“But Momma, you hate—hated him.”
“Fine line between love and hate, daughter. Fine line.”
“How’d you find out?”
“Last month after my hysterectomy. The surgeon told me. You know, I told you about my uterus prolapsing. It was hanging down nearly outside of my vagina. I couldn’t get used to the pessary they gave me to keep it pushed up. It hurt. I wanted the darn womb yanked out. So he talked it over with me and we agreed to go ahead and take it all out, the left ovary and tube too. When I awoke in the recovery room, my stunned surgeon told me about the transplanted right ovary. It was the first he’d ever seen.”
“Is that why you got mad at Daddy? He called and told me you were trying to kill him.”
“Kill him? No. But I was mad as Hell.”
We watched Mike tying the boat off. “Momma, come with me. Come and move in with me. You and Mike.”
Momma said, “No, child. Thank you but we’re where we need to be. You go. Live your life. Be happy. And don’t let your career stand in the way of your destiny of love.”
“Career? What career? I have no education because there was no money for my college because Tammy and Perry needed it.” I stopped. I felt an epiphany coming on. “Momma. You did that on purpose, didn’t you? You didn’t want me to have an education and a career, didn’t want me to make the same mistakes you made…”
Well, I finally had a reason why my mother had treated me poorly. But it was a weak reason. And a selfish one. No, there had to be more to this. Why didn’t my mother and father give me the basic love and interest any child received from her parents? I knew they were capable of it because they showered my siblings with it. But why wouldn’t they just come right out and say it? Say why I was so different and not lovable. I didn’t care how horrible the answer was. It couldn’t be any worse than living like an unwanted relative. Daddy was dead, so I would never get the reason from him. He’d won. And it wasn’t like Momma was offering any more answers.
“Momma, Uncle Howard came and took the ovary and Daddy’s research records. He said something about Daddy resenting me and you because you didn’t get impregnated by the right man. Daddy had wanted you to have President Kennedy’s baby. Do you realize whose ovary he had implanted inside you?”
“Whose?”
“Marilyn Monroe’s.”
She laughed maniacally. “Now that is one obsession taken over the edge. That goddamned son-of-a-bitch. At least it makes sense now why he had insisted that I sleep with Jack Kennedy. God, Nathan must have blamed you and me for ruining his big plan. I didn’t sleep with Kennedy. Serves him right.”
“Okay, that explains why Daddy treated me the way he did. But Momma, why did you treat Tammy and Perry with love and attention and ignore me?”
“Because you are the reason I had to marry that awful man. I didn’t think I could get pregnant. Mike stopped wearing rubbers after my operation. You were never meant to be. You should never have been born. My life was ruined because I gave birth to you…”
“But I’m your baby. Your flesh and… No, I guess I’m not. I must be the other woman’s daughter. Oh God, that means I’m—” I couldn’t think of that right now. Too big news to handle. “But still I was conceived in love. Couldn’t you love me because I was Mike’s daughter?”
“I did love you because you were Mike’s daughter. I could have gotten an abortion but I wouldn’t go through with it because of my love for Mike.”
“Then if you didn’t want me, why didn’t you give me to Mike?”
“Single men who lived on islands didn’t raise babies in 1964.”
“Why didn’t you at least tell him about me?”
“I did. I just didn’t mention you were his.”
“Why?”
“Oh-Donna, just leave the past alone. I won’t answer any more questions. Stop it now.”
I did. Mike took me back to the mainland. I felt as if I had lost my mother. She blamed me for so much in her life. And she had treated me badly in return. Both of my parents had. But now I knew that neither Nathan nor Chloe had been my biological parents. I was the result of an experiment gone wrong. With parents who didn’t even know I existed, that I was their daughter.
~*~
Numb from the shock, I shook sand out of my shoe before I climbed into Mike’s truck. I tossed my shoe inside and climbed in.
“Where to, Donna?”
I looked at him. That was my father. My biological daddy. I didn’t want to tell him. I just wanted to return to normality. “I guess to the airport.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He steered the truck onto Route One. “So what line of work are you in?”
I laughed sarcastically. “Paper. Filing. Peon job.”
“Why?”
“’Cause I can’t get the New York editors to read my manuscripts.”
“What do you write?”
“Romance.”
“Me too,” he said.
“I know. I peeked on your floor. Are you published?”
“I’m pre-published.” He grinned. “What’re the names of your stories?”
“Hundred Dollar Bill is my only completed one.”
“No. Change the title. The title makes all the difference in the world. Trust me.”
“’Kay. Thanks.”
He drove me to Miami International Airport and came in with me. He insisted on paying for my ticket. This time I had to use my real name because I had to go through security and show identification. Before I did, he pressed a business card into my palm. “Call me when you’re published.”
“I will. You too.” I handed my real father a piece of hotel stationery with my number scribbled on it.
He tipped his hat.
~♥~
I wanted the three-hour flight to Washington Dulles International Airport to be restful. I put the headphones on and tuned in a classical station. A little Mozart symphony pulled me into another dream with swirling red sparkles.
I opened my eyes and there he was. He was in an office in the White House. I tippytoed up and kissed his cheek. He smiled at me as he answered the phone. Hey, this was weird. He was participating in this dream, not just guiding me. Wonder why.
“Secret Service Office. Jones here.”
I could hear the person on the other end, he was speaking so loudly. “Mr. Jones, this is Smith, the House Detective over at the Willard Hotel.”
“Yes, Smith.”
“I am calling to advise you that Mrs. Lambert is gone.”
“What do you mean she’s gone?”
“Well, when I came on duty tonight, the fill-in guy from the temporary employment agency said he hadn’t seen her. So I got a maid to knock on the door and there was no answer. We used a passkey and she’s left. Luggage and all.”
“When did she check out?”
“She didn’t. But she’s gone.”
“No!” My mate hung up.
I touched his arm. “What’s wrong?”
“Louise Lambert. Chloe’s mother. I had her under surveillance and she’s snuck away.”
The phone rang again. “Secret Service Office, Jones.”
I could hear the caller again. “This is Captain Liebler of the Miami Beach Police Department.”
“Yeah, Liebler. Do you have her in custody?”
“Not exactly.”
“Say what you mean.”
“Officer Henry Grisham attempted to arrest Miss Lambert. She and a wise guy by the name of Michael Allen Taurus beat him viciously and ran.”
“They beat him viciously and ran? What exactly happened?”
“Officer Grisham asked for identification, advised Miss Lambert that she was under arrest and when he cited the charges, they turned on him.”
“Exactly what charges?”
“Let’s see, counterfeiting, treason and murder one.”
My mate yelled, “Murder one?”
“Yeah. My men found a puddle of blood on the floor of the Miami bakery the Lambert girl lived up
above.”
“So?”
“So she murdered her landlord. Umm…wait… Yes, his name was Patrick Grogan.”
“Where’s the body?”
“Haven’t found it yet.”
“Then how do you know there was a murder? Let me speak to your supervisor!”
My Mr. Jones was too impatient to wait on the line. He slammed the receiver onto the prongs.
I stuck up for Momm…no, Chloe. “No. This was a mistake. She didn’t murder anyone. And she isn’t involved in counterfeiting. She told me those were false charges.”
“Sorry, love. I didn’t want to include you in this flashback but since you’re here, stay out of the way. I have unpleasant work to do now. Remember above all how much I love you. But I cannot change the past.”
I was so confused. Why was I watching this part of his and Chloe’s pasts? I knew everything had worked out all right for Chloe. I watched my dream man as he stomped out of the office. I followed him down the hallway at a short distance.
He headed into another office.
A secretary was still typing and it was well past eight in the evening. She looked up as he walked in.
“Hello, Jones.”
“Hello, Pamela. Can the President spare me two minutes?”
She pressed the intercom. “Sir, Secret Service agent Jones would like a moment with you.”
“Jones?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Send him in,” he huffed.
I followed my mate inside. No one seemed to be paying any attention to my presence. I must be invisible again. President Harry S. Truman was standing at a window looking out at the shadows cast by the gaslights on the lawn. My guy cleared his throat. The President turned around, his glum expression unhidden.
“Mr. President, there is a matter that I was handling for President Roosevelt and things have gotten…complicated… So I’m here to brief you.”
Harry Truman sat down, brushed the short hair back from his ears and adjusted his round eyeglasses. “Shoot.”
“The young lady involved in the counterfeiting scheme is missing.”
President Truman tapped his fingers on the desk. “So?”
“A botched arrest attempt by the Miami Beach Police ended with her assaulting the officer and fleeing with Agent Taurus.”
“This is supposed to interest me…because?”
“Okay, I’ll try again. President Roosevelt had me watching a female Secret Service agent called Chloe Lambert. She’s somehow mixed up in the counterfeiting/embezzling racket at the Bureau of Engraving and Printing. Miami Beach Police tried to arrest her today on the grounds of counterfeiting, treason and murder one.”
Suddenly interested, President Truman cocked his head and asked, “Chloe Lambert?”
“That’s right.”
“Murder one?”
Jones said, “That’s a big goof-up. They don’t even have a corpse. I’m gonna have to fly down there and…”
Truman asked, “Chloe Lambert and Mike Taurus?”
“Yes, sir.”
“No! My God, no! I don’t know what the hell you screw-ups are babbling about but Chloe Lambert and Mike Taurus are no criminals, much less murderers! They were my bodyguards on Make Believe Island.”
“Make Believe Island?”
“You get on the horn and call the Miami Police Department and the U.S. Marshals and the FBI and whoever the hell else is gunning for those two. Call it off!”
“It’s not that easy, sir.”
President Truman stood, kicking his chair back. He stomped around the desk and glared into my man’s eyes, an inch from his face. “You do it now.”
“Yes, sir.” My mate turned to leave.
“Wait!”
My guy spun around.
“What interest did Roosevelt have in the young lady?”
“He didn’t say, sir.”
I heard the “Donna” song.
~*~
I woke up totally confused at why I had to witness that scene. Maybe to show that my mate made mistakes. He had told me he regretted letting down Chloe and failing to protect her. He’d said he’d make up for his mistake by taking care of me. He had always taken care of me so far. Been there for me. I trusted him… I loved him. I felt such sympathy for my mate. He had received a tongue-lashing from the President.
And this time, I had watched Chloe’s past without much sympathy for her. She’d admitted she didn’t care for me much. Yeah, she had her reasons, but what a horrible thing to tell a child. I didn’t want to dream about my parents’ pasts anymore. I only wanted to dream about me and Mr. Jones.
The plane landed and the pilot turned the seatbelt light off. As I took snail steps down the aisle, I wondered what I’d do now. Now that I was back in the real world to face the music.
The pilot said, “Goodbye, thanks for flying with us today.”
I nodded and smiled. As I stepped into the accordion walkway to take me into the terminal, two uniformed officers from the District of Columbia Metropolitan Police Department yanked me aside.
I didn’t resist. They ransacked my bag and cuffed my hands in front of me. The bigger of the two ushered me down with a firm grip on my biceps.
Blushing at the spectacle in front of the other passengers, I kept my head bowed. I hoped my hair hanging down hid my face from the view of the TV crew who just happened to be waiting at the gate.
They had neglected to read me my Miranda rights and inform me which crime I was suspected of committing. Hey, maybe they were in league with Dick and Fawn as well.
The cops traipsed me through the airport and out front to their waiting squad car. I was deposited in the backseat. They drove me to jail.
Jail. Yep, here I was. Forty-two-year-old good girl, Orpha Donna Payne, printed, photographed and thrown into a holding cell.
Two other females were already occupying the cozy little cubicle. The old lady smelled like vomit. The young lady slept with her head circling around on her shoulders. A bit frightening.
Chapter Sixteen
I sat on the filthy frigid cell floor. And waited for my attorney to arrive to straighten out my calamitous predicament. I waited and waited. I was so tired of waiting. I stared at the fluorescent light. One bulb was burnt out. I started blinking. Gray sparkles. Dusty gray sparkles. Pretty gray sparkles. Music strumming in the wind. A guitar. “Killing Me Softly”. I had always loved Roberta Flack’s version of that song, a gentle ballad about a woman listening to the sweet song of a stranger who was telling her his life story with his lyrics.
~♥~
I opened my eyes. And there he was. “Hey you, step right on into my dream.”
Mr. Jones said, “Thanks, Cinderella. How was your trip?”
He walked past the other two inmates and gave me a sweet little kiss on the lips. They didn’t notice him.
“Horrific.”
“What happened, love?”
“Well, apparently I ruined my mother’s life the moment I was conceived. She thought she couldn’t have kids after her ovary removal. So Mike Taurus, you remember him, right? He stopped using condoms. I was the love child that was never meant to be. She was forced to marry the evil Dr. Payne, who had done the diabolical transplant operation on her…”
I literally saw puzzle shapes floating before my eyes. “It all makes sense now. Daddy, Dr. Payne, had promised Marilyn Monroe he would find a woman to carry her baby. The baby she wanted to have with JFK. When Momma became pregnant, Dr. Payne married her but at some point found out that she hadn’t slept with the President like he had wanted her to. Not sure how he worked in that manipulation. In any event, Chloe was forced into an unhappy marriage of convenience because of me. And because I was the biological daughter of Mike Taurus, not Jack Kennedy, Dr. Payne failed at giving his beloved idol her dying wish. Marilyn hadn’t wanted a baby with a peon Secret Service agent.”
I coughed a few times and cleared the mucus from the back of my throat. “So no wonder I was treated diffe
rently than the Payne siblings. Nobody wanted me. Be careful what you wish for, you might get it and not want it.”
My soul mate through history hugged me tighter than anyone had in my whole life. He kissed the top of my head. “Two people wanted you. Love you very much.”
“Who? Not Perry and Tammy, that’s for sure.”
“Me and Marilyn.”
I laughed. “Yeah right.”
“Your mother Marilyn, the former Norma Jean, loves you very much and is very proud of you. She is the one who sent me to you.”
I looked up at him, agitated. When I started to speak, he held up his hand. “Sorry, love, I can’t tell you more for the moment. You’ll find out very soon, I promise. You trusted me so far. Please trust me now.”
I wiped my eyes on his sleeve and stepped back. Looking deep into his eyes, I knew he was telling the truth. I smiled through my tears. There was nothing more that needed to be said. I sat curled in his lap for a long time. Enveloped in the peace of his love.
Finally I asked him, “Hey, why are you stepping into my world this time? I usually get transported to you. What’s up, dream weaver?”
“Thought you’d like to break outa the hoosegow. Besides, I was in the neighborhood.”
He grabbed my hand. We walked out of the jail and into the night. Hot night. Humid mosquito night. We crossed the street. A neon sign flashed in the window of a bakery. Hot Doughnuts.
My dream weaver said, “Hungry, love?”
“Starving.”
“What about your no-carbohydrate diet?”
“Do I look fat to you?”
“You look delicious.”
“Well then, let’s go in and lick up some hot sweet treats.”
“Let’s.” He opened the glass door and held it for me to walk ahead of him.
I did.
“What flavor pleases the lady?”
“Yeast-raised chocolate-frosted.”
Mr. Jones told the baker, “A dozen for my lady.”
“No! Just one, unless you want one.”
“Make that two.”
He paid for the doughnuts and we strolled through the gas-lit streets of Washington. No, actually it didn’t quite look like we were still in DC.
The Immaculate Deception Page 27