Chapter 60 – A Reunion; 20 Years in the Making
Saturday morning June 14, 2008 – 8:00 AM
After enduring a relatively restful but somewhat bewildering night of sleep, Frank Newlan was up bright and early on this radiant Saturday morning. And although he was vaguely aware of a magnificent dream which found him lost in a fantasyland filled with magical creatures, he couldn’t quite recall any of the details.
And furthermore, despite being under the influence of his narcotic medication, and despite being adrift in a world which only existed somewhere just over the rainbow, Newlan’s internal clock woke him up as usual, a few minutes before 6 AM…and he had been a pent-up bundle of activity ever since, puttering around his condo, catching up on some long overdue housework.
Newlan ran through his agenda of chores in record time, and as a reward for his industriousness, he decided to leisurely water the plants which adorned his deck while simultaneously taking a moment to reflect on his life and breathe in the fresh air as it wafted across the spectacular Boston skyline. The greenness of the trees were in full bloom, and the refreshing summer breeze delivered a scent of wild roses which lingered about the wide open windows of his condo, not to mention his deeply inhaling nostrils, while at the same time Grand Funk Railroad’s “I’m Getting Closer to my Home” blared through his stereo system…and somehow the sensory overflow made him feel good to be alive.
Unlike his late father, Newlan would never describe himself as green thumb, but in the almost five years in which he had been living at his condo, not one of the plants that he had potted on his deck had ever succumbed to neglect. He had carefully studied the botany of New England and its climate, and made his choices, mostly Alberta Spruces and other sturdy shrubs, on the basis of their chances for survivability in extreme weather conditions…and sure enough, his selections had turned out to be very hardy indeed.
In some strange way, Newlan felt as if he were exhaling for the first time since the start of the trial, even though, in reality, a churning anxiety was still bubbling up inside of him. However, now that he had secured the liberating note from Doctor Clay, a ticket off the case if there ever was one, he was fervently hoping that he could put the sad tale securely out of his mind once and for all. But alas, as we all know, fresh wounds aren’t always so quick to heal.
In fact, as Newlan plucked away at few strands of weeds which had sprouted up in one of his many flowering pots, out of the corner of his eye he noticed a red convertible pulling into the parking lot of his condo complex and it got him to thinking. It got him to thinking about the red Taurus that almost collided with his red Mercury yesterday afternoon. It got him to thinking about a how, according to his old friend Officer Jimmy Leach of the Medford Police Department, red cars are much more likely to get pulled over for speeding than any other colored car on the market. And of course, it got him to thinking about the mysterious red car which was parked in the Newton garage on the fateful morning that Fred Miller was found shot to death, slumped over in his Nissan Maxima; the same red car that no one could quite positively identify; the same red car that the prosecution was so desperately trying to pin on Sammy Fox.
And as Newlan doggedly thought through each and every variable in this problematic equation, he subconsciously leaned up against the railing on the deck of his condo and scanned down at the parking lot below him, as if in search of a sign…and sure enough, it suddenly dawned on him that he had access to enough empirical data, stretched out right in front of his very eyes, to perform a scientific survey, an unofficial red car census if you will.
Since it was a weekend morning, not many of the building’s occupants had to leave for work and thus the condo parking lot was still just about full, which led Newlan to come up with this crazy notion that he should tally up the percentage of red cars that were parked in the lot…and much to his surprise, after a thorough head-count, he found that an estimated 12% of the cars, trucks and SUV’s which surrounded the condo complex were varnished and finished in some shade of red.
“Now my obsession is complete,” grunted a satisfied Newlan as he chuckled to himself for good measures. He had never given it much thought before, but if he had been asked to guess what percentage of people tooled around in red cars as opposed to some other coloration, he would have probably guessed somewhere around 5%.
“I don’t know why my fellow jurors are already convinced that Breslin is guilty when the prosecution can’t even trace the alleged getaway car back to his supposed accomplice,” mumbled Newlan as his annoyance level rose a notch or two. However, just when he was beginning to come down with a pounding headache from the sheer weight of the unending consternation, he suddenly remembered his pending change of status in the case, and it eased his worried mind thusly; “But wait a freakin’ minute…as of Monday morning it’s not gonna be my problem anymore.”
And then, out of the blue, in a delayed reaction that might have been as surprising as it was unexpected, Newlan was blindsided by a nagging case of mixed emotions, triggered in its entirety by his impending bailout from the trial. It was as if he had all of a sudden concluded that he possessed a legally-binding obligation to hang in there, if for no other reason than to ensure that Breslin got a fair shake; and the conflicted feelings which were creeping up inside of him were beginning to leave him with a guilty complex.
Newlan gazed up at the sun in the Eastern skyline for a few more minutes of heated deliberation before angrily announcing his final decision to the world below; “The hell with it. I’m washing my hands of this miserable mess. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I never asked for this fuckin’ assignment in the first place. I got my own friggin’ problems to deal with.”
And despite his claims of psychic ability, Frank Newlan had no idea just how right he was…for his problems were about to take on a life of their own and then some.
Frank Newlan was about to face off against a dilemma of epic proportions.
Frank Newlan was about to become a victim of circumstances which were well beyond his power to comprehend, never mind control.
For better or worse, after a 20 year hiatus, Frank Newlan was once again about to come face-to-face with the only woman he ever loved.
Newlan may not have been, as of yet, aware of this whirling twist of fate which was about to wreak even further havoc on his tortured soul, but over the din of his stereo he was definitely aware of the phone ringing, and as he raced inside to answer it, he grumbled to himself, “who the hell is calling me, first thing in the morning?”
Newlan peeked at the caller ID, and he scratched his head as he contemplated the now familiar name of “Willis T & M” which was glowing in the display. He was utterly perplexed by what he was observing and he was tempted to let the call kick in to voice mail. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to speak to Marianne Plante, but right about then, his mind felt as if it was turning into mush, and he just didn’t know what to expect from her. He had no idea what she could possibly want from him after all these years and after all the miles of tread-wear in the worn out tires that had carried them down their separate paths.
However, in the end, Newlan decided that he’d better pick up. He figured that Plante might have something urgent on her mind which required his immediate attention, and in a wholly unforeseen way, he was once again spot-on in his estimation.
Newlan answered the phone with nothing more than a tentative “hello” and he was greeted with a subdued, “Hi Frankie, it’s me, Marianne again.”
“Good morning Marianne, what’s up?” asked Newlan, trying to sound casual, even though deep down inside he was a bundle of nerves.
“Well I’m gonna be down in Medford, I’m taking the girls to see their grandparents…and I was gonna stop by the Medford Mall to do some shopping, so I was wondering whether you might want to meet me at the Food Court for a cup of coffee? I’m buying,” explained Plante by way of her generous offering. Of course, she was also doing her
best to come across as nonchalant as possible, even though deep down in her heart she wanted, or more accurately, needed, to see Newlan more than she had ever needed anything in her entire life, and she needed him now.
Newlan stammered for a moment or two, but he couldn’t seem to get any coherent words out of his mouth, so Plante did the talking for him.
“Come on Frankie…don’t worry…it’s no big deal. I just thought it would nice to see an old friend. And besides it’s only a cup of coffee,” reassured Plante…and finally after much cajoling on her part, Newlan reluctantly agreed.
“OK then, I’ll see you at around 10 o’clock,” decreed Plante, while at the same time trying not to sound too excited, even though her fractured heart had skipped more than a few beats at the mere thought of the endless possibilities which were racing through her mind.
Of course it should come as little or no surprise to learn that Newlan was inundated with second thoughts almost as soon as he hung up the phone. It’s not that he didn’t want to see Plante again after all these years; to the contrary, he had been practically praying for this glorious day to come along for almost half his life…and yet he was fearful. He was fearful of what he might be getting himself into (especially now that the John Breslin murder trial was teaching him more than a few hard-learned lessons about what some people will do for love), and once again he mused, “she’s a married woman…what could she possibly want from me?”
While he showered in preparation for his big date, Newlan used the downtime to think the situation through further, and he eventually came to an uneasy truce with himself.
“It’s too late to back out now. Besides, she’s probably already on the road, and I don’t even have her cell phone number. Plus, like she said, it’s only a cup of coffee. She just wants to see an old friend. What’s the harm in that?”
Being the neat freak that he was, and with some time to kill on his hands to boot, Newlan neurotically tidied up his condo before departing on this most unexpected rendezvous. He had been cleaning the place almost nonstop all morning, but that hardly mattered when the obsessive-compulsive side of him reared its ugly head. Even on weeknights, when he’d come home exhausted after a long day at the office and when he wasn’t even expecting houseguests, he still kept every room of his apartment spotless (and on this histrionic morning, the mindless physical activity also included the added benefit of helping him to keep from totally freaking out over the prospect of this unanticipated, yet long-overdue, meeting with his high school sweetheart).
And wouldn’t you know it, in the midst of his endless worrying, in the midst his uncontrollable physical and mental scouring, Newlan completely lost track of the time, and when he looked up at the clock on the wall and realized that it was almost 10 AM, he went soaring straight into panic-mode. All of a sudden, he had no time to dig through his drab wardrobe, so he hastily wriggled into a polo shirt, pulled on a pair of khaki shorts, slipped into a pair of open heeled sandals, grabbed his prescription sunglasses…and despite his faltering courage, he made his way out the door.
Newlan hurried past Saeed Kahn, and if he didn’t know better, he would have guessed that the shifty doorman was behaving suspiciously again, but he was in much too much of a rush to give it more than a second thought. He was on his way to meet the only woman he ever loved and nothing was going to stop him now, not even the supercilious Saeed Kahn.
Newlan hopped into his red Mercury Mystique like Batman charging into the Bat-mobile, and he gunned the engine towards the Medford Mall, which was less than a mile down the road from his condo, practically within walking distance. In fact, the mall was in such close proximity to his apartment that he actually considered strolling over there by foot, but in the final analysis, he decided that he didn’t want to take a chance of over-perspiring in the hot June sun.
Instead, as he sped on down the road, Newlan debated long and hard over whether he should take a couple hits off of a joint, but in the end, he decided against it; something told him that he would need to be on his toes for the duration of this bittersweet encounter, and as was the case more often than not, his gut feeling would prove to be right on the money.
Newlan rushed out the door without making a music selection for the ride, and although he still had a Steely Dan disc loaded in the CD player, he didn’t even bother turning it on; since he was going on what amounted to a very short drive up around the bend, he figured he’d instead tune in to the local classic rock radio station WXLZ where the famed Boston area group, The J. Geils Band was in the process of rocking out their 70’s hit “Looking for a Love”.
Within minutes, Newlan found himself pulling into the half-empty mall parking lot, but the music-lover in him voted unanimously that he should remain seated in his vehicle and sing along until the Geils “love-searching” song played itself out.
Newlan was overcome with an extreme case of the jitters as he crawled out of the driver’s side door and made his way into the mall, and as he mapped out a last minute strategy in his head, he decided to enter at the far end of the cookie-cutter edifice and briskly walk over towards the Food Court in hopes that a little bit of exercise might calm his nerves a tad.
Unfortunately for Newlan however, a jaunt through the mall’s corridors wasn’t going to be nearly enough physical exertion to alleviate his anxiety-laden butterflies. But nevertheless, as he ambled down the homestretch and took a sharp right at the intoxicating scent of dark roasted coffee beans brewing off in the distance, there she was, Marianne Plante, after all these years, standing with her back towards him in the Dunkin’ Donuts take-out line.
Plante was fixated on the menu and so she didn’t notice Newlan tip-toeing up from behind her, but he, on the other hand, recognized almost immediately that it was her. There was no mistaking the silky shoulder-length, jet black hair, the slender petite figure, the sultry supple body, the soft smooth alabaster skin.
Newlan suddenly felt something stir inside of him, and he took a series of deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself down, but still the nerves persisted. However, after a brief pause, he urged himself to “just go for it” and he muttered accordingly; “Well, here goes nothing.”
With his shaky conscience egging him on, Newlan sauntered up to Plante’s position in the take-out line and tapped her on the shoulder, while jokingly exclaiming, “No decaf for me ma’am.”
And for her part, Plante, who became startled in her own right when she grasped that it was her first love standing there before her like some glorious blast from the past, could barely contain her joy. “Frankie,” she shrieked, as if he was some famous rock star, and she hugged him so lustily that it caught him completely off guard.
Newlan was expecting that maybe if he was lucky Plante might greet him with a brief, friendly hug, but when she didn’t let go of her embrace right away, he wrapped his arms around her and caressed her shoulder blades while at the same time running his fingers through her silky smooth hair.
Plante was a rather short woman so the best she could do in return was to bury her head in Newlan’s chest as she repeatedly whispered, “It’s so good to see you Frankie…it’s so good to see you.”
It took some effort, but the old acquaintances eventually let go of their hold on each other, and while they were still standing face-to-face, Newlan slipped his rather large, coarsely textured hands into Plante’s tiny, soft hands as he sighed, “Ah Marianne let me look at you.”
And look at her he did. Not only did he look, but he took in her beauty with an overwhelming sense of awe and desire.
“My God Marianne, you haven’t change a bit…you’re as gorgeous as ever,” marveled Newlan as he scanned her entire body, while at the same time committing every last detail into his photographic memory banks.
Plante was sporting a pair of expensive leather sandals, and her perfectly pedicured feet were accentuated by a golden bracelet which was wrapped loosely around her left ankle. Accompanying her footwear was a
pair of white cotton shorts and a pink shirt which was decorated with a collection of small gold hearts which formed a big heart. Like Newlan, Plante was also hiding behind a pair of sunglasses, but as his gaze made its way over to her face, he lifted the designer frames up off her nose and peered deeply into her eyes.
As Newlan’s penetrating telepathy bore into Plante’s cognitive ruminations, he detected a beacon of weary despondency emanating from somewhere just below the surface of her angelic face. She still possessed those big, beautiful brown eyes which he had fallen in love with so long ago, but something seemed entirely out of joint; something seemed altogether out of place; something was undeniably missing; there was no longer any sparkle in her sad smile; there was no longer any glitter in her colorless face; there was no longer any twinkle of radiating vivaciousness in the orbs of her jaded corneas.
As the seconds slowly ticked away, Newlan sensed that something was painfully amiss in Plante’s world, and in response he instinctively stroked her cheeks with his chafed thumbs as he softly whispered in her ear, “What’s wrong Marianne?”
And Plante gazed back at him longingly as she wistfully replied, “Oh Frankie, you always could read me like a book. It’s a long, long story…but anyway, why don’t we sit down and talk for a while.”
Newlan wound up springing for the coffee, and the high school sweethearts tentatively took a seat in an empty section of the Food Court, as far away from prying eyes and ears as possible.
As they struggle to make themselves comfortable, Newlan glanced at Plante, and in a soothing tone he blurted out his request; “So…tell me all about this long story, I’ve got all day to listen.”
But Plante was momentarily tongue-tied, and so she could do no better than to stare down at her coffee. However, in time, with Newlan prodding her on, the liberating words came gushing out in tearful spurts like a freshly tapped geyser of mineral-rich oil.
“I’ve had a hard life Frankie, drugs, alcohol, rehab, an abusive husband whose seems to be treating me worse by the day…you name it, I’ve been through it,” confessed Plante.
And as much as Newlan resented the inexplicable way in which they had drifted apart, it pained him to hear how Plante’s life had turned out, so much so that he was at a loss as to what to say. But then, in a moment of weakness, he yearningly asked, “What happened to that innocent little girl I use to know?”
Referring to herself in the third person, Plante awkwardly replied with a stark admission; “She grew up Frankie. She grew up, and she found life to be a bit more than she could handle…and to think I let you go because you partied too much.”
Newlan pondered her point of emphasis for a second or two, and in response to her unintended barb, he jokingly philosophized as such; “yeah, too bad…just think, if I partied a little bit less and you partied a little bit more, we would have met in the middle…and we might have been a perfect match…and maybe, just maybe, we would have never even broken up.”
“Yeah, that’s probably true, but unfortunately Frankie, I think I’m stuck with my husband for better or worse…you know, for my kids’ sake,” bitterly acknowledged Plante as she pulled out a wallet-sized photograph of her daughters from her purse and proudly handed it over to Newlan.
“You never know, things might still work out…” encouraged Newlan, and as he surveyed the picture, he added, “…and by the way, your daughters are beautiful…just like you.”
Newlan’s sincere compliment coaxed a blushed smile out of Plante, and before long she was happily ready to move on to bigger and better things.
“Oh Frankie enough with my problems, what’s going on with you? You’re looking pretty good yourself,” proclaimed Plante. But rather than bask in her praise, Newlan feigned shock as he took off his sunglasses and positioned his face closer to hers for inspection.
“Me? I look good? Are you kidding me! Check out these bags under my eyes. I’ve hardly slept at all in the past week. As I told you the other night, I got sucked into this damned hit-man murder trial. You know…the husband, Breslin…he supposedly hired someone to have the boyfriend killed,” reminded Newlan by way of his concise explanation.
Knowing that her hotheaded husband could have easily passed for Breslin’s kindred spirit, Plante was dumbstruck by the uncanny similarities between the two men, and once again Newlan picked up on her hidden fears.
“What’s the matter Marianne, you seemed distracted?” inquired Newlan, but Plante didn’t dare to mention even a word about how obsessive and crazed her husband had become, so instead she attempted to write-off her trepidations as a frivolous non-issue.
“Oh it’s nothing really. It’s just that I heard about that trial on TV, and I still can’t believe that you’re on the jury. And by the way, you’re eyes might be a little bloodshot but you’re still quite the handsome man,” insisted Plante.
“Well thank you, and you too look marvelous my darling,” joked Newlan in the best Billy Crystal as Fernando Lamas accent he could muster.
Like most women, Plante appreciated a man who could make her laugh and she chuckled hardily at Newlan’s court jester antics, while at the same time she decided that the moment was right to put her secret plan into action.
“So how do you like your condo, Frankie?” wondered Plante in a not so innocent tone.
“Well, when I first moved in, I wasn’t quite sure whether condo living was going to be up my alley or not, but as it turns out, I really enjoy everything about the place. The no-hassle lifestyle is perfect for me. Of course, the condo fees aren’t cheap…but it’s a nice complex. We got an indoor swimming pool, a fully equipped fitness room, and my apartment itself is a good sized two-bed two-bath, corner unit with a view of Boston,” outlined the detail-oriented Newlan, and then somewhat rhetorically, he added, “What more could you ask for?”
Plante’s leading question had adeptly guided the conversation into the properly intended direction, and she followed up on her conniving strategy by gaping at Newlan admiringly as she beamed her approval; “I’m so proud of you Frankie. You’ve done alright for yourself. I’d love to see your place sometime…hint, hint.”
“You know I’m right down the road from here, don’t you? No more than a mile away,” vaguely intoned the dense Newlan, and for good measures, he unwittingly tacked on a hasty invitation to his clumsily delivered observation; “You should stop by sometime”.
Newlan wasn’t exactly picked up on Plante’s subtle signals, and so in retaliation to his cluelessness, she lightly fondled his hands with her soft little fingers, while never taking her eyes off of his, and she proceeded to make her proposal as crystal clear as she possibly could.
“I know where it is. Do I have to put it in writing? I’d like to see it…right…now,” clarified Plante in a mockingly impatient tone.
“Um, um, oh, I guess you could come over for a little while,” stuttered the practically speechless Newlan.
“What… are you afraid of me or something?” teased Plante, and in a strangely gnawing way, Newlan was indeed afraid. As always, he was as afraid as the Dickens of the great unknown, but he sure as hell wasn’t about to admit it to his suddenly resurfaced, long lost lover.
“Of course not…it’s just that you’re a married woman and all, visiting a single guy’s pad. You know, what if your husband finds out somehow?” lamented Newlan. But Plante, on the other hand, didn’t seem to share her former lover’s concerns in the least.
“Get real, Frankie. How’s he gonna find out? And besides, we’re just friends. I hope I didn’t give you the wrong impression,” exclaimed Plante as her old boyfriend looked on in what might best be described as a puzzled frown of bewilderment.
“Oh shit, I totally misread the situation,” worriedly speculated Newlan, and he tried his best to back-peddle out of a stance that he wasn’t fully aware he had even taken.
“No, of course not…not at all. You didn’t give me any impressions, never mind the wro
ng one. I mean, come on Marianne, look at me….I’m as clueless as ever. It’s just that this damned murder trial is making me crazy. I’m suddenly thinking that everyone is out to get me,” confided Newlan. But as far as Plante was concerned, his vulnerability rendered him even more attractive to her than he already was.
Plante smiled glowingly in spite of herself as she took Newlan by the hand and boldly asserted, “Come on Frankie, let’s go see this fancy condo of yours…and don’t worry about my husband, I’ll take care of him.”
And just like that, the high school sweethearts departed from the mall, strolling hand in hand, with Newlan in tow and Plante leading the way.
“Let’s take my car,” weakly suggested Newlan in a futile attempt to take charge of the situation.
“OK honey,” playfully replied Plante as she practically skipped over to Newlan’s backside and placed her arm firmly around his waist.
And so, within minutes of pulling out of the mall parking lot in his aptly named Mercury Mystique, Newlan rumbled into the Medford River Park Condominiums complex, securely in possession of…the only woman…he ever loved.
From the Eyes of a Juror Page 70