The Tolling of Mercedes Bell: A Novel (14 page)

T
he long curving shoreline of Stinson Beach receded in the distance as they turned up the Panoramic Highway toward the city, with the sun low in the sky behind them. It had been a warm and windless day on the beach. The three had worn themselves out chasing the Frisbee, sprinting on the hard wet sand, running into the chilly water, and building a gigantic sand castle. Germaine had a pocket full of treasures from the water’s edge—a sand dollar, shells, and a bit of mother-of-pearl from an abalone shell.

She was gazing out the side car window when Jack looked into the rearview mirror to check on her.

“Are you hungry?”

She turned and vehemently nodded yes, bright-eyed and suddenly not so sad to be leaving the beach.

“There’s a great little restaurant right around the corner from my place, if it’s okay with your mom. We can stop at my apartment first to clean up.”

Germaine looked eagerly at her sunburned mother, whose braided hair was frizzed by the sea air.

“Fine with me.”

“Oh, goody. I’m starving. Thank you so much!”

Germaine had easily warmed to Jack over the past few months. He’d gotten her the book of crossword puzzles she now pulled out from under a towel. He frequently brought her books to read when he came over or when they got together in San Francisco on weekends. She rummaged around for a pencil in her backpack. They drove the curving roads through cathedral-like eucalyptus groves to the highway. Germaine worked her puzzle, only half listening to the grown-ups talk.

Soon they were walking into Jack’s apartment on Nob Hill. Bookcases lined the hall leading to the living room; a long Oriental runner carpeted their way. The girl’s eyes were struck by the warm colors in the room and the enormous size of the furniture. An immense brown leather couch was positioned against the main wall and a low coffee table sat in front of it. Above the couch hung an African tapestry of big geometric designs in burnt orange, ocher, and dark brown. It covered all the space up to the high ceiling. Opposite the couch was a polished granite fireplace flanked by colorful African baskets full of firewood and kindling. At the end of the room, picture windows faced the city and sliding glass doors led out to a balcony.

Everywhere Germaine found artifacts and objects of art from Jack’s travels. There were wooden side tables with curious hand-carved lamps on them; low-slung chairs with handwoven throw pillows in them. On the mantel, shelves, and tables were Egyptian boxes inlaid with ivory, stone figurines of animals, whimsical sculptures, hand-turned wood bowls, and beautiful picture books of places he had visited.

He showed them into the guest bedroom, which had thick carpet and an attached bathroom. Mercedes closed the door behind them and carried their bag into the bathroom, with Germaine following close behind. The floor and walls all around the walk-in shower were covered in small cobalt blue glass tiles. The vanity area was intimately lit and housed a dark blue porcelain sink. A large mirror was recessed into the wall, leaving a ledge upon which sat blue and gray hand-thrown pots of various sizes and shapes. Germaine lifted the lids and found every kind of toiletry they might need. Racks of Turkish towels hung beside a low, wide padded bench on a soft blue area rug. Another African basket with a lid sat on the floor for dirty laundry.

They kicked off their sandals and stepped down into the oversized shower area, divided from the rest of the room by a clear plate glass panel. They peeled off their sandy clothes and turned on both shower heads. Germaine stood under the gentle spray. It was like being in one of the swanky hotels she’d seen in the James Bond movie that she and Anne had snuck into. In fact, it was like being in James Bond’s bathroom. She couldn’t wait to tell Anne.

Soon they sat on Jack’s gigantic couch, watching the city’s lights come on in the distance. Germaine began inspecting the small stone animals on the coffee table—a pink quartz hippo, a green jade crocodile, an iron pyrite elephant, an obsidian gorilla. Jack came in, just out of the shower himself and in a starched white shirt. He handed the girl a crystal glass of sparkling apple juice and set a dish of cocktail snacks in front of her. She popped some of the salty mix into her mouth and swung her legs back and forth.

Jack invited her to see the rest of the apartment and she leapt to her feet. He led her first into the dining room, which held a majestic walnut table surrounded by eight chairs. The walls were an appetizing shade of melon. A remarkable copper chandelier hung from
the high ceiling. Jack turned it on and adjusted the dimmer switch.

“I bought this light in Portugal several years ago. Do you know where Portugal is?” he asked her.

Germaine shook her head.

“C’mon, I’ll show you.”

He led her into his bedroom, where a world map hung on the bronze-colored wall opposite his massive bed. He pulled a chair over for Germaine to climb up on, and pointed to Portugal. It looked so far away from California. She was excited to think that the light in the next room had been bought there and brought here by the person standing next to her.

“Could you show me all the places you’ve been?”

“You mean on this map, or take you there?” he teased.

She giggled. “On the map, Silly!”

He began naming countries as he pointed to them: most of the countries in Europe, many in Asia, several in Africa and the Mediterranean, one or two in South America, plus Canada, Mexico, and numerous places in the United States.

“Where do you want to go next?” she asked.

“To dinner,” he quipped, “but my next trip abroad will be to the Philippines—right there,” he pointed.

He helped Germaine down from the chair, and she looked at the rest of his room, its elegant chest of drawers, bronze table lamps, and benign clutter.

“So what do you want to be when you grow up?” he asked.

“An architect,” she said without hesitation.

“Have you heard of the Hearst Castle?”

She nodded. “One of the kids in my class went there.”

“That was designed by a woman—Julia Morgan. Maybe we’ll go there one weekend.”

He led her into his white marble bathroom. Reposed in an alcove
specially designed for her was a life-size marble statue of a Greek goddess on an imposing pedestal. Germaine gasped and went immediately to her. She looked up at the serene head and flowing gown; she bent down to touch her beautiful feet.

“Wow! She’s so beautiful!” Germaine exclaimed.

“That’s Athena. I brought her back from Greece a few years ago.”

“She’s the daughter of Zeus. She came out of Zeus’s head!” Germaine exclaimed.

“Very good! How do you know that?”

“We have a book of Greek myths at home.”

Jack beamed at his young protégé.

Germaine looked up at the ceiling, painted coral red, and all around the classical-styled room. The largest bathtub and highest shower she had ever seen were at the other end of the room. There was even a phone near the tub. She touched Athena’s feet again on her way out.

In Jack’s home office a photograph of Mercedes, taken in an unguarded moment at work, sat on his desk. Germaine picked it up and looked at Jack. Her mother had a whole life she knew very little about.

“I hope it’s okay that I have a picture of your mom on my desk.”

Germaine studied his handsome face and kept her thoughts to herself.

“What’s
your
mother like?” she asked.

“I’ll show you.” He pulled a photograph down from the wall. A fragile woman with a sallow complexion and dark circles under her eyes peered out of it.

“Here’s a picture of her when she was a little older than your mother.”

“Is she sick?” the girl asked.

“Not anymore. She died when I was about your age.”

The young girl’s brow furrowed and she looked concerned.

He handed her a picture of a stern-looking man in a white coat. “That’s my father. He brought me up. He was already old when I was born, so now he’s gone, too.”

Germaine looked at the man’s face, his mean-looking mouth and sour expression. His thinning salt-and-pepper hair was slicked down and combed to the side. Jack didn’t look anything like him but had his father’s build.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Don’t be. It was a long time ago,” he said. “Anyway, this is where I live and this is the chair I sit in when I call your house.” He gestured at the leather-and-chrome swivel chair at his desk. “Want to check it out?”

Germaine plunked herself into the chair, which was too high for her feet to touch the floor, so she drew them up under her, crosslegged. Jack spun her around fast and she squealed with delight, hanging onto the padded arms.

“Faster!”

He spun her faster, and the chair was a blur. Mercedes followed her daughter’s shriek to the office door and leaned against the doorway, holding her wine glass.

“Faster!” Germaine commanded.

“You’ve got a little thrill seeker here,” he said to Mercedes. “You have no idea,” she replied.

When the chair came to a stop and Germaine could walk straight, he led them down a hallway lined with louvered doors.

The kitchen, just off the dining room, completed the circuit. It was a galley-style kitchen with a built-in wine rack, stainless steel refrigerator, and polished stone countertops. Jack showed Germaine some of the room’s special features. She pushed her glass against the automatic ice dispenser and watched ice chips fill it. Jack opened the
refrigerator to put the wine away. Germaine peeked and saw that the inside was all but bare.

T
HEY WALKED OUTSIDE AND AROUND
the corner to a small Italian restaurant with a striped awning and flower boxes full of geraniums. The host greeted Jack by name and escorted the threesome to a corner booth. The white tablecloth hung down nearly to their laps.

Germaine surveyed the cozy interior and the other patrons. There were two well scrubbed teenage boys with their father and a young couple with a sleeping baby.

Mercedes ate her salad and met Jack’s gaze. She was thinking of the ripples in his long back when he threw the Frisbee and the shape of his legs in swim trunks. He was thinking of her grace on the beach as she scooped up the Frisbee just above the sand and kept running, all in one smooth motion.

Their plates of steaming food appeared, and silence fell on the table.

A few minutes later, Jack said, “Germaine, you surprise me,” nodding at her empty plate. She had also demolished a salad, a piece of garlic bread, and a glass of milk.

Mercedes chuckled. “She has a hollow leg.”

When the waiter next appeared, Jack ordered Germaine a cannoli drizzled with chocolate. “If that doesn’t fill you up, we’re calling in the National Guard.”

Mercedes slipped off a sandal and put her bare foot on top of Jack’s shoe. He kept talking to Germaine as though nothing were out of the ordinary. Mercedes slipped off her other sandal and caressed his ankle with both feet. A slight smile played at the corners of his mouth. She slid a toe slowly up his long calf and pulled down the sock, baring his skin. He ignored her.

He was telling Germaine about the first time he’d had a cannoli.
Janine Reneau had taken him to a restaurant not unlike this one when he was eleven or twelve. Mercedes looked at Germaine and propped her head on her hand. She sipped the remainder of her wine and caressed Jack’s calf with one foot while wedging her toe behind his knee with the other.

The cannoli arrived and Germaine’s eyes brightened. She was enraptured by her first bite of the confection and closed her eyes.

Jack leaned back in the booth and dropped his hands into his lap. He seized one of Mercedes’s bare feet and slowly pushed his index finger between her toes. Her foot was his captive, and color began to rise in her already pink face.

Germaine took another bite of the cannoli, trying to make it last as long as possible. Jack looked into Mercedes’s reddening face, slid his finger out from between her toes, and asked her if she’d like her coffee warmed. He slid his finger back between her toes.

In a very controlled voice, she said she was fine.

Germaine was on her last bite. Jack played with Mercedes’s toes, encompassed her narrow ankle with his hand, and wedged her foot between his thighs. He ran his hand up her silky calf. Mercedes watched Germaine, unable to think. Energy from Jack’s body seemed to run up her legs and ignite her insides.

Germaine, having devoured the cannoli, took a long drink of milk—her second glass—and turned to Mercedes.

“Mom! You’re so sunburned! Your face is way red!”

Mercedes choked on her coffee and coughed until her eyes were tearing. Germaine clapped her on her back, while Jack taunted her with a look.

He slowly extracted Mercedes’s foot from between his thighs and ran a finger up her arch. Her reflex kicked in, and her knee banged the underside of the table. Germaine, startled, looked from Mercedes to Jack and back again.

Jack smiled and paid the check. Germaine crunched ice cubes, looking from one adult to the other. Something was going on that they were hiding from her.