Broken Serenade (28 page)

   
The Cadillac passed Alberman’s Ford with the haughtiness of an enormous bug that seemed to want to provoke him. A single look was enough for the policeman to remark that the woman’s car had been recently involved in an accident.

    He followed her closely,
noticing annoyed the way she took each curb with exaggerated care at every intersection. Laura deliberately ignored all stop signs she encountered. Nick fought the urge to stop her and serve her a fat ticket that would have matched her size. He abstained from turning on the siren and rather drove quietly after her, curious to discover where she was heading at that late hour.
Not to the gym class, Mrs. Stone. I’m sure of that!

   
He gasped perplexed when the woman entered Vivien Hopkins’ street and reduced the speed considerably. He knew that the young piano teacher was not home. He had been informed earlier about the strange incident at her house.
Maybe that was the reason of the fire started at her doors – to scare her and drive her out of the house,
Alberman speculated.
What the hell could Miss Vivien have in her possession that would present such interest for Laura Stone? Money? Jewelry? Or maybe she’s working for someone. At her age and with her morbid excess weight, she should spend more time at home, baking cookies for the neighbors’ children,
Nick concluded his monologue.

    Laura Stone passed
Vivien’s house. She didn’t stop, and Nick started to think that she was only going to do her shopping at Safeway store. But instead of making a left, she made a right turn at the first intersection and entered the parallel street. Then she came back on Flowers Street and parked a few yards farther than Miss Hopkins’ address.
That’s a cheap trick!
the cop remarked
. 

    Alberman stationed his Ford on the first perpendicular street, right at the corner.
He got out of the car and watched Laura struggling to extract her enormous body from the Cadillac.
You need a Russian tank, lady!
As she advanced with visible difficulty, he watched the steam rise from her mouth, and it made him think of an old locomotive.

    The police officer return
ed to his vehicle and followed her with the headlights off. He gave her a few minutes lead, and then he came after her by foot.

    With the grace and charm of a hippopotamus, t
he woman edged along Vivien neighbor’s fence and reached the back door of her house. 

    Without a clear plan of action,
the policeman crouched behind the thick bush of camellia.
If I call for backup, all my colleagues are going to make jokes on me for a year! No, make that forever,
Alberman thought with bitterness. He could actually form the mental picture of them digging one another in the ribs and snickering:
He couldn’t handle a woman all by himself. He needed help!
No, he wasn’t going to call the dispatch for backup and be the laughing stock of the entire police department.
Hell, no!
He was going to face her with courage and authority.

    As
he gathered his wits and envisioned his next move, he distinguished the beam of a flashlight dancing inside Miss Hopkins’ house. Laura Stone had trespassed. Now he would have the motive for arresting and questioning her.

    Police officer Alberman
jumped out of his hiding place and leaned on the wall with his gun drawn and ready to shoot. He advanced cautiously to the back door. He found it cracked open. He pushed it lightly with his foot and entered. In total silence, he moved slowly toward the bedroom where an anemic light flickered. As he crossed the threshold, tense to his core, his muscles taut like a panther attacking its prey, he was hit suddenly by an atrocious pain on the back of his head. For a couple of seconds, stars in tens of colors and nuances floated before his eyes. He lost his balance and fell by the bed.

   
A firm, masculine voice had on him the effect of a powerful energizer.

    “On your knees, woman!” a man yelled. “Don’t force
me to empty my gun into your fat nape! I’m fighting the temptation anyway.”

    Laura obeyed
, swearing like crazy. The man switched on the light in the room and pushed her down so she would face the floor. He kicked toward the door the big carton box that the woman had half-pulled from under the bed.

    “Is everything all right
, officer?” he asked.

    “Yes,
yes, thank… thank you,” Alberman stuttered, white as a sheet. He quickly picked up his gun and hurried to handcuff Laura Stone. “And you are… ”

    “Clark Leigh. Miss Hopkins’s future brother-in-law. Vivien sent me to pick up some things she failed to take earlier with all the emotions she had been through.”

    “No, man, God sent you,” Alberman smiled timidly. “Thanks a lot. You probably saved my life.”

    “There’s no need to exaggerate, young man,
” Laura intervened. “For Pete’s sake, I wouldn’t have killed you!”

    She changed tactics and softened her tone of voice.

    “Come on, you guys! Can’t you forgive an old woman like me? I’m poor, and I have nothing against this young girl. I’ve even grown fond of her. Her miserable grandmother is responsible for all that’s been happening to her. I wouldn’t have gotten myself involved if it weren’t for the money. I worked hard for her for fifteen years, and she left me nothing when she died. Not a fucking cent.”

    Clark sent her a reproachful look.

    “Carol managed to nose out a few
dirty secrets regarding your character. She knew you were not an honest person, Laura. And don’t worry, dear,” he said, grinning. “Spending a bit of time in the can will teach you to appreciate the value of freedom and to be more careful when you choose whom you’re working for,” he dropped a hint about her reason for breaking in Vivien’s house.

    His innuendo remained unanswered.

    Clark accompanied them to the police car. After seeing Laura packed on the back seat, resigned and quiet, he retreated inside Vivien’s house.

    In the ha
llway, things lay in disorder all over the floor. Laura had taken out everything from both closets on one side and the other of Vivien’s bedroom door. Clark gingerly stepped over them back into the young woman’s chamber.

   
Where do girls hide their most important things? They toss them under the bed
, he silently answered his own question. Apparently, Laura had reached the same conclusion after rummaging through Vivien’s musical CD collection and her hallway closets.

    The man
sat down comfortably on the flowery rug by the bed and pulled the carton box between his stretched legs. An entire amalgam of copies of documents, checks, contracts, and pictures populated the interior of that box on which the word
granny
had been written with big, capital letters. Eager to unveil secrets, Clark skimmed through what he quickly inferred it to be a collection of papers and souvenirs from Vivien’s grandmother. At first sight, he didn’t find any known name and didn’t recognize anybody in the pile of photos. There were beautiful young girls photographed in usual hypostasis, walking on the street, eating in a restaurant, or bathing in the sun on a beach.

   
Then he happened upon a list full of men names. His brother’s name was there. Fourth place and encircled in red ink. Timothy seemed to “enjoy” special treatment. It was the only encircled name on the entire list. There were names of politicians, actors, singers, sportsmen, and even TV anchors. Most of the politicians’ names had a woman’s name beside them. Clark recognized women candidates for senators, house representatives for both political parties, and even presidential candidates from the fair, gentle sex. Some of them had already taken the place of the men.

    Under that
, attached with a clip, there was another, more succinct list. Clark froze. He had received the perfect copy of this one in London, and the sight of it had made him jump into the first airplane with destination USA. The name of his brother followed that of his friend and business partner, Robert Kane. “Ah, you miserable bitches, you fucking assassins!” Clark burst out. “I’ll destroy your vipers’ den! I swear to God I will!” he promised aloud.

    He deduced
with immense sorrow that Vivien’s grandmother had been his contact here in California. The brave woman had died a few weeks ago. That had been the reason she had not contacted him the minute he had arrived in San Francisco. She had been the last person he had ever imagined being their spy in USA. It was ironic and quite a surprise – a woman supporting and risking her life for the most misogynic organization ever. Clark was humbled by her heroic act.
A true lady, a real woman! God rest your soul in peace, dear Carol!

    Multitudes of copies of checks written by some of the men on the larger list were
packed negligently in a blue plastic file. The amounts donated to the non-profit organization,
The Amazons
, for helping women in need, were each above $50,000. It looked as if a minimum amount had been fixed.

    In
a miniature pink file, there were copies of checks written by women – celebrities from the political field, actresses, and even women very well known in the cultural life. The amounts from these checks were vulgarly exorbitant. Some of them topped a million. Whoever was the head of this organization, most certainly juggled millions and millions of dollars.

    Clark had no doubt that lives had been radically changed with this money. However, he could not help b
ut speculate about how much of these funds had been truly channeled toward helping lonely, poor, and abused women.

    Removing piles of pictures and contracts copies between very young women and
The Amazons
, Clark reached the bottom of the box. Right on the bottom, he was attentive enough to remark a flipped file. It had the same color as the box, and when he turned it over, he found Vivien’s name written on it.

   
God, Vivien! I really hope that you’re not one of them!
He remembered the young woman’s dark hair and heaved a sigh of relief as he opened the mysterious brown file. Inside it, he found a decent letter written in a punctilious, old-fashioned calligraphy, antiquated by the modern, negligent trend in the present writing style.
Negatively influenced, in part, by the usage of electronic messages
, Clark concluded. 

      
My dear Vivien,

   
If you find yourself caught in the lecture of this letter, it means that you’re in the possession of the box, and by this time, you’ve rummaged through it well enough to reach its bottom. Perhaps, you’ve already formed an idea about its contents. Why did I risk my life and get myself involved in this mess? Because of LOVE, my dear! I know that you will understand my choice. Better than anyone else. From all the people I know, you’re the only one to have the greatest potential to love the way I did and still do.

   
My late husband – whom, unfortunately, you’ve never met – has been an honorable member of This World of Men. To put it shortly, this organization believes that men should lead the world, and women should only assist and support them.

    I loved my husband
, and I respected him. He was the only man in this world who loved me and treated me the way I’ve always wanted. Down to the apparently most insignificant gesture. That is why I accepted to spy for them. The beginning was difficult. Subsequently though, I discovered that I had hidden talents! And the discoveries I’ve made encouraged me to believe that I was actually doing a service to humanity. I was unveiling the secrets of this rival organization on its way to create indoctrinated monsters in every area of life.

    Maybe my mentalit
y is old fashioned, or maybe I’m still under the influence of the ideas embraced by my dear husband whom I’m so eager to meet again in the other world. But I strongly believe that a woman should keep and improve her feminineness. She should cherish this divine gift, which is, in fact, the base of the human evolution, the motor of the procreation. Feminineness is what attracts men in the first place. And I think that every normal woman wants to captivate men’s attention, at least the attention of one man. Love, though, it’s more complicated. I am not going to venture that far. What can I say? I don’t even have much time on hand. My new doctor prescribes the best medication, but, unfortunately, it doesn’t seem to work for me. I can feel the final moment approaching as a beast lurking around me...

    Don’t misinterpret my intricate words, my dear Vivien! I am not afraid, and I have no regrets. In fact
, I lived a long and fulfilling life. Let’s face it, I’m not going to die stupidly at thirty-nine like my late doctor! He was allergic to peanuts, poor fellow, and forgot to tell his new chef. Imagine that! I shouldn’t say anything bad about him though. He was gracious beyond one’s imagination. He kind of introduced me to my new doctor… in a strange way… I met my present physician at his funeral. Speaking about faith…  

    For everyone in our family, closest to you, there is no secret anymore that you have been adopted. However, nobody know
s the names of your natural parents. Nobody but me. I stumbled upon the name of your mother. How? I will not go into details. Let’s call it chance. Or rather, divine intervention! I put your real birth certificate in this file.