don’t let Dick’s underwear frighten you. He actually helped me out a time or two. What happened to make you scared of him? Don’t worry though. He creeps me out a little bit and I won’t be dating him. Not my type.

  How’s the tour going? Sex, drugs and rock-’n’-roll? Having any fun yet?

  It’s so good to hear about your love life. I hope everything works out just the way you want it. I have met someone fabulous too. Sort of.

  Donna

  I pushed send and shut down the computer. I didn’t want to write any more today anyhow. I flopped down on the couch and began brainstorming. I liked the working title of my work-in-progress, Smolder. It was a story about a 9/11 firefighter’s widow opening her heart again to another firefighter. But what did I know about firefighters? Nada. Except the old Emergency TV shows from the nineteen-seventies about the firefighter paramedics. That Johnny Gage character sure was cute.

  Hey, I did know a fireman. The lieutenant in the sooty white helmet. He was pretty gruff though. Wonder what his name was? Lieutenant McGruff. I giggled with my eyes closed.

  I remembered the phone call from Perry. Great. He thought I was retarded, so now I’d been relieved of executrix duties. Whoo hoo. Who cared. He and Tammy were gonna take all the money and run anyhow. The sooner I was rid of them the better. I wondered what my other siblings were like. The ones revealed on my birth certificate. Momma’s first two babies. Maybe since we were all her blood, we were all nice. Momma was nice. Sometimes.

  Oh Momma. Where are you? You were released from the mental hospital. Then the last time I saw you was…hmm…you were in the hospital having your ovary removed by Daddy. But I couldn’t talk to you. I really wanna talk to you. Make sure you’re okay.

  I rolled over onto my side and curled up with my hands under my head. Mr. Jones. He always made me feel so safe and protected. Come and make it all okay again, Mr. Jones.

  Oh can you kiss. Come and give me a kiss, my mate. Right here. And here. And two here and you get the picture. Photograph. Technicolor. Yeah, that’s right, time for another Technicolor dream. Hmm…maybe I could start one up. I yawned and plodded over to the CD player. I turned “Drift Away” on repeat. God, I loved that song, Dobie Gray’s slow tribute to how music can soothe your mood. I eased back down on the sofa and listened. And listened.

  I could see gold sparkles dancing inside my eyelids. I loved the percussion and the guitars in this song. I loved it when they made love through the instruments. The lyrics said it all. Come on, boys, take me away. Here came the irresistible forward momentum. Kind of like going fast in a car down a “tummy hill”.

  ~♥~

  I smiled before I even opened my eyes. There he was. Leaning all sexy on that big old… Let’s see. I looked up. Oak tree. “Hey you, come on over and give me a big kiss.”

  He wiggled his finger. I vamped over to him. I kissed him once. And again and again. He was pretty much pinned up against that tree.
I twiddled my fingers in the grooves of the bark. He ran his fingers all over me. Mr. Jones did know his way around a woman. I pulled my mouth away, breaking the vapor lock on our lips. I gasped for air.

  “Wow. You’re the first guy to do that.”

  “Do what, love?” He kissed me again.

  “Take my breath away,” I panted.

  “You’re welcome.” He grabbed my hand and placed it on his left pocket. Oh my, he was excited to see me as well.

  I heard a baby crying. Shoot. So much for being alone in the moonlight. I turned around. Coming toward us was a woman pushing a baby carriage but carrying the infant. Mr. Jones wrapped his arms around me from behind. He nuzzled his head on top of my head. I loved a tall man. Tall, dark, mysterious and oh-so-hot. Yum. I felt his heat.

  The woman had stopped at a bench under a streetlight.

  I smiled. It was Momma. And by the looks of the cars and shops, this was the early sixties. Oh no. I struggled free of his arms and flew. Back to behind a statue. He pursued me.

  He said, “What’s wrong, Cinderella?”

  “That’s me.”

  “What’s you?”

  “The baby. It’s baby me.”

  “Look how sweet she is to it. It’s colicky but she doesn’t shove a dummy in its mouth and strap it in the pram. She’s walking and singing and loving it.”

  “Who you callin’ a dummy? Me? That’s baby Donna.”

  “I’m not callin’ you a dummy. You know, dummy—the rubber tit that babes suck on?”

  “A nipple?” I asked, picturing an old-fashioned glass baby bottle. “Pacifier?”

  “Exactly. Your mum really loves you. Look at her. Out at this hour, to soothe you.”

  Tears trickled down my cheeks. I could feel the warmth of her skin. Almost the sway as she rocked back and forth, sitting on the bench.