Make that four, daughter. Now I am back, I am not going anywhere.
Chloe holds a closely guarded private opinion. She believes her thirty-year-old cousin is primed and ready for the role of parent. However, Marlena's long relationship with the baby's father, even if he could be lured into commitment, is built along a fault line.
Indeed, if her mother is right about the persistence of the family curse, Harry's commitment to Marlena might lead to catastrophe. Anyway, the siren's tale has provided a compelling example of how the two great hallmarks, marriage and parenthood, need not co-exist where sirens are concerned. Chloe fervently hopes Marlena will come to the same conclusion.
If she herself, when faced with the same decision, had been brave enough to go it alone, her life would have been far different and perhaps more completely fulfilled. This is Chloe's saddest thought, and she endures it not for the first time on this long night. Chloe trusts to the forces for good that operate in the universe. She believes her beloved cousin, who is the only daughter she will ever have, will choose to continue this pregnancy and bring the Zanelli siren line into the next millennium.
At the sound of plink, plink, plink, she knows her mother's ghost is on the same page.
As dawn approaches, Chloe feels compelled to go into Marlena's bedroom one last time. Marlena is restless, possibly aware in her dreams of the invisible forces circulating. She has turned over onto her back. Her hand lies on her breastbone, where the jagged white birthmark is.
A sign of extraordinary paranormal power, but of course you know that, Chloe.
“Yes.”
Chloe goes to the window where young Cassandra once looked out, so desperate to escape a narrow and desolate fate, so eager to meet her unfaithful lover once more.
The next few days will tell if our good efforts tonight have been enough.
She feels a swell of pride for what has been attempted here tonight. Her amber eyes fill with tears of joy and hope for what might come of their hard work. Lingering regret for what might have been will never go away, but her regret is now mollified by a new confidence in the future of her kind.
She blows goodnight kisses to her parents, Cassandra Vye and Mark Horatio Nelson.
“Wish us luck, darlings. We will need it.”
Sweet dreams, daughter. Remember I love you.
PART III
RETURN OF THE CURSE
Chapter Forty
Rope Burn
Thursday, December 22, 1977
Drake's Roost
In the aftermath of the siren's tale, through the long hours and days of waiting, I play my zither to entertain my family.
Early on Thursday, I quietly use my power of telekinesis and move the traveling cloak to a wood peg outside my old bedroom door, where Marlena is sleeping, late into the afternoon. I have foreseen the cloak will be needed urgently and soon.
What will be the story's effect? It goes without saying for myself, but we are all breathless with anticipation. Even Faith, who at Chloe's invitation and Marlena's urging has moved from the Howard Johnson's motel to Mill's Creek, is suspending her disbelief in our methods.
Will Marlena immediately show the change of heart we so desperately need? Or will we have to endure beyond our reunion the threat of our extinction?
I predict the matter will come to a head during the Christmas Fire Night Ball on Sunday night, when all parties will be at the table.
Chloe says, “We must bide our time patiently, as a modern-day siren exercises the hard-won option of a woman to choose.”
Faith is praying on her rosary beads; they spin on her fingers like dervishes.
Later in the day, Marlena makes a move that does not bode well for our cause. She sneaks back into the hotel, where Drake's lesbian secretary, Carlotta, tells Marlena that her boss is at home and Lila is in New Gillette, having a spa treatment. Now Marlena is truly desperate to break the news of her pregnancy to Harry. She ingeniously draws a page from our script. She gets the bright idea of bursting into Drake's Roost in the guise of the Native American hotel housekeeping manager, supposedly with an emergency to report. She will tell the guard and the doorman that there has been a walkout at the hotel by the maids, and the phone lines have been cut.
She cannot wait to see Harry's expression, how surprised he will be when he sees her in her Sacajawea costume.
But the element of surprise, it turns out, is entirely at Marlena's expense.
When the turbaned butler opens the massive door, Marlena sails through, the long braids on her black wig bouncing.
She is confident the masquerade will be her most clever and daring move ever. After they have had a good laugh together, she and Harry can hash things out.
But the butler says Mr. Drake is not at home, and he will fetch Mrs. Drake.
Lila now stands in the foyer, regarding the visitor with curiosity. “Hmmm, you say there is an Indian uprising at the hotel. Well, I can't say that Harry doesn't deserve it. But I'm afraid you have made your trip through the tundra for nothing, hon. You probably passed Harry on the road. What a shame.”
“Sorry to disturb, Mrs. Drake.”
“You know, you have the most amazing eyes I've ever seen on a Native American. What is your name, again, girlie?”
“Nevada Carson.”
“Pretty name. I've been meaning to hire some of your people to entertain my house guests. Ritual dancing, that sort of thing. Do you know of anyone I could contact?”
“No, I don’t, ma’am. I have never lived on the reservation.”
“You don’t have the look of it.”
Lila's eyes sweep over Marlena’s face and figure. A look of suspicion crosses her beautiful face.
What she has to do is hold on tight, Marlena thinks frantically, and get the hell out of here as fast as possible. She presses on her breastbone and is relieved to see the gay butler obey her prompting and march to the door. He opens it with a flourish. Simultaneously the Wyoming wind blows up a furious gust that hits and almost bowls him over. In trying to right himself, Alexander stumbles against Marlena, who already has murmured a hurried goodbye and is halfway out the door.
“Oh God, mith, I’m tho thorry!”
In the accidental clash of bodies, a flashy ring on Alexander's plump pinkie gets enmeshed in a long black braid of Marlena's wig. Reflexively he pulls his hand away. The wig tilts to the right. Out tumble long, floating feathers of curly, red-gold hair. They hover in the air dramatically, like exclamation points.
There is a moment of silence as Marlena looks downward with an expression of desperation. Lila is standing akimbo, frowning, hands on hips.
“Let’s cut through the crap, girlie. I know who you are. What in hell are you trying to pull off here, Ms. Marlena Bellum?”
“I came to see Harry.”
“Seems like you were willing to make quite the fool of yourself to get to him.”
Lila, pacing, looks to Marlena like a movie queen of old, with the litheness of Joan Crawford and the sultriness of Bette Davis. When Lila whirls around to face her rival, Marlena's cheeks are on fire.
“Not as Johnny on the spot as he used to be, is he?” says Lila.
“Pardon me?”
Marlena's eyes flash, drop away, then come back. The two sirens stare at each other. Finally, Lila breaks the silence.
“Where do we go from here?”
“I’ll take my leave, Mrs. Drake. Sorry to intrude. Goodbye.”
“Not so fast,” says Lila. “What were you coming to tell Harry? Why the getup?”
Marlena holds out the wig as though it were a piece of evidence in a court of law. “This is my costume for a party I’m about to attend. I’m sorry to be…I know it looks…weird.”
Lila shakes her head. “Nothing at the hotel could be so important for you to undertake such a daring ploy. Must be personal.”
“Isn't everything?”
Lila shrugs.
“Okay, you win. My mother is in town, and there is family busi
ness I must attend to. When you came out instead of Harry, I panicked. In point of fact, there is no labor trouble at the hotel, and the phone lines aren't cut. I made that up. It is just that…well, there are some important events this week I won’t be covering for Harry as I—I usually do. I wanted to ask him for a personal leave of absence.”
It was the best she could do under pressure. The expression on Lila’s face indicates the lie is not passing muster.
In Marlena's head, though, something she just said is ringing true for herself. Indeed she wants an extended leave of absence from her duties at the hotel, where all she does is wait for Harry!
“Yeah, you cover for him all right.” Lila laughs. “You’ve made yourself into quite the little slave. But it hasn’t done you one bit of good, has it? What do you have to show for your loyalty, girlie?”
“I prefer not to discuss my private life. It has nothing to do with you.”
“Ha! That's a good one!” Lila sweeps back her glossy black hair from one side of her face. The motion pulls up onto her delicate neck-bones an Elsa Peretti gold heart necklace, an item Marlena and Harry looked at together in Tiffany's at South Coast Plaza. Marlena knows it was to have been her Christmas present from Harry. And yet he has given it to Lila instead. Her heart sinks like a lead lump.
“So, what’s the matter now? Tell the truth, Bellum.”
Marlena feels an inexplicable urge to confess all her troubles to the beautiful, emerald-eyed enemy, but instead, she regurgitates her late lunch in a jerky stream. Pure, projectile vomiting arcs into the air and splatters directly onto the Oriental carpet, about six inches from Lila’s silver-slippered feet.
“Fuck me!”
She spits.
There is a long silence. The only sound is the butler talking to himself as he scrambles down the hallway en route to the kitchen for a mop.
“Better sit down for a minute, hon,” says Lila quietly. “You don’t look so good.” She puts an arm around Marlena's shoulders, which are visibly shaking.
“I am fine. I do apologize. Do you have a rag? Let me clean this up before I go.” Marlena is wiping furiously at her chin with a trembling hand. “Please, don’t look at me,” she moans.
“Alexander will be back in a minute, and he’ll take care of everything. Just sit.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t want him to…”
“No sweat. He was a nurse in Vietnam.”
“Please, just let me go home.”
Marlena breaks away and makes it to the door, where she struggles to prevail against the wind and the weight of the massive door. She gets it open halfway, and then she collapses. Lila springs forward, slams the door shut, and helps her up.
“Take it easy, kid. What's the rush? I don't bite. Follow me, this way.”
Supporting Marlena with one arm and leading her with the other, Lila takes her into the largest reception room Marlena has ever seen. Under its domed ceiling of painted cherubs, there are two white grand pianos, surrounded by potted palm trees and plush seating. At one end of the cavernous room is an alabaster bar rivaling B. L. Zebub in size—though it cannot compare, loyal Marlena thinks ferociously, in its character.
Pushing Marlena into an armchair, Lila gingerly removes her guest's jacket, which is covered in vomitus. She tosses it onto a marble side table.
“There, that’s better.”
Lila peers at Marlena with an expression that is curiously friendly. “I have to say, you totally remind me of my kid sister. She has that waist-length, frizzy mop of hair like you do, only hers is black, and Marty’s eyes are boiled green. She is a Wiccan. One Halloween she dressed up as Lady Godiva and rode naked through Harvard Square. God, how I miss her.” Lila sighs. “I miss out on everything, living in this godforsaken place. Why do I stay? Why do you, kid? We could do a lot better. I heard you have a good job in San Francisco and used to have a perfectly good husband before you got hung up on Harry.”
Marlena tries to stand. “Gotta go.”
“Sit down,” Lila commands. “Listen, kid, I am not your enemy. Let’s say we call a truce for today, longer if you want. But you are not leaving here until I am sure you won’t die on the road.”
Marlena slumps back in the chair. “Is that what passes for noblesse oblige in your set, Mrs. Drake?”
Lila brushes off the remark. “You grew up here, didn’t you? Is it true your father's mother came from one of the native families?”
Marlena nods, too weary to resist her antagonist's questioning. “Sara Bellum was a Scattergood. When I was eight, we moved East, where my mother’s family lived.”
“Pity you didn’t stay in the East. Oh, I don’t mean because of Harry. Your talents are wasted here. There is so much more to do in Boston, New York, or Miami—the theater and the ballet, all the parties before and after.”
“I never saw the ballet. We lived in the suburbs of Cleveland, in Parma Heights.”
“Oh, dear, how terrible for you.” Lila laughs, but without malice. “Poor baby. Then charismatic Harry came along, and you were snake-bit. You've got it bad.”
Marlena is wiping her face with the handkerchief Lila has handed her. She is bristling, but she is also listening.
“Honey, I've got news for you. Those fancy connections, the partnerships with moguls of industry he has impressed you with? They come through my family, not his. Harry is your classic big fish in a small pond, only mean and coldblooded as a snake.”
Marlena feels too weak to rise to her lover's defense.
“I hope you don’t imagine you are the only one he consoled himself with, after I went off to do my own thing. There were three before you came along. Two others that I know of in the past six months. But you’ve hung in there like snot; I’ll give you that much.”
“May I go now please?”
Marlena feels indignant and dizzy. And yet she cannot resist being fascinated by the enemy.
“Are you feeling any better?”
“I feel fine. Truly I do.”
“Then you can go.”
“I’ll see my way out.”
“Oh, Marlena.”
“Yes?”
“Harry and I have agreed to go cold turkey on the extra-curricular activities over the holidays. I would appreciate your backing off while we give peace a chance.” Lila laughs at Marlena's blank expression.
“However, between us girls, I am looking for a way out of this rock-pile without losing everything I put into it, which is a lot. Harry is better at taking than giving. It will take some doing for me to get rid of him. I don't have a child to hold over his head; my uterus is heart-shaped, so no dice. Harry is no Prince Charming, hon, but if you want him that bad, well, maybe we can work something out between the two of us. Capiche?”
“Goodbye, Mrs. Drake.”
“Good luck, hon. Here is Alexander. He'll see you make it through the door this time. Safe travels. And don't forget your wig.”
Lila laughs long and hard after the door closes. Imagine, showing up disguised as one of Harry’s underpaid Indian employees! Marlena would be a lot of fun to hang around with in this dullsville. Too bad she is so fixated on Harry. It would be fun helping the young siren find a life more in keeping with her true nature.
After the confrontation with Lila, Marlena drives at top speed to Mill's Creek. She can no longer think of Harry in the same resplendent light as before. Lila's poor opinion of her husband is infectious. There is nothing like the disinterest of a rival to take the wind out of a siren's sails.
After the fiasco at Drake's Roost, Marlena is glad to get back to her cousin's home and for the additional diversion of a team of local men finishing work on the antique mill wheel by the pond. They have a challenging deadline, as the old apparatus must be operational by Sunday night.
Marlena brings out cookies and cider to the men, hoping to lighten the gloom in her soul with activity. Get in there with the guys and make it happen, she tells herself.
“What more needs to be done?” she asks the fo
reman.
“Pump needs to be primed, ma'am, but the men are on their break. Hey, you over there, hold this rope for me, will you? We had a time getting the rope out of the pond. It fell in and got tangled up on the bottom. It's attached to the fly wheel under the housing. Hey, you, hold this rope so the wheel don’t move!”
“I will hold the rope,” Marlena says firmly. “Let them rest.”
He shrugs. “You’re the boss. Just don’t let go.”
Holding the rope requires little exertion, but after a minute, beads of sweat break out on her forehead. Oh no, she thinks, I'm about to toss again. The fear of her queasiness makes her weak in all her joints, and she feels her grip on the rope slipping.
“Over here!” she calls out. “Help me, please.”
No one hears her. The mill wheel is slowly beginning to turn, and her fingers are slipping off the rope. She remembers in a flash how Cassandra stopped the well bucket from slipping out of Nicholas's grasp. Marlena looks again at the mill wheel and applies her willpower.
“Stop,” she commands it. Meanwhile, out of the corner of her eye, she sees a moving blur, a young man in leather chaps approaching at a run.
It is Apollo Nelson coming to her rescue. He grabs the rope from her and twists it around his own hand, but there is no longer a need. The mill wheel has already stopped.
“You seem always to be saving me,” she says to Apollo.
He scratches his head, perplexed. “The wheel stopped before I got here. Those gears must need more oil.”
“Yes. That must be it.”
The wave of nausea has passed, but Marlena remains standing there after Apollo has walked away. She is staring into the still, cold waters of the pond.
“I am a siren,” she tells herself. “It is 1977, and I am a fucking, card-carrying siren. Maybe I will have my own TV series one day, 'Paranormal Roots.'“
She sees the lessons delivered overnight are a crash course in the evolution of her kind. As a dwindling siren line, the Zanelli women, their desires, and even their actions are linked across the generations. More than a family curse is involved. Their powers are truly double-edged swords, and they take some getting used to.
The Siren's Tale Page 33