by Anna Burke
Through it all, Jessica and Tommy had become close. She had tried to fill the vacuum left in his life by the loss of his older sister. He had become the little brother she wished for as a child. Their bond was a strong one. Of all the people she left behind in the desert, Tommy was the one she saw most often. He visited her in the OC, in LA and in Cupertino. When Jessica paid a visit to Mission Hills, he was at the house in a flash, even when she had Jim in tow. Jim and Tommy tolerated each other, for her sake, but never forged much of a friendship of their own.
Stepping from the shower, Jessica dried her eyes and her hair. Her eyes were a little red from the shower and the tears. Otherwise, the face staring back at her from the mirror looked as good as new. Gone were the bruises, scrapes and the black eye she had received tangling with an intruder at Laura’s house. Jessica’s skin glowed with good health, a consequence of keeping her promise to eat better, sleep, and exercise while allowing things in her life to settle down. Those facials at the Spa Grande in Maui didn’t hurt either.
Jessica had also lost a few pounds and was more toned. Her sturdy little body was yielding to the discipline being applied in an effort to get rid of the ‘baby fat’ she put on during fertility treatments. She was also hoping to be a little quicker on her feet, since she had been forced into several situations where that had proved crucial. She was not only swimming but working out in the little room off her father’s den where they had set up workout equipment years ago. She rode the spin cycle and lifted weights, too.
Her favorite thing was beating the living daylights out of a heavy bag. For now, she kicked it with her feet, since her wrist was still too iffy to risk a misplaced punch. She toyed with the idea of pasting a photo of Jim on the bag, but the image of him and the tramp was etched so indelibly in her brain that she did not need to do it. The only real problem she had was remaining under control. She didn’t want to pull a tendon in her efforts to obliterate that image by taking it out on the heavy bag. Needless to say, she was feeling the pain but also a great deal of satisfaction from the pounding Jim, or any future bad guy, would get if they trifled with her again.
Jessica quit staring at the reflection in the mirror, and went into her large walk-in closet. The space had entry doors at either end, one from the bathroom the other from the bedroom. The walls were lined with clothes on hangers or shelves. At least a hundred pairs of shoes were arrayed neatly at one end of the room, near a full-length mirror. The center of the room was occupied by two rows of drawers, placed back-to-back so she could open drawers from either side. A bench sat at each end of the drawers.
On the bench in front of her sat a large suitcase. Jessica was hit by a surge of mixed emotions at the sight. She had done it again. Gone on vacation and shopped so much that she had to buy another suitcase to get it all home. Bernadette and Laura had each come back with a new suitcase, too, filled with treasures.
Between spa visits, they had hit the shops. Jessica had insisted they let her buy them things while indulging her shopping compulsion. Popping open the suitcase, Jessica began pulling items out of it. She relished the riot of bright colors, the floral prints and soft textures of the fabrics in the clothes as she hung them up or stashed them away in drawers. They carried a hint of tropical fragrance that conjured up strains of the sweet Hawaiian music piped into the Spa Grande and elsewhere on the grounds of the Grand Wailea. Her black AMEX card had gotten quite a workout.
At one point, Bernadette, in true saintly fashion, had taken her aside: “Niña, thank you so much for this trip and the gifts. You know I love presents. This is such a beautiful place, so I’m glad to be here to share it with you.” She reached out and cupped Jessica’s chin in her hand, looking her in the eye. “You don’t have to buy me things. I’m sorry this is such a hard time for you, thanks to that bastardo, but the best gift for me is having you around for a while.”
Before they left for Maui Jessica had spilled her guts to Bernadette about the circumstances surrounding her divorce. She described that awful day when she had caught him in their bed with another woman. Sad, angry tears had begun to fall before she could finish telling the story. The words stuck in her throat, the picture they painted such a vile and ugly one.
“Aye, que dios mio, Jessica! Demonio, malicioso!” She crossed herself as she spit out the words. “I figured something like that must have happened. He’s no good, Jessica. You must have someone much better, mi preciosa.” She pulled Jessica to her, holding her tight as Jessica was racked by sobs. Rocking her gently, she murmured, “It’s going to be okay! I’ll say some prayers for el Altisimo to send you someone who will treat you right. A good Catholic boy, that’s what you need. Like my Guillermo.”
Guillermo was the young man Bernadette had married before she was twenty. He had been killed in an accident soon after. As far as Jessica could tell for Bernadette, like Hank, there had not been anyone else. Somehow, the loss had not left her bitter or caused her to lose her faith. Bernadette didn’t talk about him often. When she did, it was with the conviction that her good Catholic boy was in heaven and with hope they would someday be reunited. If there was a heaven, Jessica felt certain it would be made better by Bernadette’s presence.
How would she ever again be open to anyone, even a Guillermo? Jessica imagined Jim in a much hotter place. The fair-haired floozy too, slithering along behind, poking him with a pitchfork. Over a bowl of ice cream, she had recounted the far-from-saintly way in which she had reacted after stumbling upon the fiends in her bed. Bernadette, looking somber at first, had started to chuckle. Finally she burst out laughing as Jessica described how the two naked scoundrels fled, hiding in the bathroom while she ripped the bedroom to shreds.
“God didn’t let you hurt anyone, Jessica. Of course, you should tell Father Martin when you see him. He’ll give you absolution so your conscience can be clean.”
At Bernadette’s urging, Jessica tagged along with her to Mass at St. Theresa’s the following Sunday. The place had changed little over the years, and Jessica was awash in memories of the hours she had spent in that church. Somehow, Bernadette had engineered time alone for her with Father Martin after Mass. In a matter of minutes, Father Martin had Jessica talking, the anger and bitterness pouring out. After a few minutes, she stopped and apologized for her tirade. Father Martin called it a “lament” and reassured her.
“You’re in good company, Jessica. It’s not surprising that the suffering and betrayal you’ve experienced would lead you to the occasional lament, Jessica.”
“The occasional lament, are you kidding? It’s more like a perpetual rant. If there is a God, he’s getting an earful!”
“God can take it, Jessica. He’s heard it all before.” That’s when he went to his shelf and pulled out several books for her to read. “Take these, Jessica. They ought to challenge your intellect and appeal to the mystical nature you hold at bay. You might find answers to some of the questions you’re asking. If not you might, at least, take some consolation from the fact that you’re not alone in your suffering. But, Jessica, clinging to your love of natural wonders and your pursuit of costly, but transient things to ease your pain is a stop gap measure, at best.”
She was dumbfounded by his pithy take on the status of her soul, shopping jones and all. And she nearly fell off her chair when he coached her through the Act of Contrition and then offered her absolution, post hoc. She hadn’t quite realized that she had entered the confessional when she sat down to face him.
A little befuddled by what had just happened, she had to admit that her step was a little lighter as she left, even with the armload of books she carried: Thomas Merton’s Seven Story Mountain, Interior Castle by St. Teresa of Avila; Dark Night of the Soul by St. John of the Cross, Hildegard de Bingen’s Book of Divine Works, and a couple titles by Chardin. The books were stacked on a bookshelf in her room. She had not made much progress, even though she had taken a couple with her to Maui. Their physical heft was not as daunting as the mental and emotional chal
lenge they posed. It was easier just to rant.
Jessica vowed to do more than hurl the books at the walls of her room as she pulled on a pair of colorful board shorts in a blue tropical floral print and added a matching tankini. Before leaving the closet, she slipped on a pair of comfy leather Rainbow-brand flip-flops. Her toenails, painted ruby red, reminded her of the time spent with Laura and Bernadette in Maui.
She was all over the place with her reminiscences today, a stream of consciousness carrying her along. Tugging at her, were memories she preferred to avoid. Not just Jim in flagrante with the bimbo, and poor dead Roger, but memories of Kelly Fontana. Her relationship with Kelly was marked by deep-seated ambivalence and unresolved conflicts brought up short by the abrupt end to Kelly’s life. The prospect of talking to Frank about Kelly unleashed a wave of sorrow and regret. Maybe she should just take off again, head back to Hawai’i or drop in on her mother in the Mediterranean. Did she really have to hear what he had to say?
CHAPTER 4
Showered and dressed, Jessica needed food. Before working out in the pool, she had enjoyed freshly brewed black coffee and a glass of ice cold, hand-squeezed orange juice. Both courtesy of the resident wonder woman, Bernadette. Jessica tried to guess what else Bernadette might have whipped up in her spare time. Bernadette was busy putting the house in order after returning from Maui and before taking off again for another trip, but, something smelled wonderful!
Jessica opened the fridge and looked around, hungrily. “Aah!” A happy sigh escaped her lips when she spotted a container of Bernadette’s fresh homemade chicken salad. Her mouth watered. Bernadette applied some sort of secret chipotle marinade to the chicken before it roasted. Lime juice and spices, like cumin and coriander, were blended with mayonnaise. Then it was all mixed with the cold roast chicken, celery, diced avocado and red onion.
“Bernadette,” Jessica hollered, head tilted back. Was she in the house somewhere or had she gone out to run errands? Jessica decided to try again to rouse Bernadette from her suite in the wing of the house where she resided. “Bernadette, yoo hoo,” Jessica sang out loudly.
“Cute shorts, chica.” Jessica jumped out of her skin. Bernadette was there at her elbow.
“Geez, Bernadette, don’t sneak up on me like that.”
“If you weren’t bellowing at the top of your lungs, you would have heard me. What do you want?”
“I’m fixing some lunch. Thank you, by the way, for making chipotle chicken salad. It’s my favorite, you know. Do you want something to eat or maybe a glass of wine?”
“I thought my mole was your favorite,” Bernadette said, as Jessica took a bunch of grapes and a head of leaf lettuce from the crisper. She watched as Jessica rinsed the grapes and lettuce, then, patted them dry. Jessica scooped chicken salad on top of a lettuce base she made, then, placed a clump of grapes next to the chicken salad.
“That’s my favorite too. So is your French toast. I have a number of favorites,” she said, adding tomato slices and a hunk of bread to her plate.
“That looks beautiful, but I already ate. A glass of wine sounds good, though.”
Jessica poured a glass of chilled Buoncristiani Chardonnay. She handed the glass to Bernadette, then, poured another for herself. Bernadette was wearing one of the brightly flowered little mu’umu’u dresses she had bought in Maui. The deep rose-colored background in the ruffled sleeves of the dress set off Bernadette’s dark eyes, and added a glow to the hint of mocha in her skin.
“That color is perfect for you, Bernadette. We’re a couple of good-looking wahinis, aren’t we?”
“Yeah, I’m not bad for an old lady. But you, you’re hot, Jessica. That ex-husband of yours es un idiota!”
She and Bernadette moved from the kitchen to the morning room nearby. Their seats provided unobstructed views of the outdoors, and the meandering swimming pool. Beyond, sat the manicured golf course framed by mountains in the distance. Right now, the summer heat presided over an empty golf course. It was as if they had the Mission Hills country club all to themselves. That was an illusion, of course. The upscale community was rapidly becoming a year-round destination for baby boomers that flocked to the area to retire.
For a couple minutes, they sat in companionable silence while Jessica ate. “This ish sho goooood,” Jessica said, stuffing food into her mouth. “I love you sho musch!”
“Oh, stop talking with your mouth full,” Bernadette clucked. “Haven’t I taught you anythin’ all these years?” Bernadette smiled, though, pleased by the praise.
Swallowing, Jessica took a sip of the chardonnay, perfection. “No kidding, Bernadette, this is the best. You could be a chef at any restaurant in town. And I’ve learned a ton from you. That doesn’t happen to include the recipe for this chicken salad or your mole or your dreamy French toast, by the way. I could go on, but I’m too hungry.” With that, Jessica shoveled another forkful of chicken salad into her mouth. Bernadette sipped her wine and gazed fondly at Jessica.
“What are you going to do while I’m gone to visit my family for the Fourth of July?” The question betrayed a note of concern.
“Well, I’m not sure, Bernadette. On Monday, I plan to call the insurance company again. I intend to keep the pressure on so Laura can get the benefits she’s due as Roger’s beneficiary. Laura’s with her mom and dad, and the boys won’t be back until the 5th. I’ll probably just hang out here for the Fourth. If I get too lonely, I can head over to Civic Center Park and join the crowd to watch the fireworks display. I have plenty to do. I have to keep up with my workout regimen. Then, there are all those books Father Martin wants me to read. His idea of a workout for my soul, I guess. There is one other thing. This is kind of weird. You know Frank—Frank Fontana?”
Bernadette nodded, “¡Claro que si! I’m getting old but I’m not ditzy. Not yet anyway.”
“Well, he called, and he’s coming by tomorrow afternoon. Get this! He wants to talk about Kelly.”
“Oh Jessica, I got the chicken skin. You know, pimple gooses? That couldn’t be good could it?”
“Goose pimples Bernadette, not pimple gooses. I’ve been racking my brain. I can’t think of any reason, good or bad, that he’d want to talk to me about Kelly.”
“She was such a gorgeous girl. Kind of like you, back then—a little wild, but a good heart. Terrible she died so young. It’s such a shame when that happens.” Bernadette had a faraway look in her eye. Jessica reached over and took her hand. She must have been remembering another young person who died too young, her handsome Guillermo.
“Don’t worry, Bernadette. I’m sure it’s nothing. I’ll fill you in when you get back from your visit. And you can catch me up on what’s going on with your sister and her husband and their kids and the grandkids.” Jessica had lost count of how large the family was at this point. They had scattered a bit, as Bernadette’s nieces and nephews moved out and started their own families. Bernadette was, no doubt, an anchor in their lives just the way she was in Jessica’s.
After lunch, Jessica could no longer avoid facing the memories that nagged her since that call from Frank. Alone, in the sitting area in her bedroom, she picked up one of the books Father Martin had given her. Intending to read, she instead thought about what Bernadette had said about Kelly Fontana.
She was right about Kelly’s appearance. Kelly Fontana was gorgeous, even at 15, when Jessica first met her. Taller than Jessica by 3 or 4 inches, Kelly had a lithe, willowy figure. Her naturally wavy auburn hair fell to the middle of her back. She had the pale skin of a red head, without the freckles that tormented Tommy. Her features were delicate, set off by lushly-lashed, light blue eyes, so pale they sometimes looked gray. Jessica had not seen that shade before or since. They gave her an ethereal quality. If Tommy was an elf, Kelly was a fairy princess.
And she had the voice of an angel. Except for choir, drama, and art classes, school was a drag to Kelly. She could have been good at most any sport, but didn’t like them. Dance was a different matter. Ke
lly loved to dance, and worked after school in order to pay for lessons. She belonged to a small ensemble group that performed at St. Theresa’s, and participated in every school play or musical that took place during her stint as a high school student. Modeling was something she considered, but what she wanted to do was get into television or the movies. Her performances at St. Theresa’s always received kudos. Reflecting on her ability, Jessica concluded that Kelly Fontana was at least as talented as the Hollywood blond about to become the second Mrs. James Harper.
Kelly was also wild. It was, no doubt, one reason she hit it off with her immediately. Although Jessica cleaned up her act once she got to St. Theresa’s, she was no paragon of virtue. Kelly’s angelic appearance allowed them to get away with a lot. Whenever Jessica was doing something she shouldn’t do, Kelly was right there, aiding and abetting, if not leading the way.
Together, they filched their first drinks, pulling Laura and a couple other friends into their scheme at a sleepover. After Bernadette and her mother went to bed, Jessica brought out a bottle of Amaretto and five tiny glasses. The sweet liqueur was way too easy to drink. In a short time they emptied the bottle. The more they drank, the sillier everything seemed, and the louder they got. Using her superpowers, or so Jessica thought at the time, Bernadette caught them red-handed.
Everybody got sent home in the middle of the night. Jessica could feel her cheeks getting hot with embarrassment even now at the scene the five drunken teenagers had created. One-by-one, disgruntled parents came to retrieve their wayward children. The scornful look given to Bernadette and her mother by one of the parents aroused feelings of shame to this day. Kelly was the last to leave. Drunk as a skunk too, she laughed uncontrollably as Jessica knelt on the bathroom floor, hurling into the toilet. When Kelly’s father, Sam Fontana, arrived he was more apologetic than annoyed with Bernadette and Alexis. He knew full well that at least some of the fault rested with his daughter. Wildness lurked behind that veil of seraphic beauty.